#vu1tvre

[vu1tvre]

who doesn't want toji's cock inside of you after a rough day at work?

you push through the last stretch of your twelve-hour shift, every second dragging like it’s soaked in molasses. your feet ache, knees threaten to buckle, and the hum of fluorescent lights overhead is like a relentless reminder that the day isn’t done yet. orders keep piling up, your arms feel like lead, and every beep of the scanner grates on your nerves, making it hard to focus. you force a smile at coworkers, but it doesn’t reach your eyes, because all you can think about is curling up somewhere quiet and letting your body finally rest. by the time the clock finally screams the end of your shift, you’re running on fumes, your uniform wrinkled, your hair fraying at the ends, and your brain already imagining the soft comfort of your apartment.

you make your way through the city streets, each step heavier than the last, the evening air doing little to revive you. your fingers fumble through your keys at the door, twisting one after the other, growing more impatient with each failed attempt. finally, a satisfying click echoes, and the door swings open to a warmth that hits you like a hug. the scent of freshly made takoyaki drifts to your nose before you even notice Toji, sprawled across your couch with a bowl in his lap, one leg kicked over the other casually. his smirk is lazy, teasing, as if he already knows how exhausted you’ve been.

you drop your bag by the door, every muscle in your body humming with exhaustion, but your eyes are stuck on him, sprawled across the couch like he owns the world—or at least this apartment. the way he’s relaxed, taking up space with that lazy smirk, makes your pulse quicken in a way that has nothing to do with work stress. you can’t stop your gaze from tracing the line of his chest, the way his legs stretch out carelessly, the buldge in his pants already forming, as if he was in the mood the moment he saw you walk in.

“ you’re grumpy, ” he says softly, his tone teasing but low, like he’s savoring how wound up you are. you huff, crossing your arms, but it’s useless, your legs betray you, inching closer despite your stubbornness. he shifts again, just a fraction, and that subtle movement sends a shiver up your spine. You drop onto the couch beside him, the warmth of his body radiating through the fabric, and suddenly all your exhaustion feels like fuel, turning into something sharper, more urgent.

toji listens to you talk, or at least pretends to, shifting slightly so his cock presses against you in a way that’s impossible to ignore, the casual manspread only making your exhaustion tangle with something hotter. He doesn’t say much, just tilts his head and watches you, letting the tension build, letting you stew a little before deciding what to do. For a long moment, the quiet hum of the apartment, the smell of food, and the way he’s just… there, unmoving, make it impossible to think straight. 

reluctantly, or maybe naturally, your hands find his chest first, fingers pressing lightly, testing, teasing. Toji’s smirk rises,  just a little more as he tilts his head down to watch you, eyes dark and intent. He doesn’t move you off him; he lets you take the lead, letting your frustration and need for release guide your hands. at first, it starts with dry humping; your clothed clit rubbing against his cock, feeling him stiffen, the heat of him pressing closer, and you can’t resist any longer. Your lips find his, slow at first, tasting him, teasing, until it deepens into something needy and desperate.

hands wander, teasing, exploring, claiming, until clothes start to peel away like a silent surrender. You both move together, careful at first, savoring the tension that’s been building all day, until it’s impossible to deny. every touch, every sigh, every press of his hips against yours drives the two of you closer, until there’s nothing left between you except heat, need, and the rhythm you find together.

well, next thing you know, his cock is pushed although way inside your pussy, hitting you g-spot perfectly as your moans echoed through the walls. even though toji did seem to be enjoying, you can tell he wasn’t doing this for his own release, and rather to make you feel him feel good. you can feel you flaps pathetically push around him, his dick still furiously rummaging into your pussy while stretching you in ways you couldn’t even imagine; emotionally and physically to be honest. but by the time it ends, you’re both spent, tangled together, the messy apartment and half-eaten takoyaki forgotten for now, leaving only the two of you, pressed close and breathing heavy.

[vu1tvre]

just a cutie trying to confess to his crush!

he doesn’t notice it at first. that’s the thing about yuji itadori; he misses the obvious in the most impressive ways. like how he’ll remember the exact brand of chips you like, but not the way your fingers brush his when you take them from him. or how he’ll wait for you after class every single day, acting like it’s just coincidence. like he just happened to be there. again. and again. you notice, though. you notice everything. it starts small, like most dangerous things do. a shared laugh that lasts a second too long. his hand on your shoulder when he leans in to say something dumb, like how he swears he could win a fight against a kangaroo. you laugh, because of course you do, and he grins like that’s all he needed from the day. he doesn’t realize he’s building something.

it gets worse when missions start pairing you together more often. you’re both good under pressure, good at reading each other without words. there’s this rhythm you fall into, him charging in, you covering his blind spots, both of you trusting the other without hesitation. it feels natural. too natural. like you’ve been doing it your whole life. one night, after a mission runs long, you end up sitting on the steps outside the school. it’s quiet. rare. yuji’s got a bruise forming along his jaw, and you’re fussing over it like it’s your responsibility. he lets you, just watching you, softer than usual. “you’re really careful,” he says. you blink. “what?” “like… with people.” he shrugs. “it’s nice.” you don’t know what to do with that, so you just nod, but your heart does something loud.

after that, he starts noticing. not everything, he’s still yuji, but enough. like how you hesitate before leaving his side, like you’re waiting for something. or how you look at him when you think he’s not paying attention. he doesn’t get it at first. he thinks maybe you’re worried about him. which, okay, fair. but it nags at him. it takes him an embarrassingly long time to put it together, and when he does, it hits him all at once. because if that’s what your looks mean… then why does his chest feel like that when you smile at him? oh. oh. he spends the next few days being weird. more fidgety, louder but also quieter when it matters. he overthinks everything he says to you, which somehow makes him say even dumber things.

“are you okay?” you ask one afternoon. “yeah! im okay. super okay. very okay. never been more okay,” he says immediately. you stare. “…yuji.” “yeah?” “you just said ‘okay’ four times.” “did i? crazy.” you don’t push, but you don’t stop watching him either. the tension builds like that, stretching thinner and thinner, until it finally snaps on a day that feels completely ordinary. no mission. no gojo. no danger. just the two of you walking back from grabbing snacks, the sun dipping low and painting everything gold. yuji stops walking. you take a few steps before turning back. “what’s wrong?” he looks like he’s about to fight something worse than a curse. “you can tell me,” you say softly. that’s what does it.

he exhales, shaky. “i think i’m kind of an idiot.” you blink. “kind of?” he huffs. “okay, yeah. definitely. but like, about this.” he gestures vaguely between you. “i didn’t get it. for a while.” your heart stumbles. “get what?” “you. and how you look at me. and how i—” he groans. “this is so bad. i had a whole speech, and now it’s gone.” you smile a little. “you had a speech?” “it was a good one. ten out of ten. would’ve made you fall in love with me instantly.” “instantly?” “okay, maybe five minutes.” you laugh, and it steadies him. then he looks at you, really looks. “i like you,” he says. simple. honest. “a lot. probably more than i’m supposed to. and i didn’t realize it until i thought maybe you felt the same. and then i got scared. but if i don’t say it, i think that’d be worse.”

you step closer, closing the space he’s been too nervous to cross. “you’re really bad at speeches,” you tell him. his face drops. “i knew it—” “but you’re good at being honest.” he stills. “..i like you too,” you admit, softer now. “have for a while.” it takes a second, then his whole face lights up. “wait. seriously?” “seriously.” he laughs, a little breathless. “wow. i can’t believe that worked.” “worked?” “yeah. my amazing confession.” you roll your eyes, smiling. “you’re such a dork.” “hey,” he points at you, “you like this dork.” you pretend to think, then step closer again, just enough to make his breath hitch. “yeah,” you say. “i do.” and for once, he doesn’t miss what’s right in front of him.

[vu1tvre]

anything jodio related please, ill take!! 🙏🏽 tho for any specifics there was a hc (https://x.com/kyueishin/status/1950709576891847051?s=20) where if jodio has a gf he’d prolly keep it lowkey and wouldn’t tell anyone, so maybe a scenario related to that??

I’m not sure have fun LOVE YOU SM UR WRITING IS PEAK 🙏🏽🙏🏽🥰🥰❤️

a guy who treats his love life like it’s a classified government document? amazing. also luv you too <3

= jodio x female!reader

a/n : hope you don't mind but im gonna start making these fic's a little longer. but if its overwhelming or too much (pause) please lmk!

jodio never said he had a girlfriend. not to dragona, not to the crew, not even in those half-joking conversations where everyone’s throwing out lies just to see who folds first. if anything, he leaned into the opposite. shrugging when people asked, giving that lazy half-smile like the idea of him being tied down was kind of funny. like it didn’t fit. and maybe that was the point. because the truth wasn’t flashy. it wasn’t something he could spin into leverage or profit or power. it was quiet. it lived in the spaces no one bothered to look. like the backseat of his car at two in the morning, or the corner of a convenience store where the lights flickered just enough to make everything feel unreal. you weren’t something he talked about. you were something he kept. and there’s a difference, even if most people are too loud to notice it. the first time dragona almost caught on, it wasn’t even dramatic. just a glance at jodio’s phone when it lit up, your name sitting there like it belonged. no emoji, no nickname, just your name. plain. normal. suspiciously normal. jodio flipped the phone over before the screen could even dim, like it burned. “who’s that?” dragona asked, casual but not really. jodio didn’t even blink. “nobody.” and that should’ve been the end of it. except it wasn’t, because jodio didn’t lie like that unless it mattered. and things that mattered were rare.

you learned early on that being with him meant being… invisible. not in a sad way, not in that tragic “he’s ashamed of you” kind of way people love to assume. it wasn’t that. it was more like being part of a secret that only worked if it stayed one. he didn’t introduce you to anyone, didn’t bring you around, didn’t even mention names. but he showed up. every time. that was his language. he’d pull up without texting first, engine still running, waiting for you to notice him through your window. or he’d leave things for you, small stuff, like your favorite drink sitting on the step outside your door, still cold, like he’d only just left. he never stayed long when you were out in public together. always just passing by, brushing your hand like it meant nothing, like it wasn’t the only thing grounding him. and you got it. somehow, you did. because jodio’s world wasn’t built for softness. it wasn’t built for anything that couldn’t be used, traded, or protected. and you… you weren’t any of those things. you were just his. not in the possessive, toxic way people like to romanticize. just… his person. the one place he didn’t have to calculate every move. even if that meant no one else could know you existed in his life.

still, there were moments where the line blurred. like the night everything almost slipped. it was late, the kind of late where the air feels heavier, like it’s holding onto something. you were sitting in his car, legs tucked under you, talking about nothing important. he was quieter than usual, fingers tapping against the steering wheel in a rhythm that didn’t match the radio. “you ever think about just… leaving?” he asked suddenly, not looking at you. it wasn’t a joke. you could tell. jodio didn’t ask questions like that unless they’d been sitting in his head for a while. “leaving what?” you said, even though you knew. he huffed, a small, almost laugh. “all of it.” his hand found yours without thinking, like it always did when he stopped pretending. and for a second, it felt normal. too normal. like this was just some regular relationship and not whatever complicated thing you two had built in the shadows. “you wouldn’t like it,” you said softly. “you’d get bored.” he squeezed your hand, just once. “nah,” he muttered. “i think i’d be fine.” and that’s when you realized something dangerous. he wasn’t talking about leaving alone. he was talking about leaving with you. the idea hung there, fragile and impossible. and then, like everything else with him, it disappeared just as quickly. headlights passed, the moment broke, and jodio pulled his hand away like it hadn’t happened.

the crew started noticing things after that. not enough to piece it together, but enough to feel like something was off. jodio disappearing more often. answering texts quicker than usual. that one time he showed up with a scratch on his cheek and brushed it off like it was nothing, even though it clearly wasn’t from any job they knew about. dragona pushed a little harder, watching him the way only someone close to him could. “you’re hiding something,” they said one night, half-teasing, half-serious. jodio leaned back, arms crossed, expression unreadable. “you’re bored,” he replied. and maybe that was enough for anyone else. but not for dragona. still, even they couldn’t crack it. because jodio wasn’t just keeping a secret. he was protecting it. there’s a difference, again. secrets can slip. protection is intentional. every time he almost said your name, he swallowed it. every time someone got too close to figuring it out, he redirected, distracted, shut it down. not because he didn’t trust them. but because trust wasn’t the issue. safety was. and in his world, the more people knew about something you cared about, the easier it became to lose it.

you didn’t realize how serious that was until the first time things went wrong. it wasn’t some big, cinematic disaster. just a wrong place, wrong time kind of situation. you were waiting for him, leaning against the side of a building, when a couple of people from his orbit passed by. they didn’t know you, not really. just recognized you enough to know you didn’t belong there. one of them asked a question, something casual but loaded. “you waiting for someone?” you smiled, polite, neutral. “just a friend.” they didn’t buy it. you could tell. and for the first time, you understood why jodio kept you separate. because in that moment, you weren’t just you. you were a variable. a potential weakness. something that could be used. and when jodio found out, he didn’t get angry. not at you. never at you. he just got… quiet. the kind of quiet that meant he was already ten steps ahead, already fixing something before it broke completely. “don’t come around here anymore,” he said later, voice low, controlled. it wasn’t a suggestion. it was the closest he’d ever come to pushing you away. and it hurt. more than you expected. “so that’s it?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady. “i just… disappear?” he looked at you then, really looked, like he was memorizing something. “you don’t disappear,” he said. “you stay where it’s safe.” and there it was. the truth, stripped down to something simple and unfair. loving him meant staying hidden. and for a second, you wondered if that was enough.

but then he showed up again. of course he did. different place, different time, same quiet knock on your door. like nothing had changed and everything had. he didn’t say much when you let him in. didn’t need to. he just pulled you close, arms tight around you in a way he never let himself do anywhere else. “they didn’t touch you, right?” he asked, voice muffled against your shoulder. you shook your head. “no.” he nodded, like that confirmed something in his head. like the world could keep spinning. “good,” he murmured. and that was it. no apology, no explanation. just relief. and weirdly, that was enough. because this was how he loved. not loudly, not publicly, not in ways other people could understand or validate. but consistently. carefully. like he was holding something fragile in a world that wasn’t built for fragile things. and maybe, someday, that wouldn’t be enough. maybe you’d want more than late-night visits and hidden touches and a name that never left his mouth around other people. but right now, in this quiet, in this strange, protected space he carved out just for you… it was real. and jodio, for all his secrets and calculations and carefully controlled distance, was the one thing in your life that never felt like a lie.

[vu1tvre]

painting sephiroth!

you pick the bench because it feels like it was placed there just for you, like someone thought, yes, right here is where a person might want to sit and exist for a while. the wood is cool under you, a little worn, a little uneven, but it holds your weight without complaint. the air carries that soft autumn chill, the kind that brushes your cheeks and makes everything feel sharper, more intentional. leaves scatter along the path in uneven drifts of amber and rust, their edges curling like they’ve already accepted their ending. it’s quiet, but not empty. the kind of quiet that hums. you adjust your sketchbook on your lap, thumb smoothing over the page like you’re trying to wake it up. your paint kit sits beside you, a little messy, a little chaotic, just how you like it. you weren’t planning to paint anyone today. you told yourself this was just for scenery, for trees, for light and shadow and maybe the way the wind nudges the world along. but then you see him.

he’s across the walkway, seated on another bench that mirrors yours like some deliberate symmetry you don’t entirely trust. tall doesn’t even begin to cover it. he seems… arranged, like the world built itself around him instead of the other way around. long silver hair falls over his shoulders, catching what little sunlight filters through the branches, turning it almost luminous. it’s not the kind of beauty that asks for attention. it assumes it already has it. he’s still, almost unnervingly so, hands resting loosely, posture relaxed but not careless. if statues could breathe, they might look like him. you tell yourself not to stare, which is hilarious, because your eyes refuse to cooperate. there’s something about him that doesn’t fit into the rest of the scene, like he wandered in from a different story entirely and decided to stay. your fingers tighten slightly around your pencil. you should look away. you don’t.

you flip to a clean page anyway, because apparently self-control is optional today. your pencil hesitates for a second, hovering, like it’s asking if you’re really going to do this. you are. the first lines come light, almost cautious, mapping out the structure of him. the slope of his shoulders, the tilt of his head, the quiet gravity he seems to carry. you work fast at first, afraid he’ll move, disappear, prove this was some strange trick of the light. but he doesn’t. he stays exactly as he is, like he knows you’re watching, like he’s allowing it. the thought makes your chest tighten in a way you choose to ignore. colors come next, soft washes bleeding into the paper. you don’t paint him exactly as he is. you can’t. instead, you paint what he feels like. the silver of his hair becomes something brighter, almost celestial. the shadows around him deepen, not darker but richer, like they belong to him. the leaves at his feet seem to gather, as if drawn in. you exaggerate the calm, the stillness, the quiet power. you make him look like he belongs to the season itself, like autumn carved him out of wind and fading light.

time slips. it does that when you’re too focused, when the world narrows down to lines and color and the way your hand moves without asking permission. your fingers are smudged, a little stiff, but you don’t notice until you finally lean back and look at what you’ve done. it’s… a lot. more than you meant to create. more than you expected. you stare at it, searching for flaws, for something to ground it back into reality, but it just stares back at you, quietly unapologetic. your gaze flickers up, instinctively, and lands on him again. he hasn’t moved much. maybe a slight shift, maybe not. it’s hard to tell. and then, because your brain chooses chaos at the worst possible moment, you think: i should show him. immediately followed by: absolutely not. you sit there for a few seconds, locked in a silent argument with yourself that you’re definitely losing. because eventually, you close the sketchbook halfway, stand up, and start walking.

each step feels louder than it should. the leaves crunch under your shoes like they’re announcing your approach to the entire universe. you consider turning back at least three times, which would be a solid plan if you actually followed through. but you don’t. you stop a few feet in front of him, suddenly very aware of your hands, your posture, your entire existence. up close, he’s… worse. not in a bad way. in a this is inconvenient for my ability to act normal way. his features are sharp but not harsh, composed in a way that feels deliberate. his eyes lift to meet yours, and there’s a moment, just a second, where everything goes very still. so much for him not noticing you. you swallow, adjusting your grip on the sketchbook like it might somehow save you. “i, um…” incredible start. really setting the tone. you clear your throat, trying again. “i was sitting over there, and i— i painted you.” you hold the sketchbook out slightly, not fully committing, because apparently even now you’re half-prepared to run.

he doesn’t reach for it immediately. of course he doesn’t. that would be too easy. instead, he studies you for a moment, gaze steady but not unkind. it’s not judgmental, which somehow makes it worse. like he’s actually paying attention. when he finally moves, it’s slow, unhurried, like time bends a little to accommodate him. his hand brushes yours briefly as he takes the sketchbook, and your brain decides that’s a detail worth overanalyzing later. he looks down at the painting, and you watch his expression like your entire future depends on it, which is a completely rational response, obviously. there’s no immediate reaction. no obvious shift. just that same calm, controlled stillness. and then, subtle but unmistakable, something changes. his eyes soften, just slightly, like the edges of something sharp being smoothed down.

“this is how you see me?” his voice is low, measured, the kind that doesn’t need to be loud to be heard. there’s no mockery in it. no disbelief. just curiosity, quiet and genuine. you shrug, because words feel unreliable right now. “i guess,” you mumble, glancing anywhere but directly at him. “it’s not… exact. i just— it felt like that.” brilliant explanation. truly groundbreaking. he looks at the painting again, longer this time, as if trying to understand it the way you understood him without ever speaking to him. “you’ve made me something more than i am,” he says after a moment. you frown slightly, shaking your head. “no. i just painted what was already there.” the words come out before you can second-guess them, and for a second, you consider the possibility that you’ve just said something deeply embarrassing. but he doesn’t laugh. doesn’t dismiss it.

instead, he closes the sketchbook gently and hands it back to you. his gaze lingers, thoughtful in a way that feels… careful. “then perhaps you see more clearly than most.”and just like that, the world starts moving again. the wind picks up, leaves skittering across the path, the quiet hum returning like it never left. you take the sketchbook, fingers brushing his again, and this time you don’t pull away quite as quickly. there’s a strange steadiness in your chest now, something warm and unfamiliar, like you’ve stepped into a moment that matters even if you don’t fully understand why.you nod, because you’re not entirely sure what else to do, and turn back toward your bench. it would be easy to stay, to say more, to stretch this into something longer. but some moments don’t need that. some are meant to be brief, to exist exactly as they are and then settle into memory like pressed leaves between pages.when you sit down again, the world looks the same, but it doesn’t feel it. your painting rests open on your lap, the colors catching the fading light. you glance up once more, just to check, just to make sure he’s still there. he is. and this time, when your eyes meet, there’s no pretending either of you didn’t notice.

[vu1tvre]

hihi love, everything about ur jodio fic was amazing it was all i could ever ask for and more 💕<33 I LOVED THE FIC BEING LONG TOO, PLS DO CONTINUE WITH LONGER FICS AAA ITS SO GOOD 🥰

tbh I don’t rlly have any good ideas, I just wanna any jodio fics LOL but if I may ask, first date with jodio but literally everything goes wrong at first but somehow ends up being ok

once again just have fun with it, ur writing is chefs kiss 🙏🏽

first date with jodio! :)

JOJOS BIZARRE ADVENTURE MASTERLIST!

a/n : thank you sm ! you're literally the sweetest . also sorry for making this late . hope you enjoy .

you knew it was going to be a bad start the moment your alarm didn’t go off. not the gentle buzz you set, not even the violent backup one that usually rattles your bones. nothing. just silence. when you finally blink awake, it’s because the sunlight is already too bright, pouring through your curtains like it has something to prove. your phone reads 12:17, and your heart drops so fast it feels like you skipped a step in reality. you were supposed to meet jodio at 12:30. for a second you just lie there, staring at the ceiling, wondering if this is one of those moments where you pretend you didn’t wake up at all and accept defeat. but then your chest tightens at the thought of him standing there alone, maybe checking his phone, maybe deciding you’re not worth the effort, and suddenly you’re moving. everything becomes frantic. clothes are thrown on without thinking, your hair refuses to cooperate, and you end up tying it back in a way that looks like you tried and failed at the same time. you brush your teeth too fast, nick your lip, curse under your breath, and nearly trip over your own shoes rushing out the door. your reflection catches you for half a second on the way out, and you almost don’t recognize yourself. not because you look bad, but because you look… nervous. and you hate that.

the universe, apparently, decides that being late isn’t enough punishment. the bus you need pulls away right as you reach the stop, like it made direct eye contact with you before leaving. you stand there for a second, breathing hard, hands on your knees, trying not to laugh at how ridiculous this feels. so you walk. it’s not even that far, you tell yourself, except it absolutely is when you’re rushing and your shoes weren’t meant for speed. halfway there, the sky that was perfectly clear ten minutes ago decides to shift moods. rain starts, not soft or poetic, but sudden and inconvenient, soaking through your clothes in seconds. you debate turning back, calling it off, texting some excuse, but your fingers hover over your phone and don’t move. you don’t want to be that person. not with him. so you keep going, wet and slightly out of breath, rehearsing apologies in your head that all sound worse the more you think about them. by the time you reach the café, you’re twenty minutes late, damp, and convinced you’ve already ruined everything before it even began. you pause outside the door, hand hovering on the handle, and take one steadying breath that doesn’t actually steady anything.

he’s already there when you walk in. of course he is. sitting by the window, one hand lazily tapping against the table like he’s keeping time with a song only he can hear. jodio looks up the moment the door chimes, and there’s this split second where your brain expects disappointment, maybe irritation, something that confirms all your worst assumptions. instead, he just raises an eyebrow, eyes flicking over you, taking in the wet hair, the rushed outfit, the way you’re still catching your breath. “rough entrance,” he says, and there’s the faintest hint of amusement in his voice. you open your mouth to apologize, but it comes out tangled, words tripping over each other until you just stop and sigh. “i’m sorry,” you manage finally, quieter this time, more honest. he shrugs, like it’s not the end of the world. “you showed up. that’s already better than most.” it throws you off more than if he’d been annoyed. you slide into the seat across from him, trying to ignore the way your damp sleeve sticks to your arm, and for a moment there’s this awkward pause where neither of you knows what to say. then, because apparently the day isn’t done messing with you, the server comes over and immediately spills water while setting the glasses down, splashing across the table and onto your already unfortunate outfit. you laugh, this short, disbelieving sound, because at this point it’s either that or cry, and jodio actually smiles. not a smirk, not something sharp, but something real and brief, like he didn’t expect to find any of this funny but does anyway.

conversation doesn’t come easy at first. it stumbles, starts and stops, like both of you are testing the ground before putting weight on it. you ask him something simple, he answers in that calm, slightly detached way of his, and then he asks you something back that catches you off guard because it’s more thoughtful than you expected. somewhere between the awkward pauses and the small disasters, something shifts. maybe it’s the way he watches you when you talk, like he’s actually listening instead of waiting for his turn. maybe it’s the way you stop trying so hard to be perfect once you realize that ship sailed the second you walked in soaked and late. you tell him about the morning, about the missed alarm and the bus and the rain, and instead of judging, he leans back, shaking his head like he finds it mildly impressive you made it at all. “sounds like the world tried to cancel this,” he says. you glance at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “maybe it should have.” he studies you for a second, something unreadable flickering in his expression. “nah,” he says finally, almost offhand. “then i wouldn’t know what you look like when everything goes wrong.” it’s such a strange thing to say, and yet it settles somewhere warm in your chest. you don’t feel like a mess in that moment. you feel… seen. the café itself seems to calm down around you, the earlier chaos fading into background noise, and suddenly the date doesn’t feel like a disaster anymore. it feels like something real, something unpolished and a little messy, but honest in a way that surprises you.

by the time you leave, the rain has stopped. the air feels different, cooler, like the world got whatever it needed out of its system. you step outside together, lingering for a second under the awning, neither of you rushing to end it even though technically you probably should. your clothes are still slightly damp, your hair is definitely not salvageable, and yet you don’t feel embarrassed anymore. jodio glances at you, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable as ever, but there’s a softness there that wasn’t before. “next time,” he says, like it’s already decided there will be one, “try not to fight the entire universe on your way there.” you let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “no promises.” there’s a pause, the kind that could turn awkward if you let it, but it doesn’t. instead, it just exists, comfortable in its own way. you realize, standing there, that everything going wrong might have been the only reason this worked. if it had been perfect, maybe you would’ve been too careful, too guarded. but this version of you, the one who showed up late and soaked and still stayed, feels more real. and somehow, that was enough for him. when you finally part ways, there’s no dramatic moment, no over-the-top goodbye. just a quiet understanding that this wasn’t a failure. not even close. as you walk away, you catch yourself smiling, a little disbelieving, a little relieved, and you think maybe first dates aren’t supposed to be perfect. maybe they’re supposed to be a mess you survive together, just to see if it’s worth trying again.

[vu1tvre]

Hey how are you doing?? Would like to request a Jodio x male reader who he growns an unhealthy dependence on, with them like meeting at school or around town a few years prior to the events of the story but only starting to care about him when he reader would discover Jodio’s activities and actually wanting to join him and caring about his wellbeing instead of trying to pursue him away from his goal. And,Like, reader would start wanting to chicken out But oh Jodio can’t let that happen, he’d have him stay, of course persuading him with words not,never with force,he would never hurt him, and maybe some frotting and grinding on eachother in the midle skdhska sorry if I’m asking too much,loved your previus work,bye!!

" you keep telling yourself you can leave, but you’re still here.. so... maybe it was never really an option? "

= jodio x male!reader

a/n : hi love <3 so i had to tweak the ending a little bit and made it a little softer if you don't mind. also sorry if its a little short.

you meet jodio long before anything about him starts to feel dangerous. back then, he’s just a quiet presence that keeps slipping into your orbit like it means something, like it’s intentional even if he never says it is. same school, same hallways, same dull routine that somehow feels less suffocating when you notice him leaning against a locker or sitting a few seats away, half-listening, half somewhere else entirely. he doesn’t try to talk to you at first. he just looks. not in a creepy way, not even bold. just… steady. like he’s memorizing something. eventually, you’re the one who breaks it, some small comment about a class, something forgettable, but he answers like it matters. like you matter. and from there, it becomes a habit. passing conversations turn into walking together after school, then lingering longer than necessary, then knowing things about each other that feel oddly specific. he doesn’t open up much, but he listens. really listens. it’s unsettling at first, how seen you feel around him, but it’s also… nice. nicer than it should be.

it takes a while before you notice the cracks. jodio disappears sometimes, not for long, but just enough to raise questions he never answers directly. there’s money he shouldn’t have, connections he brushes off too casually, and that look he gets when something shifts around him, like he’s calculating five moves ahead while you’re still trying to figure out the first. you’re not stupid. eventually, you follow him. terrible idea, honestly, but curiosity has always been your worst trait. what you find isn’t clean or simple. it’s messy, risky, threaded with things that could ruin someone if they got too close. and somehow, instead of running like a normal person with basic survival instincts, you stay. you step closer. you ask questions. jodio watches you the entire time, like he’s waiting for the moment you’ll flinch, pull back, tell him he’s gone too far. you don’t. and something in him shifts, something quiet but heavy, like a lock clicking open.

after that, he starts letting you in. not all at once, never recklessly, but enough. he explains things in pieces, watching your reactions like they’re more important than anything else happening around him. you expect him to push you away at some point, to decide you’re a liability or a weakness. instead, it’s the opposite. he keeps you closer. closer than before, closer than anyone. and the worst part is, you let him. you tell yourself it’s because you chose this, because you weren’t scared off, because you wanted to understand him instead of judging him. but there’s something else, something quieter and harder to admit. you like how he looks at you now. like you’re not just someone passing through his life, but something fixed, something necessary. it’s flattering in a way that sinks under your skin before you can question it.

still, you’re not completely immune to reality. there are moments, usually late at night or when things get a little too close to going wrong, where doubt creeps in. where you start thinking maybe you’ve stepped into something you can’t walk back from. one night, you finally say it out loud. not dramatically, not even confidently. just a quiet, “i don’t know if i can keep doing this.” and for a second, jodio doesn’t respond. he just looks at you, really looks, like he’s trying to figure out if this is the moment everything unravels. when he finally speaks, his voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it, but there’s something firm underneath it, something that doesn’t bend. he doesn’t argue with you, doesn’t guilt you or corner you. he just talks. about trust, about how you chose this, about how you’ve already proven you’re stronger than you think. he makes it sound reasonable. safe, even. like staying isn’t a risk, it’s just the natural next step.

you almost believe you can walk away anyway. almost. but then he steps closer, slow enough that you could stop him if you wanted to. you don’t. his hand comes up, hesitating for the briefest second before it cups your face, like he’s giving you time to change your mind. you don’t. when he kisses you, it isn’t forceful or desperate. it’s careful. deliberate. like he’s sealing something instead of starting it. your thoughts stutter, everything you were about to say dissolving into something quieter, something less certain. when he pulls back, he doesn’t let go completely, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek like he’s grounding himself as much as you. “you’re not leaving,” he says, not as a command, not as a threat. just… a fact he’s already accepted. and the unsettling part is, you realize he might be right. because somewhere along the way, without noticing exactly when it happened, staying stopped feeling like a choice you were making for him—and started feeling like one you couldn’t undo, even if you tried.

[vu1tvre]

Hi, well, I have a request. If you're not comfortable with it, no problem. I thought of having the reader manipulate the relationship—well, the almost-relationship—between Harumi and Kuai Liang, based on Kuai Liang's final tower mode. When he meets Harumi, she helps him, they create the clan, etc. But in this case, the reader is angry with Harumi. She doesn't hate her, but she's angry that the love of her life, Kuai Liang, is interested in her. The reader has always been there for him, so why can't she be the one to do it? the reader wonders. She wants to make Harumi disappear from the face of the earth, but that would be low, and it wouldn't be easy. She has to gain Harumi's trust, which shouldn't be too complicated. So, she plans to separate them one way or another. In this case, she wants to become Harumi's friend, spend time with her, and manipulate every interaction between them. It wasn't that difficult to become Harumi's friend, and the Japanese girl tells her that she plans to ask Kuai Liang out on a date. The reader listens and advises her (trap) that Kuai Liang might like that. Hmmm, I'm thinking, I don't know, maybe Harumi could give him something he's allergic to. Hmmm, I don't know. Another idea is that Harumi wanted to give him a gift but gives him something else, something that offends Kuai Liang or makes him uncomfortable. Hmmm, figure it out! I like drama, but if you can't, don't worry, it's just an idea that popped into my head, hehe. To be exact, the reader should come out looking good and Harumi should look bad in Kuai Liang's eyes, and they should both end up on bad terms. It's the most peaceful thing I can think of. Honestly, I thought the reader could gain Harumi's trust and one day take advantage of the situation to get rid of Harumi and have a clear path with Kuai Liang, but I think that sounds a bit evil, well, very evil, as much as possible. Don't worry. (MK1)

you didn’t break them apart, you just stood in the right place, whispered the right things, and let their trust do the rest <3

= kuai liang x fem!reader

a/n : sorry i took so long to do this.. I've been in and out the hospital for the past four weeks but i managed to do a few of you guys request. i hope you like this hon!

you didn’t mean for it to feel like this. that’s what you keep telling yourself, like repetition might sand the guilt down into something smoother, easier to hold. because it wasn’t supposed to be you standing on the outside, watching him look at her like she was something warm, something safe. it was supposed to be you. it had always been you. you were there before the clan had a name, before the purpose settled into his bones, before harumi’s laughter started filling the quiet spaces you used to occupy. so when you see the way kuai liang’s eyes soften around her, it doesn’t feel like jealousy at first. it feels like something being taken. something that had already belonged to you. you don’t hate her. that would be simpler. hate is clean, sharp. this is heavier, tangled with something almost like admiration. she’s kind. she’s gentle in ways you never quite learned how to be. and maybe that’s exactly the problem. because kindness like hers makes it easy for people to choose her. makes it easy for him to choose her. so you decide, very quietly, that you won’t let that happen. not without a fight. not when you’ve already given so much of yourself to stand beside him.

it turns out, becoming her friend is almost embarrassingly easy. harumi welcomes you like she’s been waiting for you, like you’re not stepping into her life with an agenda tucked neatly behind your smile. she talks to you about everything, about the clan, about her hopes, about him. especially about him. you learn the way her voice softens when she says his name, how she tucks strands of hair behind her ear when she’s nervous, how she looks at you like you’re someone she can trust. and you play your part perfectly. you listen. you nod. you laugh when she does. you become someone safe in her eyes, someone who would never twist her words or guide her wrong. and when she finally tells you, cheeks warm and eyes bright, that she’s thinking about asking kuai liang out, you feel something sharp twist in your chest. but you don’t let it show. instead, you tilt your head, thoughtful, like you’re carefully considering her happiness. “he might like something bold,” you tell her, voice soft, encouraging. “something unexpected. he’s not the type to fall for something ordinary.” she lights up at that, like you’ve just handed her the answer she’s been searching for. and you almost laugh at how easy it is. how quickly trust turns into something you can mold.

you start small. you always do. subtle shifts, barely noticeable, the kind that feel like accidents if anyone ever looks too closely. harumi mentions wanting to bring him something as a gift, something meaningful, something that shows she understands him. you hum thoughtfully, pretending to think it through, while already knowing exactly where you’re going to lead her. “he respects strength,” you say slowly. “discipline. maybe something tied to that. something… symbolic.” you suggest an item you know will land wrong, something tied to a past he doesn’t like to revisit, something that feels more like a challenge than a gesture. harumi doesn’t know that. she just nods, trusting you, her excitement outweighing any doubt. and you help her prepare it, help her choose the exact wording, the exact moment. you’re there when she rehearses what she’ll say, when she worries it’s not enough, when she asks you if you think he’ll like it. every time, you reassure her. every time, you push her just a little further in the wrong direction. and when the day comes, you make sure you’re nearby, close enough to see the way it unfolds. kuai liang doesn’t react the way she expects. of course he doesn’t. confusion flickers across his face first, then something tighter, something uncomfortable. he doesn’t lash out, not in the way others might, but the distance is immediate. visible. and harumi, sweet, trusting harumi, doesn’t understand why.

it doesn’t end there. you’re not reckless enough to think one misstep will be enough to pull them apart completely. so you keep going, weaving yourself deeper into the space between them. when harumi comes to you, upset and unsure, you tilt the narrative just enough. “maybe he felt pressured,” you suggest gently. “you know how he is. maybe he doesn’t like being… cornered.” it’s not a lie, not entirely. just angled in a way that makes her second-guess herself. and when kuai liang, distant now, tries to make sense of what happened, you’re there too. calm, reasonable, reliable. you don’t speak badly of her outright. you don’t have to. you just let your words imply things. “she seemed really determined,” you say, like you’re trying to defend her. “maybe she misunderstood something.” it plants doubt. not anger, not yet, but something quieter. something that lingers. and you keep nudging, carefully, patiently, until their conversations feel strained, until misunderstandings stack on top of each other like fragile glass ready to crack. harumi starts trying too hard, overcorrecting in ways that only make things worse. kuai liang pulls back further, unsure, uncomfortable, unable to reconcile the version of her he thought he knew with the one standing in front of him now. and through it all, you remain steady. supportive. the one who listens without judgment.

by the time it finally breaks, it’s almost quiet. no dramatic confrontation, no shouting, just a conversation that ends with too much space between them and not enough trust left to bridge it. harumi looks hurt, confused, like something precious slipped through her fingers without her understanding how. kuai liang looks… tired. conflicted. like he’s trying to make peace with a disappointment he didn’t expect. and you stand there, just slightly to the side, untouched by the fallout. when harumi looks at you, searching for reassurance, you give her the same gentle expression you always have. when kuai liang glances your way, there’s something different in his gaze now. something steadier. something that leans, just a little, in your direction. and that twist in your chest from before? it eases. not completely. maybe it never will. because even now, even with everything falling exactly the way you wanted, there’s a part of you that knows what you did. knows how easily you stepped into her trust and turned it into something else. but you push that thought down, bury it beneath the quiet satisfaction settling in. you didn’t destroy her. you didn’t become something monstrous. you just… shifted things. guided them. and in the end, you’re the one still standing beside him. the one he turns to, even if he doesn’t fully realize why. and maybe that’s enough. maybe it has to be.

[vu1tvre]

JUJUTSU KAISEN MASTERLIST

NSFW

TOJI FUSHIGURO - who doesn't want toji's cock inside of you after a rough day at work?

SFW

YUJI ITADORI - just a cutie trying to confess to his crush!