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⊹ ࣪ ⑅ ֹ੭୧ INTRODUCING ME ⊹ ࣪ ⑅

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HELLO! I am a small time writer who usually doesn't update much. I normally stick to head cannons and short stories with the occasional long story appearing every once in a while.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𓏲ּ𝄢

Name: Arion.

Age: 20

Pronouns: She/Her

fic masterlist!

#intro post #ao3 writer

His love is your Safety.

Suguru wants to make it official but he worries that his love might not be enough to keep you safe.

Continuation of Loves weight in gold.

The night air had turned crisp, carrying the quiet, melancholy chill that always seemed to follow the end of summer.

Suguru Geto sat on the worn leather couch in the Jujutsu High common room, his long legs stretched out in front of him, fingers laced loosely over his stomach. On the outside, he was the picture of composure—calm, collected, possessing that easy, deliberate grace that usually commanded every room he walked into.

In reality, his mind was an absolute tempest.

He had spent the entire day with you. Every single hour, every quiet lull in conversation, every shared glance had been dominated by a singular, suffocating focus: you. It wasn't that Suguru ever truly stopped thinking-his mind was a perpetual engine of dark, heavy calculations; but today, all of that background noise had been utterly drowned out by your presence.

Could you handle all of him? Could you bear the crushing weight of his world, a world steeped in curses, violence, and the rotting stench of human ugliness? Above all, would you be safe? That was the question that kept clawing at his chest, raw and relentless. How greedy was he allowed to be with you? How much of your warmth could he consume before his darkness inevitably stained you?

Throughout the afternoon, he had played his part flawlessly. He had walked beside you like normal, talked like normal, teased you with that smooth, gentle smirk that never failed to draw a flush to your cheeks. But underneath the facade, his brain was on a maddening, relentless loop.

He replayed the exact feeling of kissing you.

The soft, electric yield of your lips beneath his. The quiet, breathless sound of your laughter a sound that made his heart pound against his ribs with a violence that frightened him. The way your eyes looked when you turned your gaze onto him, so full of pure, unfiltered warmth that it felt like his frozen interior was literally melting away.

Then, you had left. You had walked out the door to head back home, leaving behind a silence that felt heavier than lead.

Suguru spent the entire walk back to the common room trying to convince himself of a lie. He tried to force himself to believe that your safety was infinitely more important than his selfish love. If he truly loved, you if he possessed even a shred of genuine nobility he would step back. He would be the guardian in the shadows, keeping his distance to preserve your purity.

With a heavy, dragged-out sigh, Suguru leaned his head back against the cushion of the couch, staring blankly up at the cracked plaster ceiling.

From her seat at the round wooden table across the room, Shoko Ieiri flicked the top of her lighter closed with a crisp snap. A thin curl of cigarette smoke drifted up toward the light fixture. She had been watching him in quiet amusement for the past twenty minutes.

"So," Shoko asked, her voice dry and laced with her usual nonchalance. "Is it official?"

Suguru didn't move his head. His eyes remained fixed on the ceiling. "No, it's not..." He paused, his throat tightening slightly. "She'd be safer if she wasn't involved with me."

Shoko raised an eyebrow, pausing with her cigarette halfway to her mouth. She stared at him for a beat, letting the silence stretch before letting out a soft, incredulous snort.

"That's bullshit," she said plainly. "She'd be safer with you. Besides, she was my friend first, long before she became your little romantic obsession. What's going to change when she dates you? Has she been unsafe with me for the last four years?"

Before Suguru could formulate a counterargument, Shoko lazily flicked the plastic ballpoint pen she was holding straight at his head.

Thwack.

It struck him squarely on the arm. Suguru didn't even flinch. He didn't blink. He just let out another long, defeated sigh, reluctantly letting his head roll to the side to look at her.

"Point taken..." he muttered, his tone flat, entirely unbothered by the projectile. He reached down and picked the pen off the cushion beside him, rolling it between his long, calloused fingers. "She's just... so... soft."

He hated the way the word sounded the second it left his mouth. It felt reductive, inadequate. "Soft" didn't begin to capture what you were.

In Suguru's mind, you were like a priceless piece of art, painted by a master artist who poured every vivid, radiant color onto the canvas just to remind the cold world that love and joy still existed. You were light, and balance, and undeniable warmth.

And him? Suguru was an artwork too, but one painted in washed-out blacks, muddy grays, and bruised purples. He was a canvas stained with harbored sadness, quiet bitterness, and a growing, dangerous hate for the world around him. How could something crafted from such bleak tones touch something so vibrant without ruining it?

Shoko leaned back in her chair, blowing a plume of grey smoke toward the open window. "You're selling her short, Suguru."

Suguru narrowed his eyes slightly, but Shoko continued, her tone uncharacteristically firm.

"She's not the kind of person to walk away when you're at your worst," Shoko said, pointing the tip of her lit cigarette in his direction for emphasis. "She’s strong. She’s independent. And above all, she loves stubbornly. She might be as sweet as sugar, but don't you dare think for a second that she can't handle a little bit of the weight and pressure you stupidly insist on keeping on your own shoulders."

Suguru paused at that.

She loves stubbornly.

The words echoed in his head, striking a resonant, aching chord deep within his chest. He closed his eyes, the memory of your face flashing brightly against the dark behind his eyelids. You were stubborn. You had stood up to him before. You had looked straight into his dark eyes when he was at his most exhausted, his most jaded, and you hadn't flinched. You had reached out and held his hand instead.

"Go to bed, Suguru," Shoko muttered, turning back to her medical documents on the table. "You look like a ghost, and your brooding is ruining my break."

Suguru didn't go to sleep.

Instead, he retreated to the silence of his room, closing the heavy wooden door behind him. He didn't turn on the lights. He simply walked over to his bed, sitting down on the edge in the darkness, the faint moonlight filtering through the high windows and casting long, sharp shadows across the floorboards.

His room was minimalist, almost sterile. There were no bright colors here, no personal trinkets, nothing that betrayed the inner workings of his mind. Just a bed, a desk, and the suffocating weight of his own thoughts.

He buried his face in his hands, pressing his palms into his eyes until he saw spots.

Shoko's words refused to leave him. She's as sweet as sugar, but don't think she can't handle some of the weight...

Was he selling you short? Or was he just terrified?

Suguru forced himself to confront the truth that he had been burying under the guise of "protection." It was easy to hide behind the martyr complex. It was easy to tell himself that he was keeping you at arm's length because he was a curse user, because his soul was decaying, because the cursed spirits he swallowed every day left a foul, ash-like residue on his spirit. It made him feel noble to suffer in silence.

But it was a lie. The fear wasn't just that you would get hurt.

The fear was that if he let you in—if he let you see the darkest, ugliest, most unsavory corners of his mind—you would realize that he wasn't worthy of the light you shone on him. You would look at the mud and shadow of his soul and turn away.

And yet...

Suguru dropped his hands from his face, leaning back against his pillows and staring up at the shadow-draped ceiling.

What if he stepped away? What if he did the "right thing" and kept his distance? What if he reduced himself to just a friend, a distant protector who watched from afar while you lived a normal, peaceful life?

The moment the thought fully formed in his mind, his stomach twisted into a violent, sickening knot.

A future without you as his.

Suguru closed his eyes, and a nightmare scenario unspooled in his mind with terrifying clarity. He imagined years passing. He imagined you realizing that he was never going to take that final, crucial step. He imagined you growing tired of waiting, tired of the subtle boundaries he kept erecting between your hearts.

He imagined you meeting someone else.

Someone normal. Someone who didn't carry the stench of cursed spirits on his breath. Someone who could give you a bright, uncomplicated life in the sun. He imagined another man standing beside you, another man hearing that breathless, golden laugh that belonged to him. He imagined another man's hands holding yours, another man resting his forehead against yours, another man pulling you close in the dark and kissing you until you were breathless.

No.

A violent, visceral wave of possessiveness crashed through Suguru's chest, so intense that he physically sat straight up in bed, his breath catching in his throat. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of the mattress.

The mere possibility of you belonging to anyone else felt like an absolute, intolerable agony. It burned worse than the taste of any curse he had ever swallowed. It made his blood run hot and dark with a fierce, possessive fury that terrified him in its sheer intensity.

He realized then how foolish he had been. He had been trying to play the tragic hero, convincing himself he could let you go for your own good. But Suguru Geto was not a hero. He was a man—a flawed, selfish, desperately lonely man who had found his holy grail in a world full of ash and blood.

He couldn't be noble about this. He refused to be noble.

If you were the brilliant, vivid artwork and he was the dark, washed-out shadows, then so be it. Shadows existed to frame the light. He would build a fortress out of his own dark power to protect you. He would lay his curse-stained hands at your feet and give you every ounce of power, devotion, and affection he possessed. If you were willing to love him—stubbornly, fiercely, as Shoko had said—then he would be a fool, a coward, to deny them both this joy.

He wasn't going to let anyone else touch you. He wasn't going to let the world take you. You were his anchor, his peace, his absolute selfish choice.

Suguru looked at the clock on his nightstand.

4:30 AM.

The faint, pale blue light of dawn was just beginning to bleed through the edge of the horizon. He couldn't wait. He couldn't sit in this dark room for another hour letting his mind construct horrific futures that he had the power to prevent.

Suguru stood up. He washed his face, smoothed down his dark hair, tying it neatly into his signature half-bun, and put on a clean, sharp dark shirt. His hands, usually so steady, carried a subtle, nervous tremble as he adjusted his collar.

He was going to make it official. Today. Right now.

The morning sun was just beginning to cast a warm, golden glow over the city streets when Suguru arrived at your apartment building. The air was cool and crisp, carrying the scent of morning dew and distant coffee shops beginning their daily routines.

He walked up the stairs with purpose, his long strides eager, his mind entirely made up. When he reached your door, he paused for a brief second, taking a single deep breath to steady the rapid, irregular thumping of his heart.

He knocked.

A few moments passed. He heard the faint sound of footsteps shuffling inside, followed by the soft click of the deadbolt unlocking.

The door creaked open, and there you were.

You looked soft, sleepy, and utterly breathtaking. Your hair was slightly ruffled from sleep, a oversized sweater hanging loosely off one of your shoulders, and your eyes were blinking up at him in sheer, bewildered surprise.

"Suguru...?" you mumbled, your voice raspy from sleep, rubbing one of your eyes with the back of your hand. "What... what are you doing here? It's six in the morning. Is something wrong?"

Looking down at you, surrounded by the warm, golden light of the morning sun streaming through her hallway window, Suguru felt every remaining doubt in his mind shatter into dust.

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he simply stepped across the threshold, closing the door behind him with a soft, decisive click, shutting out the rest of the world.

Before you could ask another question, Suguru reached out. His long, slender fingers gently cupped the side of your face, his thumb tracing the smooth curve of your cheekbone. The touch was so tender, so full of reverent devotion, that it instantly melted the lingering grogginess from your mind.

"Suguru?" you whispered, your heart beginning to flutter against your ribs as you looked up into his deep, dark eyes.

"I spent the entire night trying to convince myself that I should stay away from you," Suguru said, his voice low, velvety, and thick with emotion. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your lips. "I told myself you’d be safer. I told myself I was too dark, too ruined, to give you the life you deserve."

You opened your mouth to speak, to protest, but he smoothed his thumb over your bottom lip, gently silencing you.

"Shoko called me an idiot," he continued, a faint, breathless smile touching the corners of his lips, though his eyes remained fiercely intense. "And she was right. I was being a coward. I was so terrified of dragging you into my darkness that I almost convinced myself to let you go."

His grip on your face tightened just a fraction, pulling you a tiny bit closer, until there was no space left between you.

"But I can't," Suguru confessed, his voice dropping to a raw, desperate murmur. "I sat in my room and realized the thought of you belonging to anyone else... the thought of another man kissing you, holding you, hearing your laugh... it almost drove me mad. I am too greedy for you. I want your light, your warmth, your stubborn, beautiful heart. I want all of it."

Your breath caught in your throat. You reached up, placing your hands over his, feeling the steady, frantic pulse beneath his skin. "Suguru..."

"I can't promise you a world without shadows," he murmured, his dark eyes searching yours with an unbearable intensity. "I can't promise you that my life will ever be simple or easy. But I can promise you that I will protect you with everything I have. I will love you with every broken piece of me. If you'll have me..."

He paused, his chest heaving slightly as he laid his entire soul bare before you.

"Be mine," Suguru whispered, the request floating softly in the quiet apartment. "Officially. Completely. Let me be the one who gets to hold you like this."

A slow, brilliant smile broke across your face, illuminating the room far brighter than the morning sun ever could. You didn't answer with words at first; instead, you stood on your tiptoes, wrapping your arms securely around his neck, and pulled his head down to kiss him.

The kiss was sweet, deep, and intoxicating. Suguru let out a soft, shuddering breath against your lips, his hands moving from your face down to your waist, pulling you flush against his chest as if he intended to anchor you to him forever. All the lingering tension, all the heavy dark brooding that had consumed him for days, dissolved instantly in the warmth of your embrace.

When he finally pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes were bright, filled with a peaceful, quiet joy that was so rare for him.

"You really talk too much when you're overthinking, Geto," you teased softly, resting your hands against his broad chest, feeling the wild, rapid pounding of his heart beneath your palms. "I was never going anywhere. I told you I could handle you."

Suguru chuckled, a rich, genuine sound that resonated deep in his chest. He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, then to the tip of your nose, and finally back to your sweet, waiting lips.

"I know," he murmured, his arms tightening around you as he buried his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling the intoxicating scent of you. "I know now. And I'm never letting you go."

Tag-list: @oksukuna, @megssleepygirl, @malaccah, @nooshie11037

#jjk #jjk fanfic #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #suguru fluff #jujutsu kaisen suguru #suguru angst #suguru geto x reader #geto x reader #jjk geto #geto suguru #suguru geto #jjk suguru

Hello Satoru

Satoru loves you but its been 10 years since hes seen you...what happens when he catches the faint presence of your Ghost?

Ten years.

Ten long, agonizing years of waking up in the quiet dark, waiting for a breath on his neck that would never come. Ten years of carrying the weight of the universe on his shoulders while his own personal sky remained shattered beyond repair.

To the jujutsu world, Satoru Gojo was an apex deity, an immovable force, a living anomaly whose very birth altered the balance of reality. He was the man who had everything, who could bend space to his whim, who could erase mountains with a flick of his wrist, and who was utterly untouchable.

Yet, as he walked down the glaring, neon-soaked avenues of Tokyo, surrounded by the mundane chatter of everyday life, Satoru felt smaller and more hollow than any human soul had a right to feel.

"I'm telling you, Megumi, the crepes in Harajuku are an absolute necessity today! If I don't get strawberry cream within the next twenty minutes, I’m going to exorcise the next person who breathes near me!" Nobara Kugisaki declared loudly, throwing her hands into the air as she marched down the sidewalk.

"We came out here for task debriefing and lunch, not your sugar addiction," Megumi Fushiguro muttered, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his uniform coat, his eyes fixed on the pavement with his signature, enduring fatigue. "And besides, Itadori already said he wanted ramen."

"Ramen is for dinner!" Yuji Itadori interjected enthusiastically, walking backward in front of them with a grin plastered across his face. "Lunch calls for heavy carbs! Big bowl, extra chashu pork, thick broth! Right, Sensei?"

Satoru chuckled, a smooth, melodious sound that practiced ease had rendered convincing over a decade of performance. He tilted his head back, adjusting the black fabric of his blindfold with a casual, careless thumb.

"Now, now, kids," Satoru drawled, his tone dripping with playful theatrics. "As your beloved teacher, it is my sacred duty to mediate these life-altering disputes. How about we get both? Strawberry crepes as an appetizer, ramen for the main course, and then I'll buy us all high-end sushi to make up for Megumi's dark and gloomy aura."

"Don't bring me into this," Megumi grumbled, though the faint softening around his eyes betrayed his quiet contentment.

Satoru watched them. He watched the way Yuji laughed, loud and uninhibited, oblivious to the tragic weight that sat upon his young shoulders. He watched Nobara smirk, proud and fiercely independent, marching forward into a world that wanted to crush her. He watched Megumi, the boy he had raised from childhood; a child who had inherited all of the world's harshness and yet still possessed a heart capable of gentle protectiveness.

They were his children, in every way that mattered. They were the future he was bleeding for, the foundation of a world he dreamed of building where young sorcerers wouldn't have to be torn apart before they even had a chance to grow up. They filled the grand, echoing void within him. They gave his endless days purpose.

They were his family.

It wasn't the family he had once envisioned in the quiet, hidden corners of his youth; a life shared with one specific pair of soft eyes, warm laughter, and gentle hands that used to trace the line of his jaw when the weight of being the Strongest became too much to carry. But it was a family, nonetheless. And he was okay with it. He had taught himself to be okay with it.

He had buried his heart ten years ago. He had smoothed over the dirt, planted his duty above it, and swore never to dig it back up.

Until the air shifted.

It wasn't a sudden spike of malicious cursed energy. It wasn't the bitter, metallic tang of a Special Grade curse creeping out from the dark alleys of Shinjuku.

It was something infinitely worse.

It was a gentle, almost imperceptible ripple in the fabric of the atmosphere. To anyone else, it would have been nothing—a soft breeze, a stray whisper of wind passing through the Tokyo crowd. But to the Six Eyes, which processed every atom, every flow of energy, every residual echo of reality with absolute, devastating precision... it was an earthquake.

Satoru froze in his tracks.

The laughter of his students faded into a distant, muffled hum. The bright lights of the city blurred at the edges of his vision. His chest tightened so violently that for a second, he forgot how to draw breath into his lungs.

No.

"It's impossible."

"Sensei?" Megumi stopped, turning around with a slight frown. "What is it?"

Satoru didn't answer. He couldn't. His hand moved on instinct, sliding upward to lift the black blindfold just enough to expose his left eye. The infinite expanse of blue beneath his lid flickered, straining, processing millions of data points per second.

Searching. Scanning. Desperate.

And then, across the sea of suits, umbrellas, and oblivious commuters, he saw her.

She was standing at the edge of the pedestrian crossing, her back turned to him. She wore simple clothes, unaffected by the neon glare of the city. But it wasn't her clothes that stopped his heart—it was her hair. The soft, familiar wave of it, catching the light in the exact, tragic way it used to when she sat on his porch in the early morning ten years ago.

You.

Satoru didn't think. The strongest sorcerer in the world a man who calculated every variable of spatial manipulation with absolute mathematical perfection forgot every rule of his existence. He abandoned his post. He abandoned his students. He moved.

"Sensei! Where are you going?!" Yuji shouted after him, but the sound was devoured by the roar of blood pumping in Satoru's ears.

He shoved through the crowd, his Infinity flickering on and off erratically as his concentration shattered into a million jagged pieces. People bumped past him, murmuring in annoyance, but he didn't care. His eyes were locked on her figure.

Please, his mind screamed, a raw, pitiful prayer from a man who had long ceased believing in gods. Please, let it be real. Let it be a curse, let it be an illusion, let it be anything—just don't let it disappear.

He reached the spot where she had been standing. He reached out a trembling hand, ready to grab her shoulder, to pull her into his arms, to hold her so tightly that not even death could tear them apart again.

His hand brushed her shoulder and she was gone

And the crowd vanished.

The noise of Tokyo died instantly. The neon signs flickered out into a vast, twilight expanse. The concrete beneath his boots gave way to a quiet, endless plane of clear, mirror-like water that stretched into a horizon colored in shades of soft indigo and bruised purple.

There was no sound. No wind. No traffic. Just the absolute, terrifying silence of an infinite expanse.

Satoru stood alone in the center of the mirror lake, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. His left hand was still raised, fingers clutching empty air.

Then, behind him, a sound broke the stillness. A quiet, melodic, heartbreakingly familiar chuckle.

"Hello, Satoru."

Satoru's entire body stiffened. A cold, suffocating wave of familiarity washed over him, drowning his senses. He knew that voice. He had heard it in every quiet dream, in every nightmare, in the silent moments before sleep took him, and in the bitter mornings when he woke up to a cold bed.

"Don't you think you should at least say goodbye?"

Your voice was soft. It carried no malice, no bitterness, no anger, only a deep, warmth that cut deeper than any blade ever could.

Satoru turned around slowly. His movements were hesitant, fragile, as if he believed that turning too quickly would shatter the air and blow the vision away.

When his eyes finally landed on you, his knees nearly gave out.

You were standing a few feet away, bathed in the soft, ethereal light of the twilight sky. You looked exactly as you had ten years ago—unscathed by time, untouched by the brutal reality of the world he was forced to live in. Your hair floated gently in a breeze he couldn't feel. Your eyes were fixed on him, filled with a tenderness that made his throat lock up.

"Look at you," you murmured softly, offering him a sad, small smile. "You're still wearing that blindfold. Does it hurt your eyes to see so much, Satoru?"

"You..." Satoru's voice cracked, a horrifying, broken sound coming from the throat of the world's strongest man. "It's... it's really you."

He took a step forward, his boots disturbing the glassy surface of the water beneath them, creating long, slow ripples. He reached out his hand, his fingers shaking so violently that he couldn't hold them still. He wanted to feel the heat of your skin, the soft curve of your cheek, the reality of your presence. He wanted his Infinity to dissolve, to let you touch him, to let anything touch him again.

"Don't be so eager to come and see me, Satoru..." you spoke softly, your voice carrying a gentle warning as you stayed back, taking a slow step backward to maintain the distance between you. "Your students need you."

Satoru trembled. The mask of Gojo Satoru the invincible savior, the arrogant prodigy, the untouchable master crumbled into ash right there on the mirrored water.

"Why..." Satoru choked out, tears finally breaking through his left eye, spilling down his cheek and dripping onto the silent water below. "Why did you leave so soon? Why did you leave me alone?"

"I didn't want to leave, Satoru," you whispered, your smile fading into an expression of unbearable sorrow. "You know I didn't. I wanted to stay with you. I wanted to see the world you promised to change. I wanted to grow old with you."

"Then let me come with you!" he cried, his voice echoing across the endless void. He took two fast, desperate steps toward you, his hand outstretched, begging, reaching for the ghost of his past. "I can do it. I can tear down the boundaries. I don't care about the rules, I don't care about the anyone else, I don't care about any of it! I want to be with you... I've lost enough here! Must I suffer more before I can see you again?!"

You stopped retreating, standing still as Satoru finally closed the distance. His hand reached out, hovering just an inch from your face. "You don't mean that Satoru..."

For ten years, Satoru Gojo had used his technique, Limitless, to keep the world away. His Infinity was an absolute barrier—a mathematical reality where nothing could touch him unless he allowed it. It was his ultimate defense, his greatest power, and his eternal curse.

Now, he willed it down. He banished the barrier entirely. He stripped himself naked of his absolute defense, desperate to feel your skin.

Slowly, his trembling palm pushed forward to cup your cheek.

His hand passed right through you.

There was no heat. No soft skin. No breath against his wrist. Only a cold, tragic emptiness that passed through his fingers like smoke.

Satoru let out a gasp a sound of pure, unadulterated agony. He tried again. He brought his other hand up, trying to cradle your face, trying to wrap his arms around your shoulders, trying to pull your ghost against his chest and bury his face in your neck.

Every time, his hands met only empty light.

"No... no, no, please," Satoru sobbed, dropping to his knees before you, his hands grasping at the reflection of your feet in the water. "Please, just let me hold you once. Just once. Just one second. I can do anything... I'm the strongest! I can control space, I can manipulate time, I can destroy anything in this world... so why can't I touch you?!"

You knelt down in front of him, your spectral hands coming down to rest over his trembling, tangible ones. Even though he couldn't feel the weight of your skin, a faint, phantom warmth seemed to settle over his knuckles.

"Because my time ended ten years ago, Satoru," you said softly, tears glistening in your own eyes like falling stars. "And yours hasn't."

"I don't want it!" Satoru screamed, his blue eyes wide, raw, and bloodshot, looking up into yours. "I don't want this power if it means walking through this world alone! Everyone leaves me! Suguru left me... you left me... I am standing at the apex of the world, and there is no one beside me! It's cold up here! It's so fucking cold!"

"You aren't alone, Satoru," you whispered gently, moving your ghost-hand up to lightly hover over where his heart was beating frantically behind his ribs. "Look behind you. Look at what you're building."

"They don't know me!" Satoru choked out, tears streaming unrestrained down his face, soaking into his collar. "They see the Strongest! They see the teacher who laughs at everything and fixes every problem! None of them see me! You were the only one who ever saw Satoru!"

"Then let them see you," you replied, your voice softening into a heartbreaking cadence. "Teach them how to be strong enough so they don't have to carry the world alone like you did. Megumi... Yuji... Nobara... they are your heart now, Satoru. You gave them a chance at a life that you and I were robbed of. Don't throw that away."

"I miss you," he wept, bowing his head until his forehead pressed against the cold, clear surface of the water beneath them. His shoulders shook violently as years of repressed grief, unuttered apologies, and unshed tears tore through his chest. "I miss you every single day. Every time I close my eyes, I see your face. Every time I win a battle, I turn around expecting you to be there to laugh with me. It hurts... it hurts so bad..."

"I know," you whispered, leaning forward. Your ghost-lips gently touched his forehead a light, fleeting sensation, like the brush of a falling leaf. "I know my love. I miss you too. I carry your memory with me wherever I am."

"Take me with you," he begged, his voice dropping to a fragile, broken whisper against the water. "Please..."

"You can't come with me, Satoru. It's not your time."

The indigo sky began to fracture. Great, silver cracks ran through the twilight expanse, spilling bright, blinding sunlight through the fissures. The quiet water beneath them began to swirl and dissolve back into the gray concrete of Shinjuku.

"No... wait! Don't go!" Satoru scrambled up, reaching out blindly, his fingers clawing at the fading light. "Don't leave me again! Please!"

You stood up as the world fell apart around you, slowly stepping backward into the blinding white glow. Your smile was peaceful, beautiful, and devastatingly far away.

"Live, Satoru," you said, your voice echoing through the collapsing void, sounding both right beside him and miles away. "Live for them. Live for yourself. Build the world you promised me."

"I love you!" Satoru shouted, his voice shattering as the white light swallowed everything. "I’ve always loved you!"

"I know," your voice whispered one last time, dissolving into the wind. "I’ll be waiting at the end of the road. But don't you dare hurry..."

The roar of Tokyo slammed back into his senses like a freight train.

The deafening noise of car horns, the chatter of hundreds of pedestrians, the glaring neon lights, and the heavy smell of exhaust and rain filled the air.

Satoru stood frozen on the sidewalk. His right hand was stretched out into the empty space of the crosswalk. People were walking around him, casting bewildered, annoyed glances at the tall man with the blindfold pulled up over his left eye, standing motionless in the middle of the crowd.

There was no lake. No twilight sky. No warm voice.

Just empty, cold air.

"Sensei?!"

A hand grabbed the sleeve of his uniform coat. Satoru blinked, his six-eyes frantically processing the environment, bringing the world back into sharp, agonizing focus.

Megumi was standing beside him, his brow furrowed with deep, genuine concern. Behind him, Yuji and Nobara were watching with wide, quiet eyes, their playful bickering completely gone, replaced by a sudden, heavy worry.

"Sensei, what happened?" Megumi asked, his voice low. "You took off running like... like you saw a curse. Is something here?"

Satoru stood frozen for a long moment. He felt the cold trail of tears on his left cheek, drying in the afternoon breeze. Slowly, meticulously, he raised his hand and pulled his black blindfold back down over his eyes, hiding the raw, bleeding expanse of his soul once more behind the black cloth.

He swallowed down the lump in his throat, forcing his posture to relax, forcing the heavy, suffocating grief back into the deep, dark vault inside his chest where it belonged.

"Ah... no," Satoru said softly. His voice lacked its usual booming theatricality, but he managed a faint, quiet smile. "No curse, Megumi."

"Then why did you run?" Nobara asked gently, stepping closer. "You look... you look like you've seen a ghost."

Satoru turned his head toward the sky, looking up at the bright, indifferent sun beating down on Tokyo. He could still feel the phantom warmth of your kiss on his forehead. He could still hear your voice telling him to live.

He reached out, resting one heavy hand on Megumi's head and the other on Yuji's shoulder, pulling them slightly closer.

"Just thought I saw an old friend,"

Satoru murmured, his voice soft, lingering with a heartbreak that no strength in the world could ever heal. "Come on, kids. Let's go get those crepes. I promised I'd buy."

"It's the least I can do."

Tag-list @oksukuna, @megssleepygirl, @malaccah,

#jjk #jjk fanfic #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #satoru gojo x reader #gojo angst #angst fic #jjk angst #jjk satoru #satoru gojo #satoru x you #i love gojo #satoru x reader #jujutsu satoru #jujustu kaisen #jjk fandom

Fine, I'll make the first move.

Choso is in love with a Yuji's biker friend but he can't even manage to offer her a proper wave...so you'll have to make the first move.

The scent of burning rubber, hot asphalt, and high-octane fuel always settled in Choso's lungs like a familiar weight. He liked the track. He liked the clinical, mechanical precision of it-the way a perfectly tuned machine responded to the slightest lean of a rider's body. It was a discipline he had meticulously drilled into Yuji, teaching his younger brother how to respect the bike, how to read the apex of a turn, and how to stay alive at ninety miles per hour.

But lately, Choso's focus had been completely compromised.

And it was entirely your fault.

He sat on a stack of tiered tires near the edge of the pit lane, his long legs drawn up, arms resting on his knees. To anyone passing by, he looked exactly like what he was: a striking, somewhat intimidating figure wrapped in a dark, oversized jacket, his hair tied up in his signature twin high buns, a sharp, enigmatic expression plastered across his face. He looked like a man who possessed a quiet, dangerous authority.

Inside, however, Choso was a disaster.

You were currently tearing through the third turn of the track, your bike leaned over at an impossible angle. To Choso, it didn't even look like you were riding; it looked like you were flowing. You bent around the corners like liquid, smooth and defying gravity, before snapping the bike upright and popping a casual, effortless wheelie down the straightaway.

Choso's breath hitched. His heart, usually slow and deliberate, hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird.

He had never actually met you. Not officially. Every time Yuji brought you around, Choso found himself retreating into the shadows or suddenly finding an urgent task in the garage. It wasn't that he didn't want to talk to you; it was that he literally forgot how to function when you were within a five-foot radius. The one time you had walked past him, offering a bright smile and a casual wave, Choso had choked on his own saliva, offering nothing but a stiff, robotic nod and a sound that could only be described as a muffled croak. He hadn't managed a proper "hello" yet, and it was becoming humiliating.

"She's something else, right?"

Yuji’s voice broke Choso out of his trance. His younger brother had just pulled into the pits, lifting the visor of his helmet, sweat matting his pink hair.

"She is... skilled," Choso said, his voice flat, trying desperately to sound like a detached, objective coach. "Her weight distribution on the rear tire during the exit of the turn is efficient."

Yuji snorted, wiping his forehead. "Yeah, okay, Choso. Whatever you say. She’s also leading the local circuit, so you don't have to break down her physics. She just rocks." Yuji looked out at the track as your bike roared past, the engine screaming a beautiful, aggressive melody. "She's been asking about you, you know."

Choso stiffened. His hands clenched into fists inside his pockets. "About me? Why?"

"Because you're always lurking around like a handsome vampire," Yuji laughed, completely oblivious to the sheer panic coursing through his brother's veins. "I told her you're just shy, but she thinks you're interesting."

Interesting. The word felt heavy. Choso watched as you finally slowed down, steering your bike into the pit lane. You cut the engine, the sudden silence filled only by the ticking of the hot metal and the ambient sounds of the track.

When you pulled off your helmet, shaking out your hair, Choso’s heart did another violent flip. You were flushed from the heat of the leather suit, confident, and radiating an effortless, magnetic energy. You were the kind of girl who knew exactly how attractive she was—flirtatious, bold, and entirely out of Choso's self-preserved comfort zone. He was used to dealing with curses, with blood, with the heavy burdens of being an older brother. He knew how to handle a fight.

But he had absolutely no idea how to handle you.

As you walked over, zipper of your leather jacket pulled down slightly to catch the breeze, Choso immediately looked away. He picked up a wrench from a nearby toolbox, pretending to examine its threading with intense, sudden fascination.

"Hey, Yuji! You're getting faster on that inside line," you called out, your voice bright and breathless. Then, your eyes shifted. Right to Choso. "And hello to the master coach. Did I pass inspection today, Choso?"

Hearing his name leave your lips felt like a physical strike. Choso's grip tightened on the wrench. He forced his eyes up, meeting your gaze. You were smiling that knowing, slightly wicked smile that told him you knew exactly what you were doing to him.

"The... the apex," Choso managed to mutter, his voice dangerously low and strained. "You took it well."

"Just well? Man, you're a tough critic," you teased, stepping closer.

Choso’s internal alarm bells went off. He gave another abrupt nod, dropped the wrench back into the box with a loud clatter, and muttered, "Excuse me."

He practically bolted. He walked with long, hurried strides toward the back of the garage, where the air was cooler and the shadows were deeper. He leaned against a stack of oil drums, closing his eyes and pressing the palms of his hands against his face. Foolish, he thought to himself. Completely foolish. You are a mature man. Act like one.

What Choso didn't realize was that his grand exits weren't having the effect he thought they were. He thought he looked aloof, perhaps even annoyed.

But you saw right through it.

In fact, you loved it. You were completely exhausted by the guys at the track—the ones with massive egos who revved their engines too loud, bragged about their lap times, and threw cheesy, aggressive pickup lines your way. They were predictable. They were boring.

But Choso? Choso was a magnificent mystery. He was tall, strikingly handsome, and carried himself with an undeniable, quiet power yet the moment you looked at him, his cheeks flushed, his stoic facade cracked, and he became the most endearing, adorable thing you had ever seen. You didn't want a guy who thought he could handle you. You wanted the quiet man who looked like he would burn the world down for you but couldn't even say "hi" without trembling.

Hearing Yuji chuckle behind you, you made up your mind. "Hey, Yuji. Hold my helmet for a second."

"Uh, sure? What are you doing?"

"Taking the reins," you said with a smirk, turning on your heel and marching straight toward the back of the dark garage.

Choso was still trying to regulate his breathing when a shadow fell over him. He opened his eyes, and his heart nearly stopped entirely.

You were standing right there, blocking his exit. You had closed the distance, stepping into the narrow space between the oil drums and Choso's towering frame. The scent of leather, sweat, and a faint, sweet perfume hit him instantly.

"You're pretty fast for a guy who isn't on a bike," you said, tilting your head up to look him in the eyes. You rested one hand on your hip, your posture completely relaxed, while Choso stood frozen, pinned against the wall.

"I... I had to check the inventory," Choso lied, his voice a gravelly whisper. He looked anywhere but your eyes—your shoulder, the wall, the ceiling.

"Right. Inventory," you repeated, taking a deliberate step closer. The tips of your boots were almost touching his. "Funny how the inventory is always exactly where I'm not standing."

Choso swallowed hard. The sheer confidence radiating off you was intoxicating. He was a man of action, a protector, but right now, you were entirely in control, and the shift in power left him completely breathless.

"Are you avoiding me, Choso?" you asked, your tone dropping into something softer, a little more playful, a little more dangerous.

"No," he said quickly, perhaps a bit too quickly. He finally forced his dark eyes down to meet yours. "I am not avoiding you."

"Then why won't you look at me?" You reached up. Your fingers were cool against the heated skin of his jaw as you gently, firmly guided his face down a fraction of an inch, forcing him to hold your gaze.

Choso felt a jolt of electricity shoot down his spine at the touch. His hands, hovering awkwardly at his sides, twitched with the sudden, overwhelming urge to grab your waist, to pull you close, to show you that he wasn't just a shy boy. But the sheer audacity of your move kept him paralyzed.

"I think you're cute," you said directly, no hesitation, no games. "I like the way you watch me on the track. And I really like how quiet you get when I come around. It's a lot sexier than those idiots out there trying to impress me."

Choso's eyes widened slightly. The blunt honesty of your words knocked the wind out of him. His chest heaved as he let out a ragged breath. "You... you think I am...?"

"Cute? Yeah. Gorgeous, actually," you corrected, your thumb lightly brushing the sharp line of his jawbone. "But I'm getting a little tired of waving at a ghost. So, I figured I'd make the first move. What are you gonna do about it?"

The challenge in your voice did something to Choso. A spark of his natural, fiercely protective and intense nature flickered to life beneath the layers of his anxiety. His gaze darkened, his eyes dropping to your lips for a split second before rising back to yours.

"You are..." Choso started, his voice suddenly losing its hesitant edge, replaced by a deep, resonant gravity that made your own heart skip a beat. "...very bold."

"Has to be someone's job," you whispered, leaning in just a fraction of an inch closer, testing his limits.

Choso didn't back away. He couldn't. For the first time all day, his heart rate stabilized into a heavy, deliberate thud. He let his head lean into your hand just a fraction, a silent surrender to your touch.

"If I don't run away next time," Choso murmured, a faint, rare, and devastatingly handsome smile tugging at the corner of his lips, "what will you do then?"

You laughed softly, your eyes bright with triumph. "Guess you'll have to stay put and find out."

Tag-List: @oksukuna, @megssleepygirl, @malaccah

#jjk #jjk fanfic #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fluff #choso kamo #kamo choso #choso x reader #jjk choso #jujutsu kaisen choso #choso jjk #choso x yn #choso

Two hours of torment

Satoru has to go to the bathroom but your fast asleep on him. Short

Divider credits to- @diviniyae -They make really cute dividers so please check them out if you're ever looking for some.

"I just had the best nap of my life," you mumbled, barely awake. Your voice was a soft, muffled whisper against the fabric of his shirt, your face still buried contentedly in the crook of his neck. You were completely draped over him, thoroughly melting into the glorious warmth of the midday sun filtering through the curtains and the steady, comforting rise and fall of Satoru’s chest.

He chuckled, the deep rumble vibrating right through you. He adjusted his large hand on your lower back, his fingers tracing lazy, soothing circles through your clothes.

"That’s great, because if you didn't, I would be deeply disappointed," he complained softly, though there was absolutely no real malice in his voice—just pure, unadulterated fondness. "I’ll have you know I held my pee for two whole hours just so you wouldn't wake up. Do you know the kind of god-like bladder control that takes? I deserve a medal. Or at least a very expensive pastry."

You let out a sleepy, amused hum, cuddling even deeper into his chest and wrapping your arms tighter around his torso. "You could've just moved me to the side, baby," you murmured, making absolutely zero attempts to actually shift off him yourself.

"No, I couldn't! You whined every single time I even shifted a millimeter," he huffed softly, a dramatic but gentle pout evident in his tone. "Moving you would've been like moving a sleeping cat who chose you as their designated bed. Which, by the way, is highly illegal in all fifty states and Jujutsu society. I'm a law-abiding citizen."

You giggled, finally blinking your eyes open to look up at him. Satoru was already looking down at you, his iconic blindfold nowhere to be seen. His bright, impossibly blue eyes were crinkling at the corners, filled with a soft warmth meant only for you. A stray lock of his snow-white hair tickled your forehead as he leaned down slightly.

"Oh, so you're a rule-follower now?" you teased, reaching up a lazy hand to gently poke his cheek. "Since when do you care about the law?"

"Only when it comes to Cat Law," he grinned, capturing your hand with his own and pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. "And only when the cat in question is you. You're very needy when you're sleepy, you know. Very clingy."

"I am not," you protested half-heartedly, resting your chin on his chest.

"You totally are," he insisted, a teasing smirk playing on his lips. "You were literally snoring a minute ago. But, as much as I absolutely love being your personal, premium-grade mattress, if you don't let me up in the next thirty seconds, we’re going to have a serious emergency."

You laughed, a bright, bubbly sound that made his smirk soften into a genuine, breathtaking smile. Reluctantly, you began to roll off him, but Satoru suddenly tightened his grip around your waist, pulling you back down for one quick, sweet kiss on the lips.

"Okay, now go," he laughed, finally letting you go and scrambling off the couch with dramatic urgency. "Don't miss me too much!"

Tag-list: @oksukuna, @malaccah, @megssleepygirl

#jjk #jjk fanfic #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #jjk fluff #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo #i love gojo #satoru x you #jjk satoru #jujutsu gojo #jjk x reader

The smell of Summer

During Yujis afternoon run he runs past the prettiest girl who makes his heart flutter and she just happens to smell like summer...

“Tall, tan, and the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

Yuji Itadori let out a heavy, dramatic sigh, his face sinking deeply into his open palm as he stared blankly out the window of the campus lounge. The afternoon sun was streaming through the glass, casting long, golden squares across the floorboards, but Yuji wasn't paying attention to the dust motes dancing in the light. His mind was entirely trapped on a specific bend of the riverside running trail.

Megumi Fushiguro didn't even look up from his textbook. He merely flipped a page, the sharp snap of the paper the only indication that he was even conscious of Yuji’s existence.

“You’ve said that every day for the last two weeks, Itadori,” Megumi said, his voice a flatline of pure indifference. “If you’re going to pine like a tragic poet, at least find some new adjectives.”

“But you don’t get it, Fushiguro!” Yuji bolted upright, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. He gestured wildly with both hands, trying to construct the vision in the empty air between them. “Lately, every single time I go out for my afternoon runs, she’s there. It’s like clockwork. And every time she passes me, my heart does this weird, Olympic-level flip. I swear I almost broke my neck yesterday trying to keep her in my line of sight while pacing myself.”

He sank back down, the wind completely leaving his sails as he rested his chin on the cool wood of the table. “She smells like summer...” he murmured, his voice dropping into a daze. “Like coconut sunscreen, fresh ocean air, and whatever magic they put in high-end shampoo. It’s intoxicating.”

Megumi finally closed his book with a soft sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Why can’t she notice you? Maybe because you look like a manic golden retriever running at top speed while staring at her like she’s a ghost.”

“I do not!” Yuji protested, his cheeks flushing a faint pink. “I tried to be smooth! I waved at her one time. Just a casual, cool, guy-next-door wave. But she was looking down at her phone and completely missed it. I felt like an idiot standing there with my hand in the air.”

“Then just go up and talk to her,” Megumi said simply, leaning back in his chair. “You have zero shame when it comes to talking to strangers. You literally befriended the guy at the convenience store because you both liked the same brand of noodles. Why is this any different?”

Yuji shook his head softly, a rare look of genuine hesitation crossing his features. He traced a circle on the tabletop with his index finger. “No way. That’s totally different. Going up to a girl out of nowhere while she’s just trying to enjoy her walk? It’d be random and weird. I don’t want to be that creepy guy who corners her on a secluded trail. What if I scare her off and then I can never use that running path again? It’s the best path in the city!”

“You’re overthinking it,” Megumi muttered, reopening his textbook and effectively ending his participation in the conversation. “But do whatever you want. Just stop sighing. You’re depressing the room.”

An hour later, Yuji was laced up in his favorite running shoes, the familiar weight of his headphones resting around his neck. He hadn’t intended to go out quite so early, but the restless energy in his chest wouldn't let him sit still. Megumi’s words kept bouncing around his head—just go up and talk to her.

It sounded so easy when someone else said it. But Yuji knew his own faults; he was loud, he was boisterous, and when he got nervous, his filter tended to disintegrate entirely. The last thing he wanted to do was scramble his words and look like a fool in front of her.

The air outside was thick with the heavy heat of mid-July. The sky was an unblemished, brilliant blue, and the cicadas in the trees were humming a droning, rhythmic symphony that signaled the peak of summer. As Yuji hit his stride on the asphalt path, the humid air rushed past his face. He forced himself to focus on his breathing—in for two steps, out for two steps—trying to clear his mind of a certain tall, sun-kissed girl.

The path wound its way down toward the riverbank, where the temperature dropped a merciful couple of degrees. The water was shimmering under the harsh sunlight, reflecting a million blinding points of light like scattered diamonds. Willows lined the banks, their long, sweeping green branches dipping gracefully into the slow-moving current.

Usually, this was the part of the run where Yuji accelerated, pushing himself against the slight incline of the river's bend. But today, his legs felt heavy, tethered by anticipation.

He knew this was her spot. Well, not her spot, but the place where their paths always crossed. It was a sharp, blind curve where the concrete hugged a massive, ancient oak tree before straightening out along the wider bank.

Yuji slowed his pace from a hard run to a light, effortless jog, his heart rate spiking for reasons that had absolutely nothing to do with cardio. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead with the back of his forearm, his eyes locked onto the edge of the brick wall just beyond the oak tree.

As he rounded the usual bend in the path by the river, the world seemed to slow down.

There she was.

She was walking around the curve from the opposite direction, her stride long and easy. Today, she wasn’t looking at her phone. Her hands were tucked casually into the pockets of a pair of loose, breezy shorts, and a simple white tank top contrasted beautifully against her deep, golden-tan skin. Her hair was pulled up, a few stray curls framing her face that genuinely made Yuji’s brain short-circuit for a fraction of a second.

And then, the impossible happened.

She looked up. Her eyes, bright and incredibly sharp, locked directly onto his.

Yuji’s foot caught the uneven edge of a rogue tree root jutting through the asphalt.

It wasn't a graceful stumble. It was a full-body, flailing-arms battle against gravity. For a horrifying half-second, Yuji thought he was going to face-plant directly into the dirt at her feet. Through sheer, athletic willpower and a lifetime of martial arts reflexes, he managed to twist his torso, throwing his weight backward to catch himself. He ended up skidding a few inches, his sneakers screeching against the pavement, before coming to an abrupt, awkward halt barely three feet away from her.

He froze, his arms still slightly elevated for balance, looking like a deer caught in high-beam headlights.

The silence stretched between them, save for the rushing sound of the river and the relentless cicadas. Yuji felt the heat climbing from his neck all the way to the tips of his ears. Great, he thought, despair washing over him. I didn’t just look weird. I looked like a malfunctioning robot.

Then, a sound broke the quiet.

It was a soft, melodic chuckle.

Yuji blinked, lowering his arms as he watched her. She had covered her mouth with a hand, her shoulders shaking slightly as she tried—and failed—to stifle her laughter. When she dropped her hand, a brilliant, genuine smile lit up her face, crinkling the corners of her eyes.

“Nice save,” she said, her voice smooth and warm, carrying a playful lilt. “For a second there, I thought I was going to have to dive into the grass to avoid a collision.”

Yuji felt his breath hitch. Up close, she was even more striking. And Megumi had been wrong—she didn't look intimidated at all. There was an open, easygoing energy radiating from her that instantly made the tight knot of anxiety in his chest begin to unravel.

“Uh—thanks,” Yuji stammered, rubbing the back of his neck and offering a sheepish, lopsided grin. “Yeah, that root gets me every time. Well, not every time. Usually I’m way more graceful. Like a ninja. Or a cat. Today was just... an off day.”

Her smile widened, her eyes scanning his flushed face with amusement. “A ninja, huh? I’ll have to take your word for it. Though, to be fair, you looked pretty focused right before the stumble.”

“I was distracted,” Yuji blurted out before his brain could stop him.

The words hung in the air. Yuji mentally kicked himself. Smooth, Itadori. Real smooth.

She tilted her head, a curious spark in her eyes. “Distracted by what? The river?”

“By you, actually,” he said, decided that since he had already embarrassed himself by nearly eating the pavement, he might as well go all in. He offered her a bright, honest smile, the kind that usually made people instantly trust him. “I see you on this path all the time. I actually tried to wave at you the other day, but you were super invested in whatever was on your phone.”

A look of realization washed over her face, followed by a slight flush of pink on her cheeks. “Oh! Wait, I remember that! I mean, I remember looking up and seeing a flash of pink hair, but by the time I realized someone was waving, you were already halfway down the trail. I felt so bad! I thought I imagined it.”

“You definitely didn’t imagine it,” Yuji laughed, the nervous tension completely melting away. “I’m Yuji, by the way. Yuji Itadori.”

You replied with your name, stepping a bit closer and extending a hand.

Yuji looked at his hand, suddenly acutely aware that he had been running in the July heat. “Uh, I’m kind of sweaty,” he warned, though he took her hand anyway. Her grip was firm and warm, your skin smooth against his.

“It’s a running trail, Yuji. If you weren’t sweaty, I’d be worried,” you teased, releasing his hand but keeping your eyes locked onto his. “So, Yuji-the-ninja, do you always run at this exact hour, or did fate just decide to throw you at my feet today?”

Yuji laughed, a booming, infectious sound that echoed off the brick wall. “A little bit of both, honestly. I usually run around this time, but today I think I was just rushing to get out of the house. My roommate was being a buzzkill.”

“A buzzkill?”

“Yeah, he told me I was sighing too much,” Yuji said, his eyes dancing with mischief. “I was complaining to him that the prettiest girl on the river path wouldn't notice me.”

You blinked, clearly not expecting him to be so straightforward, but the blush returned to your cheeks, deeper this time. A small, pleased smile tugged at the corner of your lips. “Is that so? And what did your roommate say to that?”

“He told me to just come talk to you,” Yuji said softly, taking a half-step closer. The faint scent of summer—coconut and fresh air—drifted over to him, exactly as he had remembered it, but so much better up close. “I told him it would be too random. But I guess the universe decided to step in and trip me to speed up the process.”

“Well, I’ll have to thank the universe next time." You said softly, your gaze holding his. There was a brief, charged silence between them, but it wasn't awkward anymore. It was the kind of silence that felt like the beginning of something entirely new.

You adjusted the strap of your small shoulder bag, looking down the path ahead of them and then back to Yuji. “I was actually just heading towards the little cafe near the end of the trail to grab an iced coffee. Do you... have a few more miles left in your run, or are you ready for a break?”

Yuji’s heart did another one of those Olympic flips, but this time, he didn't stumble.

“I think my running days are officially over for the afternoon,” Yuji said, his grin stretching from ear to ear. “Lead the way. I’m buying.”

As they turned and began walking side by side down the shaded path, the rhythm of the summer afternoon changed. Yuji wasn't rushing past her anymore. He was right where he wanted to be, matching her pace step for step.

Tag-list: @oksukuna, @malaccah, @megssleepygirl

#jjk #jjk fanfic #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #yuji fluff #jjk yuji #yuji itadori #yuji x reader #itadori fluff #jjk itadori #jujutsu itadori #itadori x reader #itadori yuji

Loves weight in gold Master list

It is a poignant tale of love's brilliance and the profound sorrow of witnessing a cherished person's transformation. The initial joy of falling deeply for someone is beautifully depicted. However, this radiance is overshadowed by the heart-wrenching experience of watching them gradually lose themselves. The pain of seeing a beloved become someone unfamiliar is a testament to the depth of that connection. This narrative truly captures the bittersweet nature of human relationships.

Loves weight in gold

Meeting you for the first time.

Was it a date?

#Mochichoso fics #suguru geto #suguru fluff #suguru angst #geto suguru #jujutsu kaisen suguru #suguru geto x reader #jjk suguru #suguru geto smut #jjk geto #geto x reader #jujutsu geto #geto smut #geto

Was it a date?

Under the deep indigo of the aquarium lights, a quiet civilian and a burdened sorcerer found peace of love and security. (I did a lot of research for this chapter...it's around 6k words.) A part of "Loves weight in gold" ♡ Happy Birthday to a certain someone....

pt. 1, pt2,

The humidity in Tokyo during late June did not merely hang in the air; it sat upon the skin like a wet wool blanket. In the courtyard of Tokyo Jujutsu High, the cicadas were performing a frantic, buzzing death-march that seemed to vibrate the very gravel beneath your sneakers.

You sat on the low stone wall beneath the shade of a sprawling ginkgo tree, swinging your legs in a slow, rhythmic arc. Beside you, Shoko exhaled a thin, gray stream of smoke from between her lips, her dark eyes hooded with their permanent, bruised fatigue. She didn’t look at you as she spoke, her gaze fixed somewhere on the distant track where the boys were supposed to be training, though "training" was usually a generous euphemism for "demolishing municipal property."

"They’re going to be late," Shoko said, her voice dry and gravelly from the cigarettes and the heat. "Satoru found a new ice cream stand three blocks past the barrier, and Suguru is too polite to tell him he’s acting like a five-year-old."

"Or," you offered, leaning back on your palms, "Suguru is currently trying to convince Satoru that buying twelve tubs of mint chocolate chip is logistically impossible without a cooler."

Shoko snorted, a small, genuine sound of amusement that rarely made it past her lips these days. "You give Suguru too much credit. He’s just as much of an idiot as Satoru is; he just wraps it in a button-down shirt and a polite smile."

You had known Shoko for years—long before the world of curses, veils, and jujutsu had dragged you into its periphery. You knew her from the quiet afternoons in middle school before her talent had been codified, back when she was just a girl who knew exactly where to press on a sprained ankle to make the pain stop. When she had been scouted and brought to this strange, hidden mountain campus, you had assumed that was the end of it. The curtain drops, the world splits in two.

But Shoko had remained Shoko. Dull on the surface, practical to a fault, but possessed of a strange, immovable loyalty that manifested in sudden, late-night text messages: Come to the dorms. Satoru brought pastries he didn’t steal. Bring your own tea.

And so, you had been brought into the fold. You weren't a sorcerer; you couldn't see the heavy, distorted shapes that lunged from the shadows of Tokyo's alleyways, though you had learned to recognize the sudden drops in atmospheric pressure that signaled their presence. You were the "civilian anchor," as Gojo liked to call you when he was being obnoxious, which was always.

"Yo!"

The voice arrived three seconds before the boy did. Satoru Gojo cleared the top of the stone stairs with a leap that defied gravity, his white hair gleaming like polished silver in the harsh noon sun. His dark sunglasses were pushed down to the tip of his nose, revealing those impossible, sky-blue eyes that seemed to look through you rather than at you. In his right hand, he held a plastic bag that was already dripping condensation onto the dirt.

"We have acquired the goods," Satoru announced, dropping the bag directly into your lap without asking. It was freezing cold and smelled intensely of artificial strawberry. "The old lady at the stand said I had a 'face made for television' and gave us three extra spoons. I told her Suguru was my manager and he handled all my endorsements."

Behind him, emerging from the shade of the torii gate with a long, measured stride, came Suguru Geto.

Unlike Satoru, who seemed to exist in a permanent state of high-frequency vibration, Suguru moved with the deliberate grace of water flowing over smooth stones. His hair was half-tied up in that signature topknot, a few loose strands framing his face, damp with sweat but somehow still looking immaculate. He wore his uniform trousers with a simple black linen shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows to reveal the pale, lean muscles of his forearms.

"You told her I was your driver, Satoru," Suguru corrected, his voice a low, smooth baritone that instantly cut through Satoru’s noise. He stopped at the edge of the shade, his dark, narrow eyes finding yours instantly. A small, faint indentation appeared at the corner of his mouth—the preamble to a smile. "And then you left your wallet on the counter."

"Details!" Satoru waved a hand dismissively, dropping onto the bench next to Shoko and immediately stealing her lighter to inspect it. "The point is, we are here, we are cool, and we have sugar. What are we doing with our afternoon?"

"Shoko and I were planning on staying right here until the sun goes down or we turn into salt," you said, shifting the leaking bag so it wouldn't ruin your skirt.

Suguru stepped closer, the heat radiating off him in waves that smelled faintly of sandalwood incense and the iron-crisp scent of the school's barrier. He reached down, his fingers brushing against yours for a fraction of a second as he took the heavy bag from your lap.

"Don't let him ruin your clothes," Suguru said softly, his eyes lingering on your face for a beat longer than necessary. "He has no concept of stain removal."

"Hey! I know how to use a washing machine!" Satoru protested from behind a massive mouthful of pink ice. "You just put the little blue square in the hole and press 'go'!"

"That’s the dishwasher, Satoru," Shoko said without looking up from her phone.

"Same difference! They both spin!"

You laughed, the sound bright against the heavy summer air, and when you looked up, Suguru was still watching you. His smile had shifted—it wasn't the polite, distant thing he gave the school directors or the auxiliary managers. It was smaller, narrower, meant only for the space between the two of you.

The transition from "Shoko’s friend who hangs around the dorms" to "the person Suguru Geto texts at three in the morning" had been so gradual that you hadn't noticed the borders crossing until you were already deep in the interior.

It started with small things. A link to an article about a rare species of deep-sea squid that had been photographed off the coast of Okinawa, sent without context at 2:14 AM.

I saw this and thought of you, the text read. The shape of the mantle looks like those drawings you showed me in that old biology textbook.

You had replied within minutes, surprised he remembered a conversation from three weeks prior while you both had been waiting for Satoru to finish an interrogation in an abandoned warehouse.

You’re awake? you had asked.

Always, he replied. The summer makes the curses noisy. They don't like the heat either, it seems. Go back to sleep.

But you hadn't. You had stayed up, typing back and forth about nothing—about the flavor of the canned coffee from the vending machine near his dorm, about the book on ancient history he was currently reading, about how Shoko had started using Satoru’s expensive hair products as shaving cream out of spite.

Then came the walks. When the missions ran late and the boys returned covered in dust and the invisible grime of things you couldn't see, Satoru would usually disappear to his room to sleep for sixteen hours straight or demand Shoko take him out for barbecue. But Suguru would find you. He would appear at the small bench near the southern gate where you often waited for the evening train, his uniform jacket slung over one shoulder, his shoulders slightly hunched from a fatigue he never admitted to.

"Are you going home?" he would ask, standing under the flickering yellow streetlamp.

"The nine-fifteen train," you’d reply.

"I’ll walk you to the station."

"Suguru, you look like you’re about to fall over. Go to bed."

"The air is nicer down by the tracks," he’d say, offering that smooth, unyielding logic that you could never find an angle to argue against. "And Satoru is currently singing karaoke alone in the common room. If I stay there, I will have to kill him."

During those walks, the dynamic shifted entirely. Away from Satoru’s blinding presence and Shoko’s watchful, ironic detachment, Suguru was different. He was quieter, yes, but it was a heavy, deliberate quiet. He asked about your classes, about your family, about the small, mundane details of a life lived outside the "Windows" and the red-lined maps of Tokyo's curse hotspots. He listened with an intensity that was almost frightening, his head tilted toward you, his long fingers occasionally tucking a loose strand of his hair behind his ear when the wind caught it.

He never talked about his work. Not unless you asked, and even then, he kept it clean. He spoke of "resolutions" and "clearing areas," he had once muttered when he was too tired to guard his words, like a rag used to wipe up vomit after a house fire.

You had wanted to hold his hand then. You hadn't dared.

Then came the Wednesday morning three days ago. Your phone had vibrated on your desk during a lecture on post-war economic development.

Suguru: Are you free this Saturday?

You had stared at the screen, your thumb hovering over the glass.

You: Shoko said she has shift work at the hospital this weekend.

Suguru: I know. I asked her first to make sure she wouldn't mind if I stole you for the day. Just us.

Your heart had done a strange, uncoordinated flip against your ribs. Just us.

You: Where are we going?

Suguru: There’s an exhibition at the Shinagawa aquarium. They’ve remodeled the deep-sea section. They have a specimen of a giant oarfish that was preserved last winter. I remember you saying you wanted to see one.

He had remembered. A casual remark made while passing a poster in a subway station two months ago, and he had noted it down in that neat, disciplined mind of his.

You: I’d love to go, Suguru.

Suguru: Good. Meet me at the north ticket gate at eleven. Don't bring an umbrella; the weather says clear skies.

The Shinagawa station was a labyrinth of white tile, rushing commuter crowds, and the high-pitched pip-pip of IC cards hitting the turnstiles. The heat outside was already thirty degrees, but the underground station was chilled to a sharp, artificial air-conditioned cold that made the skin on your arms goosebump.

You stood near a pillar wrapped in an advertisement for a domestic beer brand, checking your watch for the fourth time. It was 10:57 AM. You were wearing a pale linen dress with a small pattern of blue flowers—something light, something that didn't feel like the heavy, structured fabrics of the Jujutsu High uniforms you were so used to seeing. Your hair was up, a few tendrils curling near the nape of your neck from the humidity you’d braved on the train ride over.

You looked through the crowd, searching for that distinct, towering height. Suguru was nearly six feet two inches; he wasn't hard to spot, usually.

There he was.

He was leaning against a wide information kiosk twenty paces away, his hands buried deep in the pockets of a pair of charcoal-gray trousers. He wore a crisp, white linen shirt with the top two buttons undone, the collar resting flat against his collarbones. His hair was tied back in its usual half-up style, but today it looked softer, less severe without the dark high-collared jacket of his school uniform.

He was looking down at his phone, his thumb moving slowly across the screen. A slight frown was pinched between his dark brows—that small, serious expression he got when he was analyzing something or reading a particularly dense report from the higher-ups.

A sudden, childish impulse seized you. The crowd was thick enough to provide cover. If you looped around the back of the ticket machine and came up from behind his left shoulder, you might actually manage it. You had been spending months around these people; surely some level of stealth had rubbed off on you by osmosis.

You stepped into the flow of commuters, keeping your footsteps light. Ten paces. Five paces. You came around the blind spot of the kiosk, your hand already lifting, fingers curled to lightly tap his right shoulder while you popped up on his left.

"Haven't you learned by now you can't sneak up on me?"

The voice was a low rumble, laced with an immediate, lazy amusement.

Before your hand could even descend, Suguru didn't turn around—he simply shifted his weight, his head pivoting just enough over his shoulder so his dark eyes caught yours. He had that small, knowing smirk playing on his lips, the one that always made him look like he had discovered a secret the rest of the world was still sweating over.

You froze, your hand hanging in mid-air like an idiot. "How do you do that? You weren't even looking. Do you have eyes in the back of your bun?"

"Something like that," he chuckled, slipping his phone into his back pocket with a smooth, practiced motion of his wrist. He turned fully to face you, stepping out of the flow of the crowd so he was standing entirely within your personal space. The scent of him arrived instantly—clean, dry, like cedarwood and cedar shavings, with nothing of the heavy summer heat clinging to him.

His gaze didn't just meet yours; it started at the hem of your blue-flowered dress, traveled slowly up the line of your waist, noted the small canvas bag slung over your shoulder, and finally came to rest on your eyes. The amusement in his expression softened into something much deeper, something that made the air in your lungs feel thick.

"You look cute today," he said.

The words didn't have the grand, theatrical flourish that Satoru used when he was trying to flatter an assistant or tease Shoko. It came out of him smooth, level, and entirely effortless, as if he were simply stating an immutable law of physics. The sky is blue, the train is on time, you are cute.

Regardless of how many times you had told yourself to stay calm on the train ride here, you felt the heat rise instantly from your throat, flooding your cheeks with a hot, pink flush. You looked down at your sandals for a fraction of a second before forcing yourself to meet his gaze again.

"Thank you, Suguru," you said softly, your voice smaller than you wanted it to be. You cleared your throat, trying to regain your footing. "You could at least pretend you don't sense me coming. For my ego's sake."

"I'll try to remember that for next time," he said, his laugh a low, vibrating thing in his chest as he stepped into line beside you. "But you have a very distinct presence. Even without energy, I can tell when you’re within ten yards. You walk like someone who is trying very hard not to step on beetles."

"I do not!"

"You do," he insisted, his hand rising to briefly touch the small of your back—just a light, guiding pressure to steer you toward the station exit. The heat of his palm through the thin linen of your dress felt like a brand. "Come on. The line for the tickets gets long after eleven, and I’d rather not spend the morning standing in the sun."

As you reached the ticket machines, you reached into your bag for your wallet, your fingers fumbling with the zipper. "How much was the admission again? I have cash, or I can—"

A large, pale hand closed gently over the top of your bag, effectively sealing it shut. You looked up to find Suguru looking down at you, his head slightly tilted, an expression of mild reproach on his face.

"Don't worry about it," he said.

"Suguru, the special exhibition tickets are expensive—"

"I invited you," he interrupted, his voice dropping into that quiet, unyielding register that brooked no argument. "Therefore, it’s my responsibility. Besides, the school pays us ridiculous sums for things we aren't allowed to spend it on. Let me use it for something that actually matters."

Something that actually matters.

You let your hand drop from the bag, your heart doing that uncoordinated dance again. "If you insist. But I'm buying the tea later."

"Deal," he said, his smirk returning as he reached into his pocket for his own card.

The transition from the roar of Tokyo to the interior of the aquarium was like diving beneath the surface of a frozen lake. The light changed instantly—from the harsh, yellow glare of the noon sun to a deep, luminescent indigo that pooled in the corners of the vast corridors. The sound shifted too; the sharp edges of the city were replaced by the muffled, rhythmic thrum of water pumps and the distant, low murmur of other visitors.

You walked down the first long ramp, your eyes wide as the massive glass walls of the main tank rose up to meet you. Inside, a school of silver sardines moved as a single, undulating organism, catching the blue spotlights like a ribbon of tin foil twisting in the dark.

"Wow," you breathed, stepping closer to the glass until your nose was nearly touching it. "Look at them. How do they do that without hitting each other?"

Suguru stood a step behind you, his hands joined loosely behind his back. He wasn't looking at the fish. He was looking at the way the blue light from the tank hit the side of your face, painting the curve of your cheek and the line of your neck in shades of sapphire.

"They have a lateral line system," he said, his voice quiet so as not to disturb the silence of the gallery. "It detects tiny vibrations and pressure changes in the water. They don't need to see each other to know where the boundary is."

"Like jujutsu?" you asked, turning your head to look at him.

He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he considered the comparison. "Similar, I suppose. But less malicious. They move together to survive, not to destroy." A small, shadow passed over his features—a fleeting reminder of the world he had left outside those heavy glass doors—but he shook it off with a quick blink. "Look over there. Isn't that what you wanted to see?"

He pointed toward the entrance of the deep-sea pavilion, where a sign marked Special Exhibition: Creatures of the Abyssal Zone hung in low, red lettering.

The deep-sea section was even darker, the only illumination coming from small, thick-paned portholes that housed bizarre, pale creatures with spindly legs and translucent skin. In the center of the main room, suspended in a massive, custom-built acrylic case filled with preserving fluid, was the giant oarfish.

It was magnificent and terrifying—nearly fifteen feet of silver, ribbon-like body, its long, red dorsal rays trailing behind it like the oars of a ghost ship.

"It’s beautiful," you whispered, moving toward the case with a kind of reverent awe. "They usually only come up when they’re dying or when the sea floor shifts. People used to think they were sea serpents."

Suguru stepped up beside you, leaning his forearms against the wooden railing that surrounded the display. He looked at the creature with a genuine, quiet curiosity. "I can see why. If you encountered this in the dark centuries ago, you’d assume it was a god or a demon."

"Do you think there are curses down there?" you asked suddenly, the thought popping into your head before you could filter it. "In the deep ocean?"

Suguru didn't answer right away. He stared at the silver flank of the oarfish, his profile sharp and clean against the blue-black background of the gallery. "Probably," he said after a moment. "Where there are humans, there is fear. People fear the dark, they fear the unknown, they fear the depth of the water. But... those curses would stay down there. They would have no reason to come to the surface. In a way, they’re probably the purest things alive."

He turned his head to look at you, his expression so heavy with an unspoken, dark tenderness that it felt almost intimate to witness. "Unlike the ones in the city. The ones born from petty malice, jealousy, and filth."

You felt a strange, tightening sensation in your chest. You reached out, your fingers brushing against his arm—just above the wrist, where the linen shirt ended. His skin was warm, contrasting sharply with the air-conditioned chill of the room.

"Suguru," you said softly. "You’re off duty today. No curses. Just fish."

He blinked, as if waking from a brief, heavy dream. The tension in his shoulders dropped, and that small, faint indentation returned to the corner of his mouth. He placed his hand over yours where it rested on his arm, his thumb giving your knuckles a light, reassuring squeeze.

"You're right," he said, his voice returning to that smooth, easy baritone. "Just fish. Tell me about the red things on its head. Why are they that shape?"

And so, you babbled.

You told him about the ribbon-fish myths, about how they use their long fins to balance vertically in the water column, about how they eat tiny plankton despite looking like monsters that could swallow a boat. You talked until your throat felt dry, your words tumbling over each other in your excitement, your hands making small, illustrative gestures in the air.

Suguru didn't interrupt you once. He listened with his whole body, his head tilted toward you, those dark, narrow eyes fixed entirely on your face. Every now and then, when you said something particularly ridiculous or enthusiastic, his eyes would crinkle at the corners, and he would let out that short, quiet chuckle that made your stomach do those strange, delicious loops.

He looked at you as if you were the only thing in the entire indigo-tinted room that had any color at all. Like you were something rare and fragile that had emerged from the depths, and he was the only one allowed to see it.

By the time you emerged from the aquarium, it was past two in the afternoon. The transition back into the glare of Tokyo was brutal; the heat hit you like a physical blow, the asphalt radiating a shimmering, distorted haze.

"Tea," Suguru said, his hand instantly finding its place at the small of your back again to guide you toward a small, quiet side street away from the main station plaza. "Before you melt into the pavement."

He led you to a tiny, basement-level cafe that smelled of roasted green tea and old wood. It was nearly empty, save for an old man reading a newspaper in the corner and the low, rhythmic hum of an ancient fan turning on the ceiling.

You sat across from each other at a small, dark oak table. You ordered an iced hojicha latte, and true to your word, you slapped your card onto the table before he could even reach for his pocket.

"My treat," you said defiantly, crossing your arms.

Suguru looked down at the plastic card, then up at you, an amused glint in his eyes. "You’re very fierce about tea."

"I am a person of my word, Geto-san."

"Clearly," he said, leaning back in his chair and crossing one leg over the other. He looked incredibly relaxed, his long fingers tracing the edge of his water glass. "Satoru would have used this opportunity to order five different parfaits and then claim he forgot his card in his other trousers."

"Satoru is a menace to society," you laughed, stirring your drink as the waitress set it down. "I don't know how you and Shoko survive him."

"Shoko ignores him, and I hit him," Suguru said simply. "It’s a functional system. Though lately, he’s been harder to hit. His infinity is getting more automated."

There was no resentment in his voice—only that quiet, slightly distant pride he always had when speaking of Satoru’s progress. But beneath it, you thought you caught a sliver of something else. A faint, nearly imperceptible trace of isolation. The distance between someone who is becoming a god and someone who is still merely strongest.

"Do you ever want to just... not do it?" you asked before you could stop yourself. You took a sip of your tea, the cool, nutty flavor clearing the last of the aquarium's indigo fog from your brain. "Just for a week. Go somewhere where there are no screens, no veils, no missions."

Suguru’s fingers stopped their movement against the glass. He looked out the small, high window of the basement cafe, where the feet of pedestrians passed by on the sidewalk above.

"Sometimes," he admitted, his voice dropping so low it was nearly swallowed by the hum of the fan. "Sometimes I think about what it would be like to just... disappear into the countryside. Open a small shrine or a shop. Somewhere near the ocean."

He looked back at you, his dark eyes intense, searching your face for something. "Would you come visit me if I did?"

Your fingers tightened around your glass. "I’d probably be there every weekend. Shoko too. We’d bring Satoru and he’d ruin the inventory."

Suguru smiled, but it was a sad, beautiful thing that didn't reach his eyes. "Yes. He probably would."

He reached across the small table, his long fingers closing over your hand where it rested on the dark wood. His skin was smooth, his grip firm but incredibly gentle, as if he were holding a small bird. "Thank you," he said.

"For what? The tea?"

"For being here," he said softly. "For... not being a sorcerer."

You didn't quite understand what he meant then—not fully. You didn't know the weight that was already beginning to settle onto his shoulders, the slow, gray rot that was starting to eat at the edges of his convictions. You only knew that his hand was warm, that his eyes were the color of deep water, and that you wanted to stay in this basement cafe until the summer ended.

The sun was beginning to drop below the horizon by the time you reached your neighborhood, painting the sky in long, bleeding streaks of orange, violet, and bruised gold. The heat had finally begun to break, replaced by a cool, erratic evening breeze that smelled of asphalt and dust.

You walked down the narrow, residential street that led to your house, the sound of your footsteps echoing softly against the concrete walls of the gardens.

Suguru walked beside you, his pace slow, matched perfectly to yours.

About three blocks from the station, without a word, his hand had slipped down from his pocket and his fingers had brushed against yours. You had paused, looking up at him, and he had simply tilted his head, his fingers opening to invite yours in. You had slid your hand into his, your fingers intertwining naturally, as if they had been designed for that exact configuration.

His hand was large, completely engulfing yours, his thumb tracing slow, rhythmic circles against the back of your knuckles as you walked. It wasn't the frantic, sweaty grip of a teenager; it was steady, grounded, and intensely deliberate.

"You're very quiet," you said after a few minutes of silence.

"I’m just enjoying the air," he said, looking up at the sky where the first stars were beginning to blink through the orange haze. "It’s quiet here. No noise."

You knew he didn't just mean the traffic. You knew he meant the things that lived in the dark, the things that grew thicker where the crowds were dense.

"Thank you for today, Suguru," you said, stepping closer to him so your shoulder brushed against his arm as you walked. "The aquarium was amazing. The oarfish was... everything I hoped it would be."

"I'm glad," he said, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. "I liked the jellyfish best."

"The jellyfish? You didn't say anything while we were looking at them."

"They don't have brains," he explained, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. "They just exist. They drift through the water, they react to the light, they don't think about right or wrong or duty. It seems like a very peaceful way to live."

"You think too much," you said gently.

"I've been told that before," he murmured.

You stopped in front of the small, wooden gate of your house. The porch light was already on, casting a warm, yellow square of light onto the small gravel driveway. The date was over. The world outside the gate—the world of Jujutsu High, of Satoru’s loud voice, of Shoko’s cold dissecting room—was waiting for him tomorrow.

Suguru turned to face you, letting go of your hand only to place both of his on your shoulders. He looked down at you, his expression unreadable in the dim evening light, his eyes dark and bottomless.

"Go inside," he said softly. "The mosquitoes are coming out."

"Are you going back to the dorms?"

"Yes. Satoru probably broke something while I was gone, and Shoko will want me to help her hide the evidence."

You laughed, but your eyes were fixed on his lips. He noticed—of course he noticed, he noticed everything—and his chest rose with a slow, deep breath. He leaned down, his forehead briefly resting against yours, his breath warm against your cheek. He smelled of that clean, cedarwood scent and the cool, sweet tea from the cafe.

"Goodnight," he whispered.

A sudden surge of bravery—or perhaps just the lingering magic of the indigo tanks and the silver fish—seized you.

Before you could think about it, before your brain could point out that he was Suguru Geto, the strongest, the serious one, the one who carried the world on his shoulders, you leaned up on your tiptoes. Your hands caught the lapels of his white linen shirt for balance, and you pressed your lips firmly against his left cheek.

His skin was smooth, slightly prickled with the faint evening stubble near his jaw, and incredibly warm.

You held it there for one long, golden second, then dropped back down to your heels. Your face was instantly on fire, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird.

"Goodnight, Suguru!" you scurried out, your voice a high-pitched squeak.

You turned and practically lunged through your front gate, your sandals clattering against the gravel. You fumbled with the front door key, your fingers shaking so badly it took two tries to hit the lock, and you slipped inside, slamming the door shut behind you and leaning your back against the wood.

Inside, the house was dark and quiet. You stood there for a long time, your hand pressed against your burning cheek, listening to the sound of your own frantic breathing.

Outside, on the quiet residential street, Suguru Geto remained standing under the flickering streetlamp for several minutes. His right hand rose slowly, his long fingers coming to rest over the exact spot on his cheek where your lips had been.

The smirk was gone. His expression was soft, completely defenseless, and entirely beautiful in the dark. He let out a long, slow breath that looked almost like a sigh, his fingers dropping back to his side as he turned toward the station.

"Goodnight," he said to the empty air, his footsteps fading into the Tokyo night.

The morning sun didn't just rise the next day; it threatened. It cut through the thin, cream-colored curtains of your bedroom in a sharp, merciless blade of yellow light, striking you directly across the eyelids.

You hadn't slept. Not really. Every time your brain had drifted toward the soft, gray edges of unconsciousness, the memory would loop back like a faulty film reel: the scratch of his light evening stubble against your lips, the sudden, sharp intake of his breath, the heat of his white linen shirt beneath your fumbling fingers. And then, the grand finale—you, running away like a cartoon thief who had just stolen a loaf of bread, scurrying through the gate without even checking to see if he was disgusted, amused, or already reaching for a wet wipe.

By 7:30 AM, you were a ball of tangled sheets, messy hair, and raw nerves. Unable to bear the echo chamber of your own skull for another second, you grabbed your phone, crawled into the deep fortress of your duvet, and dialed the only person who could legally be held responsible for introducing you to Suguru Geto in the first place.

The line rang four times. Five times. On the sixth ring, there was a heavy, rustling sound, followed by the wet, rhythmic click of a lighter.

"If someone is dead," Shoko’s voice rasped, sounding like she had spent the night chewing on gravel, "call the auxiliary managers. If Satoru set the dorm kitchen on fire again, tell him I’m legally deceased."

"Shoko, I kissed him. Omg I kissed him."

You whined the words softly into the receiver, pulling the heavy comforter up over your nose as if the fabric could shield you from the sheer, burning embarrassment of your own voice.

The other end of the line went completely silent.

It wasn't the kind of silence where someone puts the phone down on a counter; it was an active, heavy stillness. You could hear the faint, distant hum of the Jujutsu High campus generator and the slow, deliberate exhale of Shoko’s first cigarette of the morning. One second. Two seconds. Three. Four. Five.

"Okay, like, when?" Shoko responded back, her tone shifting from zombie-like exhaustion to a sharp, clinical curiosity that made you feel like a specimen on her autopsy table. "Was it a dream? When did you guys hang out without me?"

"Yesterday," you groaned, rolling onto your stomach and burying your face in your pillow, though it muffled your voice into a pathetic squeak. "He invited me to the aquarium. Just us. He paid for the tickets... I thought it was a date, but he never explicitly said it was a date. I mean, we've gone out together just us a few times before, but omg... I've totally ruined this for me, haven't I? I’ve ruined the whole dynamic. I’m going to have to move to Hokkaido."

"Take a breath," Shoko said, her voice dry but laced with that dark, practical amusement she always wore like a shield. "First of all, you’re not moving to Hokkaido; the seafood is great, but the winters are miserable and I’m not traveling that far to buy you a drink. Second... the aquarium? Suguru took you to the aquarium? The one in Shinagawa with the fancy lights?"

"Yes," you muttered into the feathers.

"The one he spent three days researching on his laptop in the common room while pretending he was reading a report on curse partitions in the Kanto region?"

You sat up instantly, the duvet sliding down to your waist. "What? He did what?"

"Oh, yeah," Shoko said, and you could practically hear the small, cruel smirk on her lips as she leaned back against her headboard. "Satoru kept trying to look over his shoulder to see if it was a new weapon spec, and Suguru almost broke his thumb. He was looking at the exhibition schedule for the deep-sea section. I thought he was just being his usual, weirdly thorough self about an upcoming mission location. But this... this is hilarious."

"It’s not hilarious, Shoko! It’s a tragedy!" You gripped the phone tighter, your knuckles turning white. You had barely gotten any sleep last night because you had overthought the small gesture of the kiss on the cheek until it had transformed from a sweet, spontaneous impulse into a full-blown felony. "I didn't even look back! I gave him the kiss, and then I literally ran away. I scurried inside like a cockroach when the lights turn on! How do I know he didn't immediately wipe it off? What if he was just being polite because he felt bad for me?"

"You didn't ruin anything," Shoko said, her voice dropping into a rare, steady seriousness that she usually reserved for when you were actually crying over something real. "Suguru is probably either thinking about it, or... well, thinking about it. He has a lot of gears turning in that head of his at any given moment but trust me on this one."

She paused, taking another long drag from her cigarette.

"Besides, Suguru likes you back... probably?"

"Probably?!" you shrieked, the word bouncing off the four walls of your bedroom. "What do you mean probably? Shoko, that is a terrifying word to use right now!"

"I say 'probably' because Suguru is a freak who hides everything behind that polite, model-student face," Shoko explained, completely unfazed by your volume. "But I've seen him when you're around. When Satoru is being loud and obnoxious—which is seventy percent of the day—Suguru’s eyes are always tracking you to see if you're uncomfortable. He filters the world for you. If he didn't want you touching him, you wouldn't have been able to get within three feet of his personal space. The guy has the reflexes of a cat on speed; you think you 'sneaked up' on his cheek? He let you do it."

You let yourself fall backward onto the mattress again, staring up at the white plaster ceiling. The logic was sound—jujutsu sorcerers lived and died by their perception, and Suguru was one of the absolute best—but the irrational, terrified part of your brain was still running laps.

"What do I do now?" you whispered into the dark room. "He hasn't texted me this morning. Usually, he sends a dumb picture of Satoru sleeping on a desk by eight."

"He’s probably hiding in his room trying to figure out if he needs to consult a manual on civilian courtship," Shoko said dryly. "Look, I have a shift in the morgue in an hour. Come to the campus around noon. Satoru is out on a solo mission in Saitama until tonight, so the courtyard will actually be quiet. Just act normal. Or as normal as you can manage with your face looking like a tomato."

"Shoko..."

"Noon. Don't be late. I'll buy you a melon soda from the vending machine."

The line went dead with a sharp click. You let your arm drop to the mattress, the phone slipping from your fingers. The ceiling offered no answers, only the faint, steady shadow of the ginkgo tree outside your window, its leaves moving lazily in the rising heat.

The mountain air at Tokyo Jujutsu High was always slightly cooler than the city center, but by noon, the humidity had caught up. The gravel path leading up through the torii gates crunched beneath your sneakers, each sound feeling incredibly loud in the heavy, midday stillness.

You had spent three hours trying to choose an outfit that said, “I am totally unaffected by yesterday’s events and definitely didn’t spend the night having a psychic crisis,” eventually settling on a simple pair of denim shorts and an oversized white t-shirt. Your hair was tied back in a messy ponytail; a few loose strands damp against your forehead from the walk up the temple stairs.

When you reached the main courtyard, Shoko was exactly where she said she’d be—sitting on the low stone wall beneath the shade of the ginkgo tree, a small, silver can of cold coffee balanced on her knee.

But she wasn't alone.

Your heart dropped directly into your shoes.

Sitting on the gravel a few paces away, his long legs stretched out in front of him and his back resting against the rough trunk of the tree, was Suguru. He was back in his uniform trousers, but he had left the heavy jacket off, wearing only the dark, sleeveless high-necked undershirt that showed the broad, lean line of his shoulders. His hair was tied up in its usual half-bun, but a few longer strands had escaped, hanging loose around his jaw.

He was sharpening a small, cursed tool with a whetstone—the slow, rhythmic scritch-scratch of the metal against stone the only sound breaking the summer hum.

You froze at the edge of the clearing, your hand instinctively gripping the strap of your canvas tote bag until your knuckles went numb. Your first instinct was to turn on your heel and sprint back to the train station, but Shoko looked up before you could execute the retreat.

"You're late," she called out, her voice flat and carrying easily across the open space. "The melon soda is already lukewarm."

Suguru’s hand stopped. The whetstone went still against the black steel of the blade.

He didn't look up immediately. He took a slow, measured breath—you could see the rise and fall of his chest—before his head turned toward you. Those dark, narrow eyes found yours instantly, and for a fraction of a second, the cool, untouchable composure he usually wore like armor seemed to flicker. His gaze dropped briefly to your lips, then traveled back up to your eyes, a strange, heavy intensity lingering in the dark depths of his pupils.

"Hi," you said, the word coming out small and choked. You forced your feet to move, walking toward the shade with the stiff, unnatural gait of a wooden puppet.

"Good morning," Suguru said. His voice was lower than usual, carrying that quiet, raspy edge that usually meant he hadn't slept either. The small, knowing smirk that usually defined his face when he greeted you was entirely absent. Instead, his mouth was set in a straight, serious line, his jaw tight.

You sat down on the wall next to Shoko, keeping a very deliberate three feet of distance between yourself and the space above where Suguru was sitting on the ground. Shoko handed you the silver can of coffee without a word, her eyes darting between the two of you with a terrifying, malicious amusement that made you want to kick her shin.

"Satoru called," Shoko said, leaning back on her elbows. "He ran into a Grade 1 near the station in Saitama. He said he’s going to be late because he found a shop that sells 'limited edition' chestnut dango and he refuses to leave until they open the afternoon batch."

"He's an idiot," Suguru said softly, his hand starting to move the blade against the stone again, though the movement lacked its usual precision. Scritch. Scritch. "The auxiliary managers are going to have a stroke."

"Let them," Shoko shrugged, standing up and brushing a few loose flakes of tobacco from her skirt. "I need to go check the refrigeration units in the lower lab. The assistant director said the temperature gauges have been flickering since yesterday's storm."

"Shoko, wait—" you blurted out, your eyes widening in sheer panic as you reached for her sleeve.

"Don't worry, I won't be long," she said, offering you a smile that was pure, unadulterated evil. "Suguru, don't let her drink that whole coffee at once. She hasn't eaten breakfast."

Before you could construct a coherent lie to follow her, Shoko turned and walked toward the main building, her hands buried in her lab coat pockets, whistling a flat, tuneless song that died out as soon as the heavy wooden doors slid shut behind her.

The silence that followed her departure was absolute.

The cicadas seemed to double their volume, their frantic buzzing filling the space between you and Suguru until it felt like a physical pressure. You stared down at the silver coffee can in your hands, tracing the raised letters of the brand with your thumb over and over again.

Scritch. Scritch.

The sound of the whetstone was making your teeth ache. You wanted to say something—anything—to break the tension, but your tongue felt like it had been coated in cement.

"Did you sleep well?"

The question came from the ground. Suguru had stopped sharpening the blade. He set the tool down on the gravel beside him, his long fingers resting flat against his knees as he looked up at you through the loose strands of his hair.

"Not really," you admitted honestly, your voice barely louder than the leaves rustling above. "I... I had a lot on my mind."

Suguru looked down at his hands, his thumbs tracing the line of his knuckles. "Me too."

A sudden, terrifying wave of honesty broke through your panic. If you didn't say it now, you were going to choke on it for the rest of the week. "Suguru, about yesterday... at the gate. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have just... done that and then run away. It was childish, and I didn't mean to make things weird between us, and if you want to just forget it happened, I totally understand—"

"I don't want to forget it."

The words cut through your rambling like a blade.

Suguru stood up, his tall frame shifting with that effortless, liquid grace that always made the world around him look clumsy. He stepped closer to the wall, stopping until his knees were nearly touching your shins. The scent of him—cedar, iron, and the sharp, clean smell of the whetstone—enveloped you instantly.

He reached down, his large, warm hand closing over yours where you were gripping the coffee can. His fingers were firm, unyielding, but his touch was incredibly gentle as he slowly pried the metal can from your white-knuckled grip and set it down on the stone wall behind you.

"Look at me," he murmured.

You lifted your chin, your heart hammering so violently you were certain he could see it moving through the fabric of your white t-shirt.

Suguru was looking down at you with an expression you had never seen on him before. The polite, distant mask he wore for the world was entirely gone, replaced by something raw, heavy, and intensely vulnerable. His dark eyes were dark as midnight, searching your face with a desperate, quiet hunger that made your breath catch in your throat.

"I didn't wipe it off," he said, his voice a low, rough whisper that seemed to vibrate directly against your skin. "I stayed out there for ten minutes just holding my hand against my face because I was terrified that if I moved, the feeling would go away."

"Suguru..."

"I've been thinking about it all night," he continued, his hand rising from your fingers to travel up the line of your arm, his thumb tracing the soft skin of your inner wrist before his palm came to rest against the side of your neck. His fingers spread into your hair, the heat of his skin sending a sharp, electric shiver straight down your spine. "I’ve been thinking about how much I wanted to do it back. How much I’ve wanted to do it every time we walk to the station, every time you text me in the middle of the night, every time Satoru says something stupid and you look at me as if we share a secret."

He leaned down, his face inches from yours, his dark hair falling forward to create a small, private curtain between the two of you and the rest of the campus. "You didn't ruin anything. But if you think a kiss on the cheek is enough to fix what you started... you're mistaken."

The space between his lips and yours didn't feel like a choice; it felt like the inevitable resolution of a gravity that had been pulling at you for months.

When Suguru kissed you, it wasn't the tentative, careful thing you had given him the night before. It was deep, heavy, and possessed of a quiet, desperate intensity that made the rest of the world vanish instantly. His lips were soft but firm, parting yours with a low, ragged sound that died in the back of his throat as his other hand came up to grip your waist, lifting you slightly off the stone wall until you were pressed entirely against his chest.

The heat of him was overwhelming. You reached out, your hands instantly finding their way into his hair, the thick, dark strands silk-soft between your fingers as you pulled him closer, your tongue tangling with his in a slow, sweet rhythm that felt like drowning in warm water.

He tasted like the dark hojicha tea from the basement cafe, like the clean, sharp mountain air, and like something else—something heavy and dark that belonged exclusively to him.

He pulled back after what felt like an eternity, his forehead resting against yours, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps that ruffled the loose hairs near your temples. His eyes were closed, his long eyelashes dark against his pale skin, his jaw working as he tried to regain his breath.

"I shouldn't have done that," he whispered, his grip on your waist tightening until it was almost painful. "You're a civilian. You have a life outside this place. You have a future that doesn't involve... any of this."

"Suguru," you said, your voice shaking as your hands slid down to rest against his broad chest, feeling the heavy, rapid thumping of his heart beneath your palms. "I chose to come here. I chose to stay. I chose you."

He opened his eyes then, and the expression in them was so heavy with an unspoken, tragic sorrow that it broke your heart. He looked at you as if you were a beautiful, fragile glass ornament that he had already resolved himself to breaking.

"You don't know what it's like," he said softly, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw over and over again, as if he were trying to memorize the texture of your skin. "The world is... it's very loud right now. The things I have to do, the things I have to see... when I'm with you, the noise stops. It’s just the water. It’s just the fish."

He leaned down and kissed you again, but this time it was different. It was lighter, sweeter, filled with a tender, lingering reverence that felt like a goodbye even though he wasn't going anywhere.

"Let me have this," he murmured against your lips. "Just for today. Let's not think about tomorrow."

You closed your eyes, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him back down into the shade of the ginkgo tree. "Just for today," you agreed.

By three in the afternoon, the sky had shifted to a pale, milky gray, the clouds gathering along the ridge of the mountains in preparation for the evening's thunderstorm.

Shoko had returned from the lower labs twenty minutes prior, carrying three fresh cans of melon soda from the cafeteria. She hadn't said a word about the fact that Suguru was now sitting on the stone wall beside you, his long fingers loosely intertwined with yours where they rested between your thighs, his shoulder pressed firmly against yours.

She just sat on her section of the wall, smoking her third cigarette of the afternoon, her eyes fixed on the entrance gate.

"He's here," she said, flicking the ash into the gravel.

A second later, the heavy wooden doors of the main gate burst open with a loud, theatrical BANG.

"WE HAVE ACQUIRED THE LIMITED EDITION CHESTNUT DANGO!" Satoru shouted, his white hair standing up in every direction, his uniform jacket slung over his shoulder like a cape. He sprinted across the courtyard, dropping a heavy, wooden box directly into Shoko's lap before sliding onto his knees on the gravel in front of you and Suguru.

He pushed his sunglasses down to the tip of his nose, his impossible, bright blue eyes darting from your hand, to Suguru's hand, and then up to the small, faint pink smudge that still lingered near Suguru's collarbone where your lips had brushed during the second kiss.

Satoru grinned—a wide, brilliant, and completely terrifying expression that filled his whole face.

"So," Satoru said, leaning forward until his nose was nearly touching Suguru's. "Did we have fun at the aquarium yesterday, Civilian?"

Suguru didn't look at him. He didn't blink. He simply reached out with his free hand, took one of the chestnut dangos from the box in Shoko's lap, and stuffed it entirely into Satoru's open mouth.

"Shut up, Satoru," Suguru said, his voice smooth, level, and entirely at peace.

Satoru choked, coughing up a cloud of powdered sugar as Shoko snorted into her coffee can. You laughed, the sound bright and clear against the heavy summer air, and when you looked up, Suguru was watching you.

The smirk was back—small, narrow, and meant only for you—but beneath it, the dark water of his eyes was entirely still, completely calm, and filled with a quiet, beautiful light that belonged to nothing else in the world.

Tag-List: @oksukuna, @megssleepygirl, @malaccah, @nooshie11037, @httpjrnl

#jjk #jjk fanfic #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #suguru geto x reader #geto x reader #jjk geto #suguru geto #geto suguru #suguru fluff #jujutsu kaisen suguru #jjk suguru #jujutsu geto #geto #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk series #jjk fluff

Six weeks to heal

Megumi’s sharp new snake bite piercings send your long-standing crush into overdrive, but a misunderstanding about a childhood friend threatens to break your heart.

The courtyard was sweltering, the afternoon sun beaming ruthlessly down onto the stone ground. You were completely sprawled out, eyes closed, letting the heat bake into your bones as you recovered from another grueling day. Nobara sat right next to you, letting out a dramatic, exhausted sigh every few minutes, while Yuji sat on his heels, rocking back and forth energetically as he rambled to her.

Megumi was notably absent, having claimed earlier that he had a "preset appointment" to attend to. You knew he was lying. It was obvious he just wanted to skip out on Gojo’s notoriously terrible, borderline sadistic training regimens. Frankly, you couldn't blame him. You were exhausted to say the least, your muscles aching.

For the most part, you had been successfully blocking out Yuji’s background noise, but your ears perked up at the tail end of his sentence.

"—so yeah, Megumi is getting another piercing today."

"Another?" you asked, cracking one eye open curiously.

Megumi had gotten his helix done on his right ear a few months ago. By your last count, he already had four piercings on each ear. What other one could he possibly be adding to the collection?

"You think he finally went for that industrial bar he was mulling over?" Nobara asked, leaning forward with genuine interest.

"Nope," Yuji chimed in, popping the 'p'. "He said those take way too long to heal, so he wants to wait until we have a longer break from missions."

You drifted off, blocking out their conversation once again as your mind wandered. What could it be? What kind of piercing would actually suit him? You started cycling through the possibilities, imagining different placements against his usual stoic, dark aesthetic.

Your thoughts were abruptly interrupted when a sudden shadow blocked the sun from your view, plunging you into coolness.

Pouting softly at the loss of the warmth, you blinked your eyes open, only to be met with Megumi standing over you.

"Gumi, when did you—" You paused.

Your heart stopped dead in your chest for a fraction of a second before hammering violently against your ribs. Your brain completely short-circuited, severing the connection to your mouth. Your eyes widened.

"Your mouth..." you mumbled inanely.

There, catching the light perfectly, were two little silver studs sitting just below his bottom lip, perfectly symmetrical near the corners of his mouth.

"Snake bites," Megumi said calmly. He gestured for you to sit up, stepping slightly to the side so that when his shadow moved, the sun wouldn't immediately blind you.

You scrambled into a sitting position, your eyes glued to his face.

"Wow, those look sick, Megumi!" Yuji beamed, leaning in way too close to inspect the metal. "Did they hurt? Did you get them at the same shop you took me to last time?"

Nobara tilted her head, analyzing him with a critical fashion-forward eye. "They suit you surprisingly well. Honestly, I thought you would’ve gone for a tongue piercing, but snake bites are cool. Very edgy."

As the three of them fell into an easy chatter, you could only mutter out small, distracted answers. Your brain was entirely occupied, hyper-focused on the shiny new addition to Megumi’s face. You had harbored a massive crush on him for months now, but you never thought it was possible for those feelings to get any stronger. You were wrong. Goodness, he looked hot.

A sudden, dizzying thought crossed your mind: you wanted to kiss him. But then reality crashed in—he just got them pierced. It was probably a healing, sensitive zone, and kissing right now would be incredibly unsanitary. Man, it would suck to be his girlfriend right now, you thought bitterly, before correcting yourself, ...actually, no it wouldn't. Not at all.

"Yeah, Hana recommended this place for piercings," Megumi was saying, breaking you out of your trance.

"Hana?" you blurted out before your brain could filter the word.

You had met Hana Kurusu exactly once, and ever since that day, a lingering hesitation had kept you from confessing your feelings to Megumi.

"Mhmm. It's where she went to get her angel bites done," Megumi explained smoothly, oblivious to the mini-crisis happening inside your head. "Hers healed really well, so I trusted them to do my snake bites."

"Oh. That’s cool... I didn't know she had piercings," you said honestly, forcing your voice to remain level. Hana had never struck you as the piercing type, but clearly, you didn't know everything. Trying to shake off the tiny prick of jealousy, you focused back on him, offering a soft, genuine smile. "The snake bites really do look great on you, Gumi."

He blinked, a faint, almost imperceptible dust of pink hitting his cheeks. "Thanks."

The four of you lingered in the courtyard for a little while longer until the sun finally began to dip below the horizon, signaling it was time to head back to the Jujutsu High dorms.

The second you stepped inside your room and the door clicked shut, all your composure evaporated. You face-planted directly onto your bed, shoving your face hard into the plush pillow to muffle a frustrated scream.

"This is so stupid," you whined to the empty room, kicking your feet dramatically against the mattress.

Images of the silver studs framing his lips flashed behind your eyelids, making your stomach do backflips. Between the new look and the Hana comment, your emotions were in a blender.

You rolled over, staring blankly at the ceiling as your heart finally began to slow down. "They're absolutely going to be the death of me."

And they were the absolute death of you.

For the next few weeks, you found yourself completely, hopelessly distracted. Your eyes had developed a traitorous habit of tracking the subtle glint of silver every single time Megumi spoke, blinked, or drank water. It was a total sensory overload, and it was driving you insane.

"I just can't do it, Nobara," you whined, dropping your head dramatically onto the wooden table of the common area. "Yuji is absolutely no help. Do you know what he told me? 'Hana? Yeah, her and Megumi are really cool! Apparently, they’ve known each other for a really long time—'" You mimicked Yuji’s boundless, bubbly energy with a bitter little pout.

You sat up, throwing your hands in the air. "So she’s a childhood friend, she probably has a crush on him, and they match piercings? Goodness, they might as well just get married at this point!" You ran your fingers through your hair, thoroughly exasperated. "But they can’t. My poor heart wouldn't take it. Why can’t Gumi just marry me instead?"

Nobara didn't even blink. She was entirely used to your daily rants, which wildly fluctuated between an excited 'Gumi looked at me today!' to a tragic 'OMG, Gumi is totally in love with someone else and I am going to die alone.'

She sipped her iced coffee, looking at you calmly. "Girl... for him to marry you, you have to actually confess first, and then he has to accept your feelings. That’s generally how the timeline works. Why not just tell him? He’ll never know how you feel if you keep suffering in silence."

You shook your head violently, burying your face in your hands. "I can't bring myself to do it. He might be dating her. Or even if he isn't, he doesn't seem to like me romantically at all. It’s not like I’m hiding my interest in him, right?!"

Nobara rolled her eyes so hard you thought they might get stuck. Instead of arguing, she glanced over your shoulder, a wicked spark in her eye.

"YUJI! COME HERE!" she shouted.

A few yards away, the pink-haired boy perked up like a golden retriever hearing the word walk. He turned over his shoulder, black hood shifting, and bounded over to your table with a bright grin. "What's up, guys?"

"Does Megumi like Hana romantically?" Nobara asked, completely bypassing any small talk. "Are they together? Like, dating-wise?"

Yuji blinked, tilting his head as he genuinely pondered the question. "Hmmm, I don’t think so? To be honest... I kinda thought he liked you?"

Yuji pointed a blunt finger at you, making your face instantly explode into a bright, burning blush.

"He definitely sees Hana like a younger sister, if anything," Yuji explained, scratching the back of his neck. "I mean... it's Megumi, so he’s always kinda hard to read. But he definitely favors you more than us. Like, he actually lets you play with his hair. And have you noticed how he always stands or sits right next to you whenever we hang out?"

Your chest tightened. You had noticed those things, of course you had. But you had always forced yourself to rationalize them. You figured he just tolerated you because you were a calmer presence than the other two, or because of that one time he offhandedly mentioned he liked the vanilla scent of your shower gel because it was calming.

"You really think so?" you asked, your voice dropping to a soft, vulnerable whisper.

"We don't think, we know," Nobara corrected sharply, leaning across the table to bonk you gently on the head. "Now stop being a total wimp and go talk to him. If you don't confess by tomorrow, I am going to tell him myself."

"Tomorrow?!" you gasped, clutching your head. "That is such a short time frame!"

"You've been pining for two years! Two years is a massive time span, you can't keep waiting forever," she reminded you, her tone softening just a fraction into something genuinely supportive. She patted your shoulder as she stood up. "Don't worry. Megumi won't turn you down... harshly, anyway."

With Yuji giving you an encouraging thumbs-up, you knew you were officially cornered.

That evening, the air had finally cooled down, a gentle breeze rustling the trees around the campus. You found Megumi sitting alone on the steps leading up to the dorms, the orange glow of the setting sun casting long shadows across the concrete. He was cleaning one of his cursed tools, looking entirely at peace.

Your heart did that familiar, violent double-take in your chest. Taking a deep breath to steady your trembling hands, you walked over.

"Hey, Gumi. Mind if I sit?"

Megumi looked up, his dark eyes instantly softening when they landed on you. He shifted over, making room on the step. "Always."

You sat down, the scent of your shower gel catching in the breeze. True to Yuji's word, Megumi closed his eyes for a brief second, taking a quiet, grounding breath, a tiny, almost invisible tension leaving his shoulders.

The silence stretched between you, comfortable but heavy with your unspoken secret. You swallowed hard, staring down at your sneakers. It's now or never. Before Nobara ruins my life.

"Gumi?"

"Yeah?" He turned his head to look at you, the twin silver studs of his snake bites catching the last rays of sunlight. God, he was so handsome it hurt.

"I have to tell you something, and I need to just say it before I lose my nerve," you rushed out, your hands gripping the edge of the stone step. You forced yourself to look him dead in the eye. "I've liked you for a really long time. Like, romantically. And when you got those piercings... and mentioned Hana... I just realized I couldn't keep pretending I don't want to be more than just your friend. I want to be the person you go to places with. I want to be your girlfriend."

You held your breath, bracing for impact.

Megumi stared at you. For a terrifying three seconds, he didn't move. Then, slowly, the stoic, unreadable expression on his face completely melted.

A deep, genuine crimson crept up his neck, flooding his cheeks and the tips of his ears. He let out a low, breathless laugh, putting his cursed tool aside and rubbing a hand over his face.

"Hana?" he echoed, his voice vibrating with a mix of disbelief and relief. "You were jealous of Hana?"

"Well—she's pretty! And you guys got matching—"

"She’s like a sister to me," Megumi interrupted gently, cutting off your frantic rambling. He turned his body fully toward you, his dark eyes intense, filled with a warmth you had never seen in them before. "I only went to that shop because she swore they were clean. I didn't think... I didn't realize it would make you think that."

He reached out, his fingers hesitant for a fraction of a second before he gently took your hand, wrapping his warm, slightly calloused fingers around yours.

"I don't like Hana," Megumi said, his voice dropping into a soft, fierce sincerity. "I like you. I've liked you for a long time. I just... I didn't think someone like me could have someone like you. Yuji and Nobara always call me dense, but I was just terrified of ruining what we had."

Your brain short-circuited all over again, but this time, it was purely from happiness. "You... you actually like me?"

A rare, incredibly beautiful smile tugged at the corners of his lips, making the silver studs shift perfectly. "Yeah. I really, really do."

He squeezed your hand, his eyes dropping down to your lips for a brief, telling second before looking back up into your eyes. He looked a little flustered, a bit unsure of himself in a way that made him look impossibly endearing.

"They're fully healed in about six weeks," Megumi murmured, a soft, teasing glint in his eyes as he noticed you staring at his mouth. "But... if you're careful, you don't have to wait that long to kiss me."

You let out a giddy, breathy laugh, the last of your anxieties evaporating into the evening air as you leaned in close, finally getting exactly what you wanted.

Tag-list: @oksukuna, @megssleepygirl , @malaccah

#jujutsu megumi #jjk megumi #megumi x reader #jujutsu kaisen megumi #fushiguro megumi #megumi fushiguro #jjk #jjk fanfic #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fushiguro #jjk fluff

vampiricbisexuality

picrew chain

make this picrew and put your name in the incorrect quote generator!

tags: @wintry-whimsy @renalyxx @renalyxx @rainandsugarcane2000 @devotedlyuniquewizard @cabbagewhites @eggedagain @fall1ngawayfromm3 @jasperr6969 @the-sonni-guy and open tags !

silly-little-arson-frog-offical

this is something I would say and may have said already

peak open tags

kasumigale14

my humansona if i wasn't a transition metal turned fruit

@jujusrightbehindyouisntshe @kisdydrms @gogo2712 @untitledpillowfort @2shadowsdeep @royal-cupidity

kisdydrms

thanks for the tag, gale! yours looks so cool ♡ this was very fun and the quote is dead on LMAOOO

tags: @reapkusho + open!

reapkusho

thanks for the tag! i really miss doing picrews but this didn't turn out how i expected it lol

@still-fatemeh @midnightaz @doomedlikemyyaoi + open tags <3

midnightaz

NEW HAIRCUT IS SICCKKKK TY FOR THE TAG REAP speaking of haircuts, im waiting a little longer before i go to a salon and get actual bangs that arent my mistakes help anyway. . ALSO LOOK IT HAD A WHITE BUDGIE IM CRYING TEARS OF JOY

top ten things ive EVER said

no pressure tags: @livelaughalexisness @aprlsbloom @kiyofiles @jelly-kibtyfish

aprlsbloom

thank you for the tag azrie!! real footage of me being narcissistic as usual

np tags: @gravelocked @heartieness @yukonoo @strxwberrycreampuff @ivytheweeaboo @jungwonnii @bluelocklvrrr @munchkinmag1c + anyone!!

gravelocked

shouldve chosen a different hair or something bc this does NOT look like me but i tried my best

not @lushbunsss @bloomflix @yunisl @perlleta @kaisersbae @kaiaasecho

bloomflix

NYEHEHEHE TYTY ASH FOR DA TAG <333

(the oxxo is such a random bg im crine 😭)

npt <3: @yorikae @9x-x6 @chosayi @yuucide @neossence @satomiu + anyone else <3333

9x-x6

@megumisrighttoe @mimimochis @pillsatoru @cttelina @liahcharms @kireampie @rengoatku @valberryboos @hangenism @kamislop ˖ ࣪ ✶ .

dabislop

this was so funny to make

npt - @jeanmarcosno1 @riotsgrl @updownandbatty @tvkvi @suganoms @indisuki @moviecritc @ie4ri

suganoms

this was sososo cute and fun!!

npt :: @paninsoup , @xxvendettaxx , @kalatiii.

kalatiii

HEHEHEHEHE (totally something i would do)

tagging my lovely moots: @happylittletree05 @lilithkleia @jiyuspassion

jiyuspassion

yk what... yeah LOL

this was fun thanks for the tag! no pressure tags: @yoonsucks @oksukuna @6x-x9 @sxtellary

oksukuna

I’m crying why is this accurate 😭😭😭you’ve caught me at a very hallucinatory time of my life

thanks for the tag jiyu… blushes.. hi oomfies: @mochichosoblog @louddinosaursblog @cherrymuseum

mochichosoblog

Pls...Mines is very accurate 😭😭😭thanks for tagging me.

@lunarevia, @megssleepygirl, @malaccah

vampiricbisexuality

picrew chain

make this picrew and put your name in the incorrect quote generator!

tags: @wintry-whimsy @renalyxx @renalyxx @rainandsugarcane2000 @devotedlyuniquewizard @cabbagewhites @eggedagain @fall1ngawayfromm3 @jasperr6969 @the-sonni-guy and open tags !

silly-little-arson-frog-offical

this is something I would say and may have said already

peak open tags

kasumigale14

my humansona if i wasn't a transition metal turned fruit

@jujusrightbehindyouisntshe @kisdydrms @gogo2712 @untitledpillowfort @2shadowsdeep @royal-cupidity

kisdydrms

thanks for the tag, gale! yours looks so cool ♡ this was very fun and the quote is dead on LMAOOO

tags: @reapkusho + open!

reapkusho

thanks for the tag! i really miss doing picrews but this didn't turn out how i expected it lol

@still-fatemeh @midnightaz @doomedlikemyyaoi + open tags <3

midnightaz

top ten things ive EVER said

no pressure tags: @livelaughalexisness @aprlsbloom @kiyofiles @jelly-kibtyfish

aprlsbloom

thank you for the tag azrie!! real footage of me being narcissistic as usual

np tags: @gravelocked @heartieness @yukonoo @strxwberrycreampuff @ivytheweeaboo @jungwonnii @bluelocklvrrr @munchkinmag1c + anyone!!

gravelocked

shouldve chosen a different hair or something bc this does NOT look like me but i tried my best

not @lushbunsss @bloomflix @yunisl @perlleta @kaisersbae @kaiaasecho

bloomflix

NYEHEHEHE TYTY ASH FOR DA TAG <333

(the oxxo is such a random bg im crine 😭)

npt <3: @yorikae @9x-x6 @chosayi @yuucide @neossence @satomiu + anyone else <3333

9x-x6

@megumisrighttoe @mimimochis @pillsatoru @cttelina @liahcharms @kireampie @rengoatku @valberryboos @hangenism @kamislop ˖ ࣪ ✶ .

dabislop

this was so funny to make

npt - @jeanmarcosno1 @riotsgrl @updownandbatty @tvkvi @suganoms @indisuki @moviecritc @ie4ri

suganoms

this was sososo cute and fun!!

npt :: @paninsoup , @xxvendettaxx , @kalatiii.

kalatiii

HEHEHEHEHE (totally something i would do)

tagging my lovely moots: @happylittletree05 @lilithkleia @jiyuspassion

jiyuspassion

yk what... yeah LOL

this was fun thanks for the tag! no pressure tags: @yoonsucks @oksukuna @6x-x9 @sxtellary

oksukuna

I’m crying why is this accurate 😭😭😭you’ve caught me at a very hallucinatory time of my life

thanks for the tag jiyu… blushes.. hi oomfies: @mochichosoblog @louddinosaursblog @cherrymuseum

mochichosoblog

Pls...Mines is very accurate 😭😭😭thanks for tagging me.

@lunarevia, @megssleepygirl, @malaccah

Thursday is when I loved you

Sukuna just won't quit trying to get your attention, and for once, despite all the red flags, you give in.

The ambient chatter of the campus café faded into a low hum, eclipsed by the sheer, imposing presence of the guy sitting across from you. Ryomen Sukuna.

He leaned back in the vinyl booth, his broad frame making the sturdy wooden chair look like a toy. A smirk played on his lips, full of the effortless, infuriating confidence that came with being the campus's most notorious frat guy. He looked entirely out of place next to your stacks of highlighters, color-coded flashcards, and heavy textbooks. Yet, here he was. Again.

"You're wasting your time on me," you muttered, your voice laced with a exhaustion that ran bone-deep.

Sukuna didn’t even blink. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, effectively invading your neat little sanctuary of study materials. His dark eyes locked onto yours, intense and unyielding.

"I'd waste all the time in the world to be with you."

You let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. That was the sixth time this week you’d found yourself letting out that exact same sigh, and frankly, it was only Thursday. By your mental tally, this was the eighth time this month that Sukuna had managed to track you down, trailing after you like a shadow you couldn’t shake.

The worst part about Sukuna’s sudden, hyper-fixated pursuit was his complete lack of shame. Most guys, when rejected once or twice, would back off to save face. Not him. Sukuna didn’t care who was watching. He didn’t care about the whispers that followed him through the quad, or the amused glances from his fraternity brothers when they saw him getting shot down for the umpteenth time.

He was relentless.

The Class Ambushes: Every Tuesday and Thursday, the moment your lecture ended and you stepped out of the building, he’d be leaning against the brick wall, tossing a football or scrolling through his phone, waiting to walk you to your next building.

You noticed how he left exam care packages. Just last week, during midterms, you arrived at your usual library desk to find a large iced caramel macchiato and a fresh warm muffin waiting for you. A messy, handwritten note attached simply read: Don't forget to eat. - S.

He had somehow gotten your Instagram from a mutual acquaintance, and though you never added him back, he still managed to find ways to bump into you in a university of thirty thousand students.

For the first time in campus history, it seemed like Ryomen Sukuna was genuinely down bad. The rumor mill was in overdrive. The campus playboy, the guy who broke hearts by the dozen and lived for weekend rages, was suddenly acting like a smitten schoolboy.

But you couldn't care less.

You looked at his sharp jawline, the casual set of his shoulders in his varsity jacket, and the expensive watch ticking on his wrist. What good would a partying frat boy do for someone like you? You had a future to build, a GPA to maintain, and a strict timeline to get into graduate school.

Sukuna was a walking, talking distraction. He represented everything that could go wrong in your structured life:

The distraction being-Late-night parties, endless drama, and a lifestyle that clashed violently with your 6:00 AM study alarms.

He is a guy with who's reputation didn't just change overnight. Cheating felt less like a risk and more like an inevitability.

In the end when he inevitably got bored of the chase, you’d be left picking up the pieces of your broken heart while he moved on to the next girl.

They were all distinct possibilities, and frankly, you didn't feel like dealing with any of them. Why was he so persistent anyway? What was the game here? Was it a bet? A dare?

Here he was yet again, sitting right in front of you at your usual study spot in the dimly lit corner of the campus café. Before you could even pull out your wallet, he had already slid his black card to the barista, paying for both your triple-shot espresso and his own drink before sliding into the booth across from you.

"Seriously, Ryomen," you huffed, closing your laptop with a soft thud and looking at him with a look of profound annoyance. "What exactly is it that you want from me? Look at us. We're complete opposites."

Sukuna didn’t flinch at your cold tone. Instead, his smirk softened just a fraction, turning into something genuine that made your chest tighten uncomfortably.

"I want a chance is all," he said, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly baritone that vibrated right through the wooden table. "Just try dating me for a week or two. If you hate it, if I ruin your life like you seem to think I will, you can walk away. No strings. No checking up on you. But give me two weeks to see if you want it to be permanent."

You stared at him, searching his face for any sign of a joke, a hidden camera, or the smug satisfaction of a con artist. There was none. There was only a quiet, burning intensity that made you feel incredibly small and incredibly seen all at the same time.

"Two weeks," you repeated slowly, tapping your highlighter against the table. "You honestly think you can survive two weeks in my world, Sukuna? I don't go to Greek row. I don't drink jungle juice out of plastic tubs. My idea of a wild Friday night is getting through three chapters of organic chemistry and sleeping for eight full hours."

Sukuna chuckled, a deep sound that rumbled from his chest. He leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head. "Sounds thrilling. Sign me up. I'll even quiz you on the chemistry."

"You don't even know what an organic molecule looks like," you shot back, rolling your eyes, though a tiny, treacherous spark of amusement flared in your chest.

"Try me," he challenged, his dark eyes flashing. "Look, I know what you think of me. You think I’m some brainless jock who only cares about the next tailgate. And maybe I’ve given people a reason to think that. But I’m not playing a game with you. If I wanted a easy hookup, I wouldn't be spending my Thursday afternoons listening to the indie-pop playlist this coffee shop has had on loop for three hours just to look at the top of your head while you study."

You bit your inside lip. He had a point. If this was a joke, it was a wildly inefficient one for someone with his social calendar.

"Fine," you said suddenly, the word slipping out before your rational brain could stop it.

Sukuna’s eyes widened slightly, a genuine flash of surprise crossing his features before a massive, triumphant grin broke across his face. "Fine? As in, yes?"

"As in, you have exactly fourteen days," you said, pointing your highlighter at him like a weapon. "But we do this on my terms. No parties. No bringing your loud friends into my space. You want to date me? You adapt to my schedule. If you skip a single study session we agree on, or if I catch you slacking, the deal is off."

"Done," he said instantly, leaning forward to seal the deal. He extended a hand across the table, his large, calloused palm waiting for yours. "Fourteen days to prove I’m worth your time."

You looked at his hand, hesitating for a fraction of a second, before wrapping your fingers around his. His grip was warm, firm, and completely grounding. As you pulled your hand back, you couldn't shake the sudden, terrifying feeling that you had just made a deal with a very handsome, very dangerous devil—and that your carefully ordered life was never going to be the same again.

The first few days of the arrangement were a masterclass in tension. True to his word, Sukuna showed up.

On Friday night, instead of being at the massive frat mixer everyone on campus was talking about, he was sitting on the floor of your apartment living room. He had brought over a massive takeout bag of Thai food, and he was currently staring blankly at a diagram of a cell membrane.

"So, the sodium-potassium pump," Sukuna muttered, tracing a line with a pencil that looked comically small in his hand. "It basically acts like a bouncer for the cell? Keeping the bad stuff out, letting the good stuff in?"

You paused your typing, looking down at him from the couch. He had discarded his usual varsity jacket, wearing just a plain black t-shirt that stretched tight across his shoulders. His hair was messy, and he actually looked like he was trying.

"Yeah," you said softly, surprise filtering into your voice. "That's... actually a really good analogy."

Sukuna looked up, a smug grin immediately plastering his face. "See? Told you I have a brain. You just have to give me a reason to use it."

"Don't get cocky, Ryomen. That's bio 101. We haven't even gotten to the hard stuff."

"Bring it on," he murmured, his eyes locking onto yours with that familiar, intense focus. The playful arrogance was there, but beneath it was something entirely different—a genuine desire to please you. It was disarming.

As the days bled into the next week, the changes became more noticeable. He didn't just show up; he anticipated what you needed. When you had a breakdown over a missing source for a research paper on Tuesday, he didn't tell you to calm down or offer empty platitudes. He quietly opened his own laptop, asked for the thesis topic, and spent two hours filtering through academic databases until he found three peer-reviewed journals that fit perfectly.

"Where did you learn how to do Boolean search terms?" you asked, staring at the screen in disbelief.

Sukuna shrugged, taking a sip of his energy drink. "My older brother is a lawyer. He made me do his legal research formatting when I was in high school as punishment whenever I got caught sneaking out. Turns out, it's useful for something other than getting grounded."

You couldn't help the laugh that escaped you—a bright, genuine sound that made Sukuna stop completely. He just watched you, a soft, uncharacteristic expression on his face, until you flushed and looked back down at your notes.

By the end of the first week, the campus dynamic had shifted. Walking with Sukuna wasn't the agonizing chore you thought it would be. He was like a human shield against the rest of the world. People gave you space; the chaotic energy of the university quad seemed to part around him, leaving a quiet pocket of peace just for the two of you.

But the doubts didn't disappear entirely. They just changed shape.

It happened on Thursday night, exactly one week into the arrangement. You were walking back from the library late, the campus illuminated only by the orange glow of the streetlights. Sukuna was carrying your heavy backpack over one shoulder, his free hand occasionally brushing against yours as you walked.

"Hey, Sukuna?" you asked, the cool night air biting at your cheeks.

"Yeah?"

"Why me?"

He stopped walking, turning to look at you beneath the shadow of a massive oak tree. "What do you mean?"

"I mean... look around," you said, gesturing vaguely toward the dark campus. "You could have anyone. There are dozens of girls who would jump at the chance to be with you, who actually want to go to the parties, who wouldn't make you sit in a stuffy library for six hours a day. Why did you spend a month chasing someone who kept telling you no?"

Sukuna was quiet for a long moment. He dropped your backpack to the ground, stepping closer until the heat radiating off his body shielded you from the wind. He reached out, his thumb gently catching a stray lock of hair that had blown across your face, tucking it behind your ear. His touch was incredibly gentle, a stark contrast to his rough exterior.

"Because they like the idea of me," he said, his voice quiet, almost vulnerable. "They like the guy who throws the parties. They like the guy who doesn't care about anything. But when I'm around you... I don't have to perform. You don't care about the reputation, or the frat, or any of the bullshit. You see right through it."

He stepped closer, his chest nearly touching yours.

"And honestly?" he whispered, his eyes dropping to your lips for a fleeting second before returning to your eyes. "You're the only thing on this entire campus that feels real to me. I was tired of chasing things that didn't matter. I wanted something that did."

Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic, wild rhythm. The logical, analytical part of your brain was screaming at you to run, to remind yourself of the risks, to protect your heart. But looking up at him, seeing the raw honesty in his dark eyes, those defenses felt incredibly flimsy.

The second week felt less like a trial and more like a routine you didn't want to break.

You found yourself looking forward to the text messages checking in on your day. You found yourself buying two coffees in the morning instead of one, knowing he'd show up at your locker with a sleepy grin, waiting to take your bag.

He didn't try to force you into his world, but he did open the door to it. On Friday, he invited you to his fraternity house—not for a party, but during the day, when the house was completely empty and quiet.

"Come here," he said, leading you past the empty main hall that usually smelled like stale beer, up the stairs to his private room.

His room was surprisingly clean. There were football trophies on a shelf, yes, but there was also a massive drafting table covered in complex architectural blueprints.

"You're an architecture major?" you asked, stepping up to the table and looking at the intricate, hand-drawn lines of a massive library complex.

"Minoring in it," Sukuna said, rubbing the back of his neck, a rare flush of color hitting his cheeks. "My dad wants me to take over his construction firm, but I wanted to actually learn how to design the buildings first. I don't really talk about it with the guys in the house. They think it's a waste of time compared to business management."

You looked from the blueprints to him, a sudden wave of understanding washing over you. He wasn't a brainless jock running away from a future; he was a guy hiding his passions because it was easier to play the role everyone expected of him. Just like you were hiding behind your books because it was easier than risking getting hurt.

"It's beautiful, Sukuna," you said softly, your fingers tracing the edge of the paper. "Seriously. This is incredible."

Sukuna didn't say anything. He just stepped up behind you, his hands resting gently on your hips, pulling you back against his chest. You didn't pull away. You leaned into him, feeling the steady, reassuring beat of his heart against your back.

"Seven days left," he murmured into your hair. "Am I still a distraction?"

"Yes," you whispered, turning around in his arms to face him. "A massive one. But... maybe you're a distraction I'm starting to like."

The final day of the two weeks arrived with a quiet finality. It was a Thursday afternoon, exactly fourteen days since he had sat across from you in the café and demanded a chance.

You were sitting at the exact same booth. The café was just as crowded, the indie-pop music just as faint, the ambient noise just as loud. But everything else felt entirely different.

You weren't studying. Your laptop was closed, your books packed away in your bag. You were just waiting.

The bell above the door chimed, and you looked up. Sukuna walked in, his eyes immediately scanning the room until they landed on you. He walked over, but he didn't slide into the booth across from you this time. He stood at the edge of the table, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, looking uncharacteristically nervous.

"Time's up," Sukuna said, his voice flat, masking whatever anxiety he was feeling. "Fourteen days. I didn't skip a session. I didn't drag you to a party. I did everything you asked."

You looked up at him, letting the silence stretch between you for a long, agonizing moment. The playboy of the campus looked like he was waiting for a jury's verdict.

"You did," you agreed softly.

"So?" He stepped closer, his jaw tight. "Do I get to keep wasting my time on you, or do I walk away?"

You stood up from the booth, grabbing your backpack. You stepped out of the aisle, standing directly in front of him. For a moment, you looked at the broad shoulders, the sharp jaw, the reputation that had terrified you two weeks ago. Then, you looked at the guy who had spent hours learning cell biology, who drew beautiful buildings in secret, and who looked at you like you were the only person in a crowded room.

You reached out, your fingers wrapping around the collar of his varsity jacket, pulling him down just enough so you could press your lips to his.

Sukuna froze for a fraction of a second in sheer shock before his hands came out of his pockets, resting against your waist and pulling you flush against him. The kiss was deep, desperate, and full of a profound relief that echoed through both of you. It wasn't the practiced, casual kiss of a guy who did this every weekend; it was tight, possessive, and terrified of letting go.

When you finally pulled back, both of you slightly breathless, Sukuna’s hands stayed firmly on your hips, refusing to let you step away.

"I take it that means I stay," he breathed, a massive, breathless grin spreading across his face, his dark eyes shining with a triumph far greater than any football game he'd ever won.

"You stay," you whispered, a small smile breaking across your own face as you rested your hands against his chest. "But for the record? You're still a terrible influence on my GPA."

"I can live with that," Sukuna laughed, leaning down to kiss you again, completely unbothered by the stares of the crowded café around you. "I can definitely live with that."

Tag-list: @oksukuna, @megssleepygirl, @malaccah

#jjk #jjk fanfic #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna x reader #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #ryomen sukuna #i love sukuna #sukuna #jjk sukuna #sukuna ryomen #ryomen x reader #jujutsu kaisen ryomen #jjk ryomen #sukuna fluff

Hiii I love ur work sm u deserve more attention it’s so lovely !!

HIIIII, Thank you so much!!! Even if my page is small right now I dont really mind. Im flabbergasted on how I got to 112 followers 😭😭😭 Thank you for appreciating my work I'll try to update when I can!!! 🩷🩷🩷

#so sweet #flabbergasted #mochiChosoresponse #tehehehe

Shoko's Secret

Shoko's been more distracted on her phone as of late. She's been canceling plans with her two best friends and no they wanna know why?

The rhythmic, mechanical click of buttons on a flip phone had become the new soundtrack to Shoko Ieiri’s life.

For the past three weeks, Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto had been forced to endure a completely different version of their resident doctor-in-training. The usually exhausted, nicotine-deprived, and deeply cynical Shoko was suddenly… distracted. More importantly, she was radiant. It was a subtle shift, but to two teenage boys who spent practically every waking hour with her, it was as jarring as a sudden curse attack.

It started with the texting. Shoko’s thumbs moved across the keypad with a frantic, practiced speed, her eyes glued to the tiny, glowing screen during briefings with Masamichi Yaga. Then came the phone calls. She would abruptly stand up during their rare moments of downtime, stepping out of the jujutsu tech lounge or slipping into the shadows of the courtyard to whisper into the receiver. The calls lasted for hours, her low voice murmuring words they couldn't catch.

But the biggest dead giveaway? The smiles.

Shoko didn't smile without a cynical edge unless she was watching Satoru get kicked through a wall by a curse. Yet, over the last few days, Satoru and Suguru had caught her looking down at a newly received message, her lips curving into a genuinely warm, soft chuckle before she hastily slipped the device into her pocket. It was a look of pure, unadulterated affection.

Naturally, it was driving Satoru absolutely insane.

The breaking point arrived on a humid Tuesday afternoon. The trio had just finished a grueling, sticky exorcism on the outskirts of Tokyo. Satoru was stretched out across a bench in the jujutsu tech breakroom, his long legs dangling over the armrest, while Suguru sat cross-legged on the floor, meticulously cleaning his ears with a cotton swab.

Shoko was leaning against the counter, her uniform jacket discarded, slinging her purse over her shoulder. Her phone buzzed in her hand, and that familiar, sickeningly sweet smile graced her lips for a fraction of a second.

"No, I’m not going with you guys to the same place to eat," Shoko said plainly, not even looking up as she typed a rapid-fire response. "Find your own lunch."

Satoru huffed loudly, throwing an arm over his face dramatically. "Why? You always ditch us nowadays! We're a team, Shoko! A trio! The strongest! You’re breaking up the band. What could possibly be more important than watching me eat four bowls of strawberry parfaits? Are you dating someone or something?"

"Yeah," Shoko responded instantly, her tone entirely casual.

"You always ditch us and—Wait." Satoru paused mid-sentence. His glasses slipped down his nose as his brilliant blue eyes blinked rapidly, finally registering what Shoko had just said.

The silence in the room stretched for a single, agonizing second before Satoru exploded.

"YOU'RE DATING AND YOU DIDN'T TELL US?!"

Satoru yelped dramatically, leaping off the bench like a startled cat. He lunged sideways, clinging tightly to Suguru’s shoulders, burying his face in the darker-haired boy's neck as if he were a delicate Victorian maiden about to faint from the vapors. Suguru didn't even blink. He merely adjusted his weight, holding Satoru up by the waist with a practiced, weary familiarity, his own eyebrows shooting up in genuine surprise.

"Well, you know now," Shoko said, tossing her phone into her purse and zipping it shut. "I have lunch plans with her. So, goodbye."

Satoru gasped once more, his grip tightening on Suguru's uniform. "YOU'RE A LESBIAN?!" he shrieked, sounding even more surprised by the gender of the mystery person than the relationship itself.

Shoko paused at the doorway, turning her head slowly. Her gaze darkened, a dangerous, defensive edge creeping into her eyes. "You got a problem with that?"

Satoru immediately let go of Suguru, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes, completely shifting his attitude. "No? I'd kiss Suguru if he'd let me. I'm just offended you kept a secret from me!" He huffed, pouting like a toddler denied a toy.

"Not happening," Suguru responded instantly to Satoru's casual declaration, his voice smooth and entirely deadpan.

Satoru’s pout deepened, his shoulders slumping. "See? Rejection from all angles. My heart is in pieces."

Suguru ignored his best friend's theatrical display, focusing his attention back on Shoko. A gentle, curious smile played on his lips. "Can we meet her at least?" he asked, stepping forward. "We're friends, aren't we? It’s only fair we vet the person taking up all your time."

"Absolutely not," Shoko said, her voice dropping an octave. "You two are feral. You will scare her away, or worse, make me look bad by association. Stay here. Eat your parfaits."

Shoko underestimate the sheer, unyielding stubbornness of teenage boys with god-like powers.

She had barely made it past the main torii gates of Jujutsu High before she realized she was being followed. It wasn't subtle. Satoru was walking backwards three paces behind her, hands clasped behind his head, whistling an obnoxious, off-key tune. Suguru walked beside him, hands tucked into his deep pockets, offering Shoko a polite, entirely unapologetic wave when she glared back at them.

"I told you to stay," Shoko hissed, picking up her pace down the winding mountain stairs.

"And we chose to ignore you," Satoru beamed, matching her stride effortlessly with his absurdly long legs. "Come on, Shoko! Tell us about her. What's her name? Is she a sorcerer? Does she know you dissect corpses for a living? Because if I were a normal girl, that would be a major red flag."

"She’s a non-sorcerer," Shoko sighed, rubbing her temples as a headache began to form. "And she knows I work in the medical field. That’s all she needs to know."

"A civilian!" Satoru gasped. "Oh, the drama! The forbidden romance! Suguru, write this down. I bet she’s a soft, delicate little flower. Shoko probably acts all tough, but I bet she writes her poetry. Do you write her poetry, Shoko? 'Thy eyes are as dark as the lungs of the smokers I treat...'?"

"Satoru, stop harassing her," Suguru interjected, though the smirk on his face betrayed his amusement. "But I do have a theory. I think she’s an arts student. Shoko likes quiet things. Someone who paints, perhaps? Someone who can handle Shoko’s brooding nature by capturing it on canvas."

"No, no, you've got it all wrong," Satoru interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. "My Six Eyes perceive the truth. Shoko’s girlfriend is definitely a badass delinquent from a rival school. They met during a turf war. Shoko patched up her wounds, sparks flew, cigarettes were shared—boom. Romance."

"You two are entirely insane," Shoko muttered, her face burning with a mixture of annoyance and embarrassment. She pulled out her phone, sending a quick text: 'Almost there. Bringing two idiots. Ignore them.'

"Look! Look at the smile! She's doing it again!" Satoru pointed an accusatory finger at her face. "She's thinking about her delinquent painter girlfriend!"

"If either of you breathes a word about curses, jujutsu, or my smoking habits, I will personally ensure your next medical checkup involves a very large, very cold needle," Shoko threatened, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper as they finally transitioned from the quiet mountain paths to the bustling, sun-drenched streets of the trendy Shibuya district.

The cafe Shoko had chosen was a small, aesthetic little spot tucked away in a quieter alley, featuring outdoor seating shaded by wide canvas umbrellas. It was a stark contrast to the gritty, blood-soaked environments the three sorcerers usually frequented.

As they approached, Shoko’s eyes scanned the outdoor tables. The irritation on her face instantly melted away, replaced by that soft, genuine warmth that Gojo and Suguru had spent weeks analyzing.

Sitting at a corner table, bathed in the dappled afternoon sunlight, was you.

Upon seeing you, Shoko completely abandoned her usual sluggish, lazy stride. She quickened her pace, her boots clicking sharply against the pavement as she left the two boys in her dust. The sudden burst of energy from their usually lethargic friend made Gojo and Suguru exchange a wide-eyed, knowing glance.

When she got within earshot, Shoko called out your name. Her voice was louder and clearer than usual, carrying a distinct note of eagerness.

Hearing her voice, you looked up from your phone, your eyes shifting away from the screen and directly toward her. A bright, welcoming smile broke across your face, immediately softening the tension that Shoko had carried all the way from the campus.

"Hey," Shoko said as she reached the table, her entire demeanor transforming. She looked relaxed, her shoulders dropping as she slid into the chair opposite you. "Sorry I'm late. I dragged some baggage with me."

Before you could ask what she meant, two towering figures flanked the table.

Satoru pulled up his glasses, letting them sit on the crown of his head so his piercing, unnaturally blue eyes could lock onto yours with intense, childlike curiosity. He leaned over the table, placing his palms flat on the wood, invading your personal space with zero regard for social boundaries.

"Hi! I'm Satoru Gojo! The prettiest, strongest, and most important person in Shoko's life—until recently, apparently," he introduced himself with a dazzling, blinding grin.

Suguru placed a hand on Satoru's shoulder, pulling him back just enough to keep him from knocking over your iced coffee. He offered you a smooth, polite bow, his long bangs falling perfectly across his face. "Ignore him. I’m Suguru Geto. We’re Shoko’s classmates. It's a pleasure to finally meet the person who has been keeping our Shoko so hopelessly distracted."

Shoko pinched the bridge of her nose, letting out a heavy sigh. "I give you permission to throw your drink at them," she murmured to you, though the fondness in her eyes as she looked at you proved she wasn't entirely miserable anymore.

Tag-list: @oksukuna, @megssleepygirl, @malaccah

#jjk #jjk fanfic #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #jjk shoko #shoko x reader #jujutsu kaisen shoko #shoko ieiri #shoko fluff #ieiri shoko x reader #shiruku ieiri #jjk ieiri

When I thought of you

Megumi who buys gifts in hesitation

Megumi rarely shopped, and when he did, it was on a strict, militaristic schedule. He was an "get in, grab what he needed, and get out" kind of guy. He never understood the appeal of lingering in store aisles or browsing through things he was ninety percent sure he wasn't going to buy. To him, shopping was a tactical mission.

Today was supposed to be one of those efficient days. He just needed new socks because his Divine Dogs—whom he rarely let roam free in his dorm room anymore—had decided his current pairs were excellent chew toys. They had been ripped to shreds and left covered in dog slobber.

He walked into the department store, posture straight, and headed directly to the apparel section. He grabbed a multi-pack of plain black socks, spun on his heel, and began his swift march back toward the registers.

Then, he froze.

His eyes caught on a display nearby. It was a sundress—light, airy, and beautifully designed.

"That would look nice on her..." the thought slipped through his mind before he could stop it.

Megumi instantly caught himself, tearing his gaze away as a faint heat crawled up his neck. Would she even want a dress? he reasoned with himself, his chest tightening with sudden anxiety. Am I taking her out anytime soon that requires a dress?

Usually, Megumi only bought things for you when he knew for a fact you needed them. He rarely bought spontaneous gifts, mostly because the sheer dread of you not liking something, or having no use for it, completely paralyzed him. But his eyes drifted back to the fabric. It really was your style.

With a quiet, defeated sigh, he walked over to the rack. "Does she even have shoes to go with this?" he muttered. He found the dress in your size, lifting the hanger, and immediately felt a slight pout tugging at his lips. Now he was committed.

He wandered over to the shoe department, feeling entirely out of his depth. High heels seemed impractical and uncomfortable, so he bypassed those entirely. Sneakers felt too casual for a nice sundress. Finally, his eyes settled on a row of wedges. Did you like wedges? Did you already own a pair like this?

He held the dress up in one hand, comparing the fabric to the shoes, before finally picking out a pair that complemented the style perfectly. He didn't complain, but the internal gears in his head were spinning furiously as he finally started heading for the checkout counters.

Crack. His resolve broke for a second time.

On a display near the registers, a matching jewelry set caught the fluorescent light—dainty earrings, a simple necklace, and a pretty bracelet. He stared at it for three seconds before his hand reached out and grabbed that, too. He kept his eyes locked strictly on the floor after that, desperate to avoid looking at anything else.

He managed to check out without further distractions, carrying the bags out to his car. But the moment he turned the key in the ignition, the voice in his head went completely rogue.

If you’re getting her a whole outfit, you might as well get her flowers, right? Is she going to be hungry when you get there? She definitely needs snacks.

Megumi stared blankly at the steering wheel, realizing he was about to embark on a completely unplanned side quest. All for the sake of making sure you were happy.

An hour later, Megumi stood outside your door, his hands completely full of bags, a vibrant bouquet of flowers, and a convenience store sack filled with your favorite treats. He knocked with his elbow.

When you opened the door, your eyes widened in genuine shock, glancing from the fresh flowers to the mountain of bags.

"Gumi?" you asked, completely bewildered. "What is all this? Did I miss something? It’s not our anniversary, is it?"

Megumi let out a long, breathy sigh of relief, the heavy knot of anxiety in his chest finally unraveling at the sight of you. He shook his head quickly, stepping past you into the apartment.

"No," he mumbled, a prominent blush dusting his sharp cheekbones as he set the bags down on the coffee table. "I just... I saw the dress and thought of you. And then it kind of escalated into getting you more stuff."

You sat down on the couch, pulling the bags toward you like it was Christmas morning. Megumi stood awkwardly by the edge of the table, his hands stuffed into his pockets, eyes tracking your every expression with nervous anticipation.

Your breath hitched as you pulled out the sundress first. "Gumi, this is gorgeous! It's exactly my size."

"You like it?" he asked softly, his shoulders dropping a fraction of an inch.

"I love it." Next, you pulled out the shoebox, opening it to find the wedges, followed by the delicate jewelry set. "And you got things to match? Look at the details on these earrings..."

You looked up at him, your heart melting at the sight of his faint, flustered scowl—his classic defense mechanism whenever he was feeling overly affectionate. You didn't even wait to look at the snacks or the flowers yet. You stood up, stepping into his space, and gently wrapped your arms around his neck.

Megumi blinked, surprised, before his hands slowly came out of his pockets to rest securely against your waist.

"Thank you," you murmured, leaning up on your tiptoes. "You did an amazing job. I love every single bit of it."

Before he could mutter an embarrassed reply, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his. Megumi melted instantly, his eyes fluttering shut as he leaned into the kiss, his grip tightening just a bit around your waist. The kiss was sweet, warm, and lingering—a silent reassurance that all of his overthinking had been entirely worth it.

When you pulled back, the blush on his face had traveled all the way to his ears, but a rare, genuine smile finally tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Good," he whispered, resting his forehead against yours for a brief second. "I'll try to get you more stuff in the future....not because you need it but because you might like it."

Tag-list: @oksukuna, @megssleepygirl, @malaccah

#jjk #jjk fanfic #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #megumi x you #jjk megumi #megumi x reader #jujutsu kaisen megumi #fushiguro megumi #jujutsu megumi #megumi fluff #jjk fushiguro #fushiguro x reader

Two pixels of Infinity

Perhaps some things are hidden past his six eyes. After all he had only picked up on one but now there were two infront of him.

The sterile, fluorescent hum of the delivery room usually grated on Gojo Satoru’s nerves, but right now, the entire world had shrunk to the width of two clear plastic hospital bassinets. He stood frozen, his towering frame casting a long shadow over the small, wheeled cribs. His breath caught in his throat, a sharp, ragged sound that felt entirely too loud in the sudden quiet of the room.

He knew you were pregnant. He had known for nine months. He had felt the kicks against his palms, meticulously mapped out the nursery, and bought enough high-tech baby gear to supply a small village. But in all his infinite calculations, he had only ever planned for one. One crib. One car seat. One tiny life to protect from the curses of the world.

But here there were two.

"Twins..." he managed to mutter, the word tasting strange and heavy on his tongue.

His hand moved automatically, his long fingers cupping over his mouth in genuine, unfiltered surprise. For a man who possessed the Six Eyes—a man who literally saw the world down to its atomic structure, who was rarely, if ever, caught off guard—he felt completely unmoored.

He looked down at them, his chest aching with a warmth so intense it bordered on painful. Both were absolutely beautiful. They were tiny, fragile things, yet they already possessed a striking, undeniable presence. And there, dusting the tops of their fragile little scalps, was the unmistakable, gravity-defying fluff of snow-white hair. It was a genetic copy of his own, so soft it looked like spun sugar. Their eyes were closed tightly against the soft lighting of the room, their tiny faces puckering as they squirmed sleepily beneath their striped hospital blankets.

Gojo’s mind raced backward, tracing the steps that had brought him to this exact edge of eternity. He had been there for every single moment. He hadn't missed a single prenatal appointment, dragging himself away from Jujutsu High business no matter how dire, just to sit on those uncomfortable clinic chairs. He had watched the grainy ultrasound screens, listening to the rapid thump-thump-thump of a heartbeat, never once realizing that the echoing sound was actually two distinct hearts beating in a flawless, overlapping rhythm. The doctors hadn't caught it—or perhaps the immense cursed energy he naturally radiated had cloaked the second presence, shielding the smaller soul beneath your heart.

And then, the birth.

He had sat right by your pillows, the bravest, strongest version of himself he could muster because he knew you needed a pillar, not a panic attack. When the labor pains had escalated, he had reached out, offering his hand without a second thought. You had gripped his fingers, squeezing with a desperation and a strength born of pure, raw instinct. Gojo, who could stop a meteor with his infinity, had deliberately let his guard down. He wanted to feel the crush of your hand. He wanted to share in the burden, letting you squeeze as hard as you wanted, anchoring you to him through every wave of agony.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart,” he had murmured over and over, his voice a low, soothing purr against your ear. He had wiped the sweat from your forehead, kissing your temple, whispering sweet promises of the life you were about to build.

He had been entirely prepared for the finale. He was ready to turn, to watch the doctor lift a single, crying infant into the air, to laugh and cry and tell you that your beautiful baby had finally arrived.

He had held his breath as the first cries broke through the room—a sharp, piercing sound that instantly brought tears to his eyes. But just as he was about to lean down and mumble those sweet, celebratory words into your hair, the doctor’s expression hadn't softened. Instead, the medical team had immediately shifted back into high-alert positions.

“Don't stop yet,” the doctor had said, voice urgent but calm. “You gotta push some more, sweetheart. The second one is on the way.”

In that singular second, Gojo felt like his heart had dropped straight through the hospital floor. The universe, which usually bent to his will, had suddenly thrown a curveball that left him completely breathless. The surprise had set in like a physical blow, rattling his ribs.

Two?

The cries of the first baby were already filling the room, loud and demanding, but Gojo hadn’t had the luxury of freezing. He had looked down at you, seeing the sheer exhaustion in your eyes, the realization hitting you just as hard as it hit him. In a fraction of a second, the legendary sorcerer gathered his scattered wits, locking his shock away in a dark corner of his mind. You needed him.

He had gripped your hand again, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over your knuckles. “Hey, hey, look at me,” he had coaxed, his voice steady despite the adrenaline roaring in his ears. “We’ve got this. One more, okay? Just one more for me, beautiful.”

He had supported your back, counting through the contractions, pouring every ounce of his love and strength into you until, with one final, monumental effort, the second cry echoed through the room. A softer, slightly higher pitch than the first, but just as fierce.

And now, the storm had passed. The nurses had cleaned them, weighed them, and placed them side by side in the nursery corner while you finally slept, exhausted beyond measure.

Gojo lowered his hand from his face, stepping closer to the bassinets until his knees pressed against the metal frames. The infinity between him and the rest of the world felt entirely useless here. Gently, with a trembling hesitation that looked utterly foreign on a man of his size, he reached into the first bassinet.

He extended a single long finger. The tiny girl squirmed, her minuscule hand flailing blindly until her fingers brushed against his. Instantly, her tiny grip locked around his finger with surprising strength.

"Kimiyo Gojo," he whispered, the name rolling off his tongue like a sacred vow. Kimiyo. His beautiful girl. She had a tiny, rounded nose and a fierce little pout that he knew, with terrifying certainty, would allow her to wrap him around her little finger for the rest of his life.

With his other hand, he reached into the neighboring bassinet, offering his index finger to the boy. The infant boy stirred, yawning a tiny, toothless yawn before his hand found Gojo’s finger, mirroring his sister's hold.

"And Hoshi Gojo," Satoru murmured, his voice cracking slightly under the weight of an emotion so profound it felt like it was breaking him open. Hoshi. His little star. The boy seemed a bit calmer, a tiny replica of his father, already resting with an innate coolness that made Satoru chuckle softly, a wet, emotional sound.

Standing there, anchored to the world by two tiny pairs of hands, the strongest sorcerer alive felt completely defenseless. He looked from Kimiyo to Hoshi, and then back across the room to where you lay sleeping peacefully, your pale face finally relaxed.

He had spent his whole life carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, balancing the scales of life and death. But looking at his twins, Satoru realized that the world didn't matter anymore. His entire universe was contained right here, within the four walls of this room.

"Two of you," he whispered, a brilliant, breathless smile finally breaking across his face as a single tear escaped, tracking down his cheek. "You two are going to be absolute trouble, aren't you? Just like your old man."

He leaned down, carefully kissing the soft, white-fuzzed crowns of their heads, vowing silently to the quiet room that he would tear heaven and earth apart before he ever let anything harm them.

Tag-list: @oksukuna, @megssleepygirl

#jjk #jjk fanfic #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #satoru gojo x reader #i love gojo #satoru gojo #jujutsu satoru #jjk satoru #satoru x you #gojo #jujutsu gojo

Disbelief

Yuji has a super hot model girlfriend yet Megumi and Nobara refuse to believe it until they meet you in person.

The framed photo on Yuji’s desk had been the catalyst for a solid three weeks of relentless, unyielding psychological warfare.

In the picture, Yuji was wearing his usual goofy, oversized hoodie, flashing a peace sign with a grin that split his face in two. Pressed against his side was a girl who looked like she had been rendered by a high-end digital artist with an eye for perfection. She had an effortless, striking beauty that practically radiated off the glossy paper—sharp, captivating features, a smile that looked both elite and incredibly warm, and an aura that screamed "high fashion."

When Megumi and Nobara had first crowded around the desk to look at it, the silence in the room had been deafening. Then, Nobara had slowly turned her head, her face completely blank.

"Yuji," she had said, her voice dangerously calm. "Where did you steal this? Is this a cutout from a magazine? Did you Photoshop your face onto a K-pop idol’s manager? Speak to me."

"It’s real!" Yuji had yowled, his face turning bright red as he snatched the frame protecting it. "That’s my girlfriend! I told you guys I had a girlfriend!"

Megumi, who usually stayed out of such things, had merely adjusted his collar, looked Yuji dead in the eye, and said, "It’s statistically improbable, Itadori. Acceptance is the first step to healing." Nobara nodded along. "Yeah after all you eat crayons and beef Ramen noodles?What would she do with you?"

For twenty-one days, the teasing had been relentless. Nobara would drop fake modeling agency flyers on his lap. Megumi would sigh heavily whenever Yuji mentioned receiving a text. Yuji had been pouty, slumped over his training dummy, muttering under his breath about "lack of trust" and "true love." Finally, unable to take the constant scoffing anymore, Yuji had caved. He grabbed his phone, practically vibrating with a mix of nerves and vindication, and sent a text.

“Hey… are you free this weekend? My friends think I’m a pathological liar. Please help.”

The morning you were scheduled to arrive at the Jujutsu High campus, the tension in the common room was thick enough to cut with a cursed tool.

Nobara was sipping her tea, one leg crossed over the other, fully prepared to catch a paid actress or a cousin Yuji had bribed with a lifetime supply of meatballs. Megumi was pretending to read a book, though he hadn’t flipped the page in ten minutes. Yuji was pacing back and forth by the window, checking his phone every three seconds, his pink hair practically standing on end from stress.

"Relax, Itadori," Nobara droned, swirling her tea. "If she doesn't exist, we'll only mock you until graduation. It's a temporary humiliation."

"She exists! And she's coming up the walkway right now!" Yuji gasped, pressing his face against the glass like a golden retriever spotting a delivery truck. He didn't even wait for a response; he scrambled out the door, his sneakers squeaking loudly against the hardwood floor as he bolted down the hallway.

Nobara exchanged a look with Megumi. "Well. Let's go witness the crime scene."

When they stepped out onto the traditional wooden veranda, they stopped dead in their tracks.

You were walking up the stone path, holding a small paper bag from a high-end bakery. Yuji’s description hadn’t done you a fraction of justice, but what struck them immediately wasn't just how stunning you were—it was how effortlessly you carried it. You weren't dressed in flashy, restrictive designer clothes meant to turn heads. Instead, you wore a cream-colored, oversized, incredibly soft knit sweater that looked like a cloud, paired with simple, well-fitted trousers and clean white sneakers. Your hair was held up by a casual claw clip, a few loose strands framing your face.

Yet, somehow, you managed to look like a million bucks. The slouch of the sweater looked elegant; the simplicity of the outfit only highlighted the striking, undeniable symmetry of your face and your poised, graceful posture. You looked like an off-duty supermodel who had accidentally wandered onto a mystical jujutsu campus.

"Oh, my god," Nobara whispered, her teacup rattling slightly. "He wasn't lying. She's... she's elite tier."

Megumi blinked, utterly speechless, suddenly feeling very underdressed in his standard uniform. "That still doesn't explain the relationship...." Megumi mumbled as he looked between Yuji and you.

The moment Yuji reached you, all the elegant mystery vanished into thin air. His face lit up with pure, unadulterated joy, and he practically threw himself at you. "You actually came!"

You didn't flinch or worry about your clothes getting wrinkled. A brilliant, genuinely sweet smile broke across your face, illuminating your features in a way that made you look entirely approachable. You caught him with a soft laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face into his shoulder.

"Of course I came, Yuji," you murmured, your voice smooth and incredibly soothing. "You sounded so desperate in your texts. I was worried someone had actually hurt your feelings."

"They did! They've been bullying me for three weeks!" Yuji whined, burying his face in the plush fabric of your soft sweater, inhaling the comforting scent of vanilla and clean linen. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes wide and pleading. "Tell them we’ve been dating since before I moved to Tokyo."

You giggled, a sound that made Nobara’s jaw drop further because it was so entirely devoid of malice or pretension. You patted Yuji’s cheek affectionately. "I'll handle it."

As Yuji proudly led you up to the veranda, Nobara and Megumi braced themselves. Usually, someone who looked like you—someone who possessed that level of raw, head-turning beauty—carried a certain level of coldness or vanity. Nobara was fully prepared to be looked down upon.

Instead, as you approached, you offered them a warm, incredibly polite bow.

"Hi, it’s so nice to finally meet you both," you said, offering a genuine, bright smile. "Yuji talks about you two all the time. I'm so glad he has such reliable friends looking out for him here." You held out the paper bag. "I brought some pastries from that bakery near the station. I wasn't sure what you liked, so I got a bit of everything."

Nobara practically snatched the bag, her defensive walls instantly crumbling at the mention of the exclusive bakery. "You... you got the seasonal tarts? The ones that sell out by 9:00 AM?"

"Oh, yes," you replied easily, tilting your head. "I have a lot of free time on my hands right now, so I didn't mind waiting in line. My schedule is completely open for Yuji anyway."

Megumi cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. "It's nice to meet you. Thank you for the food. And... sorry about Itadori. We genuinely thought he was losing his mind."

"Hey!" Yuji protested.

You laughed, a beautiful, clear sound, and naturally reached down to lace your fingers through Yuji’s. He instantly beamed, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand. "It's fine, really. I know Yuji can be a bit of a handful, and I know I don't exactly look like I belong in his world. But I assure you, he's stuck with me."

As the four of you moved into the common area to eat the pastries, the initial shock began to wear off, replaced by sheer fascination. Nobara, being Nobara, immediately began her interrogation, leaning across the table with her chin in her hands.

"So," Nobara started, her eyes narrowed but intrigued. "Yuji mentioned you do some part-time modeling? Because, frankly, if you aren't on a billboard in Shibuya right now, the scouting agencies need to be fired."

You blushed slightly, a soft pink dusting your cheeks, which only made you look more endearing. You adjusted the sleeve of your oversized sweater. "Ah, yes, just a little bit here and there. It pays well and the hours are flexible, which is nice. But it's not my main focus."

"Oh? What is?" Megumi asked, genuinely curious.

"I'm actually in university right now, studying for a degree in molecular biology," you explained calmly, taking a small sip of the tea Yuji had eagerly poured for you. "I want to go into research eventually. Modeling is just a fun side hobby to help pay for tuition and books."

Nobara’s jaw hit the floor again. Megumi slowly turned his head to look at Yuji, who was sitting next to you, looking like a proud golden retriever that had just fetched a golden stick.

She’s gorgeous, she’s incredibly sweet, she buys expensive pastries, she has nothing but time for him, and she’s a literal genius, Megumi thought, a profound sense of bewilderment washing over him. What cosmic deity did Itadori please in a past life to deserve this?

As the afternoon rolled on, it became glaringly obvious that you weren't just putting on a show. You were genuinely, completely, and utterly in love with Yuji. And what shocked Nobara and Megumi the most was how much you adored the exact traits they usually found exhausting.

At one point, Yuji accidentally knocked over his tea while gesturing wildly during a story about a movie he had watched. Instead of jumping back or getting annoyed that your pristine cream sweater might get ruined, you immediately grabbed a napkin, laughing softly as you wiped up the spill.

"Classic Yuji," you teased gently, bumping your shoulder against his. "You haven't changed a bit."

"Ah, sorry, sorry!" Yuji scrambled to help, his cheeks burning. "I got excited."

"It's okay," you said, your voice dripping with affection. You reached up, your fingers gently brushing a stray lock of pink hair away from his forehead. The tenderness in your eyes was undeniable. You looked at him as if he were the only person in the room, completely unbothered by his loud, clumsy nature.

Later, Yuji dragged you over to show you his prized possession: a completely bizarre, slightly terrifying cursed corpse doll that Gojo had given him, which Yuji had dressed up in a tiny handmade cape. It was objective trash, a weird piece of junk that anyone else would have thrown away.

Nobara watched closely, waiting for your polite mask to slip.

Instead, you leaned in, inspecting the ugly little doll with absolute seriousness. "Wow, Yuji. The stitching on the cape is actually really neat. Did you do this yourself?"

"Yeah! I used the sewing kit from the infirmary!" Yuji bragged, puffing out his chest.

"It looks great," you said, a soft, genuine smile gracing your lips as you patted the doll's head. "You're really good with your hands. You always have been."

Yuji practically melted into a puddle of happiness right there on the floor.

Nobara leaned over to Megumi, whispering fiercely, "She's real. She's a real angel. She looks like a high-fashion goddess, she's going to cure diseases, and she genuinely thinks his weird hobby is cute. I might cry, Fushiguro. I might actually cry from the sheer injustice of the universe."

"She's definitely too good for him," Megumi agreed quietly, though a small, rare smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He was glad Yuji had someone like you—someone steady, kind, and entirely devoted to him, especially given the heavy, dangerous world Yuji had been thrust into.

When evening arrived, it was time for you to head back to the train station. Yuji, of course, insisted on walking you, practically skipping alongside you down the dirt path leading away from the Jujutsu High barriers.

Nobara and Megumi stood on the steps, watching the two of you walk away. You were walking close to him, your soft sweater brushing against his rough uniform jacket, your hand securely tucked into his.

"Hey," Nobara called out, making you both pause and turn around. Nobara crossed her arms, a rare, genuine smile on her face. "You're welcome back anytime! Next time, leave Yuji here and we'll go shopping!"

You laughed, waving warmly with your free hand. "I’d love that! See you soon!"

As you turned back to the path, Yuji looked down at you, his chest swelling with a warmth that had nothing to do with cursed energy.

"Thanks for coming," Yuji said softly, his voice dropping its usual loud bravado. He looked a little sheepish, scratching the back of his neck. "I know my friends can be a lot. And I know it's weird up here."

You stopped walking, turning to face him fully. The setting sun cast a golden, ethereal glow over your features, making you look even more breath-taking. You reached up, placing both of your hands flat against his chest, feeling the steady, strong beat of his heart through his shirt. The soft wool of your sleeves brushed against his wrists.

"Yuji," you said, your voice rich with a deep, unwavering sincerity. "I don't care where you are, or how weird it gets. I have all the time in the world for you. You know that, right?"

Yuji’s eyes widened slightly, his heart doing a violent flip in his chest. "Even when I'm being an idiot?"

"Especially when you're being an idiot," you teased, leaning up on your tiptoes to press a soft, sweet kiss to his cheek. "You're genuine, Yuji. You love fiercely, you care about everyone, and you're the best thing in my life. Your friends see that too, even if they tease you."

Yuji didn't say anything for a moment. He couldn't. Instead, he just wrapped his powerful arms around your waist, lifting you slightly off your feet and burying his face into the crook of your neck, breathing in the scent of your soft sweater. He held you tightly, a silent vow to protect this perfect, beautiful piece of normalcy that belonged entirely to him.

And as you held him back, running your fingers through his spiky pink hair, you smiled. You didn't care about the modeling, the degrees, or what anyone else thought. In all of his weird, loud, incredible ways, Yuji was yours, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

Tag-list: @oksukuna

#jjk #jjk fanfic #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #yuji fluff #yuji itadori #jjk yuji #yuji x reader #itadori fluff #jjk itadori #itadori x reader #jujutsu itadori #itadori x you

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