Latest Posts by miyabr0 - Page 3
BAKUGOU KATSUKI ⭑.ᐟ A SERENE CELEBRATION, MERRY CHRISTMAS
A younger Bakugou Katsuki had always been certain of his future. At 26, he’d be a man with it all: a nice house, a career as the undisputed Number One Hero, happily married, and maybe, just maybe, a little brat on the way. That was the dream his teenage self clung to—the vision he worked tirelessly to acheive.
At 26, Bakugou stood in the middle of your shared apartment, arms crossed and staring at the half-decorated Christmas tree with a deep scowl. Strings of golden lights glimmered around the tree’s branches, lengths of ribbons are accompanied by shimmering with faux flowers, and ornaments—carefully chosen by you—hung delicately in place.
The problem? The color scheme.
“What’s wrong with red and gold?”
“It’s boring,” Bakugou grumbled. “We do red and gold every year.”
“It’s classic!” you argued, turning to face him fully. “And it matches the rest of the apartment’s decor!”
He narrowed his eyes. He could not believe that he’s having this conversation with you right now.
“We could try something new for once. Like silver and blue.”
You gasped, clutching an ornament like he’d just insulted you personally—even cursed your entire bloodline and ancestors. “Silver and blue? Are you trying to make our tree look like a corporate lobby?”
“It’d look cooler than this,” he shot back, gesturing vaguely at the warm-toned ornaments. “This looks like something out of a cheesy holiday catalog.”
“And what’s wrong with cheesy?” you challenged.
Bakugou opened his mouth, then closed it. He didn’t actually have anything against cheesy—hell, he secretly loved how excited you got during the holidays. But arguing about it? That was part of the fun, if not a branch of his quality time as a love language.
“Whatever,” he muttered, grabbing a red bauble and hanging it perfectly on the tree. “You’re just scared to try something new.”
You laughed, walking over with another ornament to decorate with. “And you’re just scared because I’m right.”
As Bakugou worked to string the lights around the higher branches, you began unpacking the remaining ornaments from your storage box. You pulled out a small, slightly worn ornament in the shape of a star and held it up with a nostalgic smile.
“Do you remember this?”
He glanced down from the tree, frowning at the star in your hand. “Should I?”
No matter how much he tries to remember, he simply couldn’t recall what made this star so special that you had to ask him if he remembers it.
It’s a star, that’s for sure. A faded one at that.
You sighed, clearly unimpressed by his lack of sentimentality. “It’s the first ornament we bought together. Back when we were... what, eighteen?”
Bakugou paused. It had been a spur-of-the-moment purchase during a rare day off from hero training.
You had somehow convinced him to go with you to wander around a Christmas market, bickering over everything from what food stalls to visit to what decorations looked “cool.” You had insisted on the star, and Bakugou—reluctantly—agreed after a heated argument about which shape of star’s better.
“Are you having a flashback monologue right now?”
That brought out a scoff from him. “Fuck no. Just remembered how you were annoying as hell that day,” he muttered.
“And you were so stubborn, god. You kept saying it was pointless to buy an ornament because I didn’t even have a tree back in my dorm.”
“Yeah, and you said, ‘It's not about the tree; it's about the tradition.’ What kinda cheesy crap was that?”
“It's true, though!” you argued, accepting his hand to place the star gently on the tree’s highest branch. “And now, look. We still have it. And now we can buy all the Christmas trees we could ever want.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
As you continued decorating, the sound of your laughter and playful arguments filled the apartment, giving it a cozy home feel. By the time the tree was finished, Bakugou begrudgingly admitted to himself that it didn’t look half bad—even if it was the same colors as last year, though a decent fortune was spent for it to not be too repetitive.
It’s a good thing his work pays well (you split the cost of decorations equally; he just says that his work pays better even if yours is a lot higher than his).
You stepped back, admiring your work with a satisfied smile. “Perfect. Now, onto the Christmas Eve menu. I was thinking we could do something light this year—maybe roasted chicken and a salad?”
Bakugou groaned, collapsing onto the couch. “Salad? On Christmas Eve? No fucking way.”
“What’s wrong with salad?”
“Is your childhood a bland mess to have salad as one of the main foods? It’s boring,” he said, sticking his tongue out at you when you gave him a pointed look. “We should make something warm and filling.”
“Okay, but you’re helping.”
“Since when did I ever leave all the cookin’ to you?”
Now that he’s 26, standing in the modest yet cozy apartment he shares with you, he realizes that dreams don’t always come in the exact shape you imagine.
Sure, he doesn’t have the massive house he once envisioned, but this apartment—filled with laughter, memories, and the faint scent of your favorite candles—is more of a home than anything his younger self could have dreamed up. The framed photos of your milestones, the shelves of books, and even a few of his hero equipment with the tools scattered on his office—it’s all perfect in a way he didn’t know he needed.
And his career? Well, Dynamight isn’t the Number One Hero yet, but he’s close. Close enough that his younger self would sneer but grudgingly admit it’s not bad.
He’s built a solid name for himself, and he’s done it his way. His rank might not be where he wanted it to be at this age, but he’s learned something more valuable than being the best—he’s learned the importance of balance.
The last part of that dream? The wife? He looks toward the kitchen, where you’re humming some off-tune melody, beginning to prepare what Bakugou’s about to cook with for dinner. The sight of you, so comfortable and almost glowing in your shared space, makes his chest tighten.
He must have a heart problem by this point because it comes at him at the most unexpected times whenever he sees you.
No, he doesn’t have a wife yet. But he’s about to change that.
He’s been thinking about it for weeks now.
He’s got the ring—it’s hidden in the drawer under his socks, where he knows you won’t go snooping.
He knows you’ll say yes, but he would be damned if he didn’t admit that it made him a bit nervous. He knows because you look at him the same way he looks at you: like the world would become lighter and easier to conquer as long as you have the other.
But still, he waits.
Not because he’s unsure, but because he wants the timing to be perfect. Not rushed, not forced. He’s learned to be patient over the years.
“Kats, help with cutting the onions, please!”
“Yeah, yeah. Comin’!”
Soon, he’ll drop the question. He’s not in a rush. This is your life together, and it’s not perfect, but it is just right—chaotic, loud, and full of love. And when the time comes, he’ll make sure you know just how much you mean to him.
But you already know that, don’t you?
SEUMYO © 2024, PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.
Lying To Himself
Content: in which toji is left alone and how he deals with your temporary absence
You have to leave for two weeks, something about a mission in another city. Your boyfriend, Toji, swears it'll be okay, even insists that time will pass by in a blink of an eye.
“‘m not a fucking child, ma. I’ll be fine. Just take care, yeah?”
And so, you peck him on his lips and wave goodbye before you get in the car. Then you’re disappearing in the distance. Toji shrugs, going back in feeling pretty excited to have the house to himself for two weeks — this has never happened before. As he sits on the couch, bottle of beer in one hand and tv remote on the other, he thinks about all the things he can do now.
The toilet seat can stay up, the bins will be full for longer, same goes for the dirty dishes in the sink, and he can watch whatever he wants; no more of those sappy romcoms with predictable plots and cheesy lines.
“’s gonna be fun,” he mutters, a growing grin on his face.
A couple days pass in relative silence, he stays out late, sleeps till noon and eats all the junk you’ve banned from the house. Toji cooks all the steak he wants and leaves the beer bottles to collect dust on the coffee table. And he accepts every invitation from his buddies to go out for drinks, watch basketball at the bar, and plays a couple games too.
He stays up all night, on the evenings he's not getting stupid drunk, playing videogames -- the violent ones you cringe at. During the day, he walks around the place in just his boxers, sometimes not even that, and it's liberating. All a man needs is to be free to balls naked in their own kitchen.
"You're not missing her at all?" Shiu asks, smoke blowing in his face as they stand in the back alley, leaning against the wall of the bar.
Toji snorts. "What am I? Five years old? I can last a couple weeks without being sappy."
His friend gives him a look, half of amused, half disbelieving and a hundred percent smug. None of them miss the death grip he has on his phone, the way his knee is bouncing, and how he isn't even looking at the hot chicks that sway their asses as they walk by.
It’s been great. Really fucking great.
You haven’t been texting much. Sure, you check in here and there, letting him know you’re alright, you’re safe, and makings sure he’s watered your plants. However, there are rarely any opportunities for phone calls longer than five minutes, no FaceTime either, and sometimes he goes to sleep without a ‘goodnight’ from you.
It’s fine.
At least, he can sleep at whatever time he wants without you whining about needing cuddles.
More days pass just like that.
And now he’s rarely leaving the house, finding his drunk friends boring, obnoxious loud, and suddenly he's realised they’re kinda fucking stupid. He starts to get sick of all the steak and fried chicken and takeaway, and instead he’ll text you for the recipe of your lasagne or that smoothie you make him in the morning that’s always greener than the last.
His feet tap on the floor when you don’t reply straight away. And when his phone lights up, he practically dives for it and grips it tight in his palm, screen threatening to crack, when it’s not from you.
“God fucking dammit, Shiu. Don’t fucking talk to me if it’s not important.”
The movies he’s been dying to watch are pretty shit. There’s no depth, no proper pacing, and the dialogue’s cheesy as fuck. Usually, you’d throw popcorn at the screen and complain about all those things, but he finds that he has to mutter them to himself for white noise. Even smirks when he thinks he got it exactly right, guessing what you’d say.
“She’d totally find that shit stupid. And that blood looks fake. It’s like they didn’t even try.”
Most of the phone calls on his history log are from him, more reds than greens. What the fuck have they got you doing over there anyways?
When you do reply to his ‘g’night’ and ‘hey, sleep well?’, he’ll have a go at you for taking so damn long. It’s just fucking ridiculous that you’re clearly sleeping well when he has to hit the gym and tire himself out to even get an hour of shut eye. Sometimes, he can’t even get any and he just paces the length of the living room waiting for a notification from you to pop up.
“Fucking come on! Y'r phone better be dead or something.”
Toji hates having dinner on the table; the seat opposite him is empty, the placemat bare and he feels a freaky fucking soreness in his chest. When that happens, he never finishes his dinner. Must be a symptom of early heart disease. Gotta talk to the doctors about that.
Eventually, you find time to speak to him for an hour, recounting all the crazy things you’ve seen and had to do. He doesn’t interrupt, he just grunts here and there, not even really listening but he urges you to keep talking when there’s a pause, like you’re unsure if you’re talking too much. And when you try to turn the conversation on him, asking about his day, he gives one word answers and then throws you another question.
“Yeah?” He grunts. “What else? Speak up, ma. Wanna hear ya. D’ya go to that shop? Yeah? Y’ buy anything? Send me a picture.”
The guys at work know better than to open their fat mouths around him when he turns up with an extra wrinkle and a ticking in his jaw. Toji is somehow even more sadistic and violent and eager for blood. Even finally accepts their invitation to go out for drinks and drowns himself in the extra strong shit. Assuming he just woke up on the wrong side of the bed, they don’t question his sour mood.
But what they don’t know is that you texted to let him know you’re staying another week.
Fucking texted.
Didn’t even get to hear it from your own voice.
He buries himself in more work and stays at the gym for even longer, pushing his body so far, his mind quiets down and he don’t gotta think about the fact that he’s started sleeping on your side of the bed, that the house is losing your scent, and that divot on the couch where you always sat has flattened out.
The day comes, though, when you’re finally returning home.
“Y’ sure? Not gonna flake again? Be fucking sure, ma. Alright, get back safe.”
Toji throws all the rubbish out, washes the dishes and dries them, double checks that the toilet seat is down, and he’s followed your recipe for beef stew to the letter — it’s cooking in the oven, and it looks fucking great. Even exfoliated in the shower like you’ve been asking him to, almost took off an entire layer of skin. He doesn’t want to admit he feels pretty fucking fresh.
The door handle rattles.
He sits up. And then stands. Walks over to the front door, arms crossing and then uncrossing.
You’re here.
“Hey, Toji—“
Your greeting is smothered in his chest as he threatens to suffocate you with the hardest bear hug in the whole world. And though he’d never hurt you, if you weren’t a sorcerer, you’d have been in big trouble.
“Y’ hungry? Or y’ wanna shower first?”
His hands are all over you, lifting your chin to search your face for any scratches, even squishes your cheeks to be sure, and he’s patting you down for bruises or just to make sure all your limbs are intact. There’s a frown on his lips and it’s pretty darn cute.
“Aw, Toji, baby. Did you miss me?”
“No.”
You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re not a child, blah blah blah.”
Walking past him to take your shoes off, hang your coat and roll your suitcase to the side, you’re inhaling the air and moaning about the delicious food in the oven. Oh, God. You’ve been craving homemade food for so long now. You might actually die if you don’t eat.
“Come here.” Your eyes dart to him, still standing by the doorway, fists clenching and unclenching. Toji looks furious. You look closer. No, he looks…embarrassed? “Said come here, ma.”
“Why?” You ask, head titling in curiosity and slight suspicion.
He grunts. “What? I gotta spell it out for ya?”
Laughing, you tap your foot on the ground and retort back, “Yeah, you might because you need to have a good reason from keeping me from both a good shower and a warm meal.”
Toji rolls his eyes and stalks over to you, yanking you back to his chest so he can wrap his arms around you and keep you still. It’s much softer than before, but you feel the same sense of passion, something that verges on desperation.
It’s almost like…
No.
It can’t be.
Oh, but when you feel his face bury itself in your neck and you hear that long inhale, followed by a deep groan vibrating through his chest, you’re absolutely sure.
Toji missed you.
An overwhelming feeling of love fills you, so does a sense of victory, and you just hug him back, inhaling deeply too. He smells like home, like reluctant cuddles, pats on the ass, and early morning sex. You thought you’d have the most trouble in the two weeks, which turned into three, but as it turns out, he didn’t fare much better.
Though he’d never admit it with his own mouth, his body betrays him.
Toji doesn’t let you get very far without a hand on you somehow, whether that’s a hand on your thigh as you eat dinner side by side, instead of across from each other, or you sitting on his lap as you watch the movie you want to watch. He even waits on the toilet lid as you shower, though that only lasts a couple minutes before he’s stripping and joining you.
“Y’r not washing y’r hair right,” he tuts.
Getting into bed is even worse because he’s practically lying on top of you the whole night, still sniffing your neck, and with his hands exploring your body. Not really in a sexual way, which is odd for him, but as if he just wants to feel you. He wants to feel your warmth, your softness, and reassure himself you’re home.
Soon, he’s out cold and you mumble a goodnight against his forehead.
He wakes up feeling completely refreshed, like a newborn, stretching and grinning about getting ready with the day, and frowns when you’re still fast asleep. Part of him wants to make sure you’re getting your rest, but that part doesn’t win for very long and the much bigger part is shaking you awake.
“Come on, ma. Fucking bored here. Wake up, yeah? Let’s get some breakfast. Wanna talk to ya.”
And when you do wake up, grumbling at how loud he’s being, he ignores the glares you’re giving and the swatting of his hands. Toji gives you a rare, wide, toothy smile and he says,
“There’s my gorgeous girl. Good morning, baby.”
Yeah, this man totally missed you.
gojo reminds me of 2010 justin bieber
they’re literally the same person HELP
“gojo-sensei.”
megumi calls him softly. a rare tenderness underneath his stoic nature. the annoyance gone towards the man who raised him for the last twenty years.
a smile quirk up on satoru's lips. amused at megumi's surprising behavior towards him. he didn't say anything. remaining silent as he continued to speak.
“things happened a lot and i thought, although you're going to be annoying about it.” megumi swallows like his throat had gone dry before continuing. “i'm a father now.”
you slowly gave your baby to your husband. megumi gentle cradled the newborn in his arms before showing it to his teacher. “you're going to be a pain in the ass if i told you but meet, satoru.”
gojo's eyes widened. a chuckle escaping his lips at he looks at megumi. it seems like yesterday megumi was so little and now mature. a father now.
the baby let out a gentle coo. his eyes that are yet to open fluttered. “ (y/n) and i decided to name our kid from you.” megumi looks behind you and you smiled. resting your jaw in his shoulder as you caress the head of your child with megumi. “it's all thanks to you. pestering me and (y/n) and we have a kid now. i know i wasn't a good kid but thank you for the years you've raised me and tsumiki. looking out for me and (y/n). please do continue looking out for us and to our child.”
“now, now — megumi. don't get too emotional on me but —” a tear pooled at the corner of gojo's eyes. threatening to fall at any moment now. touched at megumi's words. “after all these years, you've gotten kind at me!” he dramatically speak. faking to faint before returning to his relaxed expression. “don't worry about it, you can always count on me.” he smiles. ruffling megumi's hair.
the wind gently blew in the open air. the leaves swaying on the branches and megumi feels light, contented. staring at the tombstone where his sensei was laid to rest after the shibuya incident. it's been years and the first thing he did after weeks of you giving birth was to introduce his child to his sensei, who stepped up as his father.
megumi didn't forget him. where everyone moved on and continued with their lives, megumi didn't forget his sensei who was dear to him. he wouldn't admit it.
“thank you for everything, gojo-sensei.”
new choso illustration by gege 💜
the purple theme and flowers choso is holding are so significant it represents admiration and honor but also that a death came too soon. purple was the perfect choice for him.
Frowny Face
Summary: Nobara and Itadori try to figure out the similarities between Megumi and his son. They manage to find that the infamous Zen'in frowny face is a dominant trait.
Tags: Megumi x F!Reader, Humor, Fluff, SFW, 1200 wc
Notes: I had this drafted for weeks. After seeing the epilogue and the grandkids, wish I had posted sooner, I felt there wasn't a more appropriate time for this. Happy belated-birthday 'gumi.
“No, no, look again, he definitely has his eyes,” Itadori points out.
Nobara lowers her face towards the baby currently blinking at the two of them from the comfort of his plush crib. Megumi stands off to the side, arms loosely crossed over his chest and an increasingly spreading scowl as his two friends, if he could call them that right now, poke and prod at his kid.
Nobara was the first one to point out how much his child was growing and starting to resemble his parents before noticing that his new emerging features leaned heavily to your side of the family, leading to this search to pick out their similarities.
“I’m not seeing it,” Nobara disagrees, failing to find the hint of dark blue that Itadori swears he can see in the baby’s right pupil. To her, all she can see is black all the way through both eyes, like the majority of the Zen’in clan geezers from those centuries old family books she helped Maki trash; unfortunately, this didn't include Megumi so they couldn't even count it. With a hand on her hip, she turns to Megumi. “Sheesh, he doesn’t resemble you at all. The misses really said copy and paste, huh?”
Megumi huffs, about three seconds away from shooing them into the kitchen where you’re making dinner. That’s until Itadori pipes up, “Sure he does.” And for a second, Megumi thinks they’ll finally drop this silly discussion. “He has the same grumpy face his dad does.”
Megumi sighs. He should’ve known better.
“Now that you mention it,” Kugisaki can barely contain her laughter as she reaches into the crib and gently pinches a chubby cheek. Your son makes no expression at her playful squeeze or poke to his belly. His tiny legs kick the same way any other baby would when tickled, but the flat line on his face refuses to budge. “This is the least smiley baby I’ve ever seen,” she concludes while Itadori nods in agreement as he goes in to tickle the baby’s foot – just to make sure.
Megumi knows the two idiots don’t mean any harm by it, being the person to receive the brunt end of their jokes and observations over his life, the kind that can only be made out of innocent obliviousness and overconfidence, but he can’t help but feel more defensive when it’s his kid.
“Do you two have nothing better to do than to shame a baby?” he gripes. “It’s late, go home.”
“Oh, lighten up, we were only teasing. He’s adorable,” Nobara dismisses as she notes how much bigger her future-partner-in-crime has become over the past few months. Looking back on it, she can’t recall any time she’s heard him laugh or much of anything. Sure, she’s seen him get fussy while babysitting, but she’s rarely heard him cry. “But you have to admit he isn’t very expressive…for a baby,” she mentions with a hint of concern, concern that isn’t needed from Megumi’s point of view.
“Maybe you two just aren’t funny,” he says, watching the way Itadori attempts to get his son to laugh by making silly faces; it results in little more than a fist full of pink hair getting tugged.
“I’m being serious. I mean…” she tilts her head, trying to word it delicately. “Does he smile at all?”
Megumi nods. “He smiles.”
“Does he?” Itadori presses, craning his neck as he struggles to free his hair.
“He does,” Megumi repeats, his eyes softening at the memory of that innocent and joyful giggle he first heard like an unimaginable dream come true. “It’s just when you’re not around.”
Nobara rubs at the back of her neck apologetically. “Sorry. I didn’t mean any offense by it. He’s a good baby,” she compliments before moving to help free Itadori’s hair from his iron-like grip. “And strong too,” she adds, looks at him, and clicks her tongue when she once again fails to find the bit of blue Itadori mentioned earlier, but it provides an opportunity to cut through the awkwardness they unwittingly created. She fakes a sigh. “Unlike your genes. I don’t think they even had a battle plan.”
“Very funny,” he puffs out between their chuckles then he hears another voice coming from the direction of the kitchen.
“That’s not true,” you say as you pad into the room with a milk bottle in hand, the grin on your face trembling as you try not to laugh with them. “They have a lot in common.” You begin to list off on your fingers. “They both like the same fruit and animals, he really likes books when you read to him, and do you think his hair maintains itself?”
Nobara breathes out an "oh" at your explanation. “So, he gets mom's good looks to balance out dad's aloof personality? Makes sense."
Your resistance breaks as you let out a giggle, ignoring the pout on your husband’s face. “Are you guys staying for dinner?”
“No, we should really get going,” Nobara states with a small yawn. “Mission reports won’t write themselves.”
You nod, handing Megumi the bottle of milk as you walk the others to the door and wave them off.
“Have a good night,” Itadori calls out while Nobara makes you promise to phone her tomorrow and to come hang out if you’re free.
Locking the door, you walk back in and head towards the crib.
“You really shouldn’t entertain them when they get like that," Megumi reminds you.
“You know they only do it to mess with you. It’s how they show they like you.”
“You mean they’re idiots.”
“Yet you open the door right up every time they come over.”
Megumi gives you a doubtful look. “Not by choice. It’d be like trying to stop a rampaging bull from barging in,” Megumi states, and you let out an amused huff.
No matter how much he complains and comments that they haven't changed one bit after leaving school, he enjoys them. You remember how excited he seemed when Itadori called to ask if it was okay to pop in since they were nearby. Well, excited in that he immediately started to straighten out the house even though he had already cleaned earlier that morning. It's cute little quirks that often gives him away and the ones that make you like him even more.
“If it makes you feel better, I think you have a great personality and good looks,” you compliment with a brush of your hand over his hair. You look down at your son, who still seem unmoved by all the events of the evening. It makes you laugh because Nobara and Itadori were right. Your son does have Megumi’s ever-dull facial expression.
“And both my boys have the cutest frowny faces,” you say, holding up your son to your face to nuzzle his nose. As you pull him away, your eyes brighten at the wide smile that flashes on his face followed by a warm giggle. “Hello to you too,” you coo and cuddle him again, causing another fit of giggles to fill the room, and the sound resonates in his chest and makes him forget any problems that arose on the way to getting to this point in his life.
“You forgot to tell them one thing,” Megumi says, coming forward to kiss your temple. As he told the others, his son does smile, and Megumi does too. “They both smile when they see mommy.”
떠오른 달 그 위로 / 이 밤을 날아 crazy over you
megumi, yuuji, yuuta, and toge boyfriend headcannons!
notes: gn!reader (no pronouns specified), 400ish words each, part two of my ramblings with @ffinnamon, this is not proofread please forgive any mistakes lmao, 圣诞快乐！happy holidays everyone :)), title from enhypen - moonstruck
━━ boyfriend!megumi who doesn’t confess to you - gojo does. it only takes one offhand comment from your teacher as he scrolls through his phone, snickering to himself when you begin sprinting towards the dorms
━━ boyfriend!megumi who smiles softly when you confess. your words jumble together as you rush to tell him that you like him too. you only stop when he softly chuckles, quietly reminding you to calm down and take a breath. he hopes that his flushed cheeks don’t look as red as they feel as he clings to the remains of his nonchalant reputation
━━ boyfriend!megumi who always carries a digital camera in his pocket. you rarely notice, but he pulls it out at random, taking a few moments to snap candid photos of his favourite moments: when you kneel down to pet a stray cat wandering through the streets of kyoto; how bright your smile is when you beat yuuji in a sparring match; snowflakes decorate your hair on winter days when you drag him outside for a walk despite the cold
━━ boyfriend!megumi who kisses you first. it’s another moment where your beauty shines through despite the world around you. he’s always worried - always on alert for another curse or waiting for a sign of danger. but your touch sends shivers racing down his spine. your smile is outshines the sun. and when your lips meet his own, the weight of the world doesn’t feel so heavy anymore
━━ boyfriend!megumi whose friends are constantly teasing him. yuuji has enough grace to bite his tongue when he realizes the implication of his words, but nobara kicks him beneath the table when he rolls his eyes, swearing, “we’re just trying to help!”
━━ boyfriend!megumi who lets you take care of him. he sighs as you tuck the blankets snugly around his body, forcing him to lay down and stay in his dorm. he swears your fussing is annoying, but you meet no resistance when you force him to lay down, complete with a new box of tissues and a full water bottle by his side. “get some rest, megumi,” you say as you tug his curtains closed. “you can’t exercise any curses unless you’re feeling healthy”
━━ boyfriend!megumi who opens up to you. his shoulder just barely brushes against yours as he moves to sit beside you. he doesn’t move away when you reach over, gingerly taking his hand into your own. your fingertips stroke against the bruises decorating his knuckles when he quietly speaks. “i had a sister,” he begins. “her name was tsumiki”
━━ boyfriend!yuuji who doesn’t have any experience with dating and never wanted to. he had never paid attention to gossip from his peers. he lives life in the moment, too caught up with the experiences of right now to worry about labels
━━ boyfriend!yuuji who sheepishly smiles when you ask him what your relationship status is. he casually shrugs as he turns to face you, washing your worries away easily. “honestly i’m not sure.” he shoves his hands into his pockets. “but i like you. a lot”
━━ boyfriend!yuuji who loves to watch movies with you. he curls up against your side, his arm thrown lazily around your waist and his legs half entangled with yours. he smiles brightly when he leans upwards just enough to press a chaste kiss against the skin of your cheek. “i bet you’ll love this one,” he says
━━ boyfriend!yuuji whose dates are almost always impulsive. he’s never been good at planning. outings consist of him excitedly tugging on your wrist as he leads you in the direction of a new sushi restaurant he hadn’t noticed before or closing his eyes and pointing to a poster to pick which movie you’ll watch
━━ boyfriend!yuuji who kisses you first. his hands clumsily rest on your shoulders, awkwardly holding you close. his lips feel chapped against your own. the kiss itself is short and a little messy. admittedly, he’s never done this before. but he makes up for it when he leans in again, this time slower, and all but melts into the comforting feeling of your touch
━━ boyfriend!yuuji who acts impulsively. he charges headfirst into danger with no regard for personal safety, focused only on saving everyone around him. his hands are littered in bruises and his uniform is soaked in blood, but none of that matters when he’s standing in front of you, still breathing. “i’m sorry,” he whispers. “i’ll be more careful. i promise”
━━ boyfriend!yuuji who brings you to his grandfather’s grave. the soles of your shoes sink into the muddy earth. you silently watch as he carefully places a small bouquet of flowers beside the headstone, whispering a few words beneath his breath
━━ boyfriend!yuuji who snores. loudly. it’s almost impossible to sleep beside him because he’s so loud. his body sprawls across the provided twin sized mattress like a starfish; his legs threaten to fall off of the bed. you chuckle softly at the sight as you lean down. he doesn’t even stir when you brush a few stray strands of hair away from his face. “good night, yuuji”
━━ boyfriend!yuuta who is oblivious to his feelings at first. he annoys all his friends with his rambling about you and your small habits. toge sighs when he derails the walk home to buy a keychain for a movie you like or to buy you a snack from a nearby vending machine. despite everything, he doesn’t realize how deep his feelings really are until maki swats at his shoulder, huffing as she rolls her eyes. “you have a crush, dumbass”
━━ boyfriend!yuuta who confesses with a bouquet of flowers and a sweet love letter. he anxiously fidgets with his hands as you accept the gift, waiting with his heart in his throat and butterflies in his stomach as he waits for your reaction. life seems to pause until you pull him into a tight hug, whispering a soft, “i’d love to go on a date with you”
━━ boyfriend!yuuta who refuses to let you walk home alone. he intertwines his fingers with your own as you move side-by-side down the small sidewalk. your quiet reassurances that he doesn’t have to join you all the way home are silenced when he gives your hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “but i want to,” he smiles
━━ boyfriend!yuuta who calls you everyday when he’s away. even if he has to wake up in the middle of the night, he makes sure you both talk at least once a day. your conversations can last for hours as you talk about anything that comes to mind
━━ boyfriend!yuuta who is constantly worried about your well-being. he constantly fusses over you: he all but forces a pair of thick wool gloves over your hands in the winter; he insists you visit shoko after every mission; at even the smallest signs you’re catching a cold he begs gojo to cancel your missions and makes you soup
━━ boyfriend!yuuta who wants to kiss you so badly but always chickens out at the last second. it’s embarrassing, really, how he gets so nervous around you. his face flushes a deep shade of red and his hands shake at his sides as he curls his fingers into fists in the hopes that you won’t notice his nerves
━━ boyfriend!yuuta who clings to you every time you kiss him. his hands rest gingerly against your cheeks or fist tightly into the fabric of your sweater - anything to keep you close to him. his eyes flutter shut as he melts into you; he’s never the first to pull away
━━ boyfriend!toge who confesses with a handwritten note and a bag of your favourite snacks. he awkwardly stares at the dirt covering his shoes as you read it. his handwriting is a little messy and the ink is smudged in a few places, but you accept it with a bright smile nonetheless
━━ boyfriend!toge who laughs loudly when you kiss him for the first time. his face brightens in an undeniable blush as he pulls you into a tight hug. he presses another kiss against your cheek and hides his face in the crook of your neck. he never mentions it, but there’s a big smile on his face for the rest of the day
━━ boyfriend!toge who is a little insecure about his speech. it’s not easy just being able to communicate in origini ingredients. but you always notice when he falls more silent than usual and make sure to ease his worries as much as you can
━━ boyfriend!toge who shows his affection through quality time. during your lunch breaks or down time he’ll occasionally move to sit beside you. his shoulder just barely brushes against your own as he silently watches you gossip with maki or yell out words of encouragement that make megumi scoff
━━ boyfriend!toge who smiles the brightest you have ever seen when you hesitantly show him the first sentences you had learned in sign language. his face flushes almost immediately; blood spreads across his cheeks and ears, painting his features a soft shade of pink
━━ boyfriend!toge who only exposes his face around you. your fingertips gently trace against the deep indents on his skin. his eyes flutter shut and a soft sigh escapes him as he leans further into your touch
━━ boyfriend!toge who hates when you go on missions. his hands gently grip onto your wrist as he pulls you into a tight hug. he leans his head into the crook of your neck, peppering faint kisses against any skin he can reach. he stares into your eyes when he finally pulls away, doing his best as he silently reminds you to be safe
━━ boyfriend!toge who teaches you how to play his favourite video games. he sits behind you with his arms wrapped gingerly around your waist, guiding your hands on the controller or showing you which route to take. sometimes yuuta or yuuji will join and the night will end with all of you asleep in a pile on the couch
━━ boyfriend!toge who hates waking up in the morning. his arms snake around your waist, pulling you back towards your bed as he curls his body against you. he blinks up at you with tired eyes, whispering a quiet “fish flakes”
taglist (open! send an ask/dm to be added): @ffinnamon @vaxmpi @sad-darksoul @kamote-kuneho @dog55teeth
if you liked this fic, please consider leaving a like, comment, feedback, or reblogging !! and if you want to support me, check out my jjk masterlist <33
I can't pay this month's rent prank on my boyfriend!sukuna
You leaned against the kitchen counter, casually scrolling through your phone while Sukuna towered by the stove, shirtless as usual, making breakfast. His broad shoulders and tattooed arms flexed with every movement, the sheer size of him making the spacious kitchen feel small.
You smirked, the mischievous idea popping into your head. It was time to mess with him.
“Hey, babe?” you started, trying to sound unsure.
“Hm?” he grunted, not looking up from the pan as he flipped the eggs with precision.
“So... I can’t pay my share of the rent this month. I’m really sorry,” you said, putting on your best apologetic voice.
The spatula stopped mid-air. Slowly, he turned to face you, his crimson eyes narrowing. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I just... don’t have enough this month,” you said with a dramatic sigh. “Things are tight, you know?”
Sukuna’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief, and then he straightened to his full, intimidating height. The sight of him—looking thoroughly offended—would’ve had anyone else running for cover.
“Tight?” he repeated, his deep voice dripping with incredulity. “What the hell do you mean ‘tight’? Since when have you ever paid rent?!”
You bite the inside of your cheek, struggling to keep a straight face. “Well, I thought maybe I should start contributing, but—”
“Contributing?!” he barked. He threw the spatula down with a clatter, crossing the room in two long strides to stand right in front of you.
You looked up at him, blinking innocently, while he glared down at you, his massive frame practically eclipsing the light. “Let me get this straight,” he said, his tone sharp. “You think you need to contribute? To my building? The one I OWN?”
You shrugged, barely containing your laughter. “Well, yeah...”
“Y/N,” he growled, his jaw clenching. “You’ve never paid for a single thing in your life. Not rent, not groceries, not even the goddamn Netflix subscription. What’s next? You’re gonna tell me you’re struggling to pay the water bill?”
You blinked again. “How much is water?”
“Oh my god,” he groaned, running a hand through his pink hair like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You wouldn’t last two seconds paying bills. Why the hell would you even say something like this?”
“I just feel bad sometimes, you know?” you said, tilting her head to look up at him.
His expression softened for half a second before he snapped, “You feel bad?! Woman, do I look like I need your rent money?!” He pointed to himself. “Do I?!”
You shook her head, her lips twitching.
“That’s what I thought,” he muttered. He placed his hands on either side of the counter, trapping you between his arms. “Are you in trouble? Huh? Do you need money? Tell me right now, or so help me—”
“I’m not in trouble!” you laughed, unable to hold it in anymore. “It’s a prank!”
Sukuna froze. “What?”
You were laughing so hard you could barely get the words out. “It’s a prank, babe. I was messing with you!”
The room went silent except for the sound of your giggles. Sukuna just stared at you, blinking slowly, his face unreadable. Then he took a step back and ran his hands over his face with a groan. “Unbelievable. I just had a damn heart attack, and for what? For a prank?!”
“I’m sorry!” you said, still laughing.
“You’re lucky I don’t throw you out the window,” he grumbled, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting back a smile. “You’re driving me insane, woman.”
Before you could respond, he leaned down and grabbed your face, pulling you into a searing kiss that left you breathless. His lips were rough, his grip firm, and the sheer intensity of it made your toes curl. When he finally pulled back, you were left staring up at him, dazed.
“For the record,” he muttered, his forehead resting against yours, “you’re never paying for a damn thing. Got it?”
“Got it,” you whispered, your cheeks flushed.
<><><><><> <><><><><><><>
Later that day, you posted a short clip of their interaction online, the internet exploded to say the least.
“NOT HIM BEING OFFENDED THAT SHE EVEN MENTIONED RENT.”
“That kiss at the end??? Ma’am, are you alive?”
“He looks like he eats nails for breakfast but acts like her stress is the enemy. I need this.”
“WHO LET THIS MAN BE SO BIG AND SO SWEET AT THE SAME TIME???”
“He looks like he could throw her and the fridge out of the house, but instead he kisses her like he’ll die without her???”
“No, but the way he said, ‘Do I look like I need your rent money?’ with his whole chest? That’s a MAN.”
“He’s got big ‘pays the bills without letting you lift a finger’ energy. And I mean ALL the bills.”
“This man is built like a WWE champion, but the only thing he’s body-slamming is the stress in her life.”
“He’s definitely rich-rich. Like, ‘owns the whole building and forgot about it’ rich.”
“Imagine pranking the kind of man who doesn’t even look at the price when he buys stuff. Brave.”
“He looks like he’ll fight anyone who even breathes wrong around you. Please prank him again; we need more content.”
It didn’t stop there. People started creating memes:
A still of Sukuna glaring down at Y/N with the caption: “When she says she can’t pay rent, but you literally own the entire block.”
Another image of him pointing to himself, yelling, “DO I LOOK LIKE I NEED YOUR RENT MONEY?” paired with, “Me when my broke friends try to Venmo me for $2.”
Work Rivals with Office Siren!Suguru Getou
Getou Suguru is the worst.
The absolute worst. He makes your life a living hell, your job a warzone, and worst of all, he’s the most maddeningly attractive man you’ve ever laid eyes on.
You hadn’t always been mortal enemies. In fact, your first impression of him was something out of a cheesy rom-com.
On your first day as a junior accountant, you stopped by a local coffee shop to grab a medium, hot, cream, no sugar. The moment your order was called, both you and a sharply dressed man stepped up to the counter.
The first thing you noticed was his height—towering enough to make you tilt your head back. On the way up, you took in his impeccably tailored navy suit, crisp white shirt, and slim black tie. His sleeves were neatly cuffed at the wrists, revealing a deep bronze complexion adorned with a flashy silver Rolex and a few understated rings.
When your gaze finally reached his face, your breath hitched. He was striking. Long black hair tied back in a half-up style, sharp cheekbones, and a strong jaw. Black gauges and a gleaming silver eyebrow piercing accentuated his features, and a pair of rectangular glasses slipped slightly down the bridge of his nose. He eyed you with an air of irritation, violet eyes glinting behind the glare of the café lights.
“Is this yours?” he asked, gesturing to the coffee being held out by an increasingly impatient barista.
You had a perfectly charming response prepared in your head. But as luck would have it, your brain short-circuited, and what came out instead was less… ideal.
“Why else would I be here? Course it’s mine. It’s my first day, and you’re holding me up.”
The sharpness in your tone made you wince internally, but you couldn’t backtrack now. Crossing your arms, you tilted your head, doubling down.
His brows knit together as he huffed. “Could’ve done without the attitude. Just take it and go.”
You grabbed the coffee with a muttered, “Whatever,” and turned on your heel, heading for the door. But before it swung shut, you glanced over your shoulder at the disgruntled stranger. At least you’d never have to see him again, right?
Wrong.
When you arrived at work and sat through the orientation, you focused on staying out of trouble. That plan went out the window when you were led to your cubicle—right across from a familiar face.
Your guide tapped him on the shoulder. He turned, and when his eyes met yours, surprise flickered for the briefest moment before being replaced by irritation.
“—and this is Getou Suguru, your cubicle neighbor. It’s also his first day as a junior accountant, so don’t be shy. This job can get pretty isolating, so building relationships is important,” your senior said cheerfully.
Forcing a polite smile, you extended your hand, hoping he’d let your earlier encounter slide. His handshake was firm, his larger hand warm against yours.
“Nice to meet you,” he said smoothly. “Looking forward to working with you.”
Your senior walked off, satisfied. But as soon as he was out of earshot, Getou grabbed a bottle of hand sanitizer, pumping an aggressive amount into his palm.
“Enjoy sharing the same title,” he said coolly. “Soon, I’ll be your superior, coffee-girl.”
He spun his chair around, strands of sleek black hair whipping over his shoulder.
That was six years ago.
Time had not softened the animosity between you two. If anything, it had calcified into a rivalry so intense it pushed both of you to climb the ranks faster than anyone expected. You were both promoted to Corporate Controller—a position that typically took eight years to reach—on the same day.
It was supposed to be a single-person role, but after the CFO reviewed your identical performance stats, he decided to make an exception. Now, you and Getou are seated on the 36th floor of the company’s sleek high-rise, with matching titles engraved on silver plaques outside your offices.
The only thing separating you is a glass wall, through which you exchange daily glares.
Competition fuels everything. From routine tasks to major projects, you turn every assignment into a wager. The CFO, Nanami Kento, has become your unofficial referee. At first, he admired your drive. Over time, though, even his legendary patience has begun to fray.
“Getou’s management style is 2% less efficient than mine,” you declare during a performance review, presenting your meticulously crafted charts.
“Her sales plan took a 0.5% dip last quarter,” Getou counters with his own spreadsheet. “In hindsight, my proposal conserved more resources.”
“His data compression wastes company time!”
“Her budget oversight missed the social media revenue I proposed—”
“You stole that idea from me!”
“SHUT. UP.”
Nanami’s voice, usually calm and measured, reverberates through the room. He stands abruptly, the tension radiating off him like heat.
“I cannot take another second of your childish bickering,” he snaps, slamming a hand onto his desk. “You’re both brilliant, hardworking, and utterly insufferable. You’ve turned this office into a battlefield, and frankly, I’m this close to quitting just to escape you.”
The words hang heavy in the air.
If Nanami’s outburst isn’t enough to make it clear something has to change, the rest of the accounting branch soon makes it crystal. Your colleagues have begun avoiding you and Getou like the plague, steering clear of the drama that follows wherever you go.
Well, everyone in the accounting branch has turned against you and Getou—except for one person: your one and only work friend, Gojo Satoru.
Gojo, the accounting manager, ranks just below you. He is a walking billboard for excess, always dressed to the nines in custom Dolce & Gabbana baby-blue suits that match his piercing cerulean eyes. Every month, he carries a new designer briefcase, each more luxurious than the last, and you have yet to see him repeat one.
He wasn’t just anyone. Gojo is—or was—the heir to a global media empire. His great-grandfather had founded the conglomerate, which owned everything from cable networks to film studios and streaming platforms. But seven years ago, the Gojo family had severed ties with their infamous black sheep.
Gojo had always been a loose cannon, his antics splashed across tabloids with alarming regularity. When he was finally caught in a particularly compromising situation—a sleazy nightclub rendezvous involving a rival conglomerate’s heir and a bottle girl—his family decided they’d had enough. The Gojo media machine couldn’t suppress the scandal, and rather than shell out another fortune trying to salvage their name, they cut him off.
He went from riches to rags—or as close to “rags” as someone with Gojo’s charisma and wits could get. He clawed his way up the ladder at your company, and while his charm earned him plenty of allies, his ego alienated just as many. That left you as the only one who could truly tolerate him. Perhaps it was your shared arrogance, though yours stemmed from your relentless rivalry with Getou, while his was… well, Gojo was just Gojo.
Which is why you’re currently in a supply closet, your back pressed against the metallic shelving as Gojo shakes your shoulders like a madman, his usually smug face looking uncharacteristically panicked.
“You have got to end this feud with Getou,” he hisses, his bright blue eyes practically glowing in the dim lighting. “It’s spiraling out of control. The whole department’s gone to hell. Nanami’s snappy, everyone’s overworked, and the accountants are making more mistakes than ever because they’re so stressed.”
He runs a hand through his shock of white hair, sighing dramatically before adding, “You two have the worst reputation I’ve ever seen. And coming from me—someone who’s made global headlines for my bad behavior—that’s saying a lot.”
You open your mouth, ready to defend yourself, but Gojo raises a hand, cutting you off.
“Don’t even start with the whole ‘but our numbers are the best’ speech,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Because while your stats are impressive, they’re not enough to make up for the chaos you two create. And,” he leans in closer, a devious smirk curling his lips, “don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you look at him.”
You freeze, your heart pounding as if he’d just exposed your darkest secret.
“Oh, don’t play dumb,” Gojo teases, his tone sing-song. “You’re practically undressing him with your eyes half the time. It’s honestly disgusting. If this is your idea of flirting, you might be a masochist. Or a sadist. Or both. Either way, the rest of us shouldn’t have to suffer through this painfully obvious sexual tension.”
Your cheeks burn, and for once, you’re speechless.
Gojo straightens his lapels, his smirk widening. “I’ve had enough of this nonsense. I’m going to fix it, one way or another. Consider this your warning.”
Before you can respond, he spins on his heel and storms out, slamming the door behind him.
You stand there for a moment, your mind racing.
“What can he even do?” you mutter to yourself, laughing nervously. “He’s just an accounting manager.”
But you’d underestimated Gojo.
By the time you return to your office, he’s already marched into Nanami’s and laid out his nefarious plan. Meanwhile, you find yourself staring blankly at the income statement on your screen, utterly distracted.
Your gaze drifts to the glass wall of your office, where you can see Getou seated at his desk. He’s wearing a fitted chestnut vest over a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his tanned forearms. His black hair is tied in a loose bun, a ballpoint pen shoved haphazardly through it.
As you watch, he reaches up to twirl a strand of hair around his finger, his violet eyes scanning a thick packet of papers. When he suddenly glances up and catches you staring, your breath hitches.
His piercing gaze darkens, and a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. He arches an eyebrow, his expression equal parts smug and devastatingly attractive. Then, as if to torment you further, he returns to his work, the faintest smile still lingering on his lips.
You shift uncomfortably in your chair, heat pooling in your cheeks. If your hatred of Getou is a defense mechanism, it isn’t working—if anything, it only heightens your attraction to him.
But you resolve to keep your distance, for the sake of professionalism.
That resolve lasts precisely one day.
The next morning, Nanami summons you to his office. Confident in your newfound clarity, you stride in—only to feel your confidence waver when you see Gojo lounging against the window like a model in a photoshoot, the sunlight framing him perfectly.
Then the door opens behind you, and in walks Getou.
He takes the seat next to you, his legs spread obnoxiously wide, oozing dominance.
Nanami wastes no time. “I’ve reached my limit with your behavior. The entire branch is suffering because of you two. So, effective immediately, you’ll both be attending the annual financial policy conference together as a team-building exercise.”
You groan. “Sir, with all due respect, I don’t think—”
“This is non-negotiable,” Nanami interrupts, holding up two plane tickets. “And to ensure you take this seriously, know that if this doesn’t work, I will demote both of you and give your positions to Gojo.”
Gojo grins triumphantly.
Nanami adds, “And don’t think I won’t be monitoring your behavior. The conference is hosted at one of our company hotels, so we’ll have access to surveillance.”
As you leave his office, the weight of the tickets in your hand feels suffocating. Later that evening, you seek refuge straight off of your shift, at the nearest bar, ordering a drink to drown your sorrows.
Slouching on the barstool, the straps of your dress slip down your shoulders, but you don’t bother fixing them. At this point, you’re too far gone to care. Nursing your drink quickly turns into downing shots, thanks to the kindness—or opportunism—of nearby patrons. Some, sensing your frazzled state, buy you a drink out of pity. Others, mostly men, let their eyes linger on your neckline before waving down the bartender to pour you another on their tab.
You lean your cheek against your arm, swirling the straw in your glass absentmindedly. The din of the bar becomes white noise as your thoughts spiral. Then, you sense a presence settling on the stool next to you.
“Rough day?”
The voice is low, amused, and far too familiar. You stiffen before letting out a slow, tired huff.
“Fuck off, Getou.”
You aim for venom, but your tone lands somewhere closer to exhausted. His chuckle vibrates through the space between you, and then you feel the warmth of his hand on your shoulder, his fingers tracing small, deliberate circles.
“Aw, don’t tell me I’ve finally worn you down,” he drawls, his voice dipping with mock concern. His hand moves, catching the strap of your dress and sliding it back into place with a languid tug. “Resorting to alcohol already? Never thought I’d see the day.”
You snap your head toward him, gathering the last scraps of defiance you have left. He’s leaning casually against the bar, his beige sweater hugging his frame a little too perfectly, the knit fabric stretching taut over his arms. His expression is maddeningly amused, dark eyes glinting with the kind of satisfaction that makes your blood simmer.
“Pretty cocky, aren’t you? Need some liquid courage for our trip, I assume?”
Instead of answering, he reaches forward and swipes your drink. He takes a long sip, his throat bobbing as he swallows. His teeth click against the glass when he sets it down.
“Strong,” he remarks before leaning closer, his voice dropping. “And speaking of the trip, I assume we’ll put on quite the show, hmm? Don’t get me wrong—I hate you. But I hate the idea of Gojo taking either of our jobs even more.”
He nudges your foot with his own, a silent challenge in his raised brow. You hesitate only for a second before extending a hand, your manicured nails catching the dim light.
“Finally, something we can agree on. Look, I’m willing to do whatever it takes to keep our positions. Yeah, maybe we go overboard sometimes, but we get results. We’re the best.”
“Damn right,” he replies, his smirk sharp and self-assured. His fingers brush yours as he takes your hand, and then he raises it to signal the bartender for another round.
You clear your throat, trying to regain control of the conversation. “It’s just a weekend. We can fake being civil for two days. We’ve never failed to perform before, and we’re not about to start now.”
His hand lands on your shoulder again, his touch oddly grounding. “We always exceed expectations. You always go above; I always go beyond.” He emphasizes the last word with a teasing smirk that makes your jaw tighten.
“Oh yeah? Always?” You lean in, narrowing your eyes. “Bet I can out-drink you. Hell, I already have. I’ve practically forgotten why I was even upset in the first place.”
“Big talk for someone who’s clearly lying.” His grin spreads wider, white teeth gleaming. “But hey, I’m all for proving you wrong. Again.”
The conversation dissolves into a blurry competition. Before you know it, the counter between you is littered with empty glasses. The room spins around you, your skin hot, your head light.
Somehow, in the midst of it all, your legs have tangled beneath the bar, Getou’s foot hooked possessively around your ankle.
When you glance at him, his bronzed skin is flushed, a pretty pink spreading across his high cheekbones. His hair is loose now, cascading over his broad shoulders in soft, inky waves. His glasses hang from the collar of his sweater, and he reaches out, his finger brushing against your chin.
“You’re spilling,” he murmurs, dragging his finger along your skin to catch a stray drop of liquor. He pulls it back and raises it to his lips, licking it clean with a slow, deliberate motion.
“Playing dirty, huh?” you mutter, your voice thick.
Getou takes the last sip of his drink, his cheeks puffing slightly as he holds the liquid idle in his mouth, and shrugs. The casual gesture makes something snap inside you. Desperate to turn the tables, you grab the collar of his sweater and yank him toward you.
His lips crash into yours, soft yet insistent, and for a fleeting moment, the world shrinks to the warmth of his mouth and the faint bitterness of alcohol lingering on his breath. Your tongue grazes his bottom lip, and he parts for you, letting the sharp tang of liquor transfer between you. A low groan rumbles from his chest as his hands tighten around your waist.
You swallow, leaning into the kiss, your fingers clutching at him as his hand slides up, tangling in your hair. He tilts your head back, deepening the kiss, and a moan escapes your lips before you can hold it back.
His other hand moves lower, pulling you closer until you’re perched halfway on his lap, the warmth of his body pressing against you.
“You might’ve had more to drink than me,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice teasing yet dark with intent. “But I bet I can have you begging for me off a kiss.”
His thigh presses between your legs, and your dress rides up higher than you’d like to admit. You’re soaked, the flimsy fabric of your underwear doing little to shield your dignity—or his slacks—from your arousal.
“Think you’ll have me begging?” he murmurs against your lips, his breath hot against your skin.
“You’re the one falling apart, sweetheart.”
Before you can retort, your phone buzzes on the counter, the vibration cutting through the haze.
A message lights up the screen.
Gojo Satoru: I just KNOW the hate sex is gonna go hard. Don’t thank me all at once, sweetie ;)
beautiful ass fanart by: _viziiro_ on twt/X
You fling yourself around the corner, catching the door frame with your hand to stay upright. Shinso doesn't jump; he heard you stomping from all the way down the hall.
"I'm late."
He doesn't look up from his duffle bag. He's arranging the clothes carefully, placing each rolled sock in a row. "How late?"
"No, like-" You roll your hands in the air expectantly. "Period late."
Shinso glances at your feet and watches how you bounce on your toes with excitement. With a sigh. he looks up at you, expression set.
"How late are you?"
You stop bouncing. "It was supposed to come last night."
Shinso groans as he stands, pushing off of his knee for support.
"But, it's different this time!" you insist before he can say anything. "I feel different."
He sucks on one side of his cheek, pulling a dimple into his skin. He's still boyish in his features, even after all these years. Carefully, he measures his words, saying your name ever so gently.
"I just don't want you to get your hopes up again just for it to be negative." He taps his house slipper against his bag. "Because you'll end up testing again the next day, then the next day, just make sure it's really negative-"
"Hitoshi-"
"I just don't want you to break your heart again."
This song and dance must be getting old for him. Every month, you get excited, only to see that little line once again. Hitoshi's right: it always breaks your heart.
You think, maybe, he mourns it too. Silently. Privately. It's hard to tell. He's not like you. He's not expressive or outspoken, but je's always there to hold your hand and try again.
"Let's just wait a couple days." Hitoshi, as if he knows what you're thinking, reaching up and takes your hand. "If you're still late, I'll buy you as many tests as you want."
You swallow down your disappointment.
"How many days?"
"When I come back from this mission." He counts on his fingers. "Three days?"
"Three days? I'm supposed to not know if I'm pregnant for three days?"
Hitoshi shrugs and kneels back down, tending to his things. "Some people don't know they're pregnant the whole pregnancy."
"That's different and you know it."
they're literally every trope ever
he thinks he's gonna eat him
If Shoko and Gojo had noticed Geto spiralling.
Sort of a rough continuation of the previous set of drawings on what would have happened had Geto called them.
If Gojo, Shoko and Geto had adopted Tsumiki and Megumi
damn i wonder where else did i see a similar shot
oh.
i find them everywhere in everything
Still can never let this AU go
there is something so damn satisfying about the face physics when Gojo and Yuta are swapped.
like you know very well Gojo is currently occupying Yuta's body because he gives some sort of edge to his facial expressions. meanwhile Yuta softens Gojo's facial expressions.
not to mention those edits of Sukuna without his face markings. you'd think he'd just be Yuji under that but it's a whole different character; a whole different aura.
i just really love it.
*with a dark and evil aura surrounding me* I'm shy
Yo, this sticky, in the best fucking way! 🔥🔥
omg they're having a cunt off (gojo is winning, sorry geto)
Christmas toji
I can't pay this month's rent prank on my boyfriend!sukuna
You leaned against the kitchen counter, casually scrolling through your phone while Sukuna towered by the stove, shirtless as usual, making breakfast. His broad shoulders and tattooed arms flexed with every movement, the sheer size of him making the spacious kitchen feel small.
You smirked, the mischievous idea popping into your head. It was time to mess with him.
“Hey, babe?” you started, trying to sound unsure.
“Hm?” he grunted, not looking up from the pan as he flipped the eggs with precision.
“So... I can’t pay my share of the rent this month. I’m really sorry,” you said, putting on your best apologetic voice.
The spatula stopped mid-air. Slowly, he turned to face you, his crimson eyes narrowing. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I just... don’t have enough this month,” you said with a dramatic sigh. “Things are tight, you know?”
Sukuna’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief, and then he straightened to his full, intimidating height. The sight of him—looking thoroughly offended—would’ve had anyone else running for cover.
“Tight?” he repeated, his deep voice dripping with incredulity. “What the hell do you mean ‘tight’? Since when have you ever paid rent?!”
You bite the inside of your cheek, struggling to keep a straight face. “Well, I thought maybe I should start contributing, but—”
“Contributing?!” he barked. He threw the spatula down with a clatter, crossing the room in two long strides to stand right in front of you.
You looked up at him, blinking innocently, while he glared down at you, his massive frame practically eclipsing the light. “Let me get this straight,” he said, his tone sharp. “You think you need to contribute? To my building? The one I OWN?”
You shrugged, barely containing your laughter. “Well, yeah...”
“Y/N,” he growled, his jaw clenching. “You’ve never paid for a single thing in your life. Not rent, not groceries, not even the goddamn Netflix subscription. What’s next? You’re gonna tell me you’re struggling to pay the water bill?”
You blinked again. “How much is water?”
“Oh my god,” he groaned, running a hand through his pink hair like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You wouldn’t last two seconds paying bills. Why the hell would you even say something like this?”
“I just feel bad sometimes, you know?” you said, tilting her head to look up at him.
His expression softened for half a second before he snapped, “You feel bad?! Woman, do I look like I need your rent money?!” He pointed to himself. “Do I?!”
You shook her head, her lips twitching.
“That’s what I thought,” he muttered. He placed his hands on either side of the counter, trapping you between his arms. “Are you in trouble? Huh? Do you need money? Tell me right now, or so help me—”
“I’m not in trouble!” you laughed, unable to hold it in anymore. “It’s a prank!”
Sukuna froze. “What?”
You were laughing so hard you could barely get the words out. “It’s a prank, babe. I was messing with you!”
The room went silent except for the sound of your giggles. Sukuna just stared at you, blinking slowly, his face unreadable. Then he took a step back and ran his hands over his face with a groan. “Unbelievable. I just had a damn heart attack, and for what? For a prank?!”
“I’m sorry!” you said, still laughing.
“You’re lucky I don’t throw you out the window,” he grumbled, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting back a smile. “You’re driving me insane, woman.”
Before you could respond, he leaned down and grabbed your face, pulling you into a searing kiss that left you breathless. His lips were rough, his grip firm, and the sheer intensity of it made your toes curl. When he finally pulled back, you were left staring up at him, dazed.
“For the record,” he muttered, his forehead resting against yours, “you’re never paying for a damn thing. Got it?”
“Got it,” you whispered, your cheeks flushed.
<><><><><> <><><><><><><>
Later that day, you posted a short clip of their interaction online, the internet exploded to say the least.
“NOT HIM BEING OFFENDED THAT SHE EVEN MENTIONED RENT.”
“That kiss at the end??? Ma’am, are you alive?”
“He looks like he eats nails for breakfast but acts like her stress is the enemy. I need this.”
“WHO LET THIS MAN BE SO BIG AND SO SWEET AT THE SAME TIME???”
“He looks like he could throw her and the fridge out of the house, but instead he kisses her like he’ll die without her???”
“No, but the way he said, ‘Do I look like I need your rent money?’ with his whole chest? That’s a MAN.”
“He’s got big ‘pays the bills without letting you lift a finger’ energy. And I mean ALL the bills.”
“This man is built like a WWE champion, but the only thing he’s body-slamming is the stress in her life.”
“He’s definitely rich-rich. Like, ‘owns the whole building and forgot about it’ rich.”
“Imagine pranking the kind of man who doesn’t even look at the price when he buys stuff. Brave.”
“He looks like he’ll fight anyone who even breathes wrong around you. Please prank him again; we need more content.”
It didn’t stop there. People started creating memes:
A still of Sukuna glaring down at Y/N with the caption: “When she says she can’t pay rent, but you literally own the entire block.”
Another image of him pointing to himself, yelling, “DO I LOOK LIKE I NEED YOUR RENT MONEY?” paired with, “Me when my broke friends try to Venmo me for $2.”
SPIRITED AWAY (2001) dir. HAYAO MIYAZAKI
Vampire Hunter D: Bloodlust (2000)
It's cold and Aizawa hasn’t offered you his coat.
You two have been seeing each other for the past three months, you’ve known him longer. There’s little dates when you both have the time, at his place but it’s usually yours. He spends the night, you order take out when you both can’t bare to cook, and you spend your nights reading while he dozes next to you.
Its quite domestic for such a new relationship.
And it’s not like you wouldn’t call him chivalrous, he’s as chivalrous as you like in a guy, a good in-between. But you wish he would look at you and notice that you’re shivering.
Now your footsteps are getting heavier with each passing moment, the aggravation becoming more and more apparent on your features as the chill in the air gets colder and colder. You think you might kill him, and you secretly hope he looks your way–
“Are you okay?” Shouta asks, circling his arm around your waist. He pulls you against him and the warmth is good for the moment.
You’re still mad, or at least you want to stay mad. “Just say you hate me.”
He’s grinning now, its subtle but it’s still a grin. And you’re tempted to push him away and continue sulking in your annoyance.
“You’ve been shivering for the past 10 minutes, you don't want my jacket?” He’s teasing you, his hand squeezing the flesh above your hip, through your clothes. You can sort of smell his cologne but it’s too faint compared to the smell of earthiness and crisp air.
You look at him, really look at him, and you can’t help the smile growing on your face. It makes your cheeks hurt in the cold air.
“I thought you were gonna be a gentleman and keep me warm,” You reply, more sugary than you’d like to come off.
He’s looking at you with that lazy look in his eyes, the same one he gives you before he’s about to tell you some boring joke in bed.
He chuckles dryly and pulls away from you, taking his coat off and draping it over your shoulders. And you can’t help but think he looks cute in his fitted henley shirt.
“Is that warm enough?” He presses a chaste kiss into your temple before wrapping an arm around your waist for a second time.
You mumble a quick “yeah” and lean into him.
he might be the love of my life
how studio bones draws katsuki:
how 𝒽ℴ𝓇𝒾𝓀ℴ𝓈𝒽𝒾 (<3) draws katsuki:
College dbhwks!!
based on this fic (18+)