Masterlist - this page captures all my written work for tumbler and then some
Requests/Rules - eventually, I would love to accept requests from the public on prompts etc. But here's a general breakdown on the genres and topics of my writings.
About Me - a peek behind the curtain about who's running this lil mart of goods
Tag System - Under construction! A breakdown of some consistent tags I use for keeping the aisles clean and organized
Ao3 - you already know what it is, here you can find other fics I've written. I've been on a large hiatus, but hopefully will be back on here to share stories.
Thank you for taking the time in reading this! No need to reblog this post. But don't be shy about reaching out and messaging me or throwing some asks. Hope you all enjoy this space. :)
summary: Your technique allows you to hear the thoughts of others, which you’ve spent years learning how to filter. Unfortunately, Itadori Yuuji has very loud thoughts.
warnings: 18+ minors/ageless/blank blogs dni, smut, aged up characters, mutual thirsting, idiots in lust, reader’s technique involves mind reading, poor reader is losing her mind, sooooo much fantasizing about sooo many things: fingering, oral, spit kink, dry humping, exhibitionism
notes: happy birthday, best boy! genuinely so shocked at how quickly I turned this around. literally dropped every other wip to get it up today, but anything for best boy! (btw, this will end where it ends. if you want a follow-up use your own imagination instead of asking for a second part.)
words: 2.9k
minors, ageless, and blank blogs do not like, reblog, or comment
They call you the Psychic Sorcerer. Well, not they. It’s really just Gojo — or at least it’s really just Gojo to your face. Everyone else knows how much you dislike the moniker because you’re not psychic.
Your cursed technique allows you to form a telepathic connection — whether it’s with people, animals, or cursed spirits — and manipulate your target. And as part of your technique, you can see the thoughts of others, which is what psychics do, but you’re not a psychic.
Psychics look into crystal balls and read tarot cards. They claim to tell the future, speak to the dead, and exorcise spirits. Yes, you also do that last one, but you’re not a psychic. You’re a sorcerer, which you’ll admit probably sounds just as spurious to non-sorcerers…
Your technique is strong, but it’s taken you years to hone. When you were younger, you used to unknowingly slip into the minds of your playmates and the neighborhood pets, leaving them in a trance and you overwhelmed. It’s only through training and your time at Jujutsu High that you learned how to focus your technique and form a link only when you mean to.
However, there’s a part of you that thinks you’ll never be able to fully master your technique. For all your skill with it now as an adult, and after all the trial, error, and embarrassing missteps you made as a teenager, there are times when you still can’t help but pick up a stray thought if it happens to be loud enough — like two radio waves crossing.
And Itadori Yuuji’s thoughts are loud.
To be fair, most jujutsu sorcerers have loud thoughts to match their loud personalities. You particularly remember when you first met Todo and you were on the receiving end of a mental barrage of images of some idol that you faintly recalled having seen in passing before and big ass after big ass. So you’ve long made your peace with the fact that loud thoughts come with the territory.
But when you first met Yuuji during your first year at Jujutsu High, it felt like you could hear everything he was thinking — even without accounting for the curse caged inside of him. It would get so bad that you ended your days during those first weeks of knowing him feeling dizzy.
While Nobara has always been quick to project whatever irritation, excitement, or disgust she feels, her emotional flashes are quick to come but equally as quick to fade. Megumi’s unhealthy instinct to suppress everything he thinks and feels has always made him one of your favorite people to spend time with.
It’s Yuuji who thinks loudly and feels loudly around the clock. Before you learned how to filter out and block every stray thought you heard, it felt like you were constantly aware of Yuuji's status whenever he was within a few hundred meters.
You knew when he was hungry, when he was enjoying something, when he was annoyed, when he was happy, when he was excited, when he was sad, when he thought something was funny, when he had to go to the bathroom, when he didn’t understand something, when he thought a girl was hot, when he was angry, when he was in pain, when he was winning at pachinko, when he was tired.
But after so many years of training, and so many years of being his friend, his thoughts and emotions are still just as loud, but you only ever hear one if you need to in the midst of a fight — or if it’s strong enough.
And for the past few months, his thoughts have been so strong that it feels like you’re 15 all over again. It’s not all his thoughts that are strong enough to reach you against your will, just…certain ones.
The first time it happens, it’s so sudden that you feel like you’ve been hit over the head.
People assume that with your technique, you can hear every word going through someone’s mind. And while sometimes you do, people think both verbally and visually.
So, you’re not surprised when an image suddenly flashes in your head. After all, it’s a phenomenon that you’re more than used to. You are, however, surprised at the image.
Because as you’re waiting in line at a bakery to order, leaning in slightly to look at the display case of pastries, you’re suddenly assaulted with the mental picture of yourself from behind, particularly the way your dress has slightly ridden up the backs of your thighs. It’s not high enough to be obscene, only enough to hint.
And to accompany the image is a deep desire — for you to bend over further, for your dress to ride up even higher, to know what’s beneath and for it to be a thong.
You cut off the connection before you can see anymore and shoot back up to stand perfectly straight, your eyes as wide as saucers. Your heart is racing in your chest and you have to fight the urge to bury your face in your hands to hide your burning cheeks.
“Did you figure out what you want?” Yuuji’s curious voice is suddenly in your ear as he leans in over your shoulder to look at the pastry selection himself. “That ham and cheese one looks so good.”
He sounds so…unaffected, like he wasn’t just fantasizing about what your underwear looks like. You glance at him from the corner of your eye and none of it is on his face.
“Th-the pistachio one,” you mumble, distractedly pointing at the croissant in the corner of the display case.
“Oh, you’ll have to let me try a bite!” he grins, moving in even closer to look at what else the bakery has to offer, entirely oblivious to the mental breakdown he’s caused.
And that’s how it starts.
You’ll be out with Yuuji and you’ll get a flash of him wondering how soft your lips are when you apply some chapstick, or of him appreciating how your neckline dips just low enough for him to see the edge of your bra when he looks down at you.
It’s not every time you’re together, but it starts to happen often enough that you begin to prepare yourself whenever you know that you’re going to see him, just in case. And it does work. You accept that your friend seems to be attracted to you and assume that this new crush will probably go away. You’re able to shut out the thoughts as quickly as they come.
But then they get louder — and filthier. You’re no longer seeing things that could barely be considered PG-13.
You’re seeing your face coated in white streaks of Yuuji’s cum, your mouth open and your tongue sticking out to catch every last drop as he fists his cock. You’re seeing your ass in the air as he eats you out from behind, your own imagined whimpers and moans ringing in your ears as you grind back into his face. You’re seeing yourself from above, his hands on the backs of your knees pressing them towards your chest as your ankles dangle by his ears while you beg him to go “harder, Yuuji!” You’re seeing him yanking you into an alley to bend you over and fuck you against the concrete wall.
It’s only made worse by how casual he acts when you’re finally able to recover from whatever obscene display has been forced upon you and you can dare to look at him. He’s never flustered or lost in some fantasy. He’s never distracted. You never catch him staring at your tits or ass. You’ve never even been able to catch him with a tent in his pants.
He behaves as if everything is normal, like he’s just your friend that you’ve known since high school. A friend who doesn’t fantasize when you’re laughing together over hotpot about spitting in your mouth or when you finally have a chance to go see Human Earthworm 6 about you swallowing his cock in a crowded theater.
Your other friends seem to have noticed that something is off. Megumi has asked on more than one occasion if you’re coming down with something when he sees how you’ll suddenly start breaking out into a sweat. Nobara is more perceptive, immediately jumping to the conclusion that there must be a new man in your life with how flustered you’ve been lately.
There’s a sudden, sharp pang of someone else’s dismay you feel when she makes her deduction in front of your friends.
But what you don’t know how to tell her is that this new man is Yuuji, and the reason you’re so flustered is because every time you see him, he’s been unknowingly projecting graphic pornography featuring both of you directly into your mind. And even worse, you don’t know how to tell her that you’ve started to look forward to it.
At first, you thought the reason why you would get so wet was because Yuuji doesn’t just share what’s running through his mind, but also what he’s feeling. Your arousal is really just his arousal.
But that doesn’t explain why you’ve found your eyes lingering over his broad shoulders when his back is to you or appreciating the sight of him shirtless and sweaty after training together or wondering what it would feel like to have two of his thick fingers buried knuckle deep in your slick cunt.
And you’ve started to realize that he doesn’t even need to be around for you to end up yourself lost in a fantasy of your own making.
You’ll be scrolling through your phone and your mind will drift to how it would feel to look down and see Yuuji beneath you as you ride him, your palms pushing down against his bare chest for leverage with every rock of your hips. You’ll be sitting on the couch and wish that Yuuji were with you so you could climb into his lap and desperately grind against him until you both come in your pants as you let out needy little whimpers against his lips.
You’ll be in bed late at night with your hand buried between your legs, your fingers sliding in and out of your dripping pussy while you grind the heel of your palm against your clit, and mourn the absence of his cock.
After months of this ongoing torture, your sanity is about to snap. It feels like every time you’re together, if it’s not his fantasies that you’re seeing, it’s your own.
But then you notice a change. Because where you’ve started to feel less flustered every time one of these images is playing in your mind — so desensitized to them by this point that they leave you turned on more than anything else — he appears to be growing more flustered in your presence.
There are times when he can’t quite meet your eyes. You’ll look over at him and see that his cheeks are suddenly as pink as his hair. There’s one time where he starts to choke on the soda he’s in the middle of drinking for no apparent reason. You finally start to catch him staring longingly at your ass.
You begin to wonder if he’s close to reaching his breaking point.
It’s what you find yourself contemplating one night as you and Yuuji get caught in the rush hour crowd on the subway. He’s strong enough and thoughtful enough to have pushed a path through when you boarded, so that you can lean back against the set of doors on the opposite side. He rests his forearm above your head on the window, using his body to shield you from the rest of the crowd.
It’s an awkward situation for two friends to be in. For as much room as he tries to leave between you, people continue to get on at each station, and eventually, there’s no space left — you can feel every firm inch of him pressed against you.
He seems to be more conscious of it than you, his eyes directed nervously up at the ceiling. You’re just relieved that it’s him invading your space and not some creep who’s ready to take advantage of the close quarters.
Thankfully, most of the station platforms are on the same side as where you entered the train, so neither of you have to worry about moving or the doors you’re both leaning against opening. With Yuuji seemingly feeling too shy to talk while you’re in such an intimate position, your mind begins to wander.
What if you turn around? Yuuji would feel every one of your curves as you reposition yourself so that your tits were pressed against the window and your ass slots perfectly against his crotch. You could take his free hand in yours and slip it under your skirt and between your thighs so that he could feel the wet spot in your underwear.
Actually, in this fantasy, you’re wearing no underwear. God, the groan he’ll let out when you slide his fingers up your legs, only to find that there’s no barrier between his touch and your soaked pussy.
His cock would be so hard against your ass as you give a slow grind into it, able to feel every solid inch even through the fabric of your skirt and his pants. But you can’t waste any time — the doors supporting you both could open at any of the next stops.
So, while you flip up your skirt, he rushes to shove his pants and boxer briefs just far enough so he can pull out his cock with one hand. And that one hand is then quickly slapped over your mouth to muffle your cry when he slides his cock into your sopping cunt in one smooth stroke.
He takes you so roughly that you can’t tell if it’s the train that’s so jerky or the punishing rhythm he sets, desperate to get you both off before someone either catches you in the middle of your illicit act or you enter a station where the platform is on your side of the car.
It’s just as you slide your hand down between your legs to furiously rub at your clit that the fantasy comes to a screeching halt with all the force of someone hitting the emergency brake on the train. Because you’re suddenly incredibly aware of something hard between you.
You look down, but it’s pointless with how close Yuuji is — pointless because you can’t see beyond his chest and yours, and pointless because what else could it be other than his cock? You then look up at him with hooded eyes to see how red his face is.
He looks pained, his features scrunched together, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, and a bead of sweat running down his neck that you want nothing more than to catch with your tongue. You tilt your head to the side curiously, wondering why he’s so distressed. Obviously, he’s feeling embarrassed, you don’t need to be able to read his mind to know that. But this seems to be something beyond simple embarrassment.
Feeling your gaze on him, he eventually opens his eyes and gathers the courage to look down at you. Your breath catches in your throat when you see how wide his pupils are, his warm brown irises merely a thin ring around them, and how you can see a mixture of deep hunger, desperation, and pleading.
“I’m begging you,” he says. His voice is barely loud enough to be heard over the sound of the train as it continues to run along its track, but it’s impossible to miss the rasp to it. “You have got to stop doing that. You’re killing me.”
Your forehead wrinkles as you frown in confusion, trying to understand what he’s talking about. But then he lifts his free hand, the one you had just been fantasizing about having between your legs, and taps his index finger meaningfully against his temple, and you gasp so loudly that you know other passengers have turned to see what’s happening.
Because over the months where Yuuji has been projecting his thoughts, unaware that they’ve been loud enough that you can’t help but hear them, it never occurred to you that a longer-lasting connection was slowly forming with every image, every word, every emotion. Your mind became so open to receiving what he was unknowingly sharing that you hadn’t realized that you were slipping into his mind the way you used to do with others when you were younger and still learning the basics of your technique.
And what you grew to understand as you developed it was that if you don’t form a barrier to protect what’s in your mind, then the connection becomes reciprocal and your target can see everything that you’re thinking, too.
Which means that for the last few months, it’s not only him who’s been projecting graphic pornography featuring both of you directly into your mind, but also you who’s been projecting graphic pornography featuring both of you directly into his mind.
All you can do is stare up at him, your mouth opening and closing as you struggle to find the words. Unfortunately, while you’ve lost your ability to speak, your mind refuses to quiet and all you can think of is how you want him to stick his fingers in your mouth.
From the way his head drops back with a deep groan, it seems you’ve accidentally projected that as well.
𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭. when someone else tries to do this trend w you.
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. toji, satoru, sukuna, megumi, takuma, and suguru.
𝐜𝐰. pure fluff, strong words!
𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬. i loved this!! shout out to the anon who requested this... i missed writing scenarios w multiple charac.
𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈.
you’re just minding your business, scrolling on your bed, when a sudden THUD rattles your door. “what the fuck—”
ou jump up, heart in your throat. it sounded like a damn grenade hit your dorm. you open the door and there’s this dude in a tank top standing there, football in hand, flashing that fake-friendly grin.
“oh, shit—sorry!” he says, catching it like he’s in a Nike ad. “are you ladies alright?” and before you can even process what’s happening, there’s a shadow behind you. bare feet on tile. low voice.
“yeah,” Toji drawls, shirtless, towel hanging low on his hips, hair damp from the shower. “she’s good.”
the guy’s smile falters immediately. you can literally feel the air get heavy. toji steps into the doorway like he’s reclaiming territory, shoulder brushing yours as he towers over the dude. that lazy grin on his face doesn’t match the pure murder in his eyes.
“you throwin’ balls at our door now?” he asks, tone casual but dripping with ‘try me’ energy.
“no, man, it slipped—”
“yeah? then maybe aim better next time,” Toji says, leaning one arm against the doorframe, muscles flexing like he’s doing it on purpose. “before I start thinkin’ you’re tryna get her attention.”
“what? nah, dude, it’s not like that—” Toji tilts his head, that lazy grin spreading. “Sure. But you can tell your little frat buddies down there to fuckin’ chill before I start throwing them.”
the guy laughs awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “uh, yeah, sorry, man—my bad.”
“yeah, yeah. now go run along before I make you catch somethin’ else.” the poor guy bolts, practically sprints down the hall.
you close the door slowly, staring up at Toji like, “you seriously just said that?”
“what?” he shrugs, stretching, still standing there like a smug menace. “he asked if you were alright. I just confirmed it.”
“you scared the shit outta him.” “good,” he says, wandering back toward your bed. “maybe next time he’ll keep his fuckin’ ball to himself.”
you roll your eyes, muttering, “you’re insane.” he looks over his shoulder, smirks. “and you’re welcome.”
the comment section on the video ’cause of course the guy’s friend caught the whole thing on camera.
“bro almost died in 4k 😭”
"y is he only in a towel?"
"they did it, but i just can't prove it."
“no one’s talking about how the girl didn’t even flinch when her man showed up... like she knew”
“wait why he kinda..."
𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎.
you’re sitting cross-legged on the floor, half-eating instant noodles, half-watching something on your laptop when there’s a loud-ass thud on your dorm door. you flinch so hard the noodles almost fly. “what the fuck was that?”
before you can even move, there’s a knock. then— a random dude with a football opens your door halfway, catches the ball like he’s in some kind of ad, smirks, and goes— “are you ladies alright?”
you blink. “…what?”
and then, from somewhere behind you— “ladies?”
gojo, shirt halfway on, hair still damp, steps out of the bathroom with his shades hanging off his nose. he looks between you and the guy like he just walked in on the dumbest shit he’s ever seen.
“nah, she’s fine,” he says, yawning. “you’re the one who looks concussed, bro.”
the dude laughs awkwardly. “nah man it’s a tiktok trend, i swear, it’s just a prank—”
“yeah, well,” gojo says, scratching his head, “how ‘bout you aim that ball somewhere that’s not our fuckin’ door next time before i shove it up your—”
“gojo!” you hiss.
“what?” he shrugs, grinning. “dude’s out here throwing shit at people’s rooms like we’re in a fuckin’ dodgeball tournament. i’m just sayin’, there’s consequences.”
the guy’s trying to keep it friendly but his face is red as hell. “nah for real, man, my bad—didn’t mean to—”
“yeah, yeah,” gojo waves him off, already walking back into the room, “get your ball and go play outside like a good boy.”
the guy bends down, grabs his football, and books it down the hallway so fast it’s almost impressive. you close the door, sighing. “you didn’t have to threaten him.”
“i didn’t,” gojo says, flopping onto your bed. “i just said facts.”
“you implied you’d shove a football up his ass.” “yeah, well, maybe he’ll remember it next time he tries to flirt with someone’s girl.” he grins, laying back, smug as hell. “you’re welcome, by the way.”
you roll your eyes. “you’re impossible.” “and sexy,” he adds immediately. “don’t forget sexy.”
yet again the video was still posted, “tried to do the trend and her boyfriend was built different 😭😭😭” top comments.
“why is he so sassy”
“cunt”
“bro's majestic"
“her bf looks like he hasn’t taken shit seriously since birth and i respect that”
𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀.
you’re curled up on the couch, scrolling your phone, half ignoring the sounds coming from the hallway — it’s just the usual friday night chaos. then, out of nowhere, a bang rattles your door.
you jump. “what the—”
the door cracks open, and a guy standing there catches a football against his chest, smirk already loaded. he looks you dead in the eye and goes,
“are you ladies alright?” you just blink, confused as hell. before you can even answer, there’s a low voice from inside your room.
“who the fuck you talkin’ to?” and that’s sukuna.
he’s leaning against the doorway to the kitchen, shirt hanging off one shoulder, tattoos peeking down his neck, hair still messy from the shower. his eyes are sharp and that little scar on his lip twitches when he frowns.
the dude in the hall hesitates, laughs awkwardly. “yo, chill—it’s just a tiktok trend—”
“a trend?” sukuna repeats, pushing off the doorframe and walking closer, slow and deliberate. “what, harassing girls now counts as a fuckin’ trend?”
“nah, bro, it’s not like that—”
“oh, it’s exactly like that,” sukuna cuts him off, stepping right up behind you, one hand finding your hip, pulling you back into him. “you knock on someone’s door, throw a ball at ‘em, then try to sound smooth. yeah, real creative. did your brain come up with that or did your frat group chat?”
the guy tries to laugh again, looking anywhere but at him. “it’s—it’s just for fun, man—”
“fun,” sukuna echoes, scoffing. “you almost hit her in the face with that fuckin’ ball.” he reaches around you, plucks the football right out of the guy’s hands like it’s nothing. “this yours?”
“uh—yeah—”
sukuna turns it over once, then just drops it to the floor. it bounces once, rolls down the hall. “oops,” he says flatly. “guess you’ll have to go chase it, champ.”
the guy just stands there frozen. “go,” sukuna says, voice low now. “before i make you.”
the kid bolts, sneakers squeaking down the hall. you let out a sigh, turning to look up at him. “you could’ve just told him to fuck off nicely.”
he smirks, eyes flicking down to you. “yeah? and where’s the fun in that?”
“you scared him.” “good,” he mutters, fingers tightening on your hip, pulling you closer till you bump into his chest. “maybe next time some dumbass thinks about knocking on our door, he’ll remember what happened to the last one.”
you roll your eyes, trying to hide a smile. “shut up.”
“yeah?,” he says without missing a beat, leaning down to press his mouth to your neck. “don’t open that door for any fuckin’ idiot again unless you want me to lose my shit.”
“he didn’t even yell, he just looked and the guy folded 💀”
“HOW DID HE PULL THAT??”
“the way he dropped the ball like he was disposing of evidence 😭😭😭”
“i’d be shaking too bro looked like he eats people for cardio”
“you’re so dramatic.” “mm,” he hums against your skin, still half-smiling. “and you love it.”
𝐌𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐌𝐈.
you’re sitting cross-legged on the floor by the door, folding laundry and watching something on your phone when a heavy thud hits the wood. you jump so hard a shirt flies out of your hand. “what the hell?”
the door handle rattles and before you can even stand, it cracks open. a random dude catches a football against his chest, grinning like an idiot.
“are you ladies alright?” he says, trying to sound smooth.
you stare at him. “there’s literally just—”
“do you mind?” megumi’s voice cuts in from behind you, sharp and low.
the guy blinks, caught completely off guard. megumi’s standing there in a black hoodie, hair messy, one hand still in his pocket like he’s two seconds from slamming the door.
“you just throw shit at people’s doors now?” he asks, stepping forward. “is your brain up your fucking ass?”
the guy laughs nervously. “nah, bro—it’s just a tiktok trend—like a prank—”
“yeah, congratulations,” megumi says flatly. “you invented being annoying.”
“it’s not that deep, man—”
“no, you’re right,” megumi interrupts, dead serious. “it’s not deep at all. it’s dumb. go pick up your ball before I throw it off the balcony.”
the guy blinks again. “uh—”
megumi gestures toward the hall with his chin. “go.”
the guy scrambles to grab the football and backs out so fast he almost trips. you close the door slowly, turning to look at him. “you could’ve just ignored him.”
megumi sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “yeah, well, people don’t get the hint anymore unless you spell it out with profanity.”
you snort. “you sound like an old man.”
“good,” he mutters, heading back toward his desk. “maybe then they’ll stop trying to talk to you like it’s an open casting call for stupid.”
the video ends up online anyway.
"sIS IS WINNING IN LIFE"
“i need whatever prayer she said”
“you can hear the exhaustion in his tone”
“that man radiates ‘I hate everyone but her’ energy”
𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐌𝐀.
the knock hits the door and you flinch when something thuds against it—hard. you blink, confused, opening the door halfway just to be met with some idiot grinning at you, holding a football like he’s in a gatorade commercial.
“are you ladies alright?” he asks, voice all smooth and fake-deep like he practiced it in the mirror.
you stare. there’s no one behind you. no friends. just your dumb ass standing there in pajamas. and before you can even speak, a low voice cuts through.
“can i help you?” takuma’s leaning against the wall, hoodie half-zipped, hair messy, holding a mug like he’s been watching this whole trainwreck unfold. he looks at the guy, then at you, then back at the guy again—expression unreadable, bored even.
the dude just blinks. “oh—uh, my bad, it’s a trend—”
“yeah, i can tell,” takuma says dryly, crossing his arms. “you and your friend there look like dumb and dumber.”
the other boy snickers from behind the camera, but it dies fast when takuma lifts a brow. “no seriously,” he continues, voice flat, “is that your thing? just run around throwing balls at people’s doors? you want a medal or some shit?”
you’re trying not to laugh, hiding behind the door. takuma side-eyes you, unimpressed. “don’t humor them, baby. they’ll think it’s a collab.”
the guy stammers out a half-assed “sorry” before backing away, and takuma just shuts the door with a lazy shove, muttering under his breath. “jesus. every day it’s something. next week someone’s gonna come juggle knives or some bullshit.”
you’re giggling now, and he looks at you like you’re the entertainment. “what?”
“you called them dumb and dumber,” you laugh.
he shrugs, sipping from his mug. “well, I was being generous.” then, smirking faintly, he adds, “if another guy knocks, i’m answering naked next time. see if that’s part of their trend.”
“‘don’t laugh baby they’ll think it’s a collab’ 😭😭😭 he ATE with that”
“bro didn’t even raise his voice and still ended their careers”
“he called them dumb and dumber LIKE IT WAS NOTHING”
“why is he hot even when he’s roasting people?? tf ”
𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔.
you don’t even get to say anything. just a knock—no, more like a thud. something hits the door hard enough to make you flinch. you pull it open, half ready to scold whoever it is, and there’s this guy standing there with a football in his hand and a stupid grin.
“are you ladies alright?” he asks, all fake-smooth like he practiced that in the mirror.
you blink. and before you can even open your mouth, suguru appears behind you.
his hair’s messy, eyes still heavy with sleep, sweatpants hanging low on his hips. there’s this slow exhale as he leans against the doorframe—like he can feel the stupidity radiating off this guy.
he just looks at him. no words. no reaction. just this blank, are-you-seriously-doing-this-right-now expression that could make a priest apologize.
and then, flatly, “...losers.” he shuts the door right in their faces.
you’re still standing there, half in shock, half laughing under your breath, when he wraps an arm around your waist from behind and steers you back toward the couch.
“what was that even supposed to be?” he mutters, already lying back down and dragging you with him.
“a trend,” you say, still giggling.
“yeah?” his voice is lazy, already fading back into his half-sleep. “well, tell the internet to fuck off next time. i was having a good nap.”
and just like that, he tucks you against his chest, the sound of him sighing against your hair as the camera quietly cuts off.
“oh bro was REPULSED”
“he looked at them like they were beneath oxygen 😭😭😭”
“this is lit how i feel abt this trend..."
“he’s so effortlessly rude i love him 😭💅”
Batman starting to suspect that Captain Marvel is actually a human teen, and using all of his knowledge as a father of seven to prove his theory.
Batman, in a room full of –supposedly– adult Superheroes:... the villains then destroyed the building and took three people hostage, which, if I may add, was just so... Skibidi.
Captain Marvel: *cringes*
Batman, eyes narrowing: ...Fortunately, they weren't standing on business. Superman and I were able to track them back to their hideout and rescue the hostages. No major aura losses. We slayed.
Captain Marvel: *cringes harder*
Batman, with the glint of victory in his eyes:... Guess you could say they couldn't handle our rizz maxxing.
Captain Marvel, covering his face in second hand embarrassment: dude...
*Later, in the cave*
Bruce: I have confirmation on Captain Marvel's identity being a human on the younger side, probably a teen or pre-teen.
Jason: How did you even confirmed that?
Batman: I talked Gen Z to him.
*Both Tim and Damian groaning*
Jason, blinking: You 'talked Gen Z to him'? The fuck does that mean?
Tim: Don't make him demonstrate...
Dick: He uses Gen Z slang. Kids hate it.
Jason: Are you serious? That's it?
Damian: Don't underestimate his tactic, Todd. It's... oddly effective.
Bruce, smiling: What can I say, I'm a sigma, I never take an L.
*everyone having a full-body cringe*
Jason: Holy shit, nevermind, I get it.
Bruce: W plan for real, chat
Jason: Okay, stop.
Bruce: Can't. I'm in my rizzler dad era.
Jason: I will skin myself with Damian's katana.
*Meanwhile*
Green Lantern: So.. Did anyone understand Spooky's report today?
Flash: Not a damn word.
Superman: I would like to clarify. I didn't slay anyone, I was very gentle.
SUMMARY: Okay, so you had the biggest, most embarrassing crush on Bakugou when you were both in high school. He was kind of your first love, if you believe in those kinds of things. But you got over it. It's fine.
You see Bakugou sometimes at hangouts, at get-togethers. He's in your orbit, or you're in his, because of your mutual friends. You're all adults now, so it's fine. It's a little weird, but fine.
You're supposed to be on vacation, at a place that's hours away from Musutafu. You're not sure what you've done to deserve it, but Bakugou's here too. And instead of both of you pretending the other doesn't exist, as usual, he's talking to you. He's everywhere. It's fine.
(It's not fine.)
TAGS: pro hero Bakugou Katsuki, aged-up characters, friends to lovers (being generous with that friends label lol), fluff, pining, eventual smut
STATUS: Completed; 2 of 3
NAVIGATION: Series Masterlist
Okay, so you’re a liar.
You’re still—really attracted to Bakugou. You don’t think you ever stopped being attracted to him.
You’d told Rie a half truth; yes, at first, what’d drawn you to him was his face.
Even in your generation’s set of heroes—the likes of which include the so-beautiful-he’s-almost-unreal legacy hero, Pro Hero Shouto, and All Might’s successor, sweet, freckled, boy-next-door Pro Hero Deku—Bakugou stands out. Something about him makes you want to look at him.
When you were teenagers, he had the rough, unfinished kind of good looks he’d at best disregarded and at worst willfully skewed, often marring them with bared teeth, deep scowls, and constant yelling.
As an adult, he’s devastating.
Those good looks matured into a deeply attractive masculinity, a captivating mix of confidence and competence, his personality’s extremes tempered. His shoulders broadened; he’d shot up in height. The scars he’d collected during the war gave him a dangerous, alluring edge.
(Or so the web magazines and tabloids say. When you look at his scars, you remember that time of fear and uncertainty; you remember the relief you felt when it was over, the catch in your chest when you saw Sero’s, Mina’s, Kaminari’s faces. Bakugou’s face. Battered, hurt, but okay.)
You didn’t tell Rie that what you find even more attractive about Bakugou is what you’ve learned of him, from how the people who care about him talk about him. From what you’ve seen of him when you do cross paths.
A year or two ago, Deku nearly collapsed from overwork consulting on a difficult, international case while maintaining his regular workload. The only reason you know as much as you do about it (not much) is because their class is still so close, even after all these years, and it’d come up briefly during a get-together.
“Midoriya only listens to Bakugou,” Sero’d said over drinks one night, shaking his head. “That guy’s hard headed. But he’ll be okay. Bakugou’s got it.”
Bakugou knocked some sense into Deku, apparently, and had supported him to the end of that case.
You hear that another of their classmates, Jirou, has a pretty popular band. You were shocked to see a video circulating a couple months ago featuring Bakugou on the drums. He’d worn all black, a shirt with the sleeves cut off, and someone on Chirper had zoomed in on his face and confirmed he’d been wearing eyeliner.
Mina’d told you that Jirou’s drummer had broken his wrist right before a performance. Bakugou had subbed in. You didn’t save the eyeliner picture, but sometimes you think about how his eyes looked in it and shiver.
The last time you saw Bakugou was at that dinner with Rie, Sero, Kirishima, and Mina. Kirishima’d gotten a little drunk, celebrating a completed case. As you all went your separate ways that night, you couldn’t help but notice the gruff way Bakugou’d lent Kirishima a shoulder, nagging him, but still supporting his weight as he hailed a cab and helped his friend home.
You like that he’s dependable. You like that he cares so much about his friends, despite appearing to the rest of the world as unapproachable and irritable, a bomb waiting to go off.
You’ve learned all these things about him secondhand; you know—you know that there’s a huge difference between that and knowing him yourself, directly. If you could have a do-over with him, you’d have played it cool, in high school. Maybe then you could’ve at least been friends, instead of friends of friends.
You don’t think that’s in the cards for you. And that’s okay. You’ve made your peace with it.
Yawning, you cover your mouth, then rub at your eyes, trying to wake up. It’s early enough that you’re really regretting trying to stick to your routine by going for a run, even while on vacation.
You’re already dressed, out here and ready, you tell yourself. Just go. You think of how good the massage you’ve got scheduled later today will feel after some exercise.
The hills surrounding the ryokan are green with the beginnings of spring, and here outside the city, closer to the mountains, the heat and the humidity have yet to reach their seasonal peaks. The air’s clear, and you inhale deeply.
You’d have to thank the staff member who’d suggested this forest trail to you. It’s conveniently close to the ryokan while still being far enough apart that you have yet to bump into any early bird tourists. And the scenery’s a perfect companion on your run.
With this thought to motivate you, you set to stretching.
You’re bent down, reaching to touch your toes, when the barest sound of footsteps comes from behind you.
You jump, swinging around.
Bakugou stands there in shorts and a form-fitting shirt, hands stuffed into his pockets. Your eyes snag on his shoulders, his biceps.
He raises an eyebrow at you.
“You’re jumpy as fuck,” he tells you, and you make a face.
“Wear a bell,” you retort. Your heart’s still beating a little fast.
He snorts, then begins his own stretches.
You watch him for a few moments before your brain turns on.
“You’re not… going running with me, are you?” you ask. Wait. Maybe he’s just going running at the same time as you. Not necessarily with you.
“Why, can’t keep up?” Bakugou asks, a hint of a smirk on his face. He maintains eye contact for a beat longer, long enough for your stupid brain to remember how attractive he is, for your heart to pick up the pace without your permission. With how much work your heart’s put in within just five minutes, maybe you don’t even need to work out this morning.
He straightens up, and without another word, he takes off.
You stand there for a moment, stupefied. Then, scowling, you run after him.
“You’ve got stamina,” Bakugou says, leaning against the table.
“...Thanks,” you say, the word coming out as more of a question than a statement, and he grunts but doesn’t say anything more. Shifting your weight, you sip your water, wondering how you got here.
You’d caught up with Bakugou pretty fast—you suspect he wasn’t going full speed. For a while, you’d stressed. Were you going too slow? Too fast? Did he really expect you to keep up with him, when fitness is a big part of his job as a pro hero, while you’re a normal office worker?
But minutes and distance passed, and thoughts faded into the background. Your exertion overrode your worries. You let yourself fall into the feeling of your feet striking dirt, the rhythmic inhale and exhale of air.
All the while, Bakugou kept pace with you. When you’d decided you were done after a couple loops of the trail, he’d accompanied you back to the ryokan, lingering with you here at the lobby’s refreshments area.
You’re really not sure what’s happening. It’s hard to believe that your leisurely run was up to his usual standards. You wonder if he’s bored, craving company, since he’d come out here alone and you’re conveniently around to sate that boredom.
“So do you usually run outdoors, or do you use your agency’s gym?” you ask, wrapping your hands around your water cup.
“Gym,” Bakugou says. His face grows pinched, annoyed. “Too many randos try to talk to me if I go running outdoors.”
“Oh, right. Pro Hero Dynamight.” You frown. “That sucks. But your agency’s gym’s pretty nice, I hear. Hanta’s said he wishes ours was as good.”
“It’s decent,” he says. His eyes move to your hands, fidgeting with your cup. Self-conscious, you stop.
Abruptly, he says, “Heard you got promoted recently. Congrats.”
“Oh!” Tilting your head slightly, you say, “Thanks, Bakugou. Though honestly, it feels like I just get more work dumped on me with the added responsibility of having to fix people’s problems when work drama happens. The pay bump’s nice, though.”
“You’ve always been good at your shit,” Bakugou says. “Don’t downplay it.”
You blink. Ridiculously, you feel your face begin to warm up.
“Thanks,” you say again, a little softer. You smile up at him.
He looks at you, and—it feels like he’s so close. Was he always standing this close?
Your phone chimes from within your pocket. You fish it out, eyes dropping to your phone screen as you avoid Bakugou’s eyes, feeling shy and off balance. Which is dumb, because it was just a compliment, jeez. Get it together. He’s just being nice.
It’s Rie, wondering where you are and asking you to get back to your room. Checking the time, you wince. You’d been out later than you intended.
“Hey, I gotta run,” you tell Bakugou. Glancing around, you look for somewhere to get rid of your cup.
“I got it,” Bakugou says, taking it from you. Your hands brush against each other, and you’re so annoyed at yourself for being so aware of him that juvenile gestures like this get your heart rate up.
“Thanks,” you say. “And thanks for the company! It was fun. Maybe I’ll see you around, but if I don’t, enjoy the rest of your vacation!”
You don’t wait for a reply, hurrying out of the lobby towards your room.
Rie’s packing when you use your key to let yourself into the room.
For a moment, you stare at her as she moves what few things she’d unpacked back into her luggage. You just want to be sure that she’s packing her things rather than unpacking them, as you’d finished doing just yesterday.
“Hello? What’re you doing?” you say. “Our reservation’s for the entire weekend, so why are you packing?”
Rie groans loudly. “Don’t remind me. I’m so mad. Stop standing there and come sit so I can explain.”
Bewildered, you toe off your shoes and sit on one of the lounge chairs, unwilling to sit on either of your beds in workout clothes.
Rie perches on the table in front of you and looks at you. “So don’t be mad. But I have to go because I got an emergency call from a client who has an event this evening. She’s paying me triple, and she’s going to reimburse me for my reservation here.”
Your jaw drops. “Triple? Must be a rich client.”
Rie laughs. “Very. Her wallet won’t even notice. And now I can use her reimbursement to book a future reservation with Hanta.”
“I mean, that’s great for you, but… Should I come back with you? So you’re not traveling back alone?”
Rie looks at you like you’ve said something ridiculous. “What? No. Stay here. Enjoy the rest of the weekend. It’s like… doubly free for you now, so there’s no way you can waste it.”
You frown. She’s right; it would be a waste to go. But it’s a little… lonely, thinking about the plans you’d made together and knowing you’d be doing them by yourself, now.
Ever perceptive, Rie reaches over and jostles your leg. “Hey. I really am sorry for leaving you for work. If you want, I can tell her I’m not available. I know we came all the way out here together, and you did it as a favor. She’s a regular client. She won’t drop me if I cancel on her once.”
You’re already shaking your head. “No way. The deal’s too good. If you do something dumb like that, I’ll kill you.”
Snorting, Rie leans back. “You sure?”
“Positive,” you say firmly. You smile. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”
You see Rie off as she climbs into a shuttle provided by the ryokan. It’ll take her to the train station, and she should arrive back in the city by mid-afternoon.
You text Sero in case he doesn’t know Rie’s headed back. Maybe he could pick her up at the station. You’ve yet to receive a reply from him, but you know he’s probably busy with patrol right now.
After showering the sweat of your workout off, you sprawl across your bed and stare at the ceiling.
Originally, your plans had been to check out the town’s morning market, shop around a bit, then have lunch. After that, a visit to a temple nearby was on the agenda. The day would end with your scheduled massage and a dip in the onsen.
Now, the thought of such an activities-filled day tires you.
You close your eyes. Maybe you can just. Skip everything except for the massage today.
Your phone pings. Eyes still closed, you pat around next to you for it and then check the message you’d received.
Rie: If I find out you just stayed in the room for the next two days… 🔪🔪🔪
If you didn’t already know her quirk, you would’ve thought she’s telepathic.
Sighing, you force yourself up and off the bed and get dressed.
The market’s busy, with tourists and locals alike mingling through the crowded main street. Shops line either side of the street, some selling local handicrafts and souvenirs, others selling food and desserts.
The overlapping sounds create a pleasant background hum, and you happily peer into stores, hunting for things to bring back.
You find a bath and skincare set for Rie, who constantly complains about her dry skin but never does anything about it. A coin purse for Mina, who always carries her coins loose in her pockets, clinking around. Some local confections for Kaminari and Sato. Hanta gets a bag full of local fruits; he’s always been a little bit of a health nut.
Just as you’re about to enter a bakery, windows lined with delicious looking breads and desserts, you spot a familiar blond head of hair just outside.
“Bakugou?” you call out, and he turns.
Like you, he’s changed from workout clothes to casual clothes. Jeans, a shirt. He’s holding a coffee with the bakery’s branding.
“Is that any good?” you ask, pointing at his drink.
He shrugs. “S’okay.”
You bite your lip, trying to stifle a smile. “I’m starting to think that just okay to you is what regular people think is great.”
He gives you a look, and you grin.
Stepping back, you wave a little. “I’m gonna go inside and check things out. It was nice seeing you.”
Instead of continuing on his way, Bakugou follows you inside. Surprised that he’s stuck around, you glance back at him.
“What’re you gonna get?” he asks you.
In this little bakery, you can’t help but notice how tall he is. Especially with him right behind you, waiting for you to answer.
“I haven’t had breakfast yet, so… This bread looks pretty good.” You point at it. It’s savory looking, with cheese and some type of meat on it. “And I saw someone come out with this strawberry cream croissant! It’s the real reason I’m in here.”
You don’t hear what he says in response, as you’re next in line and quickly order. When you go to pay, you find yourself nudged aside as Bakugou takes care of it before you can protest.
“Bakugou, what?”
“Didn’t anybody teach you to just say thank you?” Bakugou says, herding you to the side with a hand on your back so that the person behind you can order. His touch is so warm; you wonder if it’s because of his quirk, if it works that way.
“Thank you,” you say automatically, then frown. “You really didn’t have to.”
“Go get your bread,” he just says.
You do, feeling off-kilter again. It’s what you’ve been feeling every single time you’ve seen Bakugou this weekend. You’ve gone from seeing him maybe two or three times a year since you graduated to two or three times a month this last year. And now, within the span of twenty-four hours, you’ve seen him three times.
And it hasn’t been purposeful, at least on your end. So has it been purposeful… on Bakugou’s end?
“What’re you thinking,” Bakugou says as the two of you rejoin the crowds of people walking the main street. You don’t have a particular destination in mind, and if Bakugou does, he doesn’t say anything.
You consider being straightforward and asking him what the deal is. He’s never shown any interest in interacting with you before.
But—no, it’s a little too embarrassing. It could really just be coincidence. The ryokan is big, but not that big. It’d be easy to bump into the same person there. And there’re a bunch of touristy things to do in the area, but only to an extent. He could just be interested in doing the same things you’re interested in checking out.
Asking him if he’s been bumping into you on purpose… no way.
“There’s a famous dango place nearby,” you end up saying, then take a quick bite of the strawberry croissant. You nearly moan. It’s so good. The strawberries are fresh, and the croissant is flaky and light. The cream isn’t too sweet. It’s perfect.
Swallowing hastily, you continue, “They have seasonal flavors, but their mitarashi is really good too, I hear.”
“Fucking messy,” Bakugou says. You make a questioning sound, turning your head to look at him. He looks at you for a long moment, then snorts. He grabs your arm to halt you, tugs you out of the way of people walking.
Taking a napkin from his pocket, he tilts your chin up and wipes your mouth. You can only stand there, eyes wide.
“You had a lotta something there,” he says. His eyes tell you he’s laughing at you. Looking around, he finds a trash can to toss the napkin and his empty coffee cup.
“Have you been hit by a quirk?” you demand once he’s back by your side.
“What?” he asks. His brow furrows. He scowls.
“Nevermind,” you say quickly. “Anyway, I’m going to grab some dango.”
With narrowed eyes, you point at him. “And you can only come if you promise not to pay for anything, okay?”
He lifts a brow at you, and you take that as a yes. The two of you resume walking.
“Where’s Rie?” Bakugou asks suddenly, and you tilt your head at him.
“I’m surprised you know her name, with how much you call her Soy Sauce Face’s girlfriend,” you say, smiling. It fades a little as you continue, “She had to leave because of work. So I’m vacationing solo for the rest of the weekend.”
Bakugou’s expression is unreadable. You’re not sure what to make of it.
“It’s cool. Since I’m on my own, I get to decide where I’m going,” you say. “Instead of checking out the temple, I want to do a hike at the national park nearby. Supposedly, the views are amazing.”
“Y’gonna do that today?” Bakugou asks.
You shake your head. “No, I figure I’ll take it easy today. Enjoy the onsen. I’ll do the hike tomorrow.”
Bakugou’s silent for a moment, and then, “You shouldn’t hike an unfamiliar trail alone. If you want someone to do that shit with, take me.”
You blink, startled. “Oh, I… I don’t want to impose. Don’t you have stuff you want to do here, too? I don’t wanna ruin your plans.”
He stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Not really.”
Stranger and stranger. Who comes to a vacation destination without anything to do in mind?
If you were smart, you’d tell him thanks but no thanks. That you could handle it by yourself.
Because spending all this time with Bakugou is making you delusional. You’re starting to read into his little touches, the things he’s saying, when he’s just being nice to his friend’s friend. His friend’s friend who got ditched on vacation.
But you like him too much to say no.
“Okay,” you tell him. “If you’re really cool with it, I wouldn’t mind the company. We should exchange numbers to make planning where to meet and at what time easier.”
Bakugou grunts, pulling out his phone. He takes a moment to tap at his phone, then offers it to you. You do the same.
As you resume walking, your hand brushes against his. The part of you that’s foolish, romantic, pretends that this moment is something more.
Notes: Hello again, darlings! Thank you so much for all the love you gave part one of this fic. 🥺 You guys are the best fr. 💖
As you can tell from this part's ending... I, like reader, am a liar lmao. A week ago, I thought this fic would end in just two parts, but I kept writing, and writing, and I realized I need at least another chapter, maybe two, to fully flesh out what I have planned. I hope you can forgive me. 🙏
Some notes for this chapter... Rie's a celebrity makeup and hair artist! The morning market is based off of shopping you can do in Arashiyama. I have had strawberry cream croissants from a Japanese-French bakery where I live, and they are delicious. Dango are little balls of rice flour that're on skewers. A popular flavor is mitarashi, or a sweet soy sauce flavor.
Anyway, I'll see you next weekend with another update! Hugs and kisses! ✨💞
“sorry i'm late,” you sigh, hurrying into the teacher’s lounge much later than usual. shoko’s the only one there, feet propped up on the coffee table as she flips through a medical journal. you throw your coat over the back of a chair before joining her, trying to rub the sleep from your eyes
“morning, sunshine.” shoko chuckles, handing you a mug. “this is a double shot, but maybe i should have gotten you a triple? what kept you up last night?”
“nothing," you quickly defend.
“you sure? because i'm not above blocking all the exits until you tell me.”
“you promise not to judge?”
“not out loud.”
you roll your eyes at your best friend, but wring your hands tightly in your lap as you recall the events of last night. “have you ever had a…a special dream–”
shoko sits up straight, eyes wide as she says, much too loud, “you mean a sex dream?”
“shh!” you swat her on the arm, glaring.
shoko ignores your obvious distress, grinning from ear to ear. “who are you having sex dreams about? is it ijichi? akari? oh my god, is it me? is it gojo? don’t tell me it’s gojo…”
“i may have been dreaming about…kento.”
“nanami?!”
heat immediately pools in your cheeks. “you can’t tell anyone, especially gojo. and hey, don't say it like that!”
“i swear i’m not judging!” she promises. “if anything, i approve!”
“ugh,” you groan, heading over to the counter to put your unfinished mug in the sink. “i don’t know what’s going on with me.”
“fantasizing is normal. i’ve fantasized about everyone here. you, nanami, even gojo.”
“seriously?”
she takes a sip of her coffee, shrugging. “i'm a scorpio.”
that explains nothing and in no way makes you feel any better. if anything, you’re starting to feel a little possessive over someone who isn't even yours.
“well i need to stop thinking about him like this,” you mutter, frowning.
“back to your dream. did you guys…do it?”
“shoko!” you gasp, gaze darting to the open door.
“so you did,” she deduces. “was it good?”
it was great. not that you’d tell her.
“hey, naughty is good. naughty is sexy,” she laughs.
you rest your hip against the counter, shaking your head. “i can’t dream of him like that again. i can’t go on missions with him if i’m having these…inappropriate thoughts.”
“why? cause you want to be his good girl?”
some clears their throat loudly.
both your heads whip toward the door, where nanami’s standing with his briefcase. “good morning.”
as he walks further into the lounge you wonder two things. first, how much he heard. second, how much force would it take to put your head through the wall–
“excuse me.” your entire body stiffens when a hand is placed on your waist, nanami gently moving you to the side as he grabs a mug from the cabinet.
memories of last night’s dream invade the crevices of your mind, causing you to quickly step out of his reach. with his back turned you look to shoko for help, who simply makes a circle with her thumb and index finger and–
you feign casualness when nanami turns to face you, sending you a small smile before taking his coffee and making a swift exit.
shoko bursts out laughing as you groan, wishing you could melt into the floor.
_____
“look at them. they're totally talking about us,” gojo mutters, peeking into the teacher’s lounge.
“so?” nanami asks, prying gojo’s hand from his sleeve.
“so, what do you think they're talking about? oh– oh, shoko just pulled out her phone. maybe they're talking about the thirst trap i posted for–”
nanami grabs the back of gojo’s shirt collar, dragging him away from the door. “why would they be talking about a picture you posted for your fiancée?”
“because i'm hot–”
“please stop talking.”
“you’re hot too, nanamin! someone’s been giving you the look lately.”
that makes him pause. “really? what look?”
the sorcerer wriggles out of his grip, an irritatingly wide grin on his face. “got your attention, did i?”
“what did you mean by that? what look?”
“the look. you know, the one where you’re picturing someone naked. fantasizing about them. caught her once while you were cooking us dinner. speaking of, what’s that one dish you made with the…”
nanami tunes out gojo’s nonsensical rambling, focusing on the few important things he’d shared as they walk down the hall. you were picturing him naked?
interesting.
_____
when you open the front door of your apartment, nanami is standing there with a bag of groceries and a bottle of wine.
oh no. this is how the fantasies always start.
“i was on my way home and wondered if you’ve eaten yet.”
you’d eaten two hours ago, but you step back to let him inside and get set up in the kitchen.
soon enough, your little kitchen is filled with the sound and scents of a home cooked meal. nanami is a natural in the kitchen, tossing veggies in a pan and stirring his homemade sauce.
(it almost looks as good as nanami does with his shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow, cooking dinner in your apartment.)
you’re snapped out of your thoughts when he reaches over to refill your glass. he refills his own, covering the pot and leaving it to simmer as he turns to where you’re perched on the counter.
“i wanted to talk to you about something,” he says suddenly, sweating his glass down.
“hm?”
“i’m not above a few fantasies of my own.”
you almost choke on your wine. “gojo told you–”
he’s standing between your knees now, taking the glass from your hand and setting it aside. “i fantasize about you too.”
“you do?”
“i could tell you about them,” he suggests, voice dropping to a whisper as the tip of his nose nudges yours. “if you’re a good girl.”
