I am Laila Shaqura, a displaced person from northern Gaza to southern Gaza, specifically the city of Rafah.
In light of this ongoing aggression, there is no glimmer of hope except for you and your standing with us. I tell you the story of my mother and her fetus in this war.
In the midst of this devastation, the expectant mother faces countless challenges. She suffers from malnutrition due to a lack of healthy food, which exposes her and her fetus to multiple health risks. Due to the lack of adequate health care and weak immunity, this led to her contracting hepatitis, anemia, intestinal diseases, and preeclampsia.
In addition, the psychological pressure resulting from war and displacement increases her suffering. The constant concern for the safety of the family and the fear of the sound of the continuing violent bombing tonight led to high blood pressure, imbalance in movement, and fainting this morning. It was a very bad morning.
Despite the sound of cannons, the sound of bullets, the bombing, the fear and anxiety, a new life continues to form inside the mother’s womb. My mother held me with hope for the future, but the war stole from her the ability to dream.
Not only did she carry a fetus, but she also carried the burdens and pain of war.
The pain of her pregnancy increases with the weight of the war and its sorrows. She carried life in her belly and the war destroys life around her. We sometimes wonder,
Will this expected child live in such a broken world?
At this moment, I wonder if the war will take this awaited child from us before he sees the light??!
Rafah is no longer safe, and the sounds of bombing intensify every night.
There is no time to escape death. My mother's health condition is deteriorating. There is no health care. We want her to stay alive.
This is about the lives of two people (a mother and her child).
Let us extend a helping hand to those who have lost everything.Your donation can give new lives and hope for the future.
Please help us by sharing the post on your page so that we can collect donations and get out of the war. You are our hope. I will be very grateful to you . ❤️🙏🏼
"this fundraiser is vetted by nabulsi, fallahifag, el-shab-hussein, ibtisams, sayruq"
you bring drunken enjin to bed only to get kissed by him. but will he remember when he wakes up the next morning?
The hallway was too narrow for a drunken giant named Enjin who happily stumbled right, then left and back.
You had his arm slung over your shoulders while he shuffled beside you, boots scraping against the floor, the smell of alcohol mixed with smoke clinging to his jacket. Somewhere behind you, Gris and Follo and others laughed loud enough to shake the building.
“Good luck,” Follo called.
You shot him a glare over your shoulder. “You could help, you know.”
“Nah,” Gris said, already walking away with the others. “He only listens to you.”
That… didn’t help your heartbeat, because it was the truth. As soon as Enjin drunk a little bit too much he wouldn’t trust anyone. Except you, knowing that you only had his best interest at heart. Literally.
Enjin happily mumbled something to himself, chuckled then groaned. His head dipped down until his forehead nearly bumped your shoulder.
You thanked everyone and their mama that he wasn’t someone who threw up after having too much. Still drunk Enjin was softer, heavier too. Not the wildfire barely contained he normally was.
“C’mon,” you said. “Almost there.”
His room was mercifully close. You managed to push the door open with your foot, dragging him inside before he collapsed completely on top of you.
“You’re really heavy,” you complained breathlessly.
Enjin chuckled low in his throat. “You’re cute when you’re mad.”
“I’m not—“
Wait wait. Cute? You heard that right, right? Your face warmed immediately.
“Yeah, okay. Into bed. Now.”
You guided him toward the mattress, trying not to focus on the way his hand rested on your waist to steady himself. Or how warm his palm felt through your clothes. You reached down to pull the blankets back.
That was your mistake.
The second your attention slipped Enjin grabbed your wrist. Before you could even look up properly his mouth crashed against yours.
The kiss was clumsy from the alcohol, but it was still Enjin. His lips were warm and desperate and overwhelming. His other hand cupped your plushy ass and squeezed it like he already owned it. Also made him groan so dirty you went weak in the knees.
You gasped as your lips separated for a second, but he kissed you again before you could speak.
This kiss was more slower, tender. He explored your mouth with his tongue, tasted you and bit your lip softly
You were weak. You were aroused. You wanted to kiss him now and forever and then some more.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, eyes half open and unfocused. But even drunk, his gaze softened when it landed on you.
“There you are,” he hummed happily.
“What?”
“I love you, y’know?”
Everything inside you stopped. This… huh?
Enjin smiled lazily, thumb brushing your cheek. “So damn much.”
You stared at him. Every single feeling you’d buried for months came rushing up all at once - hope, disbelief, your love for him so intense it hurt.
“Enjin…” your voice came out barely above a whisper.
But his eyes were already slipping shut. “Should’ve told you sooner…” and then his body suddenly sagged forward.
You barely caught him before he faceplanted into the mattress.
“Enjin?”
Nothing.
A deep, steady breath answered you instead. He was fast asleep. You stood there frozen beside the bed, lips still tingling from the kiss. Your chest hurt from how hard your heart was beating.
You should’ve been happy. God, you were happy. But underneath all of it sat one horrible thought:
Would he still say it sober?
The next morning, after not sleeping all night, you didn’t know how to act. Or what to do when you met Enjin. Still you felt save enough to head for the kitchen first, only to find him already there.
He sat at the table with his head in his hands looking like death itself. Poor him.
“Morning,” you said carefully.
He groaned. “Don’t talk so loud.”
“You’re the loudest person I know.”
“Cruel.” he squinted at you. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”
Because you kissed me like you meant it.
Because you told me you loved me.
Because you fell asleep before I could say it back.
He didn’t remember, didn’t he? That’s why his first reaction wasn’t tired morning kisses raining on your face, but him asking why you look at him like that. Whatever like that meant.
Please don’t.
“No reason.”
Enjin rubbed his face before suddenly stiffening. “Wait.”
Your stomach flipped with nervousness. Could it be??
“What?”
“You got me to my room last night, right?”
“Yeah.”
His expression turned deeply suspicious as he squinted harder at you. “Oh no.”
“Oh no what?”
“Did I do something stupid?”
The question hit harder than it should have, because he sounded genuinely worried. He sounded like the idea of confessing to you was something embarrassing.
Oh no indeed.
Your chest tightened painfully and you had to look away before he could see it on your face.
“No,” you lied softly. “You just passed out immediately.”
The tension left his shoulders at once as he rested his head back on the table.
“Oh thank fuck.”
All while that tiny reaction felt like someone pressing a knife between your ribs. You forced a laugh anyway.
“Yeah. Nothing happened.”
Enjin grinned sheepishly, completely unaware. “Good. I trust drunk me about as far as I can throw Zanka.”
You smiled because you had to. Because if you didn’t, you might start crying from disappointment and heartbreak right there in the kitchen.
A tiny, pathetic piece of you still hoped sober Enjin would someday mean the words drunk Enjin confessed so easily. But that hope died more and more with each day passing.
He didn’t like you that way, right? The kiss meant nothing, because men like Enjin kissed a lot of women. And you were just there.
But the I love you?
You shook the head. “C’mon, I make you a coffee.”
“Yes, please.”
What you didn’t see when you turned around was how his brows knit together. Because deep in him he knew something had happened last night and something had changed.
(A MODERN AU. SLOW BURN, ENEMIES TO LOVERS FT. LINECOOK!STEVE X FEM!READER. 3.2K)
THE MENU
The streets were close to dead at such an hour.
The glow of the traffic light outside of your bedroom window made your walls look scarlet and the summer air that leaked in through the open crack was too warm for five am.
But it was July and it was early and there were clothes scattered over your floor, a shoe by the door, your bra hanging over the back of your desk chair. The sheets were twisted into a gingham green lump at the end of your bed, there was a pillow slumped into your nightstand, nudging precariously against a half drunk glass of water.
The town outside was still sleeping, the AC unit was whirring, your head was aching and there was a man in your bed.
You tried not to audibly groan as your feet found the floor. The body asleep next to you was lying on his front, his face buried into one of your pillows, his arms wrapped around it like it tried to run away in the night. He was tanned and dotted with freckles, a summer scene across the skin on his back, broad and taut with muscle. You frowned as you looked over your shoulder at him, trying to place a name, a face, any memory of the last few hours.
The only things that came to mind were bare skin and a lot of touching. Teeth and lips and hands and calloused fingers that dug into your hips as you rode him. You rubbed your face, clearing the sleep from your eyes, the tequila and the taste of sex from your lips.
You tried really hard to walk quietly to your bathroom, padding softly across the wooden floors, avoiding the sweater that lay there and the board that you knew squeaked like it held a disease in its whorls and knots. The bathroom door shut with a squeak and a click and you held your breath, forehead braced against the cool wood but you heard nothing, no sheets rustling, no feet on the floorboards.
Your reflection stared back at you from above the sink with disdain and disappointment and you weren't in a position to disagree with her. Your hair was a mess and there was leftover lipstick on your neck of all places, like you’d gifted it to someone who’d pressed it right back onto your skin. There was the beginning of a hickey on your chest, purple and pink and blooming under the bright fluorescent light that hummed above you.
The shower started with a groan and a hiss, the pressure battering the floor of the tub and you shed what little clothes you had on before clambering into it, skin prickling at the chill before it rocketed to almost too hot. You hit the temperature dial with an annoyed indifference, hiding under the cool spray until your hair stuck to your head and it didn't hurt as much as it did when you first opened your eyes.
You thought back to the night before, eyes closed, your stomach starting to turn with tequila and vodka and cheap beer. You remembered the sticky floors of the new bar you’d been dragged to, nothing more than a basement room filled with sweaty bodies and with brick walls covered in band posters and beer mats from places around the world. There were more people than tables and an oversized disco ball turned slowly overhead, entirely out of place as some indie sleaze song leaked out from the speakers in every corner.
You’d danced with your friends, nothing more than your hips moving in the crush of bodies, skin on skin as you tried to take shots without it spilling over your fingers. You remembered licking raspberry syrup from your thumb, your eyes on a guy who stood across the room from you, his brows raised when you grinned.
You remembered a song passing, maybe two, before he came over. There hadn’t been any bravado, no cheesy lines, no faux nonchalance. He’d bent down to your ear, a large warm hand hovering over the small of your back as he leaned into you. Someone had bumped him, his lips brushing your ear and he’d told you that you were pretty.
You’d grinned, shyness disappearing under the taste of tequila and when he’d asked you to dance you’d handed your empty glass to your friend and took his hand. It got blurry then, his hips against your ass as he moved to the music, moved against you. His hands, warm and big, laying on your hips, fingers settling into the crease of your upper thigh until you were too warm and the only answer was to pull him outside for some air.
He’d tasted like beer when he kissed you, your back against the rough brick outside of the bar. But his hand had cupped the back of your head to save it from becoming sore and that alone had you arching into him, his free hand around the back of your thigh as you hitched your leg to his hip. There must’ve been a taxi ride to yours and there was a fuzzy memory of your couch, the man pressed into it as you shed your shirt and straddled him, his lips dancing across your throat, your sternum.
You stayed under the spray until the water turned too cold and your head felt less like someone had jumped on it. Your hair was clean and your face had been scrubbed, your toes minty fresh as you spat leftover toothpaste down the tub drain and when you got out, wrapped in a too small towel, your bed was empty.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
You didn’t think too much of the man. You tried not to. But when you’d finally gotten dressed and shuffled along the sidewalk in the town that’s finally waking up, you found yourself thinking about the night before more often than you wanted to.
You told yourself it was a good thing he left when he did. The perfect way to avoid the awkward morning after, the stilted conversation of if they wanted coffee and exchanging numbers no one was ever really planning on calling.
Right?
Right.
The subway was packed, uncomfortable and sticky hot, like honey on your skin. There was a woman pressed too close to your side, both of you clinging on to the same handrail, her gum snapping too sharp and obnoxious by your ear. There was a kid crying about a broken toy two carriage’s down and every time the doors opened, the shrill noise of it all cut you in two. You were way more hungover than you’d let yourself believe, hiding shamelessly behind a pair of oversized sunglasses that turned the bright morning sun and the flickering overhead fluorescents into a shade of grey that was much more manageable.
It suited your mood. It dulled the flavour of tequila that sat at the back of your tongue. But it didn’t dampen the memories of last night that were coming back to you, persistently stronger and less blurry than before.
You could remember getting out of the cab, the air still heavy and hot despite the early morning hour, the only way a night could be in Chicago during summer. There were memories of you dragging the boy behind you, your hand clasped in his as you fumbled at the door of your apartment building, pressing the wrong numbers for your key code, eyes fluttering closed as the stranger pushed his nose to your neck, his lips following the path he made. Then there was the stairwell, blessedly empty, the air much cooler and the brick wall rough as you were pressed against it on the first landing. More kissing, the dirty kind with all tongues and teeth, breaths panted into open mouths, hands tugging at the fronts of belts, sneaking under skirts, fingers pressed to cotton and lace.
The train jerked on the tracks and you stumbled, so unlike yourself and the thoughts of your late night guest gave way to the packed train once more. You didn’t think about him between your legs, you didn’t think about your hands in his hair - brown and messy and almost too long - and you definitely didn’t think about the way he moaned as loud as you did when you came on his tongue.
Elbows pressed into your sides as you pushed your way off the carriage, the train doors beeping, humid subway air giving way to something only a little fresher as you climbed the concrete steps and out into the street. Chicago was louder here, closer to The Loop now, you had to dodge others on the sidewalk, everyone with some form of earphones in, their heads down, their eyes low. Trucks were parked too close to the sidewalk, men with cigarettes hanging out their mouths yelled at each other as they passed crates of vegetables and fruit to each other, corner store owners filling their shelves and somehow, the streets smelled like freshly baked bread, roasted coffee and sewers all at the same time.
It did nothing to help your hangover. Neither did the ache in your hips that had you remembering how you’d been pressed into your mattress only hours before, skin slapping skin, gasps and moans floating in the air.
Your face burned with it.
It only cooled when you made a sharp left, narrowly avoiding a young couple trying to manipulate a too large couch from the back of a moving van into their narrow doorway. The alleyway turned the sky duller, the sun hidden from view as you walked between the two tall buildings, avoiding leftover puddles and rat traps before you raised your fist to an old fire door and knocked.
Knock was perhaps too polite. You let your palm slam down on the rust covered surface, the tiny pane of glass that acted as a window rattling at your efforts. The sound reverberated through the alley, loud enough to piss off the neighbours in the apartments above you and someone leaned out their window, half asleep and swearing viciously.
But the door was kicked open and the smell of cinnamon and bacon greeted you. The air was hotter than ever, the hum of the ovens adding to the warmth and the too loud sound of the back kitchen. Everything was silver and white and coated in a fine layer of icing sugar and flour and god, ew, a little bit of fryer grease. Someone’s Bluetooth speaker was blasting music that was too loud but it still didn’t drown out the drone of the extractor fans, the bubble and pop of the bagels in an enormous vat of boiling water.
The Gate was something of a hole in the wall, not quite a cafe, not quite a restaurant and not a place you usually saw tourists. It was on the right line of cheap, a little rough around the edges but the food was the best you could find this side of the Chicago River. It was all brick walls and a huge glass front, neon lights shining out of it every hour of the day and night. Chipped green and white tiles on the floor, wobbly legged tables and chairs that didn’t quite match anymore, The Gate was owned by a man called Jim Hopper but it was run by the rest of the staff he’d hired.
A group of people who were all in the middle of that age bracket between teenagers and adults, a bunch of somewhat misfits who were collectively in the stage of life where no one knew what the fuck they were doing and smoke breaks took precedence over bussing tables.
A guy called Eddie manned one of the grills you passed by, a cig tucked behind his ear and his dark curls pulled high into a bun atop his head. A sketch pad of tattoos peeked out from his chef whites and he merely lifted a spatula at you in greeting, a pair of headphones covering his ears as he flipped pancakes on the griddle and blocked out the pop song that came from the speaker by the prep zone.
There were Robin and Argyle, both sitting haphazardly on stools that had been dragged from the bar, peeling a variety of vegetables as they both shared details of the night before, both nursing the same kind of hangover you suffered from. The front of house looked quiet, no other staff at work just yet. The doors were still closed and the neon sign on the front flickered a garish pink as it told the rest of the city The Gate was still closed for now. The small bar in the corner was wiped clean, no sticky leftover gin or rum staining the wooden worktop and the various glass bottles on the glass shelves behind it were glinting in the morning light. There were crystals on the windowsills, more hanging in the corners of the room from wicker baskets and mosaic pots, all of them holding bundles of green, leafy plants. They scattered rainbows of all sizes around the restaurant, painted little rectangular sponges of colours on the tables, the brick walls, your arms and the tiled floor.
You sighed as you hung up your bag, swapping it for an apron that you tied around your waist. Breakfast shift was never your favourite, but you hoped that everyone decided the day was too warm and everyone was too hungover to bother venturing out this early. You looked at the clock, twelve minutes to seven. Seventy two minutes until the doors and you still didn’t deem that enough time to feel human.
You stuffed a new order pad into your apron pocket, reminding yourself to hunt for a pen as soon as you managed to snag some pancakes or a bagel from the kitchen first. Jim said he didn’t believe in technology, not to the point of tablets replacing a good old pad and pen for taking orders, but you were pretty certain that the man was just fucking cheap.
Minutes passed as you stood in the middle of the tables, your head tipped back as you closed your eyes and took a breath. And another. And another. Kaleidoscopes of colours painted your cheeks, your eyelids and you could hear the speaker from the kitchen playing faintly through the closed door. Suddenly it was five hours ago and you were on the edge of a dance floor you’d never been on before, a body pressed against the back of your own as you both swayed and rocked to the music. The cab drive to yours became clearer now, your head tipped against the window as you let your dance partner kiss down your neck, his hand skating up the fabric of your skirt as he gripped your hip. You remembered the cab driver's eyes in the rear view mirror, the sharp cough he let out when you grabbed your new friend’s jaw in your hand and licked into his mouth.
“Get ‘em while they’re hot.” The clatter of a plate and Eddie’s too loud voice broke you from your thoughts.
Cheeks burning and heart thumping a little too wildly, you spun, eyes flying open as you found a stack of pancakes waiting on the bartop for you. They’re dusted with sugar and dripping with maple syrup, a handful of freshly washed berries on the side. You moaned, the man who shared your bed momentarily forgotten about, and you contemplated giving Eddie a fat kiss on the cheek.
“You’re an angel,” you told him instead, forgoing cutlery as you bit straight into a pancake, eyes fluttering at the sweetness and warmth. “A real life angel.”
The chef snorted, already walking back into the kitchen. “Call my high school principal and tell him that, would ya?”
You managed two whole bites before the phone rang and Robin answered it, her voice bored and tired and muffled under the noise of music and hissing grills. Then the door flew open and she handed the receiver to you, eyes rolling. She pinched a strawberry and poked at your bare skin, where your blooming hickey bruised the space between the top of your shirt and your exposed collar bones.
You batted at her hand, frowning when she smirks and your lips were sticky with maple syrup when you tried to form a professional greeting. “Good morning, thanks for calling The Gate, this is— oh, it’s you.”
Hopper scoffed on the other end of the line. “Hello to you too, kid. Listen, there’s a new start coming today for the linecook position. Should be ‘round seven thirty and he’s more than qualified so just get him some spare whites and show him where the trash goes. Eddie’ll handle the rest.”
Your hangover pulsed in annoyance. “Can’t Joyce get him sorted?” You speared another raspberry and popped it into your mouth, eyes rolling when your boss sighed in return.
“Joyce is on vacation. With me. We told you this on Monday, you never lis— look, just get the guy sorted alright? He’s a good kid, he’s not gonna cause any hassle.”
“Whatever, sure,” you mumbled. You needed to find some tylenol, your eyes felt like they were going to fall out of their sockets. “Enjoy Cabo, or wherever it is you guys are.”
“We’re in Colorado, but close enough,” Hopper grunted. “Just don’t burn the place down, alright? See you in two weeks.”
You were frowning when the dial tone buzzed in your ear. It was three minutes past seven and you were left with a sticky, sugary mess on your empty plate and thirty three tables to set before the doors opened. And a new start to get set up.
You found a tylenol in Nancy’s open locker and a set of new chef whites in Hopper’s abandoned office. You set them by the side of the bar before you gathered cutlery and new napkins, splitting them with Robin as you both wove in and out of tables and booths, the kitchen getting noisier as Argyle and Eddie started prepping for lunch. The glass cabinets by the cash desk were filled finally with fresh pastries, the front of house smelled like freshly squeezed oranges and you had made yourself busy by misting an oversized fern when someone knocked on the front door.
There was a man standing behind the glass. He was tall and dressed in denim jeans that had faded knees, a white T-shirt with rolled sleeves and he had a pair of black Ray-Ban’s perched on his nose. Despite that, you recognised him. His hair looked ruffled, like someone had been pulling on it all night, dishevelled and messy in a way that would’ve made your mother’s cheeks burn. Any mother’s, actually.
Fuck.
No? No.
You unlocked the door and the click of it was too loud, too jarring. You stared at the stranger who didn’t seem all that strange and your stomach turned as you recognised the sweater he had clutched in his right hand. A forest green thing with a yellow patch on the chest. You knew that sweater. It had been on your bedroom floor when you’d made your quiet escape to the bathroom.
Fuck.
You looked at the man and he looked at you, the customer service smile he’d plastered on his face wilting at the same time his extended hand did, the professional greeting slipping from every fibre of him.
“You.”
He grappled with words for a beat, his face faltering and even behind his sunglasses, you could see the panic. All he said was: “Me?”
𓂃⋆.˚ yuji is the type of boyfriend who makes you feel loved without even trying. nothing feels forced with him. affection comes so naturally that half the time he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.
𓂃⋆.˚ he always looks genuinely happy to see you. it doesn’t matter if you’ve been gone for five minutes or five days, his face lights up the second he spots you and it’s impossible to miss.
𓂃⋆.˚ if you’re walking together, he’ll naturally match your pace without thinking about it. if you’re shorter than him, he’ll slow down. if you’re tired, he’ll notice before you even say anything.
𓂃⋆.˚ he loves holding your hand. not because he thinks it’s romantic, but because he likes being connected to you somehow. he’ll reach for your hand automatically while talking, crossing the street, standing in line, or just sitting next to you.
𓂃⋆.˚ yuji pays attention to the things that make you happy and quietly makes them happen whenever he can. he’ll remember your favorite drink, your favorite snacks, the songs you always replay, and the things that cheer you up when you’re upset. he could even remember your favorite socks pair or hair tie!
𓂃⋆.˚ whenever something good happens to him, you’re the first person he wants to tell. he’ll come running over with the biggest smile on his face just to share the news with you.
𓂃⋆.˚ he absolutely loves listening to you talk. it doesn’t even matter what the topic is. if you’re excited about something, he’s excited too. he’ll sit there smiling, asking questions, and getting invested in things he knew absolutely nothing about five minutes earlier. your happiness is his happiness.
𓂃⋆.˚ if you’re cold, you’ll have his jacket around your shoulders before you even get the chance to complain about it.
𓂃⋆.˚ he gives the beeeest hugs. not the quick, casual kind. the kind where he wraps both arms around you completely and squeezes you like he’s making sure you’re really there.
𓂃⋆.˚ yuji is naturally protective, but not possessive at all. he trusts you completely. he just wants to make sure you’re safe, comfortable, and okay. he’d do anything for you, anything! even if it means risking his own life.
𓂃⋆.˚ if you’re having a bad day, he’ll drop whatever he’s doing to be with you. he might not always know exactly what to say, but he’ll stay until you’re feeling better because leaving you alone when you’re hurting simply wouldn’t feel right to him.
𓂃⋆.˚ he worries about people more than he lets on, and that includes you. if you tell him you’ve arrived somewhere safely, you’ll practically be able to feel his relief through the screen. anytime you’re alone or going home he’ll always make sure you made it home safely or the area you’re in is crowded and lively. if he knows you’re anxious he’ll call you all the way to your appointment so you have someone to keep you company. he always says “talking helps” and he means it.
𓂃⋆.˚ he loves making you laugh. sometimes he’ll intentionally act ridiculous just to hear you giggle because seeing you smile immediately improves his mood. sometimes he just won’t notice how naturally silly he is, but as soon as he discovers that specific thing made you chuckle he’ll star doing it every day.
𓂃⋆.˚ whenever you’re upset with yourself, he’s the first person to remind you of all the things you’re good at. not in an exaggerated way either. he’ll list specific things because he genuinely notices them.
𓂃⋆.˚ he’s very physically affectionate without being overwhelming. an arm around your shoulders, his hand resting on yours, leaning against you while you’re sitting together, absentmindedly brushing your hair out of your face.
𓂃⋆.˚ yuji is the type who checks whether you’ve eaten before checking on almost anything else. he’ll always gift you big snacks packs from seven eleven and cover up the calories behind with the marker.
𓂃⋆.˚ if you’re tired, he’ll immediately tell you to rest. if you’re sick, he’ll worry ten times more than necessary and spend the entire day asking if you need anything.
𓂃⋆.˚ he gets excited about spending time with you no matter what you’re doing. a fancy date, a movie night, a trip somewhere new, or just sitting around talking all sound equally good to him as long as you’re there. he loves taking pictures of you during dates and printing them with his polaroid to fill his album.
𓂃⋆.˚ he would absolutely brag about you when you’re not around. not in an embarrassing way, but in the way someone talks about a person they’re genuinely proud of. he wants everyone to know you’re the best girlfriend ever!!
𓂃⋆.˚ whenever you accomplish something, he’s somehow even more excited than you are. he’ll celebrate every little victory like you’ve just won an olympic gold medal. he’ll show up with with whistles, confetti, mochi and a plastic trophy.
𓂃⋆.˚ yuji is surprisingly observant when it comes to your emotions. people sometimes mistake him for being simple because he’s straightforward, but he’s actually very good at noticing when something feels off.
𓂃⋆.˚ if you fall asleep next to him, he won’t move for ages because he doesn’t want to wake you up. even if his arm goes completely numb, he’ll just suffer in silence.
𓂃⋆.˚ he trusts people easily, but his trust in you runs deeper than that. you’re one of the few people he feels completely comfortable being vulnerable around.
𓂃⋆.˚ there are moments when his usual cheerful smile disappears and you can see how much he carries inside. during those moments, he doesn’t need advice or solutions. he just likes knowing you’re there with him.
𓂃⋆.˚ after everything he’s gone through, one of the things he values most is having someone he can come home to. someone who makes the world feel normal again. you’ll never catch him with a sad pout on his face, not even after the most traumatizing sorcery fight. he’ll always encourage a smile on his face every time he sees you. on one hand, it’s to not make you worry, while on the other it’s simply his nature to prioritize your happiness and safety before his. he’d eventually share details about what happened while you two are cuddling.
𓂃⋆.˚ for all his strength, all his courage, and all the impossible things he faces every day, yuji is incredibly soft when it comes to the people he loves. the way he looks at you, listens to you, worries about you, and celebrates you makes it obvious that loving you is never something he treats lightly. it’s one of the most important things in his life.
Inspired by the fact I haven’t done anything but play Tomodachi recently… masterlist
You walked into the living room carrying two mugs of tea and immediately knew something was wrong.
Dick was slouched on the couch like someone had stolen his last cookie. The Switch was still on, paused on the bright, colorful Tomodachi Life screen. His Mii - the one with the perfectly styled black hair and the little mask accessory he’d insisted on - was standing sadly in the middle of the island plaza while your Mii (the one with the cheerleader outfit and the hair you’d spent way too long customizing) was happily chatting with a random islander.
Dick’s lower lip was actually jutting out in a pout.
You set the mugs down on the coffee table and raised an eyebrow. “Okay. What happened?”
He let out the most dramatic sigh you’d ever heard from a grown man who regularly fought crime in spandex.
“She said no.”
You blinked. “Who said no?”
“My wife,” he muttered, pointing accusingly at the screen. “I finally got the proposal event to trigger after a week of feeding her favorite foods, buying her every gift, and making sure our compatibility was maxed out. I even followed what some losers said on Reddit. And she said no.”
You had to bite your lip hard to keep from laughing.
“Dick… it’s a Mii.”
“She’s not just a Mii,” he protested, sitting up straighter, eyes wide with betrayal. “That’s you. I made her look exactly like you - same smile, same little swing when she stands. I even gave her your favourite colour sweater. And she looked me dead in the eyes and said ‘I’m not ready’ with that sad little animation.”
He flopped back dramatically, throwing an arm over his face like a Victorian maiden who’d been scorned.
“I’m in my own game and I still got rejected. This is emotional warfare.”
You finally lost the battle and laughed, climbing onto the couch and crawling into his lap. He immediately wrapped both arms around you like a koala, burying his face in your neck with a pitiful whine.
“Baby,” you cooed, trying and failing to sound sympathetic, “it’s a video game. The Miis have weird algorithms. Sometimes they just say no for no reason.”
“But I worked so hard,” he mumbled against your skin, voice muffled. “I made sure we had all the same hobbies. I gave her a beach ball accessory because you like the ocean. I even made sure our apartment had the fancy red couch you always pick in real life. And she still said no.”
You ran your fingers through his hair, gently scratching his scalp the way he liked. He melted instantly, a soft little hum vibrating against your collarbone.
“You’re pouting,” you teased.
“I’m not pouting,” he pouted harder. “I’m mourning the future I thought we had in Tomodachi Life. We were supposed to get married, have a little Mii baby with your eyes and my hair, maybe even a dog. Now I have to start the whole relationship over again. Do you know how long the dating phase takes when they keep saying ‘let’s just be friends’?”
You bit your lip again, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. “Dick Grayson, you fight actual supervillains on a weekly basis. You’ve been shot, stabbed, thrown off buildings - and you’re this upset because a cartoon version of me wouldn’t marry your cartoon self?”
He pulled back just enough to give you the most betrayed look you’d ever seen on his face. Those big blue eyes were actually glistening.
“Yes. Exactly. Because even pixel-you doesn’t want me. What does that say about real-you?”
You cupped his face with both hands, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “It says that pixel-me has terrible taste and clearly needs better programming. Real-me thinks you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to her.”
His expression softened, but the pout was still lingering at the edges. “Prove it.”
You leaned in and kissed him - slow and sweet, the kind of kiss that made his shoulders relax and his arms tighten around your waist. When you pulled back, his eyes were half-lidded and warm.
“Better?” you asked.
“A little,” he mumbled, chasing your lips for another quick peck. “But I’m still emotionally scarred. I might need cuddles. And maybe you feeding me ice cream while I restart the whole relationship arc.”
You laughed, pressing your forehead against his. “You’re such a dramatic baby.”
“I’m your dramatic baby,” he corrected, grinning now. “Who spent a week trying to get you to marry him in a video game because the real version is still the best thing in his life.”
Your heart did a ridiculous little flip. You kissed him again, softer this time, then rested your head on his shoulder.
“Tell you what,” you said, voice warm with affection. “Tomorrow we’ll restart the game together. I’ll help you max out the compatibility. And when you propose again, I promise pixel-me will say yes this time.”
Dick’s arms squeezed you tighter, a happy little hum escaping him. “Deal. But only if you wear the cheerleader outfit in real life while we play.”
You lightly smacked his chest. “You’re impossible.”
“Yeah,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple, “but I’m your impossible.”
Outside, the city hummed on. Inside, Dick Grayson - acrobat, hero, leader - pouted like a kicked puppy over a video game rejection while you curled in his lap and fed him ice cream straight from the tub.
And somehow, it was the most perfect night you’d had in weeks.
a/n : good fics r coming I promise I just need to do these exams tomorrow then I’m free forever 💔
RIP Marjane Satrapi, author of the amazing graphic novels Persepolis about living during the fundamentalist revolution in Iran in the 70’s and 80’s. She also created the animated movie based on the graphic novels, which is where these gifs come from.
" he's so loud.. " 𝓶egumi grumbled into your nape, annoyance prominent in his tone.
𝔂uji was snoring loudly, large bulky arms draped over you and megumi's waist as a result of his rather uncontrolled sleeping habits of moving around a lot. his head rested on your bra, mouth agape and drool pooling in your cleavage. " it's annoying. "
" when are you not annoyed by something? " you asked, combing through his pink strands. you felt his hands tighten around your waist, squeezing gently. he just let out a low hum at your statement — not confirming nor denying.
time passed, yuji's snores turned into hiccups as he prepared for a yawn, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "g'morning..." the kiss he put on your lips was lazy and gentle, full of sleep.
"morning, yuu. how'd you sleep?" he murmured a "good" against your lower lip before kissing you again, your hands molding his face gently. yuji loved your attention when he first woke up, it was the most awaited thing once he opened his eyes. it was simply routine.
megumi watched over your shoulder, leaning up on his elbow. he didn't say anything, just... observed. he had that familiar, faint dent in between his dark, thin eyebrows. he looked the same as he always did, but more annoyed than just plain grumpy. yuji eyed him, curious but in a teasing way. " jealous? "
" stop, " he got a hold on your jaw, turning you to face him. yuji stuck his tongue out at him, which megumi saw out the corner of his eye but chose not to comment on. " you haven't given me any kisses today. "
" yes, i have, " you corrected.
" mm, " he kissed where your jaw met your earlobe, trailing down to the corner of your lips. " it sounds like you have favorites to me, " he murmured.
" told you. he's jealous! " megumi pushed two fingers to his forehead, moving him back to prevent the chances of his interrogation of your favoritism being interrupted. you hadn't taken megumi to be the jealous type at all, if you were being completely honest, but you weren't complaining at all.
you puckered your lips. " no. you come get a kiss. i'm not kissing you. "
" ooh, picky. " yuji's commentary got him a pinch.
you gave into his demands with a slight laugh — there was only so far you could push megumi to be outwardly needy for affection. the kiss was special in comparison to your other kisses. more sweet, more savory, more apologetic for the fact that he was accusing you of favoritism. your hand gripped his jaw, tongues brushing against each other, relishing in the aftertaste of each other's chapstick.
they were both your favorites — your lovely boys to kiss, to love, to do anything and everything with. you pressed kisses to both their faces, alternating.
the kids tease you by calling enjin and you mom & dad.
The first time it happened you almost hurled your jinki across the, now empty, battlefield.
Riyo stood in front of you and Enjin with her arms behind her back. Girl was covered in dirt and fresh scrapes after nearly getting herself crushed during a cleanup mission. You were pissed. And concerned.
“You can’t just rush ahead because you think you saw movement,” you snapped. “What if that thing had gotten you?”
“And if you get hurt,” Enjin added with a sharp glare, “You slow the entire team down.”
Riyo nodded dramatically the entire time, eyes wide with fake sincerity. You wanted to shake her, because you’d be heartbroken if something serious happened to her. Until she opened her mouth tho.
“Yeah, yeah,” she sighed once the lecture ended. “I get it. I’ll keep it in mind, mom and dad.”
You both stared at her. Then stared at each other - a silent dialogue followed. Like you had the gesture conversations with the others, Enjin and you communicated differently.
‘did she really just said that?’ his eyes said.
‘yes. Oh my god.’
‘huh. Odd. But kinda funny.’
‘Enjin!’
‘okay, okay. Not funny.’
All while Riyo grinned watching the two of you. Enjin then turned away to let out a traitorous chuckle and you groaned.
Should’ve been the end of it, right? A funny one time joke. Unfortunately team akuta and their supporters was full of the worst people alive.
Because two days later you walked into the headquarters, carrying supplies as you hear Follo yell from across the hallway.
“Mom said we’re meeting at six, dumbass.”
You stopped dead in the tracks. “Excuse me?”
Zanka immediately pointed at Follo accusingly. “I told him not to call you that.”
“You kind of encouraged him,” Semiu said flatly as she walked by.
Riyo was wheezing in the corner while your eye twitched dangerously. “None of you are funny.”
“Mom’s scary today,” Rudo whispered.
Enjin walked in at the perfect moment (later you’re convinced he waited around the corner, because no one walked in at a more perfect time). “Dad’s here. Everyone behave.”
The entire room burst into laughter. You wanted to die. You wanted to beat up Enjin who looked way too amused for someone who apparently didn’t find it funny.
“You’re enjoying this,” you accused.
“No idea what you mean,” he said, failing miserably to hide his grin.
Is anyone surprised that things only got worse, because Enjin started participating? No? Yeah. Exactly.
One afternoon Semiu sat behind her desk and lazily looked through a magazine while Enjin shuffled by. Then again. He huffed and puffed, all cow-eyed and pouting.
“Are you looking for your wife?” Semiu asked without looking up.
“My wife,” Enjin said loudly. “Took the day off.”
His voice sounded a tiny bit betrayed. How dare you to take the day off when it wasn’t his day off?
“Good for her,” Semiu replied.
“Yeah. My wife deserves that,” Enjin nodded.
Later Semiu told you about this conversation and you almost chuckled. Almost.
However. Bro Santa surprisingly suffered the most from it - mostly because he kept accidentally feeding into the joke.
But for starters. You were helping team child with some equipment. Also because you wanted to hang out with Dear Santa since you became similar to a motherly figure in his life.
It was a fun afternoon… until Enjin walked in. Took in the scene. Decided to open his loud mouth.
“Wow,” he sighed dramatically. “Couldn’t you at least wait until the divorce?”
Bro choked. “Divorce?!”
Team child looked between the two of you in horror.
“What’s wrong with you?” you asked in disbelief.
“You left me for the kids,” he said solemnly and then gestured towards bro. “And… Bro.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“And yet you stay.”
Bro looked genuinely stressed now. “Enjin, I never touched your wife, I swear. She’s just a good friend.”
“Hello?!”
“I know,” Enjin said all serious at the same time.
You kicked him in the shin and swore you still heard him cackle when you were back in your room. And, now all alone, you let out the tiniest amused snort. But it wasn’t funny, okay?
And if we already spill the truth a little here then we need to be completely honest. The dynamic actually fit.
You handled planning, schedules, injuries, and stopping everyone from killing themselves. Enjin handled morale, chaos control, and intimidation.
And together somehow you functioned exactly like exhausted parents managing a group of violent disaster children. And the team knew it.
“Mom, Rudo stole my chocolate bar.”
“Dad, Riyo threatened to shave off my eyebrows… again.”
“Can Mom stop glaring at me like that?”
“Dad said no, so I’m asking Mo.”
“… I never ask Mom anything again.”
Until then it wasn’t that bad. Or at least you thought it couldn’t get worse until you went on a mission together. Because if Enjin could do one thing then it was getting real loud when he was impressed.
A trash beasts twice your size charged towards your team. The force was enough to crack concrete and have the ground shaking. Before anyone else could React you slid underneath. Your jinki activated you drove it straight upward and took it down in one hit. The entire battlefield went silent for half a second.
“That’s my wife!”
Your horrified scream echoed immediately after. “Stop calling me that!”
Riyo nearly fell off her scissor laughing. Enjin shuffled closer, grinning proudly as he helped you up.
Meanwhile Gris looked emotional. “They’re so in love.”
“We are not—”
Enjin showed you off proudly. “Did you see that move?”
“Oh my god.”
He looked genuinely delighted which honestly made it worse. While the whole nickname saga was a joke - at least you thought so - Enjin’s pride about your growth and strength was honest.
And then it happened. You weren’t ready. It was the cherry on top. Corvus, the big boss, decided to join in.
That was the moment you realized there was no escape.
You sat in headquarters one evening with your head resting against the table, exhausted after a fourteen hour mission. Corvus approached you as calmly as ever.
“Have you seen Enjin?” he asked.
Hope blossomed in your chest as you looked up. When was the last time you’ve heard Enjin’s name? And not dad or husband?
Then he casually added, “Your better half, I mean.”
Slowly you closed your eyes. A migraine threatened to grow and take you out right here, right now.
“Please,” you whispered. “Not you too.”
Corvus actually smiled. And because Enjin had the perfect timing injected in his veins he had just walked by, listened and now laughed loudly.
Your head snapped around and yeah, Enjin was smug as hell. But beyond it he genuinely looked happy and proud.
Sighing you hid a smile behind your hand. “Come over. After the mission we deserve a drink… husband.”
Enjin stopped dead in the tracks. Also Corvus looked surprised before he gave you two some space.
“You did just—fuck,” he chuckled and sat down beside you.
Ha! Finally it was you taking the upper hand. At least until he reached into his pocket and pulled something shiny out that you speechless.
p2. teasing bestfriend!yuji after figuring out his fat crush on you.
fluff
ps. i listened to the comments abt reader teasing yuji huehuehue. yuji’s blabbering isn’t supposed to make sense.
the silence that settled over the break room after megumi and nobara left was thick, warm, and entirely laced with the scent of melted chocolate and citrus peel.
yuji’s currently sitting so close to you that his ribcage practically buzzed every time you took a breath. he’d pulled his chair up, his large frame hovering over your open textbook like a protective gargoyle determined to shield you from the horrors of advanced algebra. the problem, however, was that yuji was looking at the page with the profound, unblinking intensity of someone trying to read a scroll written in an ancient, dead language.
his eyes traced a long string of equations, his eyebrows knitting together so tightly they almost formed a single line across his forehead. he definitely didn’t know shit about math. his brain is currently an empty room with a single, tiny monkey clashing cymbals together.
“so,” you murmured, leaning your cheek into your palm, the oversized cuff of his red hoodie bunching up around your wrist. you watched the subtle shift of his jaw as he stared at a fraction. “do you know how to solve for the vertex, or are you just trying to intimidate the numbers into changing themselves?”
yuji broke out of his trance, his head snapping toward you so fast his neck made a faint popping sound. “what? oh! no, i totally got this. it’s just… a tactical delay. you gotta analyze the enemy before you strike, right? this equation is pretty tricky, but if you look at the… the little slightly curly guy next to the letter… you just gotta move him oveeeer there!” he pointed a broad, calloused finger randomly at a parenthesis, giving you a bright, incredibly confident grin that didn’t reach his wildly panicked eyes. “boom. solved.”
you let out a soft, breathy laugh. “yuji, that’s a parenthesis.”
“exactly! a parenthesis! which is basically the cage where the numbers live until we liberate them,” he shot back seamlessly, his chest expanding with pride as he saw the corners of your lips curl upward. he was completely into you. if you told him to fight a special-grade curse with a plastic spoon just to hear your laugh again, he’d already be running down the hallway looking for the cafeteria utensils. “alright, let’s look at the next one. i’m a great tutor. gojo-sensei says i have great spatial awareness, which is basically the same thing as geometry.”
“we’re doing algebra, yuji.”
“it’s all connected in the grand tapestry of life,” he insisted, his voice dropping into that breezy register he always used when he was trying to sound reliable.
you leaned in a little closer, the fabric of your his hoodie brushing against his shoulder. you could feel the heat radiating off him; he’s like a human radiator, a constant source of comfort that you had become entirely addicted to over the past few months. you took a slow sip of the chocolate drink through the straw, letting the sweet, crunchy pieces of meringue dissolve on your tongue before you spoke again, your voice carrying a sudden, playful lilt.
“hey, yuji?”
“yeah?” he answered instantly, his hand already tweaking toward the napkin of peeled oranges just in case you needed another piece.
“what were you and nobara yelling about in the corner earlier?”
yuji’s entire skeletal structure seemed to lock up. the casual, easygoing posture he had vanished, replaced by the rigid tension of a soldier who had just stepped on a landmine. his fingers froze against the edge of the textbook, the tips turning slightly white.
“oh,” he squeaked, his voice cracking on the single vowel before he forcibly dragged it back down into a normal register. “that? nothing! totally nothing! just… jujutsu business. tactical strategies. hammer and nail stuff. she was just… giving me a performance review on my… teamwork.”
“really?” you turned your head on your palm, staring directly into his large, honey-brown eyes. you let a small, knowing smile play at the corners of your lips, your voice dropping into a teasing hum. “because it sounded a lot like she was asking why we weren’t dating. and it sounded a lot like you said you were just a big dummy who follows me around like a stray dog.”
yuji’s brain completely detonated.
the flush started at his collarbone, rushing up his neck like a wave of adrenaline before settling into his cheeks, turning his skin an identical shade to his pink hair. his eyes went wide, the pupils shrinking as his mouth opened and closed several times without a single sound coming out. he looked like a fish that had been unexpectedly tossed onto dry land and asked to explain the theory of relativity.
“i— uh— well— the thing is—” yuji stammered, his hands flying up to chop the air in a series of frantic, disorganized gestures. his internal organs were currently liquefying. he was convinced his heart was beating so hard it was going to burst through his uniform jacket and land right on top of your work. “kugisaki was just… she has a very vivid imagination! very creative! she reads a lot of those magazines with the shiny covers! it’s the humidity, i think! the training room was cold but the air pressure—”
“yuji,” you chuckled, your heart doing a happy flip at how incredibly affected he was. you reached out, your hand gently catching his wrist to stop his frantic air-chopping. the contact made him shudder, his breath hitching in his throat. “you’re talking gibberish.”
“gibberish? no! i’m speaking the… the language of… smart people! you— you should know this! because of course! you’re the smartest!” he blurted out, his chest heaving as he tried to process the feeling of your fingers wrapped around his wrist. his brain was rapidly short-circuiting, sending random sparks of vocabulary to his tongue. “the roundness of the orange was… i just wanted to make sure the white strings didn’t… because the fiber can be very aggressive..? on the digestive tract! and the hoodie! the hoodie is a type of clothing! but— but— um! it belongs to the jujutsu high inventory! i’m just the— uhh what do you call that again? uhm— the courier!”
“the courier?” you teased, leaning even closer, your face just inches from his now. you could see the way his eyelashes were trembling. “so you don’t actually like me? you’re just doing your civic duty?”
“no! i mean yes! i mean—” yuji stopped dead in his tracks. his mouth stayed open, his chest freezing mid-inhale as he stared at your pretty face, completely trapped by the warmth in your eyes. he wanted to tell you. he wanted to tell you so bad that he thought about you every single second of the day, that his favorite part of waking up was knowing he’d get to walk you to class, that he kept a mental checklist of every single food item you disliked so he could make sure it never touched your plate. he was so desperately devoted to you that it felt like an ache in his bones, mainly his knees.
he swallowed hard, his jaw tightening as he tried to form a real, human sentence to explain the sheer magnitude of his feelings. “i just… you’re so incredible. and i didn’t want to ruin—”
hic.
yuji clapped both hands over his mouth instantly, his eyes flying open even wider, if that was humanly possible.
you blinked, staring at him. “did you just—”
hic.
his entire shoulders jumped with the force of it. the sudden, massive spike of romantic panic had caused his diaphragm to completely spasm. he sat there, both palms pressed firmly against his lips, his face so red he looked like a ripe tomato, his chest lifting with another muffled hic against his palms.
you lasted exactly two seconds before you buried your face in your sleeves, your shoulders shaking violently as a loud, delighted burst of laughter echoed through the quiet break room. it’s the most endearing, ridiculous thing you had ever witnessed in your life.
“yuji,” you gasped out between giggles, lifting your head to look at him, your eyes crinkling at the corners. “are you hiccuping because you’re nervous?”
he slowly lowered his hands from his mouth, looking at you with a expression of tragic defeat. “it’s an involuntary physical reaction to extreme uhh.. emotions,” he whispered hoarsely. hic. “my grandfather told me it happens when i’m… overwhelmed by… a pretty girl.”
“oh, so i’m a pretty girl now?”
“the prettiest,” yuji blurted out before his filter could stop him. the honesty of it hung in the air between you, raw and sweet and completely genuine. he didn’t try to take it back this time. he just looked at you, his shoulders dropping as his gaze softened, the frantic energy leaving his body even as his cheeks remained bright pink. “i’m really bad at this. i wanted to be smooth. like those guys in the movies who just… say something cool and lean against a sports car. but i don’t have a car, i can’t even drive. and i can’t do a math problem either.”
you slowly stopped laughing, your gaze softening until it felt like the entire room was wrapped in a warm blanket. slowly, deliberately, you slid your hand down from his wrist, letting your fingers slip into his palm, weaving them between his calloused fingers until your hands were completely locked together.
yuji looked down at your joined hands, his breath catching again, but this time, the hiccups didn’t come back. his large fingers squeezed yours back instantly, a instinctive, protective grip that he never wanted to loosen.
“i don’t need you to have a sports car to charm me, yuji,” you said softly, using your free hand to pull the collar of his giant hoodie up a little higher around your chin. “and i don’t need you to know calculus. i just reallyyy like the guy who peels my oranges and makes sure my chocolate drink has the good meringue.”
yuji stared at you, a slow, radiant warmth spreading from his chest all the way to the tips of his toes. the joy that crashed over him was loud enough to drown out every doubt he’d ever had. a massive, goofy, close-eyed grin broke across his face, his thumb rubbing sweet, comfortng circles against the back of your hand.
“yeah?” he whispered, his voice incredibly soft as he leaned his forehead gently against your shoulder, sinking into your space with a happy, contented sigh. “then… can i carry you too? even if your shoes are tied?”
“only if you promise to hold my hand once you put me down,” you murmured, leaning your head against his pink hair.
“deal,” yuji beamed, completely melting into the fabric of his own hoodie, entirely won over and exactly where he belonged.
a/n: this is so self-indulgent even from the first part. i was gonna specify a business exam, but it might’ve been to specific so i just went for the chocolate drink, ahem. ok, gojo next cs huehue my birthday is later.
꒰ ʀɪᴅᴇ ᴏʀ ᴅɪᴇ — ꜱᴇQᴜᴇʟ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ finally together!!! everything is good now, right? RIGHT?
being together with enjin changed absolutely nothing and somehow, it changed everything.
you still stole food off his plate and he took the last drag from the cigarettes you shared. still called each other names. still shoved you when you annoyed him a little too much and you bit his shoulder in return.
the cleaners barely noticed a difference at first. and let’s be honest if gris wouldn’t have told semiu and semiu wouldn’t have told riyo etc etc, then no one would’ve a clue.
except for the little things.
suddenly enjin reached for your hand whenever you sat down next to him. in return you leaned against him. then the ridiculous golden shine in his eyes whenever he looked at you. and them forehead kisses. all the fucking time.
disgusting behavior honestly. you two should be ashamed for that constant pda.
riyo threatened to throw up at least twice a day. follo awww’ed awfully often and zanka approved a lot of your relationship.
however. oh. now it comes.
the biggest difference was terrifyingly small for you, because you suddenly cared what enjin thought of you. as a woman.
that was so fucking stupid. actually really stupid because this was enjin. your enjin.
the very same enjin who once held your hair back while you threw up behind headquarters after bad alcohol.
enjin who knew exactly how disgusting your period cravings got. and who had heard you complain about period shits with the passion of a dying soldier.
you once yelled “I THINK MY UTERUS IS DETACHING” while lying face down on his bed and he’d answered, “damn. can i have your boots if you die?”
huh? your feet were small and delicate. the fuck did he want with your boots? absolute weirdo question.
what you wanted to say was that there was never shame between you. until now.
because now he kissed you and fucked you and ate you out daily. now he looked at you like you were so damn beautiful and with so much love.
so, for now fucking reason your brain decided that meant your period was suddenly horrifying.
that led to your current situation. you were curled in your bed with a heating pad while contemplating death. your cramps felt demonic and your asshole hurt and you had bled through your pad.
“stupid fucking uterus,” you muttered miserably. “come out and fight me, you little bitch.”
a sudden knock echoed through the room and you froze. of course it was enjin. duh.
“alive in there?”
normally you’d yell something dramatic back, but today. you just couldn’t. shame crept up your neck.
“hey, you ignoring me?”
“no.”
“you sound weird.”
“i’m dying.”
“that’s not specific enough.”
you groaned into your pillow and felt very unfortunate for how well your wonderful boyfriend knew you. because the door opened and there he was. carrying food in one hand and immediately narrowed his eyes at you sprawled dramatically across the bed.
“whoa,” he said. “you look terrible.”
“thank you.”
“you smell like pain.”
“that’s because i am pain.”
enjin snorted softly and sat beside you. you liked how the mattress dipped and his warmth and familiar scent wafted to you.
it was comforting. also made it worse.
suddenly you became hyper aware of everything. the blood. oh fuck, did you smell? the cramps. your hair that clutched for dear life on one side of your skull and stood in every direction possible on the other side.
enjin reached over automatically to press his palm against your forehead. no fever - that relieved him.
“what’s wrong?” he asked.
you hesitated. and nope. you didn’t hesitate. even when you just blurted out bullshit you didn’t hesitate.
“you okay?”
“yeah.”
“you’re being weird,” he told you for the hundredth time.
“i’m not.”
“you are. haven’t insulted me once which is pretty insulting.”
pouting you pulled the blanket higher over yourself. “it’s just my period.”
“that’s it?”
“what do you mean that’s it?” you frowned.
“i thought you were dying.”
“i’m dying.”
“you say that every month.”
“because every month my organs attempt mutiny.”
your man relaxed instantly now that he understood. usually this would’ve been the part where you launched into graphic descriptions about cramps and blood clots while he listened with horrifying calm.
now you were pretty quiet and pouting.
“something’s off here,” he huffed.
“no.”
“yes.”
“nothing’s off.”
“you haven’t talked about period farts once.”
you looked offended. “why would you even notice that?”
“because usually you announce them like natural disasters.”
“thats slander.”
“you once called yourself ‘the crimson shotgun.’”
“okay, but that one was hilarious.”
enjin grinned, but it faded when he saw that you still looked so uncomfortable. emotionally. yeah, and he thought he might understood.
“oh.” he blurted out and you looked away. “oh fuck seriously?”
“don’t.”
“you think i’m gonna find you gross now?”
“i don’t know!”
the words exploded out of you before you could stop them. your face burned immediately afterward.
“i mean it’s different now.”
“how?”
“because we’re together.”
“okay?”
“and what if you suddenly realize i’m disgusting?”
enjin stared at you in pure disbelief. then he additionally laughed in pure confusion about what’s going on inside your head.
“baby,” he cooed and you shot him a glare. “i’ve seen you puke in an alley.”
“that was before.”
“you once farted on my leg and blamed the bed.”
“that was ONE TIME.”
“you clogged my toilet twice.”
“you promised never to bring that up again!”
once you feel better you’ll beat the ever loving shit out of him. what the fuck?
enjin was fully grinning now. all while you hoped another pit would open and you could jump in head first.
“you literally drooled on my chest this morning. again.”
“stop talking.”
“and now period blood is where you think i’ll draw the line?”
you covered your face with your hands and he gently grabbed your wrists to pull them down. his expression softened - SOFTENED - when he saw your embarrassment.
“ohhh. you’re serious.”
yeah, no shit dude. your eyes stung and your lower lip wobbled dangerously.
“i just…” you muttered weakly. “i know it’s stupid.”
“it is pretty stupid.”
“thanks.”
“but not because of you.” his thumb brushed your cheek lovingly. “you think i started loving you after we got together?”
oh man, he was so cute. and now he leaned in like he was about to tell you a little secret.
“i loved you when you were gross too.”
a giggle bubbled from your throat despite yourself. “that’s not romantic.”
“it’s true though,” he hummed, happy with himself. “you think some blood’s gonna scare me away after surviving your cooking?”
“okay, fuck you.”
“there she is.”
you shoved his shoulder weakly and he caught your hand. he even kissed your knuckles. he was so sweet.
“you wanna know the real difference between us being friends and dating?” he asked.
you mumbled, “what?”
“back then i had to pretend not to stare at your ass.”
you gasped loudly. enjin laughed right as you smacked him with your pillow.
“there she is!” he wheezed again while dodging another hit. “that’s my girl!”
the full realization hit him two days later. the problem with dating your best friend was that suddenly you became aware of things that never mattered before.
for you it had been periods.
for enjin it was the horrifying realization that he might actually be a disgusting man.
like said, the thought hit him two days later while pulling on socks with holes big enough for three toes to escape through.
he stared at them. his toes stared back.
then slowly looked around his room. clothes pile in the corner. three empty bottles near the wall. a shirt hung from the lamp because apparently the drawers were too civilized.
and what was up with the plate over there? hmm?
“OH NO!” he yelled into the empty room
your words replayed in his head. again and again. he loved your voice, alright? but that was just fucked.
‘what if you suddenly realize i’m disgusting?’
at the time he’d laughed because the idea of you grossing him out was ridiculous. but now his brain had cruelly turned the mirror around.
what if he was the gross one?
what the fuck brain? what was your problem?
with growing horror enjin realized that your friendship had erased every normal boundary between you years ago. another horrified scream erupted from his throat as memories filled his head.
he’d walked into the bathroom while you showered to piss because “you’ve seen me half dead before, this ain’t intimate.”
you once brushed your teeth while he sat on the toilet arguing with you.
he burped directly in your face at least twice a week.
one time he woke you from a dead sleep by accidentally ripping ass loud enough to shake the mattress. you’d thrown a pillow at his head without even opening your eyes.
“NO!”
he thought about… showering. to be fair he showered, technically speaking. maybe not with the frequency expected by civilized society.
the pit wasn’t exactly full of luxury hygiene standards, okay?
sometimes missions ran long and then the exhaustion hit harder. other days he washed the important parts and called it a successful day.
to be fair, you never cared before. hell, half the time you smelled equally awful after missions.
but now you were his girlfriend. his actual girlfriend. woah.
suddenly enjin became deeply aware that you were also insanely pretty. like… distractingly pretty. the kind of pretty that made his chest ache unexpectedly when sunlight hit your face.
which raised one devastating question: why the hell were you dating him?
“damn,” he muttered, staring at himself in a cracked mirror later that evening. “she could do way better.”
“talking to yourself now?”
enjin let out the most embarrassing shriek known to mankind and jumped at the ceiling. all while you stood in the doorway holding snacks, looking pleased with yourself.
and so gorgeous which was unhelpful. he quickly wiped his mouth.
“your room smells horrible,” you added.
his soul briefly left his body. this was it. you’d leave him for someone clean like… gris.
“what smells horrible?”
you sniffed dramatically. “smells like wet socks and regret.”
“wow. okay.”
you grinned and wandered inside anyway, immediately climbing onto his bed like you belonged there. okay, okay. you did belong there.
that should’ve comforted him. instead he became hyperaware of every single thing around him.
there was a boxershorts on the floor. why was there a boxershorts on the floor?
and another sock - fuck no.
“don’t look around too hard,” he said quickly.
you blinked. “why?”
“no reason.”
“enjin.”
“nothing.”
your eyes narrowed instantly. your face inched closer as you inspect his expression. then you gasped. “oh my— are you embarrassed?”
“no.”
“you are!”
“i’m literally not.”
“you just kicked something under the bed.”
“was a spider.”
the fuck?
you burst into laughter and snorted right into his ear. usually enjin loved your laugh. right now it made him want to evaporate, because you kept looking around his room with visible amusement.
“you live like a divorced raccoon,” you informed him.
“that’s harsh.”
“there’s a spoon in your toolbox.”
“yeah.”
“why?”
“emergency soup.”
you stared at him before you laughed even harder. enjin groaned dramatically and flopped face-first onto the bed beside you.
“stop judging me.”
“i’ve known you for years.”
“exactly. so mind your business.”
“you used motor oil as hair product once.”
“that was one time.”
“you own one towel.”
“one good towel.”
“it’s crunchy.”
“that means it’s experienced.”
you wheezed laughing while enjin grabbed a pillow to hide his face. and suddenly he remembered exactly why he fell in love with you. because even now, even while roasting him alive, you looked at him with so much affection it hurt in his chest.
it didn’t change the insecurity in him tho. especially later that night.
you stayed over, curled against his chest while half asleep. one of your legs tangled with his under the blanket. hmm, he loved that. was so comfy and warm.
you were his home.
his brain meanwhile couldn’t stop yapping about every gross habit he had.
for example yesterday. he had walked into your room and thrown himself on your bed without asking, because “our relationship status didn’t magically make me polite.”
he also had burped a couple of times earlier.
his arms tightened around you. please don’t leave me.
since you got a sixth sense apparently your voice filled the silence. “what’s wrong?
“nothing.”
“you sound thoughtful.”
“that’s insulting.”
“it’s accurate.”
enjin sighed then muttered into the darkness, “what if you realize i’m gross?”
you went completely still against him. your head snapped around and your neck cracked a bit. “huh?!”
he immediately regretted speaking.
“nothing.”
“no, repeat that.”
enjin stared at the ceiling with deep suffering.
“you got weird about period stuff,” he grumbled. “now i’m thinking maybe you had a point.”
you blinked at him. it took you a few seconds to connect the dots. then you stared at him horrified.
“umbra,” you whispered.
oh no. no no no no.
you only used that nickname and voice when emotionally devastating honesty was incoming.
“i watched you pull glass out of your own arm with kitchen tongs once.”
“yeah?”
“you ate noodles off my stomach after i spilled them.”
“in my defense—”
“you literally walked into my shower to pee because you said and i quote, ‘steam helps me piss.’”
“that was scientifically sound.”
“you own socks that look legally deceased.”
enjin groaned loudly while you started laughing into his chest. you robbed closer and kissed his chin. fuck, you were so adorable.
“you know what changed after we got together?” you asked quietly.
“what?”
“nothing important.”
his chest tightened. you poked his cheek gently.
“you’re still my gross weird little raccoon man.”
“little?”
“don’t ruin the moment.”
“and you’re still disgusting too.”
you gasped dramatically. “i’m beautiful.”
“you clogged my sink with food once.”
“that was a plumbing issue.”
“you threatened your uterus with violence three days ago.”
“it started it.”
enjin laughed helplessly. do you had any idea how much he loved you? or did you just waddle around thinking you’re only a little loved by him?
oh. he also got a sleepy kiss.
when you settled back against him afterward, mumbling, “you’re the prettiest boy ever actually,” enjin genuinely thought he might combust on the spot.
he learned a valuable lesson this night: love wasn’t becoming cleaner or softer or more presentable. it was just finding someone who looked at all your ugly little human parts and stayed anyway.
to be fair you were never and never would be a normal couple. after the two incidents your relationship somehow made both of you worse.
one of your friends wanted to speak to you individually? not a chance.
somehow you managed to even annoy zanka. zanka! who looked up to enjin so much.
the most unbearable moments was when the two of you fought. because shouldn’t you be still in the honeymoon phase??
“move,” you snapped.
“no.”
“you’re crushing me.”
“you’re dramatic.”
“your elbow’s in my rib.”
“build character.”
at the moment enjin was sprawled fully across you on the couch in headquarters while you attempted - and failed - to shove his heavy body off. he only grinned wider, cheek squished against your shoulder.
“you smell nice,” he hummed happily.
“that’s because unlike you i bathe.”
“cruel.”
“you literally used my shampoo and then said, ‘our scents should unify.’”
“that was romantic.”
“that was psychotic.”
from across the room riyo looked genuinely exhausted. “you two were easier to deal with before dating.”
“no we weren’t,” both of you answered immediately.
you paused and looked at each other at the same damn time.
“actually true,” enjin admitted.
“yeah,” you nodded thoughtfully.
the tension you had carried before had exploded into the open constantly.
enjin needed to touch you all the time. his hand on your knee. an arm around your waist. his thumb brushing over your wrist. his body had finally stopped pretending not to reach for you.
you were just as bad.
you stole his clothes constantly, because they smelled like smoke and enjin. and when enjin was on a mission without you you sniffed them.
also, you sat in his lap automatically during meetings because there weren’t enough chairs (sure, sure). your lips were fucking unstoppable when it came to smooching your man left and right.
disgusting behavior. soulmate behavior.
everyone suffered, because you were so awfully cute with each other. especially semiu. when was it her turn?
“you’re smiling at her again,” she huffed one afternoon.
enjin blinked. “huh?”
“you’re doing the thing.”
“what thing?”
“the stupid thing where she talks and you look at her like you’re gonna lick the ground she walks on.”
you nearly choked laughing. meanwhile enjin looked offended.
“i don’t.”
“you absolutely do,” you wheezed.
“no, i don’t.”
“you’re doing it right now,” semiu pointed out.
riyo and rudo made gagging noises in the background, like some haters. enjin flipped them off without looking away from you which only made everyone groan louder.
it wasn’t even your fault. you refused to take accountability.
cards on the table. there was something terrifyingly natural about loving each other. your bodies had figured it out long before your brains did.
you fit together so easily. so beautifully.
sleeping especially became dangerous. before dating sleeping together meant tangled limbs and accidental violence.
now it was still violence, but also those soft moments.
let’s get back to the first night after you two got together. enjin woke up the next morning and yes, you were next to him. not unusual. but you were kissing his shoulder and neck sleepily. man almost had a heart attack.
you didn’t even remember doing it.
“you kissed me while being unconscious,” he accused over breakfast.
you blinked. “what?”
“tiny little kisses.”
“shut up.”
“i’m serious.”
“you’re lying.”
“i’ve witnesses.”
“you absolutely do not.”
“so fucking cute,” enjin threw up his arms.
but then you saw the little smile on his face, the way the tips of his ears tinged pink. it was so adorable.
enjin had been always beautiful. enjin in love stole your breath away.
you threw bread at him instantly for making you feel so fuzzy and having your stomach full of butterflies.
enjin looked unbearably smug the rest of the day.
the real problem was that both of you kept forgetting you were allowed to act like a couple now. years of friendship didn’t disappear magically overnight.
so sometimes your brains short circuited. one night you were relaxing on his bed when he casually stripped naked in front of you to change. dick out and everything.
you glanced over. you gasped. then you suddenly realized: oh no. he’s naked. he’s hot. why is he so hot? does he know he’s hot?
enjin noticed your staring. “why’re you looking at me like that?”
you looked away violently. “no reason.”
“baby.”
“shut up.” ugh. the nickname. you started to like it.
“oh shiiit,” he laughed. “you’re flustered.”
“you’ve muscles unexpectedly!” you gestured wildly. “and other things.”
“unexpectedly?!”
“you usually look homeless!”
“that’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
he looked ridiculously pleased about it which was unfortunate. because then he started flexing on purpose and his dick did that thing. the twitch.
“wow,” you deadpanned. “now you look homeless and stupid.”
enjin tackled you onto the mattress immediately. you screamed laughing while he trapped you underneath him. no fucking care for his nudity.
“take it back!” he shouted.
“never.”
“you wound me.”
“you’ll survive.”
he grinned down at you and that playful moment turned into something completely different. his forehead rested against yours automatically and your smile turned softly.
for seconds you just stared at each as this feeling - this special feeling - filled you. the awful, beautiful realization that somehow the person you laughed with hardest was also the person you loved most.
enjin’s thumb brushed your cheek. “you know what’s weird?”
“what?”
“i thought getting together would change us more.”
“me too.”
“but it’s kinda like…” he huffed a laugh softly. “like we were already doing this.”
your chest hurt immediately, because he was so right. the love you had for each other always been there - buried underneath bruises and jokes and late night conversations. underneath shared cigarettes and bloody missions and sleeping shoulder to shoulder because the world felt less cruel that way.
you’d already built a life around each other long before kissing and sex got involved. now you just got to say it out loud.
unfortunately emotional moments never lasted long between you. right after enjin kissed you sweetly his stomach growled loud enough to shake the room.
you burst out laughing instantly. “hello to you too!”
“i’m being vulnerable here.”
“you sound possessed.”
“feed me.”
“you’re huge. why are you always hungry?”
“growing boy.”
“you’re almost thirty.”
“and still growing.”
you laughed so hard your stomach hurt while enjin buried his face dramatically into your neck. he tried then to eat you as he bit your neck and pulled on it.
let’s be honest. this was love too.
it wasn’t just pretty honeymoon moments and sweet gestures. it wasn’t just kisses and holding hands and whispered promises at 3am.
it was moment like this. ridiculousness and the comfort behind it. that you could sit together in silence without it feeling heavy or awkward.
home wasn’t the cleaners headquarters. home was enjin now.
later that night rain hammered softly against the windows while the two of you lay tangled together in bed. your head rested on enjin’s chest while you soothingly caressed his tattooed skin.
rain was still bad. but it was better for him now. at least a little bit.
after a moment you spoke up, “do you think we were always gonna end up like this?”
enjin didn’t answer immediately and you had to look up to him. because maybe… no. absolutely not.
“yeah,” he said simply.
that answer felt bigger than anything else. the gravity of this single word was so intense that you hid the tears in his neck. your throat tightened embarrassingly fast.
“you sap,” you muttered weakly.
“you’re literally crying.”
“no i’m not.”
“there are tears on my neck.”
“that’s your problem.”
he laughed quietly, before he pulled you closer until there wasn’t an inch of space left between you. loving him was naturally like breathing and you had to crawl completely on top of him. something he approved of so much.
after all, everything finally made sense. every fight and laugh. every almost. every stupid little moment that led here to this very moment.
soulmates weren’t always soft. sometimes they were loud and messy and smelled vaguely like smoke and bad decisions. they argued over everything and nothing and emergency soups.
sometimes they burped in each other’s faces.
they fell in love so slowly neither of them noticed until it was already stitched into their bones, and that was the most beautiful part.
you and enjin never became different people after falling in love. you just finally realized you already were.
you knew it. you fucking knew it when your ears started ringing. similar like the whole world had been shoved under water.
you stood in the kitchen of the cleaner headquarters. hadn’t been able to join the doll festival, because last night you still had fever. and enjin was - to say it mildly - overprotective.
the tea kettle hissed, ready for the tea you were about to made. from somewhere you heard semiu or was it someone else? you couldn’t tell, because now your hand flew to your neck.
the cup shattered on the floor.
pain bloomed across your throat so suddenly you doubled over. choking on air. you couldn’t describe it. it was like someone had wrapped their hand around your neck and sliced it clean through.
“no….”
the bond between you and enjin had been always strange. these damn violent emotions that bled through you, through him. bruises that mirrored each other. your hair that grew thinner where he had his scar.
the world tilted in it’s axis as you fell to the floor among the shattered ceramic. memories crashed through you.
enjin with his head thrown back laughing so hard.
enjin sleeping on your chest to listen to your heartbeat.
enjin kissing your knuckles, your cheek, your forehead, your lips whenever you talked.
enjin promising, “I always come back, doll.”
“no no no no.”
your fingers pressed harder against your neck as if you could hold together the skin that wasn’t even wounded. tears blurred your vision. you couldn’t breathe. think. only terror terror terror - the kind that crawled straight out of the soul.
because somewhere far away your husband was dying.
“i can feel you,” you whispered broken. “enjin, please—.”
another wave hit you. so much crueler. agony. so cold. warm blood.
… and then emptiness. the silence of someone slipping away.
you screamed. it was inhuman, didn’t belong here. it tore itself out of you so violently it seemed to split the world open with it.
the windows rattled. the kettle shrieked. every conversation in the headquarters stopped.
you didn’t care. you were sobbing so hard you nearly threw up.
“please don’t leave me,” you cried. “please, please, please—”
because you knew him, and the rhythm of his heartbeat. more than your own. now you couldn’t feel it properly anymore.
far away, in the middle of the aftermath of the fight, enjin laid motionless while crimson spread beneath him. but just before unconsciousness fully dragged him under his fingers twitched.
dating yuji itadori means never having personal space again after practice.
because the second that boy gets home from training, he turns into the clingiest human being alive.
the dorm door slammed open loudly, followed by:
“babyyyy, i’m home!”
you barely looked up from your laptop before hearing rapid footsteps running across the apartment.
then suddenly-
a large body crashed dramatically onto the couch beside you.
“oh my god — yuji!”
he grinned brightly, slightly sweaty from practice, pink hair messy and hoodie half-zipped from rushing home too fast.
“missed me?”
you stared at him flatly. “you’ve been gone for four hours.”
“exactly,” he said seriously, already dropping sideways until half his body was laying across your lap. “that’s basically war.”
you snorted softly.
athlete yuji was ridiculous after training.
always loud. always affectionate. always acting like he’d survived life-threatening conditions instead of basketball practice.
“i’m exhausted,” he groaned dramatically, burying his face into your stomach.
“you’re sweaty.”
“thank you.”
“that wasn’t a compliment.”
“still appreciated.”
you laughed quietly despite yourself, fingers automatically slipping into his hair while he melted further into you like an oversized dog finally finding somewhere comfortable.
immediately, he sighed happily. “there it is.”
“what?”
“head scratches,” he mumbled. “my reward for being athletic.”
“you say that like you fought for your country.”
“i did,” he replied instantly. “for the love of the game.”
you rolled your eyes, he only grinned wider against you.
that was the thing about yuji, he was funny without trying. everything with him felt lighter somehow. even on exhausting days, he still found ways to make you laugh.
“coach made us run suicides for like an hour,” he continued dramatically. “i saw the light, babe. i almost died.”
“yet somehow you survived enough energy to tackle me onto the couch.”
“love gives me strength.”
“…you’re so annoying.”
“and handsome,” he added helpfully.
you looked down at him, sweaty. dramatic. grinning proudly up at you like he deserved applause for existing.
unfortunately-
he was kind of adorable, and he knew it too.
“wait,” he suddenly said, squinting at you suspiciously. “you think i’m cute right now.”
“i literally didn’t say anything.”
“your face did.”
“my face told you that you’re cute?”
“mhm.” he nodded confidently. “we’re spiritually connected.”
you burst out laughing, immediately, yuji lit up like he’d just won something.
“yes!” he pointed at you excitedly. “that laugh right there. worth every suicide sprint.”
“that sentence sounds insane out of context.”
“everything i say sounds insane out of context.”
fair enough.
for a moment, things settled quietly again, rain tapped softly against the apartment windows while yuji stayed sprawled across your lap, warm and heavy and impossibly clingy.
then quietly, much softer this time-
“i really did miss you though.”
your expression softened instantly, because underneath all the jokes, underneath the dramatics and teasing, yuji always meant things sincerely.
you brushed your fingers through his hair again carefully.
“i missed you too.”
his eyes fluttered shut briefly at the feeling. “…can we stay like this for a little?”
you smiled softly. “yeah.”
almost immediately, he shifted closer somehow, arms wrapping loosely around your waist while resting fully against you now.
“cool,” he murmured sleepily. “wake me up if i die.”
you blinked. “…from exhaustion?”
“from loving you too much.”
you stared at him, he opened one eye slightly.
“…that one was smooth, right?”
you laughed again. “go to sleep, athlete boy.”
“yes ma’am.”
a/n : to the people that make pringles so damn expensive fuck u tysm for reading and other than that theres nothing more to add !!
thinking about growing old with yuuji, who confesses his love to you shortly before you graduate from jujutsu high. his words tumble out in a mess of emotions that makes your heart ache. he looks so vulnerable standing there, hands shoved in his pockets, amber eyes wide with fear of rejection.
you kiss him and he melts against you like he’s been waiting his whole life for this moment. your relationship makes all his suffering worth it. every battle, every near-death experience, every night spent haunted by the screams of those he couldn’t save.
all of it fades into nothing when you’re in his arms.
thinking about growing old with yuuji, who insists on you moving into an apartment in the city together.
you fall into the routine and rhythm of domesticity — cooking unhealthy portions of spicy ramen together, your laughter echoing off the kitchen walls. curling up on the sofa together and watching studio ghibli and horror movies, his arm wrapped around you as you bury your face in his chest during the scary parts. he traces patterns on your skin as you sleep, memorizing every inch of you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he looks away for even a second.
thinking about growing old with yuuji, who proposes on a random tuesday, down on one knee in your living room with a ring he’d clearly saved up for for months.
thinking about growing old with yuuji, who cries bittersweet tears at your wedding. it’s a small, very private affair, consisting of everyone who survived sukuna. when you kiss as husband and wife, yuuji holds you so tight you can barely breathe
thinking about growing old with yuuji, who isn’t really growing any older, any weaker. who watches you age until you look old enough to be his mother, his grandmother. your hair turns silver, your hands spotted with age, your movements slow.
thinking about growing old with yuuji, who traces your wrinkles and refuses to leave you despite how weird and disorienting it is for you to see your husband look like a teenager while you’re geriatric. who still thinks you’re just as beautiful as you were the day he met you.
thinking about growing old with yuuji, who hates how far you’ve grown apart. separate rooms. separate beds. separate lives. not because you don’t love him—you do, so much—but because it hurts too much to wake up next to someone who doesn’t age while your body fails you day by day.
thinking about growing old with yuuji, whose heart is beyond shattered when he realizes he’s going to be alone some day. so he leaves —because he thinks it’s easier for you, less confusing for your foggy brain — without saying goodbye. pressing a kiss to the wrinkled skin of your forehead. leaving a letter on your nightstand. gone with the moon.
thinking about growing old with yuuji, who only returns after you succumb to old age and a broken heart. whose grief is exacerbated when he sees his kids who look so much older than him.
thinking about yuuji, who leaves orchids by your grave every week. who sits in solitude, weeping. it’s the first time he experiences what the rest of his miserable life is going to be like. he’s going to be alone forever. your son and daughter will die eventually. and he’ll be left in solitude to mourn you forever. with the same face, year after year, like time has simply stopped considering him worth touching.
thinking about yuuji, who can’t bring himself to look at your children, with wrinkles of their own, with children of their own, and eyes full of pity so thick it chokes him.
thinking about yuuji, who watches his reflection in shop windows, in puddles after rain, in the polished surface of your headstone. forever fifteen. forever the boy who confessed with shaking hands and a voice that cracked on your name. he traces the faint scars on his face and wonders if this is his punishment. not the screaming in his head, not the blood on his hands, but this eternal youth where he’s forced to watch everything he loves turns to dust.
thinking about yuuji, who’s slowly starting to struggle to remember your face. to remember what your voice sounded like. to remember your touch. and finds himself wishing he’d never told you how he felt in the first place.
yuji being absolutely oblivious to his feelings for you
everyone is 18+ // yuji x fem!reader // just fluff // no use of y/n // gb yuji he's so lost man // drabble // yuji is oblivious // he's a cutie who just has his head in the clouds // he's madly in love w/ reader and just doesn't realize it // megumi and nobara will need some shots after this one lolol yuji put them THROUGH it
notes: had this one in the drafts for a bit and wanted to finish it, bc I thought it was just a cute lil idea <3
"You totally like her," Nobara says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world to everyone but Yuji.
"Definitely not," Yuji shakes his head immediately. "I'm pretty sure I'd know if I liked her like that."
"You sure?" Megumi snorts, and Nobara shoots him a look that alone proves her entire point.
Yuji groans, "Guys, stop… she's just like… a good friend, that's all."
Megumi rolls his eyes, "A good friend? You're practically clinging to her like a lost puppy."
"Am not."
"Yeah?" Megumi leans forward, really emphasizing his next words. "So if she walked in right now, you wouldn't be glued to her side."
"I only do that because it makes her feel safe," he answers, quickly brushing Megumi off.
Nobara chokes back a laugh, "Her? Please. More like you're so damn whipped you're basically turning into her guard dog."
"I swearrrr," Yuji drags out his words, lip jutting into a pout, looking pitiful as ever.
"Then explain why you're always making excuses to touch her," Megumi cuts in, looking at him like there's no way he can talk his way out of this one.
"What do you mean?" He actually pauses, taking a moment to think it over. "I never do that– I mean, yeah, we hug a lot… and I pick her up sometimes, maybe spin her around a bit, but like so what? Every guy does that."
They both just stare at him, wide-eyed like this is the moment when it should all dawn on him, that he's madly in love with you.
"... No, they don't??" They both say in unison after a moment, realizing that Yuji is beyond the point of help.
Yuji blinks. "They don't?"
"God," Nobara mutters, her hands rubbing down her face, trying to process how it's even possible to be this oblivious.
"He's worse than we thought," Megumi adds, shaking his head, partly pitying his friend for being so unaware of his own feelings.
"Wait– you guys have been talking about me?" Yuji looks between them, a little shocked they would do such a thing.
"Only because you're so damn oblivious it's painful," Megumi says flatly.
"I swear I don't–"
"Then what do you like about her?" Megumi cuts him off again, not having any of Yuji's excuses.
For a second, Yuji doesn't answer—too caught up in trying to figure out where to even start. God, there's too much, too many little things he likes about you, that he can't even begin to narrow it down.
He lets his eyes wander to the ceiling, as if it'll help him find all the right words. "I mean… everything? Her smile, her laugh… the way her hand fits in mine."
"So you're saying you held her hand, Itadori–" Megumi's pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to find a way to get it through his thick head. "You held her goddamn hand."
"Yeah?" Yuji rubs the back of his neck, smiling a little. "Her hands were small too, so perfect in my hands… like they were made just for mine–"
They're still staring at Yuji when it finally hits him.
"Holy shit I'm in love with her."
ty for any reblogs, comments, and likessss!! love u guys <333
