I Can’t Get This Fic Out Of My Mind. Thank You @mytanuki-kun 🙏🏻😌✨💕

A Not-So-Disastrous Romance

Saiki Kusuo x Non-Binary! Reader

Book 1

Follows the events of Season One

Prologue: Troublesome "Friends"

Chapter One: Girl Problems and Beach Woes

Chapter Two: Ghosts and Guardians

Chapter Three: Sports Festival

Chapter Four: Safety Drills and Clairvoyants

Chapter Five: Ramen Shops

Chapter Six: Christmas Eve

Chapter Seven: New Year's Day

Chapter Eight: Valentine’s Day Chaos and Movie Night Misunderstandings

Chapter Nine: Mothers and Meetups

Chapter Ten: Traveling to Okinawa

Chapter Eleven: Accidents and Reveals

Chapter Twelve: Insecurities and Sweets

Chapter Thirteen: Punk Transfer

Chapter Fourteen: Festival Display

Chapter Fifteen: Festival Problems

Chapter Sixteen: Taking Teruhashi Out (on a Not-Date)

Chapter Seventeen: Delinquent Run-In and Teruhashi’s Home-Visit

Chapter Eighteen: Karaoke Party

Chapter Nineteen: Toritsuka’s Possessions and Club

Chapter Twenty: Crepes and Breaks

Chapter Twenty-One: Adventures in London

Chapter Twenty-Two: Summer Break Days

Chapter Twenty-Three: Rich Transfer Trouble

Chapter Twenty-Four: Celebrations

Book 2:

Follows the Events of Season Two

Prologue: Relationships

Chapter One: Cafes and Clothes

Chapter Two: Saiko's Mansion

To be continued...

Specials:

Pride Specials: 2024

Taglist:

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you hook up with izuku drunkenly at someone’s birthday party and it’s not even that you regret it in the morning it’s just that your post nut clarity hits that you slept with the boy you’ve known since pre-k all because of a couple of drinks and when he wakes up you’re still freaking out and you make him pinky promise that this won’t mess with your friendship, “izuku do you hear me? we are NOT going to be that pair of sad best friends that fucks everything up just because of sex. sex is nothing. we’re never gonna do it again, so we’ll be fine right?” and the whole time he’s nodding along with wide, glassy eyes not listening to a goddamn thing you’re saying because he’s been in love with you since middle school, and last night you said you loved him, too. granted he was inside of you, and he said it first, but you said it back, and by that point it was well after one in the morning so the only thing you two were drunk on were each other. it’s probably why the very next day he is at your doorstep with a notebook in hand and a grin on his face that’s something right in between cocky and sweet when he says “i think we should sleep together again. and before you say no, i made a list about why 😁 number one: we’re really good at it. number two—”

Yuta Okkotsu X Reader [mild crack edition]

Hey guys do you want to see a silly thought that came to mind when I myself am dramatically in love with this character.

Synopsis: Oh my god, Geto just beat you to a pulp! Will you focus on not dying like a normal person, or will you be lame and pathetic and stare at Yuta like he’s the love of your life? (Spoiler: It’s the second one.)

⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ The battlefield is in ruins. smoke and dust filling the air, debris scattered across the temple grounds. The echoes of battle still ring in your ears, but your body is too weak to move. You, Maki, Panda, and Inumaki are barely conscious, slumped against the shattered ground, too injured to do anything but watch as Yuta stands alone against Geto.

Your vision blurs from exhaustion, but you can see him, Yuta, battered and bloodied, standing firm with his sword drawn, Rika’s monstrous form looming behind him. He looks nothing like the nervous, flustered boy you once teased during training.

This Yuta is strong. Determined.

“I didn’t realize you were such a womanizer.”

Geto’s mocking tone cuts through the chaos like a blade. Even in your dazed state, you pick up on it.

You blink slowly, trying to focus. What…?

Yuta doesn’t hesitate.

“Don’t be rude,” he says firmly, his voice steady. “This is pure love.”

Your heart stops.

Then it shatters into a million pieces.

Your lip wobbles. Your breath hitches. Tears well up in your eyes faster than you can control.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, voice trembling. “That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”

Maki, who is barely holding onto consciousness, cracks open an eye to stare at you. “Are… are you crying right now?”

You are. Fat tears stream down your battered face as you clutch your chest, completely overwhelmed.

“H-He loves her so much,” you hiccup, your body too weak to do anything but sob in place. “I c-can’t— It’s so romantic!”

Panda, equally injured, groans. “Oh no. They’re simping while dying.”

Inumaki, barely breathing, wheezes, “Salmon…”

You ignore them, still crying. “Do you hear the way he said it?! The passion! The devotion! The way he’s fighting for the one he loves!” You sniffle loudly. “I-I think I’m gonna pass out from how beautiful this is.”

Maki lets out a ragged sigh. “You’re already half-dead. Focus.”

But you can’t focus. Not when Yuta is standing there, declaring his love in the middle of battle like the protagonist of the most heart wrenching romance novel you’ve ever read.

You clutch Maki’s sleeve weakly. “I-I know I should be focusing on not dying, but—” Another dramatic sniff. “He’s just so perfect.”

Maki shoves your hand off. “I swear, if you use the last of your energy to think about—”

“It’s too late,” Panda mutters. “They’re already gone.”

You nod, eyes still sparkling with tears. “G-Gone for Yuta Okkotsu.”

Meanwhile, Yuta and Geto are still fighting for their lives. Yuta has no idea you’re in the background, weakly crying over how much you love his love.

Gojo, who has just arrived and is surveying the battlefield, pauses when he hears your quiet sobbing. He turns, looking down at you with mild amusement. “Ah,” he hums, crouching beside your beaten form. “So you’re the dramatic one as always.”

You sniffle again. “Gojo-sensei,” you whisper hoarsely, grabbing onto his sleeve like you’ve just seen heaven. “Have you ever seen love so pure?”

Gojo glances at Yuta, then back at you. His lips curl an amused smirk.

“…Yeah,” he says quietly, his voice softer than usual. “I think I have.”

alternate ending

Gojo glances at geto, then thinks to himself. His lips curl an amused smirk.

“…Yeah,” he says quietly, his voice softer than usual. “I think I have.”

guys who would fuck with present mic brain rot. There is like no stories for him on here and i’m seriously about to start a one man revolution if I need too.

Editing on my phone is actually so comical when I have to save every two seconds

Sunday HSR X Reader

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ SNOW DAY! ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱

masterlist

part 1

its a little bit of a different format!! be warned because i know the first part was well loved

this is technically a part 2 though its a little more angsty but I tried to still hold the same dynamic. Sunday having some self doubt is a warning. You don’t need to read this part but you’d need to read the first part to make this make sense.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ Something cold brushed your cheek. You stirred, barely, burying your face deeper into the couch cushion. The blanket someone had kindly placed over you was warm and smelled faintly of lavender. The lights in the Parlor Car had dimmed. The stars outside twinkled lazily, unmoving.

“HEY! HEY! WAKE UP!!”

“AAAHHH” Your body spasmed upright as your eyes flew open in a panic. You blinked wildly, sleep still clawing at the corners of your vision. Something someone was screaming directly into your ear, high pitched and furious and

“We’re about to make a jump! All passengers must be prepped and present! Did you think this was a nap train?! Come on, come on!”

“PomPom?” you croaked, eyes wide and dazed, hair in complete disarray. the tiny conductor screeched, arms flailing, foot tapping with enough force you swore you could feel it through the couch. “We jump in fifteen minutes! FIFTY FIVE SECONDS of that are already gone! Do you want to arrive half dreaming and in pajamas?!”

You blinked again, your heart now racing for a whole new reason. The blanket slid off your shoulders. Across the room, seated calmly with tea in hand, Welt Yang gave you an apologetic nod as if this sort of thing wasnt normal. Beside him, Himeko, already dressed in her usual beautiful self with not a single red strand out of place, smiled gently. “Good morning, sleepyhead. You should hurry. These jumps can be disorienting if you’re not prepared.”

“Right. Yes. Okay. Jump. We’re jumping.” You stood too fast. The blanket tripped you. Your leg knocked into the table, rattling Himeko’s teacup. “Sorry! Sorry. I!”

“Just go get dressed!” PomPom wailed. “You’re embarrassing me”

You scrambled out of the Parlor Car, heart pounding, brain trying to catch up to your body.The halls of the Astral Express were softly lit, calm in contrast to your internal panic. You stumbled into your room, kicked the door shut behind you, and launched into the most frantic wardrobe selection of your life. Pajamas off. Shirt on backwards. Fixed. Pants? Where were your pants? Oh god, you’d slept in one sock and now you were wearing mismatched ones but there wasn’t time to change. You brushed your hair with your fingers, tied it up…. was that a feather from last night still in there? You stopped. Looked in the mirror. Your cheeks were flushed. There were faint sleep lines on one side of your face. But your eyes were awake now alive with motion, with chaos. And as you adjusted your jacket and took one last breath, you had a glimpse of something else.

The navy blue blanket where you’d tossed it before rushing out.

Sunday.

You paused, just for a moment. The memory of his soft voice in your sleep though you hadn’t really heard the words lingered faintly, like a dream half remembered. Had he really just sat there and let you rest? You smiled without meaning to, but only for a moment. Pom Pom’s voice echoed from the hallway again.

“FIVE MINUTES! And not a second more!”

“Coming!” you yelled, grabbing your boots and stumbling out of the room like a storm with arms. You arrived at the boarding deck just as the others began gathering. Caelus was still tugging on his coat, March was fixing her scarf as if her entire existence depended on the perfect loop, and Dan Heng had been ready fifteen minutes ago and clearly didn’t understand why the rest of you looked like you’d been hit by a comet. Sunday was there too. Fully dressed. Elegant even in simplicity. His hair was slicked back, a calm expression on his face as he glanced your way and then, just for a second, something softened in his gaze when he saw you.

“Sleep well?” he asked quietly as you joined the group.

You nodded, tugging your jacket into place. “Yeah. Thanks for the blanket.”

He tilted his head. “Seemed like you had an adventurous night?”

You blinked at him. But his eyes sparkled, just a little. The floor beneath your feet gave a small rumble. Lights along the ceiling began to pulse with color. Pom Pom stood atop the central platform, now fully in Conductor Mode, voice echoing with more authority than their small frame should’ve ever allowed.

“Next stop,” Pom-Pom announced, “an old and well met planet, we are visiting Jarilo-VI again”

The ship jumped. You barely had time to brace, but this time, it didn’t feel so disorienting. Maybe because you were surrounded by them. Your crew. Your friends. Or the fact that next to you in the parlour car, Sunday is always taking in the works around him like he was just born. So much wonder made you feel so fortunate. You weren’t entirely sure when that started to feel comforting. But it did.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ Jarilo-VI welcomed the Astral Express crew with its usual frosty greeting icy winds sweeping the platform, snow clinging to every rooftop and ledge, and that quiet stillness in the air that only came with winter.

You stepped off the train behind the others, watching your breath fog in front of your face. The city beyond still stood proud despite its scars. Belobog had changed since you were last here less tension, more movement. There was life in the people’s steps now. A subtle, growing hope.

March was already snapping pictures of Caelus helping a local child shovel snow off the street, her voice excited and dramatic. “Sometkme i look at him and wish I had that drive but he does stuff like he has daily tasks or commissions”

Caelus was half buried in a snowbank but gave a thumbs up. Dan Heng, coat already pristine and zipped, muttered something under his breath and walked ahead toward the Administrative District. He’d been assigned to assist with a few lingering logistics, as had Himeko and Welt. The grown ups, as March dubbed them. You? You had been told absolutely nothing.

No tasks. No missions. Not even a clipboard. Which was exactly why, once everyone else had scattered, you stayed behind. Your eyes trailed over the rooftops dusted with white, the distant roads sloping down into familiar territory. Serval’s workshop, maybe. Or even a chance run in with Bronya or Gepard. Heck, you’d even take a weird monologue from Sampo as long as you weren’t standing still in the cold. You adjusted your coat and turned to sneak off “You’re not going alone, are you?”

You flinched and turned around quickly. Sunday stood just behind you on the platform, arms folded loosely across his chest, eyes squinting slightly at the sun reflecting off the snow. Still in his usual attire, not a shred of weather appropriate attire in sight. He blinked slowly, then added, “I thought I might accompany you. If you don’t mind.”

You hesitated. He didn’t ask why you were going. Just wanted to tag along.

“Sure,” you said, smiling, “but not like that. You’ll die in five minutes.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’ve survived much worse.”

“Yeah, sure. luxury suits. Come on.”

You motioned for him to follow and dragged him back into the Express, heading straight for the storage closet where everyone’s winter gear was kept. You shoved open the door and started rummaging. He watched you with amused patience as you returned with armfuls of thick clothes. You tossed a jacket at him navy, heavy, with silver trim. He barely caught it before you were already looping a scarf around his neck, standing on tiptoe to reach properly. “Arms up,” you ordered, like he was a kindergartener and not a six foot tall enigma.

“You’re very particular about this,” he murmured as you tugged the sleeves over his arms and zipped the coat halfway up his chest.

“You probably haven’t even seen snow before,” you muttered, voice muffled as you fixed the scarf, “Pretty boy like you? I bet Penacony was all dream beaches and sun.” You tugged a beanie over his perfectly styled hair. “This would eat you alive.”

“I think I’m capable of”

“There.” You stepped back, satisfied, and grinned. “Now you look like a fashionable marshmallow.” Behind you, a suppressed snort cracked the silence. You didn’t even turn. “March, if you even think about saying anything, I’m throwing snow down your coat.” More giggling. Retreating footsteps. Sunday glanced in the direction of the sound and then looked back at you, blinking under the knit hat you’d shoved onto his head. “Am I… presentable?”

You pretended to examine him, chin in your hand like an artist judging a sculpture. “You’ll survive. If only just.”

His smile was subtle, but it reached his eyes. Together, you stepped off the train and began your slow descent into the city. Jarilo-VI was still beautiful in the way icy sunlight catching on rooftops, the clink of tools and laughter echoing from a few shops that had reopened. As you both walked, you explained what each building had been during the whole event when the astral crew were all there, and how things had changed. Sunday didn’t speak much, but he listened. Genuinely. His hands stayed in his pockets, but his eyes followed every movement children pulling sleds, old workers salting roads, steam curling from chimneys.

“It’s different here,” he said softly after a while.

You hummed. “Cold?”

“it feels like fresh air.” His breath fogged in the air. “I used to think eternity would be the only path to peace”

You turned to look at him. He shook his head. “Its so nice to see people out.” His gaze dropped to the footprints the two of you left behind in the snow. You smiled.

“Also,” he added lightly, “I haven’t felt my fingers in the past twenty minutes. So perhaps you were right.”

“Well no duh” you grinned, and bumped his shoulder gently. “Welcome to winter, dream boy.”

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ Eventually, you ended up outside Serval’s workshop, laughter and music spilling from the inside. She was strumming her guitar for a cluster of teens, everyone bundled up with hot drinks and wool scarves. The moment Serval spotted you, her eyes sparkled with mischief and she called out, “Hey! You brought a date?”

You flushed immediately. “He’s not”

“I’m here by choice,” Sunday cut in smoothly, tugging his scarf down just enough to speak clearly. His voice was calm, a slight smirk on his lips. “Don’t let her flustered denial fool you.”

You shot him a look, but he only raised a brow in amusement.

One of the teens whispered, “Is that guy famous or something?” Another murmured, “He looks like he owns a whole company.”

You buried your face in your scarf.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ Later, as the sun dipped and shadows grew long, the two of you sat at the edge of the city, the rooftops of Belobog glowing gold beneath a dusky sky. You handed Sunday the last bit of your hot drink without looking at him. He accepted it, hands brushing yours, and took a sip.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice more serious now. “For letting me come along.”

“I didn’t do it for you,” you muttered, gaze fixed ahead. “I just needed a tall coat rack.”

There was a pause, then a soft chuckle. “Then I hope I’m fulfilling my purpose admirably.”

When you didn’t reply, he added, quieter, “I don’t take your time for granted. I’m glad to be here with you.”

That made your heart skip. You looked away, flustered, and he didn’t push. The stillness wrapped around you both like a blanket, snowflakes drifting lazily in the air. You leaned back on the bench, exhaling slowly.

“Hey! Hey, there you are!”

You both turned to find Lynx bounding up the road, scarf trailing and cheeks pink from the cold. “There’s a frozen lake just outside the city! We cleared it for skating come join us! Serval’s already out there bullying Gepard, and I need backup.”

You stood, grinning. “Say no more. I’m in.” You glanced at Sunday. “C’mon.”

He blinked, surprised. “I’m sorry what exactly are we doing?”

“Skating.”

“…That’s like walking but more dangerous?”

“You’ll be fine.” You patted his shoulder. “You’ve survived worse.”

“I’m not convinced this counts as survival.”

You were already walking, but he didn’t hesitate long. He stood with a quiet sigh, resigned but not unwilling. “I assume you’ll mock me if I fall.”

You smiled over your shoulder. “Respectfully.” You smirked. “Come on. We’ll get you moving.” He hesitated but only for a second. Lynx clapped her hands and turned back toward the main street, clearly expecting you both to follow. You tossed Sunday a look, and he reluctantly stood with that soft little sigh of surrender he always gave around you. In retrospect the lake wasn’t far just past a ridge near the edge of Belobog’s perimeter. It was tucked away like a secret winter garden. A large sheet of glassy ice shimmered in the moonlight, surrounded by snowy banks and pine trees dusted in white.

A few lanterns had been strung up between wooden poles, casting golden halos onto the lake’s surface. Music played faintly from a small speaker on the snowbank, something upbeat and old school that you suspected came from Serval’s collection. And there they were: Serval, skating backwards with way too much confidence, trying to start a conga line with a group of teens nearby. Gepard, already red in the face as he stumbled along the ice, attempting to catch up to her. You were pulling on your skates before Sunday even had a chance to decline. Lynx offered to help him get into his pair, but you shooed her off.

You stood on the lake first, gliding across the surface like it was second nature, your balance steady and posture relaxed. Lynx clapped excitedly as you looped around her, grabbing her hands and pulling her onto the ice.

“Wait wait wait!” she squealed, trying not to fall as you twirled her.

You laughed freely, cheeks flushed and heart light.

“You’re weirdly good at this!” she cried.

“I have secret skills,” you said with mock seriousness.

“I literally live here, how are you like this.” Lynx replied. you winked. Gepard was the next target.

“Hey, Captain,” you called, skating up beside him with a wide grin, “Race you to that snowbank.”

He narrowed his eyes, the same competitive spark you remembered lighting up in them. “You’re on.” Two seconds later, you were both flying across the ice, skates slicing through it with sharp precision. Three seconds after that, you crashed spectacularly into the snowbank, laughing as you rolled over onto your back and blinked up at the stars.

“You okay?” Gepard asked, snow clinging to his uniform.

“I’ve been better,” you wheezed, still laughing. Serval skated over next and dropped onto her knees beside you. “You die?”

“Spiritually.”

The next ten minutes were a blur of white flurries and screaming as Serval roped you into a full scale ambush on the Landaus. Lynx betrayed you instantly. Gepard tried to remain neutral. It didn’t work. You laughed until your stomach hurt, until your hair was full of snow and your gloves were soaked and all the while, Sunday watched from the sidelines, sitting alone on the bench near the treeline. His winter coat bundled around him, scarf you wrapped earlier still snug around his neck.

His eyes followed your every move. Your joy was loud. Free. Untamed. He watched as you threw snow with both hands, collapsed in a heap of laughter, and got back up just to do it again. Your smile wasn’t measured. It wasn’t perfect. It reminded him of what should have been. Of what he never had. His own sister had never laughed like that. Robin had smiled, yes, but it was always rehearsed duty bound. Everything in Penacony was orchestrated. Everything was planned. Conditional. watching you here, he felt it again, that strange ache. That pull toward something… unconditional. It made his chest tight.

“You’re not gonna sit there all night, are you?” Serval’s voice cut through his thoughts. He turned slowly to see her smirking down at him, hands on her hips. “Why don’t you get out there? She’ll catch you if you fall.”

“…I have no experience skating.”

“Exactly why you should.” She leaned in slightly. “You two act like you’re not into each other, but you’ve got the tension of Bronya and Seele after seeing each other for too long” His eyes flicked up to her.

She winked. “Go on, dream boy.”

You were in the middle of trying to help Lynx build a snow cat when a shadow fell over you. You turned. Sunday stood awkwardly in borrowed skates, hands in his pockets.

“…I believe I require assistance.”

Your brows lifted. “You’re actually going to try?”

“I was… encouraged.”

You snorted and skated over. “Okay, come here.” You held out your hands, and he took them without hesitation.

“Bend your knees slightly,” you instructed, “and keep your core tight.”

“I feel like I’m being trained for battle.”

“well trying anything new kinda feels like that.”

His feet slipped, and he lunged slightly but you caught him. You laughed, and he stared at you. “I will admit,” he said quietly, “the company makes it tolerable.”

You felt your smile soften. You pulled him gently along the ice, step by slow step. He clung to your hands like they were lifelines. Lynx waved at you two from across the lake. Serval gave a not so subtle thumbs up. You pretended not to see them.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ warmth immediately spilled into your bones, melting away the bite of the Belobog chill still clinging to your coat. You stepped inside with Sunday beside you, arms still linked, boots dripping faint traces of snow onto the polished floor.

His scarf was still a little uneven where you’d adjusted it earlier, and his cheeks held the last blush of cold. His steps were careful, as they had been all night, but steadier now. You were guiding him more than anything. Not that he’d admit it.

You glanced at him as the doors closed behind you.

“You know,” you started, “I think you’ve set a record for the most times someone’s fallen in one walk.”

“I would prefer it not be the legacy I leave behind,” Sunday replied, smooth and quiet, a faint wryness in his voice. “Though you seem particularly fond of recounting each incident.”

“I’m preserving history,” you said, stifling a laugh. “Someone has to tell the tale of the Great Trip of Ten Feet Past the Bench.”

His gaze shifted down toward you, expression unreadable but fond. “If I recall, you were laughing too hard to be of any assistance.”

“I got there eventually,” you said innocently. “Besides, you falling over is weirdly elegant. Like watching a tree try to curtsy.”

That pulled a quiet breath from him, something like a laugh but more reserved. “It was… a good night.”

You smiled at that, more to yourself than anything. “Yeah. It was.”

The two of you walked a little slower now, letting the soft lights of the Express guide your path past the Parlor Car. Himeko’s voice murmured faintly from the direction of the tea table. Someone probably Dan Heng had left a book open on one of the lounge chairs.

You and Sunday paused in the corridor just before it branched off into your rooms. The moment hung there, gentle and still. He looked at you, his tone quieter now. “Thank you… for inviting me.”

You tilted your head, a little amused. “Pretty sure you invited yourself.”

“I did,” he admitted, “but you didn’t send me away.”

Your smile lingered, warm. “Wouldn’t have, even if you asked.”

He gave a small nod, the weight of the day still visible in the curve of his shoulders, but there was ease there too like something heavy had been left behind in the snow.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said.

You didn’t let go of his arm right away, but when you did, your hands brushed one last time. He turned with quiet steps and disappeared down the hallway toward his room, the soft rustle of his coat fading behind him.

You stood there for a moment longer, just listening. The train hummed, steady beneath your feet. The stars drifted lazily outside the windows. Eventually, you turned and wandered toward the main lounge where March was curled up on the couch with a blanket, swiping through pictures on her camera.

She looked up as you walked in and grinned. “Okay. You have to see this one Bronya mid fall. her arms are doing this dramatic flailing thing. I swear, it’s like ballet.”

You laughed and plopped down beside her, glancing over at the tiny screen. “She did try to defend her honor.”

“Yeah, and then immediately ate ice again,” March said, beaming. “And you and Sunday? how was that today… nothing out of the ordinary…”

You rolled your eyes, reaching for a throw pillow. “You’re imagining things.”

March wiggled her eyebrows. “Sure I am.”

You stayed a few minutes longer, sharing stories, teasing each other in the soft glow of the lounge, until your body finally reminded you how tired you were. After promising to join her again tomorrow for more photo reviews, you stood with a stretch and padded quietly down the hallway. The lights dimmed slightly as you reached your door, and in the stillness, you caught yourself thinking back on the day. The snow. The skating. The way Sunday had looked at you when he said he didn’t mind being useful if it was to you.

The crew slept quietly around you. The hum of its systems was softer in the middle of the night, like even the machine itself had tucked in. You hadn’t meant to stay up this late but after tossing and turning in bed, your sweet tooth had convinced you to sneak down to the kitchen car. Just something small. A cookie or two. Maybe something warm to hold for a while.

You were on your way back now, satisfied and relaxed, your steps light as you padded barefoot through the dim halls. Most of the lights had dimmed to a faint glow, golden enough to keep the shadows at bay but soft enough not to wake anyone. A few stars shimmered lazily beyond the train windows, the galaxy at peace. Everyone else had already turned in. You were on your way to do the same when a quiet sound halted your steps near the guest car a space meant for travelers passing through, those not quite crew but not strangers either. Sunday stayed there.

Your hand hovered over the handle to your room, ready to turn in at last until you heard it. A sound. It came from the guest car just around the bend. Your brows furrowed. Everyone else had already turned in. You were on your way to do the same when a quiet sound halted your steps near the guest car a space meant for travelers passing through, those not quite crew but not strangers either. Sunday stayed there.

You stayed still, holding your breath. There it was again. A stifled breath. The kind someone might mistake for a cough if they weren’t paying attention.

But you were paying attention. It was the sound of someone trying not to cry. Your first instinct was to leave him be let him have his space, his privacy. But the image of him skating with shaking knees and guarded pride, of the way his eyes had softened during the snowball fights, lingered too vividly. The fondness you felt for him wasn’t something you could ignore. You stepped away from your door and moved toward his.

The door to his room was slightly ajar. You didn’t call out. Probably should’ve knocked. You just stepped inside quietly, drawn by something you didn’t have the words for. The room was dim, lit only by the faint starlight filtering in through the window. Sunday sat upright on the edge of the bed, his coat shrugged off and draped over the chair. He hadn’t changed for sleep. His eyes were red, his shoulders trembling just slightly. He was turned away, both hands clasped as if trying to hold himself together.

You simply knelt in front of him, your knees pressing into the floor, eyes searching his face until he finally looked down. His breath hitched at the sight of you. His lips parted like he might try to speak, but nothing came. So you offered your hand. No words. No expectations. Just your hand, palm up, waiting. He stared at it for a moment. Then, slowly hesitantly he reached out and took it. His fingers were cold. His grip was light at first, like he didn’t quite trust himself to hold on. But then he exhaled, the breath catching at the end, and he interlocked his fingers with yours. He didn’t cry again, not right away. He just breathed. Slow. Shaky. Like the pain had found a safe place to settle.

Minutes passed. And then, quietly, he spoke. “…You looked so beautiful today,” he whispered. “With the others. With that girl… her laugh reminded me of Robin’s.”

Your thumb gently brushed over the back of his hand. “She always tried to laugh like that,” he said. “But it was always… restrained. Like it had to be measured. Beautiful, but… not direct.” His voice broke. “Not like yours.”

You stayed still, grounded, letting the silence hold space for him. “I kept thinking… if she had a life like yours… if I had” He stopped, trembling again. “Every time I look at you, I learn something else I never knew I needed to value. Every gesture, every laugh, every time you reach out for someone like it’s nothing…” He shook his head, a small, helpless sound. “It teaches me what I missed. What she missed.”

You lifted your other hand to rest gently against his knee. His grip on your fingers tightened, like he needed something to hold on to.

“I’m afraid,” he admitted. “That the more I see, the more I’ll realize how empty everything I had really was. And yet, I can’t look away.”

He looked down at you again then, and in that moment, he didn’t look composed or mysterious or sharp. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “You shouldn’t have to see me like this.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” you said softly. “Im sorry for barging in.”

He exhaled again, a little steadier now, and lowered his forehead to rest gently against yours. There was no need to say anything else just yet. You were here.

You stayed like that for a while his forehead resting lightly against yours, his hand warm and solid in your own. The silence wasn’t heavy anymore. Then, slowly, you shifted. Still kneeling, you leaned forward, resting your head gently on his legs. Your cheek pressed to the soft fabric of his trousers, and your fingers relaxed around his.

Sunday froze, just for a moment. His breath hitched again, but not from pain this time. Then his hand moved. Carefully. Tentatively. Fingers brushing through your hair. He stroked it once. Then again, slower.

The movement was gentle like he wasn’t sure he deserved to touch you this way, but needed to anyway. Like this moment was fragile, and he was terrified of breaking it. You let him comfort himself in the rhythm of it, in the quiet press of your presence. The train hummed softly beneath you both, as if it too understood the importance of silence right now.

His hand paused only once just to curl lightly at the ends of your hair, like he was memorizing the texture. Then, after a while, he shifted forward, leaning down just slightly.

His hand cupped your face, thumb grazing along your cheek with a reverence that felt almost sacred. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. He didn’t say anything after. He just stayed there, his hand still against your cheek, his other resting in your hair.

Eventually, he sighed, a sound almost reluctant to disturb the stillness.

“…If you stay like that much longer,” he murmured, voice low and hoarse from emotion, “your neck is going to ache terribly.”

You hummed softly, not moving just yet. Still, the smallest smile ghosted across your lips.

PUH LEASE write a sal x fem!reader where they all go to the lake, (larry, sal, ash, todd, etc) and sal is ogling the reader. then larry gives one of his motivational speeches where he talks him up to confess to her. and make it SUPES fluffy please 🤑🤑 i’ll give u my kidney

SAL FISHER X READER

🂾𓂉🂾 AHHHHHHHHHHH 🂾𓂉🂾I

I want to point out that I changed it up a bit. Larry is still supportive and learns about it all and encourages it like a guy best friend. (so a little immature but all in good health) and uh i couldn’t think of a title

masterlist

🂾𓂉🂾 The low hum of the Deftones spun through the battered speakers in Larry’s room, the gentle, distorted riffs of “Teenager” lacing the air with a strangely melodic chords. The posters on the wall seemed to flicker with the candlelight, smoke curling from the incense stick Larry had lazily propped in an old soda can. He lay across his bed, head resting on his folded arms, eyes half lidded. Sal sat on the floor with his back against the dresser, mask on, fingers toying with a frayed string from the hem of his hoodie. Larry let out a long sigh, kicking one foot lazily.

“So,” he said, dragging the word out with that signature Larry Young drawl, “you sure you don’t wanna tell them how you feel, dude?”

Sal let out a breath part exasperated, part defeated. “Yeah. I’m sure.” A pause. “It’s not like it matters. She’s just… her. Carefree. Like nothing in the world can ever shake her. And I’m… me.”

Larry raised an eyebrow, a shit eating grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Right, except she’s been into all your weird ghost shit since day one. That doesn’t strike you as a little suspicious?”

Sal rolled his eyes, though behind the mask, Larry only caught the tilt of his head and the sound of sarcasm lining his voice. “Oooookay, bud.” But even as he said it, his mind started drifting unwelcome but persistent, soft as the music playing in the background.

🂾𓂉🂾 It was one of those October evenings where the sky was bruised purple, the kind of night where the Addison Apartments looked especially like they were hiding something. “Let’s break into the basement,” you’d said with a grin, adjusting your flannel around your waist, boots crunching leaves beneath them. You tapped your chin, head tilting mischievously. “You and your little ghost gizmo thingy what’s it called again?”

“The Gear Boy,” Sal said, holding it up.

You snorted. “Right. Very cool very awesome demure or whatever .” Then you nudged him with your elbow. “C’mon, Sally Face. Let’s go find some demons.” You didn’t even flinch at the dark, or the cold, or the smell of mold in the stairwell. He remembered watching you run ahead, flashlight in hand, hair bouncing as you turned back and grinned at him like this was the best place in the world.

🂾𓂉🂾 Back in Larry’s room, Sal’s voice was quieter now. “She could’ve run screaming like most people. But she didn’t. Which I know she was your friend before anything but her crazy matches my crazy.”

Larry stretched, his joints popping. “Well she just likes creepy shit. Doesn’t mean she’s in love with you, dude.” Sal didn’t respond. But the next memory hit him anyway.

🂾𓂉🂾 They were sitting on the rooftop. You had a ripped black hoodie, sleeves cut into jagged edges, and a collection of safety pins holding one shoulder seam together. A cigarette dangled between your fingers, the smoke drifting in the cold air. You were talking about how your mom didn’t trust the apartments. “Says they give her the heebie jeebies,” you’d said, mocking the voice. “Can’t blame her though. The walls here feel like they’re listening.”

Sal chuckled under his breath. Then you turned toward him, all seriousness for a moment. “You ever think you might be too good for this place?”

He blinked. “What?”

You shrugged. “You’re, like, stupid kind. you might be into everyones business here, but you’re the gentlest person I know. Sometimes I wonder if you even see yourself clearly.” He looked down at the edge of the roof, heart thumping awkwardly. He thought maybe he misheard. But then you flicked your cigarette, stretched your arms behind your head, and looked back up at the stars like it hadn’t been a big deal at all.

🂾𓂉🂾 Back in the room, Larry sat up slightly, now curious. “You really think she meant something by that?”

Sal scoffed. “No. Maybe. I don’t know. She always say stuff like that. You know how she is.”

Larry gave him a skeptical look. “Yeah, and you always brush it off like it doesn’t eat you alive.”

Sal shook his head, reaching for one of Larry’s sketchpads absentmindedly, flipping it open but not really seeing the pages.

“Shes so weird? Like, nothing could tie her down. She’d walk into hell with a smile and offer the devil a light. I’m not sure I’d ever be enough to keep someone like that interested.”

🂾𓂉🂾 It was raining, and you were soaked to the bone, hair sticking to your face as you stood in the apartment hallway, laughing. “Okay,” you said between breaths, “next time you distract the teacher while I pick the lock. My ass is not cut out for this kind of stealth.” Sal had watched you giggle like a maniac, water dripping from your sleeves, eyeliner smudged like a grunge music video, and thought, I’m completely screwed. Then, you looked up at him, eyes bright, lips parted like you were about to say something else but then you stopped. Just smiled. A quiet, knowing kind of smile.

“You’re really fun to get in trouble with, Sally Face.”

🂾𓂉🂾 Larry whistled low. “That’s… okay, yeah, that one’s suspicious.”

Sal grumbled. “You think?”

Larry shrugged, lying back down again. “Sounds like she’s been flirting with you for, like, months.”

Sal leaned his head back against the dresser with a soft thump. “Or she’s just like that with everyone.” The Deftones track shifted, a more intense guitar swell starting as Digital Bath played. The room filled with its pulsing rhythm, washing over the silence between the boys. “I just…” Sal muttered, “I don’t wanna screw it up. If I say something, and I’m wrong, I lose her. And even if I’m right… someone like her, with someone like me?”

Larry stared at the ceiling. “Sal… sometimes you sound like the pieces of fart in romance movies”

Sal laughed under his breath, dry and unamused. “Thanks.”

But still, the memories pressed on him. The way your eyes lingered when you thought he wasn’t looking. The times you leaned against him when you didn’t have to. The way your laughter always came easier around him than anyone else. And the stupid, tiny, impossible hope that maybe just maybe you saw him the way he saw you. He didn’t know what to do with any of it. So instead, he stayed silent. Let the music play a little louder. Let the ghosts wait in the walls of Addison Apartments. Because maybe the scariest thing wasn’t the dead. it was the living. And how deeply they could get under your skin without even trying.

“You gotta do something, man,” Larry said, pointing a lazy finger at him. “Like, soon.”

Sal shot him a sideways glance. “Do what?”

“You know what. Confess. Or flirt. Or, I don’t know, do something with your weird little ghost boy charm. They’re basically throwing hints like they’re in a punk rock rom com, and you’re just sitting here like it’s algebra class.” Sal leaned his head back against the dresser again, letting out a groan. “I can’t, man. That’d be like… opening Pandora’s box with a note that says ‘Hey, I hope this doesn’t ruin everything!’” His voice was muffled but undeniably dry. “Also? What even is ghost boy charm?”

Larry laughed, grabbing a guitar pick from his nightstand and flicking it across the room. “You’ve got that quiet, mysterious thing going on. she eats that shit up.”

“I highly doubt that,” Sal mumbled, tugging at the sleeve of his hoodie.

Larry smirked. “Your loss, man. I’ll be sure to let you wallow in your tragic love story all by yourself while everyone else is making out by the lake.”

Just as Sal opened his mouth to counter with the fact that basically no one in the group is attracted to each other for a multitude of reasons, a loud slam echoed through the room, the door flinging open as you barreled in with a chaotic whirlwind of energy. “WENDIGO LAKE, BABYYYY!” you shouted, practically bouncing on your heels. You wore a pair of scuffed up combat boots and ripped fishnets under a patched up pair of shorts. Your backpack was a canvas battlefield blazing with sewn on patches, painted slogans, and safety pins holding together loose fabric. The Sex Pistols, Black Flag, a big bold patch reading “Only Anarchists Are Pretty”, and another featuring Vivienne Westwood’s face all clashed together like a punk rock museum on your back.

Larry blinked. “You sew all that yourself?”

You gave a proud little hum. “Hell yeah. Don’t trust machines for the good stuff.”

Sal swore his heart skipped a beat. Without hesitation, you plopped down behind Sal, your legs bracketing either side of him. You didn’t say anything at first, just casually reached around to start playing with the collar of his shirt like it was the most natural thing in the world. Twisting it between your fingers, tugging slightly, smoothing it out, then ruffling it again.

“Piercing’s new, right?” Larry asked, tilting his head and nodding toward your septum ring. “Should you even be going into the lake?” You gave him a wicked grin and then dragged your palm slowly across his face in a dramatic shhhh, your fingers smudging his cheek with the soft scent of tobacco and clove. “Shhhh,” you whispered, voice dipped low in mock seriousness. “Let me be irresponsible, Lawrence.”

Larry wiped his face off with the back of his hand, laughing. You leaned forward a bit, resting your chin on Sal’s shoulder. “I’m just stoked to have everyone out. Senior year’s been, like, a slow death. No bars around here worth anything, no good gigs nearby. It’s like the universe forgot how to throw a party.”

You pulled back slightly, hand resting on Sal’s shoulder now. “Oh by the way, I brought you some extra snacks. And a book.” You said it casually, but the words hung in the air. “Figured you weren’t going in the water.”

Sal blinked under his mask, throat tight. “You didn’t have to”

“I wanted to.” You smiled, then hopped up again, grabbing your bag. “Alright. Cigarette break. Don’t get all broody without me.” You shot a finger gun toward Sal and winked before disappearing out the back door.

The second the door closed, Larry launched himself from the bed. Sal yelped as Larry practically straddled him, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him wildly. “DUDE.”

Sal struggled, awkward and panicked. “What the Larry!”

“I SEE IT. I FREAKING SEE IT!” Larry’s grin was wide enough to split his face. “That was not lowkey! That was highkey! High effort! Extra snacks and a book? Who does that? For you?”

“Why are you sitting on me!?”

“Because this is an emergency! We’re in Defcon 1, Sal! You’ve got a hardcore punk goddess out there who’s literally playing with your clothes and giving you personalized gifts like it’s Valentine’s Day for the emotionally suppressed!”

Sal flushed so deeply even the tips of his ears went pink. “She’s just That’s just how she is!”

Larry leaned in closer, eyes wide. “You are so deep in denial. Ive know her since we were shit stains. If you go one more day without at least flirting back, I swear when I die, I’m going to ghost haunt your dreams until you cry.”

Sal grumbled, face buried in his hands. Then the door creaked open again. You stood there in the doorway, one hand on the frame, a smile tugging at your lips. “Well? You boys gonna keep cuddling, or are we heading to the lake?” Sal froze. Larry grinned. You tilted your head, amusement glittering in your eyes. “C’mon. I wanna see who gets wet the fastest when we get there. I say its between Ash or me”

Larry grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “You’re actually the gross ome,” he said, walking past you. You flipped him off with a grin. Sal stood slowly, heart still racing. You looked at him over your shoulder, a little smile playing at your lips again.

“Hey. You coming, Sally Face?”

He nodded, almost dumbly. “Yeah. I’m coming.” You waited as the Deftones shifted into “Change (In the House of Flies)”, the screen door creaked shut behind you all.

🂾𓂉🂾 The lake shimmered beneath a hazy midafternoon sun, the surface rippling gently under the occasional breeze. Trees surrounded Wendigo Lake like tall, crooked teeth perfect for the vibe of this weird little friend group. The air carried the scent of water, pine, and whatever patchouli heavy perfume you’d doused yourself in before leaving. Something about that smell made Sal’s stomach twist not in a bad way. Just in that weird, you’re kinda in love with someone but don’t wanna deal with it yet sort of way. You were crouched down near the shore, a slightly beat up picnic blanket in your arms as Todd helped you flatten it out over the grass. You had insisted on bringing it, even though only you, Larry, and Sal were sharing it. Ash and Todd, for some ungodly reason, had shown up with just towels like this was a beach day. The contrast was already hilarious.

“Really going full domestic over there,” Larry muttered under his breath with a snicker, elbowing Sal, who was standing stiffly to the side, arms crossed. “You seeing this?”

Sal glanced at you and couldn’t help it he smiled. You were teasing Todd about something, fingers poking at the hem of his hoodie. He couldn’t hear you from this distance, but knowing you, it was probably something like “Bro, you hang out with emos all day. Why are you dressed like an NPR intern?” Todd just looked mildly amused, adjusting his glasses, letting you mess with him like a human fashion victim. Sal felt his cheeks heat, even under the mask. He looked away quickly. Ash, sitting cross legged nearby with her towel stretched out like a lazy cat, clocked it immediately.

“Oh my god.” She slapped a hand on Sal’s shoulder, feigning an emotional gasp. “My little boy… my son… he’s growing up so fast. He’s starting to like girls now.”

Sal groaned. “Ash, shut the hell up.”

She cackled, draping herself over his back dramatically. “Just one girl. That girl made my boy a man”

He practically peeled her off him. “Do you want me to throw you into the lake?”

Ash grinned wickedly. “Do you want me to tell her you were staring at her like she was a sexy alien sent to save the world?”

Sal grabbed her towel and yeeted it into the grass. “That’s it. Exorcism time.”

Meanwhile, you and Todd finally made your way over, you bouncing slightly on your heels as you looked at the mess unfolding. “Damn,” you said, “did we miss the hug session or did it turn into a wrestling match?”

“Sal wouldn’t mind another session,” Larry said instantly, not missing a beat, throwing a sly grin in your direction.

Ash volleyed, eyes sparkling with evil glee. “Especially if it’s with you.”

Larry followed up like the demon duo they were. “You know, he’s really into long hugs. Like, full body contact. horizontally. moving back and forth. Really intimate.”

Sal practically lunged at Larry with a “You are so dead!” as the taller boy yelped and tried to scramble out of the way, laughing the whole time.

You laughed so hard your whole body curled forward, grabbing Ash’s hand to steady yourself. “fuck man, I think they were both already stoned when i picked them up” you wheezed. “The party has officially started!” Ash was laughing too, but she still gave Sal a knowing look behind your back, mouthing the words do something already. Sal pretended not to see it.

🂾𓂉🂾 You flopped down on the blanket between Sal and Larry, reaching into your bag and pulling out a crinkled pack of gum and a mini speaker. “Alright, mild sun poisoning anyone? you pasty mofos need it”

Larry grinned. “your ass better be talking about anyone else here because I know you’re not talking to me”

Sal, still flushed under his mask and recovering from that last comment, watched you out of the corner of his eye as you started queuing up music, chatting with Ash and Todd about whether The Damned were better than The Buzzcocks. He didn’t say it out loud, but he could’ve watched you do that forever. he didn’t mind the teasing if it meant being this close to you. Even if he was the only one too chicken to do anything about it.

🂾𓂉🂾 It was a little later in the afternoon now, the heat softening as shadows stretched longer across the ground. The smell of warm grass and lake water mixed with the faint burn of something herbal someone had definitely brought a little something to pass around, and judging by the lazy laughter and general haze of good vibes, it had been shared liberally. You were half leaning on Sal’s shoulder, one leg sprawled over the other, ankle gently nudging his shin as you talked nonsense in that way you always did.

“So, like,” you murmured, voice heavy with drowsy amusement, “if fish could scream, do you think people would still go swimming?”

Sal blinked. “…What?”

You nodded like this was deeply important. “Like, you’re just chilling in the lake and suddenlyAAHHHH ” You mimicked a fish shrieking, limbs flailing, nearly smacking him in the face with your elbow.

“I think that argument gave god the entire reason for fish to not scream,” Sal said, dry but fond.

“Okay, but would you still swim?”

“…Probably not,” he admitted, then turned to glance at you. You were close. Like always. Close enough that your cheek was brushing against the edge of his shoulder. Close enough that your hand was resting by his on the blanket, pinkies nearly touching. It wasn’t unusual. You’d always been like that with him. Ever since you started hanging around, you’d just been comfortable. Always invading his space without a second thought, always bumping shoulders or leaning into him when you laughed. He’d never had the nerve to ask what it meant. Maybe it was just you. But damn it if he didn’t want it to mean something. The world swayed with a low thrum of music from your little speaker something with a steady, almost hypnotic beat. The Deftones, again. They’d been the soundtrack to the day. Dreamy. Fuzzy. A little too perfect.

“I feel like I’m melting,” you mumbled, staring up at the sky. “Let’s go swimming. Let’s go be weird little lake freaks.”

Without waiting for an answer, you kicked up from your spot, stumbling slightly with a laugh, then turned to Ash, grabbing her wrist. “Come on. Water nymph time.”

Ash groaned playfully, letting herself be dragged. “Do I have to be a nymph? Can’t I just be a vaguely damp woman?”

“Nope. Nymph or nothing.” You stuck your tongue out and reached for the hem of your shirt, tugging it up with an easy flourish.

for Sal, the world just stopped. The chatter, the breeze, the soft laughter from Todd and Larry. Gone. Even the music faded into something distant and orchestral, as if a full string section had taken over his brain. You stood in the golden light of the sun, the curve of your shoulders catching the warmth like a halo, your skin kissed in amber and the softest shadows. Your shirt slipped off, and it was like time dilated just for him.

Your body. Your posture. The way your hair caught the wind. The shimmer of sweat on your collarbone. Everything about you in that moment was art. He stared. He couldn’t not and he wasn’t even being creepy about it he wasn’t ogling for ogling’s sake. He just… forgot how to breathe. He looked at you like you were some ancient deity pulled from a forgotten shrine, like you’d stepped out of some punk rock myth, wild and grinning and just a little dangerous. And maybe, somewhere deep down, he’d always thought you looked like this. Always felt it when you leaned on him or laughed into his ear or stood with your boots planted like you owned every inch of space you took up.

You were beautiful. Sal whispered it without thinking. A breathless, soft little exhale behind his mask. “…You’re beautiful.”

You turned. Caught it. And flashed a grin so wicked and knowing he wanted to melt into the damn earth. “Thanks,” you said, stretching dramatically. “I do it for the girls” you jerked a thumb toward Ash, “and the gays” now to Todd, who gave you a sarcastic bow in return.

Larry’s voice shot out like a gunshot. “What about Sal and me?!”

You gave him a slow once over, clearly unimpressed. “You’re a perv, dickwad,” you said sweetly. “Sal can look I’ll allow it. You, as a man, should start groveling.”

The entire group burst into laughter. Ash doubled over, Todd adjusted his glasses to hide his grin, and Larry threw hand to you. flipping you off with pride. like you’d mortally wounded him. Sal, for his part, sat there utterly flustered. Frozen. A little dazed. You had heard him. And instead of teasing him, instead of making it weird, you just let him look. it was maybe even… wanted?

You turned, already skipping toward the lake with Ash in tow, your punk patched shorts low on your hips when you all first got there, you ripped your tights so they were ling gone now. a new glint catching the light from your eyes.

“Don’t take too long, losers!” you called. “Water’s waiting!”

And just like that, you were gone sprinting into the shallows, laughing as you splashed Ash and dared her to dunk you. Sal was left sitting on the blanket, staring after you, heart pounding, mind full of sun and music and your laugh. “…Holy shit,” he muttered.

Sal was still watching the lake. The way the water shimmered around you as you threw yourself backward into it, the arc of your arms as you splashed Ash there was something dizzying about the whole thing. Something surreal. Maybe it was the buzz from earlier or just the heat of the day, but it felt like the world had shifted, just a little, like the axis tilted and gravity decided to be kinder.

You looked over your shoulder once mid laugh, you knew exactly where Sal would be, you were making sure he saw you. The grin on your face could’ve been carved from rebellion and starlight. He felt like he was dying. In the good way. Larry had been quiet beside him for a few seconds too long. That should’ve been Sal’s first warning.

Then he felt it. That slow, creeping grin. He turned his head and yep. Larry was looking at him like the cat who got the cream, the rat, the last donut, and possibly a Grammy.

Larry leaned in, eyebrows raised, his voice low and drawling. “Dude,” he said with a smile far too smug for one face. “She basically just asked you to fuck.”

Sal’s brain short circuited. “What?!”

“I mean,” Larry shrugged, tossing a pebble toward the lake, “she said you could look. That’s, like, stage one. Next thing she’ll be asking you to carry her to bed like a Victorian ghost bride.”

“You are so gross,” came Todd’s voice from behind them, utterly unimpressed. He adjusted his glasses with a sigh, setting down a bottle of sunscreen. “That kind of take is exactly why she called you a perv. She knew.”

Larry threw up his hands, grinning wider. “Hey, I am a perv! I embrace the perv. But I’m also right.”

Sal pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to will his soul back into his body. “Yeah, nothing says romance like ‘she’ll haunt you if you don’t rail her.’ Totally the dream.” Todd let out a snort, and Larry cackled, falling back onto the blanket. “Y’all are dumb,” Sal muttered, but he was smiling behind the mask. He couldn’t help it. The warm buzz of your laugh in the distance, the afterglow of your flirtation (which was totally flirtation, right?), and his friends acting like idiots it all wrapped around him like a blanket fresh from the dryer.

🂾𓂉🂾 Golden hour washed the world in amber. Everything looked softer, warmer, even the worn edges of the ghost gang out in the water. Their laughter echoed across Wendigo Lake, distant and muffled like a memory being recalled in real time. Sal sat on the blanket you and Todd had set up, the spine of the book you’d brought him resting comfortably in his palms. He’d tried to focus. Really, he had. He even read the same paragraph four times.

But every few seconds, his eyes would wander first toward the water, then toward you. You were laughing as Ash tried to climb onto Todd’s shoulders for some impromptu chicken fight. Larry was egging both of you on from the sidelines, flinging water like an excited Labrador. It was stupid. Wild. Loud. But Sal could only sit there, book in hand, and watch. Not because he didn’t want to join. because he couldn’t. Even with all of you people who had seen the real him, scarred and broken and still trying he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t take off the mask. Couldn’t risk the way you’d all look at him one day if something in your brains shifted and the wrong thought took hold. He could still hear echoes of old kids, of freak and monster. He kept the mask on. Always. Even when he wanted to be a part of things. Even when you looked back at him with a smile that seemed to say, Come on, blue boy. The world’s warmer over here. He looked down at the page again. A line about borrowed time. About choices made in secret.

Then a splash, a laugh, water footsteps on grass. He looked up, the air left his lungs. You were walking toward him, golden hour catching every drop of water clinging to your skin, each one like a star strung along your body. You were soaked and radiant and barefoot in the dirt, and you were wearing a two piece that could’ve been forged by some divine hand to ruin his entire week. Sal felt like a little boy discovering women for the first time. Like, oh. Oh, that’s what this feeling is. Your hair stuck to your cheeks, your septum ring catching the light just so. A punk Venus. A grungy dream. You were all sunburnt mischief and unapologetic beauty. He didn’t even realize he was staring until you plopped down beside him with a hum, rubbing water from your eyes.

“Hey,” you said, grinning. “How’s it goin’?”

Sal shifted slightly, trying not to sound too affected. “Oh, y’know. Just enjoying my career as the local cryptid.”

You snorted and fished out a towel from nearby, shaking it before folding it and draping it over his lap. Then, without warning, you laid down right across the towel, your damp hair spilling slightly onto his hoodie sleeve. Sal looked down at you, eyes wide, book hovering midair.

“Do I even get a warning before you invade my lap?” he deadpanned.

You smirked up at him, cheek pressed to the towel. “Nope. Felt like it. Problem?”

He exhaled through his nose. “Just trying not to die of cardiac arrest. Thanks.”

You poked his side gently. “That’s what the mask is for, right? To keep all your panic internal?”

“Exactly. It’s the emotional equivalent of a paper bag.”

You smiled, head tilted up so you could meet his eyes. “You start the book yet?”

He glanced at the open pages in his lap. “I’ve been trying.”

“‘Trying,’ huh?” You gave him a knowing look. “What’s the verdict? Worth my very cool, carefully curated recommendation?”

Sal paused for a moment. Then nodded, honest. “It’s good. Actually. Weird good. You’ve got disturbingly good taste.” You lit up at the compliment

“Okay, okay,” you said, turning slightly more onto your back, your arm flopping lazily over his legs. “Read it out loud. I wanna hear you read it.”

Sal blinked. “Seriously?”

“Mhm,” you hummed. “You’ve got a nice voice. It’s like… if sarcasm were smooth jazz.”

He stared down at you, heart hammering in his chest. “You’re lucky I can’t blush through this mask.”

“You’re lucky I don’t make you take it off and prove it.”

Sal scoffed lightly, looked down at the book again, then cleared his throat. You looked up at him like he hung the damn stars. so, under the waning gold light of the evening, with your head against his legs and your hand absentmindedly brushing his knee, Sal began to read. His voice steadying, even if the words on the page danced between lines of wonder and disbelief.

He couldn’t focus on the text. Not really. But it didn’t matter. Because in that moment with you next to him, comfortable and unafraid Sal felt a little more seen.

🂾𓂉🂾 On the other side of the lake, the water rippled gently around Ash, Todd, and Larry as they floated or waded just deep enough to stay cool. They were watching from a safe, absolutely not suspicious distance though their not so subtle gawking was giving the game away hard.

Ash narrowed her eyes like a sniper sighting her target. “She’s laying on his lap. She’s laying on his lap, you guys.”

“No, no,” Larry whispered like he was in church. “We all know she kinda flirty with everyone thats her personality but who flirts in such a casual way like her?.”

Todd adjusted his glasses, blinking once. “They’re always physically close. But this is different.”

Ash looked at him. “Right?! This is intentional closeness. This is I could’ve sat anywhere but I chose the throne.”

Larry, in the middle of floating on his back, suddenly stood straight up in the water like he’d been struck by lightning. “Wait. WAIT. Is she touching his leg right now?”

“Yes,” Todd and Ash said in perfect sync.

Larry, unable to cope, flung himself backward dramatically into the lake. Water splashed everywhere as he sank into the shallows like a fallen hero.

“I can’t they’re gonna fall in love and get married and we’re going to have to wear matching suits for the wedding,” he cried from below the surface before sitting back up with a sputter.

Ash was cackling, half drowning in laughter. “Do you think he’s sweating under that mask? Like. Frying.”

Todd, always a little more composed, was still clutching his towel like a war fan. “It’s the quiet ones that fall the hardest. You see that stare? That man’s reading a book and still found time to look at her like she’s the damn sun.”

All three of them turned into rubbernecking witnesses as Sal, still on the blanket, did the unthinkable. He moved his hand. Delicately. Softly. brushed a piece of hair out of your face.

“OH MY GOD!” Ash shrieked.

“IT’S HAPPENING!” Todd gasped, dropping his towel like it betrayed him.

Larry slapped both hands over his mouth, eyes wide. “I knew he liked her, but this this is outta a movie, bro.”

Ash practically threw herself at the water’s surface, splashing Larry in the process. “I mean, I know he’s got the mask on, but that boy’s soul just ascended.”

Todd was now pacing in knee deep water like a dad preparing a PowerPoint. “That gesture was too tender.”

“I’m gonna cry,” Ash said, wiping fake tears from her face. “Look at her. She’s probably asleep and doesn’t even know she’s got Sal acting like the love interest in a coming of age drama.”

Larry leaned into the dramatic energy immediately, tossing his arms out wide. “HE MOVED HER HAIR, GUYS. THE HAIR. The hair”

Todd nodded solemnly. “The ancient texts foretold this moment.”

Ash, not to be outdone, fell to her knees in the shallows and lifted her hands to the sky. “Sal Fisher is in LOVE and it’s SOFT and GENTLE and she’s probably gonna wake up and say something weird and philosophical and I just I love this stupid, freakish group of friends.”

Larry wiped an invisible tear from his cheek, then suddenly smirked. “You think if we all walk over there right now, he’d panic and fling the book across the lake?”

Ash chuckled, climbing to her feet. “Let them have their moment. Sal’s being brave in his own way.”

Todd added, “It’s kind of beautiful. He’s letting himself feel something.”

“God,” Larry muttered. “If she kisses him later, I might just explode.”

Ash nodded gravely. “Then we explode together.”

Todd sighed with a small smile. “They don’t even know we’re over here narrating their love story like omniscient gods.”

“And we will not tell them either,” Larry said. “This is sacred. This is ours.”

And so the trio stood (or waded), eyes fixed on the quiet scene playing out across the shoreline Sal carefully reading with you resting on his lap, the lake breeze brushing through your hair, a piece of peace they all felt lucky to witness. No one spoke for a minute. Then Ash whispered, “She better ask him out before graduation or I’m staging an intervention.”

🂾𓂉🂾 The sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting golden hour across Wendigo Lake like it was something out of a dream everything warm and slow and humming. The world had turned syrup thick, still and heavy with late summer heat and the haze of the day. On the picnic blanket, Sal sat nearly frozen in place, a book long forgotten in his lap, cradled now beneath the soft rise and fall of your sleeping frame. The towel you’d laid down between your soaked body and his jeans was doing exactly jack shit to keep the water from seeping through. He’d given up on caring about the damp chill a while ago sometime after you’d curled up on top of his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Your arms tucked beneath your chin, your breathing slow and even. His own hoodie now rested over your back, cocooning you with a softness he hoped might make up for how still he was forcing himself to be. He didn’t dare move. Not yet. God, you were beautiful.

Sal’s breath caught when he looked down at you. The way your septum ring caught the light. The wet strands of hair pressed against your cheek. The slope of your nose. Your eyelashes looked longer like this, somehow. Relaxed. Innocent. Peaceful.

And all he could think all he could think was I have to tell you. I have to. If I don’t do it now, I never will.

His heart pounded so hard he was sure Todd could probably feel it from the other side of the lake. Every nerve in his body buzzed with static. His stomach churned in knots, and the voice in his head that mean little bastard voice kept whispering, You’re gonna ruin everything.

But then he looked at you again. Still sleeping. Still peaceful. Still here. On his lap. He reached out, moving a lock of hair from your face again slow, careful, like if he went too fast, you’d vanish into mist. His pinky brushed against your cheekbone as he did, light as air.

You stirred gently, eyelids fluttering open. The slow, lazy blink of someone waking from a warm nap, like a cat. You didn’t move from your spot. Your face turned slightly up toward him, hair fanned out under his hoodie. Sal felt his throat go dry. But it was now or never.

“Pspspsps,” he whispered playfully, soft and dumb and completely him.

You blinked again, brows slightly furrowing as you woke more fully. “Hmm?”

He smiled nervously. “Hey… do you think you’d be willing to give me a chance?”

You stared at him for a second. The sleep still lingering in your expression gave way to a flicker of surprise. Eyes widening just slightly. Your lips parted in a little “oh,” before curling up into a lazy grin. Your tone was smooth, but playful light teasing laced with real meaning. “Alright, pretty boy…” you hummed, voice still sticky with sleep, “…I will.”

Sal’s heart skipped at least two full beats.

“But,” you added, one eye narrowing mischievously, “if you mess with me, I’ll make sure you never hear the end of it.” A beat of silence passed. then Sal laughed soft and low and real. It wasn’t sarcastic or bitter or guarded. It was warm. Nervous. Happy.

He nodded, breathless. “Fair enough.”

You yawned, stretching slightly but didn’t move off his lap. Your hand reached up and lazily tugged the edge of his hoodie closer around your shoulder. “Good. Now shut up and keep reading. Your voice is nice.”

Sal swallowed. “Right. Okay. Reading.”

But his hands shook a little as he picked up the book again, smile hidden behind his mask, heart screaming from inside his chest. even though the towel underneath was still soaked through, and his jeans were a wet mess, and the rest of the group was definitely watching from the lake with wide eyes and zero chill. Sal felt like he’d just won something huge. He had you. Or at least, now… he had a chance.

Cleanup on aisle 4

FIVE TIMES NANAMI WANTED TO PROPOSE BUT DIDN'T - NANAMI KENTO

✴︎ summary: nanami wanted to propose to you so many times - but it was never the right time, and then, there was no time left. ✴︎ contents: 18+ only, swearing, ANGST (major spoilers for jjk 120 (probably next week's episode, character death, exploration of grief, if you wish to avoid the major angst: stop reading after part 5), SMUT (fingering (f! receiving), oral (f! + m! receiving), panty sniffing, semi public sex, nipple play, creampie, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms), pet names (love, sweetheart), happy ending (sort of?) ✴︎ wc: 10,121 (i have a problem) ✴︎ song: the archer - taylor swift (blame laney for this)

ONE.

The first time Kento Nanami wanted to propose to you shouldn’t count. 

And it won’t because it was when he first met you — enrolled into Jujutsu Tech along with the other first years, he first laid his eyes on you at a welcome party that the soon to be menace to his sanity, Satoru Gojo, had organized. Well, he could thank Gojo for one thing it was introducing you to the room — because he may have had to find the words to ask you himself. And he didn’t know if that was possible with his tongue in knots. 

But he managed to talk to you — mostly with Haibara leading the conversation. You were reserved, at first, but he saw the spark in your eyes whenever you spoke about something you were passionate about — reading was one, one thing you both shared a love for. 

“Yeah hauling my books to Jujutsu Tech wasn’t an easy feat, I had to ask Geto-senpai to have some of his cursed spirits help me haul it up to my dorm,” 

“By the way, you still owe me lunch for that,” Geto smirks as he slips past, and the flush that settles on your cheeks is one Nanami wanted to see — again and again. 

“Aren’t the upperclassmen supposed to buy lunch?” You grumble, pouting as Gojo interjected himself, resting himself on your shoulder with his arm, making you jump. 

“Not here, here the kouhais earn their keep,” he grins, tilting his glasses down, “can you?” 

And Nanami opens his mouth to reply, irritation creeping over his senses, before you brush Gojo off, “I’ll buy you lunch, but next time, if that’s what it’s gonna cost me, I’m going to have you two haul my books by hand up those steps,” You stick out your tongue, before your arms curl around his and Haibara, “let’s have cake,” you smile at both of them, gaze lingering on Nanami, “and we can exchange book recommendations?” 

That was the moment he wanted to propose — could see himself living in a home with you, filled with both of your books lining the walls of a personal library, but your living room as well. He could see himself falling asleep beside you as you read to him, your fingers carding through his hair. 

But no, no, it was irrational, he chided himself, as he talked to you, his lips curled in a smile that had damned him from the moment he saw it. He just had met you — he had barely been ever moved by another person, much less fallen in love. And it shouldn’t happen this quickly — it only happened this quickly in books — not in real life. 

But you — he watched you and Haibara chat and laugh — you were someone that might just be the thing of books.  

~~~~ 

TWO.

The second time he wanted to propose, he didn’t care to remember. 

And he barely did. 

He remembers the facts of the mission. It was supposed to be simple — exorcise a grade 2 curse, simple enough for him and Haibara to handle by themselves. Not that they had a choice. Jujutsu Tech’s resources were already far too spread thin — Gojo himself being sent all over Japan and even overseas to handle things himself that no one should be able to. But their mission? It should have been simple — dangerous still, but simple. 

But nothing was simple when it came to curses. 

He remembers sensing the curse — the manifestation had frozen him and Haibara for a moment — their bodies taut with fear and adrenaline — but they couldn’t move. Even as the cursed spirit screeched before them, he couldn’t articulate what was happening — it was supposed to be a grade 2, it was supposed to be a grade 2, but no — this was a grade 1. 

And then it struck — Kento barely had enough time to react, but he did, pushing Haibara out of the way when it did. 

He didn’t remember much after that. 

He remembered the squelch of Haibara’s flesh, the blood seeping through his clothes, the way his body crumpled on the ground, and he remembered the next moment was the first time he landed a black flash — stunning the curse enough for him to grab Haibara and escape. 

But not enough to save him. 

Haibara had made him promise if anything had ever happened to him — he would make sure his sister wasn’t recruited to Jujutsu Tech. And he had to make the call to his family — he couldn’t bear the thought of some higher up taking advantage of their grief to manipulate another into their clutches. 

No, he couldn’t let that happen. 

And now he sat in the morgue with his body, towel covering his eyes — Geto had come and went — and now he sat waiting for the body to be examined and taken away to be burned. Burned to ash with nothing left — that was the way all sorcerers bodies were disposed of. It was if they never existed in the first place - pawns in a never ending war that would have them piled like corpses on a sacrificial pyre. 

What was the point? 

Haibara had always told him — if there was something only he could do, he would do it. And for him it was jujutsu — but wasn’t there something else? Something else for him to do that didn’t let him up like this? A body on a metal slab waiting to be incinerated. What was the point? 

Was there even a point? People lived and people died. He had lived and Haibara died, but he didn’t know why. Why or how do people live one day and disappear the next? He had seen death before but not of someone so close — someone so precious to him. And the chaos was too much for him. To be killed by another’s twisted feelings manifested into a monster — it was almost poetic if it wasn’t so fucking tragic. 

“Nanami?” And he pulls the towel from his eyes, and sees you — your eyes glassy and red tinged — tear streaks you didn’t hide well left on your face, “Nanami—“ and you don’t know what to do with yourself — as you come to him, hesitating, “can I—“ 

But he’s the one pulling you into his arms, nearly into his lap as his fingers dig into the fabric of your jacket, “I’m sorry — I’m so sorry I wasn’t there—“ your voice breaks, and it’s enough to break him — he hadn’t really cried, not around another person, but tears well at your words, as your fingers card through his hair. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for — I’m the one—“ and his voice breaks in turn, as the words stuck in his mind going round and round, until they were nearly had shattered his sanity and skull along with it, “I’m the one who couldn’t save him,” 

And you pull back to look at him with tear stained cheeks, “that’s not your fault, Nanami—“ 

“How is it not?” His words are laced with more venom that he wishes them to be, a little more bite than he wished to chew, and the hurt in your eyes was enough to make him regret speaking altogether, “I’m so—“ 

“No, it’s not your fault, Kento,” and his eyes find yours, your lips twisted in a frown, and your gaze unwavering, “I know a part of you knows that — knows that…Haibara’s death is nothing but a function of this shitty system we’ve been funneled into. Nothing more. Nothing less. And you know,” your voice grows softer, “you know Haibara wouldn’t want you blaming yourself for this. You know what he’d say?” You almost chuckle, “he’d tell you not to sweat it. To keep going. That you got it, right?” 

He gives a terse chuckle in return, shaking his head, as his head tilts into your chest again, “How do we—“ 

“I don’t know,” you murmur, you don’t need him to say more, “I don’t know how we do this without him, but we have to. We have to for him,” and your hand cups his face, tilting his chin up so he looks up at you, “together?”

And he wants to ask you then — ask you to marry him. He doesn’t know when he would get a chance. You were the only thing that made his life make sense — the only thing that made him feel okay, feel safe, for once. He was so tired of never feeling that way. And he had just lost the one other person who made him feel that way. 

He knew you wouldn’t say yes. You couldn’t. You were both so young still, still reeling from Haibara, still stuck in this system that could kill either of you at any time. But still…wasn’t that all the more reason to do it? 

But as you pulled him into another tight hug, he knew he wouldn’t last much longer in the Jujutsu world. He couldn’t — he couldn’t take another loss like this. He didn’t know if he could bear it. But as his tears wet your jacket, surrounded by you — your scent, your soft breath, your warm presence — he would try. 

He would try for you. And his eyes slid to Haibara’s body covered by a sheet — and for him. 

~~~

THREE.

“After graduation, I’m leaving,” it was a late night, a couple days before graduation that he told you. The soft pitter-patter of rain was the only thing heard from int the silence before he spoke. You laid on the foot of his bed, reading a book, while he sat cross legged at the head of it, his eyes fixed on you. 

Your gaze lifts from your book, brow furrowed in confusion, “Leaving?” 

“I can’t be a jujutsu sorcerer,” his words are as plain as always, “I can’t do it. I’m going to go to college and pursue some other line of study—“ 

And you sit up slowly, putting your book aside, and he expects protests, expects you to convince him otherwise, expects you to try and stop him, but all you ask is one question, “are you sure?” 

It catches him by surprise — as you always seemed to. He could anticipate enemy attacks, analyze their next moves five steps ahead, plan three routes of escape, and even predict what garbage will come out of Satoru Gojo’s obscene mouth, but you — you always could surprise him. 

“I am,” he finally answers softly, “this society is shit, you know that. And these past few years have shown me that the difference I make isn’t worth the toll it’s taking, especially when I’m not changing anything,” 

“Kento, you do make a difference,” your fingers find his, intertwining with ease, such ease he can’t help but think that’s what it was meant for, “you do — even if you can’t see it, I just want you to know, you do. For the people you help, even if you don’t see them, for the other sorcerers you inspire, and for me,” 

And he chuckles, “even you?” And you roll your eyes, pouting — the same pout that makes him want to lean over and kiss you until your lips are utterly ruined. 

“Even me,” you toss a pillow at him, and he catches it with ease, and you scowl playfully, “y’know i’m gonna miss you, but I’m not gonna miss that,” 

“What? My quick reflex—“ and you smack him with another pillow and giggle, the noise making his lips quirk into a smile even as you laughed at him, hands covering your lips. 

“What was that, Mr. Ratio? Your quick—“ and he’s tossing a pillow right back smacking you in the face, making his lips curl in a rare grin (though not so rare when he was with you—“ 

And you pull the pillow off, your face grim, “Oh, it’s so on—“ you’re tossing a pillow, but it’s only a diversion as you lunge for him, assumedly to mess up his hair, but he’s caught you by the wrist, his other hand around your waist as he’s gotten you pinned to the bed. 

Time stops. 

He’s breathing heavily, and you are too — from the rise and fall of your chest, but he can hardly hear anything over the blood rushing in his ears. Your lips part as you look up at him — you’re dressed in your sleep clothes, a thin tank top and shorts — and it would be so easy to lean down, let his palm slide under his shirt. He sees your eyes flicker down his body the same — climbing back up before pausing at his lips. 

It wasn’t a good idea. He was leaving. You both were graduating. Who knows when he would see you again — yet, he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. Not when this is what he wanted for so long, when he wanted you for so long. But maybe he should — maybe it would be easier, he couldn’t ask you to leave Jujutsu Tech. Just as you couldn’t ask him to stay. He knew you would stay to honor Haibara’s memory, to carry on his legacy — the one thing sorcerers could do for their fallen comrades. 

Sometimes the only thing. 

And sometimes it was the only thing they couldn’t do.  

“Kento—“ your voice pulls him from his reverie, as your fingers brush against his cheek, “are you going to hover over me forever, let me go, or…” and your teeth graze your lip, “are you going to kiss me?” 

And he’s blinking, cheeks most assuredly flushing, as your fingers graze the back of his neck, and his mouth is dry, as he looks down on you. 

But he doesn’t need to asked twice, as he leans even closer, delighting in how your breath catches, looming over him, “do you want me to kiss you?” And the telltale quirk of his lips makes you gape at him, drawing a laugh from him. 

“I hate you,” you murmur, as his lips finally brush yours, swallowing those playfully bitter words with them — and your lips are even softer than he imagined, your fingers settling themselves on the back of his neck, brushing the hair that rested there. 

And when he pulls away; his heart squeezes at the sight of your kiss ruined lips parted as you pant slightly, eyes fluttering open to look up at him as if to ask why did you stop? And he can’t help but smile. 

“It’s too bad because I love you—“ the words slip from his mouth — but he doesn’t regret it. How can he? When he might not get another chance. 

And he thinks his heart will stop at your silence again, the pitter-patter of raindrops ringing in his ears again, before your lips finally curl. 

“You love me, huh?” You’re leaning up and kissing him, lips finding his again and again — and how is it that he’s already addicted? You taste like honey, and sunshine, and something headier — sending heat warmer than liquor throughout his body that only made him crave more of you, and you finally pull away, and you’re smiling, “good thing I love you too,” 

And he can’t believe his ears, he can’t believe you love him too — all these years he thought it was one-sided, that he was deluding himself with all the times your fingers found his, your eyes met across a classroom with a smile, and the times he found himself falling asleep next to you all those nights neither of you wanted to be asleep, your arm curled around his.  

But you did. You loved him. And he loved you. 

And as your lips met again, he knew, he knew he still couldn’t ask you. Couldn’t ask you because he knew you maybe wouldn’t say no — and he couldn’t ask that of you. Not when it wasn’t what you wanted. Not when he knew you could do the good he couldn’t bring himself to do. And you would — because you were the best person he knows. 

He loves you. And therefore he had to let you go. 

But — as he lingered over you on his bed, his body hovering over his as he dragged his thumb over your red, puffy lips, before leaning down for another kiss — 

He didn’t have to let you go this second. 

~~~~

FOUR.

It’s years before he sees you again. 

It wasn’t purposeful. Not exactly anyway. 

It was just easier. Easier not to have to think of you still at the place he once was. Still fighting the same curses he would have been fighting with you. Still risking your life day in and day out. While he…he only had money to worry about. To think about. To obsess about. 

Money. Money. Money. Money. 

How was this somehow shittier than what the jujutsu world? He had considered going into a more humanitarian profession, but when his goal was to retire early, why waste time? If he wanted to help people…he glances at his phone — the one vice he allowed himself,  a picture of you that you had sent him when you got promoted to Grade 1 saved as his screensaver — he could have stayed by your side. 

No, he wanted to retire. Find himself a nice place to retire to — he hadn’t decided the exact location yet. Somewhere peaceful. With nothing but beaches and sky and sand and books for him to read, to reclaim his life page by page. But to get there — he had to slop through this shit work — making the rich richer. 

The same in the jujutsu world, and the same here as well. 

And it was one day after he had exorcised a curse from his favorite bakery’s worker, he had felt anything good — anything remotely good — in far too long. Your words rang in his ears — you make a difference. 

Was he making a difference by lining the pockets of the rich? Maybe his sorcery wouldn’t change  the world, move minds or hearts, pivot the course of history — but maybe he could have his own impact. And not feel like complete shit when he woke up every morning. 

And he wouldn’t — he knew he wouldn’t — if he could just see you smile again. Even if he could just see you again. He pulls out his phone, staring at your picture. And maybe…maybe even more. 

“Hello, Gojo? I’d like to return to Jujutsu Tech,” and he hears laughter on the other end, “why are you laughing?” 

“Kento?” You drop the pen you’re holding, as he steps into your office. And your lips are parted in surprise, your eyes fixed on his, “what are you—“ 

“I’m coming back, to Jujutsu Tech, I’m going to be a sorcerer again,” and he knows what you’ll ask, he knows you’re going to ask why — you’re going to ask him if he’s sure. And he doesn’t know how to tell you except by saying it’s because of you. 

But you don’t say anything, your chair screeches back as you get up, clattering backwards and suddenly as you’re running into his arms. Your face is buried in his chest, and he can feel the tears against his shirt, and his arms curl around you, fingers running through your hair, “I missed you so much,” you murmur, and then you look up at him, fingers tracing his cheeks, gingerly moving his glasses away, “you look tired,” 

“I am, but I’m better now,” he’s murmuring — and how is it that you send him right back to where he started, right back to where you always send him. It doesn’t even take a touch — only a glance, a whiff, a second — “I missed you too,” he adds, “a lot,” 

And you push him playfully, pouting up at him, “Could have fooled me. You barely ever called or texted me all these years. You talked more to Gojo than you did me,” 

“That’s only because that flippant idiot won’t stop calling until I pick up,” he grumbles — Gojo was the last thing he wanted to talk about in his moment — his fingers caress your cheek, tracing the line of your cheekbone, “I wanted to talk to you — I did, I just, I knew if I talked to you, I might say something I’d regret,” 

“And what would you regret saying to me?” You raise an eyebrow, and his eyes are sliding away from him. 

Asking you to come see him, asking you to leave Jujutsu Tech for him, asking you to be with him — every question that he wanted to ask, but never could. 

“It’s not important—” and your hand cups his cheek guiding his eyes back to yours, and he knew you weren’t going to let this go, “If I talked to you, I knew it would end one of three ways — one, I’d ask you to leave Jujutsu Tech; two, I’d come back to Jujutsu Tech; or three, you’d ask me one of these yourself — but I knew I couldn’t do that,” 

And your brows knit together, “Why not?” 

“Because it had to be our own decision — I couldn’t leave and you couldn’t leave, just because the other asked,” he murmurs, his gaze softening, “it wouldn’t be fair to either of us — or the other — to feel like the only reason we’re together was because of guilt or want for the other, not for ourselves,” 

You consider his words for a moment, “I would have left if you asked me,” 

“I know, and I would have come back if you had,” 

“But we didn’t,” and your fingers cup his face, “you remember what I said to you that night that we kissed?” 

And he swallows the lump in his throat, his heart rattling against his chest, “You said, you didn’t want to go further because it would only hurt more when we had to go our separate ways,” and your hand slides up his chest slowly, the other already resting against his neck, and his find their way to you — one hand holding your waist and the other cupping your cheek, “but we’re not separate anymore, are we?”  

“I hope the wait was worth it,” you smile, as both close the gap, lips meeting again and again — and you taste the same, but even better somehow — and he’s only pulling you closer, lips curled in a smile so wide that he hadn’t felt in so long, so long.

“Always, when it's you,” he murmurs against your lips, before his lips begin to trail kisses down your jaw and then your neck, his teeth brushing against your pulse, pulling a gasp from your lips, “good girl,” And he feels your knees buckle against his and he’s walking you backwards into the edge of your desk, “is anyone left on campus?” and you’re shaking your head, your eyes flitting to the door, as he makes you sit on your desk, thighs parted for him to settle between. 

“The door—” 

“Locked,” he replies, drawing back only a moment to take in the image before him — your lips red and ruined, chest rising and falling as you look disheveled at best, sexed at worst, and your eyes — your eyes swirled with lust, half lidded and desperate for his touch— “didn’t want any interruptions,” 

Just as he was. 

His fingers draw up a strand of your hair and kisses it, and your lips part, “Kento, please—” 

“Please, what, my love?” his voice is low and teasing, as his fingers peel back your jacket, pulling it off your shoulders, “you’re going to have to be more specific,” his lips find your neck, soft, wet kisses that has your body leaning into his, “I’m not a mind reader,” 

“But you are a tease,” you pout, and he only smiles, leaning down to do the thing he always wanted to — he kisses the pout off your lips, moaning lightly when your lips part for his tongue, his hands dragging down your sides, as your fingers loosen his tie, “I think you will be doing overtime with me today, Nanami-Sensei,” 

And he grunts, as your fingers free him of his tie, joining your jacket on the floor, “I’m not going to be a teacher, just a sorcerer,” his teeth graze right under your chin, nibbling, “so you’re the only sensei here — are you going to teach me what you’ve learned the last few years?” 

And you toy with the top button of his blue button-up, “Oh, I’ll teach you, Kento,” and you’re starting to undo his buttons, as he busies himself undoing yours, “the question is whether you can handle it,” 

“Beautiful,” he murmurs in reverence, and his fingers finally undo the buttons, sliding your shirt off your shoulders, eyes raking over your chest — sharp blue gaze lingering on the erect nipples poking through the fabric for your bra, “You’ve always been the one thing I can’t handle,” his mouth leans down, closing around one clothed nipple, while he teased the other with his fingers, and he delights in your gasp, the noise sending heat right down to his already aching cock, “but I’m willing to try, my love,” 

“You still love me?” You murmur, as he shrugs off his own shirt, perfect abs teasing into a v-line, all this muscle hidden under his business attire — and you knew he still must work out, and he did. He did in case he ever needed to come back — come back for you. 

“Who says I ever stopped?” His nose buried in the nape of your neck now, as his fingers teasingly snap the strap of your bra, “you smell so good, so perfect,” and his fingers undo your bra and it joins the pile of clothes growing on the floor, “there wasn’t a day I didn’t think about you — a night that i didn’t dream of you, that I didn’t want you,” 

“Kento—“ you whimper, as he tugs at your skirt, a quick glance for your nod, and he slides it down your legs, bunching at your ankles until you kick it off. Your cheeks burn as he’s kissing your way down your body, his mouth teasing the other nipple he had neglected, trailing hot kisses down your stomach, until he reaches the fabric of your panties, “I need—“ 

“Been wanting to taste this for so long,” and he’s kneeling between your parted thighs, still calloused fingers parting your plush flesh, tongue flicking over his dry lips at the sight of the dark wet patch at the crotch of your underwear. And you look down at him, eyes glazed over with unadulterated lust that is almost enough to have him cumming in his pants, “so sweet,” he’s murmuring as he noses your clothes cunt, and you jerk, as he pulls the crotch aside, “wonder if you taste as sweet as you smell,” 

“Kento—“ and his tongue drags over the length of your dripping cunt, nose bumping against your clit, as your thighs curl around him, pulling him closer, closer — “fuck—“ 

“Such a filthy mouth,” he tuts, smiling against your cunt as his tongue teases your folds, “almost as filthy as you are down here,” and his finger begins to part your walls, making your thighs shake and quake, his lips close around your clit, sucking. 

You’re a mess of moans and pants, hips grinding against his touch, as one hand tries to muffle your moans, the other is curled in his blonde locks, “taste even better than I imagined — just f’me, only for me,” You’re so close, as he parts your folds with another finger, sinking knuckle deep, as his fingers brush against that one spot that has you parting your lips in a silent moan, head thrown back — and the heat deep in your stomach is going to snap. 

KNOCK KNOCK. 

You both freeze, your cunt jerking around his fingers, as you bite your lip — maybe if you’re silent, they’ll go away— but Kento clicks his tongue, a smile on his glossy  cum covered lips, mouthing, “Speak,” and you gape at him, chest still heaving, as you shake your head, before he’s curling his fingers just right. 

Fucker. 

You hear Gojo’s voice, calling your name, “You in there?” 

You swallow thickly, meeting Kento’s gaze — he’s not backing down, “Yeah, sorry I’m in the middle of something — do you need something?” 

“I was just wondering if you heard from a certain salaryman, or should I say, ex-salaryman?” the very one that was burying his face back in your still sensitive pussy, slurping and licking, despite Gojo being right outside. 

You have to bite back your moans, swallowing them as you speak, “You mean Nana—ah—mi?” And you feel the very same sorcerer smirk against your abused cunt, a third finger finding its way inside you, “ha-haven’t heard from him, and what do mean ‘ex?’” 

You do your best at acting, but it’s hard when his mouth closes around your clit, sucking hard, as your fingers curl in his hair, biting your lip so hard, as he fucks your pussy in earnest with his fingers — how can Gojo not hear the nasty squelch of your cunt? 

“He left his job. He’s coming back to Jujutsu Tech,” and he takes a beat, “I’ll take my leave,” and he chuckles, “have fun you two, and Nanami?” You feel your face flush, “don’t be too rough with her — we need our best teacher available to teach tomorrow,” 

You hear his laugh all the way down the hall, and you’re covering your face — those fucking six eyes — but Kento’s tugging your hands away, “Pay attention to the one who’s filling you, love,” and he’s burying his face in your cunt, fucking you even harder — hitting that spot over and over, until you cum, back arching, as he’s pulling his fingers out to lap up the slick dripping from you, “delicious,” he murmurs, kissing your still sensitive clit, before he’s looking up at you — all fucked out, your chest rising and falling with every pant, your lips kiss ruined red — “and so beautiful,” 

His licks his lips clean of your cum, wiping the rest with the back of his hand, as he rises to your feet, “Kento, please,” you’re murmuring, his hands slide over your body, squeezing your hips, “I need you,” 

“What do you need—“ and his words are cut off by your fingers reaching for his buckle, the clink of the metal as you undid it, along with the button, tugging his pants and boxers down.

He hisses as his too sensitive dick slaps his stomach, your lips parting, eyes in a trance, “So pretty, Kento,” your fingers traces one of his veins to his already leaking tip, “and so fucking big,” you murmur, teasing the bead of precum on his slit, making him groan, “can’t wait to have this inside me — been waiting ten years,” 

And he’s sliding your hand away, pressing his hips flush to yours, as your legs wrap around his waist, “That long huh?” And his lips find yours again, letting you taste yourself, “and I thought I was the only one pining,” 

“So you admit you were pining for me?” And he laughs, as you smile up at him — like all the times he had hoped you would — “I had a crush from almost the moment I met you,” 

“You could have fooled me,” he presses kisses up and down your jaw, drawing a moan from both of you as he teases your puffy clit with his aching tip, “I thought you had a crush on Geto,” and you scoff. 

“Geto? So you were jealous of him — that’s why you always had that sour look whenever I studied with him,” you grin even wider, “well you had nothing to worry about - I had a crush on very gloomy boy and no one else ever caught my eye,” 

And he softly smiles, and it seems to ebb away the years — the trauma and the tiredness — and left only him, your Kento. 

“Is that right?” He asks before kissing you again, his fingers finding the back of your neck to deepen the kiss, as you moaned, muffled by his mouth, “I want—“ 

“I know, me too, please — don’t keep me waiting any longer,” and how could he refuse a request like that? 

He’s sinking into you, thick cock parting your dripping folds until he hilts himself fully in you, his fingers digging your hips — and you’re so full, too full. And you’re perfect — perfect walls wrapped around him, so warm and so tight — it’s enough for him to neatly blow his load then and there. 

But he can’t, can’t when he’s waited this long to do this. You’re whimpering, “S’good, Kento, too good,” your walls flutter around him as his hips shift lightly, “please, please move—“ his hands find your legs, lifting them higher to find a better angle, fingers digging into your soft thighs. 

And his hips slowly thrust into you, edging you with his shallow thrusts, and you’re whining, “Kento—“ 

“Look at the mess you’re making all over your desk,” he’s guiding your gaze with two fingers on your chin, making you watch where his cock is sunk into you, “taking me so well, practically swallowing me, good fuckin’ girl,” he grunts, “want it harder? Want me to fuck you?”

Your desk is already creaking under your weights and the movements, you’re nodding wordlessly, lips parted, “Kento, please, I need—“ and you watched his cock pull out only to slam back in. Your head falls back, moaning his name again and again. 

The squelch of your cunt rang in his ears over and over, as he grunts, barely keeping himself from cumming, especially when you begin to roll your hips into him, “You’re so pretty, and all mine — just mine,” and his lips find yours again, just as your walls flutter at his words, “like that? Like it when I claim you, love with my cock fucking you?” And his vulgar words only makes you tighter, and he grunts, “‘m close, sweetheart,” 

“Me too—g’nna cum—“ and his dick reaches that spot right as his thumb bears down on your clit, teasing it in circles, until you’re moaning his name as you cum. Your walls clamp down, soaking his cock, a white ring of cum around his base as he fucks you through your orgasm. 

His eyes meet yours as you do, watching your high overcome you, twitching and moaning — and he doesn’t last much longer. His hips stutter against you in shallow thrusts until he’s notching himself deep inside, groaning as he cums, hot seed painting your walls white. 

“So perfect,” he murmurs, as he kisses your sweat slicked forehead, “so good,” and he’s grunting as he pulls out, watching your mixed releases trickle out, leaking all over your desk and onto the floor. He drags his cock over your weeping cunt, watching it flutter around nothing. 

“Kento,” you murmur, gazing up at him, utterly blissed out as your lips curl, your legs slipping off his waist as he settles down on your desk, “I love you,” 

And his heart squeezes — is he dreaming? He must be dreaming — because nothing in his life has ever been so good. So wonderful. So perfect. It didn’t happen for him — it never happened for him. 

“I love you too,” he murmurs reverently, his fingers trailing over your jaw, “so much — you don’t know how much, darling,” 

“Think you can quantify it for me, Mr. Salaryman?” And he snorts, burying his face in the crook of your neck. 

“Don’t call me that,” he kisses your neck — you smelled so good, were you real? 

“Then what should I call you?” 

And he wanted to ask you then — ask you to call him your husband, to marry you, to buy that ring he had looked at from time to time when he thought about marrying you. But you just found your way back to each other — hell, he had just slept with you in your office, not even a bed. It was too soon, but — his lips curled — he was closer than he had ever been before. And he wouldn’t wait, he wouldn’t hesitate, not when it was you. He wouldn’t let you slip through his fingers. 

He smiles, “Just call me yours.” 

~~~~ 

FIVE.

Today was the day. 

He was finally going to ask. That’s what he thought when he looked at you, still in bed, bathed in the dappled sunlight let in by his parted curtains. You were still fast asleep beside him, body curled up so your body was pressed against him. He ran his fingers through your hair gently not to wake you, “I love you,” he murmurs, as opens his bedside drawer, pulling a ring box and notecard from it — and he stares at it. 

He’d ask you. He would ask you to marry him — finally take you on that vacation to Malaysia you both had talked about for too long, read all the books you both had put off, and lounge on the beach — and do much more in your hotel room. And then maybe, maybe he could ask you to retire from jujutsu. 

He had always promised himself, promised that he wouldn’t be a sorcerer when he got married. He couldn’t bear the thought of leaving a family behind to mourn him — but even more than that, he couldn’t bear the thought to lose you, to call you his wife, call you his soulmate — and have you fall away from him. 

He would rather be the one to die. 

But this way — he rises, grabbing his clothes for the day, and slipping the ring and the note into his coat pocket — neither of you would have to worry about losing the other. At least to a curse. 

“Where are we going?” You giggle as he drags you along the street, packed with people, more than usual. He keeps you close, an arm wrapped around you, especially for a Wednesday evening. What date was it? He had seemingly lost track of everything he had planned. 

“It’s Halloween,” you remind him without him asking the question, “explains all costumed people and the packed streets — we should definitely avoid Shibuya — the crowds there would be insane,” 

“How’d you know—“ and you tap his forehead with a smile. 

“I could see your gears grinding, Kento,” you smile, resting your head against his shoulder, “and it’s just like you to forget it’s Halloween,” 

“Is it?” he chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “well good thing I have you to remind me,”

“Very good thing, and I have you to remind me about everything else,” and he nods, and you elbow him, “you don’t have to remind me of that much!”

“You were leaving the house yesterday and you forgot your wallet, keys, and purse — you almost forgot to put on shoes—“ and you’re covering his mouth his your hand. 

“How about you remind me about where we’re going?” And he smiles against your hand, before kissing it gently, pulling it from his lips and kissing the back of your hand as well, making you flush. 

“Why ruin the surprise—” and then both of your phones ring — the two of you share a dark look, glancing at your phones and seeing the same message — Emergency: veil has fallen over certain areas of Shibuya. All available sorcerers report. 

“I guess we are going to Shibuya,” you sigh, running your fingers through your hair, “we should—” 

“We should stop by the apartment — we both left all our equipment there and I need to change,” and you nod, as his fingers toy with the ring box in his pocket, a sigh stuck in his throat. When will he ever get the chance to do this right? Finally, he had worked up the nerve and this—this had to happen. 

“Hey,” you cup his cheek, a soft smile on your face, “I’m sorry our plans are falling through, and just when I was going to make you give up this secret surprise,” 

His lips curl, as his arm pulls you even closer,  “I don’t recall agreeing to give up any secrets,” and you lean up and kiss him, soft and sweet quickly turning heady — neither of you were ones for public displays — but for some reason, it just felt right. And you part, breath warming his lips with a wide grin. 

“Oh, you would have,” and he laughs, squeezing your hips, as he rests his forehead against yours, “We’ll pick this up right after we deal with this problem.” 

He nodded, leaning down to kiss you again and again, his fingers still toying with the box in his pocket. And he wanted to ask right then, just drop to his knee in the middle of this packed street full of costumed weirdos and freaks, mission be damned, jujutsu be damned — but he didn’t want to do it like this. 

He wanted it to be a time where both of you were safe, where you could celebrate without the fear of danger beating down your necks, where he could talk to you, hold you, kiss you — without fear it would be the last. Because he always wondered when it would be the last. But it wouldn’t be — he’d do anything to make it back, to finally take that step with you, the one he’d been waiting for over ten years to take. Take that vacation you both wanted with his ring on your finger, and retirement from Jujutsu around the corner. 

And he squeezes your hand, “Promise?” and you lean into him, pulling him along the street back to your shared apartment. 

“Promise.” 

~~~ 

He wouldn’t be able to keep his promise. 

That’s what kept repeating in his mind with every step he took. He couldn’t really feel much — not anymore. That special grade curse had burned him — burned half of his body to a crisp, he could barely smell the burning flesh anymore. All he could do was keep moving. Moving. Moving. Moving. 

But he didn’t want to move anymore — he was tired. So tired. He couldn’t feel much, but he could feel the weight of having to keep going, even if he didn’t want to. 

And now, he stands before a swarm of…curses? Transfigured humans? He didn’t know — he could barely see at this point out of his one remaining eye — he could barely keep it open, still drooping even as the monsters loomed before him. 

“Malaysia…Yeah, Malaysia…Kuantan would have been nice,” the recommendation he had gotten from Mei Mei when trying to decide on a vacation for you and him to take — who better to ask than the woman with all the time and money in the world, a little brother who’d take her anywhere she wished. You both had settled on Malaysia, still panning out the details of when, but he had planned to surprise you with open ended tickets for the both of you — paid extra for them, in case something came up. 

He almost chuckles. Something always came up. 

Maybe if you both had liked it enough, he’d have a private home built for the two of you — with the little library nook you always dreamed of having, finally getting around to reading the countless books you both had bought and never read, go through page by page and take back the time you both have lost. 

But right now each step felt like an eternity as he walked. 

Where was he going again? Oh yes, to help Fushiguro. And what about Naobito and Maki? What had happened to them? There wasn’t much he could do about that. 

Tired. He was so tired. I’ve done enough, haven’t I? 

Hadn’t he done enough? He thought he had done enough when he left — left it all behind like a nightmare he didn’t care to revisit. Left the loss, the pain, the anger — the curses really — all behind him, in exchange for another set — greed, money, power. What was really the best option? Had he made the right choice? 

But then he thought about you. 

Your smiles, your touch, your kisses, your laughs — all the times he spent with you — slow mornings spent reading the paper together over coffee and toast from the bakery you always went out of your way to buy his favorites from; lazy evenings spent watching movies or reading, your legs intertwined as you did, his arm around your shoulders, until you plucked the book from his fingers made it so you were only thing his eyes were on; and sleepless but perfect nights spent in each other’s arms. The many times he wanted to ask you — the one question he never got to ask you still burned on the tip of his tongue like a curse unspoken, and he knew if he spoke it now, it would be one. 

And so he did what he did best, he dispatched the curses, quick and easy. And his lips curled despite himself — at the thought of you. He could almost feel your lips on his still from earlier, the sweet scent of you instead of the smell of blood or burning flesh, he could almost see you too. 

A hand rested on his chest, stopping him in his tracks. 

Mahito stared back at him. 

Oh. Oh. 

It was over. 

I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry I can’t keep my promise. I’m sorry I can’t propose. I’m sorry I can’t marry you. I’m sorry I can’t have the life we wanted. I’m sorry I came back only to leave you with the worst curse of them all. 

“I didn’t know you were here,” Nanami says, staring back at the curse — and it reminds of that time — that time Mahito had him in his domain, he truly had resigned himself to death. Resigned himself to die — and then Itadori had come crashing in, crashing in as he did his life, saving him. Saving him by not only by his very existence as Sukuna’s vessel, but by just his sheer strength. 

That kid had really grown on him — he didn’t want him to. Not when he had the same positivity, the same smile, the same kindness…as Haibara. It was illogical. He wasn’t Haibara — he was Sukuna’s vessel, and he wouldn’t acknowledge him, he wouldn’t until he proved himself. But he’d protect him, and he would do what he could. Because being a child isn’t a sin — but perhaps, being a jujutsu sorcerer is one. 

“Yup. The whole time,” Mahito replies, lips upturned in a slight smile, “Wanna chat? We go way back, after all,” 

Nanami’s eyes shift to the floor, the muddied and bloodied tiles underneath his feet — he didn’t care to divulge his deepest feelings to a curse. There were only two people he could talk to about this — and one of them, he supposed, was now closer to his being than the other. 

Haibara, what the hell was I trying to do? He asks in his mind, not even daring to say the words aloud, I ran. Even though I ran away, I came back with the vague reason of finding the work worthwhile. 

And then he sees him. Haibara appears in front of him, patented smile on his lips, as he points south — points right at— 

“Itadori,” Mahito says, his eyes narrowing. 

“Nanamin!” his eyes wide as he takes in his state — oh, he had hoped no one would see him like this, much less Yuji. He had already been through so much, so young — hell, he had already died once. He didn’t deserve to see this. He didn’t deserve to grow up like this — to have his youth ripped away. But, did any of them deserve it? 

It was a marathon, a marathon that they found themselves in that headed only towards a pile of corpses — but each time, they had to pass the baton before they stopped. 

Could he finally stop? 

He had dropped his baton so long ago, dropped and left the track, but he knew it would be picked up by another and another and another — but it was his baton, his baton that Haibara had handed him before he died in his arms. 

No, Haibara. That’s not right. I can’t say that to him. It’ll just end up becoming a curse for him. 

But it’s a curse every jujutsu sorcerer had to bear — made to bear until there were either no curses or no sorcerers left. 

But he couldn’t regret it now. 

“Itadori,” his lips curl, smiling for the last time, “you’ve got it from here.” 

He couldn’t keep his promise to you — but he kept his one to Haibara. 

And you’d pay the price. 

~~~

This wasn’t real. Was it? 

You stood outside your shared apartment with Kento. Finally a stop to the fighting for a month for everyone to train — enough time for you to retrieve some cursed weapons you had left behind — not knowing the fight would drag on for this long. You had considering sending someone — maybe not Ijichi but someone else to retrieve them, but right now, you couldn’t bear the thought of someone else rifling through Kento’s things. Moving the things that he had placed just so — the last remnants of his life, the marks he left that proved he was there, that he lived — that he had lived. 

Lived. Past tense. And now you were still living — living in a world without him. 

You inserted your key and turned the lock, opening the door. And it did, just like it had every day. Each day you’d open it — sometimes before Kento, other days after — but each time, there was always a meal Kento had prepped or bought waiting for you. 

And this was the first time that there wasn’t. 

Not only a meal — there was no one waiting for you. Not here. 

You closed the door behind you — no longer a home, just an apartment. You needed to remember the things you needed, your mind was nowhere to be found, and fled the country when you had heard the news. You didn’t cry. Not at first. 

Yuji was the one to tell you. He shouldn’t have been the one to see it. You knew it haunted his dreams, you knew he blamed himself, you knew — because Kento had done the same. So you hugged him, let him cry silently into your shirt, comforted him the best you could — because you knew that’s what Kento would have wanted. 

He loved Yuji — he loved Ino too, and the other students all held a special place for him, but Yuji — Yuji was a special case. You knew that from the moment he had spoken about him. 

“Gojo wants me to mentor Sukuna’s vessel,” he told you one night in bed, having returned from a mission and having a drink with Gojo — not a real drink, Kento had clarified, since it had no alcohol in it — but a drink nonetheless. 

“He has a name, Kento. Itadori. He’s sweet,” you smile, you had met him and all the other first years from teaching, “he’s a good kid — very new to all of this, but he has a good heart and some good skills under his belt.” 

“A vessel for the ticking time bomb has a good heart? Glad to hear it,” he sighs, running his hands through his hair, “I don’t know — he was a normal kid two minutes ago, and now he’s running around with Gojo feeding him Sukuna’s fingers every second,” he leans back against the headrest, “what am I supposed to make of this? I’m not even a teacher,” 

“And what have you been doing with Ino?” you raise an eyebrow, “that kid is constantly after you, dogging your every step — he looks up to you. “And I know a lot of the other students do too, the ones that know you,” 

“It’s—” 

“You should do this. It would be good for you,” and he’s hesitating, “Yuji needs a sorcerer to guide him — teach him the basics that Gojo has neglected to do, and show him how a proper jujutsu sorcerer who isn’t…a special case like Gojo, operates.” 

Kento’s lips curl, “You know you can call him a moron,” 

“Why call him that when I have you to call him that for me?” you snort, “now what do you say?” 

And he eventually agreed — and it was the best decision for him. It gave him more purpose, more drive — he seemed even more fulfilled — the most you had seen him professionally fulfilled in quite some time. 

“You got it from here.” 

His last words to Yuji. You almost have to scoff at the poeticness of it all — the same words Haibara had told him. The ones he hadn’t told you for nearly a decade, until one night he had told you what he said. 

“And why didn’t you leave any words for me, Kento?” you ask the empty apartment before you, “for so long, we didn’t have each other — we couldn’t. And we finally find our way back, we finally do all the things we said we would — you’re gone, again,” your voice breaks, “I wish, I wish you were here. I wish I could see you. I wish—” and you break off. 

There’s no point for wishing for things that can’t happen. You had things to do, and little time to waste. You needed to get stronger too. You needed to be useful. You needed to fight. You couldn’t tarnish Kento’s memory, or — you look at a picture that you had taken of him and Yuji a few days before outside a convenience store you had stopped by after a mission — his legacy. 

You searched for the things you needed, placing them in cloth bags and then paper bags for easy and inconspicuous transport, but you needed to label them. You searched your apartment for a pen — but apparently you had misplaced every single one that you had — where the hell were all the pens? A question you’d usually ask Kento and he’d produce one from thin air. No matter what you lost or what you needed — he had it. 

He always had it. 

If he did always have what you needed, then maybe…you walk into the bedroom, over to his nightstand — he often kept a notebook for thoughts and notes in his bedside table so maybe—-

And there it was — a pen, but it wasn’t the pen that made you pause — it was the two things beside it. 

A notecard and a ring box. 

A ring box. 

Your hands shake, and you almost want to close the drawer. Forget you say anything. Continue with the work you’re doing. It would hurt less. 

But you can’t. You can’t. 

You reach for the notecard first, fingers shaking as you gingerly pick it up — and you can tell this wasn’t the first he had written on. You could see the indentations from his pen, this card underneath the others as he had wrote. But his handwriting was neat, yet messy at the same time — his patented half print, half cursive scrawl that he hadn’t left. 

Your legs buckle and you sit down on the edge of the bed — the side he used to sleep on, his arm wrapped around your waist, face buried in your back, his lips brushing against your skin when he finally stirred. And now it was empty. 

My love, you don’t know how long I’ve wanted to ask you this. I’ve thought of ways to ask for years — I had to write it down just so I didn’t mince my words or ramble — you know I’m not one to drag out conversations. I love you. I’ve always loved you from the moment I met you — I know you’d tease me for pining for you, but I did pine for you and I’ve pined for you every second we’re apart. The other times I’ve wanted to ask you, the timing never worked out. But we have the time now, don’t we? Will you do me the honor of being your husband? I’ll spend every second making you happy, because that’s what you deserve, sweetheart. Only the best. 

And your tears splatter against the corner of the card, before you put it down, as you let your sobs overcome you, screams you didn’t know you were capable of making— you didn’t even realize it was you, until your throat began to ache. 

Why? Why? Why? 

It wasn’t real, this wasn’t happening. 

And your fingers reach for the ring box now, opening it only to feel more tears well — it was the ring you had showed him. One you had showed him one late night when it had showed up somewhere or another — you hadn’t even thought about the ring again. Until now. 

You can’t bear to touch it. You can’t. Not when he wasn’t there to pull it from its box and slip it onto your finger. And he never would be. Not until you saw him again — one way or another. 

You snap the box closed, tears slipping down your cheeks as you placed the box and card back into the drawer — noticing something else underneath — a printout? And you pull the papers out, scanning it. 

You almost sob. A trip to Kuantan, Malaysia. The trip you two had talked about for months, but never had gone on. The trip was more for Kento than it was for you — and it was for you, in a way, because what you wanted the most was to just be with him. Time was all you wished for with him — all you wanted — but you knew you could have spent every moment with him for the last ten years and it wouldn’t have been enough. 

It would never have been enough. 

“I miss you,” you speak to the ghosts that fill your mind and haunt your dreams — Kento and Yu, “I hope you’re at peace. I hope you’re lying on a beach somewhere, reading the books you wanted to read, drinking an expensive drink, and eating the bread you love — I promise, I’ll find my way to you, someday,” 

And you place the things back in the drawer, and shut it. 

For now, you had other things to do. Other people to protect, other curses to exorcise. But — you stare at the picture of the two of you on your nightstand — his love was the one curse you could never give up. 

~~

Many months later. 

You take that vacation he wanted. Packing the books he always wanted to read. Pocketing the ring he wanted to propose to you with. You’d pack a few shirts of his to wear on the beach, and maybe he would be lying beside you in spirit. You would find that beach he wanted to take you to — the one he had written down and had looked up several times while booking your trip. 

You kept the seat beside you on the plane empty but you ordered a glass of wine and a sandwich for him regardless. You know you would have ended up ordering because he likely would have fallen asleep — old man he always was. And if you didn’t know better, you’d think he was sitting in the seat beside you. 

He wasn’t dead. Not really, you think as you sit in the beach in one of his deep blue button ups thrown over your swimsuit, reading one of his books page by page, taking back the time that was stolen from him with your own — minutes and hours and days you’d wish you could take off your own and give to him. 

He was alive, he was alive as long as you were, as long as the people who he was important to were alive. And he was alive — alive in your head and your heart and your very soul. 

You read his proposal aloud as the sun sets, tears slipping down your face as you slip his ring onto your finger. And there it would stay. 

Stayed all the seconds, minutes, hours, days, and years you lived -- lived in the house you built in Malaysia when all was said and done for you in the jujutsu world, just as Kento had wanted. Stayed until you finally saw him again. Saw him standing beside Haibara, softly smiling behind him, as your eyes fluttered open as he greeted you. Lips curled in that same smile that damned you from the moment you saw it. 

“Don’t keep me waiting, love,” he smiles, the same words you had said to him, “we’ve both waited long enough, haven’t we?” 

But neither of you had to wait anymore — as you run into his arms, warm and made of flesh and blood and real, so real — you had forever now. 

✴︎ a/n: first, i'm so sorry lol. i don't know how the spirit of gege possessed me but i decided to inflict some pain. i have to thank @laneysmusings for proofing this for me and having to endure this pain. I also want to credit @/tempenensis for their post on haibara / jjk 120 that helped inspire/inform the third to last scene (but they don't like self-insert so i am not gonna tag them, but you should check out their tumblr!

✴︎ taglist: @your-local-simplol, @renawithane, @grooveandshit, @aemondseyesocket, @nitskilanara, @yunchans, @ackermanbby, @luminouslateralup, @multi-fandom3, @idktbhloley, @minteaful, @malleusmybelovedd, @lighttism, @lemonpoppy-seed, @nitskilanara, @wshwshi, @rreborn, @reyy-chanx, @kiradoki, @uroldall, @madam-milf, @elusivemoon

Hizashi Yamada X Reader

𓇢𓆸☾☼ Fighting the Pro 𓇢𓆸☾☼

This one is very angsty. SLIGHT DEBRIEF. The reader is a bit of an ass. Not for having unwarranted emotions but taking it out on him is very unwarranted. Being a pro at such a young age willllllll have an effect on you. It’s always when you’re young you feel like you’re running out of time.

masterlist

SYNOPSIS: You both are very grotesquely in love. Though early relationship there was definitely over compensation. A desperate cling for any type of normalcy. Though when you’re a pro in the top 10 and it becomes too much?

The room was filled with the heat of your bodies moving against each other, the air still thick with the remnants of heavy breathing and whispered praises. Hizashi lay sprawled beneath you, his chest rising and falling rapidly, golden locks fanned out over the pillow in a complete mess. His clothes had been discarded somewhere on the floor, long forgotten in the heat of the moment, and right now you’re watching the reveal to the fresh, angry red marks you had left on his skin.

His fingers lazily traced over your hip, drawing mindless patterns as he hummed in satisfaction. “Damn, babe,” he murmured, voice rough and pleased. “You make me want to do so many things to you.”

You smirked, stretching like a cat leaning closer to his face “You’re still talking, aren’t you? start doing”

He let out a breathy laugh before rolling over to press a lingering kiss against your jaw. “Okay, okay, you ask and shall receive.”

In a moment youre grinding down onto him. Feeling him beneath you so hard and ready for you. A low groan left his mouth as he pulls you close and kisses you roughly. The two of you wrapped into each other, Who knows how many rounds this has been? neither of you in any hurry to move. You want each other and need each other. But then, just as you were gripping your fingers through his hair, Hizashi stiffened.

“Oh, shit.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What?”

He shot up so fast he nearly rolled off the bed. “I was supposed to meet Shouta and Nemuri like” He grabbed his phone, eyes widening. “Twenty minutes ago! Oh my God.”

You snorted as he picked you off of him and scrambled to find his clothes, nearly face planting in the process. “zashi, be careful ”

“Babe,” he groaned, tugging on his pants with the coordination of a newborn deer, “you were literally sucking my soul out of my body of course I forgot!”

You only grinned. “I dont know if this is my fault, I had no idea you were seeing them today”

Hizashi groaned dramatically. “You’re unreal.”

But despite his rush, he still took a second to lean down and kiss you, lingering just long enough to make it clear he was reluctant to go. Then, shaking off the daze you had put him in, he throws you down to lay and puts a blanket over you. he threw on his jacket, grabbed his sunglasses, and bolted for the door. only to stop midway and run a hand through his already wrecked hair.

“Shit. I dont look too messy?”

You gave him a once over, eyes trailing over the mess of his clothes, his still kissed bruised lips, and the unmistakable marks you’d left on his neck. His golden hair was an absolute mess, his signature sunglasses were askew, and the high collar of his jacket barely concealed the array of fresh, bright, unapologetically placed hickeys decorating his neck like a victory banner. He moved in slow, stumbling motions, haphazardly fastening his belt with shaky fingers while still catching his breath. The man looked absolutely wrecked in the most smugly satisfied way possible.

You, on the other hand, lounged on the bed, completely unbothered, watching him trip over his own boots in a daze.

“Zashi, you’re late,” you reminded lazily, watching his half panicked, half pussy drunken movements as he tried to sober himself up.

“I knowwww holy shit I can still feel you on my everywhere” he groaned, shuddering dramatically as he ran a hand through his already ruined hair. “Babe, you don’t understand I think you rewired my brain with how much you were moaning. Like, I straight up can’t function.”

“You functioned just fine earlier,” you teased.

Hizashi let out a choked laugh, looking absolutely done as he threw on his sunglasses and stumbled out the door.

He groaned. “I love you really but my gooooood”

And with that, he stumbled out the door, muttering curses under his breath as he rushed to meet his very unimpressed friends.

Hizashi Yamada was struggling.

𓇢𓆸☾☼

By the time he arrived at the bar, he was quiet, an absolute rarity. He just slid into the booth across from Aizawa, shoulders slumped, nursing his drink like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

Aizawa squinted at him, immediately clocking the very obvious “I got busy before coming here or I was coming before coming here” energy radiating off of him. “The hell is wrong with you?”

Hizashi blinked at him slowly before bringing a hand up to rub his ear.

“Sorry, what?”

Aizawa’s eye twitched. “I said—”

“Yeah, yeah, no, no, can you say it again? Sorry, I can’t hear properly right now” Hizashi paused for dramatic effect, tilting his head and flashing a smug, self satisfied grin, “cause my baby kept moaning in my ear.”

Aizawa looked like he was actively regretting his life choices. Yamada had never been quiet a day in his life, and now he shows up to their long awaited catch up night looking like he’d been personally delivered into the hands of God??

“Don’t bring that nasty shit here,” Aizawa muttered, immediately reaching for his drink as if he could drown out the mental image.

Across the table, Midnight snorted into her glass while Mic just sighed, swirling his drink, utterly unbothered.

“Hey, man,” he added, smirking, “I’m just sayin’ if I ask you to repeat stuff tonight, it’s ’cause of that.” He pointed vaguely to his ear. “Just wrecked. Completely shattered. I got, like, post orgasmic tinnitus.”

Aizawa gagged.

“Leave,” he deadpanned.

“I’m already sitting, dude, what do you—”

“Leave.”

The three of them had been doing this for years this easy back and forth, this relentless teasing, this balance between Midnight’s playful mischief, Mic’s boundless energy, and Aizawa’s gruff exhaustion. It was the kind of friendship that had been built in the trenches of late night patrols, shared exhaustion, and an unshakable loyalty that had long since turned into family.

They were opposites in so many ways. Hizashi was loud, vibrant, the type to light up a room just by existing. Kayama was playful, charming, always knowing exactly how to push buttons and make people flustered just for fun. And Aizawa? Aizawa was the anchor whether he realized it or not, the long suffering soul who sighed, groaned, and rolled his eyes through every ridiculous conversation but never actually left because at the end of the day, these were his people.

And right now? His people were absolutely insufferable.

“Shouta,” Midnight gasped between giggles, still reeling over the absolute state of Mic’s neck. “Look at him again. Just one more time. I promise it’s worth it.”

Hizashi just smirked, unfazed, sipping his drink. The smugness radiating off of him was so dense it could be measured in metric tons.

Aizawa, meanwhile, looked like he was one more ridiculous comment away from throwing his entire drink in Mic’s face and walking out. “I’m this close to never seeing you again,” he muttered, rubbing his temples. Though everyone ag that table knew he’d kneel over and die first before abandoning his friends.

Across the table, Midnight was watching.

And grinning.

“Y’know,” she mused, swirling her glass, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen two people this in love before and it not be for show.”

Mic perked up immediately, cocking his head like a golden retriever that had just been called a good boy. “Aww, Kayamaaa,” he drawled, resting his chin in his palm with the dopiest lovestruck grin. “That’s so sweet”

“Yeah they’ve been obsessed with each other since she interned at the school” Aizawa cut in dryly.

“No, no, let her cook!” Mic shot back, waving him off before turning back to Midnight with stars in his eyes. “Go on, tell me how in love I am!”

Midnight snorted, glancing at Aizawa, who looked like he was contemplating his life choices. “I’m serious, though,” she continued. “Most couples? You can tell when it’s for show, or when it’s a phase, or when it’s gonna burn out in a year. But you?” She pointed at Hizashi with the utmost conviction, looking a little proud.

“You act like a damn lovesick idiot all the time. It’s gross but in, like, a good way.”

Mic beamed, looking stupidly proud. “I am a lovesick idiot! And it’s so good!”

Aizawa groaned, rubbing his temples harder, already regretting showing up. “have you guys always been this way?.”

“No, no, shou, listen,” Hizashi said, grabbing his arm. “She’s spittin’ facts! Spittin’! Like, I am so in love, man. So incredibly”

“Drink your damn whiskey and shut up,” Aizawa interrupted, yanking his arm away.

Hizashi chuckled, leaning back in his seat, his expression still drunkenly soft despite the teasing.

“Can’t help it,” he said, grinning like an idiot. “When you’re this happy, it kinda just… leaks out.”

Midnight just smirked, taking another sip of her drink. “Though How did you get to this point? Lord knows momma cant keep a relationship”

Hizashi paused, his goofy grin faltering for just a second. He took a deep swig of his drink, letting the sharp burn settle in his throat before speaking.

“It wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows at first,” he admitted, leaning back with a sigh. His gaze softened, a rare, unguarded vulnerability creeping into his eyes as he stared at the table in front of him. “We were kinda, uh… figuring things out for a while. You know how I am. Always too loud, too impulsive, a little… well, a lot chaotic.” He shot a pointed look at Aizawa, who grunted in response, clearly trying to keep a neutral face.

“And she’s… different,” Hizashi continued, his voice lowering to something more serious. “She’s got this calm, steady presence about her. Makes me want to be better, do better, you know?”

Midnight raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, but not surprised. “You two are opposites, huh?”

Hizashi chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. It took us some time to get there, but eventually, we realized that maybe we did have something. Not just some casual fling or whatever, but… real feelings, y’know? And I was scared at first scared I was gonna mess it up, scared it wouldn’t be enough for her, that I’d let her down. But the moment I made that decision when I finally decided to stop running and put in the work? I could feel it click. Everything just made sense.”

Aizawa, who had been nursing his drink quietly, looked over at him with a narrowed gaze. “So you put in the effort? Actually put in the effort?”

Hizashi’s face softened even more as he nodded, eyes glimmering with sincerity. “Yeah. I did. We both did. And I think… that’s what it’s all about, right? Real love isn’t just the butterflies and passion. It’s the messy stuff, the growth, the parts where you have to put in effort, even when you’re exhausted or scared.”

𓇢𓆸☾☼

The apartment smelled like vanilla candles and takeout.

You barely had time to drop your bag before you saw it the table set, dimmed lights, another date night waiting for you. Like you hadn’t just gotten back from another mission, exhausted, bruised, and barely able to think straight. Like you weren’t still standing in the doorway, wearing the same uniform you’d been in for the last 48 hours, while Hizashi stood in the kitchen, grinning, oblivious to the storm building behind your eyes.

“Welcome home, babe!” His voice was bright, too bright, like he hadn’t noticed the tension in your shoulders, the exhaustion dragging you down like lead weights. And then he walked over, brushing a kiss to your temple before leading you further inside. “I got us reservations at that new place downtown! Figured we could get dressed up, have a nice night”

Something inside you snapped. It wasn’t just tonight. It wasn’t just this date. It was all of it. Every carefully planned dinner. Every perfect night out. Every photo ready, scripted moment that felt less like your life and more like some magazine romance article.

Every time you came home, and instead of letting you breathe, he tried to fill the space, like he was terrified of what would happen if he didn’t. And suddenly, you hated it. Hated all of it.

“Hizashi, stop.”

The words came out sharp, harsher than you meant. But you meant them.

Hizashi froze, blinking. “What?”

You exhaled hard, shaking your head, dropping your bag onto the floor with a thud. “This. The dates. The perfect little nights out every time I come back.”

You finally turned to him, voice sharp, cutting. “Can you just stop acting like we have to make up for lost time?”

His expression faltered. Just a flicker. But you saw it.

“…Babe, I just”

“You just what?” you snapped. “Try to force us into some picture perfect couple routine every time I walk through the door? Like it’s some checklist you have to complete?”

His brow furrowed, mouth pressing into a thin line. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Then what the hell are you doing?”

He let out a breath, stepping closer, but you stepped back, and that that’s when his face changed. That’s when his expression shuttered, something wounded flashing in his golden eyes.

“I’m trying,” he said, voice lower now. Softer. “I’m trying to make this work.” that that only made the anger burn hotter.

“By doing things that don’t even feel like us?” You gestured around, at the perfectly set table, at the candlelight, at the expectation hanging in the air. “Hizashi, when did we ever need to be like this?”

He flinched, just slightly. “I just thought—”

“You thought you had to prove something ,” you cut in, voice biting. “You thought we had to act like some stupid, perfect couple every time I came home so it felt like things were normal.”

“Because things aren’t normal!” His voice spiked, frustration cracking through now. “Because I never know when you’re coming back! I never know when it’s the last time I’m gonna see you when it’s the last time we get to do this!” His chest rose and fell, breath unsteady, fingers twitching at his sides.

It felt like the walls were closing in, trapping the anger between them, thick and suffocating. The air was hot, heavy with the weight of words that had been building for too long, now finally crashing down all at once.

Hizashi stood in the middle of the room, breathing hard, hands curled into fists like he was holding himself together. His sunglasses were gone, thrown onto the coffee table in the heat of the argument, leaving his golden eyes bare, raw with frustration, with something wounded underneath.

“You don’t even try to make time for us!” he had yelled first, voice too loud, cutting through the silence like a blade. “Do you even care anymore, or are we just gonna keep treating this like some long distance fling?”

The accusation hit hard, knocking the air from your lungs. Because it wasn’t true. yet the way he said it like he truly, honestly believed it made something in you snap.

“Don’t put this all on me, Mic!” you shot back, stepping forward, voice sharp, biting. “I’m doing everything I can! You think I like being away all the time? You think I like coming back just to feel like a stranger in my own relationship?”

His face darkened, jaw clenching. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

“It sure as hell feels like it!”

That stopped him.Hizashi had been trying too hard to make up for lost time. Too many perfect dates, too many candlelit dinners, too many picture-perfect moments that felt scripted, forced.

None of it felt real.

Not because you didn’t love him. But because it made you feel like he was holding onto an idea of you, rather than the person you actually were.

So you finally said it.

“These idealistic Pinterest romance novel date? Its fake. What happened to us doing stuff we’re passionate about? What happened to real life things. It feels like you don’t love me, Hizashi. You love the idea of me.”

The second the words left your mouth, you saw the exact moment they landed saw the way his breath caught, saw the flicker of real, genuine hurt cross his face. Then, he exhaled sharply, shaking his head, his voice lower now, strained.

“…That’s not fair.”

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t angry. It was broken. And that was worse.

“You think I don’t love you?” he muttered, running a hand over his face, his voice shaking. “You think I’m just… what? Holding onto some fantasy version of you? That all of this doesn’t mean anything to me?”

You didn’t answer.

Because you didn’t know how.

Because you didn’t know if you were wrong.

Hizashi let out a bitter laugh, but there was no humor in it. Just something exhausted, something tired of fighting for you to see him.

“Yeah, maybe I’ve been trying too hard,” he admitted, his shoulders slumping. “Maybe I don’t know how to make this work. But do you know what it feels like to wait for you? To go to bed every night not knowing? To feel like I have to fight just to get a piece of you before you’re gone again?”

His voice cracked on the last word.

And suddenly, you saw it. The fear. Not just frustration. Not just exhaustion. He was afraid. Afraid that one day, you wouldn’t come back. That one day, there wouldn’t be anything left to come back to.

And that realization hit you harder than anything else.

“Don’t you dare act like you don’t understand where I’m coming from,” you snapped, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation. “You’ve been a pro hero much longer than I have. You were just like this when you were my age.”

His brow furrowed, confusion flickering in his gaze. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb, Hizashi!” The words came out sharp, louder than you intended. “You did the exact same thing when you were first starting out.”

Hizashi flinched, his mouth opening like he was about to argue, but you weren’t done.

“I care about you so much,” you said, your voice quiet now, more vulnerable than you wanted it to sound. “But right now? I can’t. I can’t pretend like everything’s fine when I’m always on the go, running from one mission to the next. I don’t have the luxury of playing house or acting like I’m some domestic goddess. I’m just trying to stay alive out there.”

His expression softened for a brief moment, but you could feel the distance growing between you. The things you were saying weren’t just about him anymore they were about you. And the pain in your chest deepened as you spoke the next words.

“I’m not like you, Hizashi. I don’t have time to pretend like everything’s okay, because out there, it’s not. I need to focus. I need to figure out how to be the best damn hero I can be. And when I come back, I don’t want to be distracted by a fake reality. I just want to see you .”

Hizashi stood silent, his hands hanging by his sides. You could feel him pulling away not physically, but in his heart, somewhere deep down.

“Do you understand?” you asked softly, though your words came out barely a whisper. “I need you to understand. I don’t want to lose you, but I have to be who I am. I need to help people. But i need you”

For a long moment, there was nothing but silence between you both. Then, finally, he took a step back, rubbing his face, and the hurt on his face was so palpable it made your chest ache.

“You used to be this guy,” you said, stepping closer, your voice softer now but still intense. “The guy I fell in love with the weird guy, the one who spoke before he thought, who couldn’t hold back his excitement for the smallest things. The guy who dragged me to concerts, the one who’d make me laugh until my stomach hurt, and we didn’t care what anyone thought. We didn’t need all this,” you gestured to the dinner table, the candles, the perfect setup. “We didn’t need these fake, picture perfect nights. Why can’t it just be like it used to be? Why can’t it be the concerts and the lighthearted silliness? The way we used to be?”

His eyes softened, but there was a flicker of something else in his gaze frustration, and it broke you.

“You don’t want me anymore?” he asked, his voice cracking with the words.

“No!” You shook your head, feeling the anger slip away, only to be replaced by something much more painful. “I don’t want the version of you that’s trying so hard to be something you’re not. I don’t want this perfect idea of us, this… this facade.” You took a step closer, now within arm’s reach, and your voice softened. “I want the guy I fell in love with, the one who didn’t care what anyone thought, the one who made everything fun, even when things weren’t perfect. I want that guy, Hizashi.”

He was quiet for a long moment, his gaze never leaving you, as if he was trying to piece together everything you’d said.

“But I’m trying,” he murmured finally, his voice barely a whisper. “I’m trying to give us the life we never had, a chance to be normal, to have what other people have. You deserve that.”

The pain in his voice was almost enough to make your heart shatter.

“I don’t want what other people have,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper now, full of raw honesty. “I just want us. The way we used to be. No facades. No pretending. I just want to come home to you, Hizashi. The real you.”

He didn’t speak for a while, but the silence wasn’t cold anymore. It was heavy, fragile, like the two of you were standing on the edge of something, waiting for it to break.

Finally, he took a step closer, his hand reaching out slowly, unsure. When his fingers brushed yours, there was an undeniable connection a silent understanding that wasn’t about perfection, but about the truth.

The silence between you and Hizashi was heavy, thick with emotions that neither of you knew how to untangle. The space between you felt like it was closing in, suffocating and full of unspoken words. You both stood there, neither moving, just staring at each other, a tension building that you couldn’t shake.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, each beat a reminder of everything you were trying to say but couldn’t. You wanted to scream, to demand understanding, but it was like you were trapped in your own mind. Hizashi stood there, his golden eyes not leaving yours, his face tense, unsure of what to do next. He looked at you for a long moment, his breath shaky, but he didn’t say anything, just continued to watch you, his chest rising and falling. You could feel the pain in the air between you, and it made your throat tighten. He swallowed, his eyes darkened with some emotion you couldn’t read, but you could feel the intensity of it. Then, slowly, almost like he was unsure if you’d let him, he stepped forward.

“Can I” he started, his voice raw.

You couldn’t answer, your chest tightening with the emotions you’d been holding in, and before you knew it, he was close, pulling you into his arms. You didn’t resist, not even a little. You melted into him, your body shaking slightly with the rawness of the moment. He held you tight, his arms wrapped around you, the warmth of him filling you up.

And that’s when it hit.

The dam inside you broke. The tears came suddenly, hot and fast, as if your body had been holding them back for so long, and now it couldn’t stop. You didn’t even try to control it, didn’t even care if he saw the hurt on your face. It was all coming out, everything you had buried for so long, all the pain and frustration, the weight of your choices, your fear of losing him.

You sobbed against his chest, the sound raw and jagged, as if the very act of crying was too much, too overwhelming. Hizashi’s grip tightened around you, his hand smoothing over your back in soft, reassuring strokes. You could feel his breath on your skin, his heart beating in time with yours.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what to do anymore.”

He didn’t say anything right away. Instead, he just held you tighter, as if he was anchoring you to him, keeping you grounded in that moment, in the safety of his arms. After a long pause, he spoke, his voice low and full of gentle emotion.

“All I’ve ever wanted,” he said softly, his voice cracking just a little, “was to love you.”

The words hit you like a wave, crashing into the storm of emotions inside you, and you cried harder, the weight of them finally sinking in. You pulled him closer, your hands gripping his shirt, as if you were afraid he might slip away, like you were losing everything.

“I want to be the one who’s there for you,” he whispered into your hair, his voice trembling slightly. “I know this was probably too much it felt weird even for me, but all I’ve ever wanted is to love you. To be the guy who’s here for you, even when things are tough. I never wanted to hurt you.”

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, your face streaked with tears, your eyes red. But you saw it then the tenderness in his gaze, the raw sincerity in his expression. It was like he was showing you a side of himself that he’d been hiding, afraid you wouldn’t accept.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered again, the words coming from deep inside. “I just… I just don’t know how to make it all work. Everything is so hard and I ruined the best thing I had”

Hizashi wiped away a tear that had slipped down your cheek, his touch gentle, almost reverent. “We don’t have to have it all figured out. We just need to be real with each other. Unconditionally.”

You nodded, your chest still tight with emotion, but the tears had slowed, the weight in your heart lightened just a little by the sincerity in his words.

“I just love you,” you said, your voice thick with emotion, but steady. “Even when I don’t know what I’m doing. Even when it gets messy.”

He smiled, the smile that always made you feel like you were home. “Always,” he whispered. “I will always love you.”

𓇢𓆸☾☼

“Damn,” Midnight hummed thoughtfully, leaning forward. “That’s some real shit, Mic. But I get it. You two are a damn team.”

Hizashi looked back up at her, a genuine smile stretching across his face as he thought about you. “Exactly. It’s not just about the good times, yeah, it’s a little messy, but that’s what makes it worth it.”

Aizawa snorted, shaking his head but still smirking. “I’ll believe it when I see it last. You’re not exactly known for your ‘long term commitment’ skills.”

“Well, you’ll be seeing it, Shou,” Hizashi grinned, crossing his arms. “I’m gonna make sure of it.” He took another sip of his drink, his usual energetic self returning, albeit with a soft, fond gleam in his eyes. “I guess the real lesson here is that when you find someone worth it, you fight for it. You don’t just let it slip away because it’s hard. And hell, I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

Midnight leaned back, tapping her glass thoughtfully. “You really do love her, Mic. Who knew you had it in you?”

He smirked, now more like his usual self. “I’ve always had it in me. Just needed the right person to bring it out.”

Aizawa just sighed again, rubbing his eyes, but there was a slight, almost imperceptible hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’m still not hearing about this again, right?”

“Of course not,” Hizashi teased, raising his glass with a wink. “But maybe next time, I’ll bring her along so you can see what I’m talking about.”

“Yeah, right,” Aizawa muttered, reaching for his drink. “Just don’t bring any more of those details with you.”

Hizashi winked again, fully aware of the teasing but secretly grateful for his friends’ support, in their own way. He wasn’t just in love he was building something that mattered. And that meant everything.

Mic turned to him, utterly radiating joy. “Oh, babe, c’mon, don’t be jealous.”

Aizawa turned slowly, his exhausted, soul deep stare locking onto Mic like a curse.

“…What?”

Mic just smirked. “If you want me to kiss you on the ear too, all you gotta do is ask, babe.”

Aizawa physically recoiled, looking betrayed, while Midnight shrieked with laughter, grabbing Aizawa’s sleeve like she needed him for support.

“This is the worst night of my life,” Aizawa muttered.

“You say that every time we go out,” Midnight teased.

“Because it’s true every time.”

And yet he was still here. Because as much as he liked to complain, as much as they actively tested his patience, these were the people he’d risked his life beside. The people who knew him too well, who had been there through every high and low, and who, despite their insufferable antics, would have his back without question.

Even if they were giggling like teenagers at Mic’s hickey covered neck.