I Say I’m Lucky

hiatus…💔

[niiconoriez]

#lucky_girl_syndrome

☘︎ lea . nineтєєη , sheメher 𖧧 Oh, my girl

𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘢 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘢𝘺 ؛ jjk & bllk ┊ requests: ᴏᴘᴇɴ!

︴alt ⤳ @backupblogface ‼

I'm a true lucky girl “ masterlist ⭒ rules

© NIICONORIEZ 2026, DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE

[nopeleavemealoone]

blue lock chapter 300 you have hurt me

[kcokaine]

dragonjo

[f-tality0]

Higuruma <3

[sukuje]

𑣲 nerdjo’s first time being a bf (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

nerdjo, who’d always be soso nervous about physical touch and kisses no matter how many times you peppered his face in them or cuddled together.

nerdjo, who loves the nights you stay over in his dorm because he got to watch admire you getting unready, sleep and wake up in the most adorable way. (in his eyes at least)

nerdjo, who gets super excited anytime you two go out together, feeling like a true boyfriend when he holds the door open for you or insists on paying the bill.

nerdjo, who shows you off in any way he can. wallpaper? you two in a photo booth. profile picture? you kissing his cheek. wallet? a picture of you in his digimon shirt.

nerdjo, who prays to whatever power rules over the universe that he’s doing this whole relationship at least decently right, too embarrassed to ask any of his friends for advice.

nerdjo, who absolutely dreads the week you get your period, overwhelmed whit what he should do, how he could help because god help him, he has no clue whatsoever.

nerdjo, who feels like the biggest idiot, beating himself up that he knew all those incredibly hard formulas but not what kind of pads his girl needs as he stands in the feminine hygiene aisle.

nerdjo, who literally read a whole book and watched a dozen videos on menstrual cycles that night.

nerdjo, who needs you smiling and happy at all times, making sure you had everything you possibly needed whenever you wanted.

nerdjo, who’s phone must be on dnd when studying, it’s really that serious, yet changed his settings so that ‘my lovely lady’ ‘s notifications were allowed.

nerdjo, who tries so hard to get it all right each time you two try something new and is all the more grateful for your reassurance the times it doesn’t go as planned.

nerdjo, who enjoys having little things of you around. the ribbon from your birthday present to him on his nightstand. your deodorant in his bathroom shelf. your panties under his pillow.

nerdjo, who cherishes everything about you. every single thing you do is sacred in his eyes, he quite literally feels like he’s in the presence of an angel.

nerdjo, who’s biggest nightmare is waking up without you by his side. without you in his life. but is reminded everyday that he doesn’t need to fear such a thing happening at all.

[g00miato]

a little late for that slapping manhwa trend

[pockyum]

ᢉ𐭩 fem!reader, megumi loves ur obsession with his abs

you’re always staring at him.

it’s not something he’s bothered by, but he becomes more self conscious when he’s walking around with no shirt on, or he’s lifting weights or training, and he always catches your eyes following him. always.

and even though he doesn’t think you should be embarrassed by it, when you’re caught, he notices your eyes avert to somewhere else. he’s not too sure why you’re so focused on him when he’s shirtless, but he’s not complaining about the attention from you.

so when it’s late at night, he’s scrolling on his phone and you’re cuddling up next to him. it’s silent, but your manicured fingers slowly inch up under his shirt.

a small noise of confusion escapes his mouth as a hum, and he watches you slowly pull up his shirt above his abs. his stomach tingles with warmth as you slowly run your index down the ridges of his abs, and your finger presses into them. they’re rock-hard.

but when you leave his grasp to lean your face down closer to his abs, his heart thumps quickly in his chest, wanting to burst out.

your hand plants on the side of his stomach, and you place a tiny kiss on his abs, receiving a small jerk from megumi. his eyebrows furrow and he slings his arm over his mouth, trying to muffle the embarrassing sounds coming from it.

slowly, you inch closer to his face, placing kisses further up along the way, all while your hand keeps running down the ridges of his abs.

and when you’re practically straddling him, you look down at his flushed face and furrowed eyebrows, and the drop of sweat on his forehead. he’s burning up with embarrassment.

but you lean down and slowly pull away his arm before gently placing your lips against his soft ones, relishing in how he completely melts.

when your hand ghosts over his stomach again, he jerks up with need, and he turns his head away from the kiss to hide his face.

he panics when he can see you pull your hand away, so he softly places it back on his stomach, even though he ashamedly jerks up into your touch again.

he knows you’ll be teasing him about this forever.

but he begins going shirtless more often.

pls don’t flop again

reposted from my other acc so this may look familiar

[aransmind]

na’vi gojo

[niiconoriez]

the @tonycries fic coming back to my mind 🤫🤫

[powerhayakawaa]

when you're trying to find a good fanfic to read but your tumblr fyp is genuinly shit

[bambismoon]

wicked twisted road uncle!kuna x reader

synopsis | when tragedy leaves sukuna a child to raise, you choose to stay and life changes quietly [college au]

warnings - [mdni] mentions of death + accidents | grief | just angsty but soft overall

main masterlist

❋

it wasn’t the warmth of the sun peeking in through the blinds or the ridiculous heat that radiated off your furnace of a boyfriend that woke you up. 

instead, it was the two year old that was very convinced that the world should be awake when he was. 

“up!” came the small, sleepy demand from your side of the bed. 

you cracked one eye open, room still relatively dark, your phone lighting up with a shining 5:24am on the screen. criminally early for two college students, but a norm for you and sukuna.

you spotted yuji’s small figure by the foot of the bed, padding across hardwood, socks mismatched and salmon hair sticking up in every possible direction, chubby cheeks indented with the evidence of his deep sleep. 

“mmm, hi baby…” you murmured, voice thick with sleep as watched the boy climb onto the bed without a word, knees digging into your stomach as he settled there like he belonged. 

“mornin’!” yuji chirped, patting your cheek with a soft, clumsy hand making you smile softly, despite yourself. that’s been his favorite word recently. 

you placed a hand on his little back to make sure he wouldn’t fall over before your eyes slipped shut again once more, pressing a gentle kiss to the tiny chubby hand that was still pressed against your face. 

his hands still faintly smelled of crayons and his favorite fruit snacks, familiar and comforting. 

“good morning, buddy…” you whispered, already shifting, already giving into his enthusiasm to start his day at this ungodly hour.

beside you, sukuna groaned, his large body still against yours, chest warming your back as his face dug into the side of your neck. 

his groan reverberated against your skin, rough and deep in his chest as he moved to roll onto his back, an arm thrown over his eyes, as if simply the concept of getting up was offensive. 

his voice came out scraped raw with exhaustion, “little shit loves to torture us.”

yuji turned instantly, beaming at the sound of his uncle’s voice before plopping back against your side, curling in closer as his chubby cheek rested against your stomach. 

you gently smiled, hand brushing against his soft tufts of hair, glancing at your glaring boyfriend, “don’t curse, ryo, he’s just a baby.” 

sukuna rolled his eyes, muttering a baby, my ass as you simply bit back a laugh as yuji’s big eyes watched you like you’d caused the sun to come up that morning. 

sukuna peeked through his fingers, one ruby eye glaring down at the traitor pressed so contently to your ribs and the look he gave yuji was all mock annoyance and tired affection. 

“menace.” he grumbled as his hand moved forward to run his fingers through yuji’s pink locks once before his hand rested on your hip, turning to you as his eyes went soft. always soft, only for you. 

yuji giggled once at sukuna who didn’t even do anything. nonetheless, the sound came small and unrestrained and it undid you both every time. 

“mornin’, baby.” 

your stomach fluttered at his morning voice, gruff and deep, it made you practically unravel every time. 

“morning, kuna.” 

and sukuna could say the same. his heart beat different when you spoke, as if you called to it in a different rhythm, a different sound his entire being couldn’t resist. 

you slid out from under the covers gently, lifting yuji with you and settling him on your hip as your feet met the cool hardwood floors. sukuna’s white shirt drowned your figure as you padded your way to the bathroom, yuji’s warm cheek resting against your collarbone as his big eyes watched you freshen up. 

you placed him on the counter then, allowing him to watch with giant curious eyes as you brushed your teeth and did your skincare, allowing him to babble words and somewhat string sentences that you didn’t fully understand but comprehended at the same time. 

as you began brushing your hair gently, big arms snaked around your waist, nose nudging your jaw as you blushed softly. 

“mmm, you aways smell so good…” sukuna practically inhaled you as you shook your head gently, small hands pushing against tattooed forearms that wouldn’t budge. 

meanwhile, yuji watched kuna with big wondrous eyes that mirrored his own, messy bed-head that mirrored his own and a dimpled grin that mirrored his own. 

your chest clenched with effort, affection and everything that lived in between. 

“ryo,” you murmured as sukuna finally stepped beside you, reaching over for his own toothbrush, eyes assessing yuji in his little dinosaur pajamas, “what time’s practice?” 

sukuna’s eyes met you through the mirror as you applied your lip mask, hand on yuji’s little belly to make sure he didn’t fall off the bathroom counter.

“eight,” sukuna answered through a mouthful of toothpaste as you picked up yuji once more, “y’got labs today?” 

you simply hummed in agreement, moving the little boy to your hip as you exited the bathroom to walk out the room, towards the kitchen. 

the apartment was still quiet, birds only just starting to chirp and the faint hum of cars outside filling the space between breaths. 

two bedrooms, a living room, toys always half put away and a sink that never stayed empty. contained chaos, you liked to call it. 

“hmm, what are we feeling, baby?” you murmured as yuji grinned his gummy grin at you, “eggs? yogurt? cereal?” 

“eggs!” yuji’s reply came instantly, excitement filling his little body as his hands played with the ends of your hair.

“cereal!” sukuna called from the bedroom before appearing at the kitchen doorway, his hair sleep-softened and falling into his eyes in messy tufts of pink. 

he watched you like he always did in the mornings, all quiet and unreadable, something heavy and warm sitting just behind his ribs. only for you. 

you glanced at him, unimpressed, “you’re not getting cereal.”

yuji gasped in solidarity as you smiled amusedly at the boy. 

sukuna huffed a laugh despite himself, pushing himself forward as he crossed the room, still barefoot and only clad in his black briefs. he moved towards you, arm snaking around your hip as he leaned down to press a kiss to the side of your head and your cheek before moving to your mouth, pressing a soft and slow kiss to your soft lips. 

yuji huffed gently, tiny hand pressing against sukuna’s cheek once, a little slap that didn’t faze him one bit, as he was used to yuji’s antics. sukuna still narrowed his eyes playfully at the boy, “stupid, kid. she’s mine.”

yuji frowned, “mine!” 

you rolled your eyes at the two boys, huffing before moving to get the eggs to make breakfast, “ridiculous.”

but something bloomed in your chest, tender as it warmed your heart like no other. 

sukuna grunted as you both moved around each other with practiced ease, domesticity dripping through every movement like it was craved into every space of your home and your beings.

you moved to slide yuji into his little chair, already peeling a banana to occupy him with as yuji watched with reverent focus. 

once the boy was distracted, shoving mushed banana into his mouth, you made your way back to the stove as sukuna prepared his protein shake. 

“i got practice in an hour,” sukuna stated, voice steady as you placed the pan on the stove, waiting for it to heat up, “i’ll drop him off at daycare on my way.” 

you nodded softly, cracking multiple eggs into the pan, because you knew sukuna alone would eat eight eggs himself. in this economy. 

“i have lectures and labs till twelve,” you replied gently as sukuna placed a hand on your hip to maneuver around you to the cabinet by you, “i’ll pick him up. hime said she’s free to watch him too cuz her lecture was cancelled.”

sukuna snorted, “yuji hates her.” 

you rolled your eyes with a faint smile, turning to glance at yuji who was watching both of you as if he was part of the conversation, humming to himself and feet kicking happily. 

it was true, yuji disliked utahime for reasons you weren’t quite sure about. maybe it was her consistently blank face, barely ever a trace of a smile, but really, you couldn’t be sure. 

sukuna leaned against the counter, arms crossed and eyes following you as you moved around with practiced ease and as your smaller self leaned up to reach for something too high, he was grabbing it before you could part your lips to speak. and in your rush, he’d place a hand on the corner of the cabinet to make sure your head wouldn't hit the wood. 

like second nature. everything was like second nature. 

some days, that terrified him. not because it was bad, but because it was good. 

because you didn’t have to be here. but you were. 

and thank fuck, because he wouldn’t survive without you. 

he reached out without thinking, big hands against the side of hair face, fingers in your hair and thumb stroking your brow, once, twice before you looked up from the bacon and eggs. 

and fuck, if his heart didn’t stop. 

your doe eyes looked up at him, still laced with sleep and something gentler, something benevolent that always warmed his chest with something he couldn’t name if he tried. 

he didn’t have to say anything for you to understand him, going back to the task at hand as he kept his hand on you. he had no real reason to touch you beyond habit. 

a habit that had long since outgrown itself. 

his thumb lingered at your brow, calloused pad smoothing over soft skin like he was claiming something fragile, grounding himself more than you. 

he watched as your pretty lashes fluttered, blinking up at him, the soft crease between your brows drawn by your focus smoothing over when your eyes met his. always his. 

“gonna burn the bacon, baby.” he murmured quietly before you gasped gently, glancing down at the pan as you scrambled to flip them over, huffing gently. 

“you’re distracting.” 

something eased in his chest at that. 

distracting meant present. real. here. 

sukuna stepped back with arms folded over his broad chest, leaning against the counter once more, eyes never leaving you. he counted things without realizing it. how many times your brows pinched, the way you tucked a stray hair behind your ear, the unconscious sway of your hips as you hummed along to whatever tune was stuck in your pretty head. 

he always memorized you liked that. just in case. 

yuji squealed from his chair, banana smeared across his mouth and fingers alike, “messy!”

“i see that.” you giggled, moving forward, hand brushing kuna’s bare abdomen as he moved to stand at the stove instead, with practiced ease. 

you were giggling and sharing words with the boy who grinned up at you as you wiped his hands gently, followed by his cheeks, nose crinkling when he tried to dodge you. 

“no! no!” yuji protested playfully as you shook your head. 

“yes.” you corrected calmly, like the word had never failed you once and it hadn’t as yuji conceded softly, big eyes watching you like something holy. 

sukuna watched the exchange with something dangerously close to reverence. 

you were steady, always had been. even when you were tired, even when the world demanded too much, even when you could have walked away from all of this, you stayed. 

you stayed with him. for him. 

then, eventually for yuji too. 

that thought sliced through him every time he remembered, sharp and sudden.

you didn’t need him. 

not financially. not practically. not even emotionally, all things considered. 

you stayed because you wanted to. 

and that terrified him more than if you’d been trapped. 

breakfast passed in fragments, as it always did with a chaotic two year old. 

yuji demanded more eggs, sukuna insisted he was running late while still shoving bacon and eggs into his mouth, you shoved more of your homemade sourdough onto a plate and reminded him that he couldn’t train on an empty stomach. 

by half-past seven, jackets were pulled on and shoes were found…eventually. 

yuji was wrangled into his tiny jacket, arms stiff as boards as he fought the entirety of the process. 

“cmon.” sukuna grumbled as yuji pouted, demanding that he should put on his own jacket, “you’re two. no.”

“two and big!” yuji corrected.

you bit your lip to keep from giggling at a crouching sukuna wrestling his two year old nephew to put on his jacket. 

sukuna sighed deeply, kneeled down as he guided yuji’s arms through the sleeves with surprising patience. his hands were careful, movements precise, as if yuji was something breakable even as the kid grumbled back. 

the morning air bit at your skin as you stepped out, slow as yuji padded along beside you and sukuna who’s hand ghosted your lower back through your little trench coat. 

sukuna loaded his duffel into the truck while you buckled yuji into his car seat, fingers lingering a second longer than necessary as you adjusted the straps. 

“you okay?” sukuna asked lowly, eyes assessing and noticing, always noticing. 

you glanced up, surprised, “yeah, why?”

he shook his head once, jaw tightening slightly, “just seem tired.”

“m’fine, ryo.” you smiled gently, leaning up to place a soft kiss against his jaw before moving to the passengers seat, the man’s eyes following with diligence.  

sukuna dropped off yuji first, the little boy fussy at the thought of leaving you both but you promise him you’d pick him up soon. 

then it was just the two of you in the car, sukuna’s hand warm against your thigh even through the wool of your coat, your smaller fingers playing with his hand, tracing the tattoo of your initial on his finger.

it was a warm and comforting silence that placed itself between you, both your eyes still tired but hearts full. 

campus came into view too quickly for your boyfriend’s liking. 

sukuna slowed anyway, like delay might stretch the moment. he pulled over where he always did, engine idling and hand tightening both on the wheel and your thigh as you sighed softly, unbuckling your seatbelt as he turned to look at you. 

his gaze softened, too much, all at once. 

and you knew that look more than anyone and it killed you every time. 

you hated when he looked at you like he was already grieving you, like he’d never see you after this. 

“hey,” you whispered gently, hand coming up to rest against his jaw, thumb caressing softly, sensing something beneath the quiet, “i’ll see you at home.”

he nodded once, leaning over to press a kiss against your lips, quick to deepen it further tongue peaking out to trace your bottom lip as his hands cradled your face like something precious. you pulled away gently to look at him but he merely pressed another kiss to your lips, then the corner of your mouth and your cheek. lingering and grounding, like words he didn’t trust himself to say. 

“don’t forget to eat.” he murmured against your lips, eyes still shut and pressing one more kiss to the soft plush of your lips before pulling away fully, scarlett eyes opening to gaze at you. 

you grinned gently, opening the door, “text me if practice runs late. don’t forget physio after.” 

he didn’t respond, watching you walk away until the doors of the building sallowed you whole and took you away from his eyes, where he could see you and know you were there. 

then he exhaled, slow and shaky. 

he knew he’d see you at home, he always did. 

he always would. 

❋

students buzzed past you as you entered the lecture hall that smelled faintly of coffee and disinfectant, your mind somewhere else completely as you made your way to your usual seat beside shoko. 

you placed your tote down, pulling out your ipad with a sigh as the overhead lights hummed softly, too bright for the slight headache setting in your temples. 

shoko was already seated, long legs stretched out beneath the table as she scrolled through her phone with a huff. 

“i swear,” she began, putting her phone down to fully face you, “if i see that man at the party tonight, i won’t even fucking glance at him!” 

you knew who she was talking about and you offered a simple hum in response, absenmindedly picking at your nails. 

“like actually, though!” you knew her words were futile and she’d end up right back in his bed, as she usually did, “i’m not giving in this time.”

and you hummed again, thoughtful. 

shoko finally studied you then, one dark brow lifting, “are you even listening to me?”

were you? not really. 

but her words pulled you bak into the room as you blinked softly, “yeah, yup. no giving in.” 

she stared at you for a beat too long, narrowed eyes assessing, “oh how times have changed. you don’t even know about the party tomorrow.”

you hadn’t even been to a party for a year, ever since the accident landed a one year old yuji in you and sukuna’s lap. 

something hit you then, heavy but not completely sad. something different. 

you didn’t answer your friend right away. instead, your mind slipped, unbidden, towards the salmon haired boy. boys, really. both of them.

you wondered if yuji was still fussy or if the teachers had managed to distract him with his favorite snacks and toys. you wondered if practice was already wrecking sukuna’s shoulder and if he ignored the ache like he always did. like he usually would. 

you hoped both of them would check the front pockets of their bags and see the little note you’d placed along with fruit snacks for yuji and a protein bar for sukuna. well, yuji couldn't read so you settled for a cute doodle instead.

you made a mental note to text sukuna during break. 

“helloooo!” shoko waved a hand to your face making you blink up at her, “are you good?” 

you nodded softly, “yeah, sorry. just thinking.”

shoko leaned back in her seat, eyes soft as she looked at you, “about?”

you hesitated for a moment and you hated that you did. 

because it proved that even you, deep down, in your subconscious or whatever resided deep in your chest knew that it was pointless to explain. that even though you were months younger than your friend, she’d never understand any of it. 

what were you thinking about? you were thinking about dinner. about yuji’s pediatric appointment next week. about whether yuji would go down easy tonight or fight sleep like a menace. you thought about sukuna’s eyes when he watched you walk away this morning, like you’d leave the second he blinked. 

“just stuff.” you finally settled on. 

shoko studied you then, really studied you. the faint shadows beneath your eyes, the way your fingers absently travel the edge of your desk, like you were grounding yourself. 

“you’re different…” shoko stated softly, suddenly, not unkindly, “than even a year ago today.” 

and you smiled gently, not defensive and not sad, just honest. 

you knew you’d changed. the moment the accident happened, the moment yuji was on your doorstep with social services, you knew you had a choice. 

either choose sukuna and grow up way too fast or leave and live the way you were a year ago. 

“i know.”

she tilted her head, “you miss it? you ever wish you could go back?”

you considered the question for a beat. 

you loved the chaos of it all. the recklessness, the loudness, the carefree energy that screamed youth and the absolute pinnacle of college lfe. 

and now…the chaos was still there. but different. 

it was warmer, sticky handed and couldn’t let you sleep in past sunrise. it smelled like fruit snacks and laundry detergent and sukuna’s soap. it lived in routines you never, ever thought you’d crave or grow to fall in love with. 

“no…i don’t think so.” you said quietly, “i like…knowing where i’m needed.”

shoko rolled her eyes with a small laugh, “that is such an old people answer!”

you simply shrugged with a gentle smile of your own. 

the professor walked in then conversation faded into the distance as shoko leaned closer. 

“are you ever scared?” she whispered like she couldn’t let it go, “that you grew up too fast?” 

you turned to her slowly, wide eyes soft as you considered it. 

yes, you did grow up too fast, yuji barging into your life when you and sukuna were still twenty and reckless and somewhat negligent. 

that had changed overnight. 

when the news came, when sukuna’s brother and wife had gotten into an accident and sukuna was listed as the official godparent, there was no doubt in your mind that you would stay.

but sometimes, you wished things were different. not that you didn’t want yuji, you loved the kid more than anything. but your mind couldn’t help but think about the future where yuji wouldn’t have his actual parents, where he’d grow to resent it all. you. maybe. 

you though of sukuna, twenty and carrying the weight of the world like he’d been born with it placed over his shoulders. you thought of yuji’s sleepy grin this morning, utterly unbothered by how strange and fragile life could be. 

“sometimes.” you admitted, then softer and truer, you whispered, “but i wouldn’t change a thing.”

the lecture blurred after that. you took notes the best you could with your mind drifting every few minutes. back home, back in sukuna’s car, back to the way he’d kissed you like he was anchoring himself to the idea that you’d return.

a year ago, your biggest worry was passing your finals. 

now, it was whether the people you loved were okay. 

you glanced down at your phone, the wallpaper blinking back at you. 

a picture taken just this summer at the fair photo booth. 

four pictures of you sukuna and yuji. one of you all grinning, yuji having sticky cotton candy residue on his adorable cheeks. sukuna merely had a smirk on his face as he gazed at the camera lazily. the next was all of you with your tongues out, sukuna’s tongue piercing glinting in the light as yuji’s little face merely mimicked the face you’d made. the third was softer, quieter, of sukuna holding yuji up between you, both of you placing a kiss on one of his chubby cheeks as his eyes widened, squealing at the flash. 

the last was your favorite. sukuna had softly squeezed your side, making you giggle harder than you’d meant to as both sukuna and yuji looked at you, softness and warmth in their gaze. sukuna wasn’t smiling, merely watching you like the sound of your laugh had resurrected him. and yuji was sporting a gummy grin, as if he couldn’t help but mirror your happiness. 

your chest filled, warm and sudden. 

you didn’t mind at all. 

❋

“can someone tell me why the theme is cowboy sluts?” gojo groaned as he stretched on the mat, a scowl painting his pale features, “that’s not even creative! now, cowboy pillows, that’s where it’s at. we’d see tits all ni-“

“shut up, gojo,” geto tutted with a shake of his head as he used the foam roller for his leg, utterly tired of satoru’s complains. 

frankly, sukuna couldn’t care less about any of it. 

he had mastered the art of blocking out his friends when they spoke about trivial shit like this, stuff that was once everything, now amounting to nothing. 

sukuna pulled his pump cover off, tossing it into his duffel by the bench. his hands shoved the hoodie inside, fingers softly brushing against a small folded piece of paper. 

his mouth tilted just a bit, chest constricting in the way it always did when it came to you. 

don’t forget to stretch, pls! and drink water! and come home asap. we love you ♡

his chest practically caved in with the effort of his beating heart. fuck, he loved you. 

a note that was so familiar, notes you’d been placing in his gym bags everyday since freshman year, still illicit the same lovesick reaction from him. he was pathetic. 

except the notes changed recently, a year ago to be exact. 

what was once i love you transitioned into we. we. 

as in you and yuji. 

like it was obvious, natural, second-nature. like he didn’t carry a sense of guilt from it all every second of his day. 

“yo, sukuna,” gojo called out, “why don’t you and the missus come for a change? you could use the break.” 

and the words shouldn’t have irked him as much as they did. maybe it was simply because it was gojo’s stupid ass uttering them. 

but something in his gut twisted, irritation twinged like a rock stuck in his shoe. 

like something he could constantly feel but tried to ignore for his own comfort.

because you could use the break. you could use every moment of peace he’d robbed you of the moment he took yuji in.

he couldn’t let anyone else do it, he was legally the godfather. plus, they had no immediate family but his grandfather and he was too old to care for a one year old. 

he always felt guilt for it, but he did look. he tried to find a way out, any world where you and him could just stay the way you were. no rush of responsibilities forcing your relationship out of whack. no chance that you might leave. no world where you wouldn’t pick him. 

all the while, he remembered you being in the other room with yuji, feeding him and singing him soft lullabies. he wasn't aware then that you’d already made your choice. 

that your soul had already shifted, that your mind made room and your heart opened up to the little pink haired boy that resembled the man you loved too much for his own good. 

sukuna stripped you of your youth, at least that’s how he saw it. 

“nah, man.” sukuna’s word were sharp, simple, practically holding a sign to gojo to shut the fuck up and don’t push. 

but he always had an inkling that gojo couldn’t fucking read. 

“oh come on, bro!” gojo whined, “you both haven’t been to a party in ages. and i know utahime can watch yuji today-“ 

“i said no. drop it.” sukuna’s words were low, venomous, coated with defenses he was all too aware of. insecurities and worries pointed out like a flaw he tried his best to conceal. 

sukuna didn’t gauge his reaction as he stood instead, continuing to stretch out his shoulder with a small plate, feeling the dull ache already settling deeper there. he welcomed it, got used to it. but also took care of it, because he promised you he would. 

he hated his mind. he hated his mind since he was younger but he hated it especially since his brother had passed and his life was thrusted into this abyss he couldn’t find light in. 

but he didnt have to. you were it the whole time. 

it took sukuna two months to hold yuji. it took four for him to finally change a diaper and it took six for him to finally be able to put the boy to sleep. 

and that only dug the whole that held his guilt even deeper, deeper. 

because you never complained once. 

you changed every diaper he avoided, put him to sleep when yuji cried hours into the night while sukuna laid awake in your room, chest tight and eyes unblinking. you bathed him, fed him and took him to every appointment when sukuna was too busy. 

too busy grieving. grieving his bother, grieving for yuji but most of all, grieving you. 

the whole situation fucked him up in the head. it was like a ticking time bomb planted in his home and he was never aware of when it’d go off. 

fucking sick and cruel and it made him want to throw up in anxiousness. 

when would you leave? 

because you couldn’t stay, no, you wouldn’t. 

you were only twenty two and basically a mother. you weren’t even married. 

you had been dating sukuna for three years when the accident happened. serious? yes. enough to raise a child with him? no. 

most nights he wished you’d have just left that same night the lawyers and social services had shown up. alas, you never did. 

and he wasn’t sure what was worse. if you’d have left or the torturous wait. 

“you good?” geto’s words, laced with something soft and sympathetic. 

sukuna nodded once, despising the sympathy more than anything. 

coach barked about some exercise and he was grateful for the distraction. except, you were never quite as far as he’d hoped you’d be sometimes. 

every time he stilled, every time his body stoped moving, he thought of you. you. you. 

how your hair would brush against your cheeks as you listened to the lecturer, brow furrowing as you took notes, your pretty eyes all wide and focused. he wondered if you remembered to drink water, if you’d eaten anything or just picked at some disgusting nutrition bar. 

sukuna wondered if you were thinking of him like he did you. if you always felt his absence like he craved to never feel yours while simultaneously wishing you’d grant him it. 

ryomen sukuna was a selfish man. 

because even though he knew it was right to let you go. to let you carry out your youth without the burden of taking care of a kid that isn’t yours, of skipping lectures and missing labs because yuji’s sick, of spacing out in tests because you wondered if sukuna was okay. he wished he could rid you of every single worry. 

but that would mean ridding himself of you. your eyes, your warmth, your pretty face and the way you made something in him ache in the best way. 

and he couldn’t do it. 

if you had left that night like he sometimes laid at night hoping you did, yuji wouldn’t be here. he’d be in some foster home, sukuna was sure of it. because the pain of grief would have killed him, he was sure. 

you had saved him, not yuji or divine intervention, it was you. 

the thought lodged into his chest like a splinter. 

you didn’t have to stay. but you did then and every day since. 

and when practice ended, he didn’t think of a party or an exam, he thought about getting home. back to yuji, back to you. because he had people waiting on him now, counting on him. and fuck, if that wasn’t the scariest thing ever. 

and if it wasn’t enough to keep him alive. 

❋

the moment sukuna stepped foot into the apartment, his chest stilled. 

it was overwhelmingly warm, not literally, but warmth that was so grounding, it made his shoulders sag before he could think too hard. he placed his keys in the little hook by the door, resting against your own with a soft clatter. he kicked his shoes off without looking, duffel slipping from his grip to land by the wall with a dull thud.   

his shoulder rolled once as he winced, then again. 

the sound came next, a soft babble, high-pitched and excited. the sound was punctuated by your voice, low and soothing, threaded with patience even as you scolded gently. 

“no, baby, it’s hot.” you murmured, “we look with our eyes only.”

sukuna followed your voice, as he always did. as he always would, whatever and whenever.

and there you were. freshly showered, he could smell your familiar scent, fresh and comforting. your hair was damp and sukuna’s large shirt covered the expanse of your otherwise nude body, slipping off one shoulder as you stood barefoot against the floor.  

yuji was perched on your lip like he belonged there, as if it was the only place he’d ever known. one chubby arm looped itself around your neck, gripping strands of your hair while the other was clutching onto a wooden spoon sukuna knew you’d given to preoccupy him. 

your playlist was low in the background, wicked twisted road being your chosen song of the night as you hummed softly, the rasp and chords filling the gentle quiet of the kitchen.

yuji looked up when sukuna entered, face lighting up the second he spotted his uncle, eyes wide and shining, “kuna!”

the word hit him square in the chest. 

sukuna didn't answer right away, simply standing there, observing, taking it in like a man who didn’t quite trust that if he blinked, it wouldn’t all disappear. 

his eyes were on you. always you. waiting for you to turn, too look at him so he could look at you right back. to make sure you were still here, choosing him, wanting him at least half as much as he wanted you. 

and turn, you did. your doe eyes found him immediately and something in your posture softened the moment you did. relief flickered across your face so quickly, you didn’t even notice it yourself. but he did. and fuck, did he feel it right back. 

“you’re home,” you smiled softly, warm and pretty. like the sentence meant everything. like it was a promised fulfilled. 

yuji wriggled in your arms excitedly, little shrieks leaving him as the spoon flailed dangerously close to sukuna’s face as the little boy reached out for him, “up! up!” 

sukuna’s mouth twitched, eyes rolling as he moved closer, snatching the boy up with one big hand easily before resting him against his chest. the kid squealed as he was hoisted into the air, giggling bright and loud as sukuna pressed a kiss against the tuft of soft pink, eyes gazing at you through his lashes. 

your gaze lingered on the two boys, soft, aching and reverent. 

sukuna felt it all, the way your eyes held him like he was something worth keeping, worth choosing over and over again. 

and that scared him more than anything. 

“dinner’s almost ready,” you said gently as you turned back to the stove, “made your favorite.”

of course you did. 

yuji began whining once more, apparently already tired of his uncle and needing you once more. just like sukuna. 

he watched the way yuji reached out instinctively and how you reached back just as easily, fingers brushing his small back without interrupting your stirring. 

seamless. too seamless. 

domestic in a way that felt carved rather than learned. 

he moved forward then, broad chest against your smaller frame, hand on the bare skin of your hip as you softened against him. 

“you stink,” you murmured, head tilting back to gaze up at him with wide and amused eyes, “shower before dinner.” 

sukuna smirked gently, leaning down to peck your nose, then your cheek, then leading kisses all the way to your mouth and stayed there. 

even as yuji squealed in a possessive protest, chubby hand slapping sukuna’s bad shoulder as if he knew, sukuna barely flinched. 

he deepend the kiss even more, tongue licking your bottom lip before plunging itself into your mouth with fervor. 

yuji had already given up, cheek pressing against your neck as sukuna cupped your jaw, maneuvering your face to deepen the kiss further. 

you hummed, pulling away with pink swollen lips that matched sukuna’s. he breathed against you for a moment as you tried to catch your breath, planting slow kisses across your neck and collarbone. 

“i’ll shower…” he murmured against your lips once more, kissing you deeply once more before finally allowing you turn back to the food. 

“thank god.” you murmured teasingly, shooting him a menacingly hot smirk as he shook his had. 

there were a thousand things sitting on his tongue. 

i missed you. 

i hate leaving. 

i’m constantly afraid you’ll get tired of me. of us. 

i’m scared you’ll wake up one day and realize this isn’t the life you wanted. 

he said nothing. instead, he reached out one more time, hand big against your waist it like he needed proof you were real. 

the chaos was real. of all the things said and not. 

it was tangible, sticky and loud and most days, so fucking exhausting. 

and it was yours. 

❋

ahhh a little one-shot of uncle!kuna for yall 🥹🥹 i was super inspired by the concept and loved the idea so wanted to make my own version !!

i think a drabble for it aint me babe is next!!

as always lmk what u thinkkkk

art by the super talented @/to00fu !!

[niiconoriez]

literally AWAKENED from my hiatus just to reblog this

[kthologue]

operation: get over your childhood crush! — gojo satoru

synopsis. in an attempt to move on from your childhood best friend—who definitely doesn’t see you the way you want—you hatch a series of plans to help you get over him. it doesn't go as planned.

contents. hurt/comfort, fluff, nerd!gojo, college au, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, unreliable narrator, miscommunication, insecurity, dorky references bc u make him go dumb and digimon inaccuracies probably

notes. i did not proofread this monster!! enjoy :P

The hum of the air conditioning fills the room as night settles in, the light from Satoru’s bedside lamp casting a soft glow over his mess of a room. You’re both sprawled out across his bed, limbs entangled like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Because, for the two of you, it is.

Satoru’s Nintendo Switch is balanced on his stomach, hands lazily tapping away as his little Digimon charges into battle on screen. You’re curled into his side, one leg hooked around his and a blanket thrown haphazardly across you both. The half-abandoned textbooks sit at the edge of the mattress, tragically ignored. Another study session: failed. Not that Satoru needed it. He passed everything with flying colors. It was more of an excuse for you to come over.

“Your room still smells like that cheap vanilla air freshener,” you mumble, nose scrunching.

“That’s because you bought it,” he replies without looking up, thumb expertly guiding his character through an attack.

“Because your room would end up stinking with sweat and whatever freaky stuff you do in here.”

“Hey!” He whines. “I shower everyday and you know it. The stink is all you. Have you ever sniffed yourself, princess?”

You swat at his stomach, and he lets out a dramatic grunt. “Rude. I brought that candle to add ambiance.”

“Ah yes,” he deadpans, “nothing like artificial sugar scent.’”

You snort, settling your head back down on his shoulder, the fabric of his hoodie soft beneath your cheek. There’s a long pause before you say, “You know, if we fail our exams, I’m blaming your Digimon addiction.”

He grins. “I’m raising digital warriors, thank you very much. And I’ve never failed an exam, don’t wound me now!”

“They look like mutant toddlers with attitude problems.”

He gasps, clutching his heart. “They’re champions, you monster.”

You laugh, letting the sound dissolve into something quieter as your fingers absentmindedly trace a pattern into the blanket. His hand rests near yours. Not holding it. Not not holding it.

His glasses are tilted again. Of course.

You reach up and straighten them with a sigh. “Honestly, you’d be lost without me.”

“Not true.” He says it reflexively, then pauses. His voice softens. “Okay, maybe. I’d probably just let them slide down until I walked into a wall.”

You smile faintly. “And there’d be no one there to patch you up.”

“Tragic,” he agrees. “Would bleed out on the floor, probably.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“You’re so bossy,” he counters, shooting you a sideways look. 

“Admit it,” he says, voice full of faux-smugness, “you’d miss me if I died tragically and left you all alone.”

You hesitate for a second too long before mumbling, “Don’t joke about that.”

It’s quiet. The game music loops in the background as his Digimon wins the battle with a triumphant fanfare.

He doesn’t say anything.

You suddenly feel too warm under the blanket. The joke had been harmless, stupid even.

But something inside you twists, the same something that’s been unraveling lately every time he mentions another girl.

Another type. That’s not you.

“You know,” you say slowly, eyes peeling from the screen to his phone, which lights up with a notification, revealing one of his favorite gravure model’s latest issues as its wallpaper. “You could probably date any girl you wanted. Why do you partake in freak stuff like this? It’s anti-girl repellent.”

He makes a noncommittal sound. “Doubt it.”

“I don’t. You’ve got that whole genius-who-doesn’t-realize-he’s-hot thing going on.”

He glances at you, skeptical. “Is that a thing?”

“It is. Annoying, but effective. Girls love it.”

He hums, clearly amused, cheeks slightly flushed. “Well, good to know I have options.”

You try to laugh, but it catches in your throat.

You shouldn’t ask. You really shouldn’t.

But you’re lying in his bed. Wrapped up in him like you belong here. And some part of you aches to know the answer.

So you pretend it’s a joke. You tilt your head against his shoulder, voice airy, teasing. “Hey, be honest—do you think I’m cute?”

He goes still.

His hand tightens slightly on the Switch. You think you’ve pushed too far, so you try to backpedal before he can respond.

“Not like… like that,” you say quickly. “I just meant, like, in general. Compared to those girls you’re into. Say, Waka Inoue. You know, long legs, shiny hair, cute face?”

His jaw tightens.

You’re still trying to play it off. “I mean, I’m not fishing for compliments. I just—was wondering.”

He finally turns to look at you.

His gaze lingers. And for the first time all night, he’s not smiling.

You feel your breath stutter in your throat underneath his gaze.

Then he shrugs.

“…Nah.”

It slices through the air with quiet finality.

Your heart drops. You don’t let it show. Not fully. But it must flicker in your face, because he quickly looks away.

You laugh. It sounds forced.

“Yeah, that’s fair. I mean, I wasn’t expecting a yes or anything.”

He’s silent.

You shift away from him slightly, giving him space. “I should head home soon. We didn’t really get any studying done, anyway.”

“It’s late. Why don’t you stay the night?”

Usually, you’d accept his offer with a smile, but you really wanted to go home and wallow in your own self pity.

“It’s fine, I have something to do anyway,” the lie slips out of your mouth easily as you begin to pack your things.

And you miss the way he watches you—guilt in his eyes, frustration on his tongue. 

You knew it was time. Twenty years of hopeless, fruitless pining had done enough damage to your heart.

It had started the day your parents moved next door. Satoru had been the loud, obnoxious, too-pretty-for-his-own-good boy on the playground who shoved candy in your hand and asked if you wanted to be friends.

You’d been doomed since day one.

And to make things worse, you’d both gotten into Japan’s most competitive university—together. Same neighborhood. Same school. Same train route. You weren’t just stuck with him. You were haunted.

But you were young and hot. And allegedly in your prime. You couldn’t keep orbiting around a guy who still thought microwave gyoza was a food group and used your shampoo because it “smelled like you, so why not?”

You were sipping coffee with your two closest friends, and today’s topic was—unfortunately—your love life.

“Honestly, I can’t believe you’ve been stuck on Gojo for this long,” Utahime said, disgusted, as she stirred her latte like it personally offended her. “You could do so much better.”

“It was kind of cute in high school,” Shoko added “but now it’s just sad.”

You sighed, blowing on your drink. “I know, okay? It’s not like I haven’t tried. But he’s literally the only guy I’ve ever been close to. I don’t even talk to guys besides him.”

“That’s because he’s been gatekeeping you since the two of you met,” Utahime said flatly. “I swear, every time someone so much as glanced at you, he pulled that overprotective act.”

You wrinkled your nose. “That doesn’t sound like ’Toru…”

Shoko and Utahime exchanged a look. One of those knowing glances.

Utahime cleared her throat. “It doesn’t matter! What matters is you are hot. You’ve got the face, the body, the grades, the personality. You just need the confidence.”

You peeked up at her, unsure. “You really think so?”

Utahime leaned forward, smirking like she’d just won a war. “I know so. And that’s why I’ve come up with a plan.”

You narrowed your eyes. “A plan?”

She slammed her hands down on the table, eyes alight. “Operation: Get Over Gojo Satoru.”

You blinked. “That’s… a long title.”

Shoko blew a slow stream of smoke. “It’s either this or pine until you die and haunt him as a love-sick ghost.”

You stared into your cup, sighing. “Fine. I’m in. What’s step one?”

Utahime grinned.

“Whatcha doing?” 

Gojo’s voice drifts lazily over your shoulder, followed by the soft rustle of his hoodie as he leans in. He’s far too close, obnoxiously so, his breath tickling your ear and his chin was nearly resting on your shoulder.

You don’t even glance up. “Studying.”

The two of you are supposed to be studying— finals loom overhead like a guillotine, but as usual, very little academic progress has been made. Mostly because your study partner is a six-foot-something genius who insists on sitting sideways in the booth, long legs tangled in yours under the table like it’s second nature.

He hums, skeptical. “Liar.”

You hum noncommittally, thumbing through the dating app Utahime suggested with vague disinterest. The guys blur together: not tall enough, too cocky, too bland, too not Satoru. One makes a joke suspiciously close to a Gojo classic, and you immediately hit unmatch with a scowl.

“Wait,” Satoru says slowly. “Are you on a dating app?!” He practically yells the last part. Half the cafe turns to glare at the source of the disruption.

You hiss under your breath, mortified, swatting at him. “Keep your voice down, idiot!”

His eyes widen dramatically, hands thrown up like you’ve stabbed him. “I leave you alone for two minutes and you’re already planning a life with someone named ‘Keita, aspiring poet and spiritual healer’? I’m wounded.”

“You weren’t supposed to read that far.”

“I’m a speed-reader,” he says with a smug grin. “It’s part of the whole ‘genius’ thing.”

Before you can argue, he snatches your phone with a level of ease that tells you this isn’t the first time he’s done something like this. He grins like he’s won a prize.

“Satoru!”

“Relax, I’m not texting anyone,” he says, fingers flying across the screen. “Just optimizing.”

Your heart drops. “What are you typing?”

“Nothing~”

You make a grab for your phone, but he effortlessly leans back, holding it above his head with those ridiculously long limbs. You glare at him from across the table, arm outstretched like a furious cat trying to swat at the moon.

“Give it back!”

“Patience.”

“Gojo Satoru—”

“Okay, okay!” he relents with a dramatic sigh, finally placing your phone face-down on the table like he’s done you a huge favor.

You snatch it up immediately, eyes scanning for damage. No weird messages. No unsolicited likes. No new matches.

“…What did you do?”

“I didn’t message anyone,” he assures, too innocent to be trusted. “I’m not that cruel.”

You narrow your eyes, suspicious.

“But,” he adds with a grin, “I didn’t know you were dating.”

“I’m not,” you mutter, clicking your phone off. “Just considering it. Trying. It’s not going well.”

“Good.”

The word comes out too fast. Too sharp. And his face doesn’t match the light tone he’s trying to play off.

You raise an eyebrow. “Good?”

He shifts, leaning back in his seat, suddenly very interested in stirring the foam in his overpriced coffee. “I mean, it’s good you’re not settling. You should be picky. Guys are the worst.”

You snort. “You are a guy.”

“Exactly. I know what we’re like.”

You smile despite yourself, rolling your eyes. “I’m sure you think you’re the exception.”

“I know I am,” he says, winking. Then he sobers slightly, eyes flickering to yours. “I’m just… looking out for you.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest ache. You wish it was more than just him being protective in that big-brotherly, annoyingly loyal kind of way.

You take a sip of your coffee to cool your nerves. It doesn’t help. The words come out before you can stop them.

“You know with the way things are going… maybe you should just date me at this point.”

Silence.

It’s a joke. Supposed to be. But the second it leaves your lips, it tastes real.

Gojo freezes.

You panic. “I didn’t mean—like, I was just joking—”

But he turns toward you, eyes unreadable behind the fringe of snowy white hair. “Maybe I should.”

You blink.

And then, with infuriating ease, he grins.

“Anyway,” he says quickly, swiping your phone from the table again before you can stop him, “Yuto here looks like the type to ghost you after three dates and a karaoke duet. You can do better.”

You gape at him, completely thrown off, your heart slamming in your chest.

You don’t even notice what he’s done until later—until you get home and open your app to find that your bio has been changed.

Taken. Mentally married to a nerd since birth.

You want to scream.

Operation: Get Over Gojo Satoru?

Yeah. Not going great.

Not at all.

You weren’t sure why you agreed to it.

Maybe it was the look in Utahime’s eyes, so determined and hopeful. Maybe it was Shoko promising she would help you find true love. Maybe it was the quiet part of you that wanted to see yourself through someone else’s eyes. Someone who wasn’t Gojo Satoru.

“Today,” Utahime had declared, curling the last strand of your hair like she was threading a spell, “is the first day of your Gojo-less future”

You laughed nervously, tugging at the hem of your skirt. It wasn’t your usual style—not the dewy makeup you weren’t used to seeing in the mirror, not the new haircut that made your eyes look almost too bright, not the blouse that left your shoulders bare in a way that made you feel strangely noticed.

But when you caught your reflection, your heart fluttered. You looked beautiful.

When you stepped onto campus, the sun was out, the wind teasing your hair. You spotted him immediately—Gojo, slouched against the wall outside your lecture hall, nose buried in his Switch as he muttered something under his breath about evolving stats and attack modifiers.

He didn’t notice you at first.

Then he looked up.

His game froze mid-battle. His mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again, like someone had unplugged his brain.

“Wha—” he said eloquently. “Wh—what did you do.”

You blinked. “Hi to you too.”

He stared, unabashed. His glasses were slightly crooked, his ears glowing scarlet. He looked like someone had just told him Digimon was real and living in your shoes.

He blinked. “You look like… like you skipped two evolution stages overnight. Straight to Mega. Like if Angewomon fused with… I don’t know, some kind of rare, limited-release goddess-type Digimon that only spawns on a lunar eclipse.”

You blinked.

Utahime’s voice in your head: You’re hot. Unstoppable. He’s going to be speechless.

And Gojo was. But not in the way you wanted.

You tried to laugh. “So I look like a cartoon?”

“A beautiful cartoon,” he said, serious now. “Like the kind of boss character they only show for two frames because animating her costs too much.”

Your heart stuttered. It was the sort of compliment only Gojo could give: clumsy and dorky, yet brilliant in its own way.

But the moment passed.

He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away, sunglasses slipping slightly as he muttered, “You just… you look different. That’s all.”

Different.

Not better. Not prettier.

Just different.

You swallowed. “Yeah, well. Thought I’d try something new.”

“I didn’t say it was bad,” he added quickly, but the words felt unsure. Flimsy.

“I should… use the restroom,” you mumbled, turning before he could say anything else.

In the bathroom, you stared at your reflection. Your lipstick looked too bold now. Your lashes too heavy. Despite the change, you were still painfully you— the you Gojo teased during study sessions, the one he let borrow his hoodie when it rained, the one who sat next to him during endless all-nighters. And maybe that was the problem. You weren’t like those girls on the magazines. 

What you didn’t see, what you couldn’t see, was Gojo still standing outside the lecture hall, staring after you, Switch forgotten, game over screen blinking on the screen.

He didn’t even notice.

“You good, Satoru?” Shoko asked, walking by.

He blinked. “I think I just saw my best friend… and my final boss… and my future wife… all at once.”

Shoko snorted. “You’re a dork.”

Gojo just sighed, shoulders slumping as he muttered, “I’m so doomed.”

It’s a mild Friday evening when you meet him—Kazuya, the guy from your psychology class. He’s polite, articulate, and kind of cute. The kind of guy who asks if you prefer cats or dogs before ordering his drink, and actually listens when you answer.

Utahime and Shoko had insisted you say yes. “A change of pace,” they called it. “You need a baseline. Not every guy is going to be Gojo Satoru.”

Exactly. That was the point.

You’re sipping a matcha latte and nodding along as Kazuya explains his thesis on cognitive development when a very familiar voice cuts through the air.

“Well, well, well. Fancy seeing you here.”

Your stomach drops. You look up, and sure enough—

Satoru.

In all his tall, obnoxiously eye-catching glory, wearing a white t-shirt that was inside out and a grin like he just won the lottery. He's holding a bottle of ramune and standing directly next to your table, like he’s been there the whole time.

You blink. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugs. “Thirsty. Wanted a drink.”

“At this café? On this side of campus?”

“Yeah,” he says, tone innocent. “Weird coincidence, huh?”

Kazuya offers a polite smile. “You’re her friend, right? Gojo?”

“Oh, best friend. Lifelong. Practically her shadow.” He plops into the empty seat beside you without asking, casually tossing his ramune onto the table. “What’s your name again? Kaname?”

“…Kazuya.”

“Right, right. I always mix those up. You look like a Kaname, though. Or maybe a Yusuke.”

You stare at him, incredulous. “Satoru—”

But he’s already leaning over, squinting at the book tucked under Kazuya’s arm. “Ooh, Piaget. Bold move. Love that for you.”

Kazuya blinks. “Do you… like developmental theory?”

“I like being correct,” Gojo says with a cheeky smile. “Also, [Name] hates Piaget. She called him ‘the Freud of toddlers’ last semester.”

Kazuya turns to you in mild surprise. “Really?”

“I—I mean, yeah,” you mumble. “Sort of.”

Gojo beams. “Told you.”

Kazuya makes a valiant effort to steer the conversation back to safe, neutral ground.

“So, you mentioned you're interested in behaviorism, right?” he says, offering a gentle smile. “I thought Dr. Takeda's lecture on conditioned responses was kind of fascinating—”

“Oh, riveting,” Satoru cuts in, lounging back in his chair like he owns the café. “Nothing like bonding over Pavlov’s dogs to spark romance. Did she tell you she cried during Inside Out because the depiction of core memories was ‘psychologically resonant’? Real charmer, this one.”

You shoot Satoru a look. “I was twelve!”

Kazuya blinks, trying not to smile. “I actually thought that was pretty moving, too.”

“Wow,” Satoru deadpans. “A match made in neuroscience.”

Kazuya laughs politely and continues, undeterred. “So, uh, any research plans after graduation?”

You open your mouth to answer, but Satoru beats you to it again.

“She used to want to be a vet. Cried when she had to dissect a frog in middle school. Tragic day.”

“Is that true?” Kazuya turns to you, amused now.

“Technically, yes,” you mutter into your drink.

By the time your cup is empty, you realize you’ve laughed more at Satoru’s interjections than you have at anything Kazuya’s said. Not because Kazuya wasn’t interesting—he was. He was calm, thoughtful, well-read, and clearly trying. But next to Satoru, whose entire presence seemed impossible to ignore, Kazuya didn’t stand a chance.

Still, to his credit, Kazuya maintains a steady, if slightly strained, expression as he sets down his cup and finally says, carefully,

“So… is Gojo your boyfriend?”

The question hangs awkwardly.

You and Satoru answer at the same time.

“No,” you say quickly.

“Yes,” he says with a smile.

You both turn to stare at each other.

“I mean—no,” he corrects, waving his hands. “Just a joke. Hah. Obviously.”

Kazuya blinks. “Right.”

You can’t meet either of their eyes. Your drink is finished, your palms are damp, and the café is suddenly too warm, too small. You push back your chair and stand.

“I should go. Early lab meeting tomorrow.” It’s the weakest excuse, but neither of them calls you on it.

Kazuya stands too, polite as ever. “Thanks for meeting up. You seem like a really cool person.” He hesitates, then adds, gently, “I just think maybe you’ve already got someone.”

You freeze. You open your mouth, then close it again. There’s nothing to say.

Outside, the cold air kisses your cheeks like a reminder. It stings a little, or maybe that’s just the confusion burning in your chest.

Satoru’s already waiting for you. Of course he is. He’s leaning against the lamppost, silver hair catching in the wind. But his eyes are downcast, trained on the sidewalk.

He doesn’t say anything right away. Neither do you.

You exhale, watching your breath curl white in the air. “You didn’t have to crash it, y’know.”

“I didn’t crash,” he replies without looking at you. “I was invited.”

“By who?”

“Fate. Karma. The gods of poor decision-making.” He shrugs.

You roll your eyes, but it tugs a laugh from you anyway. Stupid, annoying, charming Gojo.

“So,” he says after a beat, nudging your arm gently with his elbow, “how’d it go?”

You glance at him. He still won’t meet your gaze. His lips are pursed like he’s holding back a hundred words and none of them are funny.

“He was nice,” you admit. Despite being rudely interrupted by the white haired idiot beside you.

“Nice is boring,” he mutters, kicking at a loose stone on the pavement.

You laugh, soft and tired. “You’re the worst.”

He finally looks at you then, lips quirking into that smug, too-knowing smile. “But you like me anyway.”

You look away, cheeks burning, heart thudding like a traitor in your chest.

You don’t answer.

You don’t have to.

Despite Operation: Get Over Gojo Satoru failing in every imaginable way, things were starting to feel bearable.

Almost good, even.

Satoru still hovered a little too close, always with that same half-smile like he knew something you didn’t. And maybe, just maybe— his constant sabotage, the teasing, the jealousy, the way he looked at you like he was about to say something important but never did. Maybe it all meant something.

You let yourself believe it, just a little.

And that was your first mistake.

It happens quietly, without fanfare or warning. Just a throwaway line between sips of lukewarm coffee and the soft shuffle of paper. You’re both at your usual spot in the library, surrounded by open notebooks and highlighted packets, pretending to study more than you actually are.

You’re halfway through underlining a term in your psychology notes when Satoru leans back in his chair, stretches like a cat, and says far too casually:

“So, guess who asked me out?”

You hum absentmindedly. “Who?”

“Ayane.”

The name hits you like a slap.

You freeze, highlighter paused mid-sentence. “…Ayane? From the biochem track?”

“Yeah,” he says, practically glowing. “You know her, right? She's in your study group sometimes.”

You do know her. Of course you do. Everyone knows her.

She’s beautiful, with this effortless, clean kind of elegance—long legs, perfect posture, and that quiet, poised confidence that makes professors adore her and guys fall over themselves. The kind of girl who posts one blurry bookshelf photo and still racks up a thousand likes. The kind of girl Gojo always jokes about marrying.

But he’s not joking now. He’s beaming.

“She asked me out to dinner this Friday. She’s so smart, too. I didn’t even have to pretend to know what quantum entanglement was. It’s wild.” He laughs, brushing a hand through his hair. “I thought she’d never go for a guy like me, y’know?”

You force a laugh. “A guy like you?”

“Yeah. I dunno. Too much, I guess? But she said I was ‘refreshing.’” He grins. 

Your stomach sinks.

This is what you thought you wanted—for him to move on, so you could finally do the same. For Operation: Get Over Gojo Satoru to succeed, for real this time.

But now that it’s happening, it feels like someone’s slowly pulling your ribs apart.

“Oh,” you manage, smiling like you’ve practiced it. “That’s great. I’m happy for you.”

He doesn’t notice the way your voice cracks on happy. He just keeps talking, rambling about restaurant reservations and how she likes contemporary poetry and used to live in France. You nod in all the right places, but your thoughts are already slipping away.

Because it isn’t just that he’s going out with someone else.

It’s that he chose her.

Her with her flawless skin and quiet charm and the kind of beauty that doesn’t need to try. Her, with everything you’re not. And more than that, it’s that he made you believe you could have meant more to him, when really, he’d been searching for someone else all along.

You excuse yourself early, mumbling something about laundry.

He doesn’t follow.

You don’t cry until you’re halfway home, the cold air biting at your cheeks as your vision blurs.

For the first time in years, you don’t text him goodnight.

You don’t wait for a meme. Or a dumb joke. Or his usual, “Hey, genius. Sleep.”

You go silent.

And when he texts the next day, you don’t reply.

You skip your library meet-up. You don’t sit next to him in class. You even duck into the stairwell when you see his ridiculous white hair from across campus.

It’s not because you’re mad. It’s because you’re heartbroken.

And you can’t keep pretending it doesn’t matter—that he doesn’t matter.

You weren’t just losing your best friend.

You were losing the love of your life.

And he didn’t even notice.

It takes him three days to notice you’re gone.

Well—no. That’s a lie.

He notices immediately. The moment your usual seat in the library stays empty. When your laugh doesn’t echo in the café line. When your name doesn’t pop up on his screen at 2AM with some stupid meme captioned, “this reminded me of you, idiot.”

But he tells himself you’re busy.

Midterms, right? Stress. Coffee. You get like this sometimes, and he gets it. He really does.

So he waits. Tells himself not to be clingy.

But then Friday comes.

And he's sitting across from Ayane in some expensive, quiet restaurant where the napkins are folded like origami cranes and the water tastes filtered. She’s telling him about her research internship in Osaka, about enzymes and international grants, and all he can think is—

You’d be making fun of me right now.

You’d be kicking him under the table. Whispering some dumb pun about digimon. You’d be pulling faces every time he tried to pronounce the items on the menu. You’d be you.

Ayane is lovely.

But she doesn’t laugh when he says something stupid. She just smiles politely.

She doesn’t ask about why his glasses are always crooked (it’s so you could fix them). Doesn’t tease him for double-knotting his laces like a paranoid grandma. Doesn’t call him “Sato” like it’s some private joke only the two of you get.

He walks her home. Thanks her for a nice evening.

Then he goes to the convenience store. Alone.

And he sees your favorite snack on the shelf and buys two out of habit.

He stares at his phone the entire train ride back.

No new messages.

Just the last one you sent days ago:

“Laundry. Rain check?”

And nothing since.

He waits. Another day. Then two.

You don’t show up to class again.

You don’t like his latest meme.

You don’t comment on the Digimon pun he texted you out of desperation.

You are silent.

And Satoru Gojo—brilliant, blind-sighted, the golden boy of theoretical physics, always five steps ahead realizes, too late, that he’s been a fool.

That he didn’t just lose a study partner.

He lost the one person who knew him better than he knew himself.

The one person he couldn’t replace with rare Digimon pulls, half-solved physics equations, or overly sweet desserts.

And for the first time since he was a kid—

He’s afraid.

It’s been a little over a week.

A little over a week since Gojo Satoru has heard your voice. Since you shoved your coffee at him without asking, muttering “too sweet for me” when you really meant “I got this for you.” Since you poked fun at his stupid sock choices, or knocked your foot against his under the table like it was nothing.

And Satoru is suffering.

He's tried everything. Showed up to your house with excuses too weak to be called plans (“Hey, I brought your favorite snacks. I just... figured maybe you forgot you liked them?”). Waited outside your lecture hall until a security guard asked if he was lost. Took detours between classes hoping to catch a glimpse of your ponytail, your laugh, anything.

But you were always one step ahead.

You stopped answering his texts. Blocked him on that stupid dating app (which—ouch, even though you hadn’t used it seriously). You didn’t even show up to the library anymore. And even Shoko started looking at him with thinly veiled pity and a you really fumbled the bag look in her eyes.

Gojo Satoru is just tired.

Miserable.

So when he finally finds you—not because he’s chasing you down this time, but because he’s walking the long way home, and there you are, sitting on the old swings at the park where you first met—it knocks the wind out of him.

You don’t look surprised to see him. Just tired too.

“I figured you’d find me eventually,” you say quietly.

He swallows. His hands curl at his sides like he’s preparing for a fight.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says, like it isn’t obvious. “Why?”

You look away. “You’re smart. Figure it out.”

Gojo looks down at his feet.

“I didn’t know you felt that way.”

Silence stretches between you, heavy and stinging. The playground is empty except for the wind dragging a soda can down the sidewalk and the faint creak of the swing chain.

Then he exhales, ragged and unsure. “Look, I can’t—I can’t take this anymore.”

You glance up.

“I can’t either.”

Hope flares too fast, too naive in his chest. His shoulders drop like he’s been holding up the world. “That’s good,” he breathes, stepping forward. “Because the silent treatment— God, I thought I was going to—”

“I don’t think we can be friends anymore.”

The words stop him cold.

“What?” he breathes.

You laugh, but it’s hollow. Like something already broken. “Don’t you get it? I can’t be friends with you and pretend that nothing’s changed. That I’m okay just being your best friend. I’ve been in love with you for years, Satoru.”

His heart stutters. You don’t stop.

“And I love myself too much to keep hurting for someone who doesn’t even look at me that way.” Your voice cracks, but you push through. “Do you know how humiliating it feels? To love someone so much it aches, and still feel like you’ll never be enough?”

He opens his mouth. Closes it.

You wipe your eyes with the sleeve of your jacket, swallowing the lump in your throat. “You never even thought I was cute.”

He looks like he’s been hit.

“I’ve been chasing scraps. Leftovers. Mixed signals and stupid inside jokes. I—I can’t do it anymore.”

You finally meet his eyes, and that’s when he sees it: the hurt you’ve been hiding behind every smile, every brush-off, every joke you cracked to keep the silence from swallowing you.

And for once, Gojo Satoru can’t find a single thing to say.

Not yet.

Not until he stops you from walking away.

“Where did you get an idea like that?” His cerulean eyes search yours desperately. “I-I don’t think you’re just cute, are you kidding?” he blurts, eyes wild.

“Y-you’re breathtaking! Everything I’ve dreamt of and more! That night when you asked me if I thought you were cute, I only said no because it would be a divine crime to reduce to such. All of my fantasies have been centered around you since we first met on that playground—since you tripped over your shoelaces trying to race me to the monkey bars!”

Your breath catches.

He continues, desperate now, like every second of silence might kill him.

“I love you! And not like a brother. Like—I want to marry you. Like, small wedding in Okinawa, barefoot on the beach, you wearing that soft blue dress you like. I already planned it. Our firstborn would be a daughter, with your eyes, my hair. She’d be the boss of the house.”

You gape.

“Wait—”

“I’m not done!” he says, hands thrown up. “Then we’d have twins. Boys. Chaos gremlins. One would look like my twin and the other yours, and they’d absolutely terrorize us—but their sister keeps them in check, she’s fierce like you.”

You blink. A tear slides down your cheek.

“I want to move to Kyoto,” he says, softer now. “Buy a house with a dumb little garden. Grow tomatoes we’ll never eat. Live out the rest of our lives where it’s quiet.”

You cover your mouth, stunned. “You… really thought all that out?”

“It’s easy,” he breathes, “when all I can think about is you.”

He steps closer. The wind tugs his white hair into his eyes, but he doesn’t blink.

“I go to study nonlinear quantum field theory and all I see is your face. I try to cool off and play Digimon, and even that’s ruined—my lineup is garbage now! I only keep the ones you said were cute!”

A laugh bubbles out of you, fragile and watery.

“You idiot,” you murmur.

“I am,” he nods solemnly. “I’m the world’s biggest idiot. And I’m in love with you.”

Another tear slips down. He wipes it away before you can.

“Is it too late?” he asks, voice cracking slightly. “Please tell me it’s not too late.”

You stare at him, this man, this brilliant, ridiculous boy who had held your heart long before you ever admitted it.

“It’s not too late,” you whisper.

He doesn’t speak. Just steps closer. Gently and carefully, like he's handling something sacred, he cups your cheek in his hand.

Your nose bumps his. His breath ghosts over your lips.

“I’ve been waiting to do this for years,” he whispers.

And then, finally, he kisses you.

It’s not perfect, your cheeks are still wet, his nose bumps yours again, and his hand trembles just a little, but it’s warm and sweet and soft. It tastes like home..

When he pulls away, his smile is sheepish. “So… are we still doing the whole ‘Operation: Get Over Gojo’ thing, or?”

You laugh, heart full, forehead pressed to his.

“Mission failed,” you whisper.

He grins. “Good.”

And then he kisses you again.

art by leimiruu on x!

[estrixart]

black swan

[beybuniki]

lil nephew

[pseudowho]

Nanami Kento and Higuruma Hiromi walked into a bar.

It was the beginning of a joke; but it shouldn't have been. The bar was once indeed a bar but had since been repurposed. Its counter remained glossy and its till remained full, but on the wall behind it, instead of rainbow rows of liquor and vice, were mallets and hammers and tennis rackets and cricket bats and baseball bats and hammers and more, arranged in Tetris muddlement.

Behind the counter was a receptionist, chewing gum and picking at his nails. He blinked, and looked up with a smile.

"Welcome! I take it you're, uh...Nanami and Higuruma? Here for the 10am timeslot? You've been booked in, uh..." He checked his computer. Both eyebrows shot up. "Uhhh...wow. All day actually. Guess you've got some stress to work out, huh?"

Kento frowned, turning his blade in his hand and looking at the address on his phone screen. Then, he looked back up to the rugged, hand painted sign behind the receptionist's head. Kento's face fell. Hiromi huffed.

"You've taken us to the wrong place, Nanami."

"I have not."

"You ha--"

"We've been had, Higuruma."

Hiromi blinked, then looked up at the sign, too. His face fell. His lips pulled up in a mulish little sulk.

"Why can I smell two lots of perfume all over this, only one of which is my wife's?"

"Because I'm married, too."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"We need to do something about this."

"We absolutely do. One of them is going to have a stroke."

"Jesus."

She and you hissed to each other from your spot in the storecupboard. Kento and Hiromi, your respective husbands, sat in the middle row of the staff meeting you had dodged. Hiromi fidgeted, and shifted, and ticked; his shoulders set in a rigid line. Nanami sat stock still, but his knuckles were white and you could hear his teeth grinding even from a distance.

You could feel the suppressed rage thudding off of them, in pulses and waves. The air stuck to your skin. You shook off your hands with an ugh!

"That's not healthy. Did you know, we've had sex three times this week and he hasn't--"

"Hasn't finished? Same. He's too--"

"Tense," you both finished, deflating with groans.

"Kento snapped a toothbrush because he ran out of mouthwash."

"Hiromi called the dryer a bitch because it ate his tie."

You sat together, pondering. The drone of the higher-ups continued outside your storecupboard, and you wondered if you were about to experience a massacre. After a minute, a lightbulb pinged in your mind.

"I've got an idea. Hear me out."

"Listening."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Kento and Higuruma stood in a hall. It was an enormous hall; as white as a gallery and just as long.

Inside the hall, from wall to wall, junk and vases and televisions and bags of flour and tins of paint and pyramids of wine glasses and old desks and chairs and books and bowls and plates and rakes and lawnmowers and garden gnomes and discs and flowers and clocks and paintings had been stacked and splayed and dropped and displayed and pedestal'd and hung and slung until, all in all, the room really looked like the modern art exhibition that its creators appeared to have intended for it to be.

Over their old suits were new suits; all-in-ones of white, with masks and goggles dangling limply from their hands. Hiromi bristled.

"A rage room?"

"It would appear so."

"I-- I--" A scoff. Pacing. "This isn't for me-- this is for you, and your unhealthy coping mechanisms. I handle my anger absolutely fi--

"You lost a trial then murdered two men and countless others."

Higuruma froze. When he spoke, his voice was wounded and small. "...that was a very difficult week for me, Nanami, and I'm hurt that you'd weaponise it like that."

Kento sighed, removing his glasses and pocketing them. Rubbing his eyes, he sounded churlish. "I suppose I have been holding onto some...frustration."

"Speak for yourself."

A prickle of annoyance. Kento shot Hiromi a daggered look. Hiromi raised his chin. They stared each other down.

The room was silent. The staring match went on, and on, and on, until--

SMASH.

Kento's face fell slack. Hiromi had stuck his hand out, and pushed a vase to fall off its perch and shatter upon the floor. He hadn't even broken eye contact with Kento while doing it. Kento squirmed.

"What on earth are you doing?"

"Nothing. I'm not angry."

SMASH.

Kento bristled, lunging to save another vase. "Stop that!"

"No."

SMASH.

"Higuruma! Stop!"

"Make me."

A scuffle. Two pairs of dress shoes skittering on the floor. CLATTER-- SMASH.

Kento snarled, and picked up an old chair, and tossed it at Hiromi. Hiromi dodged it, huffing through his nose with a gleam in his eye. The chair hit a stack of pottery, and Kento buried his fingers in his hair, dismayed.

With a slowly growing grin, Hiromi picked up a plate. He tossed it into the air (to a gasp of horror from Kento), and caught it by its rim.

Kento breathed hard. He seemed to have grown to twice his usual size. He glared at Hiromi. Hiromi grinned, and made for the door.

"I'm going out for a mallet."

"Wait!"

Hiromi paused with his hand upon the handle. He looked back over his shoulder. Kento trembled with his back to Hiromi, his fists clenched into rocks, and flicks of hair falling free.

"Get me one, Higuruma."

"Sure."

"No-- wait-- two."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

She and you sat, curled on the sofa, with a shared blanket and a shared bottle and shared snacks and shared thrill. The TV's glow was all that lit the room.

"Can't believe they put a hidden camera in there for us."

"I paid extra."

"I can't wait."

Upon the screen, from multiple angles, were your husbands, and a white cluttered room. Kento's anger was palpable even on film. Hiromi's hand rested upon the door handle.

You tucked in close, and pressed your glass to your lips, and pressed play.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"Again!"

Fwooosh-- SMASH.

"Harder!"

Pshewww-- SMASH.

"Jesus christ, Nanami, you're strong."

"Don't stop now, Higuruma!"

SMASH. SMASH. SMASH.

Music played, loud and heavy and hard. Kento and Hiromi had stripped off their protective suits, and eschewed their goggles and masks. Kento wielded a cricket bat. Hiromi wielded a stack of dinner plates. He flung another one to its grisly demise.

"I love frisbee."

Kento laughed, clasping a hand over his mouth and jaw and missing the plate entirely, for it to whoosh away somewhere over his shoulder. Hiromi laughed. Kento laughed harder. The plate smashed somewhere in the distance. They laughed harder, braced against the wall and down on their thighs.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

You and she laughed, too, cheering as Hiromi took a mallet to a television with a roar.

She stood, wiping tears from her eyes. "I'm gonna wet myself-- pause it, pause it--"

"I'll rewind it!"

Minutes later, from her perch on the toilet, she heard raucous laughter.

"Pause it!" She squealed. "Pause i-- wait, what are they doing?"

"Playing keepy-uppy!"

"Oh."

"With a Fabergé egg!"

"Oh."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Hiromi and Kento sat with their backs against the wall, and their mallets on their thighs, and their legs splayed out before them, in a scene of devastation. Kento's tie was wrapped around his fist. Hiromi's tie was tied around his head. He panted.

"I...I owe my wife an apology. More than one, perhaps. Whichever way she likes it." He paused. "On her back. On my lap. On her knees. On my knee--"

"Don't be crass, Higuruma." A giggle. Kento couldn't help but smile, wry and lopsided and finally relieved; almost relieved, at least. He sighed, swiping his hair back.

"So do I. With...with flowers. Wine. Dinner, maybe. And--"

"And after that, on your knees?"

"With her thighs around my head, yes."

[pseudowho]

It was an average Monday morning when you, Nanami Kento's wife, were turned into a cat.

"An unusual Curse," Shoko had said, "not longer than a week, surely--"

"Not--not longer than a week?!" Kento spluttered, his glasses lopsided, and, dangled in front of him beneath the arms (legs-- legs, he reminded himself)...you.

You, with two pointed ears, a long whippy tail, your many toe-beans and a perturbed little head-tilt. On the doctors' office couch, a neatly folded (if a little furry) pile of your clothes.

"Meow," you had said.

"Don't 'meow' me," Kento spluttered again, fixing you with a stern look that barely overlaid his concern. You simply stared up at him, long, and feline, and unblinking...and reached out one little paw, pressing it onto the end of his nose.

Kento sighed; a bone-deep, weary sigh. Shoko put out her cigarette, speaking through a haze of smoke.

"Like I said. Give it a week, and Mrs.Nyanyami will be back to nor--"

"What did you just call her?'

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Mrs.Nyanyami, the cat formerly known as Nanami Kento's wife, wanted for nothing.

"I think that tuna's more expensive than anything I've ever eaten," whispered Yuuji to Gojo. On the other side of the conference room, you sat upon the desk before Kento, waiting patiently for the next lump of tuna (meticulously cut into cat-appropriate cubes) to be delivered in his chopsticks.

As Kento's hand approached, you held it close with paw and claws, to steal the pink fish from him. He looked like a surgeon performing heart surgery.

"I just...dont know how he can look so serious while he's doing that," Gojo whispered back, to Yuuji's frantic nods. Still, they watched this freakish nature documentary with quiet obsession.

A higher-up sat down beside Kento, waiting for the meeting to begin. Jolting back, and grumbling, he did a double take.

"Young man-- you can't bring a cat to a Sorcerer's meeting--"

"That's not a cat," Kento snapped, frosty, "that's my wife."

And so began the rumour amongst the higher-ups, that Nanami Kento had gone mad.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"You should leave her at home--"

"--absolutely not--"

"--really, Nanami...just put the television on, she'll be fine--"

"--unequivocally, no--"

"--why not?!"

Silence. An awkward shuffle on Kento's thick chest. You peeked your head out of the pocket of the cat-carrying hoodie that Kento wore over his shirt and tie, and turned to Gojo with narrowed eyes.

"Meow," you had said, batting at Kento's strings, and hooking his tie out with your paw, to kick it to death with your legs.

"I agree," said Kento, whispering and scratching you beneath the chin until you purred, "he's wrong, isn't he? Stupid Gojo. You'd get lonely. You'd get bored. Yes you would..."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"Oh my god...he's gorgeous...you should get his number--"

"--I'm not brave enough...you go. I'll get our coffees."

"--okay, okay..." The woman cleared her throat, sweeping her hair behind one ear with her best smile. Kento looked up from his coffee, with one finely raised eyebrow.

"Can I help you?" He lied, unwilling to help anyone at all before he'd finished his croissant.

"Hi, yeah, I just...can't help but notice you're sitting alone, and my friend-- well she-- she just wondered if she can have your number, and--"

The woman broke off into shrieks. Climbing up her leg, all claws and furry vengeance, was you. She shook her leg, shrieking. You hissed. Your cup of steamed milk clattered over the table, slopping everywhere.

"--o-oh my god-- oh my god, what the hell is this cat doi--"

"I'm sorry," Kento sighed, not sorry at all and dabbing his mouth with a napkin and doing absolutely nothing to help, "it's my cat. She doesn't like company--"

Hisses. Claws. Dirty feral yowls.

"Get this fucking thing off me--"

"I can't take you anywhere. No more steamed milk for you."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

At times, you seemed so human. At others, undeniably cat.

Kento would wake to clattering from the kitchen, bleary and feeling around for you, only to remember, and trace his hand up to the furry, round little patch you'd leave behind on your pillow. He allowed himself just a moment of misery, before getting up.

He followed the sounds of cups and kettle and coffee machine, and leaned against the doorway with sleep-mussed hair and a squinting, teenagerish glare.

You were up on the counter, all four paws and determination. You had gotten as far as switching the kettle and coffee machine on, and heaving the cupboard open with your tiny limbs. Kento watched as you tipped your head sideways, managing to drag two mugs out in your teeth. He winced as they almost smashed upon the counter.

"Come on," Kento rumbled, his voice rusty with sleep, "let me do that."

You meowed at him, batting at the air with one angry paw when he stepped closer. Kento huffed, raising his hands in surrender.

"Fine," he tutted, "but I'll pour the water."

"Meow."

"Why? Because you don't have opposable thumbs, darling."

The fur stood up along your spine. You turned around, and around, in a circle, then sat upright. You turned your back on him while you waited for the kettle to boil. Your tail flicked from side to side, irritable. Kento waited, too, reaching out one hand to stroke your ears.

You nudged your back paw out, and pushed his mug off the side to smash on the floor.

Silence.

"...what is wrong with y--"

"Meow."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Skitterskitterskitter.

Distant meows.

Kento groaned, rubbing down his face. He checked the clock, frog-blinking; two in the morning. He groaned harder.

Skitterskitterskitter.

Thunk.

More distant meows.

"Please just come back to bed," Kento moaned into the hands pressed over his face.

SkitterskitterskitterSKITTERSKITTER-- rustlllleerussstle--

Directly over his face.

"Meow--"

"I am begging you--"

RustlerustleTHNKskitterskitterskitter.

Distant meows.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"I miss you."

You raised your head to look at him. Your purring hitched. Your ears tilted.

Kento had murmured, his low voice barely audible. The only light in the living room was the ever-changing light of the television screen. Laid on his back on the sofa, with you curled on his chest, Kento stroked down your back with longing.

You crept up his chest, pressing your cold wet nose to his, and purred. Nose to nose, and cross-eyed, Kento could have cried.

"I really miss you," he repeated, swallowing around the lump in his throat. Your claws dug into his chest, just a little. You rub, rub, rubbed your warm furry head along his jaw until he sniffled, and gave a choked little chuckle.

He fell asleep with you on his chest that night. In so many ways, it was familiar; home. In so many others, you were gone forever.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"Meow."

Kento shuffled. His chest felt heavy...warm. His belly felt warm, too. And his lap, and--

Kento's eyes shot open, his head lifting up from the couch.

You bit your lip, naked on top of him, and smiling. Human. An angel.

"Oh, my love," Kento moaned, crushing you to him in a bear hug from shoulder to toes, "you're back-- I missed you, I was so worrie--"

You batted an arm out, swiping last night's wine glass from the coffee table beside you, to shatter on the floor.

Silence. Kento blinked slowly, looking from the wine glass, to you. You felt your cheeks grow hot, swallowing hard.

"God, I...sorry, Kento. Force-- force of habit--"

Part Two linked here!

[rawjutsu]

⋆🐾⋆LEOPARD'S DEN

snow leopard hybrid!gojo x bunny hybrid!femreader

SERIES SYNOPSIS: in a bustling city where hybrids live in coexistence, you, a timid bunny hybrid desperate to escape your family’s suffocating expectations, takes a leap into independence. but when you answer a craigslist ad for a roommate, you find yourself sharing a cramped apartment with satoru gojo — a dazzling, dangerous snow leopard hybrid with a smile as lethal as his claws. bound by necessity, yet tangled in instinct, your uneasy coexistence quickly spirals into a simmering dance of predator and prey — where every glance, every accidental touch, and every late-night silence threatens to shatter the fragile walls between friendship and something far, far more primal.

cw: hybrid setting, predator/prey dynamics, mild to moderate violence, fearplay, dubcon, breeding kink, possessiveness, obsessive behavior, heat / rut cycles, tba

00. pilot

01. chapter one

01.5. minisode 01

02. chapter two

02.5. minisode 02

03. chapter three

04. chapter four

05. chapter five

06. chapter six

06.5. minisode 03

07. chapter seven

[aransmind]

nightwing gojo⚡️