Jane

19 | French | very angsty

[megumiangel]

HELUVME ! ☆ 19. remember when we broke up ⤷ megumi fushiguro x fem!reader

syn. you broke up two weeks ago... but you aren't quite done with megumi yet!

cw/tags. college/aged up megumi, he's mean, exes to lovers, kinda toxic? ANGST, jealousy, reader constantly provokes him ect. dirty/suggestive humour.

WRITTEN CHAPTER BELOW!

-> 1.4k words

the date had lasted the entire day.

breakfast at your favourite cafe. a bookstore. a mini shopping spree. lunch. a movie. the arcade. dinner. dessert. second dessert.

it all felt strangely normal again. as if the last month of emotional warfare, psychological torture, tears, pining, second-hand embarrassment from every and angle and... light stalking had never even happened.

all was calm again.

you'd gotten back to his and yuuji's place an hour ago, and had immediately been smothered by the dogs the second you'd stepped through the door and been forced to play with them until they finally tired out and were now napping peacefully in the corner of megumi's bedroom.

you and megumi had showered, gotten into comfy clothes, did sheet masks by the fogged up bathroom mirror and caught up on all the college gossip you'd missed out on while the serum seeped into your skin. it was nice talking about something that didn't involve the two of you.

and now you both lay on his bed, his laptop between you both playing the next episode of the drama you'd started together before the breakup and haven't touched since despite the suspense killing the two of you because even if you'd split, watching something you'd started together separately felt like a flavour of betrayal you weren't quite ready to partake in.

"hey, baby." you mumbled against him, not yet tearing your eyes away from the screen. two characters were currently engaged in a pretty breakup argument.

the irony felt too fresh to call out.

"hm." megumi responded absently.

"remember when we broke up?"

he sighed in defeat. you snickered, clearly proud of yourself.

you sighed contentedly, your head nestled comfortably against his shoulder, your half-empty bag of snacks balanced on his stomach for easy reach. megumi didn't move it. even if you were getting crumbs all over his shirt. every now and then, you tilted your head up, a piece in your hand, lifting it to his mouth, and he'd take the offering without ceremony just to watch you beam happily before you laid your head back down.

completely relaxed. like there wasn't a single worry left in your head. like everything had been squashed and there was nothing left to dwell on.

megumi wished he could say the same. wished he could forgive himself just as easily as you did and get out of his own head. but the truth was, his chest still ached and an angry lump still formed in his throat every time you looked and him and smiled like he was your saviour.

because megumi was no saviour.

despite the apology the night before, despite your forgiveness, despite promising to turn over a new leaf, it wasn't easy to tell himself it was over when he'd broken your heart in one night and mended it again just as fast.

but after he'd risen from his knees yesterday on your command, after you'd accepted his apology, you'd tugged him towards you by the front of his shirt, sending him stumbling, and given him a tight slap right across the face.

his cheek still stung from the impact even now.

you'd then proceeded to spend twenty minutes lecturing him; scolding him for his stupidity, his sense of self-pity, for making decisions for you, for acting like some sort of martyr with his tendency to turn his problems into noble sacrifice instead of just communicating.

but most of all, for being so damn hard on himself.

for telling himself he wasn't worthy of change, he wasn't worthy of forgiveness, of love, of anything, all over one mindless mistake.

a mistake he shouldn't have made, of course but a mistake, no less.

and then you'd grabbed his face, forced him to look you in the eyes and promise you that he would learn to forgive himself.

and he did. and megumi intended on keeping that promise, even if there was a rocky uphill battle to fight. he's not a martyr. he's not a hero. and he's not a villain either. he's your boyfriend. and that's all you asked him to be.

so, for you, he'd try, and he'd learn to shake this horrible feeling every time his eyes found yours, and live in the moment. with you.

your sudden gasp pulled him back. he blinked, turning his attention to you, "what?"

before you could answer, something white launched across the room. a blur of fur. two paws landed on the mattress.

shiro.

immediately, your face lit up. "hi, my baby!" you sat up, patting the bed enthusiastically, "c'mere!"

shiro needed no encouragement. he bounded forward and practically threw himself into your arms.

earlier, both dogs had nearly knocked you over from excitement when you'd walked through the front door.

after exhausting themselves, they'd passed out in their beds. apparently naptime was over.

you wrapped your arms around shiro immediately.

pressing kisses all over his face.

"missed me?" a happy bark sounded in response. you giggled. "yeah? me too."

shiro responded by enthusiastically licking your cheek.

you shrieked.

"ew!"

another lick.

"shiro!"

another.

"eugh!"

despite your protests, you made absolutely no effort to stop him.

megumi snorted, "you literally just did your skincare."

"i know." shiro licked you again. you laughed. the dog seemed very pleased with himself, tail thumping against your leg fast enough to make its own wind current.

then his attention shifted. toward megumi. target acquired.

megumi immediately recognized the look, and narrowed his eyes in disgust. shiro leaned forward. megumi wrapped his hand around shiro's mouth and nose, holding them together before the dog could even think about going in with the attack.

"no."

a pause. shiro tried again. megumi pushed his face away.

"no."

the dog whined dramatically. megumi remained unmoved.

"no."

another attempt. another rejection. eventually shiro gave up. and buried his face into your neck instead, whining pitifully

you immediately hugged him protectively. "aww, is your daddy being mean?"

megumi rolled his eyes. "i'm not."

"be nice to him." you huff, nudging megumi's side.

"he's gross."

your jaw dropped. "he's a baby."

"your baby eats dirt."

"he doesn't."

"he literally does."

"he's just curious."

megumi stared.

you kissed shiro's nose. "and he brushed his teeth. didn't you?"

"still gross."

you huffed. then suddenly gasped again. a streak of black fur flashed past.

kuro. awake at last.

"there he is!" you immediately opened your arms, welcoming, "you come up too!"

kuro required even less convincing. seconds later he launched himself onto the mattress, then directly onto you. you disappeared beneath approximately fifty kilograms of dog. only your face remained visible.

megumi watched. then raised an eyebrow, "you want me to move them?"

your head immediately popped up. the dogs barked indignantly too, as if offended by the mere suggestion. you hugged them tighter, "no way!"

megumi sighed and laid back down. "suit yourself."

the episode continued. a comfortable silence settled over the room again.

the characters fought. some guy gets hit by a truck and put on life support. hospital monitors.

occasional dog snores.

and your commentary every few minutes, until eventually even that faded.

the credits rolled. megumi glanced down. then over.

"wanna watch another episode?" he asks, silently hoping you'll say no because he's not sure how much more of this cliche nonsense he can take this late into the night.

a loud snore answered him.

he blinked. looked again. all three of you were asleep. you. shiro. kuro.

megumi stared. then sighed, lifting himself up by the elbows. that couldn't possibly be comfortable for you, having two giant dogs crushing you down into the mattress, essentially turning you into sandwich filling.

carefully, he nudged shiro aside, immediately being met with a whine of retaliation. then kuro. another whine.

"shut up." he muttered. both dogs looked betrayed, "you're lucky i'm not making you sleep in your beds."

the only reason he wasn't was because he already knew exactly what would happen.

you'd wake up. find out. then scold him about how they're only babies and they need you. the dogs knew it too. eventually they settled beside you. satisfied.

megumi slid an arm beneath your shoulders and gently pulled you against his chest.

you stirred, yawning sleepily and smacking your lips, "…thanks."

his expression softened. a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. he brushed your hair back. then pressed a kiss against your forehead. "sleep."

"mhm…" you immediately curled closer. like you'd never left. like you'd always belonged there. "g'night, gumi."

his hand moved through your hair comfortingly, caressing your scalp with his fingertips, enticing a comfortable sigh from your lips. megumi watched you slowly fade back out. "goodnight."

a few seconds passed.

"love you." your voice came out muffled against his shirt, sleepy and barely there.

megumi paused.

then his hand resumed moving through your hair like it was something precious.

"…i love you too."

no response. only a snore. he looked down. you were completely gone. fast asleep. megumi laughed quietly. then reached over and closed the laptop. darkness veiled the room.

he tucked the blankets beneath your chin. pulled you a little closer. and held you there. listening to your breathing. the dogs' breathing. the steady rhythm of a life he'd nearly thrown away.

his eyes drifted shut.

this time, he wouldn't let go.

chapter 18 ☆ masterlist

[ a/n ] AAAAAND THATS A WRAP FOLKS!!! i literally feel like i'm mourning an ex what the hell is this gut sinking feeling it's not even that serious LMFAOOOO

anyways time for sappy junie to come out... thank u SO much for the support on this 🥺🥺 i truly feel like heluvme brought me so much closer to u guys!! i love seeing all ur msgs and comments and it makes me feel so happy to see u all so invested in my work even if ur just screaming at megumi for being an idiot thru the screen HAHAHAHA this is my first completed smau series but i promise theres so many more to come i have soooo many more ideas left!! this will not be the end.

taglist 1 ☆ ! ; @barsbymars @morganalatina21 @pawwwginaaa @simp-for-wanderer @vampshxde @kaemaybae @miniaturestudentspyhound @v4mp1r3b4tzz @birdflashhh @eloiki @jnnifrsbdy @in-aa @sxtellary  @strangedarlinggg @yumekoseiko @meguubear @estella-novella @princessxo2222 @6unchae @ackshit @fushifushii @stillsearching1name @sugerfilled @star-3214 @yeschefcarm @whispersofrealms @arabella0001 @mx-0-nchild @st31le @meikstv @d34ly  @werfiedeii @skeletaldynamolegion @ai-no-tegami @inkedtension @justanotherasiangirl @bubbleteaandboba @canthinkproperly @melisserzz-blog @star1nlght @love-me-satoru @jazzylicious8 @fleurdollies @ladyhesperus @onlyvicodine @1-akira-2 @miia-nguyen @celestial4ng3l @chosoissohotugh @luxlisbonagain

[janecam]

may you never forget me | Gojo Satoru x Reader

The silence in the Jujutsu High courtyard was heavier than any cursed energy you had ever felt.

Just two hours ago, the air had been explosive. You and Satoru had stood in his office, the space between you vibrating with an anger that had been simmering for weeks. It wasn’t about the mission, not really. It was about the terrifying, suffocating reality of loving the strongest sorcerer alive.

"You don't get to decide what I can handle, Satoru!" you had yelled, your voice cracking under the weight of your frustration. "You push me away, you bench me from missions, you act like I'm a liability just because I don't have a god-eyed cheat code!"

Satoru had ripped his blindfold off, his crystalline blue eyes flashing with a rare, unfiltered fury. "I am trying to keep you alive! Do you have any idea what it’s like? Everyone wants a piece of me, (Y/N). If they find out what you mean to me, you become the biggest target in the jujutsu world. I can't protect you if you keep throwing yourself into the fire!"

"Then don't.” you had fired back, the words tasting like poison. "If loving me is such a burden, if it just makes you weak, then stop. Let me do my job, and you do yours. We're done."

The look of sheer, agonizing shock on his face was something you immediately wanted to take back. But pride is a stubborn thing. When the emergency call came in for a Grade 1 curse roaming an abandoned subway station, you had walked out the door without looking back. Satoru hadn't followed. He hadn't said a word.

Now, the silence was different. It was deafening.

Satoru arrived at the subway station precisely four minutes after the veil dropped prematurely. His Infinity was up, his mind a chaotic storm of regret. He was going to apologize. He was going to tell you he was terrified of losing you, that his anger was just a mask for his helplessness.

He tore through the subterranean tunnels, his Six Eyes tracking the residual cursed energy until he found the main platform.

The curse was already exorcised—its dissolving remains painting the concrete walls in purple grime. But in the center of the platform lay a shattered pillar, and beneath it, you.

"(Y/N)!"

The absolute authority and composure Satoru Gojo usually carried shattered in an instant. He crossed the distance between you in a fraction of a second, his hands trembling as he carefully lifted the debris away. There was blood on your temple, your uniform was torn, and your breathing was dangerously shallow.

He didn't care about the rules, the higher-ups, or the argument. He gathered you into his arms, pressing his forehead against yours, his voice a frantic whisper. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, please. Stay with me. I've got you."

Three days later, the sterile smell of the Jujutsu High clinic was the first thing that greeted you.

Your head throbbed with a dull, rhythmic ache. As your eyes adjusted to the soft lighting, the first thing you noticed was a shock of white hair resting on the edge of your mattress. A man was sitting in a chair beside your bed, his face buried in his crossed arms on the sheets. He looked exhausted, his broad shoulders slumped in a way that seemed entirely unnatural for him.

As you shifted, the rustle of the sheets woke him instantly.

Satoru bolted upright. For a split second, a look of profound, radiant relief washed over his face. "You're awake," he breathed, a breathless, beautiful smile pulling at his lips. He reached out, his hand hovering over yours, desperately wanting to touch you but hesitating because of how things had left off. "Thank god. (Y/N), I—"

You blinked, pulling your hands slightly closer to your chest, your brow furrowing in confusion. You looked at his striking white hair, the sheer stature of him, and the blindfold resting loosely around his neck. He looked important. He looked dangerous.

But he didn't look familiar.

"I'm sorry," you croaked, your throat dry and raspy. "Who are you?"

The silence that filled the room in that moment was worse than the fight, worse than the anger, worse than the blood on the subway floor.

Satoru froze. The easy, relieved smile died on his face. The Six Eyes, capable of seeing the microscopic flow of cursed energy, could do nothing to process the sudden, terrifying blankness in your gaze. He scanned you, desperate to find a sign that you were joking, that this was payback for the fight. But your heart rate on the monitor was steady, your eyes wide with genuine, detached confusion.

"It's me," he whispered, his voice cracking, losing all of its usual bravado. He reached up, tearing the blindfold completely off so you could see his eyes. "(Y/N), look at me. It's Satoru."

You stared into those impossibly blue eyes, searching the empty corridors of your mind. There was a faint, distant echo—a feeling of warmth, a memory of laughter—but nothing attached to it. No name. No face.

"I... I don't know who that is," you said softly, a wave of panic washing over you as you realized your own name was the only thing you could grasp onto. "Where am I? What happened to me?"

Satoru sat frozen, his hand still suspended in the air between you. The realization hit him like a physical blow to the chest. Shoko had warned him that the cursed energy from the blow to your head might affect your memories, but he hadn't let himself believe it.

He looked at your guarded posture, the way you shrunk back from him—the man who had sworn to be your shield, the man who had just told you he was trying to keep you alive.

The last words you had ever spoken to him echoed in his mind: If loving me is such a burden... then stop. We're done.

Slowly, Satoru lowered his hand. He swallowed the suffocating lump in his throat and forced a small, heartbreakingly gentle smile onto his face. He put his blindfold back on, hiding the tears that were threatening to spill past his defenses. If he was a stranger to you now, he wouldn't burden you with his grief.

"You're at a hospital," Satoru said, his voice dropping into a calm, professional tone that tore at his own soul. "You're a sorcerer, and you got hurt on a mission. I'm Satoru Gojo... Your colleague. You're safe here."

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding, nodding slowly. "A colleague... Okay. Thank you, Gojo-san."

Hearing his family name drop from your lips with such polite, distant formality was the hardest hit Satoru Gojo had ever taken. He stood up, stepping back to give you the space you clearly wanted, his heart breaking in the quiet room.

"Rest up," he murmured, turning toward the door so you wouldn't see his shoulders shake. "I'll go get the doctor."

[janecam]

Futile Devices | Childhood best friend!Megumi Fushiguro x Reader

The air in the training hall was thick with the scent of floor wax and the lingering humidity of a Tokyo afternoon. Megumi approached you with his usual guarded gait, hands shoved deep into his pockets, his dark hair messy in that way that always seemed effortless.

He stopped a few feet away, the slight furrow in his brow deepening as he looked at you. To anyone else, he looked annoyed—perhaps even cold. But you? You saw the way his shoulders dropped just an inch when he reached you, a subtle sign of relaxation he only ever showed in your presence. “Megs! You came!”

"Stop calling me that," he muttered, though the bite in his words was gone, replaced by a weary sort of fondness he couldn't quite suppress.

"Aw, come on, Megs. You know you like it," you laughed softly, leaning back against the wall. "It’s been ten years. If you really hated it, you would’ve summoned Divine Dogs to chase me off by now."

He went quiet, his gaze shifting to the side. "It’s unprofessional. Especially with Gojo around. He doesn't need more ammunition to be annoying."

"Is that the only reason?" you teased, stepping closer.

Megumi didn't move away. Up close, you could see the faint exhaustion behind his eyes—the weight of being a sorcerer, of being a Fushiguro, of carrying the world on his shoulders. For a moment, Nobara’s words echoed in your head: He wants you as much as you want him.

Looking at him now, the "weird but calming" feeling flared up in your chest. It wasn't just a phase. It was the realization that while Megumi sucked at words, he was always there. He was the one who remembered your favorite tea after a rough mission; he was the one who positioned himself between you and danger without a second thought; he was the one whose silence felt like home.

"Y/n," he said, his voice dropping an octave, breaking your train of thought.

"Yeah?"

He looked at you then, really looked at you, with an intensity that made your breath hitch. "We should go. Nobara and Itadori are going to start a riot if we keep them waiting any longer." He paused, his hand moving tentatively as if he wanted to reach out, before he settled for a brief, fleeting touch to your elbow. "But... thanks. For waiting for me."

He turned to head toward the door, but he didn't speed up. He lingered, keeping his pace slow enough for you to fall in right beside him, his shoulder occasionally brushing yours—a silent invitation that spoke louder than anything he could have ever said.

The walk to the school entrance was quiet, but it wasn't the heavy, suffocating silence of a mission. It was the kind of quiet that felt like a shared secret. Every time your hands brushed against each other as you walked, a small spark of electricity seemed to jump between you, making your heart do a nervous little dance.

As the heavy doors of the Jujutsu High main building swung open, the afternoon sun hit you both, casting long shadows across the stone path.

"Finally! We thought you two had retired or something!" Yuji shouted, waving a frantic arm from the top of the stairs. He was practically vibrating with energy, likely fueled by the prospect of the dinner Nobara had promised.

Nobara stood beside him, her arms crossed, looking smug. She caught your eye and gave a subtle, knowing wink. She didn't say a word, but her expression said everything: See? I told you.

"We're only five minutes late, Itadori. Relax," Megumi sighed, though he didn't pull away as you stayed close to his side.

"Five minutes is an eternity when we’re headed to that new ramen spot," Yuji countered, already starting to jog toward the gate. "Come on, Fushiguro! If we're late, the line will be around the block!"

As the group started to move, the chaos of Yuji and Nobara bickering about toppings provided a perfect veil of noise. Megumi slowed his pace just a fraction, letting them get a few steps ahead.

"Y/n," he said softly, his voice barely audible over the wind.

You looked up at him, heart hammering. "Yeah, Megs?"

He didn't look at you this time; instead, he kept his eyes fixed on the path ahead, but his hand moved, his fingers briefly hooking around yours in a quick, firm squeeze before letting go. It was a gesture so fast anyone else would have missed it, but to you, it felt like a confession.

"Don't listen to them," he muttered, a faint trace of pink dusting his ears. "Take your time. I'm not going anywhere."

The confusion you felt back in the room started to melt away, replaced by a warm, solid certainty. Nobara was right. You only lived once—and if "making the best of it" meant walking through this dangerous, unpredictable world with Megumi Fushiguro by your side, then you were exactly where you needed to be.

The walk to the restaurant was a chaotic blur of Yuji sprinting ahead to check the line and Nobara loudly debating the merits of extra bamboo shoots. But for you, the world felt like it had narrowed down to the few inches of space between you and Megumi.

The ramen shop was tucked away in a narrow alley, glowing with warm lanterns that cut through the cooling twilight. As you all squeezed into a corner booth, Nobara practically shoved you into the seat next to Megumi, sliding in across from you with a triumphant smirk.

"I’m getting the extra spicy miso," Yuji declared, scanning the menu like it was a mission briefing. "Fushiguro, you’re getting the ginger one, right? You always do."

"Yeah," Megumi replied curtly, though his arm was pressed firmly against yours in the cramped space. He didn't pull away. In fact, as the steam from the open kitchen began to fill the room, he seemed to settle into the closeness.

The conversation flowed around you—Gojo’s latest antics, the upcoming training schedule, Yuji’s failed attempt at a viral dance—but you found yourself watching Megumi’s hands. They were scarred from combat, steady and strong. Suddenly, he reached for the shared water pitcher, his sleeve pulling back to reveal the thin line of a fading scar on his forearm.

Without thinking, you reached out and lightly traced the mark with your thumb.

Megumi froze. The table noise seemed to fade into a hum. He didn't look up, but you felt the tension spike in his frame before it bled out into something softer. He set the pitcher down carefully and, under the cover of the table, his hand found yours.

He didn't just squeeze it this time. He entwined his fingers with yours, hiding the gesture beneath the edge of the dark wood table. His palm was warm, his grip grounding.

"You're remarkably quiet today, Y/n," Nobara teased, her eyes darting between your face and the suspicious positioning of your arms. "Cat got your tongue? Or maybe a Dog?"

Yuji snickered, oblivious to the subtext. "Actually, the Divine Dogs are pretty quiet unless they're—"

"Eat your noodles, Itadori," Megumi interrupted, his voice stern but lacking any real bite. He didn't let go of your hand. If anything, he held on tighter, a silent confirmation that whatever was happening wasn't just in your head.

As the bowls arrived, steaming and fragrant, you realized the "confusing" feeling had finally found its shape. It wasn't a phase, and it wasn't just a childhood bond. It was the quiet, steady heat of someone who had chosen you a long time ago and was just waiting for you to notice.

Just as you were starting to melt into the comfort of Megumi’s hand holding yours, a familiar, tall shadow loomed over the booth. The sliding door of the restaurant hadn't even finished closing before a boisterous, sing-song voice cut through the steam and chatter.

"Now, now! What do we have here? A secret meeting of my favorite students without inviting their favorite teacher?"

Satoru Gojo stood there, leaning over the table with that trademark grin, his blindfold pushed up just slightly so one piercing blue eye could survey the scene. He didn't even wait for an invitation before pulling up a stool from a neighboring table and squeezing himself into the end of your booth.

"Gojo-sensei! You're late! We already started," Yuji chirped, mouth full of noodles.

"I’m never late, Yuuji-kun, I’m just fashionably delayed by the pursuit of the perfect strawberry daifuku," Gojo leaned in closer, his gaze dropping pointedly to the space beneath the table where you and Megumi were still desperately trying to look natural.

Megumi’s grip on your hand tightened for a split second before he tried to pull away, but you held on, a sudden spark of defiance hitting you.

"Something wrong, Megumi-channn? You look a little... flushed. Is the ramen too spicy? Or is it something else?" Gojo’s grin widened, practically glowing with mischief.

"It’s fine," Megumi snapped, his face turning a shade of red that rivaled Yuji's spicy broth. "Why are you even here?"

"To check on my precious students, of course!" Gojo leaned his chin on his hand, looking directly at you. "And to see if Y/n finally took my advice. You know, Y/n, in the world of Jujutsu, we never know if tomorrow will come. So, if you have something to say—or someone to hold onto—you really shouldn't waste time hiding it under a table."

The table went dead silent. Nobara choked on her tea, trying to hide a laugh, while Yuji looked back and forth between everyone, finally catching on.

"Wait... are you guys...?" Yuji’s eyes went wide.

Gojo laughed, clapping a hand on Megumi’s shoulder, nearly knocking him into his bowl. "They’re young, Satoru-chan! Let them have their mystery! Though, Megumi, your Cursed Energy is fluctuating like a middle-schooler's. Quite the giveaway."

Megumi looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole, but he didn't let go of your hand. Instead, he took a breath, looked Gojo dead in the eye, and said, "Go buy some sweets and leave us alone."

Gojo didn’t just sit there; he dominated the space, leaning back with his arms spread across the top of the booth’s headrest. He looked like he was settling in for a five-course meal and a feature-length film, his grin only widening as Megumi’s scowl deepened.

"You know, Megumi-chan," Gojo started, his voice dropping into that faux-serious tone that usually preceded something incredibly embarrassing, "I remember when you were seven. You used to follow Y/n around like a lost Divine Dog. And now look at you! All grown up and still—"

"Gojo-sensei, please," Megumi hissed, his face now a vivid shade of crimson. He finally pulled his hand away from yours, but only to bury his face in his palm, his shoulders shaking slightly with the effort of not summoning a shikigami right there in the middle of the restaurant.

"Still what, Sensei?" Nobara leaned in, her eyes gleaming with mischief. She was enjoying this far too much.

"Still acting like he doesn't have a heart of gold under all that brooding!" Gojo laughed, reaching over to ruffle Megumi’s hair, effectively ruining the spiky style. "But really, it's nice to see. The youth! The romance! The tension so thick you could cut it with a cursed tool!"

He then turned his attention to you, his one visible eye sparkling with a mix of genuine affection and relentless teasing. "And Y/n? You’ve got great taste. He’s prickly, sure, but he’s loyal. Just don’t let him get too moody on you."

"I'm sitting right here," Megumi muttered through his fingers.

"I know you are! That's what makes this fun!" Gojo chirped. He suddenly stood up, tossing a handful of yen onto the table—more than enough to cover the entire bill and then some. "Anyway, I've got a date with a limited-edition melon bun across town. Enjoy your dinner, kids! And try to keep the hand-holding above the table next time; it's better for your posture!"

With a two-finger salute and a wink, he vanished toward the door as quickly as he had appeared, leaving a stunned silence in his wake.

Yuji blinked, looking at the pile of money. "Did he just... pay for us?"

"He paid for our silence," Megumi groaned, finally dropping his hand from his face. He looked exhausted, but as he glanced at you, the embarrassment in his eyes softened into something else—something private and warm.

He didn't put his hand back under the table. Instead, he reached out and rested his hand plainly on top of yours, right there in front of Yuji and Nobara.

"Ignore him," Megumi said, his voice steadying. "He’s an idiot."

"An idiot who just bought us free ramen," Nobara pointed out, already waving the waiter down for more side dishes. "So, Y/n... since the 'strongest' just outed you both, care to share the details?"

The table fell into a strange, charged silence after Gojo’s departure. Yuji was busy slurping his noodles, trying to pretend he wasn't eavesdropping, while Nobara leaned back, spinning a chopstick between her fingers with a look of pure satisfaction.

Megumi didn’t look at them. He didn’t even look at his ramen. His focus was entirely on your hand, his thumb tracing small, rhythmic circles over your knuckles. It was the most public display of affection he had ever shown, and you could feel the heat radiating off him.

"You don't have to answer her," Megumi said quietly, his voice cutting through the restaurant’s hum. "Nobara just likes to hear herself talk."

"Hey! I’m an investigator of the heart, Fushiguro! There’s a difference," Nobara retorted, though her tone was softer now, less teasing and more genuinely curious.

You looked at Megumi—really looked at him. The boy who had been your shadow since you were seven, the teenager who had survived finger-bearers and special grades, and the man who was currently holding your hand like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. The confusion that had plagued you all afternoon finally evaporated.

"It's okay, Megumi," you said, your voice gaining a bit of strength. You looked over at Nobara and Yuji. "Gojo-sensei is a nuisance, but he wasn't wrong. I think... I think we're figured out."

Megumi finally looked up, his dark lashes fluttering as he met your eyes. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—the kind of smile he only saved for you.

"Took you long enough," he murmured, his voice laced with a rare, dry wit.

"Me? You’re the one who’s been brooding for a decade!" you laughed, nudging his shoulder with yours.

The tension at the table broke instantly. Yuji cheered, nearly choking on a piece of pork, and Nobara let out a triumphant "I knew it!" that turned several heads in the restaurant. For the rest of the meal, the conversation returned to its usual chaotic energy, but something had fundamentally shifted.

As you all eventually stood up to leave, Megumi didn't let go. He kept your hand firmly in his as you walked out into the cool night air, the neon lights of Tokyo reflecting in his dark eyes.

"Y/n," he said as the others ran ahead toward the train station. "About what Gojo said... about not wasting time." He stopped, pulling you gently toward the side of the path, away from the crowd. "He’s right. I don't want to waste any more of it."

The crowd of the city began to thin as you both took the long way back, eventually scaling the stairs to the rooftop of one of the school’s taller buildings. The air up here was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and the distant hum of Tokyo’s expressway.

Megumi walked to the edge, leaning his forearms against the cold metal railing. He looked out at the horizon, the moonlight catching the sharp lines of his profile. He stayed silent for a long time—not the awkward silence of before, but a heavy, contemplative one.

"You know," he started, his voice low and raspy, "Gojo wasn't just being annoying. He’s seen a lot of people... lose their chance. In this life, things disappear fast."

He turned his head to look at you, his green eyes dark and intense.

"I've spent years telling myself that having someone to lose was a weakness. That if I kept you at a distance, I was protecting you. Or maybe I was just protecting myself." He let out a short, self-deprecating huff of a laugh. "But seeing you today... knowing Nobara and the others already saw right through me... I realized how much time I've wasted being afraid."

You stepped up beside him, the wind whipping your hair across your face. "You don't have to be afraid with me, Megs. You never did."

"I know that now," he murmured. He reached out, his hand hovering near your face before he finally gained the courage to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered there, warm against your skin. "I don't just want you around because we grew up together. I want you because... because there isn't a version of my future that makes sense without you in it."

The raw honesty in his voice made your heart ache in the best way possible. He wasn't a man of grand romantic gestures or poetic speeches, but this—this quiet, steady confession under the stars—was perfectly him.

"So," he said, his thumb grazing your cheekbone, "no more hiding. No more 'weird but calming' phases. Just us."

He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours, closing the final bit of distance that had been between you for a decade. "Is that okay with you?"

The night air was cool, but the space between you was electric. Megumi’s hand remained steady against your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw as if he were memorizing the moment. He had spent so many years guarded, building literal and metaphorical shadows around himself, but in this moment, he was entirely open.

"It’s more than okay," you whispered, your voice barely a breath in the wind.

He didn't wait for another word. Megumi leaned in, closing the final inch of distance. When his lips finally met yours, it wasn't the tentative, hesitant thing you might have expected from someone so reserved. It was firm, certain, and grounded—a silent promise kept for ten years.

It felt like the clicking of a lock, the resolution of a chord that had been vibrating in the air since you were seven years old. The "weird but calming" feeling finally made sense; it was the feeling of coming home.

His other hand found your waist, pulling you slightly closer as the kiss deepened, tasting faintly of the night air and the lingering warmth of the tea from dinner. For a few seconds, the curses, the missions, and the weight of the Zen’in lineage didn't exist. There was only the steady beat of his heart against yours and the quiet rustle of the wind over the rooftop.

When he finally pulled back, he didn't go far. He kept his forehead pressed against yours, his eyes closed as he took a shaky breath.

"I should have done that a long time ago," he admitted, a small, genuine huff of a laugh escaping him.

"Better late than never, Megs," you teased softly, leaning your weight into him.

He pulled you into a proper hug then, burying his face in the crook of your neck. It was a rare moment of total vulnerability, one he would likely never show anyone else. Out here, under the vast Tokyo sky, you weren't just two sorcerers waiting for the next fight. You were just two people who had finally stopped running from the one thing that made the world make sense.

[janecam]

Stranger in you | Satoru Gojo x Reader

The hum of the air conditioner in the faculty lounge was the only sound bridging the gap between you and Satoru. Usually, this silence was comfortable—a shared sanctuary between missions. But lately, the silence had grown teeth.

Satoru was slumped in the oversized leather chair, his blindfold discarded on the table. His eyes, those terrifyingly beautiful Six Eyes, were closed, but the tension in his jaw told you he wasn't sleeping. He was processing. Information, cursed energy, the political machinations of the higher-ups—it was all pouring into him at a rate no human should endure.

"Satoru," you said softly, pushing a plate of mochi toward him. "You haven't eaten since yesterday. Take a break. Just ten minutes."

He didn't open his eyes. "I don't have ten minutes, (Y/N). There’s a Grade 0 manifestation in Kyoto and the Tokyo barrier is fluctuating. If I’m not 'on,' people die. It’s a simple equation. Even you should be able to grasp that."

The condescension stung. It was a new addition to his repertoire. "I do grasp it. That’s why I’ve been handling your paperwork and screening your calls. I'm trying to lighten the load."

"Then do it quietly," he snapped, finally opening his eyes. They weren't glowing with their usual playfulness; they were cold, like glacial ice. "Your hovering is just another thing I have to keep track of. It’s white noise. It’s annoying."

You swallowed hard, your fingers curling into your palms. He’s just tired, you whispered to yourself. He’s protecting the kids. He’s protecting me. He doesn't mean it.

The following week was a blur of rain and blood. Satoru was being pushed to his absolute limit. He was coming back covered in grime that his Infinity usually filtered out—a sign that his focus was wavering.

Every time you tried to help, he pushed back harder. He began criticizing your technique during training sessions in front of the students.

"If you move that slowly in a real fight, (Y/N), you’re just a liability," he said, loud enough for Megumi and Itadori to exchange worried glances. "I can't always be there to bail you out. Maybe you should spend less time worrying about my schedule and more time wondering why your output is so mediocre."

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks. You weren't a Special Grade like him—no one was—but you were a capable sorcerer. To be dismantled like that in front of the kids he was supposed to be mentoring felt like a betrayal of the partnership you’d built over years.

Still, you stayed. You stayed because you remembered the man who used to buy you flowers just because it was Tuesday. You stayed because you knew the burden of being the world's strongest was a lonely, dark road. You thought you were his anchor. You didn't realize he was starting to see you as a chain.

The breaking point arrived on a Tuesday. A mission had gone sideways—not because of Satoru, but because the higher-ups had sent a 2nd-grade team into a trap. Satoru had arrived in time to save them, but the casualties were high among the auxiliary staff.

When he returned to the school, he was vibrating with a frantic, jagged energy. You met him in the courtyard, hoping to calm him before he went to confront Director Yaga.

"Satoru, wait," you called out, reaching for his arm.

He spun around, and the sheer force of his cursed energy nearly knocked you off your feet. His blindfold was tilted, revealing one eye that looked manic, flooded with the sheer volume of the world’s sensory input.

"What now?" he roared. "Another lecture on self-care? Another 'Satoru, you're doing too much' speech?"

"No," you said, your own temper finally flaring. "A 'Satoru, stop being a jerk to the people who love you' speech. We are all hurting today. You don't get a monopoly on grief just because you're the strongest."

He laughed, a sharp, ugly sound that didn't reach his eyes. "Grief? You think you know what I feel? You sit in your little office, safe behind the barriers I maintain, living a life I provide for you. You’re a parasite, (Y/N). You’ve always been one."

"That’s not fair," you whispered, the air leaving your lungs.

"Isn't it?" He stepped closer, the Infinity pushing against the very air between you. "I remember what you told me about that night. The night your family died. You told me you stayed in that crawlspace because you were 'waiting for help.' But we both know the truth. You stayed there because you’re a coward. You let them die because you were too scared to breathe. And now you’re doing the same thing with me—hiding in my shadow because you’re too weak to stand in the light."

The world went silent. The memory of your family's screams, which you had shared with him in the sanctity of his bedroom on a night when you thought you were safe, was now being used as a weapon to gut you.

"How dare you," you breathed, tears finally pricking your eyes. "I trusted you with that."

"Trust is for people who can afford it," Satoru said, his voice dropping to a deadly, calm register. "I can't afford a weak link like you anymore."

You didn't think. You swung.

Your fist collided with the Infinity, a dull thud echoing in the courtyard. You knew you couldn't hit him, but the gesture was enough. "I am not a coward! I survived! I built a life out of nothing while you were born with everything handed to you on a silver platter! You think you’re a god? You’re just a lonely, bitter man who’s terrified that if he isn't 'The Strongest,' he's nothing at all!"

Satoru’s face went blank. It was the look he gave Curses before he exorcised them.

He raised his hand. His index finger and thumb crossed.

"Phase. Parametres. 9 Gates."

The air began to scream. A sphere of pure, terrifying light began to form—a mix of Red and Blue that shouldn't exist in a peaceful school courtyard. The sheer pressure of the Hollow Purple began to crack the pavement beneath your feet.

"Satoru, stop!" you yelled over the roaring wind.

But he didn't stop. He was lost in the technique, lost in the rage of a man who had forgotten how to be human. He looked at you, and for a split second, he didn't see his partner. He saw an obstacle.

The purple glow intensified, a miniature sun of destruction aimed directly at your chest. You stood your ground, refusing to hide, refusing to be the coward he accused you of being. You stared into the void of his power, your heart breaking faster than the world around you.

Then, the light flickered.

Satoru’s eyes widened. He saw your hair blowing in the localized gale, saw the absolute betrayal in your expression, and most importantly, he saw that you weren't flinching. You were prepared to let him kill you.

The energy vanished with a violent pop, the vacuum drawing in dust and debris. Satoru gasped, stumbling forward, his hands trembling violently.

"(Y/N)..." he choked out. The "Strongest" looked small. "I... the technique... it just..."

He reached for you, his hand shaking. The Infinity was gone. He was completely vulnerable.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I didn't... I would never... I’m just so tired, (Y/N). Please. I didn't mean any of it. My head is... it's so loud..."

You looked at his hand, then up at his face. The man you loved was back, but the monster he had become was still standing right there between you.

"You almost killed me, Satoru," you said, your voice dead and flat. "Not because of a Curse. Not because of a mission. Because I told you the truth."

"I know. I'll make it up to you. We can go away, we can—"

"No," you said, stepping back as he stepped forward. "You said I was a parasite. You said I was a coward. You used my dead family to hurt me." You wiped a stray tear from your cheek, your expression hardening into something he didn't recognize. "I’m leaving, Satoru. And this time, I’m not waiting for help. I’m helping myself."

"Wait! (Y/N)!"

He tried to follow, but his own legs gave out from the sheer emotional and physical exhaustion. He fell to his knees in the dirt of the courtyard he had just tried to destroy. You didn't look back. You walked out of the gates of Jujutsu High, leaving the world's strongest man alone in the silence he had created.

[janecam]

The One That Got Away | Satoru Gojo x Reader

He hated waking up—hated the slow, merciless return to consciousness that reminded him, before he even opened his eyes, that you were no longer there.

It felt cruel. Unfair. Like a punishment that renewed itself with the sunrise.

Every morning, without thinking, his hand drifted across the right side of his king-sized bed. He would search for warmth, for the familiar curve of your waist, for the sleepy protest you always made when he disturbed you. Instead, his palm met nothing but cold sheets and hollow space. The emptiness felt endless. He would lie there staring at the ceiling, listening to the silence stretch across the room, remembering how you used to tug him back down.

“Five more minutes,” you’d murmur, voice thick with sleep, pulling him into you like the world could wait.

Now the world didn’t wait. It simply moved on without you.

He hated walking into the bathroom without seeing your toothbrush beside his. Hated opening the closet and noticing the absence of your clothes tangled with his. He hated stepping into the kitchen and not finding you there, humming off-key while making his favorite waffles—extra strawberries, too much whipped cream, always pretending you weren’t trying to spoil him.

He missed the small arguments. The way you’d glare at him for stealing pieces of fruit before breakfast was finished. The way you’d stare at him while he got dressed, thinking he didn’t notice.

He noticed everything.

And now he had nothing to notice at all.

He hated checking his phone and finding no messages waiting. No “Be safe.” No “Hurry home.” No teasing promises about what would happen when he walked through the door.

He missed everything.

He missed you in ways that felt unbearable.

And the worst part—the part that clawed at him when he tried to sleep—was knowing he had dismantled it himself.

Regret settled inside his chest like something corrosive. It didn’t explode. It eroded. Slowly. Quietly. Every time he saw you again during missions, the damage felt fresh.

You stood beside him like always, composed and powerful, your presence commanding. But the warmth that once belonged to him was gone.

“We’re working, Gojo. Stop trying to change the subject.”

Your voice was level. Professional. Detached.

It terrified him more than any curse ever could.

“Y/N?” he asked one evening, his voice uncharacteristically uncertain as the two of you stood overlooking the city after a long mission.

You raised your eyebrow slightly, giving him a look that was neither cruel nor kind—just tired.

“Talk to me,” he said, softer now.

You sighed and brought the cigarette back to your lips. The glow illuminated your face briefly before fading again. He hated seeing you smoke, but he hated more that you didn’t care whether he hated it.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Gojo,” you replied, your gaze fixed on the city lights below.

“But there is—”

“No.” You flicked the cigarette away, crushing it beneath your heel with more force than necessary. “I gave you so many chances, Satoru. So many. And you ruined every single one.”

Your words landed with precision. No yelling. No chaos. Just truth.

He swallowed, his usual composure fracturing.

You forced yourself to look at him, and the sight nearly undid you. His eyes—those bright, impossible eyes—weren’t playful anymore. They were desperate.

You missed them. You missed him.

But you also remembered the nights you cried while he brushed things off like they were minor. The way he assumed you would forgive him because you always had.

“I’d rather just go home now,” you said quietly, turning away before he could see how much it cost you to speak.

He stepped closer.

“Come home,” he whispered. “To me.”

There was no arrogance in his voice. No teasing confidence. Just something fragile.

“Please,” he added, the word sounding foreign on his tongue. “Give me one chance to fix what I destroyed. I know I messed up. I know I was careless. I thought you’d never leave.”

“That was your mistake,” you said, your voice trembling despite your effort to steady it. “You thought I’d stay no matter how much it hurt.”

He ran a hand through his hair, visibly shaken. “I didn’t realize how much I was hurting you.”

“That’s the problem,” you replied. “You didn’t realize. You didn’t look.”

Tears burned behind your eyes, and you hated yourself for being vulnerable in front of him again.

“I loved you so much that I kept shrinking to make room for your ego,” you confessed. “I kept forgiving things that chipped away at me. And when I finally stopped, you acted surprised.”

He looked stricken.

“I was selfish,” he admitted. “I was so used to winning, to being untouchable, that I didn’t think I could lose you.”

“Well, you did.”

The wind moved between you, heavy and cold.

“I wake up every day reaching for you,” he said, his voice cracking despite his effort to stay composed. “And every day I remember that I built this emptiness myself. Do you think I don’t feel it? Do you think I don’t replay every conversation and wish I had done better?”

You hesitated.

Because you knew he wasn’t lying.

“I still love you,” you whispered.

His breath caught.

“But loving you destroyed me,” you continued, tears finally slipping down your cheeks. “I can’t go back to being that version of myself.”

He stepped forward but stopped just short of touching you.

“Then don’t,” he said softly. “Be stronger. Be colder if you have to. Just… don’t erase me completely.”

The vulnerability in his voice was suffocating.

“I don’t want to wake up alone for the rest of my life,” he confessed. “I don’t want to keep pretending I’m fine when I’m not. I need you. Not because I’m weak. But because you’re the only person who ever saw me without all of this”—he gestured vaguely to himself—“and stayed.”

“I still love you,” you admitted softly.

Hope flickered across his face.

“ But I can’t come back,” you continued, and the words felt like tearing something open. “Not because I don’t care. But because I care too much. Being with you hurt me in ways I’m still trying to understand.”

He stared at you as if the ground beneath him had disappeared.

“I’ll change,” he insisted. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“You should,” you said gently. “But not for me.”

Silence fell between you, heavy and final.

“You need to change because you want to be better,” you went on. “Not because you’re afraid of losing me. I can’t be your lesson, Satoru. I can’t keep breaking so you can learn.”

His eyes glistened, and for the first time, he didn’t try to hide it.

“So that’s it?” he asked, voice barely audible.

You swallowed hard.

“I hope you become someone who never makes the same mistake again,” you said. “I hope one day you wake up and don’t feel that emptiness anymore.”

He reached for your hand, but you stepped back.

The distance between you felt infinite now.

“I’ll always care about you,” you whispered. “But I can’t love you at the cost of myself.”

His hand fell slowly to his side.

You gave him one last look—memorizing him the way he had memorized you every morning in that empty bed.

Then you turned.

He didn’t call your name this time.

He just stood there, watching as you walked away, the city swallowing your figure inch by inch until you were gone.

The next morning, when he reached across the bed, his hand met the same cold emptiness.

Only this time, he understood that it wasn’t cruelty.

It was consequence.

[janecam]

One Way Or Another | Dabi x Reader

The neon pulse of Tokyo usually felt like a safety blanket—a million lights, a million people, a million ways to disappear. But for you, the city had begun to shrink. It started as a prickle on the back of your neck while waiting for the train, a fleeting shadow in the reflection of a shop window that vanished the moment you turned.

You were a creature of habit. You grabbed your coffee from the same shop at 8:15 AM. You sat in the third car of the train. You walked through the park during your lunch break. And for months, he was there.

At first, he was just a stranger in the crowd. You’d see him near your apartment, leaning against a lamp post. You assumed he lived in your building. Then you saw him at your favorite bookstore. Then at a quiet park where you went to hide from the world. You told yourself it was Tokyo—a city of coincidences.

But then came the trip to the coast.

You had driven three hours to escape the suffocating feeling that the city was watching you. You walked into a tiny grocery store that smelled of salt and floor wax. You reached for a drink, and there he was. Standing at the end of the aisle, his hands buried in the pockets of a dark coat, his messy black hair obscuring those piercing, icy blue eyes.

There were no crowds here. It was just you and him.

The realization hit you like a physical blow. Your breath hitched, and you bolted. You didn’t look back until you were locked in your rental cottage, the bolt slid home, the curtains drawn tight.

The cottage felt like a cage. Every groan of the wood made you flinch. You sat on the edge of the bed, your eyes fixed on the door. Then, a floorboard in the hallway groaned—a deliberate weight.

"You always did have a habit of running when things got interesting, (Y/N)."

The voice was rough and low. You spun around. He was sitting in the armchair by the window, half-draped in shadow. The moonlight caught the silver staples that held his skin together.

"Dabi," you whispered.

"Is that all I am to you? A news headline?" He stood up. "Two years, (Y/N). Two years of me following your every move. I’ve watched you grow up. I’ve stood outside your window while you slept, making sure the rest of the world stayed away."

"Why?" your voice trembled. "I don't even know you."

He let out a short, jagged laugh. He moved toward you, his movements fluid. You backed away until your heels hit the bedframe.

"You don't know me because you chose to forget," he hissed. He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look up into those blue eyes. "Think back. Beyond Tokyo. Think about the boy who used to find you hiding in the tall grass behind the school. The boy who promised he’d never let the world hurt you."

A memory fractured in your mind—a flash of a bright smile and a hand holding yours. A boy named Touya.

"Touya?" you breathed.

His expression softened for a fraction of a second. "Touya is dead. I burned him myself. But Dabi? Dabi remembers everything. You were the only thing in that life that didn't feel like a mistake."

He leaned down, his forehead resting against yours. "When I crawled out of that fire, you were the first thing I thought of. I spent years finding you. And when I did, I realized I couldn't just walk up and say hello. Look at me, (Y/N). I’m a monster."

His hand moved to your throat, his thumb tracing the line of your pulse. "So I watched. I learned your life. I protected you from the shadows."

The horror of his words settled into your bones. Every "coincidence" over the last two years—it was all him. He had curated your reality from the darkness.

"You're insane," you whispered.

"I’m devoted," he corrected. "I’ve adored you from the sidewalk for long enough. I saw the way you looked at me in that store today. You finally saw me. No more hiding."

He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you like a vice.

"The world is going to change soon, (Y/N)," he murmured into your hair. "And when it does, I’m the only one who’s going to keep you safe. You don't have to worry about Tokyo anymore. I’ve got you now. And I am never letting you go again."

You looked up at him, trapped between terror and the haunting recognition of the boy he used to be. Dabi didn't care about your fear; to him, it was just another way to ensure you’d never forget him again. The two years of watching were over.

The heavy smell of ozone and woodsmoke was still clinging to your skin as you watched Dabi’s silhouette flicker against the moonlight. He looked at you not as a person, but as a prize finally claimed, his thumb tracing the line of your throat with a terrifying, possessive tenderness.

"Stay here," he murmured, his voice a low, crackling rasp. "I have to clear the perimeter. Don’t make me regret leaving you for five minutes, (Y/N)."

The moment the door clicked shut, the trance broke. The "adoration" he spoke of felt like a noose tightening. You didn't remember Touya; you only knew the man with the cobalt flames and the silver staples who had spent two years haunting your footsteps.

You weren't staying.

You scrambled for your shoes, your hands shaking so violently you could barely tie the laces. You didn't grab your bag—too heavy. You grabbed your keys and bolted through the back kitchen door, the salt-heavy air of the coast hitting your face like a slap.

As you hit the gravel road, your heart was a frantic drum against your ribs. Somewhere in the distance, from a neighboring house or perhaps just a phantom in your mind, the jagged, driving beat of One Way or Another seemed to pulse through the night air.

One way, or another, I'm gonna find ya...

You reached your rental car, fumbling with the lock. Your breath came in jagged sobs. He’s been watching for two years,your mind screamed. He knows where you go. He knows how you drive.

The engine roared to life. You threw the car into reverse, tires screeching against the gravel as you peeled out of the driveway. You didn't look at the rearview mirror; you were terrified of seeing a flash of blue light.

I'm gonna get ya, get ya, get ya, get ya...

The coastal road was a dark ribbon between the forest and the sea. You pushed the pedal to the floor, the speedometer climbing. 80. 90. 100. The wind lashed against the windows, a frantic, rhythmic whistling that matched the song's relentless tempo. You felt like a rabbit in a snare, the entire world shrinking down to the reach of your headlights.

Then, you saw it.

In the middle of the road, a hundred yards ahead, a flicker of blue.

A single, brilliant flame erupted in the center of the asphalt, blooming like a lethal flower. You slammed on the brakes, the car fishtailing, tires screaming as you spun 180 degrees. The smell of burning rubber filled the cabin.

Through the windshield, standing in the center of the road, was Dabi.

He wasn't running. He was just walking, a slow, predatory saunter through the heat haze of his own fire. The blue light reflected in his eyes, making him look like something forged in the heart of a star. He looked disappointed. He looked amused.

"I told you, (Y/N)," he shouted over the roar of the wind and the crackle of the flames, his voice carrying with an eerie clarity. "I've had two years to learn your every move. Did you really think you could drive faster than I can burn?"

You tried to shift back into drive, to ram through, but the engine sputtered and died. The heat outside was becoming unbearable, the air shimmering as he approached the driver’s side window.

He leaned down, tapping a scarred knuckle against the glass. He wasn't even out of breath. He looked at you with that same, terrifying adoration, his face illuminated by the sapphire fire behind him.

"One way or another," he whispered, his voice vibrating through the glass, "you're coming home with me."

He didn't break the window. He didn't have to. He just waited for you to realize that out on this dark, coastal road, there was nowhere left to run that he hadn't already reached.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

posting drafts!! hope you like them :p

[janecam]

Valetine's Kiss | Megumi Fushiguro x Reader

The common room eventually cleared out as Gojo dragged Itadori and Nobara off for some "special Valentine’s training" (which everyone knew was just an excuse to go get limited-edition sweets). Finally, the chaos settled into a comfortable, quiet hum.

Megumi was still standing by the window, the red camellia you’d received from Nue tucked safely in your hand. He looked like he was trying to blend into the curtains, his gaze fixed intensely on the training grounds outside.

"You know," you said, stepping into his space, "for someone who has been my boyfriend for six months, you’re still remarkably bad at handling a thank you."

Megumi finally turned to look at you. The sunset was hitting the side of his face, softening the sharp lines of his jaw. "I'm not bad at it. I just... I didn't think the flower was a big deal."

"It’s a huge deal. It’s the first time you’ve used your shadows for something purely romantic. Usually, they're just for biting Grade 1 curses."

He let out a small, huffed breath that was almost a laugh. "I figured if I gave it to you myself, I’d mess up the timing. Nue has better aim."

"Well," you whispered, reaching up to rest your hands on his chest, feeling the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart beneath the dark fabric of his uniform. "His aim was perfect. But I think I’d prefer the 'thank you' from the source this time."

Megumi’s expression shifted, the lingering awkwardness melting into something much deeper. He didn't pull away. Instead, his hands came up to settle tentatively on your waist, pulling you just a few inches closer until the scent of sea-salt chocolate and rainwater enveloped you both.

"I’m still not good at this," he murmured, his voice dropping to that low, raspy register that always made your breath hitch. "The grand gestures. The Valentine’s stuff. It all feels... loud."

"Then don't be loud," you replied, tilting your head up. "Be quiet. I like you better that way."

He leaned down, hesitating for only a fraction of a second before his lips met yours.

It wasn't a cinematic, frantic kiss. It was classic Megumi—grounded, steady, and full of a quiet intensity that said more than a thousand words ever could. It tasted like the cold winter air and the lingering sweetness of the dark chocolate he’d tried earlier. He kissed you like you were the only fixed point in his turbulent world, his grip on your waist tightening just slightly as he pulled you flush against him.

When he finally pulled back, he didn't move away. He kept his forehead pressed against yours, his eyes closed as he took a shaky breath.

"Happy Valentine's Day," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Megs"

From the hallway, you heard the faint sound of Gojo’s voice echoing as they returned, likely about to burst in and ruin the moment. Megumi stiffened, his usual stoic mask sliding back into place, but he didn't let go of your hand.

"Let's go," he said, already pulling you toward the back exit. "If Gojo sees us, I’ll never hear the end of it."

"Running away from your sensei?" you teased, following him into the cool evening air.

"Evacuating," he corrected, a tiny, genuine smile finally tugging at the corners of his mouth. "There’s a difference."

[janecam]

Purple Rain | Megumi Fushiguro x Reader

The shift in Megumi hadn't been overnight; it was a slow, agonizing erosion of the person you loved. It started with the missed dates, which you excused as the heavy burden of being a sorcerer, but it morphed into a blatant disregard for your existence.

You remember the night you passed your own exams—a milestone you had worked toward for a year—and Megumi didn't even look up from his map when you told him. "That’s nice," he’d muttered, his tone flat and bored, as if your joy was a chore he had to endure. Later that week, when you were sick with a fever that left you shivering, he didn't offer water or comfort. Instead, he complained about the sound of your coughing, eventually moving to sleep in the common room because your illness was "disrupting his focus." He made you feel like a burden for having basic human needs, shrinking your world until you were walking on eggshells just to avoid his scowl.

By the time you decided to leave, your spirit was a patchwork of small resentments. You recalled the way he would speak over you in front of Maki and Nobara, dismissing your opinions with a sharp, "You don't understand how this works," even when you were right. He had stopped calling you by your name, opting for a cold "Hey" or simply barking orders. The final straw had been a mission where you had nearly been hurt; instead of checking for injuries, he had spent the entire ride home berating your incompetence, his words slicing through your dignity until you felt smaller than the shadows he commanded. You weren't a partner to him anymore; you were a ghost he was trying to exorcise from his life.

The night you left, the sky finally broke, unleashing a torrential downpour that mirrored the chaos in your chest. You were halfway down the long, winding path from the estate, your single suitcase soaked through, when you heard the heavy thud of boots splashing behind you.

"Where do you think you're going?" Megumi shouted over the roar of the rain. He looked furious, his hair plastered to his forehead, his eyes dark with a misplaced sense of betrayal.

You spun around, the water stinging your eyes. "I'm leaving, Megumi, I'm done."

"You're being dramatic" he said, stepping into your space, his tall frame looming over you. "It’s raining, you’re tired, just go back inside and stop making a scene. We’ll talk when you’ve calmed down."

"Calmed down?" You let out a jagged, hysterical laugh that was swallowed by a crack of thunder. "I've been calm for months! I was calm when you ignored me for weeks! I was calm when you told me I was in your way! I stayed! I waited for you to come back to me, and you just kept pushing!" You stepped closer, poking a finger into his chest, your voice raw. "I gave you everything! Every piece of my heart, every bit of my patience! I fought for us every single day while you treated me like a nuisance you couldn't wait to get rid of!"

Megumi flinched, his bravado wavering for a split second as the rain poured between you. "I had things to do! I have responsibilities you couldn't possibly understand—"

"I understood more than anyone!" you screamed, tears finally mingling with the rainwater on your cheeks. "But it wasn't enough for you! It was never enough! You didn't want a partner, Megumi, you wanted a shadow—something that followed you around but never made a sound. Well, guess what? Shadows disappear when it gets dark. And it’s been dark for a long time."

For a moment, the air between you was electric, a mirror of the famous desperation of lovers who had lost their way, but the resolution wasn't a kiss—it was a severance. Megumi reached out, his hand hovering near your arm as if he finally realized the gravity of the cliff you were standing on. "Y/N, wait—"

"No," you said, your voice suddenly dropping to a whisper that carried more weight than the storm. "You told me you didn't need me. You told me I was in the way. I’m finally listening to you." You turned your back on him, walking into the gray veil of the storm. Behind you, Megumi stood frozen in the middle of the road, the rain drenching him to the bone, watching the only light in his life fade into the distance. He didn't chase you. He didn't know how to ask for help, and by the time the regret settled into his marrow, the road was empty.

Six months had passed since the night the rain washed you out of Megumi’s life. In the world of Jujutsu, time is measured in scars and body counts, but for Megumi, it was measured in a staggering, rhythmic emptiness. He had become more efficient, deadlier, and quieter. His peers noticed the change; the sharp edge of his tongue had dulled into a flat, robotic indifference. He did his job, he came home to his silent apartment, and he stared at the space where your shoes used to sit. He had convinced himself he was "focused," until a joint mission with a secondary sorcerer unit forced him to face the ghost he had created.

The mission was a standard Grade 1 clearing in an abandoned shopping mall, but the air shifted the moment you arrived with the support team. You weren't wearing the same soft sweaters he remembered; you were in tactical gear, your hair pulled back tight, a sharpened resolve in your posture that looked entirely foreign on you. When your eyes met his across the briefing table, there was no flicker of pain, no hidden longing, and no spark of the old warmth. You looked at him the way one looks at a piece of furniture—functional, necessary for the room, but ultimately unremarkable.

Throughout the mission, Megumi found himself distracted, his eyes constantly tracking your movements. He watched you coordinate the evacuation with a sharp, commanding confidence he hadn't realized you possessed. When a rogue curse burst through a storefront, heading straight for the support line, Megumi’s heart lurched. He instinctively began to summon Divine Dog to protect you, his throat tight with a name he hadn't spoken in months. But before the shadows could even coalesce, you had already moved. With a fluid, practiced motion, you exorcised the curse yourself, barely breaking your stride as you signaled for the team to move forward. You didn't need his protection. You never really had; you had just wanted his partnership.

After the "Veil" went down, the team began to disperse. Megumi caught you by the transport vehicles, the orange glow of the setting sun casting long, jagged shadows across the asphalt. "Y/N," he called out, his voice cracking slightly, betraying the stoic mask he had worn all day. You stopped and turned, your expression polite but distant.

"Fushiguro," you replied, using his last name—a formal barrier that felt like a wall of ice. "Good work today. Your domain expansion has improved."

The compliment felt like a serrated blade. He didn't want professional recognition; he wanted the girl who used to steal his hoodies. "Can we talk?" he asked, stepping closer, his hands trembling hidden in his pockets. "I’ve... I’ve been thinking a lot about that night. About everything I said. I was drowning, and I took it out on you. I know I was a monster to you, but I’ve changed. I’m learning how to—"

"Megumi," you interrupted softly, and for the first time, a flash of the old pity crossed your face, though it was quickly replaced by a weary finality. "I’m glad you’re doing better. Truly. But that person you’re talking to? The one who would have waited all night for you to apologize? She doesn't exist anymore. You killed her off, one 'shut up' and one 'get out of my way' at a time." You adjusted the strap of your bag, looking past him toward the horizon. "I spent so long trying to be your light that I forgot I deserved to see the sun, too. I’ve found that sun now, and it doesn't involve waiting for you to decide I'm worth your time."

He stood there, the King of Shadows, feeling small and powerless as you climbed into the car. He watched the taillights fade into the distance, realizing that the most painful part of his regret wasn't that you hated him. It was that you had finally moved on to a world where he was no longer the center—or even a part of the map. He had pushed you until you fell off the edge of his world, and he was only now realizing that he was the one left behind in the dark.

[janecam]

Let down | Dabi (Touya Todoroki) x Reader

Oneshot | Angst | Mentions of Death |

The war had turned the city into a skeleton of its former self. Dust choked the air, and the sky was a permanent, bruised shade of charcoal. For Dabi, this was the masterpiece he had always promised to paint. But as he stood atop a jagged spire of rebar and concrete, his eyes weren’t on the burning skyline. They were searching the chaos below for a specific flash of color—the color of your hero uniform.

His mind, usually a hive of jagged spite and cold calculation, drifted back to the months before the world broke.

He remembered the "serious" relationship he had built with you. He remembered the quiet nights in that cramped apartment, the way you would come home with bruised knuckles and a tired smile, leaning into him as if he were your anchor. He had played the part perfectly. He had listened to your stories about the Commission’s weaknesses, the psychological toll of the Top 10 rankings, and the secret patrol routes of the heavy hitters.

You thought you were helping a broken man find his way back to humanity. In reality, he was just mapping out the flaws in the armor of the society he intended to kill.

The day he left had been the coldest day of his life. He had waited until he had every file, every password, and every scrap of your trust. He hadn't even left a note. He just walked out the door, leaving the scent of woodsmoke in the sheets and a hole in your life that no hero’s resolve could fill.

When the war started, he used everything you gave him. He targeted the heroes you loved. He exploited the gaps you had whispered about in the dark. He had won.

Now, the battlefield was a graveyard. Dabi was engaged with a group of Pro-Heroes, his blue flames turning the street into an oven, when he saw you.

You were three blocks away, fighting a high-end Nomu—a hulking, twitching mass of muscle and multiple quirks. You looked ragged. Your movements were slow, your quirk flickering like a dying candle. Dabi paused, his flames flickering out for a moment as he watched you. Even after everything—after his betrayal, after the public reveal of his identity, after he had personally dismantled your career—you were still fighting.

"Look at her," Dabi hissed to himself, his fingers twitching. "Still trying to be a martyr."

He expected to feel triumph. He expected to laugh at how pathetic you looked, still clinging to a broken ideology. But instead, his chest felt tight. He remembered the way you used to patch up his scars with such gentle hands.

The Nomu was faster than you.

You had just managed to blast its arm back when a second villain—one of Shigaraki’s lieutenants—descended from the shadows of a collapsed building. It was a sneak attack, a coward’s blow. A jagged spike of hardened shadow pierced through the air, moving faster than any hero could react.

Dabi’s breath hitched. "Move," he whispered. "Y/N, move!"

But you didn't. You were too focused on the Nomu.

The spike drove through your chest with a sickening, wet sound. The impact was so violent it lifted you off your feet before slamming you back into the cracked pavement.

The battlefield seemed to go silent. The roar of the fires, the crumbling of buildings, the screams of the dying—it all faded into a dull, distant hum. Dabi’s world narrowed down to the sight of you lying still on the grey concrete, your blood pooling beneath you, startlingly red against the ash.

Dabi didn't think. He didn't strategize. He unleashed a pillar of blue flame so intense it vaporized the villains near him instantly. He moved across the battlefield like a streak of sapphire lightning, landing beside you with a heavy thud.

The Nomu lunged at him, but Dabi didn't even look at it. He raised a hand and incinerated the creature into nothingness with a single, mindless blast of heat.

He dropped to his knees, his hands—the hands that had used you, lied to you, and ruined you—trembling as he reached for your face.

"Hey," he rasped, his voice breaking. "Hey, get up. You’re a hero, remember? You’re supposed to have a backup plan. You’re supposed to be too stubborn to die."

You were still breathing, but only barely. Your eyes fluttered open, unfocused and glassy. For a moment, you saw him. You didn't look at him with hatred. You didn't look at him with the fury of a betrayed soldier.

You looked at him with the same heartbreaking pity he had seen in that apartment months ago. Your hand moved feebly, your fingers brushing against the staples in his wrist.

"Touya..." you whispered, your voice a mere ghost of a sound.

And then, your hand fell. The light in your eyes didn't flicker; it just went out, leaving behind a hollow stare that looked right through him.

Dabi didn't move. He sat there in the middle of the war, your body growing cold in his arms.

He had wanted this. He had wanted the heroes to fall. He had wanted the world to see that their symbols were fragile. But as he looked at your face, he realized that he had achieved his goal by killing the only person who had ever truly loved the man behind the scars.

The files, the routes, the secrets—they all felt like lead in his pockets. He had used your love as a weapon, and that weapon had circled back to pierce his own heart. He hadn't just destroyed the heroes; he had destroyed the only version of himself that was worth saving.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into the smoke, his forehead resting against yours. The words felt foreign, jagged, and utterly useless.

The blue flames around him began to rise, uncontrolled and violent. They licked at his own skin, charring the edges of his coat, but he didn't care. He welcomed the pain. It was the only thing that felt real in a world he had successfully turned to ash.

He had won the war, but as he held your lifeless body, Touya Todoroki finally realized that he was the only one left to burn. He was the victor of a graveyard, haunted by the ghost of a hero who had loved him enough to die while he was busy trying to destroy her.

The fire roared higher, a funeral pyre for a love he had murdered, and for a man who had finally realized that revenge is a cold, empty house with no one left to keep the lights on.

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The chaos of the war continued to howl around him, but Dabi was encased in a vacuum of silence. The smoke from his own uncontrolled flames curled into the sky, a signal fire of grief that he didn’t bother to hide.

Slowly, he slid one arm beneath your knees and the other behind your back. He lifted you with a tenderness that felt like a sacrilege after the months he had spent treating you like a piece on a board. You were so light—too light for someone who had carried the weight of his lies for so long.

He began to walk.

He didn't head toward the League’s rally point. He didn't head toward the shadows. He walked straight down the center of the main thoroughfare, heading toward the makeshift hero encampment established in the ruins of the central plaza.

Every step was a penance. His boots crunched on glass and bone. Around him, low-level villains and thugs stopped their looting to stare. They saw the blue-flamed arsonist, the crown prince of the underworld, carrying a dead Pro-Hero in his arms. Some raised their weapons, thinking he was displaying a trophy. Dabi didn't even look at them. A flicker of sapphire heat would erupt from his shoulder whenever anyone got too close, a silent, lethal warning: Don't touch her.

As he approached the hero perimeter, the atmosphere changed. Snippets of shouting reached his ears. "Target spotted! It’s Dabi!" "He’s got a body! He’s got Y/N!"

Dozens of weapons were leveled at him. Snipe aimed from a rooftop; several rookies stood with trembling hands, their quirks activated. Dabi didn't stop. He didn't raise his hands in surrender, and he didn't prepare an attack. He just kept walking, his eyes fixed on the entrance of the medical tents.

Twenty feet from the barricade, Hawks landed. He looked at him, his expression a mix of horror and incandescent rage.

"Drop her, Dabi!" Hawks screamed, . "If you’ve done this to her, I’ll—"

"I didn't kill her," Dabi said. His voice was flat, dead, devoid of the usual mocking lilt. It sounded like it was coming from the bottom of a well. "A shadow-user did. I just... I’m bringing her back."

Hawks froze. He looked at the way Dabi was holding you—not like a trophy, but like something fragile that he was terrified of breaking. He saw the way Dabi’s own flames were singeing his own skin just to keep the embers of the battlefield from touching your face.

He stopped and slowly knelt, lowering you to the ground with a heartbreaking degree of care. He straightened your cape. He brushed a streak of soot from your cheek, his thumb lingering for a second too long.

"She gave me everything," Dabi whispered, loud enough only for hawks to hear. "She gave me the keys to the kingdom, and I used them to lock her in a burning house."

Dabi stood up. He looked at the heroes—the people he had spent months sabotaging using the secrets you had shared with him in confidence. He saw the grief on their faces, and for the first time, it didn't feel like a victory. It felt like a mirror.

"Take her," Dabi said, stepping back into the shadows. "She was too good for this world. And she was far too good for me."

Hawks rushed forward, checking for a pulse he already knew wasn't there. When he looked back up, Dabi was gone. Only a circle of scorched earth and a few flickers of dying blue fire remained where he had stood.

Dabi retreated to the top of a darkened skyscraper, watching from the heights as the heroes carried you away. He sat on the ledge, his legs dangling over the edge, feeling the weight of the encrypted files in his pocket. They were useless now. The war was still happening, the world was still ending, but the spark was gone.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, crumpled photograph—one you had taken of the two of you on a rare night off, hidden away in a photo booth at a pier. You were laughing, and he was looking away, trying to hide a smile he couldn't quite suppress.

He held the corner of the photo between his thumb and forefinger. A tiny, precise spark of blue flame ignited. He watched as the image of his own face turned to ash first, leaving only your smiling face for a few seconds longer before the fire consumed it, too.

"You were right, Y/N," he whispered into the wind, the ash blowing away into the soot-filled sky. "I am a masterpiece of destruction. I just didn't know I'd have to destroy myself to finish the painting."

He closed his eyes, the silence of the heights finally matching the silence in his chest. He had won his war, and his prize was a lifetime of remembering the exact moment he realized that the only person who loved him was the only person he couldn't save.

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sorry if this one sucked :< wrote this on my notes on the airplane lol. hope you liked it :)

[janecam]

Surrender | Katsuki Bakugo x Reader | FINAL

fluff! Last and final part! thank you for reading (so sorry if its short :p, i'll be posting another kb x reader soon! sad and longer version :<)

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Surrender

You took the tray from his hands, the warmth of the plate seeping into your palms. The smell of the spices was unmistakable; it was exactly the way you liked it. You stepped back, leaving the door open just enough for him to follow you inside.

He moved tentatively, his usual explosive confidence replaced by a rare, stiff-necked hesitation. He sat on the edge of your desk chair while you sat on the bed, the silence between you filled only by the sound of your fork against the ceramic. He watched you eat with an intensity that was almost vibrating, his foot tapping a rapid, nervous rhythm against the floor.

"It’s good," you said quietly, breaking the tension. "You remembered how I liked it."

Katsuki looked away, his jaw tightening. "I remember everything you say, you idiot. That’s the problem. It’s like my brain won’t shut up about you."

You set the plate down and looked at him, really looked at him. The bags under his eyes were prominent, and the sharp edge of his anger had been replaced by a raw, exposed vulnerability. "Katsuki, you told me I was embarrassing. You told me you felt nothing but irritation. If you want me back, you have to be honest. No more yelling, no more "background character" shit. Just tell me." He stood up abruptly, his hands sparking for a brief second before he forced them into fists at his sides. He took two long strides until he was standing right in front of you, looking down with a face so red it looked like he was about to overheat.

"I don't find you embarrassing," he choked out, the words sounding like they were being dragged through gravel. "I find you… distracting. I hate that I look for you in every room. I hate that I care if you’re smiling at some other loser. It makes me feel weak because I can't control it. I didn't want to admit that I…"

He trailed off, his gaze dropping to the floor. He let out a long, shaky breath and reached out, his hand hovering near your face before his fingers finally brushed against your cheek with a gentleness that felt completely foreign to his character.

"I like you,"

he whispered, the admission finally cracking through his armor. "I like you so much it’s infuriating. I was a dick to you because I was scared of that. Please just… stop looking at me like I'm a stranger. I can't take another day of you being gone."

The guarded look in your eyes finally melted, and as you reached up to take his hand, you saw the massive wave of relief wash over him. He wasn't the "King" in that moment; he was just a boy who had almost lost the most important person in his life, and he was finally willing to do whatever it took to keep you there.

The shift in the room was palpable as the heavy, jagged wall Katsuki had built finally crumbled into dust. When your fingers laced through his, he didn’t just hold your hand; he gripped it with a desperate kind of reverence, his thumb stroking your knuckles as if to ground himself in the fact that you hadn't disappeared.

The silence that followed wasn't the cold, empty void of the last few days. It was warm, humming with the unspoken things he had been too proud to say. Katsuki’s gaze dropped to your lips, then flicked back to your eyes, his expression shifting from his usual mask of anger to something raw and deeply vulnerable.

"I’m an idiot," he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly timbre that vibrated in the small space between you. "I spent all that time trying to push you away because I was terrified of how much I wanted you close."

He leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away, to keep the distance he had once demanded. But when you didn't move, he closed the gap.

The kiss wasn't like his explosions—it wasn't loud or destructive. It was a slow, deep exhale of a kiss, a silent apology carried in the soft press of his lips against yours. It was gentle in a way that felt entirely new, as if he were trying to show you exactly how much he valued you without using any of the words that usually failed him.

One of his hands drifted from your shoulder to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair to pull you just a fraction closer. He made a soft, low sound in the back of his throat—a sigh of pure, unadulterated relief.

The tension that had been coiled in his shoulders for weeks finally snapped, leaving him leaning into you, his heart hammering a frantic, honest rhythm against your chest.

When he finally pulled back, just enough for your foreheads to rest against each other, his eyes remained closed. He looked peaceful, the sharp lines of his face softened by the dim light of the room.

"Stay,"

he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. "Don't go back to acting like I'm not there. I don't care if it's weird or embarrassing or whatever. Just don't leave me in the dark again."

and that you did

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The next morning, the atmosphere in the 1-A heights alliance was different. Usually, Katsuki was the first one out the door, a solitary blur of orange and black stomping toward the school building. But today, he lingered by the elevator, his arms crossed and his foot tapping impatiently until he heard your door click open.

When you stepped out, he didn't say a word. He simply reached out, his fingers sliding between yours, and locked his hand with yours in a grip that was firm and unyielding.

As you both walked into the common room, the silence was instantaneous. Kaminari dropped his toast, and Kirishima’s jaw hit the floor. They all remembered the way you had been avoiding each other—the coldness, the harsh words, the visible heartbreak.

"katsuki?" Kirishima managed to stammer, looking from your joined hands to Katsuki’s face. "you good dude?"

Katsuki didn't stop walking. He pulled you along with him, his head held high and a fierce, protective scowl on his face. He didn't look at his friends; his eyes were fixed straight ahead, but his ears were a deep, betraying crimson.

"We're going to class," he barked, his voice rough but lacking its usual venom. "Mind your own damn business."

Kirishima smiled at the sight and lightly nodded, happy for his best friend

Throughout the walk to the main building, he didn't let go once. Even when you passed other students in the hallway who whispered and pointed, he only tightened his hold, pulling you slightly closer to his side. He was marking his territory, making it undeniably clear to everyone—especially himself—that the distance was gone for good.

When you reached the classroom, he marched straight to his desk, but instead of sitting down immediately, he waited until you were settled in yours. He leaned down, his face inches from yours, ignoring the looks from the rest of the class.

"Don't even think about moving your desk away today," he muttered, his voice low enough that only you could hear. "You’re staying right where I can see you."

He finally sat down, slouching in his chair with his usual brooding energy, but the way he kept his chair angled toward you told the whole story. He had spent weeks trying to prove he didn't need anyone, only to realize that he was at his strongest when you were right there beside him. He surrendered to you.

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Thank you for reading! again sorry if it's short 😢 this is my first time ever posting something and i wanted it to be a little long and short at the same time. This took me like 2 weeks to write lol HOPE YOU ENJOYED!!!!

[janecam]

Surrender | Katsuki Bakugo x Reader | PT. 2

Fluff/Angst (sorta) (again, so sorry if my bad grammar appears :<), kat being a tsundere

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Surrender

Katsuki spent the next two hours in the kitchen, scaring off anyone who tried to get near the stove. He didn't just grab a random snack; he made the specific, spicy dish you had mentioned liking weeks ago—the one he’d scoffed at and called "low-tier garbage" at the time.

His movements were frantic and precise, his jaw set so tight it was a miracle he didn't crack a tooth. He stood outside your dorm room door for ten minutes, the tray in his hands feeling heavier than a concrete slab. He raised a fist to knock, hesitated, and then finally delivered three sharp, aggressive raps. When the door opened, he didn't wait for an invitation. He shoved the tray toward you, his face a deep, embarrassed crimson.

"Eat it," he snapped, though the usual bite was replaced by a desperate tremor. "You haven't been eating right since… since the gym. It’s pathetic to watch you mope around with no energy."

You looked at the steaming plate, then up at him. Your eyes were still guarded, still holding that distance that made his skin itch. "I thought I was an eyesore, Bakugo. Why do you care if I'm moping?" He let out a sharp, frustrated breath, his shoulders hunching up toward his ears. "Stop calling me that! You know damn well why. I was a coward, okay? I said that shit because you were getting too close and I didn't know how to handle it. I wanted to hurt you so you'd back off, but I didn't think you’d actually… leave me behind."

He stepped into the small gap between the door and the frame, forcing you to look at him. His pride was in tatters, discarded on the floor of the hallway. "I hate the way the room feels when you aren't talking. I hate that you're laughing with those other idiots instead of me. I was wrong, and I'm a dickhead for saying you were weird. You’re just… you. And I need you to be you again." The silence hung in the air, but this time it wasn't heavy or cold. It was expectant. He watched your face, his heart hammering against his ribs, waiting to see if he’d finally done enough to mend the bridge he had tried so hard to burn. "Is this an apology, Katsuki?" you asked softly, a tiny, familiar glint finally returning to your eyes. He looked away, his ears flushing. "It’s a meal. And an admission. Take it or leave it, but don't you dare walk away from me again."

[janecam]

Surrender | Katsuki Bakugo x Reader | PT. 1

Angst/Fluff (sorry for the crappy grammar and spelling :<, english is not my first language)

The tension between Katsuki Bakugo and the rest of the world was standard, but the tension between him and you was becoming unbearable.

For weeks, you’d been pushing his buttons—not with insults, but with an infuriatingly kind persistence. You’d linger at his desk, offer him half your snacks, and catch his eye in the hallway with a knowing smirk that suggested you knew exactly what was happening behind his explosive exterior.

Surrender

It happened behind the gym after training. You’d cornered him, blocking his path with a playful grin.

"Just say it, Katsuki," you teased, stepping into his personal space. "You’ve been following me with your eyes all day. You like me, don't you?"

Bakugo’s face went from its usual simmer to a full, dangerous boil. The smell of burnt ozone filled the air as small sparks popped in his palms. His heart was hammering against his ribs—a feeling he hated because it felt like losing control.

"Shut the hell up!" he roared, his voice cracking with a mix of rage and genuine panic. "You think I’d waste my time on someone like you? You’re delusional. You’re embarrassing, always hovering around me like some desperate shadow."

You flinched, but he didn't stop. The frustration of his own confusing feelings poured out as vitriol.

"It’s pathetic. You’re weird, you’re loud, and frankly, you’re an eyesore. Stop thinking you’re special just because I haven't blasted you into a wall yet. Get lost and stay away from me."

The look on your face—the way your features went slack and your eyes welled up before you could blink the tears away—burned into his retinas. You didn't even argue. You just stepped back, turned around, and walked away.

—————————————————————————————————————————

The silence you left behind was worse than any explosion he’d ever set off. Katsuki stood frozen, his boots heavy against the damp concrete. He expected a witty comeback, a huff of annoyance, or even for you to roll your eyes and call him a "tsundere" like you usually did. But there was nothing. Just the receding sound of your footsteps and the dull ache of his own heartbeat thumping in his ears.

He had spent years perfecting his role as the "winner," the one who always had the last word. But as he sat in his darkened room, staring at the ceiling, he didn't feel like a winner. He felt like he had just set fire to the only thing that made the stress of UA bearable.

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