#yuji itadori

[psyduckz]

long distance (and reunion)

[mitchythedrawer]

Megumi

[aidarall]

Out of Touch

: You’re out of touch, he’s out of time.

Gojo Satoru x gn!reader

| A Sorcery AU Oneshot ♬: Out of Touch - Daryl Hall & John Oates / Reflections - The Neighbourhood (I don’t support them)

wc: 2.0k

tags: Unestablished relationship, small angst, hurt/comfort, reader has a C.T similar to Midas' touch (but everything you touch loses life by the minute), pining ragebaiter Gojo, more on dialogues hehe, (and for reference: reader’s fingertips are like the scarlet witch’s, look it up it's so cool)

a/n: before you say it, YES this is akiangel inspired. So sorry it’s short :(( fuck school like I genuinely have 2 reports due rn LOLLL

“So uhm, that basically summarizes the whole topic. Don’t forget to finish your report—again, Yuji. Friday. Is. The. Due. Date. Does anybody have more questions before I go?”

Awkward silence fills the room.

“Alright, that’s it- listen, can anyone here just address the elephant in the room?”

“...”

“One…”

“...psssst- hey!”

“Two..”

“Just do it Itadori!” a certain brown-haired girl insisted.

“W-why do I have to be the one to say it?!?!?!” he hissed.

“Because you’re already so dense that sensei won’t even wonder why!”

The only thing Megumi could do at this moment was to nod in agreement. Whether he likes to admit it or not, he’s actually a bit scared of you—purely out of respect, of course.

“Three.”

“Fuck! Fine-”

“SENSEI!”

You knew it was coming.

“Yes, Yuji?”

“Fuck! Wait, maybe I shouldn’t-” he thought. But that thought quickly washed away as he saw Nobara’s horrifying death glare.

“Uhhh.. sensei, uhm- before I start, let me just say that THIS WAS A COLLECTIVE IDEA! LIKE- LIKE WEEEEE ALL THOUGHT OF THIS TOGETHERRR!! NOT JUST ME!!!”

“No, Yuji. Before you start, would you stop screaming? I can very much hear you loud and clear.”

“Oops- sorry, sensei. Anyway, uhm… again, we were just wondering if… uhm…”

“Cat got your tongue?” You tease as you cross your arms.

“I hope so! God, this is so hard to say without offending you. Curse you two!”

“Nah you were gonna spit it out anyway-”

“Facts.” Was all Megumi could say at this moment.

“Sensei, we were wondering why you wear gloves all the time…and you’re always covered up from head-to-toe even in this heat!”

Hm, so that’s what this is about.

“It’s because of my technique, you three. There you have it, I’ve answered your questions. Now go!”

“See? I knew it was just about technique. Sensei! Itadori thought you were a robot!”

“SHUT UP KUGISAKI!”

“A robot? Pfft- can a robot do this?” You throw the chalkboard eraser at the top of Yuji’s head.

“OWW-”

“Mhm. That’s not all, he also thought you had no hands at all. Like a ghost.”

“Woww Fushiguro, now you’re talking?!?!?!”

“All of you are so silly. You got Yuji trembling on his knees just because of my gloves?

“Exactly! See? Sensei gets me. Thank you, my humble master.”

“No. I don’t, Yuji. C’mon boy, really? A robot?? Ghost hands???”

“B-b-but!-”

“Ah-ah-ah. No more talking, go. All of you have to train, the 2nd years have been waiting.”

You quickly usher them out, waving your very real hands side to side.

“See ya, kids.” You failed to hear Yuji’s second question. And why are you always away, sensei?

Exhaustion crept over you as you walked to the building where your office was located.

The moment you got inside, you immediately lay on your couch, stretching your limbs as you took a deep breath.

You stare at your gloved hands.

“…My energy”

The peace didn’t last for long, as one of the roots of your stress knocked at your door like some hungry loan shark.

“Haahh… what is it this time, Gojo?” You lazily put an arm over your eyes.

“Open the door so I can tell you!” He eagerly shakes the doorknob.

“It’s not even locked… what are you on bruh...”

“Oh, yeah, that’s- haha! It wasn’t locked”

“Idiot…” You curse under your breath.

He sits in your office chair, acting like he owns the place.

“Get off my chair, you dimbo.”

“So I was thinking we should go to this new pastry shop that just opened last week on 3rd Avenue. I heard they make really good mochi!”

“Did you even hear what I said? Get off my chair, Gojo.”

“So, how does Thursday 7 PM sound?”

“I- what?” Sooooo apparently he has selective hearing now?

“Alright! 7 PM it is.”

“WHO are you talking to???”

“You.”

“No! Because clearly you didn’t hear me and you’re just making up bullshit right now- get off my chair!”

“Ouuu you got some nerve now, huh. Be careful, I might cancel that 7 PM-”

“SATORU GET OFF!”

“Haha you’re so easily pissed!!!” He finally gets off.

“God, you’re so difficult.”

You looked towards his direction and gave him a piercing stare.

Wait.

“Gojo, why are you here?”

“...To invite you.”

“No. You were gonna tell me something else. Come on, spit it out.”

He lightly chuckles. “You and your perceptive ass.”

“I don’t have all day. What is it?”

“Yaga’s sending us on a mission.”

Yes. You knew it. That uneasy expression on his face that he tries so hard to hide by being unserious. The blindfold doesn’t help one bit either.

“Details.”

“...T-Thursday, around- 7 PM” He chokes out.

“...”

“So you were expecting that 7 PM pastry date??? Aww don’t be so disappointed, we can reschedule!”

“What’s your issue? I don’t care about your pastry shit. And stop with the 7 PM thing it’s getting annoying! Just tell me the information fuck.”

“Alright okay, supposedly- there’s been biiig curses roaming around Okutama Ropeway. Give or take 6 days before it reaches the residential area: one special grade and two grade ones. Don’t worry. I’ll handle the big potato stuff, and you handle the small potatoes.”

“You’re such a child…”

-

The night of the mission came. Both of you stood in front of the said location. The ruins stood against the frost-bitten, eerie breeze, carrying the heavy scent of dead earth and filthy curses.

“Did we really have to do this at night?” You complained.

“Yeah, duh, it sets the mood alright.”

“Are you serious?”

“What’re you, scared?”

“No what the fuck.”

“No what the fuck~” He mocked.

“Let’s just- get it over with.” You can’t afford to waste more time on him.

Stepping ahead of him, you started to walk—taking a deep sigh, preparing yourself for the suffocating sensation that comes with the absorption of curses.

Using your teeth, you swiftly pulled off your gloves from your middle finger—exposing your jet-black fingertips.

“Careful, it’s really hot when you do that.”

“Quit it. Let’s split.”

“Copy that, boss!” He teleports to where that “big potato” curse is.

You hate to admit it, but now that you’re walking alone—the atmosphere feels more intolerable.

Filthy curses.

The moment you heard some distorted ruffling in the woods along with the echoing guttural and gurgling noises that came from the two fuckers, you knew it was go-time.

You rushed towards them.

“There you are.” You taunt.

Your lungs burned, running on pure adrenaline. Two grade ones, huh. You were able to duck under the first curse’s razor-sharp attack, but the second caught one caught you—side-swiping your ribs, sending you tumbling across the slick cobblestones. Motherfuckers.

Too slow, you thought, pushing yourself up with trembling arms. A few more seconds without energy, and you’d be a corpse.

Enough. You have to lock in.

The bladed curse lunged again, screeching. This time, you didn't dodge away, you leaned into the strike. The blade hit deep into your shoulder, pain flaring white-hot, but it gave you exactly what you needed: proximity.

You jammed your palm straight onto the curse’s chest, fingers sinking into its icy, writhing flesh.

“Mine,” you rasped.

The siphoning was immediate and violent. The curse’s screeches warped into a muffled, hollow gag as decades of stolen life flared up your arm like venom. Under your palm, the creature’s skin shriveled, turning into a brittle, blackened husk before crumbling into fine jet-black ash.

You were feral now, it’s been a while since you were assigned to a mission as thrilling as this, let alone absorb this much energy.

Color flushed back into your cheeks, energy rushing up to your neck, heartbeat hammering like a war drum—eyes dangerously dilated. You simply ignored the agony seeping into your shoulder that dulled to a faint throb. You stood upright, exhaling a plume of heat as you pulled the blade out of your shoulder—taking your jacket off after, leaving you in a bare tank top.

The second curse froze, its multi-eyed face twisting in sudden, primal terror as you turned to face it, eyes glowing with its partner's stolen life.

“You can see it, right? My technique?” You wiped a line of blood from your lip, eyes locking onto the remaining curse. “You’re wondering why I just turned your friend into dust. Don’t worry, you’ll join him soon.”

You raised your palms, a faint violet hum flickering across your knuckles.

“The moment my hands lock onto you, I forcibly steal the remaining lifespan holding your form together. I consume the time you have left and turn it into fuel. And I’ve been running low these past few days. I need you.”

[ CURSED TECHNIQUE: LIFE ABSORPTION ]

Unlike standard sorcerers who generate Cursed Energy from negative emotions, this sorcerer's innate engine operates on an absolute deficit.

By making direct contact with a target’s vital core, Life Absorption involuntarily forces the target's remaining lifespan into rapid decay. The erased time is immediately converted into high-density Cursed Energy, surging into the body at a 1:1 conversion rate ratio.

However, this technique carries two fatal flaws: One, Excess energy cannot be stored. The sorcerer’s body burns through consumed life-force at triple the normal rate to maintain peak output. To fight, the sorcerer must continuously devour to prevent the consequences of drying up completely. Two, The technique is not limited to curses. Anyone who makes flesh-to-flesh contact with the sorcerer is at risk of draining their lifespan by the minute.

You leap towards the grimy curse who’s practically running now.

Slap!

The curse didn’t have time to screech. Its skin shriveled, crumbling into fine ash just like how his partner did.

“Finally.”

“Gojo! I’m done with your small potato shit.” You call out.

Silence.

“C’mon I wanna go home. You’re taking too long. Wait- don’t tell me you need help there…”

God, why is it so silent? Something feels wrong.

Suddenly, something warm wrapped around your shoulder—teleporting you to another hill.

No. Wait- this couldn’t be-

“Gojo! What the fuck are you doing- you! GET OFF ME!” You panic.

Then, something happened. The entire Okutama Ropeway was blasted—reduced to mere smoke and ashes.

Purple. He used purple.

You could barely hear how heavy your breathing was because of how loud the explosion is.

“Gojo- GET OFF ME, YOU’LL DIE!”

“No.”

“YOU CRAZY!-”

“I like holding you like this. I don’t want to die old anyway. I’d rather use my remaining years holding you.” He wraps his arms around your shoulder, hugging you from the back while he nuzzles his head into your neck.

Somehow, his words comforted you instead of making you angry. How long has it been since someone touched you? You didn’t realize how touch-starved you were. This is bad. This is very bad.

“Gojo, stop holding me. I’m serious.” Melancholic eyes gazed below the destruction, letting the rushing air comb through your hair.

“I already told you-”

“Because if you keep on holding me like that I’ll start wanting it more.”

Oh. “Is that so?”

“Yes. Now get off.”

He does as you say.

“You know, if you just agree to be with me, you won’t have to leave and scavenge for curses as often just to maintain your cursed energy.” He faces you, pale sapphire irises glistening in the moonlight.

“...Are you saying that you’re willing to get killed? And where’s your infinity? Gojo, turn it on i’m not joking around.”

“I’m telling you. I’ll do anything- lock up curses in a dungeon for you to feed on. Just stay. Stop leaving. The kids like your company more than you think.” He’s asking- no, pleading. He’s pleading now.

“And…why should I use you like that?”

“Because I want you to. Okay? Please? Just give me a chance.”

A moment passed, you gave it some thought.

“...Make sure the dungeon is big.”

He couldn’t believe it. Was this really happening?

“You’re saying you’ll stay?!?!?!”

“Hurry before I take it back.”

The words took a moment to settle into his mind. A chance. After months of watching you from the sidelines, suffocating on unspoken feelings, he was finally being invited in. You let him in. It felt too big to hold, a dizzying surge of relief that left him completely speechless.

“In one condition, of course.”

Fuck! Of course this was all under a condition. He gulps.

“W-what is it?”

“You keep your infinity on. Always. 24/7. You hear me?”

“...Aye, aye, Captain!”

Oh, he’s sooo ready to break that rule.

dividers: by suupersonic

a/n: did u get the spiderman bnd small and big potato reference?? LOL and not reader lowk being a vampire…

[blinkbunni]

Yuji Itadori moves like an animal !!!

Could you really blame the guy?

Even without cursed energy, he’s gotten superhuman strength. And around you he’s more than the usual energetic ball of pink he was. And especially when you were wearing that short training skirt that curved your ass that he couldn’t help it.

You’re sprawled out in bed with your legs being held wiiide open as his cock is like a freight train into your poor weeping cunt with such force as he slams in that the headboard shakes and hits the wall.

He pulls out so fast that you don’t even get to whine or even register about the loss of his sex before he’s pounded back in while he holds your hips and presses wet lazy kisses around your sensitive nipples.

“Look at my princess… so-fuck! Fucking good for me..only me..so pretty..”

his soft words, your bullied pussy being abused by his rock hard cock and his greedy licks tasting your soft skin? It was just so much. “Haa~ Yu.. baby I-i can’t! ‘S too much!” You babbled, your mind too hazy to fully grasp words.

He let go of your nipple with a pop, his cock still working its way into your puffed out clit and looked at you with the widest eyes, and his hair frizzed everywhere paired with his signature pout while he places a hand on your hip with such gentleness compared to his actions right now between your sticky thighs.

“Fuck..please baby.. you feel so fucking good-I can’t..can’t stop..”

he pants, capturing your lips again, the sounds of your bodies colliding being obscene. The headboard hit the wall again. “Aah~shit! Yuu someone’s gonna-shit- hear!”

“Jus’ one more f’me.. you can do that, yeah?” God, how were you supposed to say no to that? You moan his name out and his face turns into a large smile. The sound of “thwap thwap thwap” was driving you insane as you clawed his back, scratching in deep to leave bruises (not like Yuji would object).

He places more wet and lazy kisses, sucking the skin in before he found your nipple again. His hand worked the other neglected boob, kneading it into your chest to make your back arch and flicking your pebbled nipple to make you gasp.

“Agh! Yu..Ji! Keep goingkeep going!” He chuckled before it got cut off by a groan when your back arched again to let him reach in that deep spot that made your folds clench around him. “Fuck.. first it’s too much, now y’want more?” He teases. He slaps your ass and watches it jiggle and you whine. He knew you were close.

How you sucked in his girth dick like there was no tomorrow and how every single muscle was tensing up as your face scrunched and you squeezed your eyes shut. Seeing how gorgeous you looked made him feel that low pool in his load, that was screaming to be pushed out.

. “Such a good girl for me..pretty pussy sucking me in..” tears gloss your eyes and stream down your cheeks as the pleasure became just so much. Your mind was mush and all you could think of was Yuji. 

tags because I’m gonna forget (ALSO PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU FILLED OUT ALL CHARACTERS BUT DONT WONNA BE TAGGED FOR A SPECIFIC CHARACTER I WONT JUDGE: @megumisrighttoe @mayegasm @nonchalantfiend @kissthesword @sugerfilled @mxmixii @tojisupersoaker @FuckThePureMe @vitya124 @safi7 @thegirllulike @min3rva222 @valiantreaperworm @chaosiskeycauseiamcha @gumballypthon @sofiaswifeofmegumi @Sunburntandsad @fushigoato-1 @ilovekats @myauraisperiwinkle

© Blinkbunni. Do not use this for AI training or plagiarism.

[soobmyluv]

ೀ⋆｡Love, Next Door

CHAPTER ONE: Bread and Butter

SYNOPSIS Yuta Okkotsu has spent four years dreaming of expanding his bakery. There's just one tiny problem. You. With a flower shop business called Lily & Sage, a suitcase full of dreams, and no idea you've just crushed Yuta's much-awaited expansion. Two neighboring businesses, a blossoming friendship, and a friendly rivalry baking in the oven, which you two, as you will discover it, are horrible at maintaining.

PAIRING bakeryowner!Okkotsu Yuta x flowershopowner!Reader

AUTHOR'S NOTES hi, everyone! thank you very much for all the love on the teaser of Love, Next Door! i'm so excited to bring this little world—that once only existed in my and my best friend's heads—into life for you all to enjoy with me. have fun, and please do let me know all your thoughts!

masterlist | next chapter

Welcome to Bellflower!

YUTA OKKOTSU HAS A DREAM. 

He’s been planning it since he was twenty-two. 

The scent of warm butter, cocoa powder, and cinnamon had settled into the wooden floorboards of his grandfather’s bakery, The Little Crumb, long before he was even old enough to reach the heavy oak counter without a footstool. 

Yuta spent many summers up in Bellflower—a quiet, quaint neighborhood just outside of the city where everyone knew each other, and everything made sense. It was the kind of town where the shoemaker knows your mother’s shoe size, the seamstress works on your favorite winter coat, and the morning air always smells like coffee beans and freshly mowed grass. But it was on the neighborhood’s main street, Willow Lane, that Yuta came to love his town. Willow Lane was the heart of Bellflower. 

For Yuta, the bakery was his entire life, and not out of obligation, too. When he was eight years old, his grandfather had placed a tiny whisk in his hands, patient and smiling, teaching him that baking was more than mixing and putting things inside ovens. It was also about putting food in people’s hands after a long day, even if all they had was ten minutes for a croissant. The bakery was being part of people’s everyday stories. The bakery meant being people’s shelter during a sudden thunderstorm in the middle of the day. It meant community, which Yuta soon realizes meant more to him than anything else in this world. Yuta spent many summers of his life working for his grandfather, and it was because of this work that Yuta discovered he, too, wanted a life like this. 

After his grandfather passed and Yuta inherited the shop at twenty-two, he was determined to preserve every inch of its nostalgic charm. The Little Crumb was kept as it was, with new furnishings that looked exactly like the old ones, and everything that was still sturdy was kept in place. After four years of working, Yuta now knew every resident by name, remembered every dietary preference, and treated each person who walked through his painted blue door with gentle, earnest warmth. 

However, there was one tiny, lingering flaw in Yuta’s otherwise quiet paradise: The Little Crumb, taking after its namesake, was getting to be too small. 

Yuta had grown more than a foot taller since he started working at the bakery with his grandfather. Standing at almost six feet tall, moving around the backroom of the bakery started to be difficult. The kitchen was so narrow from his equipment upgrades that he had to perform something like a dance every morning to get to the proofing box and the industrial-sized oven. Storage is an ongoing game of Tetris, customer seating is limited to three tiny bistro tables crammed in the storefront, and he couldn’t dream of hiring an assistant baker until he actually had room for two people to stand side-by-side without clashing elbows. Even when his younger sister visits in the summer, the two of them bicker like cats and dogs just because the space is so small. 

For three years, Yuta had stared longingly at the wall shared with the neighboring unit—a dusty, vacant clothing boutique whose owner is long-due for retirement. Yuta had many visions of his renovation of it: breaking down the dividing wall, a sunlight-flooded seating area, a proper pantry, and a quiet second-floor office where he could finally do inventory without resting his record books on his lap. 

Everyday, Yuta looks at the photograph of him and his grandfather behind the counter before he opens up shop. He hopes his grandfather thinks of him fondly. 

He wanted the shop next door so, so bad. No—he needed it. 

When the boutique owner finally retired and the sign said Closed Permanently on a Tuesday morning, Yuta was so excited he accidentally spilled flour all over his black trousers. 

He didn’t waste a second. Stripping off his apron, Yuta practically floated down to the local property manager’s office on the corner of Willow Lane. He had his checkbook and his lucky pen in his hand, more than ready to sign the lease that would make his dream a reality. 

Yuta was already imagining it in his head. All that money he spent the last four years saving, going to buy new chairs, longer tables, repainting the walls butter yellow and navy blue—it was all finally coming together in his head. All he had to do was get it in his hands. 

He was practically buzzing by the time he entered the office. 

After sitting in the office for twenty minutes, he receives news that makes his foolish heart drop. 

“Oh, Yuta,” the property agent sighed, looking at him with genuine sympathy over the rim of his reading glasses. “I’m so sorry, dear. The lease was signed yesterday afternoon.” 

He held his breath then. “Yesterday?” 

“Yes, by a very sweet girl,” the agent explains, patting a stack of neatly clipped papers. “She put down a deposit weeks ago to lock it in.” 

“Wh…” the words caught in his throat. “How did she know that the property was for rent?” 

The man across from him shrugs. “She’d been inquiring for an open spot for months. I guess one of my colleagues offered her the spot as soon as the lease wasn’t renewed.” 

He gives Yuta an apologetic smile, one which Yuta obviously returns before he walks out of the office in quiet disbelief. He walks back to his bakery in a haze of quiet, polite disbelief. Someone had beaten him to the punch, and his dream—of repainting the walls, of expanding his display, of purchasing new tables and chairs and equipment—was gone, just like that. His new seating area, his second-floor office, his assistant. Everything had vanished into thin air. 

All claimed by someone who wanted it just as much as he did. 

It’s almost laughable to him, really. He might even admire the lucky girl who got to it for her nerve. 

Instead of making a beeline for the bakery, Yuta crosses the street and marches into Good Fortune Tattoo Studio. 

The bell above the heavy glass door chimes violently as Yuta pushes it open. Inside, the shop smells faintly of disinfectant, green soap, and leather. The dark red walls are lined with art, tattoo flash pages, and pictures with famous celebrities. Behind the front counter sits his good friend, Yuji Itadori, with his feet up on the desk as he sketches some designs on an iPad. 

“Yuji,” Yuta calls flatly as he enters. 

Yuji looks up, bright eyes widening in delight beneath his pink hair. “Hey, man! Did you bring me cinnamon rolls—wait. Why are you looking at me like that?”

“What?” Yuta gives him an incredulous look. “I just got here, dude.”

“No, yeah, see, like that.” 

“Like what?!” 

“Like I ruined that sourdough starter you spent two years keeping alive.”  

“Don’t bring Softie into this conversation right now,” he groans, leaning with his elbows on the counter. He runs his hands through his hair. “Something unbelievable happened today. Did you know someone signed the lease for the shop next to mine before I could get to it?” 

Yuji taps his chin thoughtfully with his stylus. "Well, yeah."

Yuta’s head shoots back up to meet Yuji’s eyes. “...Yeah?” he repeats, eye twitching slightly. 

“My friend mentioned wanting to move here a few months back, turns out she signed the lease to an apartment and that shop almost a month ago,” he says, offering his painful words with an unbothered grin. “She was looking for a place to start her business, and I told her Willow Lane had an open space right next to the best bakery in Bellflower.” 

“And you didn’t tell me?!” 

“It slipped my mind.” 

“Yuji.” 

His friend chuckles. “You’ll like her! She’s great, saved my ass a few times when we were in college.” 

“I don’t think I could care too much about that right now.” 

“No, I promise, you two might even get along really well. She’s really creative, super hardworking, and remembers everyone’s name after meeting them once. Kinda like you.”

“She took my shop!” Yuta says, gesturing to his bakery across the street. 

“She didn’t take your shop,” Yuji corrects, spinning his stylus around his fingers. “It wasn’t yours yet.” 

“She took the shop I was going to expand to.” 

“Same difference,” Yuji shrugs with an affectionate grin. “Come on, Yuta. You’ve been staring at that damn space for three years waiting for it to fall into your lap, don’t be a sore loser when someone beats you to the punch.” 

“I’m not a sore loser! I just…really wanted that space, okay?” 

“I know. But a little life next door might be good for you! Plus, I heard she wanted to open up a flower shop. Flowers and bread go together like…well, flowers and bread.” 

Yuta glares at his friend for a brief moment before letting out a quiet, vanquished laugh. "You're infuriating, Yuji.” 

“I know,” Yuji repeats. “Now go back across the street. I’ll be there in thirty to pick up an almond croissant.” 

Over the next two weeks, the space next door transforms into a flurry of activity. 

On the first few days, Yuta walks up to open his bakery at four thirty in the morning only to be greeted by drilling and hammering from the other side of the wall. One week later, he sees workers bringing in wooden shelving and stainless steel work tables.

Yuta tries not to pry. Really, he does, but it’s almost impossible not to notice. White delivery vans arriving at dawn, unloading flowers upon flowers, clay pots, vases, and bags of potting soil and fertilizer. Brown craft paper is put up to cover the windows, and the neighborhood artists spend days painting flowers and decor on the windows. 

There’s a deep longing inside him for what could have been of his bakery had he signed the lease earlier. But for now, he casts those feelings aside and quietly observes the next-door shop come to fruition bit by bit. 

One afternoon, he sees another person in front of the new shop with her back to the bakery, struggling with a giant wooden planter outside the shop. He gets out from behind the counter to try and help, but before he could leave the bakery, she’d already managed to haul it up into her arms and take it inside. Yuta almost feels ridiculous for worrying, but then he remembers that’s what everyone does for each other around here.

On a crisp, January morning, Yuta is wiping down the front counter as the brass bell above his shop door chimes. In comes the same girl from earlier, the same one who managed to manhandle the wooden planters.

You carry a bright, effortless air about you, dressed in a red gingham top, jeans, and matching red ballet flats. In your hands, you're carefully balancing three potted herbs—mint, rosemary, and thyme, as Yuta’s trained eye instantly recognizes. You beam up at him from the doorway.

“Good morning,” Yuta greets. “Have to admit, I haven’t seen you around before. What can I get for you?” 

“Oh!” You shift slightly on your feet, your voice grounded yet laced with the gentle hesitation typical of a newcomer in a small town. “Good morning! I hope I’m not interrupting your morning prep.” 

Yuta straightens up, offering a reassuring smile. You must be very new here to be this polite. “No, not at all, I’m always happy to welcome a fresh face. And please, just call me Yuta.” 

“Okay, well, hi, Yuta.” 

He waits for a moment, expecting you to glance at the chalkboard menu or point toward the display case. When you just stand there smiling, he gently takes the lead. “…Sorry, I don’t think I’ve caught your name.” 

“Oh! Shoot. My name’s YN,” you laugh, shaking your head. “I’m so silly, I apologize, I completely forgot to introduce myself. I’m also your new neighbor from next door—we literally just finished setting up shop!” 

Yuta freezes behind the counter. His gaze drops to the potted herbs in your hands before floating back up to your bright, hopeful eyes.

He wants to be upset. He really, truly does—this is the person who just crushed his grand expansion plans, walking into his tiny, tiny bakery. But looking at your flushed, nervous expression and the genuine warmth in your smile, his defenses crumble instantly.

“Oh,” he stammers, his cheeks warming slightly. “I see. Welcome to Willow Lane then, YN.” 

You walk up to him and set down the herbs on his counter. “These are for you,” you say warmly. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Yuta. I’ve heard nothing but amazing things about this bakery from the people I’ve been setting up shop with. A friend of mine who lives around here—Yuji—said I should move here to Bellflower. He said the main street had the best energy in the neighborhood.” 

Yuta nods, eyeing the potted herbs. “Well, he wouldn’t be lying one bit. Willow Lane is the heart of Bellflower.” 

“Yuji said you guys have known each other forever.” 

“Uh,” Yuta scratches his neck. “Not forever. He grew up here, I visited for the summer—many summers, really—before I settled down here four years ago. I’ve known him since I was eight, but we only became friends when I moved.” 

“Fascinating,” you reply, your face softening. “Well, I’ll let you get back to baking, Yuta! I’m hoping to open tomorrow morning. I hope we’ll be good neighbors!” 

“Good luck,” he says, waving you off as you exit. “Thank you for the herbs!” 

When the bell chimes after your exit, Yuta stands alone in the bakery, staring at  the potted herbs. He takes a slow breath, catches the soothing scent of fresh mint and thyme, and lets out a long, defeated sigh.

How am I supposed to harbor a bitter rivalry when she’s this nice? He thinks miserably, picking up the small pot of rosemary and examining it fondly. He places it down by the windowsill after looking at it for a second longer than he needed to.

The next morning marked the grand opening of Lily & Sage. A handwritten chalkboard sign stands outside your freshly polished glass door, draped in garlands of ivy and pink wisteria. Pink and green balloons are anchored on the soil of your potted plants by a bag of stones. You’re donning another gingham pattern, only this time, you sport it as a headband, too. 

He watches from within the bakery as you take a look at your storefront, proud as the sun peeks out from the clouds behind you. As you walk back into your shop with a determined grin, he wonders what his own grandfather would have thought seeing the new developments on Willow Lane. 

Yuta spends most of the early hours standing near his front window, pretending to organize his cold display of fruit tarts and cakes over and over while secretly keeping an eye on the shop next door.

Initially, Yuta worried that a new shop right beside his might crowd the pavement or distract passersby, causing a dip in his morning rush. Instead, he notices that something entirely different happened. 

By nine in the morning, a steady stream of locals begin trickling inside. Yuta watches as Mrs. Sato from the local pharmacy walks out holding a bundle of bright yellow daffodils, looking happier than she had in months. She glances up at Yuta’s bakery and saunters inside, asking for her order of a hot chocolate and a scone. 

At ten o’clock, a couple walks out of Lily & Sage carrying a pair of succulents. They pause on the sidewalk, glancing at Yuta’s bakery before pulling the door open. The brass bell chimes with business, and they happily buy two lattes and a box of matcha madeleines to enjoy on their walk home. 

Twenty-minutes later, another one of his regulars, Mrs. Perez, walks in holding a single Ecuadorian rose wrapped in butcher paper. “Morning, Yuta!” she chimes. 

“Mrs. Perez, morning!” He greets, washing his hands. “Your usual?” 

“Of course, you already know,” she says as he goes to prepare her order. “You know, the new girl recommended I get a treat here to pair with these flowers for a ‘good day.’ She has no idea I come by here everyday at 10:30 on the dot! Have you met her?”

“I have,” he says, glancing at her above his shoulder as he prepares her drink. “She’s very nice. What do you think of her?” 

“She’s sweet,” Mrs. Perez replies. “And I agree, she’s darling. Asked everyone for their names and made small talk that didn’t really seem all that small. She reminds me a lot of you.” 

“Is that so?” 

“Yes. She told us you sold the best pastries in the neighborhood. But I already know that, of course.”

Yuta laughs, placing her pain au chocolat in a bag before handing it to her with her earl grey tea. “That was very kind of her.” 

By mid-afternoon, the synergy was undeniable. Every person who enters Lily & Sage seems to walk straight into The Little Crumb after, and several of Yuta’s regulars make a beeline for your shop right after buying from him. Willow Lane felt livelier and warmer than it had in months. 

Around five in the afternoon, the rush begins to settle into a cozy lull. Yuta’s determined to descale his coffee machine tonight, he decides as he wipes down the chrome surface of his coffee machine. The brass bell above Yuta’s shop door rings again as he works it back to a shine. 

Yuta turns from it to see you walking in again, holding a small, breathtaking floral arrangement in a vase—soft white hydrangeas nestled with eucalyptus and other greenery. 

You offer him a warm, slightly sheepish smile, head peeking out from behind the flowers. “Peace offering?” 

Yuta looks down at the gorgeous arrangement, then back up into your soft, bright eyes. The subtle anxiety he had carried all week evaporated completely, replaced by a strange, fluttering warmth in his chest. He wonders why he’s never felt this way about a newcomer before. 

"For what?" Yuta asks softly, a giggle making a smile tug at the corner of his lips.

“For stealing your customers today, I think,” you laugh, stepping forward to set the vase onto the wooden counter beside his pastry display. “Your place has been packed all day because of my foot traffic.” 

Yuta can’t help it; a genuine, hearty laugh breaks through his usual reserved composure.

"Actually," Yuta says, leaning his forearms on the counter and looking at you with soft, amused eyes. "I think you sent more people my way than I've seen on a Friday in months. If anything, I should be offering you a pastry.” 

"Deal," you smile, your eyes sparkling with playful warmth. "I'll take whatever you recommend."

Yuta reaches into the display case, carefully selecting a freshly dusted peach danish and placing it onto a small porcelain plate. As he hands it across the counter to you, your fingers and his brush against each other briefly—a fleeting moment that sends a sudden, comfortable electric pulse through the quiet afternoon.

You take the plate with the danish on it and lean on the counter opposite to him. “So, how long have you owned the place?” 

“Me?” Yuta looks up, a humble smile touching his lips. “I’ve only owned it for about four years. Before that, my grandfather ran it for as long as I can remember.”

“Four years?” You look around the warm, immaculate shop before meeting his eyes again. “With how effortlessly you run things, I would’ve guessed a decade at least.”

A chuckle erupts from Yuta’s chest as he wipes down his coffee machine. “Why, thank you. I learned everything I know from him, really.” 

“Did you always want to be a baker?”

Yuta shrugs, drying his hands with a clean towel before leaning his hip against the counter like you did. “I don’t know,” he admits, looking out at the afternoon street. “I’ve always loved being around people, and everyone in Bellflower has this incredible sense of community. Plus, baking here was always a good memory with my grandfather—I couldn’t stand the thought of this place ever closing down.” 

You listen intently to every word, a tender glint shining in your eyes as he speaks. When he finishes, you nod thoughtfully and take a small, satisfying bite of your peach danish.

“That’s beautiful,” you say softly, smiling up at him. “I think I’d like to stay here for a while, too.”

Something about the way you say it makes Yuta stare at you a second longer than he should. You didn’t say live here, or open up shop here. You said stay here. He doesn’t understand why that strikes such a chord in him, but he feels it—a soft, sudden blooming in his chest. 

Before he can ask you more, you smile and push off the counter. 

“Well,” you smile. “I should probably let you get back to work. I’ve taken up enough of your time today and I’ve got probably a hundred flowers waiting for me next door.” 

His stomach does a sudden flip at the way you smile at him. “Okay. Good luck.” 

“Thank you for the danish, Yuta.” 

“Don’t mention it.” 

You take one last bite before stepping toward the door. Yuta watches you go, the brass bell chiming gently behind you as you disappear down the sidewalk.

He stands alone behind the counter and realizes he can’t stop smiling. He feels utterly childish. But no matter how much he tries to fight it, he can’t resist the grin stretching across his face. 

Looking back at the memory of you standing in his little shop, surrounded by the scent of warm bread and fresh butter, Yuta realizes two things at once: his dream of expanding his kitchen might have to wait, but Willow Lane had just gained something far sweeter.

The following evening, Yuta is doing inventory on his beverages when the brass bell rings again. 

“Sorry, we’re closed,” he says automatically, not turning around from his notepad. 

“Good. I wasn’t planning on buying anything.” 

Yuta pauses and barely holds back a groan, realizing who it was. 

When he looks over his shoulder, Yuji is already strolling through the door, one hand in his jeans pocket while he raises the other in a casual wave. “Hey man. What’s shaking?” 

“You know you could always text me,” Yuta rolls his eyes. “Just to let me know you’re coming.” 

“See, you always say that, but you never read my texts,” Yuji replies cheerfully, leaning his forearms against the counter. “And anyway, you never lock your door.” 

Yuta turns around and tucks the pen in his hand behind his ear. “That is not true! I lock the door, just when I’m about to close. And it’s ten minutes till closing.”  

“Yeah, exactly.” 

Yuta sighs, but there is no real annoyance. This is something akin to a routine for them—Yuji wandering into to the bakery after hours for years. Sometimes it’s to bother Yuta, other times to poach the leftover pastries, but usually it’s both. It’s something endearing and undeniably comforting to Yuta, really, the fact that he’s built a steady friendship between himself and Yuji that his friend willingly comes over. 

Yuta turns back to the espresso machine. “Same as usual?” 

“Duh,” his friend replies matter-of-factly. “Have you got any leftover almond croissants?” 

“Yes.”

Without asking, Yuta reaches beneath the counter for a clean ceramic mug and starts pulling espresso shots. Behind him, Yuji grins.

“See? This is why I keep coming back.”

Yuta can only roll his, his back still turned. “You come back because I let you eat free pastries.”

“That too, obviously.”

With his back to the storefront, Yuta hears another set of footsteps enter the bakery. He hopes Yuji will tell the latecomer they’re closed, but instead, Yuji greets them brightly. 

“Hey!” Yuji chimes, giddy. “You made it!” 

Yuta glances over his shoulder—and freezes so fast he nearly pours steamed milk straight onto the counter, completely missing the cup.

It’s you. 

“Hi,” you say, closing the door behind you. 

Yuta exhales, turning around entirely. “H-Hey,” he says, his voice wrapped in an obvious warmth he tries—and utterly fails—to conceal.

Yuji raises a skeptical eyebrow Yuta’s way after he stammers, which Yuta brushes off and pretends he doesn’t notice. 

“I promise I wasn’t trying to break in,” you say with a soft laugh. “He invited me here.” 

“You don’t need an invitation,” Yuta waves a hand dismissively. “You’re welcome anytime.” 

“Wh—” Yuji makes a dramatic noise from between you two, clutching his chest. “Excuse me! I had to earn that invitation.” 

“You’ve been walking in here and mooching pastries for as long as I can remember!” 

“I’m your friend! I give you loyalty in exchange for the butteriest croissant in the whole world!” 

Yuta finishes the drink and slides the warm mug across the counter toward him. Unbeknownst to both of them, you’re watching their banter in quiet amusement.

You can’t help the laugh that slips out as you watch them go back and forth. “He didn’t even ask you what you wanted,” you point out to Yuji. 

“Because it’s the exact same thing every single time,” Yuta interrupts smoothly, sliding a warm ceramic mug across the tile. “A lukewarm café mocha.”

Yuji takes his cup, bringing it up to his lips with a grin. “The guy’s got everyone memorized.”

“Everyone, huh?” you nod Yuta’s way. 

“Most people…yeah. It comes with owning the bakery, I guess.” 

“Impressive,” you reply, giving him a knowing grin. There’s a playful glint in your eye that makes Yuta feel funny. “Well, then. I suppose I should be careful what I order—you know, to keep you on your toes.” 

Yuta raises an eyebrow at you, resting his hands on his hips. “So you don’t want a peach danish right now? Is that what I’m hearing, florist?”

You blink, your lips parting in genuine surprise. “You remembered! Well, I mean…I’ve only had it once, but still, it was probably the best danish I’ve ever had.” 

Yuta’s cheeks are warm. He hopes you can’t tell. “I thought you liked it,”  with a quick grab of his tongs, he places the peach danish on a ceramic plate and hands it over the counter to you. “Here you go.” 

You take it gratefully, eyeing it with delight. “I owe you one, baker.” 

While you and Yuta share a laugh at your new nicknames, Yuji stares between the two of you, taking a very slow sip of his mocha. He decides not to make it weird for once in his life. 

Yuji clears his throat. “Anyway,” he says, walking over to one of the bistro tables and plopping down on a chair. “We usually hang out here after closing—sometimes other people come over. Sometimes someone brings a board game. On a rare and lucky occasion, Yuta makes us test new recipes, though we always end up arguing over whether he should put them on the menu or keep them exclusive to us.”

Yuta raises an eyebrow, stepping toward the back room. “Sometimes?” 

“Fine. Usually.” 

A moment later, Yuta emerges from the kitchen into the storefront, a cold bottle of water in his hands. He’s rolled up his white sleeves, revealing strong, lean forearms and a small, distinct mole near his wrist. Catching sight of him out from behind the high counter, your eyes linger for a second longer than you intended; a tiny shift in the energy that makes the back of your neck warm. You hope he didn’t just catch you staring.

To your demise, he does. His cheeks grow even warmer when he realizes you were checking him out. 

Yuta pulls out the chair beside Yuji before plopping down on his own right across from him, gesturing to the free chair. 

“So I’m allowed to join these little…” you pause, plate still in hand. “...after-hours gatherings?” 

Yuta exhales a laugh, voice sweet as honey as he says, “Get over here, would you, florist?” 

Somewhere beyond the glass of the bakery, the evening light settles over the glass display, over the quiet hum of the refrigerator, and over the quiet, ordinary moment between you that somehow no longer feels ordinary at all. 

And somehow, without realizing it, you have already begun to take root.

🥨 ingredient list 🧈: @bubiliviary @lacedindecay @beluvsyu @xiaoderrrr

[heliophilus]

Puppy tries to make Yuji a pissed off dom and epically fails ⤵︎

Yuji is pissed, beyond pissed even. You’re a brat, sassy, rude. A smart alec if he wants to be like his grandpa. He is so sick of you making him seem like an idiot. Like he isn't your boyfriend, like he isn't balls deep in you every other day because you're too horny for your own good. He lets you know this, of course. He doesn't let behavior go unchecked like this.

“You make me feel like an idiot, did you know that?” Yuji grunts, pushing into the wet, tight heat of your cunt. “Always telling me off and proving me wrong, its so-mphffff- fr-frustrating.”

He’s fucking into you, deep and more of a rolling motion than in and out. More animal with the way he pants in your ear, licking at the sweat that beads at your neck.

The issue with his complaints is that he gets so fucking dumb, so pussy drunk the second he gets near the warmth of your cunt.

“Nghhh- Y-mphffff- you em-embarrassed me today, with - oh fuck- Fushiguro. You know he doesnt- mmmm- take me seriously already. You j-just- ummm- just made it worse.” He manages, panting and whining. Grunts and groans cutting off his words constantly.

“You were wrong though, you know Fushiguro hates being misinformed. I was helping him, not trying to embarrass you.” You point out the simple facts, voice not nearly has wrecked as his is.

“Wha-whatever, you still did. Made me feel bad.” Yuji is pouting, you can hear it in his voice, a little bratty pout that does nothing but make you laugh. Which just makes him pout more.

“Not funny- mmmm- at - at all.” He huffs, sniffling as he fucks into you faster, big hands palming at your tits as he lets out little soft cries, the way he does when hes about to cum. Usually he makes sure you finish before him, but hes feeling bad and is a little more pussy drunk than usual. It makes you feel kind of sympathetic, a pitiful kind, so you let him have it. It’s all you can do to make it up to him, right?

[delphi333]

alr guys what's with this pandering to the gays LMAOO

they got every ship line up

[meow-nonymous]

Yuji Itadori x Misanthrope!reader pt1.𓆝༻

contents: gn/fem!reader, jjk, reader is distrusting, reader is neurodivergent coded, but also just a bit of an ass at first

𓀡𐦂♡︎————————— 𓇽—————————♡︎𐦂𓀡

summary: You hate and distrust people. Are deeply guilty of your own flaws, use logic as a coping mechanism, and might have moral issues. But at least you love animals, and in time you might try and learn to love the boy who’s name means ‘unwavering humanity’.

𓀡𐦂♡︎————————— 𓇽—————————♡︎𐦂𓀡

𓀡𐦂♡︎————————— 𓇽—————————♡︎𐦂𓀡

a/n: pt.2 on mi page, very blatent Asa Mitaka inspired reader, also I need Ideas for MegumixAngel!Reader