FYI I write sporadically and it’s mostly short blurbs and random stuff I think of. Everything is pretty fluffy.
I do not give permission to use or copy my work to train or interact with AI. Fuck ai!
Miguel O’Hara
Miguel finds you crying
By your side
Lovesick Miguel
Melodies of my name on your lips
Tick… Tick…
He is too hot
My promise to keep - angsty, kinda planing a series around this
Stuck together
Training Session
The thought that counts
Sweaty mess Synopsis: Seeing Miguel after his workout turns your brain to mush.
In the silences
Moon Knight
Mirror of carnations - Steven Grant
Am I yours? - Steven Grant
Such a cutie - Steven Grant
In the morning… - Steven Grant
Lovely surprise -Steven Grant
Breathe again - Steven Grant
Sassy Steven Grant
Love at first sight - Steven Grant
Reader and Steven getting ready for a fancy work event
The rule - Steven Grant Synopsis: Steven says those three little words you aren’t ready to hear yet.
Wrap your vines around me - Jake Lockley
But can you see me like this - Jake Lockley - kinda angsty but comforting
Marc the big broody cat - Marc Spector
Idiots - Marc Spector
Maybe? Hopefully. -Marc Spector
The boys™️ greeting reader from a work trip
Reader that is on a mission to make the moon boys™️ flustered
How the moon boys™️ would react if reader asks for self defense lessons
Moon boys™️ reacting to reader getting the hiccups
The sting of a feather - Moon boys™️ x f!reader. Synopsis: You reveal that you can be…dangerous.
Your eyes that create hollowness - Marc, Steven and Jake x reader; Synopsis: They see you in the grocery store after you broke up with them, Warning: Angsty and alluding to illness
Clark Kent (2025)
Just like my Clark
Two best friends sitting on a tree…
Reversed trope: He’s nice to everyone but her
The sun that radiates from your cheeks
The sun that radiates from your cheeks Pt. II
Like a slap in the face
Short blurb: You bite Clark
Poe Dameron
Poe Dameron and Reader who is a double agent for the resistance and meets Poe as a First Order Agent
The air smells stale somehow. Sweat is dripping down every inch of skin. Everything feels clammy.
The sun is too bright. With the bright gleam that paints the whole room in a migraine inducing bright yellow, every speck of dust is practically screaming to be noticed.
She presses her thumb and forefinger over the bridge of her nose, over her temple and over the back of her neck as she tries to find a way to massage the pressure away.
But it’s a steady drum behind her eyelids that won’t budge.
“I’m home.”
Hiromi closes the door carefully behind him.
“Darling?” He calls out before he spots you on the floor. Head in your hands. A deep frown between your brows.
He carefully closes the blinds and immediately he hears a sigh in relief.
“I have something for you.” He kneels down in front of you.
You manage to meet his eyes before you sit up a bit straighter and your eyes widen ever so slightly.
Carefully you grab the tickets as a tentative smile spreads over your lips.
“Australia?” Your eyes glimmer slightly.
“You always talk about escaping the heat around this time.” Hiromi smiles as he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear.
“And your work?” Your brows furrow slightly.
“Vacations are a thing, darling.” He smiles even though he knows what you mean.
You roll your eyes even though you can’t help the smile that tugs on your lips.
“Normally not for you.” You scoot closer as you raise a brow.
He grins and cups your face.
“I know.” He pecks the tip of your nose, making you chuckle at his ridiculous affection.
“I’m making an exception and taking off 2 weeks. It’s in the work calendar and my whole team has been informed already.”
You grin softly and peck his cheek when he turns at the last second and catches your lips. You can’t help but laugh against his lips before he pulls back with a big grin.
“Let’s pack.”
You tilt your head slightly.
“Huh? When is the flight?”
“In exactly..” He looks at his watch. “six hours and thirteen minutes.” He grins.
𝓲𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵 ♰ sukuna spends six months confessing his love through flowers and their hidden meanings, only to realize you’d kept every single one without ever knowing why he gave them to you.
✿ ◞◟) ryomen sukuna 𝓍 gn!reader
𝓬𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 fluff, college!au, nerd flower!sukuna, yearning, acts of service as love language, friends to lovers, idiots in love, a lots of flower symbolism / hanakotoba, hand holding, kiss, sukuna is blushing!!, secretly romantic sukuna.
the campus greenhouse had always been sukuna's favorite place, which was something most people wouldn't expect if they only knew him from his reputation.
people only saw the sharp jawline, the permanent furrow between sukuna’s brows, the way his broad shoulders seemed to take up more space than any one person deserved. they heard his dry humor, his quick wit, the way he could cut someone down with nothing more than a glance and a few carefully chosen words. they didn't see him here, elbows braced against a worn wooden table, fingers gently tracing the petal of a peony like he was handling something sacred.
you watched him from across the table, chin propped in your palm, half-listening to the lecture he'd launched into about fifteen minutes ago; something about victorian flower language, about the way people used to say things they couldn't speak aloud through carefully arranged bouquets.
sukuna’s voice was lower than usual here, way softer, as if the greenhouse demanded a certain reverence that even ryomen sukuna couldn't ignore.
"—and the thing is," sukuna said, gesturing with the hand that wasn't currently cradling a potted orchid. "people think it's all just romantic bullshit, but it's not. it's practical, really. a way of communicating when the words won't come out right."
sukuna’s tattoos shifted when he moved, those dark lines that crawled up his forearms and disappeared beneath his sleeves. you'd always liked that about sukuna; the way the boy never bothered to hide them even when professors gave him pointed looks on the first day of classes.
he was all sharp edges and hard lines, but then he'd show up at your apartment with a sprig of lavender tucked behind his ear like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"you're not listening," sukuna said, but there was no accusation in it, just a statement of fact, accompanied by the faintest quirk of his lips.
"i am," you lied, sitting up straighter. "you were talking about... flowers saying things."
his eyes narrowed, but the corners of his mouth twitched.
"i was talking about specific meanings. symbolic language. there's a difference."
sukuna set down the orchid and reached for another pot, something small with delicate white blooms that you didn't recognize. his fingers were careful, deliberate, the same way they were when he rolled a cigarette or tied his shoelaces or did anything that required even the slightest bit of precision.
it was hard to reconcile this version of sukuna with the one who'd shoved his way through a crowd last week just to get to the front of the coffee shop line, all elbows and impatience and barely concealed irritation.
"this one," sukuna said, holding the pot up so you could see. "is stephanotis. it means marital happiness, but also a willingness to be led. which is stupid, honestly, because why the hell would anyone want to be led anywhere? but the victorians were weird about a lot of things."
you laughed, and something in his expression softened just enough that you almost missed it.
sukuna had been leaving you flowers for months now.
not in a romantic way, or at least you'd assumed it wasn't romantic because this was sukuna, and sukuna didn't do romance. he did late-night study sessions that turned into ordering pizza at two in the morning. he did stealing your clothes and pretending he hadn't noticed they were yours. he did showing up at your door with a single yellow tulip tucked behind his ear and then plucking it out to hand to you like it was nothing, like he hadn't just walked across campus with a flower in his hair and dared anyone to say something about it.
you'd kept all of them, pressed between the pages of textbooks you never opened anymore, tucked into the frame of your bathroom mirror, dried and hanging from string tacked to your bedroom wall. there was something about the way he gave them to you; casual and offhand, like he'd just happened to find them and thought of you.
but sukuna never said why, he never explained the meaning behind any of them.
well, until now.
"so then you've got your roses, obviously," sukuna continued, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.
the movement pulled his t-shirt taut across his shoulders, and you looked away before he could catch you staring.
"red for love, white for purity, yellow for friendship. but that's way too simple. anyone knows that. the real interesting stuff is the obscure ones."
the afternoon light filtered through the greenhouse glass, casting everything in a warm, golden, and beautiful haze. dust motes drifted between the two of you, slow and lazy, and a bee hummed somewhere in the corner, drunk on something sweet and pink that you couldn't name.
sukuna's voice washed over you like honey, and you found yourself sinking into it despite your best efforts to stay alert.
"like gardenias," he said, and your heart did something strange in your chest because he'd given you gardenias. three weeks ago, tucked into a mason jar on your desk after a particularly brutal exam week. you'd thought they were just pretty. "they mean secret love. the kind that can't be spoken aloud. which is dramatic as hell, but victorians loved drama almost as much as they loved repressed emotions."
he said it like a joke, like he was mocking the very concept, but his fingers had gone still on the table with no fidgeting, no gesturing; just stillness, and the way his gaze darted away from yours for a fraction of a second before snapping back.
you thought about the gardenias, pressed between pages 87 and 88 of your ancient history textbook, still faintly fragrant when you opened them.
"and peonies," sukuna went on, reaching for the plant he'd been touching earlier. "they've got a few meanings. shame, anger, but also romance and prosperity. it depends on the context, really. the victorians loved context, too."
a little pause.
"mostly, though, they symbolize a happy marriage. or a wish for one, anyway."
sukuna had given you peonies on your birthday. a whole bouquet of them, pink and lush and ridiculous, shoved into your arms with a gruff 'happy birthday, idiot' before he'd disappeared into the kitchen to make you dinner. you'd cried a little, though you'd blamed it on allergies.
your throat felt tight now, but you weren't sure why.
"basil is hatred," sukuna said, ticking off on his fingers now, counting down some internal list. "which is funny because it's also a cooking herb, so who knows what that says about italian grandmothers. ivy means fidelity. rosemary is remembrance. lavender is devotion, but also distrust, because again, context matters."
lavender. he'd left a sprig of lavender on your pillow last month after you'd fallen asleep on his couch.
you'd woken up to the smell of it, and to sukuna making coffee in the kitchen, humming something tuneless under his breath. you'd kept it tucked behind your ear for the rest of the day, and he'd looked at you differently after that; softer, maybe. or maybe you'd imagined it.
"what about camellias?" you asked, and sukuna’s hand paused mid-gesture.
your voice sounded strange to your own ears, thin in a way that had nothing to do with volume and everything to do with the way your heart was suddenly trying to escape your ribcage. because he'd given you camellias too. pink ones, tied with a bit of twine, left in your backpack after a study session two months ago. you'd found them while looking for a pen and spent the rest of the night trying not to overthink it.
sukuna's jaw tightened for just a fraction, just for a second, but you saw it because you were looking, because you were always looking, even when you told yourself not to.
"camellias," sukuna repeated, and the word came out rougher than the others. he cleared his throat. "they mean... longing. desire, mostly. but specifically the kind that's acknowledged and accepted. not secret like gardenias, not hopeful like peonies. just... wanted."
the silence that followed was heavy and thick with something unspoken. a bee buzzed, a leaf drifted down from one of the hanging plants, landing softly on the table between the two of you like a tiny green question mark.
you thought about all of it.
the tulips and the lavender, the gardenias and the peonies, the camellias and the stephanotis sukuna had given you just last week, white and fragile and tucked into your coat pocket. you thought about the way he looked at you when he thought you weren't paying attention, the way his voice softened when he said your name, the way he always, always made sure you ate even when you forgot, even when you were too tired or too stressed or too something to take care of yourself.
you thought about the yellow tulips he'd given you first, and what he'd just said about them meaning friendship, and how maybe that had been the beginning. maybe sukuna had started there on purpose, testing the waters, seeing if you'd accept something small and simple before moving on to gardenias and secrets and things left unsaid.
"why are you telling me this?" you asked, and your voice barely trembled at all.
sukuna's eyes met yours, and for once, there was nothing sharp in them. there was no challenge, no defense, no carefully constructed walls. there was just him, just ryomen sukuna, the biggest flower nerd you'd ever met with his flower meanings and his pressed specimens and his soft spot for things that grew from the dirt.
"because," sukuna said, and his ears were turning pink, actually pink, the color creeping down his neck and disappearing beneath his collar. "i've been leaving you flowers for six months, and you haven't said a single word about it. and i thought maybe you didn't know what they meant, and i couldn't decide if that was better or worse than you knowing and not saying anything anyway."
sukuna's hands were shaking slightly.
you'd never seen sukuna's hands shake before, not once in all the years you'd known him. he was always so steady, so sure, so infuriatingly composed, but now, his fingers were curled into loose fists on the table, and the faint tremor in them made something ache behind your sternum.
"so which is it?" sukuna asked, and his voice cracked on the last word. just a little. just enough. "did you know?"
you thought about the gardenias pressed in your textbook, the lavender behind your ear, the peonies on your birthday, the camellias in your backpack. you thought about the way you'd told yourself it didn't mean anything at all, that sukuna wasn't capable of meaning anything, that this was just something the boy did because he was strange like that and unpredictable and full of contradictions.
you thought about how badly you'd wanted to be wrong.
"i didn't know," you said, and something in sukuna's expression flickered, dimmed.
you reached across the table before he could pull away, before sukuna could retreat back behind whatever wall he was scrambling to rebuild. your fingers brushed his knuckles softly, and he went very, very still.
"i didn't know the meanings. but i kept all of them. every single one. they're in my apartment, sukuna. pressed into my textbooks and taped to my walls and stuffed into my jewelry box. i've been sleeping with lavender under my pillow for three weeks because i didn't want to lose the scent."
sukuna's breath caught; you heard it, the tiny hitch that he tried to disguise as a cough.
"that's—" sukuna started, but stopped, and then he swallowed. his throat worked around words that didn't seem to want to come out. "that's really fucking weird, actually. keeping flowers for months."
"you're one to talk," you said, and your lips curved into a smile that felt wobbly and fragile and too big for your face. "you're the one who gave them to me."
"yeah, well." his ears were still pink, spreading now to his cheekbones, and you'd never seen anything more beautiful in your entire life. "i'm in love with you, so it's different."
the words hung in the air between you, simple and devastating. there was no fanfare, and no dramatic pause, simply sukuna being sukuna, saying the thing he'd probably been trying to say for six months through petals and stems and carefully chosen blooms.
"you could have just told me," you said, and your voice was shaking now, but so were your hands, and so was he, so it didn't really matter.
"where's the fun in that?" he asked, but his voice was rough, and his eyes were bright, and when you squeezed his fingers, he squeezed back like he was afraid you'd disappear.
outside the greenhouse windows, the afternoon was fading into evening, gold bleeding into amber bleeding into the soft purple of early dusk. the bee had gone quiet, the leaves had stopped drifting, and the only sound was your breathing and his, mingling in the warm, humid air.
"i'm in love with you too," you said.
because it was true, because it had probably been true for longer than you wanted to admit, because sukuna was a nightmare and a softy and the biggest flower nerd you'd ever met, and you'd spent six months tucking his gifts between the pages of your life like pressed flowers of your own.
sukuna closed his eyes just for a moment, just long enough for you to see the way his shoulders dropped, the tension draining out of him like water from a cracked vase. when he opened them again, sukuna was smiling. a real smile, not the sharp-edged thing he showed the rest of the world, but something small and private and almost shy.
"good," sukuna said, and then, quieter; "i have more at my apartment. flowers, i mean. i was going to give them to you tomorrow, but—" he shrugged, one shoulder lifting and falling. "seems like a waste to wait."
your heart turned over in your chest, sweet like honey.
"show me," you said, and when he stood up and offered you his hand, you took it without hesitation.
sukuna’s palm was warm against yours, calloused from god knows what, steady now that the worst part was over.
he led you out of the greenhouse and into the cooling evening, and neither of you let go, not even when the campus paths grew busy with other students, not even when someone whistled and sukuna flipped them off with his free hand, not even when you reached sukuna’s apartment and he had to fumble for his keys because he simply didn't want to release you long enough to find them.
his apartment smelled like him, like cedar and something floral you couldn't name.
there were flowers everywhere — on the kitchen counter, on the windowsill, in a vase on the coffee table that was definitely too small for the arrangement it held. you spotted roses and tulips and something dark purple you didn't recognize, and sukuna followed your gaze and went pink again.
"i might have gone overboard," sukuma admitted, finally letting go of your hand so he could gesture vaguely at the chaos. "i wasn't sure which ones you'd like best, so i just kind of... got all of them."
you walked over to the windowsill, running your finger along the edge of a potted plant you didn't recognize. it was green and leafy, unassuming, nothing like the showy blooms scattered around the room.
"what's this one?" you asked, turning back to look at him.
sukuna was standing in the middle of his own living room like he'd never seen it before, like he was seeing it through your eyes and finding it lacking. he rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous gesture you'd never seen him make, and when he spoke, his voice was barely above a murmur.
"basil," he said. "it means hatred, remember? i got it as a joke. thought it would be funny to have something that meant the opposite of everything else."
you laughed, and the sound seemed to break something loose in sukuna. he crossed the room in three long strides and stopped in front of you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off his skin, close enough that you had to tilt your head back to look at his face.
"i meant it, you know," sukuna said, and his hands hovered near your waist like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to touch. "every flower. every single one. i meant all of it."
"i know," you said, and you reached up to cup his face in your hands, feeling the slight roughness of his jaw beneath your palms. "i know now."
he kissed you then, soft and careful, like you were something precious he was afraid of breaking. his lips tasted like coffee and something sweet, and his hands finally settled on your hips, and the basil sat on the windowsill behind you, tiny and green and full of meaning.
when you pulled back, sukuna’s eyes were closed, his lashes dark against his flushed cheeks. he looked sweeter like this, softer, like all the sharp edges had been sanded away by the simple fact of being wanted back.
"i'm still mad you didn't look up the meanings," he said without opening his eyes. "six months. i could have just told you in the first week and saved myself a lot of anxiety."
"but then i wouldn't have gotten the flowers," you pointed out, and sukuna snorted, and you felt the vibration of it all the way down to your bones.
"i would have given you the flowers anyway," he said, finally opening his eyes. they were darker than usual, soft with something you were learning to recognize. "i probably would have given you flowers even if you'd laughed in my face. it's a problem, really. my therapist would have a field day."
you laughed again, and sukuna smiled again, and the evening stretched out before you both, full of possibility and pressed flowers and the quiet understanding that some things didn't need to be spoken aloud to be true.
but it didn't hurt, you thought, as sukuna pulled you toward his couch and wrapped his arms around you like he'd been waiting his whole life to do it.
satoru gojo passing his sweet tooth on to his baby daughter 𑣲 .✦ ݁˖ ۶ৎ
husband!gojo x f!reader, dadjo, fluff | wc 1k
“satoru, i need this for a cake i’m baking next week. do not eat it, okay?”
you’re stood in the doorway to the living room, holding up a chocolate bar, your eyes fixed on your husband who’s currently sprawled out on the couch. clinging to your shoulder is your three year old daughter, big eyes lidded with exhaustion and a thumb in her mouth, her cheek pressed to your side as she tries not to drift asleep. you gently rock her every so often, your arm tucked under her body to hold her up.
satoru pouts at your words, half-wincing at the foreign sound of his actual name on your tongue rather than an affectionate nickname like you normally use — it sounds too cold, the sound empty and foreign on your lips.
he drags a hand down his face and pulls himself upright from his backwards slouch on the sofa to face you, brows furrowed and eyes wide with a look of mock betrayal.
“hey, what’s with that tone? it’s like you’re scolding me and i haven’t even done anything yet!”
you feel your daughter stir a little in your arms, momentarily waking from her shallow sleep. she straightens up to sleepily peer at her father and his tantrum, trying to gauge what’s going on. curious eyes flick between you both, soft ivory lashes batting sleepily as she tries to stay attentive, perked up like she understands the conversation between you both.
you roll your eyes at satoru’s childish display, retorting: “key word: yet. every time we buy chocolate it disappears by the next morning. just…i need this for a cake for the neighbours on thursday, okay?”
he lets out a loud, boyish sound, a mix between a whine and a groan — almost akin to the sound of an unhappy child rather than a fully grown man. satoru grumbles, scratching his neck as though deep in thought. he considers your words before eventually seeming to reach a conclusion. he finally meets your gaze once more, playfully putting a hand to his forehead in a mock salute and flashing a grin.
“okay fine…you’re lucky i love you.”
-
as it turns out, satoru gojo is a liar when it comes to anything sweet.
the last thing you expect at 1am on wednesday night is to hear whispering coming from downstairs, dragging you from your sleep. you groggily sit up, turning to find his side of the bed empty. the bed covers have clearly been haphazardly shoved off of his side, soft linen covers bunched up messily.
trying to rub the drowsiness from your eyes, you make your way downstairs only to find the door to the pantry just slightly ajar. flickers of hazy light lazily spill across the kitchen tiles, the door open just wide enough for satoru’s subdued voice to clearly reach your ears.
“shh….chew slowly, your mom’s gonna kill me if she wakes up to you choking—”
“..toru…?”
slowly, you push open the door — only to be met with the sight of your 6’3” husband sat on the floor, hunched up with your daughter in his arms. it’s almost laughable how out of place he looks, his lips smudged with chocolate and posture curled into a failed attempt at making himself smaller than he is. it was almost enough to make you laugh.
almost.
“satoru gojo!” your husband immediately flinches, hands instinctively tightening around your daughter as she blinks up at you curiously. her mouth is stained with chocolate too, eyes wide and curious, soft pools of blue mimicking those of her father.
“i told you not to eat it!” he immediately stands up as though on instinct, subsequently bumping his head against the bottom of one of the shelves. he shuts his eyes at the pain and rubs his head, messy hair still tussled from sleeping, before sheepishly grinning at you.
“…hi..?”
“don’t ‘hi’ me! you knew i needed that, i told you not to eat it—!”
he immediately cuts you off, expression half alarmed at your outburst.
“hey, no..c’mon sweets, you can’t blame me! she had a nightmare!” he extends his arms to show you your daughter in his arms, holding her in front of him like some kind of shield. with closer inspection and a slight pang in your chest, you notice that her eyes are somewhat damp, soft lashes downturned from the weight of recently-shed tears, and for a second you feel yourself softening — until you catch glimpse of your husband’s cheeky smile flickering across his features once again.
you really wanted to smack the stupid grin off of his face.
“fine, okay. so why did you have to eat it too?”
that stumps him. he stands there, momentarily stunned by the question, stood awkwardly in place like an oversized kid being scolded. your daughter yawns sleepily as satoru brings her back to his chest. she’s clearly content from the chocolate, peering up curiously at satoru’s face before resting her cheek against its rightful place on his shoulder, allowing her eyes to flutter shut. satoru rocks her gently in his arms before looking up at you, eyes wide and insistent.
“well i didn’t want her to feel guilty for eating your chocolate all alone!” he half-whispers, voice an octave higher as though completely scandalised by the idea. “it was in her best interest! don’t tell me you value the neighbours over her!”
“she’s three, she wouldn’t feel guilty over chocolate.”
“i’ve always told you she’s advanced for her age — she’s my daughter after all!”
“satoru.” you place your hand on your hip, eyes boring into his sceptically.
he breaks under your gaze, his petulant expression slightly softening and his pout melting as he groans playfully.
“okay, okay, i get it! fine, i’ll buy more tomorrow!”
you smile, rolling your eyes.
“good. now go put her back to bed.”
you watch as satoru nods, flashing a cheeky smile and sticking out his tongue before heading back to the kitchen, rocking your three year old in his arms. as he leaves, however, you overhear him murmuring softly to your daughter. his tone is fond, smoothed around the edges into a gentle half-whisper.
“seriously, the things i do for you, huh?”
author’s notes: he’s so silly gojo i miss you come back🙁he’s such a girl dad
also i’m sorry for the wait and that i haven’t posted in a short while ahhh💔
taglist (thank you!!!): @mayegasm @nonchalantfiend @mochiakun @rielovesphel @yujismissingfingers @megumigooner @vanillaascented @megumisrighttoe @catgvrl @dreamydaredevil @stqrgumi @mariisagb @lilfluffybunny @renrenrenren17 @bowiesprettieststar2 @733164 @palanggaaa @pjslee @eyayur @megssleepygirl @rengoatku @hangenism + join!
divider creds @/dividers-are-us and @/cursed-carmine!
reading a good interesting book after a horrible reading slump and suddenly you can feel the sun shining again and the sky is more beautiful than ever and birds are all singing songs to you
Summary: Black Cat and Spider Man’s flirtatious rivalry turns into something real when disaster struck.
The city glows under you, all glass, steel and promise.
You move across the rooftops like you belong to the night, boots barely making a sound as you land.
The wind tugs at your hair, at the sleek black suit hugging your body.
Somewhere below, alarms wail. Somewhere above, you know he is already looking for you.
“Bad kitty,” a familiar voice calls out from behind you. Calm. Controlled. “You really cannot go one night without stealing something?”
You smile to yourself before you turn around to look at him.
Spider-Man stands a few metres away, broad shoulders outlined against the neon skyline.
Red and blue. Tall. Always watching you like he is trying to solve a puzzle that refuses to stay still.
“You wound me, I was just borrowing.”
He sighs, the sound heavy through the mask.
“You took a prototype energy core.”
“And you look great tonight too,” you add, tilting your head. “Have you been working out, or is that just the suit?”
You move as he moves. A step closer. A step back. A dance you have done a hundred times before.
“You know I will catch you,” he says.
“You always do. You just never keep me.”
That earns you silence. Brief, but telling.
You bolt.
The chase is electric.
You leap from building to building, heart pounding, laughter leaving your lips as his web snaps past your shoulder. He gains on you quickly. He always does.
Stronger. Faster. Relentless.
You let him catch your wrist.
He slams you gently but firmly against a wall, one arm braced beside your head, the other gripping you tight. Too close. Always too close.
“This ends now,” he says. You could hear in his voice that he was trying to be annoyed.
You look up at him through your lashes.
“You say that every time.”
Your free hand traces the spider emblem on his chest. You feel his breath hitch beneath the mask. It always does. He hates that you notice.
“Let go,” he orders, but his grip loosens just a bit.
You lean in, close enough that your lips nearly brush the fabric of his mask.
“Careful. You are going to start enjoying this.”
You twist, slipping from his grasp with practised ease. A flash of smoke. A soft laugh. A kiss blown over your shoulder.
“Same time next week?” you call.
By the time the smoke clears, you are gone.
Miguel O’Hara stands alone on the rooftop, jaw clenched, fists tight at his sides.
He tells himself it is frustration. That you are reckless. Dangerous. A problem he has not solved yet.
He does not tell himself the truth.
That he looks for you on the skyline even when there are no alarms.
That his hand lingers where you touched him.
The city feels quieter when you disappear.
And somewhere across the rooftops, you slow your pace, chest heaving, heart racing for reasons that have nothing to do with the chase.
You press a hand to your ribs and glance back once, just once, hoping he is still there.
You always slip away.
But part of you wonders what it would feel like to stay.
The night that changes everything came weeks after.
You hear it before you see it.
A deep, sickening groan that vibrates through concrete and bone alike. Sirens scream. People scream louder. Smoke coils upward between buildings.
This is not a heist. This is not a game.
You land on the edge of a cracked street and take in the damage in one sharp breath.
A high-rise has partially collapsed, its lower floors crushed inward. Glass rains down like glittering shrapnel.
People are trapped inside, shouting from windows, pounding on doors that will not open.
You do not hesitate.
You sprint forward, clawed gloves gripping shattered metal as you haul debris aside. You guide people out, one by one. An elderly man is clinging to your arm. A woman sobbed with her phone pressed to her chest. You keep your voice calm, steady, reassuring, even as your muscles burn.
“This way. Go. Do not look back.”
A web snaps overhead.
Spider-Man lands hard beside you, eyes sweeping the chaos. He turns toward you, surprise visible even through the mask.
“Black Cat. Get back. This area is unstable.”
You do not look at him. You are already lifting a fallen beam with a grunt of effort.
“People are still inside. You can lecture me later.”
For a moment, you expect him to argue.
Instead, he moves.
He webs fallen concrete, braces a wall with his own body, shouts instructions with authority that cuts through panic. You find yourself responding instinctively, moving when he moves, trusting his timing without thought.
You are good together. Better than either of you expected.
At one point, he glances at you, breathless.
“You did not have to come back.”
You meet his gaze briefly.
“Neither did you.”
A cry cuts through the noise.
A child. Terrified. Trapped underneath a collapsed stairwell inside the building.
You see him tense beside you.
“I will go,” Spider Man says immediately.
“No. You need to hold that support. I am smaller.”
He grabs your arm.
“Do not.”
You smile at him, softer than you ever have.
“Trust me.”
Before he can stop you, you slip inside.
The interior is dark, choking with dust. You follow the sound of crying until you find the child wedged under debris, eyes wide with fear. You talk to them gently as you work, easing broken concrete away inch by inch.
“It is okay. I have you.”
The building shudders.
Your instincts scream.
You scoop the child into your arms and turn toward the exit just as the ceiling gives way.
The impact is brutal.
Pain explodes through you as something heavy crashes down. Your vision blurs. The world becomes noise and darkness and then nothing at all.
When consciousness flickers back, you are cold.
And quiet.
The weight is gone, but your body feels wrong. Heavy. Distant. You try to move and fail.
“No. No, no, no. Stay with me.”
Spider-Man.
You want to answer him. To tease him. To tell him he caught you this time.
You cannot.
His hands are everywhere, frantic, careful, lifting debris, pulling you free. You feel yourself being cradled against his chest, the steady, terrified thud of his heart beneath the suit.
“You should have stayed,” he whispers, voice cracking. “You should have stayed.”
The last thing you feel is him holding you too tightly, like letting go might end you both.
When you wake, the world is too bright and too still.
You are lying on a narrow bed, still dressed in black leather, mask resting beside you. The air smells clean, sterile, but not like a hospital. Holographic screens glow softly along the walls, lines of code scrolling past in colours you do not recognise.
You are alone.
Your head throbs as memory rushes back. The building. The child. The collapse.
Spider-Man.
You push yourself upright slowly, wincing, and swing your legs over the side of the bed.
They hold. Barely, but they hold.
You catch sight of yourself in a reflective panel.
Black Cat staring back. Smudged. Bruised. Alive.
Your breath catches.
“He saved me,” you whisper.
It could only be him.
You remove the mask with trembling hands. The air against your face feels strange, vulnerable. You change into simple clothes folded neatly nearby.
You do not belong here. Wherever here is.
You step out into the lab, following the soft hum of machinery.
Around a corner, you see him.
Spider-Man stands with his back to you, shoulders tense, hands braced against a console. A hologram flickers in front of him, projecting damage reports, probability models, and outcomes he clearly does not like.
He is mumbling to himself.
You take a step forward.
The floor barely makes a sound.
He still hears you.
He stills completely.
Before he can turn, you speak, voice quiet but steady.
“Thank you for saving me.”
He turns slowly, like he is afraid of what he will see.
And for the first time, there is no distance between you at all.
For a moment, neither of you moves.
Spider-Man stands frozen in the middle of the lab, the hologram behind him glitching softly, forgotten. The red lenses of his mask fix on you, sharp and searching, like he is afraid you might disappear if he looks away.
“You should not be standing,” he says finally. His voice is low. Strained. “You took a serious hit.”
You manage a small smile.
“You would not let me die. I figured I could at least walk.”
That earns a sharp inhale. He closes the distance between you in two long strides, stopping just short of touching you, like he is afraid to cross some invisible line.
“You scared me,” he admits.
The words seem to cost him something. You have never heard them from him before. Not during the chases. Not during the taunts. Not during the games you played so carefully.
“I scared myself, I have never… stayed that long.”
His hands curl into fists at his sides.
“Why did you go back in?”
“There was a child, and because you would have.”
That breaks something in him.
He turns away, dragging a hand over his mask, shoulders rising and falling as he struggles for control. When he speaks again, his voice is rough.
“I thought I lost you.”
You step closer, ignoring the ache in your head.
“You did not.”
“I almost did, and I do not think I could survive that.”
Silence settles between you, heavy and intimate.
You take a breath.
“I know I have never made this easy. I flirt. I run. I steal. I turn everything into a game so I never have to stop and feel anything real.”
He looks at you again, slowly.
“But I always came back. I wanted you to catch me. I just did not know what would happen if you did.”
His voice softens.
“You think I did not notice?”
You blink.
“You did?”
“Every time. I told myself you were reckless. That you were a distraction. But I waited for you. Night after night.”
You laugh quietly, a little breathless.
“We are terrible at honesty.”
“Yes, we are.”
You swallow, heart pounding.
“I am a thief. A kleptomaniac. I break the law for the thrill of it. And somehow, I fell in love with the biggest hero in the city.”
He steps closer. Close enough that you can feel his warmth.
“And I fell in love with the woman who kept saving herself from me, and then proved she could save others too.”
You hesitate only a moment before reaching up.
Your fingers brush the edge of his mask.
“You do not have to be Spider-Man right now,” you whisper.
He exhales slowly, then lifts his hands and removes the mask himself.
Miguel O’Hara looks at you like you are something precious and terrifying all at once. His eyes are red-rimmed, exhausted, impossibly soft.
“I am not good at this, at wanting someone. At needing them.”
You step into him, forehead resting against his chest.
“Neither am I. But I am tired of running.”
His arms come around you, careful at first, then firmer, like he is finally allowing himself to hold you.
“I do not care what you steal, I care that you come back alive.”
You smile against him.
“That sounds dangerously close to a rule.”
He huffs a soft, almost laugh.
“Do not push your luck.”
You tilt your head up. He meets you halfway, the kiss slow and unhurried, all heat and relief and truth.
No masks. No games.
Just two people who almost lost each other and decided not to anymore.
When you pull back, he rests his forehead against yours.
“You can stay, if you want to.”
“I think I already am.”
Outside, the city keeps moving. Sirens fade.
The night stretches on.
And for the first time, neither of you feels the need to run.
~Masterlist~
A/N: The above Black Cat photo is from Pinterest! It is not mine.
Marc Spectore x reader, Steven Grant x reader & Jake Lockley x reader;
Summary: Marc, Steven and Jake see you in the grocery store after you broke up with them. Angsty I think;
warning for: alluding to feeling sick and being ill, english is not my first language
Marc is…bored. Bored. He never thought that boredom would be one of his problems. Guilt, regret and shame, sure. But boredom?
He is walking through the aisles aimlessly. He already has everything he needs.
“You have to get something fun. One thing.” You used to tell him while holding up your finger. He can picture your sparkling eyes and amused smile.
With a sigh he makes his way to the baked goods aisle. Pistachio and white-chocolate swirl croissant. He tilts his head slightly as he tries to imagine the taste. It will probably be too sweet but he places it in his cart nonetheless.
It doesn’t feel the same. You used to find the truly rare stuff and even when it didn’t taste good, it always made for a special memory. You and him trying licorice popsicles on the sofa before movie night. You feeding him some trendy cinnamon rolls with marmalade and hot sauce. Him bringing home hibiscus and truffle popcorn. It was your thing. It made shopping more exciting. It made life more exciting.
And then you left.
Sudden but also not sudden when looking back.
He realizes now how obvious it was. How you pulled back. Stopped coming around to their apartment. Didn’t stay over at all in the last few months. Kept secrets he still doesn’t know.
He feels sick at the signs he so willingly ignored and yet, he would do it again in a heartbeat. Anything to see your smile or hear your voice again.
“Marc?”
His heart stops. Everything halts. He feels like someone is holding him underwater. He isn’t sure if he is going to throw up or faint. He is on the verge of both.
Steven blinks and suddenly - you’re in front of them. Eyes slightly wide in surprise. Eyebrows furrowed in that heart wrenching way. Concerned and almost coy.
You blink up at him. Seemingly shaking your own surprise off.
“Hey.”
It shouldn’t hurt this much. The familiar melody of your voice. Now softer. Different in a way he can’t place.
“…hi.” Steven swallows.
“You seem-“
“We don’t have to do this.”
Steven cuts you off. It doesn’t surprise you. You can remember the shock in Marcs eyes when you broke it off. The confusion in Stevens wavering voice. The immediate icy cold shutdown from Jake. He didn’t say anything to you after you uttered that you were ending it. Not a word.
You swallow as you nod at Steven. “I’m sorry.” You whisper in a mumble and leave. You forget your basket with groceries.
It’s almost as if you change gravity of every surrounding you step into. The second you step out of the store, Marc feels everything snap back to normal. Suddenly the rest of the world is sharp and the sounds slowly filter in again.
“You okay?” Steven asks in the headspace. Marc nods even though both know. Steven feels close to crying, Marc still feels close to throwing up and Jake is suspiciously quiet.
He shouldn’t, he knows he shouldn’t but he runs out. Looking around as his heart beats loudly in his ears.
He sees your figure somewhere in the distance and just as he is about to catch up and call your name - his heart actually rips open.
“Just use it. I know you don’t like it but only for today. Your stitches will rip open.”
A woman, close in age to you, is scolding you. Hands on her hips as she stands next to a wheelchair.
You nod. It’s so unlike you to give in. So unlike you to move slow and tired. The bags under your sunken in eyes, the dryness on your lips, the butterfly needle in your arm that’s visible as your open zip up hoodie flies in the wind.
Everything shatters. The shards of the realization leave Marc raw and bleeding.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He didn’t even realize that he walked up to you. He is standing next to you. Voice wavering and barely audible.
You turn your head at the sound of his voice. You blink up at him in shock.
The woman next to you looks like she knows. Knows who he is. You must have told her because she looks solemn as she takes a few steps back.
You can feel the sting in your eyes. You try to swallow it down but it feels like there are shards of glass lodged in your throat.
“I didn’t…I don’t…”
Marc kneels in front of you. He carefully takes your hands in his.
“Marc.” You shake your head as the tears start to fall.
“Please.” Marc whispers in a shaky voice.
Your brows furrow inwards as you sniffle.
“Please let me be there. Please.” Marc begs, his forehead resting on your hands. You can feel his tears on the back of your hands.
You carefully move your hands and wipe away his tears but he shakes his head and gently rests his hands over yours.
He looks up at you like a man at the foot of an altar.
“I didn’t want you to have to see me…“ you try to explain.
You swallow again.
“slowly..” Your gaze drops as your voice breaks off. Tears still rolling down your cheeks.
“Let us decide what we can handle.” Jakes voice makes your gaze snap up at him.
His eyes pierce through yours as he carefully cups your face.
“We just want you. No matter for how long, no matter what comes next.”
Your lips tremble at his earnest unwavering voice.
“Aren’t you mad?” You ask in a barely audible whisper.
He carefully brushes his thumb under your eye.
“I’m furious.” He whispers and gives you a soft smile. You chuckle, still sniffling with tears stinging in your eyes.
He smiles softer at your chuckle.
“I’m sorr-“
Jake shakes his head. “Don’t.” He whispers as he presses a tender peck over your knuckles. It’s careful and so loving - in the way they have always been with you and it leaves you tearing up more.
“Can we?” Steven asks carefully after you slowly control your tears a little bit.
He carefully wipes the last remains of your tears.
“Can we be part of your life?” He asks softly when you give him a confused look while sniffling.
You swallow again and nod. “I never wanted to hurt you. I thought I was protecting you. All of you.”
You explain as your voice breaks and shakes. Steven chuckles even as his eyes tear up.
“I hate to say this but I understand. It was a terrible idea-“
He gives you a playfully pointed look to make you smile and when you do, it feels like he can breathe for the first time in months.
“but I understand.”
You brush over his cheek softly.
“We all do.” Marc nods as he whispers tenderly and leaves a peck on your palm.
writers, you can and should be proud of your fic even if you personally are not satisfied with it. because even if you think it's "not good", you can be proud of the fact that you wrote it and it's something you created. you can be proud of the fact it's not ai.
repeat after me, it's something you put your soul and dedication in — and that's something ai could never achieve.
unfortunately that also meant he had missed his wife’s nightly yap session in which you talked his ear off about everything but also nothing — mundanity that nanami insisted was a necessary part of his day.
so instead what welcomed him that day after a late shower was his adorable, sleepy love of his life, five blinks away from slumber as you patted the empty spot beside you, rushing the blond to lie down.
nanami heart swelled two times bigger, the exhaustment that had seeped deep within his bones slowly melted away as he embraced you, filling his entire body with warmth that he knew only you could provide.
“hi there,” he greeted softly, kissing the side of your temple. you hummed a response, the steady beat of his heart lulled you deeper into a dazed state, barely hanging on to your conciousness. “how was your day?” he whispered, couldn’t help but wanting to be in your presence a minute longer. the man had an entirely wrong idea if he thought the comforting low rumble of his voice helped you be awake at all.
“‘s good,” you mumbled through his shirt, the scent of his freshly laundered shirt made you sniff deeper, giddy in having him so close. then you felt his hand rubbed your side, his thumb rubbed a spot just under the curve of your chest.
unexpectedly, nanami started to sprinkle little kisses across your shoulder blade. you let out a low chuckle as his breath ghosted the side of your neck. “stay up a little more for me? missed your voice,” he breathed, resting his head there.
you tried to open your eyes once and stared at him, as he flashed the sweetest smile. “there’s my pretty wife.”
“your flirting won’t get me any less sleepy, silly man.”
“worth a try, don’t you think?” he relented easily, fully under the impression that he will never force you to sacrifice your rest for his selfish deed.
you did not even realize that your eyelids had closed themselves, nanami’s voice sounded like as though you were underwater. and the last thing you registered as he felt like audibly further was a kiss to your nose.
nanami narrowed his eyes affectionately, chuckling to himself as he held his entire world. “sleep tight, love. but you still owe me a talk about how your day went, okay?” he said, to no one particulary as you’re already off to the dreamland.
but it was a small matter, he’ll remind you again tomorrow. and the day after that too.
The 4 times your boss Sukuna tried confessing his feelings to you ! Sukuna’s a softie in this :(
The 1st time
It was the yearly company party. It happens every year on December 20th, everyone who works at Malevolent Co always attends. Fancy food, rich decorations, a lot of gambling, and a bunch of random rich men.
You mainly came for the rich and savory dishes that they served. You weren’t too special in the company—sure your boss Sukuna tends to ask for your help a lot but your role isn’t anything important.
You stood near the fountain of chocolate, dipping a strawberry and observing everyone. You didn’t notice him at first, standing right beside you. Sukuna looks down at you, the sunlight illuminating perfectly off of your skin—you looked divine.
“Is the chocolate to your liking?”. You paused mid chew and averted your eyes towards him. You flashed a small smile and quickly swallowed.
“Yes, It’s delicious—would you like some?”.
“Yes ma’am”.
You grab a strawberry and let the chocolate flow on it. You raise the strawberry towards his mouth, your hand moves under his chin to secure any dripping chocolate.
He pauses for a second, his eyes looking at you and then the strawberry. He grins as he slowly bites down, maintaining eye contact with you. You let out a soft chuckle as he pulls away, chocolate remains on the corner of his mouth.
“Hold on, you have some chocolate right here”. You lick your thumb and stand on your tippy toes. Using his shoulder as a support.
Sukuna touches around his face trying to find the mess. “Huh?Where?”.
You softly swipe your thumb on the corner of his mouth. Discarding the remains of chocolate. Your thumb stays there as you both gaze at each other. Sukuna’s hands planted on your hips, stabling your balance.
Sukuna thought this was the perfect moment to finally confess to you. The both of you alone in each others worlds, your bodies blending together—it was marvelous.
“I have something to conf-“. He gets cut off by the sound of a familiar infuriating voice.
“Hey! Look who it is!”. Sukuna snaps his head towards the voice, fucking Gojo—always ruining everything. He looks back at you, you nod your head and smile as you back away from him.
“Have a good night Sukuna”. You left. He could’ve told you right there, but no it was ruined.
Gojo pats Sukuna’s shoulder, “How you doing man?!”. Sukuna swats his hand away and storms out of the room.
The 2nd time
It was lunch time. Surprisingly there was no one in the break room, usually it’s packed with employees and the weird smell of everyone’s microwaved food.
You were munching on a juicy peach, writing down the upcoming stocks. Enjoying the peace and quiet that’s never been in the building.
Sukuna was pacing down the hall with his brows furrowed and a stack of papers in his hand. Seriously, Geto could not stop requesting a collaboration with Malevolent Co. His eyes got a glance of you, alone in the break room. He suddenly stopped in his tracks and approaches you—completely forgetting about the task at hand.
“Hey, you alright?”. You stop writing and turn your head towards him. He looked more handsome than usual for some reason.
“Yeah! Just wishing we had more coffee in here”. He lazily smiles and starts playing with one of his ear piercings. He does that when he’s nervous.
“I’m able to grant your wish if you come with me to grab coffee”. You drop your pen and swiftly organize your papers.
“I didn’t know you’re Aladdin”. You both chuckle, you stuff your papers into your bag as Sukuna swings your bag over his shoulder. “But yeah of course! Lead the way”.
Walking side by side one another in silence. It wasn’t awkward with uncomfortable tension, it felt peaceful. Then you remembered the moment at the party.
“Sukuna”, he looks down at you with his brow raised—“You said you had something to confess while at the party”. His expression faltered for a second but he’s swift enough to cover it up. “What was it?”.
His voice gets stuck in his throat, this might be the right time now. Or maybe at the coffee shop. He clears his throat and flicks your forehead. “I’ll tell you once we get there”.
He orders the both of you coffee and one other thing. Your sugary cheesecake that you always buy.
“How did you know this was my favorite?”. You take a piece and stuff it into your mouth.
“Just assumed it was. Seems like some shit you would buy”. Wrong. He knew it was your favorite because you would always eat it during lunch. Leftover Icing was always seen on your mouth whenever you talked to him after break.
You placed your fork down and brush a strand of hair behind your ear. “So, what was your confession?”.
It was time. Sukuna can finally let out his bottled up feelings for you. No more interruptions, he’s going to do it.
“I wanted to tell you this for a very long fucking time”. You giggle at his sudden rage. He takes a deep breath and softly exhales, “I really lik-“, the sound of ringing and vibration comes from your phone.
“Sorry Sukuna hold on”. He quietly grunts in frustration, seriously these interruptions are pissing him off. “Are you okay? Do you want me to come over right now?”. Sukuna has a puzzled look on his face, who are you talking to?
You end the call and quickly get up. “What’s wrong?”, he gets up and grabs your bag, throwing away the food.
“My mom has a really bad fever—I’m sorry sukuna but can you give me a ride?”. He nods his head as you both hurry out of the shop.
This was the second time he couldn’t do it. He started to think it’s completely useless to confess now. The universe must have something against him with all of these unnecessary interruptions.
The 3rd time
It was Valentine’s Day. The building is bustling with chatter, secret admirers, and a bunch of heart filled chocolate tins. You don’t get anything on Valentine’s Day, you didn’t expect anything from anyone.
So to your surprise, when Sukuna called you into his office he was holding an enormous bouquet of your favorite flowers and that sugary cheesecake.
“Happy Valentine’s Day brat”. You flash him that adorable smile of yours and gently take the bouquet from his hands.
“These are beautiful Sukuna!”, he does that boyish grin that you like and eyes you up and down. Your outfit is different from usual today. A pink button up, light grey slacks, white flats with a small bow, and your hair was tied up. In his eyes you always look magnificent but today felt different. Maybe it was the love in the air.
“Yeah, they reminded me of you. Beautiful flowers deserve a beautiful woman”. You stare at him with a surprised expression, your handsome boss just called you beautiful.
He realizes what he just said and runs a hand over his face in embarrassment.
“Fuck um, I heard that somewhere on the internet..”
The scary intimidating Sukuna got embarrassed. Not a casual sight for anyone in Malevolent Co.
You giggle as you place the bouquet down on his desk. You step closer to him, planting your hand on his bicep.
“If that’s the case..” , you stand on your tippy toes as your hand softly grasp the side of his face. Your lips leaving a small kiss on his cheek, your lip gloss placing a faint stain.
“I think a handsome man deserves a kiss”. He gazes at you in awe, his hands on your hips rubbing small circles with his thumb.
This was perfect. Perfect time and day to release his bottled up feelings. The day of love, surely no interruptions can happen.
“I have to tell you something. Like now”. You nod your head in anticipation.
Sukuna looks around, just in case a bitch ass person tries to interrupt again. He was in the clear, he averts his eyes back to you.
His throat suddenly goes dry, he tried doing this two times already. Yet he still gets nervous. He clears his throat and lets the words flow out.
“I have feeli-“, of course he was delayed. Yuji barges into his office and throws down a stack of papers onto his desk.
“What the fuck is it now?”. Sukuna releases his hold on your hips as he pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration.
“Toji keeps sending these weird warning voice mails saying he’s gonna fuck up the company—if we don’t pay him a million dollars!”. Yuji picks up the papers and slap it onto Sukuna’s chest.
Sukuna reads one of the papers and slams it into Yuji’s face.
“For fuck sake, give him a million dollars then—I don’t care”.
At this rate, he won’t be able to confess. Like at all. Maybe this is life telling him you both don’t belong with each other.
The 4th time
Gojo invited everyone to a lantern festival. It was nighttime, the stars sparkled as the moon illuminated in the dark. It was perfect for the lanterns.
There was blankets laid out on the grass as everyone laughed and shared chatter. You were sitting alone, admiring the jet black sky.
Sukuna walked towards you and gently lowered himself down next to you.
“It looks heavenly, doesn’t it?”. You look beside you, he was already staring at you. He looked so gentle and tender under the moonlight’s illumination. His salmon hair being slightly disheveled, his silver piercings shinning, and his crimson eyes admiring you. Truly divine.
“Yes it does”. The both of you aren’t looking at the sky, no it was completely forgotten. “Do you want to light a lantern with me?”.
He flicks your forehead and smirks, “Of course I do, silly girl”.
The both of you begin assembling the lantern. Sukuna grabs a pen and quickly writes something on the front. You immediately notice it and stare at him with warmth.
It was both of your Initials with a plus sign in between them. And a colored in heart at the end.
“Our initials huh?”, you hold the big lantern in your hands as you stare at the writing.
“Yes, our initials”. He grabs one of the lighters as he lights up the bottom of the lantern.
You observe the people around you, everyone was standing up and holding their lanterns. Laughter and even cries can be faintly heard. You and Sukuna both stand up at the same time, the two of you holding each side of the lantern.
As time closes in to let go and release it, Sukuna has no time to waste.
He says your name as he stares at you with tenderness. His hands overlapping yours while holding the lantern.
“I really like you. I’ve always have. Ever since you started working for me”. Your mouth slightly opens in shock. Your eyes filled with fondness are now widen.
He pauses and inhales deeply. He lets all of it spill out of his mouth.
“The way you carry yourself with kindness. I see the way you treat people and mainly how you treat me. You’re not scared of me. You saw me. You always have”. His eyes slowly start filling up with tears.
His voice starting to crack as he feels the emotions bubbling up.
“You’re a woman filled with adoration. Overflowing with love. I want to experience your love. Your kindness. And especially your warmth”.
His tears slowly running down his cheeks. His breathing is uncontrolled, and his hands gripping the lantern harder.
“May I experience all of that with you?”.
You smile as one of your hands come up to his cheeks and softly wipe away the wetness. Your hand stays on his cheek as you look him in the eyes.
“You may”.
Right when you say that everyone releases their lanterns into the air. You and Sukuna let go of the lantern as you brace your arms around his neck. His hands on your hips once again, but this time it happens.
Both of your lips hovering so close to one another, he closes the gap as his grip on your hips hardens. Your fingers playing with his hair as you feel the softness of his lips against yours.
Sukuna finally confessed.
a/n: I know I know..it’s ooc for Sukuna. I just thought a soft sukuna would be nice to write :).
"ken, are you even listening to me?" you scolded the man lightly, after finding he had planted yet another kiss to your face as you spoke, his expression was playful when he pulled away; almost childlike.
"i am. what made you think otherwise?" both corners of his lips turned upward just a tad, as though unmoving if you didn't know any better, if you hadn't spend the past few years of your life staring at your husband's handsome face, memorizing its features.
you narrowed your eyes in disbelief but spared him anyway, decided to continue away the story you'd been telling him. "and then she said..." you carried on, chattering animatedly about something you'd claimed was the craziest thing ever all the while nanami was proceeding with his initial plan; bringing both of his hands to tuck your hair behind your ears, stroking it over and over softly. never forgetting to nod a few times like letting you know that he's still listening.
"mhm, keep going, my pretty wife." he murmured, cupping your face as he stared at you adoringly before sprinkling kisses atop of it, different spots each time making sure he didn't miss even a single inch of your skin. a kiss to your eyelids each, cheeks, and when he reached your nose you couldn't help but let out a chuckle, at that nanami beamed.
"i'm starting to think you're not listening at all," you berated the man with an ear to ear grin, your attempt at scolding was failing miserably. as that too was swallowed by a prompt kiss to your lips.
"how presumptuous. i could listen and admire my wife's beauty at the same time." his hands were now on the sides of your face, his thumb rubbing your cheeks subtly. the smile he's wearing as he said that was blinding, contagious in every way.
"you're lucky you're cute." you raised an eyebrow at his apparent flirtation and sweet excuse that still made your inside fluttered despite of years of marriage.
"i am lucky," nanami concurred easily, his tone made it obvious that he was talking about a different thing. to be yours, the implicit meaning was loud inbetween the silent spaces. once more you were swarmed with a barrage of kisses, this time to the corner of your brows, your jaw, forehead.
you tried to hid yourself between the crook of his neck, feeling how it shook along with nanami's laughter. "seriously, what's gotten into you?" you mumbled into his skin, giggling slightly. your chest lightened, bursting with fondness.
you felt another gentle nudge atop of your head. "what? am i not allowed to kiss my lovely wife?"
"you can. but in moderation."
"nonsense. there is no moderation when it comes to you."
You only asked Nanami to lunch. Gojo made it a group outing, a spectacle, and somehow, inexplicably, the best afternoon Nanami has had in years. He would never say that out loud. Gojo would never let him forget it.
Contains: fluff, female reader, romantic tension, pining!Nanami, jealous!Nanami, Gojo being a menace, third-wheel comedy, light embarrassment, food as affection, soft caretaking, quiet intimacy, pre-relationship, public setting, canon-verse jjk, happy ending
Word Count: 6.8k
Note: this is my first fic, so please be kind! i’m still learning and trying to get better, especially when it comes to coming up with more creative ideas. feedback really would mean a lot, and requests are open too if there’s something you’d like to see
Nanami hadn’t exactly leapt at the chance to leave jujutsu. It was like peeling a bandage fused to skin, slow, necessary, painful. He left behind comrades, years of habit, the kind of harsh routine that almost felt safe if you let it. But after watching the higher-ups toss away lives, after losing someone he could never replace, it stopped being a decision at all.
The years that followed left him raw. The nine-to-five grind, the overtime that never ended, pay that barely covered the exhaustion, he learned quickly that indifference wasn’t exclusive to sorcerers. His bosses just wore suits instead of uniforms, and their apathy was just as cold.
Returning to jujutsu after those intervening years felt like taking a breath after having been deprived of air for far too long. Looking back, he struggled to understand how he had survived in that colourless, empty existence for so many years. Perhaps he would have continued on that way, numb, dutiful, if he had not met her. Only after meeting her did this world become something he could genuinely want, even crave.
The morning air at Jujutsu High carried that familiar mix of cool stone, damp grass, and tea drifting faintly from somewhere nearby. Footsteps came and went along the paths.
Nanami stood, one hand in his slacks, tie neat, shirt crisp under his tan vest. Even off mission, he never quite looked relaxed.
“Nanami!”
You walked over, voice bright, two cups of coffee in hand, one for you, one for him. The skirt of your dress brushed your legs with every step, soft and easy, the kind of dress that looked effortless on you, even though it made it impossible for him not to notice the way it sat against your figure. By the time you reached him, the scent of coffee had already wrapped around him, warm and tempting.
His heart jumped, traitorous. Maybe you saw him as a close friend, hence why you remembered how he liked his coffee. He almost cursed himself for the flutter in his chest was far too ridiculous, boyish, and easy to read.
“Here. Figured you’d need this after yesterday.” You smiled, and Nanami tried not to stare.
The dress made it impossible. It softened and outlined you at once, drawing his eye to places he had no right lingering on. The privilege of looking like that belonged to a lover, not to him. He was only a friend, after all.
Something low in his stomach tightened, warm and embarrassingly eager, and the fact that you’d remembered his coffee at all nearly undid him right there.
He took the coffee, murmured a thank you, and tried not to linger when your fingers brushed his. Your hands were impossibly soft. He couldn’t decide if he was grateful or just doomed to know that now.
A breeze lifted a few loose strands of your hair and let them settle again, and Nanami’s focus tightened so completely on the sight that the rest of the campus seemed to fade around it.
Nanami had just lifted the cup to his mouth when you glanced up at him again, as if the thought had just struck you.
“Are you free later?” you asked. Your tone stayed light, casual enough that someone less invested might have missed the faint edge of hesitation beneath it. “I was thinking… maybe we could grab lunch together. If you want.”
For one suspended second, Nanami forgot the taste of coffee entirely.
Not because the question was scandalous. It was simple. Innocent. Perfectly normal. But coming from you, with that open expression and those soft, careful manners that made everything sound more sincere, it hit him harder than he expected. His pulse kicked against his throat, and sudden anticipation replaced his usual restraint.
He was caught off guard, and for once, he couldn’t hide how much he wanted this, not even from himself.
He had never allowed himself to expect this, not from you, not really. He had already taught himself to be grateful for much less. A few shared minutes, a kind smile, the sound of your voice when you greeted him. So to be asked, plainly and warmly, as though being with him was something you had thought to want, left him momentarily unguarded.
Lunch.
With you.
Alone, if he was lucky.
He lowered the cup with deliberate care, buying himself a second to recover before his face betrayed anything undignified. “Yes,” he said, perhaps a touch too quickly. His mouth tightened, and he corrected himself into something more even.
“I mean—yes. That would be fine.”
Your face brightened at once, the kind of expression that always made him feel as though he’d been given something far too precious for a man like him to handle casually.
"Really? Good! There’s a place I’ve been wanting to try," you said, voice light but with a hesitation that suggested more than casual interest. "I kept putting it off because I didn’t want to go alone."
Of course.
Of course, that was the reason. Nanami hated the small, petty part of himself that had, for a disgracefully hopeful moment, wanted the invitation to mean more. Still, even that was enough. You wanted his company. You had thought of him specifically. That alone was enough to make the ache in his chest ease.
He adjusted his grip on the coffee cup and inclined his head. “Then I’d be happy to accompany you.”
Your smile softened into something warmer, almost shy now that he accepted. “Great. Maybe around one?”
Nanami opened his mouth to answer.
“Aww,” came a voice from nowhere and everywhere at once, bright with manufactured heartbreak. “And here I was thinking you were going to finally ask me on a date instead”
Nanami didn’t flinch outwardly, but something inside him went cold with immediate, familiar dread.
Gojo appeared at your side like a divine punishment, all long limbs and easy arrogance. His sunglasses were perched low enough to show the smug curve of his grin, and one arm draped itself over your shoulders before either of you could stop him.
You gave a small, startled laugh, shifting a little beneath his arm but not quite pulling away. “Gojo. Don’t scare people like that.”
“I don’t scare people,” Gojo said easily. “I delight them. There’s a difference.” Then he looked at you with exaggerated curiosity. “Lunch, huh? Cute. Where are we going?”
Nanami stared at him.
You blinked. “We?”
Gojo nodded as this had already been settled in some higher court. “Yeah, we. Obviously. I was just thinking I should take a proper break today, and now look at this. Fate provides!” He clasped his hands together dramatically. “You two would’ve been so lonely without me.”
Nanami felt the fragile shape of the morning collapsing, second by second. Disappointment hit sharp and fast, his hopes for time alone with you slipping away, chased off by Gojo’s intrusion. Frustration and resignation crowded out the last of his optimism.
“There is no reason for you to come,” he said flatly.
Gojo turned his head, offence painted onto his face with theatrical precision. “Wow. Nanami. That’s harsh. I thought we were colleagues. Friends, even.”
“We are neither.”
You made that tiny sound you always did when caught between amusement and concern.
Nanami knew instantly he’d lost. You were too soft to refuse someone outright, especially when they smiled at you like an overgrown menace who knew exactly how far he could push. Gojo knew it too. Worse, he knew you’d rather inconvenience yourself than risk making anyone feel unwelcome.
“Oh,” you said, glancing between them, “I mean… if you want to come, I guess that’s okay.”
There it was.
Nanami watched as Gojo heard the surrender in your voice and decided to make it worse.
“Perfect,” he said. “See? She likes having me around.”
“I said it was okay,” you corrected gently.
“Which is basically the same thing.”
You gave a tiny pout. “It is not.”
Gojo ignored you entirely and grinned at Nanami like a man twisting a knife with cheerful dedication. “This is nice. A little team bonding. We should do this more often.”
Nanami’s fingers tightened around the paper cup just enough to threaten the lid. Coffee shifted faintly inside it. He had spent years learning composure in life-or-death situations, but apparently all it took to test it now was Satoru Gojo barging into a lunch invitation he had no business attending.
“It was not intended as a group outing,” Nanami said, keeping his voice carefully level.
Gojo gasped. “So it was a date!”
Your eyes widened. “Gojo!”
The shock in your voice was immediate and sincere, and Nanami felt heat rise into his face so quickly it was almost offensive.
Internally, embarrassment clashed with irritation; part of him resented how Gojo could unsettle his composure so effortlessly, while another part baulked at how easily his emotions surfaced despite years of cultivated restraint. Gojo’s words left him feeling exposed, as if he were sixteen again, all awkward anticipation and raw vulnerability.
Externally, he kept his eyes forward with rigid discipline, striving for neutrality even as he sensed your attention on him, likely hoping he would deny Gojo's suggestion and restore a sense of normality.
He should have denied it.
He knew he should have.
Instead, his silence stretched just a fraction too long.
Gojo’s grin sharpened.
You recovered first, laughing a little too quickly, the sound tinged with embarrassment. “It’s not a date. I just asked Nanami to lunch because he looked tired.”
That shouldn’t have been as endearing as it was. It shouldn’t have settled warm and miserable under his ribs, but it did. You noticed he was tired. You thought of him.
You had wanted to look after him in some small, gentle way, and Nanami felt himself go weak for it with immediate, private shame. He loved that you cared. He hated that he could not stop wanting it to be something other than pity wrapped in kindness.
Gojo, of course, pounced on the clarification with all the grace of a spoiled cat. “Right. Just lunch. Totally harmless. Then there’s definitely no problem with me joining.”
Nanami looked at him with open dislike now. “You are an adult. Stop behaving like a child.”
Gojo hummed, entirely unbothered. “Say that again, but this time without sounding so territorial.”
For one awful second, silence held.
Heat rose under Nanami’s collar with immediate, concentrated force. He did not look at you. He could not. His jaw tightened instead, fingers shifting once around the coffee cup before stilling again.
Beside them, you blinked, caught somewhere between confusion and dawning embarrassment. “Gojo,” you said, softer this time, like you were not entirely sure whether to laugh or scold him.
Gojo only smiled.
You were already smiling in that helpless way that told Nanami the battle was lost. “It’s fine,” you said softly, smoothing over the argument before it could even start.
“The more the merrier, right?”
No, Nanami thought immediately.
Absolutely not.
But you were looking at him now. That familiar hope in your eyes, a quiet plea for everyone to get along, for no one to make this awkward. You had no idea what you were asking him to endure. Or maybe you did, just a little, and trusted him to be patient anyway.
Nanami exhaled once through his nose. “If that is what you want.”
Gojo beamed at Nanami, insufferably victorious. “See? You love me.”
Nanami turned his gaze back to his coffee.
“I assure you,” he said, “that is not the word I would use.”
You laughed again, quieter this time, and the sound took some of the edge off, even now. Gojo stayed draped at your side like a curse Nanami had never managed to exorcise, while you stood between them, coffee in hand, completely unaware you’d just handed Nanami the best part of his week and let Satoru Gojo ruin it in under thirty seconds.
Still, when you looked back at him and said, “One o’clock, then?” with the same sweet certainty as before, Nanami heard himself answer without hesitation.
“Yes,” he said.
Gojo clapped once. “Amazing! It’s a date for three.”
Nanami closed his eyes for a moment, already regretting being alive.
_
By the time one o’clock came around, Nanami had already spent far too much of the morning trying not to think about it.
It shouldn’t have mattered this much. It was just lunch. A simple meal, nothing more. And yet the thought of sitting with you for an hour, away from the school and everyone else, had settled under his skin with embarrassing persistence.
They found the restaurant modest and narrow, tucked along a side street with fogged front windows and a faded wooden sign above the door. As soon as they entered, they were met by the warm air inside, heavy with the aromas of broth, seared meat, garlic, and toasted sesame.
The steady murmur of conversation merged with the occasional clink of cutlery, chairs scraping softly against the floorboards, and the faint hiss from nearby tabletop grills, establishing an immediate sense of immersion as they entered the space.
The hostess led the three of you to a booth against the wall, a small built-in grill set neatly into the centre of the table. Her eyes lingered on Gojo for a beat too long, and he, shameless as ever, seemed to brighten under it.
Nanami had barely registered its shape before Gojo moved.
“There,” Gojo said lightly, sliding into one side of the booth with shameless ease. He took the inner seat first, then patted the place beside him as though the arrangement had already been decided. “C’mon.”
You hesitated only a second, clearly caught off guard, before sitting beside him with your menu still in hand. That left Nanami with the seat across from both of you.
He sat opposite them, one hand on the table, looking at Gojo with nothing close to warmth. The arrangement was immediate and irritatingly effective: you beside Gojo, Nanami alone, forced to look straight at the two of you together.
Gojo smiled. “This way the table feels balanced.”
“That is not how seating works,” Nanami said.
Gojo waved a hand. “Also, if she sat next to you, she’d have to spend the whole lunch seeing your scary face up close. I’m doing her a favor.”
You let out a small laugh, half-startled, half-amused, and lowered your eyes to the menu.
Nanami said nothing. He only reached for his own.
For a moment, the three of you looked over the menus in relative peace. A server passed nearby, balancing a tray of drinks. Sunlight shifted warmly across the edge of the table. Gojo, unsurprisingly, was the first one to ruin it.
A dramatic sigh came from beside you.
“This menu is too loooong,” he complained. “I don’t want to read all that.”
Nanami did not look up. “Then point at something and hope for the best.”
“That’s irresponsible,” Gojo said. Then, turning immediately to you, “Help me choose.”
You glanced up from your menu. “You can read.”
“I can,” Gojo said. “I just don’t want to.”
There was no way to refuse without sounding sharper than you ever wanted to be, and all three of you knew it. Nanami watched the exact moment you gave in.
You leaned slightly toward Gojo so you could look at what he was pointing at. “What do you usually like?”
“Attention,” Gojo said.
You laughed despite yourself. “Food-wise.”
He tilted the menu toward you, your shoulder angling closer to his as you read through a few things under your breath, considering them properly. Nanami sat across from you both, listening to you explain the meat sets, side dishes, and broth options while Gojo hummed as if your advice were of deep, personal importance.
When your eyes lifted from the page and found Nanami’s, he was already looking at you.
You smiled faintly. “Have you been here before?”
“Yes,” he said.
That seemed to catch your attention immediately. “Really?”
“Once.”
Gojo glanced up from the menu. “Hm. Doesn’t feel expensive enough to be one of your date spots.”
Nanami looked at him.
For one brief second, the table went quieter than the rest of the restaurant. Across from him, your attention had sharpened too much to be casual now, and Nanami hated how quickly he noticed. Hated even more the small, desperate spark of hope it lit in him.
“It wasn’t like that,” he said.
The answer came too quickly to sound indifferent.
“I mean, I wasn’t here with anyone.”
Gojo’s grin deepened. “That was fast.”
Nanami ignored him, but not before he caught the faint change in your expression, the quiet, almost involuntary easing that followed his answer.
Your reaction should not have meant anything. It probably didn’t. But Nanami, already too far gone to protect himself from it, felt the warmth of that tiny reaction settle somewhere far deeper than it had any right to.
The server returned to take your order.
You went first, choosing a lighter set after a moment of consideration, then second-guessing whether it would be enough once the server mentioned the portion size.
Gojo changed his mind halfway through ordering and then asked two unnecessary questions before settling on something he would probably have chosen anyway. Nanami added a larger shared meat platter, extra vegetables, and another side without making a point of it, as though he were simply being practical.
Once the server left, you turned to Gojo with a smile that still carried traces of laughter. “Happy now?”
Gojo looked pleased with himself. “Very.”
“You made me read half the menu to you.”
“And you did beautifully.”
You laughed under your breath and shook your head, finally lifting your glass.
Across from you, Nanami stayed silent. He watched the effortless way you slipped into Gojo’s rhythm, the familiarity of it sharper now that he had nowhere else to look. It shouldn’t have bothered him as much as it did. Gojo was like this with everyone, careless, charming, impossible to shut out. Still, it was deeply irritating to watch that attention settle on you so easily.
“You are so insufferable,” Nanami said at last, not able to contain it.
Gojo grinned. “And yet you keep me around.”
Nanami did not answer.
A quiet settled after that, brief but real. Your hand rested near your water glass. Nanami’s attention caught on it, then moved back to your face when you spoke.
“So,” you said, “why only once?”
He held your gaze. “I was working at the time.”
Your expression shifted, turning softer. “So you didn’t really get to enjoy it.”
“No.”
“That’s a little sad.”
Something in the way you said it almost pulled a smile from him. Maybe because you were right. Maybe because, sitting across from you now, the memory no longer felt quite as bleak. He was well over that stage in his life.
Before he could answer, Gojo suddenly pushed back from the booth.
“I’m getting another drink,” he announced. “Don’t get too attached while I’m gone.”
You made a small sound, half a laugh, half embarrassment, as he slipped out of the booth and disappeared between the tables toward the front counter.
Nanami watched him go, then looked back at you.
At last, the booth felt right.
You on one side, him on the other. Gojo was gone, even if only for a moment, and the interruption finally lifted enough for the silence to become something else.
You looked down for a second, then back up at him. “I’m glad you still came,” you said quietly. “I thought you might decide not to, once Gojo made himself part of it.”
Nanami’s gaze stayed on you.
“I considered it,” he said.
Your eyes widened a little, not offended, just surprised.
Then he added, before the expression could settle wrong, “But you asked me.”
Something about that made you go still. Not dramatically. Just enough for him to notice.
“I’m glad,” you said.
His fingers shifted once against the side of his glass. “So am I.”
That one landed. He saw it in the way your expression changed, in the way your mouth parted just slightly before you smiled. It was small, but not casual. For one brief moment, the noise of the restaurant seemed to recede around the edges.
Then Gojo returned.
He slid back into the booth with a fresh drink in hand and looked between the two of you immediately, far too observant for a man who behaved like an idiot on purpose.
“Oh, that’s nasty,” he said. “You two were having a moment.”
“We were not,” Nanami said.
Gojo set his drink down. “Sure.”
The food arrived soon after, sparing you from having to answer.
The server set down plate after plate between you, thin slices of marinated beef and pork, mushrooms, onions, greens, small dishes of sauces, rice, and a pot kept hot at the edge of the grill. The heat rose at once, carrying the richer smell of seasoned meat into the space between you.
You looked at it all with immediate interest, then at the grill. “I’ve never been very good at these,” you admitted.
Nanami had already reached for the tongs. “That’s fine.”
He said it simply, like there was nothing to think about, and laid the first slices onto the grill with practised ease. The meat hissed the moment it came in contact with the heat. He kept his eyes on it, turning one piece, shifting another aside before it caught too much colour, moving with the quiet certainty of someone who preferred competence to conversation.
Gojo, naturally, noticed that too.
“Oh, this is disgusting,” he said. “He’s cooking for you.”
Nanami did not look up. “I am cooking lunch.”
“For her.”
“For the table.”
You smiled down at your plate, already visibly warmer in the face.
Nanami moved the first finished pieces onto your plate before serving himself. He did it without flourish, without hesitation, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world to make sure you ate first.
Gojo made a low, delighted noise. “And he serves you first. Incredible.”
You looked up quickly. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know,” Nanami said.
Gojo glanced from your plate to the grill. “Interesting. Hers is done, and mine is still fighting for its life over there.”
Nanami turned one of Gojo’s slices without urgency. “Then keep an eye on it.”
Gojo looked offended. “Oh, so now I have to grill my own food?”
Nanami finally glanced at him. “You were born with hands and are fully capable of feeding yourself.”
“And yet you’re not making her do that.”
You made a tiny sound, somewhere between embarrassment and a laugh, and immediately lowered your gaze again.
Nanami moved another finished piece onto your plate. “That’s because she’s being pleasant.”
Nanami ignored him and reached for the vegetables next, adding a few to the grill before glancing at your plate. You had taken one bite and immediately reached for water.
His eyes narrowed slightly. “Too hot?”
“A little,” you admitted, almost embarrassed by it.
Without comment, he nudged one of the less heavily seasoned pieces from the edge of the grill onto a cleaner spot, letting it cook more lightly before placing it on your plate. “Try that.”
You did.
Your face softened almost at once. “Oh. That’s better.”
Something in his chest eased.
Gojo leaned back. “That was terrifyingly attentive.”
Then he reached for one of his own pieces, took a bite, and immediately paused.
Nanami glanced up just long enough to see that the edge of it had gone too dark.
Gojo chewed once, slow and offended. “Fantastic. Hers gets adjusted to her exact preferences and mine gets cremated.”
You laughed into your glass. It was small, but real, and Nanami found the sound dangerously rewarding.
After that, the meal developed its own steady rhythm. The hiss of the grill punctuated quiet moments, while steam curled upward between you in soft, transient spires. Throughout, Nanami kept a hand poised near the tongs, steadily turning pieces before they overcooked, shifting food from the hottest points, and handing items over whenever you reached just a second too late.
Though his actions might have appeared careful and intentional, his attentiveness soon ceased to feel conscious at all. Around you, he found that care became an instinct, one that revealed itself easily enough to verge on embarrassing.
Each time Nanami performed a quiet act of consideration, Gojo immediately drew attention to it, treating these moments like a spectacle. Whether Nanami passed you the soy dish or substituted a milder side when you hesitated over something spicy, Gojo responded theatrically, accusing him of being excessively attentive.
Then, at some point, without seeming to realize he was doing it, Nanami had arranged the grill accordingly. The milder cuts stayed nearest your side. The hotter pieces were turned away from you. Anything that spat too much oil somehow ended up on Gojo’s half of the table instead.
Gojo gradually stopped eating.
He looked down at the grill.
Then at your side of it.
Then at his own.
For a second, he said nothing at all, which was unsettling enough on its own.
“…Nanami,” he said at last.
Nanami glanced up. “What?”
Gojo pointed vaguely with his chopsticks, looking genuinely affronted now. “Why is her side all manageable and mine looks like a punishment?”
You broke first.
The laugh slipped out fast enough that you had to set your chopsticks down, shoulders curling inward around it. Nanami felt heat climb under his collar almost immediately.
Gojo looked at you, then back at the table like the evidence had only become more damning. “No, seriously. She’s got the easy cuts, the safe pieces, the civilised side of the grill” His eyes narrowed at Nanami. “You gave me the splatter zone!”
Nanami stared at him. “You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m being neglected!” Gojo corrected.
That only made you laugh harder.
Nanami sat there, humiliated and helpless, realizing he would endure worse than this if it meant keeping that sound in the air.
By the time the plates were cleared, you looked relaxed in that soft, post-meal way people only did when they’d been fed properly and laughed more than they meant to. Nanami almost managed to salvage something of the outing for himself through that alone.
Then the check came.
He reached for it without hesitation. It was natural. Quiet, simple, unremarkable if handled right. He had no intention of making a display. He only wanted to spare you the trouble.
Unfortunately, Gojo possessed the instincts of a saboteur.
“Oho,” Gojo said, leaning back as soon as Nanami reached for the check. “There it is.”
You looked up at once. “Nanami, you really don’t have to—”
“It’s fine,” he said, already taking out his wallet.
Gojo smiled at you over the table. “See? This is how it starts.”
Nanami’s gaze stayed on the bill. “Don’t.”
“What?” Gojo asked. “You ask him to lunch, he pays before you can argue.”
Your face warmed. “It’s just lunch.”
“Exactly,” Gojo said. “That’s the dangerous kind.”
“If you’re done embarrassing yourself, I’d prefer not to listen to you narrate basic manners.”
Gojo’s eyes lit at once. “Basic manners?”
Nanami already looked like he regretted phrasing it that way. “Yes.”
Gojo leaned back, delighted. “Right. So if I asked you to lunch tomorrow, just the two of us, you’d pay for me too?”
That landed.
You laughed before you could stop yourself.
Nanami’s expression hardened. “No.”
Gojo smiled, satisfied. “See? Now we’re being honest.”
Nanami could feel the server hovering just close enough to hear all of this, which made it worse in a way he hadn’t thought possible five seconds ago. He took out his wallet with the resignation of a man being publicly executed in stages.
You looked mortified on his behalf now, which should have helped and somehow didn’t. “Nanami,” you said softly, “really, I can pay for myself.”
He looked at you then, properly, and his voice dropped despite himself. “I know you can.”
Something in your expression shifted. Not flustered this time, not because of Gojo, but because he’d answered you seriously. Your fingers, reaching for your bag, paused.
Then he finished, because anything softer would have been a mistake. “But I offered.”
You held his gaze for a second longer than before. “...Thank you.”
Gojo looked between the two of you and made a face like a man witnessing his favorite drama reach a critical point. “Disgusting,” he said. “You’re both being very weird about lunch.”
Nanami handed over the bill without looking at him.
The server failed to suppress a smile.
Chairs scraped lightly over the floorboards as other tables rose to leave. The front door opened and shut often enough now that the warmth inside no longer held steady. Every few minutes, a cooler draft slipped in from the street and moved through the room before fading again.
You reached for your bag and shifted in the booth, only for the tight space to make the movement awkward. Gojo was still half in the way, stretched lazily along the outer edge like he had never once in his life considered moving efficiently for someone else’s sake.
Nanami stood at once.
He stepped in without making much of it and offered you a hand. The gesture was simple, practical, but when you placed your hand in his and let him guide you out of the booth, the contact still landed harder than it should have. Your fingers were soft in his again. Warm. He let go as soon as you were steady.
Then the front door opened behind you.
A draft moved through the restaurant and caught at the bare skin of your arms. You drew them in a little, not dramatically, just on instinct, before letting them fall again.
Nanami noticed immediately.
Of course he did.
His eyes dropped there for one brief second. Your arms. The lighter fabric of your dress. The cold coming in each time the door opened. The thought followed so quickly that it barely felt like one.
He should give you his suit jacket.
His hand lifted a fraction toward the front of it.
Gojo caught the movement at once.
“Oh, wow,” he said, smiling as though Christmas had come early. “You were really considering it.”
Nanami looked at him. “Considering what.”
“The jacket.”
You went still beside him.
Nanami’s expression did not change, but he could feel the moment sharpen around the three of you. “You are making assumptions.”
Gojo’s grin widened. “That’s not a no.”
“I did not realize I was required to answer nonsense.”
You looked between them, warmth creeping into your face. “I’m fine,” you said quickly, even though your hands had brushed lightly over your own arms a second earlier.
Nanami glanced at you.
Gojo made a soft, disbelieving sound. “You’re both making this incredibly easy for me.”
“Gojo,” you said, trying and failing to sound firm through the embarrassment.
“What? I’m not wrong.”
Nanami stepped aside then, one hand indicating the aisle. “We’re leaving.”
You moved first. Gojo followed, still far too pleased with himself, and Nanami came after you both with the distinct feeling that the last thirty seconds had done more damage than the entire lunch.
Outside, the afternoon looked warmer than it felt. Sunlight lay across the pavement, but the breeze moving between the buildings had sharpened. People passed in uneven clusters along the street, and every time the wind turned the corner it caught at hems, sleeves, loose hair.
Gojo stretched as though he had done something exhausting instead of tormenting him for an hour and a half.
“That was nice,” you said, adjusting your bag higher on your shoulder. “I’m glad we still went.”
Nanami looked at you. There was still some leftover warmth in your face from inside, but now that you were standing in the open air, the breeze was getting to you properly. You were trying not to show it. He could tell.
Gojo could too, apparently, because he glanced between the two of you and went suspiciously quiet for half a second. That alone was enough to make Nanami wary.
You tucked a strand of hair back and laughed softly at something Gojo muttered under his breath, but the next gust of wind made your shoulders pull in again before you seemed to catch yourself.
That was enough.
Nanami reached for his suit jacket in an instant.
You noticed immediately. “Nanami—”
He had already slipped it off.
The movement was simple, practiced, but it changed him at once. Without the jacket, the dark dress shirt beneath sat closer to him than you were prepared for, fitted cleanly across his shoulders and chest, the sleeves drawn neatly over forearms that somehow looked stronger now that nothing softened the line of them.
He had always looked put together. Controlled. But this was worse. More real somehow. Less buffered by tailoring. Sharp and quietly masculine in a way that made your thoughts catch.
“It’s colder out here than it looked,” he said, like this was the only reason and the matter was too ordinary to argue with.
Your eyes widened just a little.
Not only because of the tan suit jacket in his hands, but also because you were now looking at him properly and finding it difficult to stop.
The shirt pulled just enough when he lifted the coat that it made the strength in his build impossible to miss. Clean lines.
“You don’t have to—”
Nanami stepped closer and lifted the jacket, settling it around your shoulders in one smooth motion. He was careful with it. Careful with your hair, careful not to let his hands linger longer than necessary, careful in all the ways that mattered and not at all in the way that counted, because the second the fabric rested on you, the intimacy of it became impossible to ignore.
The jacket was too large on you, obviously his in every line. The sleeves swallowed your hands. The faint warmth left in the lining and the trace of his cologne wrapped around you at once, and for one mortifying second, you pressed the collar a little closer without thinking.
Nanami’s gaze caught on the movement immediately.
Nearby, Gojo had fallen silent in the most alarming way possible, already tapping at his phone.
You went still before regaining some composure.
Your fingers rose to the lapels, pulling them a little closer around yourself. “Thank you,” you said, and your voice had gone quieter too. Not just polite. Aware.
Nanami inclined his head once, as though this were nothing. As though his pulse had not kicked harder the moment he saw you standing inside something that belonged to him.
He had caught it, or at least, he hoped he had. The small, unconscious draw of the collar toward your nose. You had noticed the scent of him in the fabric, and some humiliating, hopeless part of him lit up at once.
Worse, he found himself clinging to it, to the possibility that you had liked it enough to hold it there for that extra second.
“It suits you,” Gojo said.
“Gojo,” Nanami said.
“What? It does.”
You laughed under your breath, then glanced up at Nanami through the lingering warmth in your face. “I really was alright.”
“I know,” he said again.
There was a brief pause.
Gojo looked between the two of you like a man witnessing a private event he had no business attending.
You smiled, ducking your face for a second into the collar of Nanami’s jacket. The motion was shy enough to feel unintentional. It nearly finished him off where he stood.
You adjusted the sleeves of Nanami’s jacket, then looked up at him with that shy, softened expression that had already done enough damage.
Gojo made a strangled sound beside you, like he was physically suffering through the sight of it. “This is obscene.”
Neither of you looked at him.
Which, unfortunately, gave him exactly the opening he wanted.
There was a faint click.
Nanami’s head turned at once.
Gojo had his phone half-lifted in one hand, already grinning down at the screen. “Oh, that’s awful,” he said, sounding delighted. “You look ridiculously cute in his jacket.”
You blinked. “Did you just take a picture?”
“Maybe.”
“Gojo.”
His thumb moved across the screen once, twice.
Nanami’s phone buzzed in his pocket.
A second later, yours did too.
The silence that followed lasted only a beat before Gojo’s grin widened into something openly smug. Nanami did not need to check. The exact same thought had clearly occurred to you, because the moment your phone buzzed again, your face changed.
“Gojo,” you said again, this time with horrified certainty. “You didn’t.”
He looked entirely too pleased with himself. “What? It was a good photo.”
Nanami took out his phone anyway, more out of grim confirmation than curiosity. He looked down once, expression flattening further, then locked the screen without a word.
That was enough to make you glance at your own.
The second you did, your face went warm all over again. You made a small sound somewhere between embarrassment and disbelief, and immediately lowered the phone, as if that might undo the fact that the picture was no longer sitting privately on Gojo’s screen but in the group chat, where the students could tear it apart at their leisure.
Gojo, naturally, looked thrilled.
Both your phones buzzed again.
Then again.
Neither of you checked this time.
Nanami slipped his phone back into his pocket with the measured restraint of a man seconds away from violence. “Delete it.”
“Can’t,” Gojo said easily. “People are clearly engaging.”
“That is not how consent works,” you muttered, still trying not to look too mortified.
Gojo put a hand to his chest. “You wound me. I captured a beautiful candid moment.”
Nanami stared at him. “You are intolerable.”
“And yet,” Gojo said, glancing at you bundled in Nanami’s jacket, “I’m the only reason this memory now exists in high definition.”
That, somehow, was what finally made you laugh.
It slipped out before you could stop it, small, embarrassed, helpless, and the moment you realised, your hand flew to your mouth. You were still warm in the face, still half-hidden in Nanami’s jacket, still smiling despite yourself.
Gojo pointed between the two of you, as if he had just proven something scientifically. “See? Not a single real complaint.”
“I am complaining,” Nanami said.
“No, you’re humiliated. Different.”
Another buzz vibrated from his pocket. Then yours.
You closed your eyes briefly. “I’m never opening that chat again.”
Gojo looked delighted. “That bad, huh?”
Nanami exhaled slowly through his nose. “Leave.”
For once, Gojo seemed to recognise he had pushed the moment exactly as far as it could go without being physically removed from it.
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll go. Try not to make it even more obvious on the walk back.”
“Gojo,” both of you said at once.
That only made him laugh harder. Then Gojo threw an arm around both of your shoulders from behind.
“Great lunch,” he announced. “Next time let’s do dinner.”
“There will be no next time,” Nanami said immediately. You laughed again, warm and helpless between them, and Nanami, against all reason, knew he’d remember the sound of it for the rest of the evening.
He turned and sauntered off, still far too pleased with himself, while behind him both of your phones buzzed yet again.
Neither of you reached for them.
The silence he left behind felt completely different from the ones before, warmer, heavier, and somehow more embarrassing now that there was no third person there to absorb any of it.
You adjusted the lapel of Nanami’s jacket with quiet fingers and glanced up at him. “I think he’s going to be unbearable about this.”
“He already is.”
That made you smile.
This time, when the breeze moved through the street again, you pulled the jacket a little closer around yourself instead of pretending not to need it.
Nanami noticed that too.
By the time you parted, the absence of his coat had taken on a life of its own.
The wind through his shirt should have meant nothing, but it kept reminding him where his suit jacket was, wrapped around your shoulders, carrying your warmth in its lining, marked now by the impossible privilege of having belonged to you for an afternoon.
He knew that when he got it back, it would never feel the same.
Nanami realized, with the kind of certainty that made resistance useless, that it had just become his favorite coat, and that he was hopelessly, irretrievably gone.
Hiromi Higuruma, your new boyfriend, could not understand how he had spent so many years (decades) without a partner… until he met you. Because in that very instant, when his tired eyes met the warmth of yours, his life changed forever.
And he could not fathom how he had ever lived without you by his side. “Survive… wait until the right moment,” he would tell himself, as you rested, while he quietly admired those lips, that face he loved so dearly to kiss.
Because your new boyfriend, Hiromi Higuruma, could not understand how he had spent so many years alone, on his own, living a life empty and suffocated by paperwork and endless forms to be filled in; as though life itself sought to steal every breath from him with yet another punishment before allowing him to breathe again.
Because when he met you, the things that never needed to be named finally made sense. The most distant stars began to shine differently, the willows bloomed with flowers, the cherry trees flushed with colour, and the moon became a great doughnut glazed in soft, cloud-like sweetness… while the horizon filled with auroras.
Yes, auroras. Like the ones that bloom upon your cheeks whenever your laughter rings through the house like bells. Yes, auroras. Like those that colour the space between your soul and his. Yes, auroras, hundreds and thousands of them, like tiny fireflies dancing in unison across a field overflowing with poppies.
Because your new boyfriend, Hiromi Higuruma, could not understand how he had spent so many years alone, without you. And now that you were finally together, he would promise himself to do whatever it took so that every single morning, you could wake with enough joy, enough love, to choose him again.
just thinking about whenever you and higuruma are walking back after a night out in the city, you complain about your feet being sore. the black stiletto heels you wore for the occasion were starting to dig into your skin and you could feel a blister forming on your heel. higuruma notices how your pace slows and how you're starting to favor your right foot more, slowly strolling to a stop before he turns to look at you. "sit down." he nods towards a small bench. without ceremony higuruma drops down to one knee, gently brushing his fingers against your calf before he slowly slips off each heel, humming softly to himself when he sees your blister. he takes a few seconds to dig around his coat picket before producing a small box of bandaids that drags a laugh from your lips. "you just carry those around anywhere?" higuruma is gentle as he wraps your wound, ensuring that the bandaid was firmly pressed down against your skin. he hums softly, unable to hide his smile. "always have to be prepared when it comes to you," he teases. your pout doesn't last long, kissed away by his lips that still taste like cherries and something deeper before he taps your knee, kneeling in front of the bench with his back to you. "up." you want to roll your eyes and tell him he's being ridiculous but higuruma is already adjusting your arms around his neck and before long the two of you are dwindling home with you perched on his back and your sweet voice in his ear, humming every now and then in agreement as he carries you with ease.
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