I was writing while on vacation, and before I knew it, I had 30,000 words down. Then I thought, hmm, why not turn this into a little chapter book? It’ll make editing easier. So, I shall! It won’t be a proper series (unless there’s a demand, I suppose. 😼)
Here I am with a Jujutsu Kaisen fic that was originally meant to be a high school Gojo story. Then it turned into a relationship bet trope with Geto, and suddenly, Nanami showed up. Now, I’m dangerously close to turning this supposedly fluffy story into manga canon.
Anyway, I can’t win. Fuck the creative juices.
Masterlist~~
𓇢𓆸☾☼ Keigo Takami was dangerously close to losing control. He sat on the edge of the rooftop, wings sprawled lazily behind him, golden eyes scanning the city below without truly seeing it. Patrol had ended an hour ago, but he hadn’t moved, hadn’t taken off into the sky. Instead, he let the silence swallow him whole while the weight in his chest pulsed with every beat of his heart.
He was thinking about you again. Not just thinking. Obsessing. Wanting. Craving.
It wasn’t new not really. You had been his best friend for years now. The only person who truly saw him for who he was beneath the feathers, beneath the smiles and playful banter. You weren’t fooled by his smirks or his cocky remarks.
And he wanted you in every way a man could want someone.
He pressed his fingers to his lips, as if he could trap the thoughts there, keep them from spilling out. But they always found their way back in. Memories of your laugh, your hand brushing his, the way you leaned into him when you were tired. The way you looked at him like you didn’t expect anything more than what he was already giving.
But God, he wanted to give you more.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, wings twitching behind him. “You have no idea,” he muttered to himself.
No idea how he thought about you when he showered, when he lay awake in bed, when he flew above the city. How the ache wasn’t just in his chest but deep, carnal, physical. You’d never touched him like that not even close but his body remembered every innocent brush, every accidental graze of your fingers, every look that lingered a second too long.
He remembered the last time you hugged him. Fully wrapped your arms around him without hesitation.
You were warm. So warm, it branded him. And he wanted to be selfish. Just once.
He wanted to kiss you. Hold you. Lay you down and worship you with every part of himself. He wanted to hear you moan his name like a plea, like he was the only thing in your world that mattered.
His fists clenched.
But he couldn’t. Because he was your best friend. And you trusted him. He’d never risk that. But lately… it was getting harder to pretend. Harder to act like his thoughts didn’t spiral when you smiled at him, when you laughed and leaned your head back like the world couldn’t touch you. Like he was safe in your orbit.
“Fuck,” he whispered to the empty air.
His wings flared slightly behind him, agitated. He was needy pathetically so and it rattled him. You. His best friend and the woman he couldn’t stop imagining underneath him, moaning his name like a prayer.
He exhaled a shaky breath, one hand dragging down his face. His fingers curled tightly in his hair, jaw clenched. It had started innocently enough thinking about your laugh, the way you teased him, the way your eyes sparkled when you talked about something you loved. But lately, that innocent warmth had twisted, melted into something far darker.
Now all he could think about was how soft your lips would feel against his. How your body would arch into his if he finally let himself touch you the way he needed to. Keigo, who wanted to touch the curve of your waist, bury his face in your neck, trace his fingers down your thighs and hear you gasp for him. Keigo, who thought about your lips parting for him, your nails digging into his back, your breath hot against his ear.
He could already feel your thighs wrapped around him in his imagination, could already hear the sounds you’d make soft, desperate, so unlike the friend you were. And he wanted it more than he wanted anything else.
His cock was already hard, straining against the tightness of his pants, and he fucking hated how easy it was to get this way just thinking about you. It didn’t take much just the memory of your legs crossed during a casual conversation, the way your shirt would ride up when you stretched, revealing the tempting curve of your waist.
He leaned back against the cool concrete of the rooftop wall, letting his head fall back with a low groan. “Goddamn it…”
He’d been so careful. So respectful. Always the charming best friend who gave you space, never said too much, never let his touches linger for too long. But he was starving now.
Keigo wanted to taste every inch of you.
He imagined it pulling you onto his lap, letting his hands explore everything he wasn’t allowed to touch. Your thighs spread for him, your breathy moans in his ear as he whispered filthy things you never thought he’d say.
“You don’t know what you do to me… how long I’ve wanted this.”
He’d take his time with you slow, worshipful, but dripping in hunger. He’d kiss down your neck, between your breasts, over your stomach, and lower, until your thighs trembled around his head. He wanted to ruin you with his mouth, over and over, until your voice was hoarse from crying out for him.
His hips shifted as he ground into his palm, teeth gritted. This wasn’t just some passing fantasy. This was a need buried in the deepest parts of him hot, relentless, consuming.
the worst part… You had no idea. You still called him your best friend. Still crashed at his place when you were too tired to go home. Still walked around in those shorts, those oversized shirts with no bra underneath, curling up beside him on the couch like it was nothing.
It wasn’t nothing to him.
Every brush of your fingers set his nerves on fire. Every laugh you shared made his heart ache and his cock twitch.
He wanted to fuck you so deep you’d forget your own name. Wanted to hear you beg wanted to make you feel good, worshiped, ruined. he’d hold back until the day that he dies. Because you trusted him. And he’d never take advantage of that. Never touch you unless you asked him to.
But he was slipping. More and more, his fantasies blurred with reality. He caught himself staring at your lips, imagining how they’d feel wrapped around his cock. He thought about bending you over his kitchen counter when you came over to cook dinner. About tasting you after a long day your sweat, your moans, your pleasure burning into his mouth like a reward.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, palming himself through his pants now, just to ease the ache.
His wings twitched behind him as he imagined your voice in his ear.
“Keigo… please…”
Would you say his name like that? Would you beg for him to go deeper? Harder? Would you cry out for him, nails clawing at his back, thighs trembling as he pushed you over the edge again and again?
Would you finally look at him not just as your best friend, but as the man who’s been dying to be inside you? The man who loved you with everything he had?The thought was enough to tip him over, and he hissed your name into the night air, guilt and desire tangled up in his veins like poison.
He stayed there for a while, chest heaving, sweat beading on his brow as the tension drained from him but the ache remained. Because no matter how many times he relieved the pressure, no matter how many times he imagined your hands on him, your mouth, your body it wasn’t enough.
It would never be enough. Because he didn’t want your body for just a night. He wanted to have you consume his entire day, everyday. He wanted you. All of you.
Caelus X Reader Honkai Star Rail
“Another Me in Another World”
Masterlist
pov you come from a timeline where you and caelus loved each other. Though now thrown into this world you don’t remember anything.
:0
ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆゚.*・。゚ The moment the warp settled, a shiver laced down Caelus’ spine.
They stood at the edge of a crumbling city floating in a pocket of broken time what Herta dubbed a “dimensional fault zone,” where history bent like glass under pressure. Fractured towers loomed above, suspended by unseen strings. The air crackled, distorted. But none of it compared to the static in his chest. She was here. He didn’t know how he knew only that the moment he stepped off the Express, his heart started pounding like it remembered something he didn’t. Then he saw her. She was standing alone at the edge of a fractured platform, long coat fluttering behind her like a shadow. Mask half lowered, a Stellaron Hunter insignia stitched boldly across her sleeve. And when her gaze met his sharp, unreadable his world tipped on its axis.
“…You,” Caelus breathed.
You didn’t blink. “So you’re the Express’s precious Trailblazer.” His title sounded foreign in your mouth, like it didn’t belong like you didn’t want it to. But your fingers twitched slightly at your side, as if muscle memory betrayed you. Behind Caelus, March and Dan Heng tensed. “Careful,” Dan Heng said lowly, “she’s one of Kafka’s.”
But Caelus stepped forward anyway. You didn’t move. Not when he stopped a few feet away. Not when he tilted his head, searching your eyes for something you didn’t even know you’d lost.
“There’s something familiar about you,” he said softly.
Your lips curved into something like a smirk but it didn’t reach your eyes. “I hear that a lot before people try to shoot me.”
“I’m not going to shoot you.”
“And I’m not going to hesitate if you become a threat,” you replied coolly, though something in your voice faltered at the end. Just a little.
A pause stretched between you.
Then he said it, almost like a confession to the wind “I’ve seen you before. In dreams.”
The expression you wore froze. You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Your throat tightened, because you’d seen him too every night since you woke up in Elio’s care, with a name you barely remembered and a void where your past should’ve been. A silver haired boy with amber eyes, reaching for you just as you disappeared. And now he was here, real and breathing and looking at you like he knew your soul.
“I don’t know you,” you said, a bit too quickly.
“Maybe not,” Caelus said, a small smile tugging at the edge of his lips, “but I think… I loved you, once.”
Your heart missed a beat. Behind your back, your fingers curled into a fist and you backed up. You hated the way his words made your chest ache. Hated the way the cold mask you wore suddenly felt too heavy. Because if what he said was true if you had loved him once then fate had played a cruel trick and you didn’t know if you had the strength to undo it.
ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆゚.*・。゚ The world returned in fragments like shards of a broken mirror pressed too close to your eyes. At first, there was only the hum. Low, metallic, steady. Then light. Blinding. Cold. You gasped. Air surged into your lungs like you hadn’t breathed in centuries. You jolted upright with a strangled sound, hand instinctively reaching out for something someone.
But there was only silence. You blinked furiously, vision adjusting to the sterile, glass panelled room around you. Pale walls. A console blinking with unreadable data. You were lying on a bed no, a containment pod, cracked slightly down the side. It smelled like ozone and dust.
“Easy little one.” A voice. Calm, smooth, a touch amused. You turned sharply.
Kafka stood at the foot of the pod, arms crossed, one brow slightly arched. She looked completely unbothered, as if this was routine. As if you were routine. You stared at her like she might be part of the dream.
“Who…?” Your voice rasped out, raw. “Where…?”
“Questions already?” Kafka mused.
You opened your mouth to retort and froze. You didn’t know your name. No, wait you did. Barely. It floated to the surface like a whisper. You clutched it like a lifeline. “…My name is…” You hesitated. “I think it’s [Y/N].”
Kafka nodded slowly, like she was testing the shape of your name against the air. “It suits you.”
You sat there, stunned. Trembling slightly. “What… happened to me?”
She shrugged, a glint in her violet eyes. “A warp event. Something… untraceable. We found you drifting between coordinates with a fractured signal and half a heartbeat. Elio said you’d be important.”
“Elio…?”
“You’ll meet him eventually. For now, it’s just us.” You looked down at your hands. They felt wrong. Or maybe the world did.
“I don’t remember anything,” you whispered.
“No,” Kafka said. “But your instincts remain intact. That’s the part that matters.” You flinched when she stepped closer, but she only placed a hand on your shoulder gentle, grounding. Her smile softened, just slightly.
“Listen to me. You were meant for something greater. A fate rewritten by stars too scared of your potential. Elio saw it. And I do too.”
You stared up at her, desperate, haunted. “Then why do I feel like I’m… missing something?”
Kafka tilted her head, curious. “Missing someone, you mean?” Your breath caught. Because for all the blanks in your memory, there was one thing one constant you couldn’t explain away. Amber eyes, filled with light. A boy smiling at you like you were his entire world. Reaching for your hand as everything around you crumbled.
“I don’t know who he is,” you whispered. “But I see him when I sleep.” Kafka didn’t answer right away.
Then, softly “Maybe one day, you’ll remember. Maybe one day, he’ll find you.” You never remembered the moment you met him. There was no clean origin, no first conversation etched in time just the feeling. Like gravity had shifted in your chest. Like your soul had turned its head toward someone and said, “There you are.”
Even in the days after waking, long before Elio whispered of fate and purpose, you carried that strange ache. It sat beneath your ribs, subtle but persistent. As if your heart had memorized a rhythm it could no longer hear and still beat along with it anyway. And always, him. A boy reaching for you through dreams. Sometimes smiling. Sometimes calling your name. Sometimes standing still at the edge of a world collapsing in gold. You never saw his full face, not really. It shifted with every dream like your memory was afraid to settle. But the feeling stayed the same. Safety. Sadness. Love.
Kafka called it a side effect of a damaged warp phantom memories stitched together by a soul that had jumped too many coordinates, too fast. Elio said nothing. He only looked at you, eyes unreadable, and murmured “Even in broken timelines, some threads find each other again.”
You didn’t know what that meant. Not then. But now standing in this fractured city, staring into Caelus’s eyes you do. Because it’s not a coincidence. Not a trick of dreams or Stellaron interference. It’s older than memory. Deeper than fate. A bond written somewhere before the stars. You and Caelus are mirror souls two halves born in the same cosmic breath, scattered by a universe that didn’t know how to hold you.
Maybe you boarded the Astral Express, once. Maybe you stood beside him, laughed with him, loved him. Maybe you were torn from that path by a warp gone wrong, or a choice you never knew you made. But your souls remember. They reach for each other still in dreams, in battles, in silences where your fingers almost twitch toward his before you stop yourself.
You were meant to walk together. But the universe split you. Now, you’re on opposite sides of a war you don’t fully understand. But the bond? It hasn’t faded. It can’t. Because no matter how much memory was taken, how many times your paths diverged. You are still drawn to him. Still tethered by something ancient and unfinished.
And when Caelus whispered, “I think I loved you, once,” your soul didn’t hesitate. It whispered back “You still do.”
ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆゚.*・。゚
At first, you didn’t speak to anyone. You woke, you trained, you followed instructions. No questions. No smiles. No attachments. That was how it started. The other Stellaron Hunters didn’t mind. Blade said nothing, as usual. Silver Wolf barely looked up from her screens. Sam never came close enough for conversation, and Kafka was always watching.
She never pushed, never pried. Just watched, like she already knew the storm inside you and was waiting for the clouds to shift. But it was her, in the end, who pulled you into the rhythm of this strange place. It started with a game.
“You’re watching me again,” you muttered one evening, eyes fixed on the holographic wall map you’d been pretending to study for the last ten minutes.
Kafka leaned in the doorway, arms crossed. “I do that.”
You turned, half expecting mockery in her eyes. Instead, there was something softer faint amusement, edged with quiet interest.
“I’m not broken,” you said flatly. “You don’t have to treat me like I’ll crack open.”
“I never said you were,” she replied, and then, after a pause, “But you are still unfinished.”
“Unfinished?”
Kafka stepped forward, her coat trailing behind her like a slow moving shadow. “You remember fragments. Dreams. Pieces of another life. You haven’t decided yet who you want to be in this one.”
You clenched your jaw. “Maybe I already have.”
“Have you?” she asked, too gently.
You didn’t answer.
Later that night, she left something outside your room.A data pad. A short file. A simulation: sparring tactics against hypothetical enemies. Paired drills. On a whim, you ran the simulation. when you did, it loaded a preset with Kafka’s movement patterns coded as the partner. Every step she made was measured, confident. Every time you moved, the code adapted like she was anticipating you. Like she already knew how you fought. You didn’t sleep that night. Not because of fear or anxiety, but because you became entranced
From then on, things shifted.
You stopped avoiding the others in the corridors. Started nodding back when Silver Wolf greeted you with a lazy two finger wave. Listened when Blade offered one word advice during training. Responded when Kafka teased you, even if it was just with a dry, “Don’t push your luck.”
You began asking questions quiet ones, when no one was around.
“What’s Sam’s story?”
“Why does Blade meditate with his blade drawn?”
“Does Silver Wolf ever lose in those games?”
And every time, Kafka answered. Not always directly. Sometimes with riddles, sometimes with little smiles that said, You’ll figure it out. But she answered. More than that she listened. When you told her about the dreams again, she didn’t tell you to ignore them.
She only asked, “Do you want to remember?”
You did. Even if it hurt.
Weeks passed.
Your coat bore the Hunter insignia now. You walked with purpose in the base’s dim halls. You learned their methods how to dismantle systems, how to fight in sync with someone you weren’t sure you trusted, how to exist beside people who had no need for sentiment, but somehow left space for it anyway. Kafka didn’t change much.
But you started to see the way she lingered when Blade was injured. The way she glanced at Silver Wolf with a sisterly fondness when she thought no one noticed. The way she always made sure you got the missions that aligned with your strengths.
“Why do you help me?” you asked once, after a particularly clean victory where the two of you fought side by side, flawless.
Kafka didn’t miss a beat. “Because I remember what it feels like to be lost. And because Elio says you’re important.”
You scoffed. “You always follow Elio’s predictions?”
Kafka’s lips curved. “Only when I agree with them.” despite yourself, you smiled back.
ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆゚.*・。゚ Kafka’s voice was calm over the comms.
“Quick in, quick out. Eyes open, [Y/N]. The relay’s still broadcasting faint traces of encrypted Express data. Elio wants to know why.” You crouched behind a collapsed support beam, hand tightening on your weapon. Your breath fogged slightly in the cold air. The station’s artificial gravity pulsed irregularly, like the heartbeat of something half dead.
“I don’t like it here,” you murmured. “Too quiet.”
“You’ll get used to that,” Kafka replied. “Most haunted places start that way.”
The door groaned as it opened rusted metal, reluctant hinges. You stepped inside, Kafka at your back, the hallway stretching before you like the throat of a dying star. The walls were scorched. Burned out terminals flickered and fizzed with leftover sparks. Bits of fabric clung to jagged debris passenger coats, maybe. You stepped over a half buried nameplate that read T78–Celestial Relay: Astral Express Docking Site.
You froze. Astral Express. The words rang in your head like a forgotten lullaby.
“Something wrong?” Kafka asked.
You stared at the nameplate, unsure what to say. “I… I think I’ve been here before.”
Kafka didn’t answer right away. She simply stepped beside you, gaze trailing over the ruined corridor. “Maybe you have.”
You pressed your hand against the wall, fingers brushing a faded imprint someone had drawn stars here once. The paint had nearly chipped away, but you could still make out the rough lines of a train and what looked like… a tiny figure standing at its edge. Your heart clenched. And then A whisper. Soft. Unmistakable.
“–[Y/N], you coming? We don’t leave people behind–”
You whipped around. No one was there. The hallway behind you remained empty, Kafka standing still as a statue beside the doorway.
“What did you hear?” she asked quietly.
You blinked. “That voice. I… I knew it.”
Kafka turned to face you, her expression unreadable. “What did it sound like?”
“Warm,” you whispered, before you could stop yourself. “He called my name like it meant something. Like I was his… crew.”
A slow beat of silence passed. Kafka stepped forward and reached up gently pressed two fingers to your temple. Not unkind. Not forceful. Just enough pressure to draw your attention.
“That’s not just a memory,” she murmured. “That’s a tether.” Your breath hitched.
“I don’t understand.”
“You will,” Kafka said. “Elio predicted this. A place would wake the memories. A name. A sound. You weren’t meant to forget it all. The universe just… paused you. Stalled the connection.”
You turned toward the hallway again. In the distance, barely audible, came another voice. Fainter this time. Familiar.
“Don’t wander off again, [Y/N]…”
Your lips parted. You could see it, just for a second flashing gold windows, March’s laughter, the faint hum of the Astral Express engine purring beneath your feet. It faded as quickly as it came.
“I… was with them,” you said softly, gripping your sleeve. “Before. Before all this. I can feel it.” Kafka studied you with something like pride.
“You’re remembering who you were. The question now is who do you want to be?”
You didn’t answer. Not yet. Instead, you turned back down the hall and whispered, like a promise only the stars could hear,
“I’ll find you.”
ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆゚.*・。゚ The first time he saw her, it was in a dream. She stood at the edge of a broken platform, surrounded by stardust. Hair swaying in a nonexistent wind, face turned away, just slightly. The light around her bent like it knew her. Soft, reverent.
She didn’t speak. Caelus woke with his chest aching. At first, he chalked it up to warp sickness. Another leftover hallucination, maybe Stellaron residue playing tricks on his head. It wasn’t new. Flashes of unfamiliar places, déjà vu that made no sense. The usual.
But this was different. Because the girl didn’t fade. She kept showing up. Not just in dreams now, but in thoughts. In echoes. In odd moments where he’d catch his reflection in a terminal screen and think She’s looking for me. He missed her. This random girl.
Without knowing her name. Without knowing if she was real. He missed her. Like his soul had once been stitched to hers, and something some event, some warping twist of fate had torn it in half.
“Hey,” March’s voice snapped him out of it, “you okay?”
He blinked. Realized he’d been staring out the train’s window for who knows how long. The stars looked endless tonight. Cold. Unreachable.
“Yeah,” he lied. “Just thinking.”
“About what?” she teased, leaning in. “Don’t tell me you’re finally getting poetic about the stars. Welt’s going to cry.”
He tried to smile. “Nothing important.”
But even then, he heard it.
A whisper, not quite sound, threading through his mind like a thread through fabric:
“Caelus…”
The way she said it wasn’t scared. Or urgent. It was warm. Familiar.
Intimate.
He rubbed at his temple. “It’s happening again.”
March sobered. “The dreams?”
He nodded. “She’s… everywhere. But I don’t know her.”
“You’re sure she’s not someone we met on another planet?”
“I know I’ve never met her,” Caelus murmured. “But it doesn’t feel that way. It feels like I’ve always known her. Like I’m forgetting something I should never have forgotten.”
March frowned, stepping a little closer. “What does she look like?”
“I don’t know. Her face is always in light. Or in motion. Or…” He sighed. “She’s always just out of reach.”
March crossed her arms. “Sounds like a cosmic love story.”
“Or a curse,” he muttered.
He meant it.
Because it hurt, missing someone you didn’t even know. It made no sense, but she had become a presence an ache under his ribs, a name he didn’t know how to speak.
That night, the dream changed. He was on the Express but not this one. The colors were warmer. The crew felt familiar, yet different. And there she was finally facing him. This time no blur and no haze.
She smiled, soft and sad. Like she knew something he didn’t. Like she’d watched him from afar for a long, long time.
He took a step forward. She held out her hand.
The sound of shattering glass. Light tore across the dream like lightning. Her image cracked, distorted, fell apart.
He screamed her name Except he didn’t know it. He woke up gasping.
He stood in the hallway outside the passenger car now, gripping the rail, heart pounding. The stars outside flickered like they were trying to whisper something back.
“I don’t know who you are,” he murmured, voice rough. “But I think I’m supposed to.”
Though he felt he had loved her once. that love got lost between the stars. But it was finding its way back. He could feel it.
ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆゚.*・。゚
The moment hung between you like a heartbeat suspended in air fragile, trembling, too afraid to fall.
You didn’t speak.
Couldn’t.
Because if you did, something would break.
Maybe it was the persona you’d built. Maybe it was the invisible wall that Elio insisted you keep between yourself and the rest of the galaxy. Or maybe… it was the feeling you’d been running from since the day you woke up in Kafka’s care:
The ache of knowing someone you’d never met.
Of longing for something you never had.
Of being seen when you had no memory of who you were supposed to be.
And Caelus saw you.
Not the mask. Not the weapon. You.
He stood there, closer than he should have, amber eyes gentler than any soldier’s had a right to be, and you hated how your resolve cracked around the edges just by looking at him.
“I don’t want to fight you,” he said, voice barely above the whine of static in the air. “I just… want to understand.”
Your mouth opened then shut again.
The wind shifted between the broken towers, pulling at your coat. You turned away first. Because if you kept looking at him, you weren’t sure you’d be able to hold your ground.
“I don’t care what you dreamed,” you said finally, trying to sound cold. Detached. “Whatever you think we were… I’m not that girl anymore.”
“I know,” he murmured, and that was somehow worse.
Because he meant it. And he still looked at you like that.
Like he was remembering you, even if you’d forgotten yourself.
Before you could respond, Kafka’s voice crackled in your earpiece.
“Darling. We’ve got what we need. Time to disappear.”
You inhaled sharply through your nose, nodding to nothing. for a second, just before you moved, your hand twitched again reaching out, purely instinct. But then you turned.
You vanished into the fractured skyline, not even a ripple left in your wake. Caelus didn’t follow. He just watched you go, a strange, hollow kind of sorrow nesting in his chest.
“She didn’t try to kill us,” March 7th said flatly.
“Progress,” Dan Heng deadpanned.
Caelus didn’t laugh.
He sat in silence, watching the universe drift past the train’s window. His reflection stared back at him, eyes tired and heart somewhere lightyears behind.
She didn’t remember him.
But her fingers had twitched when she said his name. Like muscle memory. Like muscle memory aching to reach out.
She was the one he’d been dreaming of. The one who didn’t board the Express. The one who was never supposed to walk the path she was on. The one fate had twisted away from him.
Later, after the brief standoff after Kafka led you away with a smile and a smug wave, and after Himeko called the mission a partial success Caelus sat alone in the Express observatory.
He stared out at the stars, but they felt different now.
You were real. And you knew him.
Not just knew of him. You knew him. The way your eyes lingered. The subtle way your fingers twitched when his voice hit the air. The way your name still escaped him but your presence didn’t.
“You okay?” March leaned in from behind, holding a cup of cocoa.
He didn’t turn. Just nodded. “I met her.”
March blinked. “Her?”
“…The one from the dreams.”
Her brows shot up. “Wait, seriously? That’s the girl?”
He nodded again. “She’s with Kafka.”
March made a face. “Of course she is. That explains the cool and mysterious aura coming from your weird head.”
“I don’t think she remembers me fully,” he said softly. “But she said my name.”
“hmmmm this feels kinda crazy,” March said, sitting beside him. “This is like some weird soulmate thing.”
Caelus glanced at her. “Is that even possible?”
She smirked. “With us? Anything’s possible.”
He turned back to the stars.
Somewhere out there, on another ship, or in another world, she had stood beside him. He knew it.
And even if time or fate had pulled them apart he was going to find his way back.
ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆゚.*・。゚
It was stupid.
Dangerous.
Kafka had already noticed.
“You’ve been requesting missions in Express protected zones a lot lately,” she said one evening, her tone lazy, her gaze razor sharp. “Coincidence?”
You didn’t answer. Just kept cleaning your gear with surgical precision.
“…You saw him again, didn’t you?”
You paused, hand tightening on the cloth.
Kafka smiled like a cat who’d just cornered a bird. “I knew it.”
You didn’t look up. “It’s nothing.”
“Sweetheart, if it were nothing, your hands wouldn’t be shaking.”
They weren’t until she said it.
You shoved the cloth into your bag and stood. “Give me a mission.”
“Where to?”
You hesitated.
“Doesn’t matter,” you lied. “Anywhere near the Express.”
Kafka didn’t tease you. She just tilted her head, watching you like you were a story she already knew the ending to.
“Alright,” she said, voice soft. “Just try not to break his heart too fast.”
You rolled your eyes but your chest twisted. Because you didn’t want to break anything. You just… wanted to see him again.
Even if it was across a battlefield. Even if it was a few glances stolen between chaos. Even if it meant pretending you didn’t feel like the universe was holding its breath every time your paths aligned.
‼️‼️‼️
“Trailblazer, are you sure you need to scout that sector again?” Himeko asked, not unkindly.
“Yes,” Caelus said immediately. “I have a feeling.”
Dan Heng raised a brow. “A feeling.”
“Yeah.”
March grinned. “It’s her, isn’t it?”
Caelus didn’t deny it.
He didn’t know what he was expecting maybe another cold stare, another few seconds of standing too close without touching. But every time he caught a whisper of your presence on a planet, his heart pulled like a compass needle snapping to true north.
lately? You’d been showing up a lot. He started waiting on rooftops after missions, lingering longer than necessary. Hoping. Searching.
One time, he swore he caught your silhouette vanishing behind the smoke of a blown power core. Another, he spotted a shimmer in a crowd just a flicker of your coat as you disappeared into a ship.
You never stayed. you were always there.
You crouched at the edge of a ruined dome, watching the Express land below like a ghost too afraid to knock on the door.
Your comm buzzed.
Kafka: “You just gonna stare again, or say hi this time?”
You didn’t answer. Because you didn’t know how to explain it. That this wasn’t love…. at most you don’t know what that word even meant
He felt like It was gravity. He was the center of something you couldn’t name, and every time you stepped close, the past stirred in your bones like a song you once knew.
And still, you stayed. Watching him laugh with March. Watching him glance over his shoulder, like he felt you nearby. Watching him wait.
ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆゚.*・。゚
The stars above the shattered dome flickered like dying embers dim, faraway, forgotten. The observatory was dead, a relic from a time when people still believed the cosmos could be mapped, understood, controlled.
Now, it was just quiet. A perfect place to hide. You didn’t know why you were here. Not really. The coordinates had come through a scrambled data trail supposedly a scouting point for a Hunter op. But Kafka had said nothing. She’d just smiled when she saw the file and said, “Go.”
So you went. You didn’t expect him to be there too. But the moment you stepped through the cracked threshold, you knew. The air changed. Like the world itself paused to take a breath.
And then you saw him.
Caelus stood by the remnants of a collapsed telescope, bathed in soft starlight filtering through the fractured glass above. His coat rustled quietly as he turned.
His eyes widened.
“…You.”
You didn’t move. You should’ve run. Should’ve vanished like you always did. your boots felt rooted to the floor, and your chest was tight with something you didn’t have a name for.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” you said, voice low.
“I know,” he replied. “But I hoped you would be.”
That stopped you cold.
“…Why?”
“Because I can’t keep pretending you’re just a dream.”
Your heart stuttered.
He took a slow step forward. You didn’t stop him.
“You keep showing up,” he said, quietly. “And every time, I think maybe it’s just a trick. Just my mind trying to make sense of something it can’t remember. But then I see you. And I know.”
You swallowed hard.
“There’s a reason we remember each other,” he went on. “Even if we don’t know how.”
You looked away. “You don’t know who I am.”
“I don’t have to,” he said. “Because when I see you I feel peace. Like the galaxy makes sense for a second.”
That… hurt. Because you didn’t just feel peace when you saw him. You felt everything else. Hope. Ache. Fear. That sharp, impossible longing like something inside you was trying to claw its way out just to reach him.
“I shouldn’t be here,” you whispered.
“well that shouldn’t feeling kinda doesn’t apply here,” Caelus said again, gentler.
Silence stretched between you fragile, sacred. Then, softly, he asked, “Can I come closer?”
You nodded.
He stepped toward you, slow and careful, until there was only a breath between you. For a moment, neither of you moved. Then gently, so gently his hand reached out and hovered near yours. Not touching. Just waiting.
And your fingers… trembled.
You didn’t take his hand.
But you didn’t pull away either. It was the closest you’d been. Not physically emotionally. Soulfully. And for the first time since you woke up with no memories, you didn’t feel lost.
You felt… found.
It just hovered there between you, caught in some invisible tension neither of you had the words to sever. Caelus stayed still too, though you could tell he wanted to say something his eyes kept flicking to your expression, like he was trying to read stars in a language he used to know.
Then, very softly, he chuckled.
You blinked.
“What?” you asked warily.
“I just…” He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, expression going a little sheepish. “I was trying to think of something poetic to say. You know, something like, ‘Even across galaxies, I’d find you,’ or ‘Your eyes remind me of starlight before a warp jump.’” He paused. “But that would be cringe, right?”
You stared at him.
And then against your own instincts you laughed. It was small, quiet, almost disbelieving, but it escaped you anyway. “That’s so cringe.”
“I knew it!” he grinned, victorious. “See? March would’ve roasted me for it too.”
Your lips twitched. “You really are a dork,” you muttered.
“I prefer charmingly knight super cool amazing, thank you very much,” Caelus said, placing a dramatic hand to his heart. “Besides, you were about two seconds away from touching my hand. I saw the twitch. Don’t lie.”
You rolled your eyes, but something in your chest… eased. He noticed. And that dumb little smile of his softened into something quieter.
“I’m not trying to pressure you,” he said. “I just wanted to see you. Talk.”
You didn’t answer right away. The truth was you didn’t know who you were now. Not completely. But sitting here, with the moonlight dusting your boots and this ridiculous boy talking about bad pickup lines in the middle of a ruined observatory. You didn’t feel like a Stellaron Hunter. You didn’t feel like a traitor or a mistake. You felt… normal. For the first time in forever.
Your fingers inched just slightly toward his. Barely enough to count. But Caelus noticed. He grinned.
“So,” he said, voice light again, “should I keep going with the pickup lines, or have I impressed you enough for one night?”
You exhaled slowly.
“…Let’s just sit.”
He nodded. “I’m good at that. Sitting. Part of my best skills.”
You shook your head, but you didn’t pull away when he finally sat beside you close, not touching.
ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆゚.*・。゚
Caelus couldn’t stop smiling.
It wasn’t his usual half grin or smug little smirk it was a real smile. One of those stupid, giddy ones that made his face hurt and had absolutely no business existing after a trip to a dead observatory.
But here he was. Practically skipping down the corridor of the Express like a guy who’d just gotten a love confession and a puppy all in one day.
He didn’t get what was happening. But he felt it. That weight in his chest that had been following him since the warp it was lighter now. Not gone, but gentler. Like seeing you made the ache less unbearable.
Even if you’d only laughed once. Even if your hand had hovered, not held. Even if you still looked like you were ready to vanish at the first sign of a threat.
It didn’t matter. He’d seen the crack in the mask. He’d seen you.
“Okay, you’re smiling. That’s never a good sign,” a voice called.
Caelus turned just as March 7th leaned dramatically over the back of the lounge couch, a mock suspicious look in her eyes. “Did you get hit on the head, or are you in love?”
“What?” Caelus blinked, then coughed. “Neither!”
“That was the most unconvincing response I’ve ever heard in my life,” March grinned.
“Didn’t even try to lie properly,” Dan Heng muttered from behind his book, not looking up.
“Oh my god.” March gasped and pointed at him. “You’re blushing. Are you blushing?!”
“I am not blushing,” Caelus said, very obviously blushing.
“You totally are!” she squealed. “You went somewhere, didn’t you? You did the secret meeting thing. The ‘forbidden connection across enemy lines’ thing. Like star crossed lovers in a trashy space novel!”
“I just… I ran into her,” Caelus muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “We talked. That’s all.”
March narrowed her eyes. “Define ‘talked.’”
“…There were words.”
“Ooooh. There were feelings,” March declared. “Dan Heng, he’s so doomed.”
Dan Heng sighed without looking up. “I’ll alert the press.”
At the front of the Express, Himeko sipped her coffee until she tilted her head toward Welt with a smirk. “I think the kids are gossiping again.”
Welt glanced up from the terminal, raising an eyebrow. “Should we be concerned?”
“Well, considering our dear Trailblazer seems to be falling for a Stellaron Hunter, I’d say yes,” she said with a knowing smile. “But also… not yet. Let them feel something. They’ve earned it.”
Back near the lounge, Caelus flopped onto the couch beside March and groaned into a pillow.
“I didn’t mean to like her,” he mumbled.
“That’s how it always starts,” March said with faux dramatic flair. “You ‘accidentally’ develop feelings for the mysterious, emotionally complicated girl who may or may not be working for a morally grey space cult.”
“She laughed at one of my dumb jokes,” Caelus admitted, muffled.
March gasped again. “She laughed?! Oh, it’s over for you. You’re done. Pack it up. Go write her name on your locker and doodle hearts in your journal.”
“I don’t have a locker.”
“its a metaphor you stupid hoe,” she said solemnly.
And as the Express continued its course through the stars, the crew kept teasing, bickering, and beneath it all watching over each other. Even if they didn’t say it, they all felt it.
ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆゚.*・。゚
This sector was too close to the Express’s patrol route, and Kafka had given you a very specific order to avoid unnecessary contact with the crew for your own good, allegedly. But “allegedly” didn’t stop your feet from wandering. And it sure didn’t stop him.
Because Caelus was already there, poking his head around a half crushed console like he was looking for snacks and not violating multiple interdimensional boundaries.
“Psst,” he whispered, ducking behind a pillar like a badly disguised spy.
You stared at him, deadpan. “You followed me.”
“I think the term stumbled across you like fate intended,” he said, peeking out again with a hopeful smile.
You folded your arms. “You almost got spotted by Silver Wolf’s scouts. If I hadn’t looped their surveillance…”
“Okay, so maybe I’m not great at stealth,” Caelus admitted, sheepish. “But I am great at being incredibly charming in the face of mortal peril.”
You opened your mouth to tell him off but then he crouched, balancing on one leg with his arms out like a chicken, and made a dramatic caw noise.
“See? You can’t stay mad at this level of grace.”
You stared. Then pinched the bridge of your nose. And yet… your lips twitched. Damn it.
He grinned wider, clearly catching it. “There it is! The tiniest smile. I knew I could break through that scary, cool Hunter persona.”
“I’m not scary,” you muttered.
“You’re terrifying. In a hot way.”
You rolled your eyes, turning away to hide the heat rushing to your cheeks. “You’re a really weird guy.”
“And yet you keep meeting me,” he said, stepping closer now. “Isn’t that funny?”
It wasn’t funny. It was frustrating. It was dangerous. Every second spent with him risked blowing your cover, ruining your mission. Staying away from the people that hindered the stellarons hunters wishes
But every time he smiled at you like that like you were the only real thing left in the galaxy. You forgot what side you were on.
“Caelus…” you started, voice wavering.
“Yeah?”
“Why do you do this?” Your eyes locked with his. “Why do you keep chasing me when we’re supposed to be enemies?”
He hesitated, surprised by the weight in your voice.
Then he shrugged, quietly this time. “Because even when I close my eyes, I still see you. And I think… if I stop chasing that, I’ll regret it forever.”
Something in your chest cracked open. The longing. The ache. The static in your blood. It surged all at once.
You didn’t think. Didn’t plan. You just grabbed his collar and kissed him. Hard. The impact startled him his hands flying to steady you, your fingers curled in his jacket like you’d fall apart if you let go. It was clumsy, fierce, desperate.
You felt his breath hitch. Felt his fingers tighten. Though suddenly. The static surged. Your knees gave out and the world tilted. You collapsed into his arms, your consciousness slipping like smoke.
“Whoa! Wait!” Caelus caught you before you hit the ground, wide eyed. “Okay, not how I imagined our first kiss going hey, are you okay? Are you? Oh god, did I break you?!”
He knelt, cradling you gently, brushing hair from your face as your breathing steadied but your eyes stayed shut.
“…You kissed me,” he whispered, stunned.
Then, more softly.
“…Please wake up so I can tell you how i really feel”
A few moments pass and you’re still completely knocked out.
“She’s not waking up. She’s not waking up. She’s not okay okay it’s fine, I’ve definitely… totally… handled something like this before…”
He hadn’t. Caelus was not fine. You were unconscious in his arms, and he had no idea why. He was racing back toward the Express through dimensional shrapnel and twisted corridors like he was running from the universe itself. Every few seconds, he glanced down to make sure you were still breathing.
You were. Shallow, but steady. Thank every star in the sky.
“I mean, you kiss a girl, and she immediately collapses that’s gotta be a record, right?” he muttered, mostly to keep from screaming. “Cool, Caelus. Real smooth. She finally kisses you and the stellaron hunter gets beaten by a kiss. note to tell Dan heng to use that on blade later”
His foot snagged on a floating stone, and he nearly tumbled. He tightened his hold, shielding your head.
“Sorry, sorry gotcha,” he said softly, eyes flicking to your face. “You don’t look hurt. You just… fainted? Did I do something wrong? Was it the hair? Be honest, you hate the hair, don’t you?”
No answer. Just the soft, steady rise and fall of your chest.
The Express came into view. Warm lights. Familiar hum. A tether back to sanity. He bolted inside, panting. “Emergency! Kind of! I mean, not me okay, yes me, but mostly her!”
March’s head whipped up from the couch. “Is that?!”
Dan Heng appeared instantly at the sound of frantic footsteps, and Himeko turned from the navigation console.
“What happened?” she asked sharply, crossing the room. “Isnt she that girl youre always talking about?”
“I I don’t know! I mean, I do, but I don’t she’s the girl from the dimensional fault. She kissed me long story and then she just collapsed.”
“You kissed the enemy?” March asked, voice pitched somewhere between scandalized and amazed. “Oh my, Caelus!”
“She kissed me!” he hissed, glancing down at you. “And then passed out, which is not how kisses usually go right? That’s not normal?”
Welt Yang stepped in, grave and composed as always. “Where exactly did this happen?”
“Fragmented zone, a relay station near the collapsed ruins. She was fine then not. I didn’t know where else to go.”
“You made the right choice,” Himeko said gently, already checking your pulse.
“She’s… she’s okay, right?” Caelus asked, voice cracking as he dropped to his knees beside you.
Welt nodded slowly. “Stable vitals. No external trauma. But her energy readings are odd.”
“Odd how?” Caelus asked.
March peeked over Welt’s shoulder. “Like Stellaron odd? Trailblazer odd? Or, like, cute girl with dangerous secrets odd?”
Welt exhaled. “Yes.”
Caelus swallowed hard. He looked at your face again. Still so still.
“Hey,” he murmured, taking your hand carefully. “You can’t just… leave me hanging like that. You can’t kiss me and ghost me in the same breath. That’s rude.”
March elbowed Dan Heng. “Yo i love the guy but has he ever been serious”
“I don’t think so,” Dan Heng replied dryly.
“I’m serious,” Caelus said, voice softer now. “You gotta wake up soon. I don’t care who you are. Or what you think you have to be. I just… I want to know you. The real you.”
Your fingers didn’t twitch.
But your heartbeat, quietly, began to quicken. The cabin of the Astral Express felt too quiet. You were still unconscious, resting in the medbay with March standing guard just in case you woke up and decided to, you know, unleash chaos. Dan Heng was nearby, arms crossed, calm but clearly on edge.
And Himeko… was doing something no one expected.
“She’s calling Kafka?” March whispered, wide eyed. “That’s… wow. That’s like dialing a volcano and asking it politely not to erupt.”
“I’m not asking,” Himeko said smoothly, tone neutral as she tapped into the comms. “I’m informing. She’s going to want to know her operative’s alive and on board. I’d prefer that information come from us than from, say… a surveillance drone.”
“Or a giant explosion,” Caelus mumbled from where he slumped against the wall.
March shot him a look. “You really kissed her, huh?”
“She kissed me,” he repeated, quietly now. “And then she collapsed. Not exactly the grand romantic moment I imagined.”
“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘cursed,’” March offered helpfully.
Before he could spiral further, Welt Yang appeared beside him and nodded toward the back car. “Walk with me?”
Caelus didn’t argue. They ended up on the observation deck, stars stretched out endlessly through the glass windows. The silence was nice. Heavy, but nice.
“You’ve been quiet,” Welt said after a while.
“Trying not to panic,” Caelus admitted. “Not doing a great job.”
Welt studied him with the patience of someone who’d seen too many wars and too many versions of the same story. “You’re allowed to panic. But you’re also allowed to hope.”
Caelus leaned his head against the window, watching a comet streak by. “She was… cold. Distant. But when she looked at me, it felt like someone lit up the whole room. Like a puzzle piece finally clicked, even if it didn’t make sense.”
“And the kiss?”
“Unplanned. Very… wow. And then terrifying.”
Welt chuckled quietly. “Feelings can do that. Especially when they come from somewhere deeper than memory.”
“You think she’s really?”
“I think the universe has a way of trying again when it gets something wrong,” Welt said gently. “You two… may have been pulled apart by something beyond your control. That doesn’t mean you can’t find your way back.”
Caelus swallowed the knot in his throat.
“I just what if she wakes up and remembers who she is, and it means she leaves? Or worse, tries to finish what she started?”
“Then you face that moment with the same bravery you faced her now. With heart.”
Caelus looked up at him.
“…You’re good at this.”
Welt smiled, faint but kind. “I’ve had practice.”
The silence stretched between them comfortably this time. Then March’s voice crackled over the intercom.
“Uh, guys? So… Kafka responded. She’s coming. ETA fifteen minutes.”
Caelus stiffened.
Welt simply exhaled. “Well. Time to prepare for company.”
“And by company,” Caelus muttered, “you mean the scariest lady who might murder me for smooching her agent.”
“She might also say ‘thanks,’” Welt mused.
“…That would be a miracle.”
ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆゚.*・。゚
She came with the wind. No ship announced her arrival. No screeching engines or blaring alarms warned the crew. Just a sudden, eerie stillness like the Express itself recognized the presence walking its halls and chose to hold its breath.
Caelus stood in the medbay doorway, arms crossed tight against his chest, heart hammering like it still hadn’t caught up to the kiss or the collapse that followed.
You hadn’t stirred. Not once. He didn’t know what terrified him more the silence from your body… or the way he wasnt sure what everything meant
Then she appeared. Kafka stepped through the door like a queen entering her court graceful, confident, her long coat fluttering gently with her stride. Eyes sharp and knowing. Expression unreadable, but tinged with something… fond. Like she’d expected this.
“Well,” she murmured, surveying the scene. “You’re earlier than I thought, Caelus.”
He blinked. “You… expected this?”
She didn’t answer right away. Instead, her gaze fell on you, lying still and pale on the cot, a faint glimmer of light pulsing beneath your skin where your mask once was.
Kafka smiled softly.
She walked closer and crouched beside you, brushing a gloved hand over your forehead in a rare moment of gentleness. “She always did overdo things when emotions were involved. Even across timelines, some things stay the same.”
Caelus stepped forward, jaw tight. “What happened to her?”
Kafka tilted her head. “She remembered you. More than she was supposed to. More than her mind this version of her was ready to accept.”
“What do you mean, ‘this version’?” Caelus asked slowly, dreading the answer.
Kafka looked up at him. “She’s not from here. Not exactly.”
Silence. Dan Heng, March, Welt, and Himeko stood nearby, tension bleeding into the room like fog.
“She’s a splinter,” Kafka continued. “A fracture of someone that once existed in a timeline that was… erased. In that version of the world, she boarded the Express. Just like you. She was one of yours.”
“…Ours?” Caelus echoed.
“You were happy,” Kafka said with a smile. “Close. Devoted. She loved you, Caelus. More than duty, more than fear. Enough to leap across timelines when fate collapsed around her.”
His breath caught. Kafka rose, brushing imaginary dust from her gloves. “Elio found her adrift. Not quite nothing, not quite whole. And I well, I’ve always had a soft spot for lost causes.”
March folded her arms. “So… you knew she didn’t belong with the Stellaron Hunters?”
“She belonged where her heart led her,” Kafka replied coolly. “We never forced her to stay. She chose to remain. But I knew the day would come when the two of you would meet again. Some things are inevitable.”
Himeko narrowed her gaze. “Then why bring her in at all?”
Kafka looked at her. Smiled. “Because sometimes, a storm needs a place to land.”
“…That’s not an answer,” Dan Heng said.
“No,” Kafka replied, unbothered. “It isn’t.”
She turned back toward Caelus then. Her tone gentled. “She found you again. Against all odds. And even without memories, her soul still remembered.”
Caelus swallowed. His voice felt hoarse. “So what now?”
“Now?” Kafka took a step toward him, something unreadable in her eyes. “Now you wait. Be patient. She’s strong. Stubborn. She’ll come back to you.”
Then, a pause deliberate and teasing. She leaned closer. “And be good, Caelus.”
He blinked. “What?”
“Be. Good,” she repeated with a sly smile. “Or I’ll steal her back.”
He flushed. “she came to me, you know.”
Kafka’s grin widened. “Soulmates do that. No matter the odds. No matter the sides.”
He stared at her. She softened. Just a fraction.
“Even when she was one of us,” she said quietly, “she still looked at the stars and dreamed of you. You’d think that kind of devotion would die between timelines, but… it doesn’t.”
Caelus’s chest ached.
“She loved you then,” Kafka whispered. “And if you’re lucky, she’ll love you again.”
Her gaze turned thoughtful.
“Opposing sides don’t mean much to the heart. What matters is how hard you’re willing to love, even when the universe tries to tear you apart.” Then she brushed past him, heading toward the door.
“Wait,” Caelus said. “Are you just going to leave her?”
Kafka smiled over her shoulder. “She’s exactly where she needs to be.” And with that, she was gone. Silence returned. Caelus stood there for a moment, eyes on your still form. Then, quietly, Welt stepped to his side again.
“Well,” he said gently, “you heard the woman.”
Caelus exhaled shakily. “Yeah…”
“She’ll come back.”
Caelus nodded. “Yeah.” And when she does, he thought, I’m not letting go again.
ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆゚.*・。゚ It starts with light. Soft, golden, and endless. You’re weightless, drifting. Not through space through memory. Through pieces of yourself you didn’t know were missing. At first, the visions are disjointed, blurred at the edges. Like film caught between frames. A laugh. Your own. It’s bright, full of something warm. Something forgotten. You’re standing in the Astral Express kitchen, sleeves rolled up, flour on your cheek. March 7th is beside you, wielding a spoon like a sword. Across the counter, Caelus is dramatically pretending to faint as he eats a cookie you baked.
“It’s so good,” he gasps, flopping over a chair like a dying man. “I’m ascending Himeko, if I die, bury me with ten of these.”
You hit him with a dish towel. “Eat like a normal person.”
“I am! This is how Trailblazers eat. enjoying every second of this. Very cool.” You’re smiling so wide it hurts. The scene melts.
FLASH.
You and Dan Heng are leaning over a terminal together. He’s explaining star coordinates, but your attention keeps drifting. Not because you’re bored but because you’re waiting. Waiting for that familiar, goofy voice behind you. Sure enough.
“You’re cheating on me with star maps again?” Caelus says, mock offended.
“Jealous of numbers?” you tease, turning to him.
“I’m jealous of anything that takes your attention for more than thirty seconds.” Dan Heng clears his throat, but you swear he’s hiding a smile.
FLASH
It’s night. Or what passes for night on the train. You and Caelus are sitting on the edge by the door, legs dangling over the edge. Your heads are tilted toward the stars, shoulders touching.
No words. Just the sound of the universe breathing between you.
“I think I found home,” he whispers.
You blink. Look at him.
He doesn’t turn to you, but his hand finds yours in the dark.
“I think,” he continues, voice quieter now, “it’s not a place. I think it’s a person.”
“did you read that in a romance book?”
“shhhhh, you’re crazy you’re thinking too much. close your eyes and just embrace it”
You squeeze his hand back.
FLASH.
Battle. You’re bleeding. Something had gone wrong on a mission fight with a Fragmentum creature. You’re cornered, dizzy, staggering but then Caelus is there. Always.
He pulls you back against him, shielding your body with his own, teeth gritted, eyes wild with fear.
“I got you,” he pants. “Stay with me, okay? Just don’t go.”
You look up at him.
You smile.
“Like I’d leave you, dummy.”
FLASH.
You’re in the observation car, curled on one of the long benches. The stars are streaming by, casting the room in slow, celestial motion. Caelus walks in with two mugs and stops in his tracks when he sees you. You feign sleep. He sits beside you anyway. Then, softly, with that grin you’ve always hated because it makes your heart ache.
“I don’t know what I did in the past to deserve you,” he says, voice like a secret, “but I’d do it again. A thousand times.” Your heart clenches. Because something inside you remembers.
FLASH.
That ruined city. The fault zone. His face. You hear his voice again.
“I’ve seen you before. In dreams.”
“I think… I loved you, once.”
And for the first time, your consciousness stirs. The dreams fracture. Like mirrors catching too much light. The voice calling you back isn’t Kafka’s. It’s his.
Caelus.
You try to reach. To swim toward the sound. But something holds you back like the universe hasn’t decided if you’re ready to wake. Then, one final whisper reaches you. Not a memory. Not a dream. Just a feeling, laced in the warmth of amber eyes.
“Come back to me.”
You move.
There was no light when you first stirred just warmth. A soft hum beneath you. A scent in the air like metal and tea. And someone breathing. Slow, steady, near. Your eyelids fluttered open, lashes blinking against the low glow of the Astral Express’s medical bay. Everything felt strangely quiet thick, like sound and time had been layered under water. You blinked again. Once. Twice.
Then you saw him.
Slouched in a chair beside the bed, head tucked in his arms, was him. Caelus. He looked so much softer like this. Asleep, or maybe just resting his eyes. Hair slightly mussed, coat slipping off one shoulder, mouth slightly open like he had passed out mid thought. Your heart gave a small, traitorous flutter.
You whispered, “…Caelus?”
His head jerked up so fast you thought he might give himself whiplash. His amber eyes locked onto yours in an instant, and something shattered across his face. He bolted upright, nearly tripping over the chair in his scramble to get to your side.
“Hey hey! You’re awake! You’re actually awake! Not, like, fake half awake. Awake awake.” His hands hovered awkwardly over you, unsure if he was allowed to touch. “I Himeko said it could take a week, or a month, or uh, anyway, it’s been three days, and I’ve been sitting here the whole time and” You reached up and gently touched his wrist.
“I think…” you murmured, voice hoarse but steady, “I think I love you.” He froze like you’d physically unplugged his brain.
“W what?”
Your body ached, your throat still burned, and your thoughts swam like drifting stars but the feeling in your chest was real. Unmistakable. A tether that led back to him, no matter the timeline. You sat up slowly he instantly reached out to help you, like you might fall apart again and when you moved forward to hug him, his arms instinctively opened.
“Waitwaitwait!” He pulled back with sudden panic, palms bracing your shoulders like a human seatbelt. “Are you gonna kiss me again? Because the last time you did that, you passed out in my arms and scared me half to death. Not that it was a bad kiss honestly, it was amazing, I’m still recovering but I don’t want you to, like, die on me again. My heart can’t take it.” You stared at him. Then laughed. Softly. Genuinely.
Even now when he was clearly shaken, clearly not over what happened he was still him. A little weird. A little dramatic. A little too honest. It calmed you. Grounded you. You leaned in again slower this time and pressed your forehead against his.
“I’m not yours,” you said quietly. “Not the one you have ever met
He nodded, eyes dimming slightly. “Yeah. I figured.”
“But you…” You closed your eyes. “You’re not my Caelus either.”
A breath passed between you. And then, you whispered, “But I think… you’re still my home.”
His breath caught. He didn’t say anything at first. Just stared at you, that chaotic, sincere expression melting into something gentler. Something he hadn’t let himself hope for.
Then, his hand brushed the side of your cheek tentative, reverent. And he smiled.
“…You really know how to knock a guy off his feet, huh?”
You leaned into his touch, eyes fluttering shut.
“You’ve been doing it to me since before I even knew your name.”
Astarion X Reader
masterlist
funnily enough, there is no sex in this fic. Just a short drabble of communication.
The campfire crackled under the dim twilight, casting long shadows across scattered bedrolls and worn boots. The air was still thick with the scent of the last skirmish blood, sweat, and a hint of singed hair. Everyone was winding down. You sat cross legged near the fire, arms resting on your knees, deep in thought. Astarion lounged nearby, wine cup in hand, eyes glittering in the firelight. He watched you closely, as he often did, as though trying to read your every thought like a well worn book.
Then, with all the casual weight of commenting on the weather, you announced. “I think I’m going to have sex.”
Silence. Even Lae’zel paused mid sharpen, casting you a side glance. Astarion straightened slightly, eyebrows lifting in both amusement and interest.
“Are we now?” he drawled, setting down his cup. “Well, I’m flattered. Not surprised, of course but flattered.”
You blinked. “What?”
Astarion leaned forward, lips curling. “Darling, there’s no need for coyness. If you need someone to… satisfy your sudden urges, I’d be happy to oblige. Gods know I’ve been waiting for you to finally admit it.”
You stared at him for a beat, then snorted. “Oh. No. I wasn’t talking about you.”
The silence that followed was somehow louder than the last one. Astarion’s smile twitched, just a little. “I beg your pardon?”
You shrugged, nonchalant. “I was thinking… probably Gale.”
Astarion looked like you’d just slapped him with a wet sock.
“Gale?” he repeated, aghast. “You’re choosing the walking arcane lecture over me? That man has more monologues than passion, and his idea of foreplay is a history lesson.”
“He’s sweet,” you said simply, pulling your cloak tighter around your shoulders. “I don’t know. I just feel like I need to get it out of my system. Nothing deep. Just… need to do something irrational for once.”
“Gale,” Astarion muttered again, then let out a sound between a scoff and a laugh. “This is some sort of fever dream. Or perhaps a punishment from the gods.”
You smiled. “Astarion, not everything is about you.”
He grinned back, sharp and wounded. “It should be.”
You stood up, stretching. “Anyway. I haven’t decided yet. Maybe I’ll sleep on it.”
“Oh, by all means, take your time. I’ll just be here, knowing I was passed over for a man who talks more to his floating book than to actual people.”
You gave him a pat on the head like an annoyed cat and turned toward Gale’s tent.
Behind you, Astarion called out, “If he starts reciting poetry during the act, run.”
The fire had long since crackled into glowing embers, its warmth now a quiet hum in the cool night. The camp had settled into silence, the sounds of rustling blankets and steady breathing drifting in from the other tents. Astarion sat alone, still where you’d left him, wine cup now untouched.
He stared into the dark woods, eyes unfocused. He wasn’t thinking about monsters or traps. No. Something far more unsettling had taken root in his mind.
You. You and your ridiculous declaration. You and your infuriating unpredictability. You and… Gale. He scoffed aloud, quiet and bitter. Gale, with his grand words and glowing hands. Gale, who probably asked for consent like it was a spell component.
It doesn’t make sense, Astarion thought, fingers curling slightly at his side. You’re allowed to bed whoever you wish. You owe me nothing. I never claimed to He paused. Frowned.
“Gods,” he whispered into the dark, realization dawning like a slow, creeping horror. “I’m jealous.”
The word felt foreign on his tongue. He almost laughed him, jealous? It was laughable. He’d never needed anyone before. Never cared if someone wandered off after a flirtation, or if they found pleasure in another’s arms. That was the whole point, wasn’t it? Pleasure without consequence. Desire without attachment. But tonight, watching you casually toss aside what he thought was a mutual spark no, knew was had stirred something ugly and unfamiliar in him.
“I don’t get jealous,” he said aloud to the night, trying the words again, firmer this time. “I don’t do jealousy. It’s beneath me.”
But the fire in his chest said otherwise. It wasn’t just bruised ego. That he could handle. He wanted you to choose him. Not out of convenience. Not out of need. But because you wanted him, just him. He leaned back against a log, running a hand through his hair with a low groan. “This is an absolute disaster.”
For the first time in centuries, Astarion wasn’t sure how to play the game. Worse, he wasn’t sure he wanted to play at all. He wanted to be with you. But how the hells did he even begin?
Morning crept into the camp slowly, light spilling over bedrolls and dewy grass. Birds chirped far too cheerfully for anyone’s liking especially Astarion’s. He sat on a rock near the fire pit, legs crossed elegantly, skin glowing like always, and of course he looked amazing. Until you walked out of your tent.
“Well, well,” he drawled without looking up. “If it isn’t the temptress of the Weave herself, back from a night of sonnets and magical satisfaction.”
You stopped mid stretch. “What?”
Astarion turned to you, faux innocence painted across his face. “Oh, don’t play coy. I’m just dying to know how our dear Gale fares in the bedroom. Did he conjure you a glowing review? Perhaps summoned a satisfaction score from the Weave?”
You blinked, then burst out laughing. “Calm down, loverboy. Nothing happened.”
His smirk faltered.
“…Nothing?” he repeated, cautious.
You dropped onto a log across from him, grin wide. “Nope. We talked for like ten minutes, then he got distracted explaining the theory behind dreamscapes and how the mind processes intimacy while unconscious.”
Astarion looked like he aged a century. “Of course he did.”
“I almost fell asleep standing up,” you added. “I think at some point he forgot I was there.”
Astarion made a strangled sound in his throat and tossed a twig into the fire. “Well. I’m sure that was incredibly titillating.”
You rested your chin in your hand, watching him with a glint in your eye. “What’s with the attitude? I said nothing happened. A girl’s allowed to have urges, you know.”
His eyes flicked to yours, fast and sharp. “…Urges?”
You shrugged, teasing. “Yeah. Just figured it was time to get it over with. Stress relief. You know health reasons.”
Astarion narrowed his eyes. “You were going to treat it like a medical appointment?”
“Exactly. Routine check up. The doctor was just… overbooked.”
The vampire groaned and threw his head back. “You’re going to kill me.”
“Mm, maybe I will, we will just have to wait and see unril you stop being jealous.”
“I wasn’t jealous,” he said quickly. Too quickly.
You raised an eyebrow.
“I was… annoyed. That’s different.”
“Mhm. You sure you weren’t picturing Gale putting on a robe and lighting candles while reading me his dissertation on foreplay?”
“I hate how accurate that sounds.”
You chuckled again, leaning back on your hands, eyes on him now with something softer. “You’re cute when you’re bitter.”
Astarion’s gaze flicked toward you again, but this time there was something quieter in it. Something careful. “And you’re a devious minx when you laugh like that.”
“Oh?” you smirked. “Scared I’ll seduce you with my wit?”
He looked away, but a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“No,” he murmured. “Scared I already am.”
––––You sat cross legged on a blanket just outside the camp, your sketchbook resting against your knees. Gale was beside you, hunched over his own page with careful strokes, charcoal smudged on the side of his hand. It was quiet. You could hear the rustle of paper, the soft exhale of Gale’s breath as he concentrated. Every so often, he would glance at your work, but he never commented unless you did first.
“Is that the Underdark cave?” you asked after a while, tilting your head toward his page.
He smiled, barely lifting his gaze. “It is. Not as foreboding on paper, is it?”
You hummed. “I would say it is still very foreboding.”
“I like it too,” he said, voice quiet.
You looked at him then how the light caught in his curls, how the frown of focus softened his features. There was something incredibly human about Gale in moments like this. Something grounding. Then he set the charcoal aside with a gentle sigh and glanced your way.
“I’ve been meaning to bring something up,” he said carefully. “Last night… when you mentioned what you wanted from me.”
You tensed slightly, setting your pencil down. “Right.”
“I was flattered,” Gale said with a small smile. “Truly. You’re… lovely, and clever, and far more patient than this strange journey has any right to demand. But I want you to know it’s not about you.”
You blinked. “What isn’t?”
“I don’t exactly know my stance on physical intimacy without affection. Not for myself, at least.” His gaze dropped to his hands, fingers lightly dusted with black. “It would feel hollow. Transactional. And I’ve already been part of one dangerous entanglement with shallow roots.”
You were quiet for a moment, then nodded. “I understand. You deserve real love.”
Gale looked up at you again, softer now. “We all do.”
You bit your lip, nodding again. “I respect that. I hope it didn’t seem like I was pressuring you.”
“Dont worry your pretty little head about it. I know. You’re too considerate for that.” He paused. “Which makes it even more baffling how you endure him.”
You blinked. “Who?”
Gale looked toward the center of camp, where Astarion was perched on a fallen log, basking in the sun and pretending not to eavesdrop. “That creature,” Gale said, voice dry. “A walking vanity project, Honestly, it’s like camping with a predatory peacock.”
You snorted.
“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” Gale continued, warming to the roast. “I’m sure he’s quite talented in the dark. centuries of seduction will hone one’s… muscle memory but I imagine it’s about as emotionally fulfilling as being serenaded by a harpsichord made of teeth.”
“Gale.”
“No, really. He pouted for twenty minutes this morning because his hair got flattened during trance. He looked like a drowned cat who couldn’t manipulate the mage hand spell to fix it.”
Astarion glanced over then, voice saccharine: “You’re talking about me again. I must be ravishing to live rent free in the brain of a man who hasn’t even kissed anyone this decade.”
Gale raised a brow. “I’d sooner kiss a gelatinous cube. At least it wouldn’t try to kill me afterward.”
You covered your mouth, barely muffling your laugh. Astarion scoffed but didn’t move. what? he was listening. he couldnt help it.
Gale’s voice softened slightly then, a lilt of sincerity slipping beneath the sarcasm. “But jokes aside… be careful.”
You blinked. “With Astarion?”
He nodded. “He’s clever. Charming. entirely capable of making himself whatever you want him to be until he’s not.”
Your gaze dropped back to your sketchbook, heart thudding.Then, as if to break the weight of it, he chuckled faintly. “Besides, if we’re talking about primal urges, I believe our resident vampire spawn has more than enough… enthusiasm to spare.”
You laughed, leaning your head back. “You think Astarion’s dying to jump my bones?”
“Oh, I know he is. He practically disintegrated when you told him nothing happened between us.”
“He did look like he’d swallowed a lemon.”
“He looked like he’d been given the feast of the century. Honestly before you said anything, I haven’t seen a man so heartbroken since… well, me.” You nudged him with your shoulder, smiling. “But,” Gale continued, quieter now, “just remember there might be someone else who wants that closeness with affection. Someone who might be afraid you’ll offer it to someone else first.”
You turned your head slowly, eyes meeting his. He didn’t say Astarion’s name again. He didn’t need to.for the first time in a while, your heart beat a little faster not from fear, but from the weight of someone else’s longing you hadn’t quite dared to name.
The sun had risen high enough to dry the grass and heat the stones, but the camp was still unusually quiet. Most of the others had wandered off some hunting, some meditating. You were by the water, splashing your fingers across the surface, letting your boots dangle in the current. Astarion’s shadow fell over you before his voice did.
“You know,” he began, casually enough, “I’ve been thinking.”
You looked up. He was standing just off to the side, arms crossed, expression unreadable but his eyes were trained only on you.
“is that new or did you want to share with the class,” you said
He huffed a laugh but didn’t banter back. He just stepped closer, his voice quiet. “Why didn’t you ask me?”
You blinked, confused for a moment. “What?”
He met your eyes now. “When you decided you needed… something. That night. Why didn’t you come to me?”
You turned your gaze back to the water, thoughtful. “Because I couldn’t.”
He tilted his head, studying you. “Couldn’t? Why?”
You were quiet for a long moment. Then, with a breath, you said, “Because I just wanted meaningless sex. Nothing more.” Astarion flinched not outwardly, but in the smallest corner of his expression, in the way his mouth parted like he’d just been stung. “And that’s not something I could ever have with you.”
You turned to face him now, fully. “Out of everyone in this camp… you’re my best friend. Like, yes, I care about the others. Gale’s a good man. I trust him, I do. But the bond I have with him it’s not like what I have with you.”
Astarion stood there, silent.
“With you,” you continued, voice softer now, “I can’t turn it off. I can’t just pretend it’s only physical. You’re not a passing urge. You’re the person I go to when I can’t sleep. You’re the one I want near me when things go wrong. You’re the one I trust when I don’t trust myself.” He blinked slowly, like the words didn’t quite register at first.
“And if we crossed that line,” you added gently, “I don’t think I could ever call it meaningless. Not with you. Not even if I tried.”
The air felt still around you, like the world was holding its breath. When Astarion finally spoke, his voice was rough around the edges. “I think you just ruined every one of my excuses for why I’m not already in love with you.”
You gave him a smile, wide eyed surprise. He sat down next to you without asking, his shoulder brushing yours. “I’m not saying I am,” he added quickly. “But if I were… that would’ve made it a lot worse.”
You laughed softly, leaning your head on his arm. “Sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
“…No, I’m not.”
Hizashi Yamada X Reader
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.
────୨ৎ────
Geto Suguru x Reader
Gojo Satoru x Reader
────୨ৎ────
⋆˚✿˖° 2. I’ve Played these Games Before
Headcannon, the men are stupid
if you missed the last chapter and want more-> masterlist
₍^. .^₎⟆ Geto sighed, stretching his arms as he strolled toward his dorm. The study session had been useless (as expected), but at least it had been entertaining. Though, if he was being honest, the best part of the evening had been watching Gojo flail around in real-time romantic panic.
He smirked to himself. That was going to be fun to watch unfold.
Not that he cared much about the bet itself. That was just a way to mess with Gojo, to see him squirm. Nothing more.
His plan was simple he’d treat you exactly the same as always. Calm, confident, teasing. Unlike Gojo, he didn’t need to rely on some ridiculous strategy. He wasn’t about to start googling psychological tricks like a lovesick idiot.
No, he’d just make a few subtle changes. More intentional eye contact. More casual touches. More moments of quiet attention, the kind that made people feel like they were the only one in the room.
At least, that’s what he thought, until lunchtime the next day, when Gojo started getting on his nerves.
Because, of course, Gojo wasn’t capable of subtlety.
“Wow,” Gojo whistled, sliding into the seat across from you. “Look at you, already eating without me? I thought we had something special.”
You looked up mid bite, a spoonful of rice halfway to your mouth. “Gojo, you were literally behind me in line.”
“Details,” he waved off, dramatically propping his chin in his hand. “But you know, I was thinking of eating alone today… until I saw you, and my heart just knew I couldn’t let that happen.”
You snorted. “Sounds rough, buddy.”
His sunglasses slid down his nose just enough for you to see his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You have no idea.”
You rolled your eyes but smiled, taking another bite of your food. Gojo watched you closely, subtly shifting in his seat. Step one—mirroring movements. You lifted your spoon, and he lazily picked up his chopsticks. You leaned forward slightly, and he mirrored the action. He was subtle about it, of course. Natural. Completely normal. Definitely not weird.
Except you paused, squinting at him.
“…Are you copying me?”
Gojo choked on air. “Wh—what? No! Pfft. I’m just sitting.”
Your grin widened. “Satoru, are you copying me?”
He waved his chopsticks. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
You squinted a second longer, then shrugged, going back to your food. “Mhm. Sure.”
Gojo let out a silent breath. Okay. Maybe less obvious on that one.
Right. Step two—eye contact.
He leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm as he gazed at you, letting his signature smirk tug at his lips. A confident, roguish expression that, historically, had driven people wild.
You, however, just blinked at him. “Are you- why are you staring at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re waiting for me to read your mind or something.”
Gojo sighed dramatically. “I was just admiring the way the cafeteria lights shine in your eyes. Very mesmerizing. Stunning, even.”
You blinked again. “Satoru, the cafeteria lights are fluorescent.”
“Exactly,” he grinned. “Yet, somehow, you make them work.”
You just groaned, shaking your head. “You are so weird.”
He ignored the minor setback and moved to Step three—casual physical touch. Casual. Natural. Smooth. So he reached across the table and lightly flicked your forehead.
You recoiled, dramatically grabbing your head. “Ow?!”
“Oops.” He grinned. “Slipped.”
“You slipped into flicking me?”
“Crazy, right?”
You narrowed your eyes before retaliating, smacking his arm with the back of your spoon. “Oops,” you mimicked, grinning. “I slipped.”
Gojo laughed, holding up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, truce.” You huffed, still smiling, before turning your attention back to your food.
Step four—make them laugh.
He was already a pro at that. Easy. No problem. You weren’t in a bad mood or anything, just a little spaced out, quietly picking at your food while Geto and Shoko talked beside you. Normally, you’d be more engaged, but today, your mind just wasn’t all there.
Gojo, of course, noticed. And he could not let that slide.
“Alright, I’m making an official declaration,” he announced, leaning forward with a grin. “I’m getting her—” he pointed dramatically at you “—to laugh before lunch is over.”
Shoko didn’t even look up from her juice box. “Shouldn’t take long. Five minutes.”
“Two,” Geto said, smirking. “He’s predictable.”
You blinked at them. “Wait—what? I do laugh.”
“Not enough,” Gojo countered, watching you with exaggerated scrutiny. “Not the real, ugly, snorting kind. That’s the goal.”
“You don’t need that,” you said flatly.
“Oh, but I do.”
He leaned forward, hands clasped like he was about to deliver something profound. “Okay. Picture this. I’m fighting this cursed spirit the other day—big, ugly thing, smelled like a sewer. And it looks at me and goes, ‘Hey, aren’t you that discount Kakashi?’”
Silence.
Geto exhaled through his nose, mildly amused. Shoko just sighed. You gave Gojo a slow blink.
Gojo placed a hand on his chest, scandalized. “Nothing? That was comedy gold.”
“That was sad,” Geto corrected.
“Okay, fine, I can do better,” Gojo said, shaking it off before dramatically throwing himself against Geto’s side. “Bro, I can’t believe this. My own best friend, laughing before she does. This is a betrayal. How do I go on?”
“Quieter,” Geto muttered, shoving him off.
Gojo ignored him. “Alright, last attempt.” He turned to you, suddenly serious. “If you don’t laugh in the next ten seconds, I’m taking your dessert.”
Your head snapped up. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
And then, as if to prove he meant business, he grabbed two onigiri from Geto’s tray, wiggled them like little sock puppets, and in the most high pitched, overly dramatic voice you’d ever heard, went:
“Oh no, Gojo-sama, please spare us! We are but humble rice balls!”
He made one onigiri turn to the other. “Brother, I don’t think he’s going to show us mercy…”
The second onigiri shook dramatically. “No, we still have so much to live for! My wife, my children, who will tell them what happened to me?”
“I will, dear brother,” the first one promised solemnly. “I will tell them of your bravery!”
“No!” The second onigiri screamed (or rather, Gojo screamed for it). “You must live on! Let me be the one to—AHHH!”
And with that, Gojo chucked the onigiri into his mouth and took an exaggerated, victorious bite.
You burst out laughing. The kind of laugh you couldn’t hold in if you tried, the kind that made you lean forward onto the table, shoulders shaking as you gasped for air.
Gojo pointed at you with a mouthful of rice. “Boom. Victory.”
Shoko sighed, sipping her juice. “Took longer than I thought.”
Geto shook his head. “I’m never letting you near my food again.”
But Gojo wasn’t listening. He was too busy basking in his success, leaning toward you with a cocky grin. “Told you you couldn’t resist my charm.”
“You’re an idiot,” you wheezed, still catching your breath.
“And yet,” Gojo said, stealing your dessert anyway, “an idiot with perfect comedic timing.” You groaned I’m reply.
He grinned, triumphant.
Then, Step five, say their name more. “Hey, (Y/N),” he drawled, propping his chin on his hand.
You raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Satoru?”
He blinked. “Uh.”
Damn it. He didn’t actually have anything to say. He’d just read in some stupid article that saying your name was supposed to make you subconsciously more interested in him.
“…Nothing,” he said smoothly, smiling. “Just wanted to remind you how nice your name sounds.”
You gave him a look. “Right.”
A beat of silence. Then
“Satoru,” you said, voice suspiciously sweet.
Gojo grinned. “Yeah?”
“You are being weird.”
“Me?” He placed a hand over his chest, mock-offended. “Weird? Perish the thought.”
You just laughed, shaking your head as you finished the last of your food. “Anyway, as fun as this has been, Im a little thirsty.”
Gojo gasped. “What, you’re leaving me?”
“You’ll survive.” You smirked, standing up. “Probably.”
He clutched his chest dramatically. “(Y/N), your cruelty knows no bounds.”
You just rolled your eyes but smiled. “I’ll be back I want to get a other juice Gojo”
And then you were gone, disappearing into the cafeteria crowd.Gojo sighed, dropping his head onto the table.Well. That could’ve gone better. He pulled out his phone, opening his notes app.
The Gojo Satoru Foolproof Love Plan™ (That Hopefully Works and Doesn’t End in Humiliation)
1. Mirroring movements (FAILED. TOO OBVIOUS.)
2. Eye contact (??? Unclear. Need feedback.)
3. Casual touches (Flicking? Bad idea. Find alternative.)
4. Make them laugh (SUCCESS. OBVIOUSLY.)
5. Say their name more (Awkward. Do not force it.)
6. Grand romantic gesture??? (Not yet. Too soon.)
7. Don’t mess this up. (Currently… TBD.)
Gojo sighed, locking his phone.
—
Geto watched from across the lunch table, fingers idly tapping against his drink, as Gojo leaned way too far into your space. He dropped your name into the conversation at least three times in the last minute, nudged your arm, and let out an exaggerated laugh at something you’d said, something that wasn’t that funny. Then when you got up he looked straight at gojo.
“Alright,” Geto drawled, resting his chin in his palm. “Are you trying to scare them away?”
Gojo shot him a look. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Geto just raised an eyebrow. Gojo’s eye twitched slightly. Shoko, who had been watching this unfold with the air of someone witnessing a tragic yet hilarious accident, snorted. “You’re overdoing it,” she told Gojo.
“No, I’m not” Gojo started, then cut himself off, visibly forcing himself to look less desperate. He leaned back, feigning ease. “I mean, pfft. No way. This is all natural.”
Geto exhaled slowly, leveling Gojo with a knowing look.
Because here was the thing, Gojo wasn’t bad at this. He was naturally charismatic. He could be smooth. But when he actually cared about something? When it actually mattered?
He became a disaster, it was obvious that this mattered. Which meant Geto had the upper hand for now. He allowed himself a small smirk before turning back to you as you came back. Unlike Gojo, he wouldn’t trip over himself. He wouldn’t force it. He’d just let things fall into place.
This was going to be easy.
Except.
As lunch went on, Geto noticed something.
At first, Gojo’s fumbling had been amusing. Watching the ever-confident Satoru practically trip over his own feet was undeniably entertaining. But the longer Geto watched, the more he started to realize why Gojo was messing up so badly. Because Gojo flirted all the time. He teased, he charmed half the jujitsu world was wrapped around his finger without him even trying.
Gojo actually liked you.
The thought settled like a weight in Geto’s chest. His fingers tapped idly against the table.
He glanced at you. You were laughing, completely oblivious to the quiet crisis happening across the table. And something about that sent an uncomfortable twist through his stomach.
He wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like this was serious. He was just messing with Gojo. That’s what he’d told himself. That’s all this was.
…Right?
Then why did his gaze linger a little too long when you smiled? Why did it bother him when Gojo made you laugh first? Why did it feel like he was always second to Gojo?
Because that was how it always went, wasn’t it?
Gojo was loud, blinding, impossible to ignore. The center of attention in every room. And Geto?
He was there. A presence. A shadow. Not invisible, not overlooked but never first. watching Gojo fight for your attention, watching you react to him, laugh at him. The weight in Geto’s chest grew heavier. His grip on his drink tightened.
No.
This wasn’t about Gojo. It wasn’t about the bet. It wasn’t about proving a point. This was about you. Because he didn’t just want to win. He wanted you and for you to know he wont always come second
He exhaled slowly, leaning back in his seat, watching as Gojo tried (and failed) to act casual.
—
“You know, (Y/n),” Gojo drawled, slinging an arm over the back of your chair like he owned the place. His fingers drummed lazily against the wood, his usual cocky smirk in place. “I’ve been thinking.”
“That’s a first,” you quipped without missing a beat, eyes still focused on your food as you casually poked at your meal.
Across the table, Geto exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head in amusement. Shoko, perched beside him with her cigarette balanced between two fingers, barely hid her smirk as she took a slow drag.
Gojo clicked his tongue, feigning offense. “Rude. I was about to say something really profound, actually.
Finally, you glanced up at him, eyes sparkling with playful curiosity. “Oh? Enlighten me, oh wise and powerful one.”
Gojo grinned wider, but Geto, who knew him better than anyone, noticed the way his fingers tapped just a little too quickly against the table. A nervous tic, barely noticeable. Interesting.
“Well, now I don’t want to with that attitude” Gojo continued, voice dripping with forced nonchalance. “I was just thinking, don’t you think we make a great pair?”
You blinked at him, head tilting slightly with a smirk. “A pair of what, exactly?”
For the first time since opening his mouth, Gojo hesitated. It was only for a fraction of a second, but in that brief pause, Geto could see the exact moment doubt crept into his friend’s mind.
“A pair of… cool people?” Gojo finally offered, flashing a sheepish smile, one hand adjusting his sunglasses even though they hadn’t moved.
There was a beat of silence. Shoko exhaled smoke through her nose, unimpressed. Geto took a slow sip of his drink, watching the interaction unfold with the air of a man witnessing a slow motion car crash painful, but fascinating.
Meanwhile, you squinted at Gojo, head tilting slightly, as if trying to decipher some kind of hidden meaning. “Did you just try to flirt with me by suggesting we… form a club?”
“No” Gojo started, but before he could finish, Geto decided to cut in. Because, really, this was just too good to pass up.
“Oh, I dunno,” he interjected smoothly, tilting his head slightly in your direction. His voice carried the perfect balance of amusement and intrigue, just enough to make Gojo twitch. “I think he’s onto something. You are pretty cool, after all.”
That got your attention. Your lips curled into a delighted grin as you turned to Geto. “Someone recognizes my greatness!” You placed a dramatic hand over your chest. “It’s about time.” You stick out your tongue to gojo
“Get I’m your knees and say I’m cool and you’re not ” You pointed your chopsticks at gojo,
Geto hummed, pleased with himself as he set his drink down. “I only speak the truth.”
Gojo’s eye twitched. Oh, come on.
Shoko exhaled another puff of smoke, watching the scene unfold like it was the best entertainment she’d had in weeks. This is a mess, she thought. A hilarious, glorious mess.
Gojo, meanwhile, looked like he was seconds away from combusting. He narrowed his eyes at Geto, who looked far too pleased with himself, before quickly shaking it off.
“Anyway,” Gojo cut back in, clearly trying to regain control of the conversation. He turned to you again, tapping your shoulder lightly as his grin returned. “What I meant was, you and me? We work well together, y’know? Great chemistry and all that.”
You smirk at him. “Like lab partners?”
There was a moment of silence and then Shoko choked on her drink. Geto coughed lightly, raising a fist to his mouth to cover his smirk. But internally? He was dying.
Gojo froze. His jaw clenched for just a fraction of a second before he forced a grin, his usual confidence cracking under the weight of sheer secondhand embarrassment. “Exactly like lab partners,” he said, voice painfully flat.
“Cool!” You beamed, completely oblivious to Gojo’s growing inner turmoil. “Let me know when we’re dissecting frogs, I guess.” Then you for up and ran to utahime for a moment when you see her aggressively waving you over.
Gojo groaned, flopping back in his seat like a man defeated.
Shoko wiped a tear from her eye, shaking her head. “This is actually painful to watch.”
“Not for me,” Geto mused, barely containing his smirk as he leaned back.
Gojo turned his head just enough to glare at him. “You suck.”
“Aw, Satoru,” Geto drawled, resting his chin in his palm. “Don’t be such a sore loser.”
“Losing implies I’ve lost,” Gojo shot back, sitting up with renewed determination. “And I never lose.”
Geto merely raised an eyebrow. “Sure,” he said smoothly, sipping his drink again. But inside, he was still thinking about the way you had laughed at his words. The way you had turned to him so easily, bright eyed and happy.
And just like that, what was supposed to be a harmless bet felt like something else entirely. Something he wasn’t willing to lose.
—
After lunch wrapped up, Gojo had been dragged away by some underclassmen pestering him for help though, judging by his exaggerated groan of suffering, you’d think they were sentencing him to life in prison. Shoko had peeled off shortly after, muttering something about a nap and waving lazily over her shoulder.
That left you and Geto.
The two of you walked side by side through the courtyard, the afternoon sun casting long shadows on the pavement. It was warm but not unpleasant, with a soft breeze rustling through the trees. Birds chirped somewhere in the distance.
“So,” Geto said, hands slipping casually into his pockets. “Lab partners, huh?”
You grinned, glancing up at him. “What? You don’t think me and Gojo have great chemistry?”
Geto hummed, pretending to consider it. “More like chaotic combustion.”
You laughed, nudging his arm playfully. “Okay, thats just basic math when you out us I’m a room together”
The sound of your laughter settled into Geto’s chest, warm and lingering. He’d always liked that about you how easy it was for you to find amusement in things, how naturally lighthearted you could be. It was one of the reasons he enjoyed your company so much.
He wasn’t even sure when it had started this noticing of yours. The way you smiled when you were really, genuinely happy. The way your hands moved when you talked excitedly. The way your eyes lit up when you were being playful, like they had during lunch when you had turned to him.
Yeah. He was noticing a lot more than he used to.
“You were really enjoying yourself back there,” you mused, shooting him a knowing look.
Geto smirked. “Can you blame me? Watching Gojo crash and burn is one of life’s simplest pleasures.”
You laughed again, and he found himself watching you a little too closely.
It had started as a joke. Just a bet. A way to mess with Gojo and watch him struggle for once.
But somewhere along the way, something shifted.
Maybe it was because you always seemed to get along with him so easily, without all the dramatics and fanfare that followed Gojo everywhere. Maybe it was because teasing you came as naturally as breathing, and you always played along. Maybe it was because, when you looked at him, it never felt like he was standing in Gojo’s shadow.
Because Geto had spent years watching people flock to Gojo first. It wasn’t something he resented, not really it was just the way things were. Gojo was loud, larger than life, the sun in the center of everyone’s orbit.
But now, as you walked beside him, smiling and laughing and completely unaware of the thoughts creeping into his head he wondered what it would be like if, just this once, he wasn’t second.
If you chose him.
“Alright, then,” you said suddenly, shaking him from his thoughts. “If Gojo and I are chaotic combustion, what kind of chemistry do we have?”
You grinned up at him, eyes bright with curiosity. Playful. Innocent. But for the first time all afternoon, Geto felt just the slightest bit off balance. But for the first time all afternoon, Geto felt just the slightest bit off balance. Because for all his usual confidence, for all his careful, patient planning, he hadn’t been expecting that.
His smirk lingered, but this time, it took a fraction of a second longer to form.
“Hmm,” he mused, tilting his head in thought. “I’d say… slow burn.”
You blinked, caught off guard. “Wait, is that a real chemistry thing or—”
“Who knows?” Geto said smoothly, flashing you a teasing smile before stepping ahead. “Guess you’ll have to figure it out.”
You gaped at him. “Oh, now you’re being mysterious?”
He only laughed, glancing back over his shoulder. “What can I say? Gotta keep things interesting.”
You rolled your eyes but grinned as you jogged to catch up with him and Geto, for all his patience, was beginning to wonder if maybe, just maybe, he wanted to win this more than he thought.
The neon lights of Tokyo buzzed overhead as the four of you wandered the crowded streets, blending into the after-school . It was that perfect in between time too early for the late-night crowd, but just late enough that everything felt a little more exciting.
And, as usual, Gojo was causing problems.
“You dragged us out here,” you sighed, watching Gojo pat down his pockets like he’d just realized he forgot something important. “How do you not know where we’re going?”
“I do know!” Gojo huffed, placing a hand over his heart like you’d mortally wounded him. “I’m just giving the night a sense of mystery.”
“You lost the directions, didn’t you?” Shoko deadpanned.
“Have some faith in me,” Gojo scoffed.
“I did,” Geto mused. “Then I watched you confidently lead us to a random 7-Eleven last time because you thought there was a ‘secret food market’ underground.”
Gojo groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Are none of you gonna let that go?”
“No,” you, Geto, and Shoko said in unison.
Gojo grumbled under his breath, but before he could keep digging his own grave, you gestured toward a bright, bustling arcade across the street.
“Let’s just go in there,” you suggested. Pointing towards the arcade near by “Since our fearless leader clearly has no actual plan.”
Gojo perked up. “Hey! I did have a plan—”
“Oh my god, shut up and walk,” Shoko sighed, already making her way inside.
—
The place was packed, rows of flashing game screens, the constant clinking of tokens, and the occasional victorious yell from someone landing a big win. It was the kind of that was just fun enough to be energizing rather than overwhelming.
Immediately, Gojo beelined for a claw machine. “I’m winning something for you,” he declared, pointing at you.
You raised an eyebrow. “Bold of you to assume you’ll win.”
Gojo grinned, cracking his knuckles. “Bold of you to underestimate me.”
“Gojo, I watched you spend 3,000 yen last time trying to win a keychain,” Geto reminded him, his voice thoroughly unimpressed.
“Okay, but this time is different,” Gojo insisted. “This time, I have motivation.”
You snorted. “Sure you do.”
Shoko rolled her eyes and wandered off to find a rhythm game, and Geto turned to you, smirking. “Wanna bet on how many tries it takes before he gives up?”
You grinned. “Oh, absolutely.”
Thirty Minutes Later…
Gojo was slumped against the claw machine, forehead pressed against the glass, as the plush he had almost grabbed slipped back into the pile for what had to be the twentieth time.
“…This thing is rigged,” he muttered.
Geto, sipping his drink, hummed. “Mmm. Sure.”
You held out a hand toward him. “Pay up.”
Geto sighed but placed a few coins into your palm. “I should’ve known better.”
Shoko strolled back over, glancing at Gojo’s miserable form. “Wow. Are we gonna have to carry you out of here?”
Gojo groaned dramatically. “Leave me. I belong to the void now.”
You rolled your eyes before stepping up to the machine, slipping in a coin. “Here,” you said, gripping the controls. “Let me show you how it’s done.”
Gojo peeled himself off the glass just enough to watch, skeptical. “If you win this on your first try, I’m actually gonna lose my mind.”
You maneuvered the claw, timed the drop perfectly, and…….Bam!
“Your mind better be severally lost when I turn around” you smirk while holding it out to the three of them. Then talking a look at the white haired guy.
“Here, since you worked so hard for it”
Gojo blinked. Then he stared at you. “…You’re giving it to me?”
You shrugged. “Yeah. You worked hard for it.”
Gojo expected you to rub it in, to make some smug comment about how much better you were, but you didn’t. You just… gave it to him. No teasing, no conditions. Just an easy, casual, Here, this is yours.
Something in his chest actually ached.
He took the plush from your hands, staring down at it like it was something important.
“…Wow,” he muttered, voice a little quieter than usual. “So this is what kindness feels like.”
You rolled your eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic.”
“No, no, this is a life changing moment,” Gojo insisted, holding the plush to his chest. “I feel so appreciated right now.”
Geto smirked. “You’re gonna sleep with that thing, aren’t you?”
Gojo scoffed. “Of course not.” He absolutely was.
Shoko yawned. “Can we go now, or do you need a moment to emotionally bond with the plush?”
Gojo pouted. “Let me have this.”
You chuckled, shaking your head. “C’mon, Gojo.”
As the four of you made your way back outside, Gojo fell into step beside you, still clutching the plush. He glanced at you, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Maybe he had completely embarrassed himself tonight, but… This was definitely the best prize he’d ever won.
—
The four of you ended up at a cozy little ramen shop tucked into a side street, the kind of place with handwritten menus, warm lighting, and the rich smell of broth and grilled meats filling the air. It was nothing fancy, but it was good, one of Geto’s usual spots, which meant it was guaranteed to be great.
The ramen shop was cozy, the kind of place that felt like a well kept secret. The handwritten menus, the warm yellow glow from the hanging lanterns, the smell of rich broth and grilled skewers, it all made for a welcoming atmosphere. A place you could linger, talk, enjoy good food without pretense.
Gojo was still holding the small, plush keychain you’d won for him at the arcade earlier, absentmindedly squeezing it between his fingers as you all slid into a booth. He had insisted he didn’t need it, but you had seen the way his face lit up when you handed it to him, how he twirled it in his hands the entire walk over. He hadn’t let go of it since.
Shoko and Gojo immediately launched into a heated debate over toppings, something about whether bamboo shoots were a necessary addition or a waste of space.
You and Geto exchanged a glance. Unspoken solidarity.
“You wanna share something?” Geto’s voice was casual, smooth, as he leaned an elbow against the table, turning his full attention to you.
You blinked. “Uh"…
Gojo, mid argument with Shoko, snapped his head around so fast you thought he might get whiplash.
“What?”
Geto hummed, reaching for the menu, eyes glinting with amusement. “I was just saying we could split something.” His gaze flicked back to you, warm and steady. “Figured you’d get tired of Gojo stealing food off your plate.”
You scoffed, tilting your head in mock consideration. “That’s… actually a really good point.”
Gojo gasped, pointing an accusatory chopstick at Geto. “I do not steal—”
Shoko snorted. “You ate half my gyoza last week.”
Gojo immediately turned to her, defensive. “You weren’t gonna finish them!”
“You didn’t ask.”
Geto chuckled, nudging the menu toward you. “So? What looks good?”
You skimmed the options, feeling the weight of Geto’s gaze. He wasn’t rushing you, wasn’t pushing, just waiting, watching, letting you make the decision. It was subtle, but it felt different from his usual teasing. More intentional.
Meanwhile, across the table, Gojo had gone suspiciously quiet.
He kept fidgeting with the plush you won him, his fingers idly squeezing its soft fabric. He tried to tell himself it wasn’t a big deal, so what if Geto was pulling out his smooth operator act? That’s just how he was. And it wasn’t like Gojo cared. Except… he kind of did.When the food finally arrived, the table filled with steaming bowls of ramen, plates of dumplings, and skewers of grilled meat. Gojo had ordered the biggest portion possible…partly out of habit, partly as some unspoken form of protest.
Geto slid the bowl of spicy miso ramen between the two of you. “You want the first bite?”
You shrugged. “I don’t mind—”
Before you could finish, Geto picked up a spoon, scooped up a bit of broth, and lifted it toward you
.
“Here. Try it.”
You blinked. Gojo blinked. Shoko, sipping her drink, raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
“…Are you feeding me?” you asked, both amused and caught off guard.
Geto smirked. “Only if you want me to.”
Gojo’s chopsticks snapped in half.
You chuckled, shaking your head before taking the spoon from Geto yourself. “I can handle it, thanks.”
Geto leaned back, looking very pleased with himself. “Fair enough.”
Gojo, meanwhile, was gripping what was left of his broken chopsticks, staring down at his ramen like he was contemplating the meaning of life.
Shoko nudged him with her elbow. “You good?”
Gojo didn’t look up. “I’m fine.”
Shoko smirked. “Uh-huh.”
Gojo kept stirring his ramen. He wasn’t going to say anything because what was there to say? Geto wasn’t doing anything technically wrong. It was just his usual, effortless charm. The same charm that made people naturally gravitate toward him. But tonight, for some reason, it was getting under Gojo’s skin. He knew Geto knew how he played things, knew how easy it was for him to slip into that role. And Gojo had always been fine with that. They were best friends, partners in crime. But now? Now, watching Geto lean just a little closer, watching you smile and laugh without hesitation Gojo felt something simmering in his chest. A feeling he didn’t quite want to name.
Shoko nudged him again. “You sure? Because you’re either planning murder or having an existential crisis over there.”
Gojo exhaled, flopping dramatically against the booth. “I’m just thinking.”
Shoko’s smirk widened. “Thinking about what, exactly?”
Gojo scowled. “Nothing.”
She didn’t press, but she didn’t have to. They both knew exactly what he was thinking.
Across the table, you and Geto were still chatting, sharing your ramen without a second thought.
Gojo finally dropped his chopsticks with a dramatic sigh, flopping back against the booth. “Okay, enough about feeding each other. We get it. You guys have basic teamwork skills.”
Geto, completely unfazed, turned to him with a lazy grin. “You jealous, Satoru?”
Shoko bit back a laugh.
Gojo rolled his eyes. “Me? Jealous? Of you?” He let out a loud, exaggerated laugh before immediately turning to you. “Hey. You wanna try my ramen?”
You gave him a flat look. “Gojo, you got the most boring option on the menu.”
Gojo gasped. “Excuse me? Classic shoyu ramen is a timeless masterpiece.”
Geto chuckled, watching the exchange with amusement. “Yeah, nothing says excitement like a safe choice.”
Gojo pointed a dramatic finger at him. “I don’t need your judgment, Suguru.”
“Not jealous,” he muttered. “Just… not that hungry anymore.”
Shoko raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment.
You, however, nudged his arm lightly. “Gojo, you literally ordered the biggest bowl on the menu.”
He glanced at you, blue eyes flickering with something unreadable for a second before he shrugged. “Guess my appetite’s smaller than I thought.”
Lies.
Gojo always ate like he had a bottomless pit for a stomach. But tonight, the food tasted a little bland.
Geto leaned back in his seat, watching him carefully. He didn’t say anything, but the way his fingers tapped lightly against the table made it clear he noticed the shift.
For the rest of the meal, Gojo stayed a little quieter than usual, only half-listening as you and Geto talked. He didn’t make a fuss. Didn’t push the usual playful banter. But every now and then, his gaze would flicker toward Geto, then back to you. And for the first time in a long time, he wondered if maybe, just maybe, He was already too late.
Geto just smiled, relaxed and confident as ever. He didn’t need to gloat, Gojo was already riled up enough for the both of them.
Across the table, Shoko stretched her arms over her head, looking just about done with the two of them. “Alright, children. Eat your food before the shop kicks us out.”
Gojo grumbled under his breath before finally taking an actual bite of his ramen. But as he chewed, he glanced at Geto, then at you, and then back at Geto. He didn’t say anything. But in the back of his mind, he was already planning his next move.
——
The streets were quieter now, the distant hum of the city fading as the four of you made your way back to Jujutsu High. The crisp night air nipped at your skin, but the warmth of the ramen shop still clung to you, the scent of broth and grilled meat lingering in your clothes.
It should have been a perfect night. A rare one, even. Just the four of you, no missions, no training, no looming sense of responsibility. But despite the easy conversation and the comfortable rhythm of your walk, something felt… off. Or maybe different was the better word.
You weren’t sure when you started noticing it. Maybe it was back at the ramen shop, or maybe even earlier at the arcade, but the feeling had been creeping up on you all night, just subtle enough to ignore, until now.
Geto had always been smooth. Confident in a way that never felt overdone, just natural. He had a way of making things seem effortless, like he wasn’t even trying. But tonight, there was something pointed about it. The way he leaned in just a little closer, the way he found reasons to keep the conversation between just the two of you, the way his gaze lingered a second too long.
And then there was Gojo. Normally, he’d be the loudest one here, cracking jokes, making everything a competition, dragging all the attention toward himself like it was second nature. But tonight?
Tonight, he’d been different too.
Quieter. A little distant. He still teased, still complained, but there was something off about it. Like his heart wasn’t really in it.
You stole a glance back at him. He was trailing just a step behind, hands buried deep in his pockets, his usual long strides feeling slower, heavier. His shoulders were set, his jaw tight—like he was thinking too hard about something he didn’t want to say. It made something in your chest twist.
“Cold?”
You blinked, snapping out of your thoughts. Geto’s voice was low, even, pulling you back to the present.
“Huh?”
“It’s chilly,” he said, already shrugging off his jacket. “Here.”
“Oh, I’m fine—”
“Just take it.” His tone left little room for argument as he draped the jacket over your shoulders before you could protest, his fingers grazing lightly against your collarbone. Your breath hitched. Geto was always like this, thoughtful in a way that felt effortless, like he didn’t even have to think about it you try to rationalize to yourself.
“…Thanks,” you murmured, fingers instinctively curling around the fabric.
He smiled, shoving his hands into his pockets as he kept walking beside you. His pace was steady, close but not too close, just enough that your arms brushed every now and then—not quite accidental, but not completely intentional either.
It was the kind of thing you probably wouldn’t have thought twice about—if it weren’t for the way Gojo had gone completely silent behind you.
You glanced back again.
Gojo’s expression was unreadable, his lips pressed into a thin line. He was still fidgeting with the plush keychain you’d won for him earlier, rolling it between his fingers, his grip just a little too tight. Something about the sight made your stomach sink.
“Shortcut?”
Shoko’s voice broke the tension, casual and lazy as she stretched her arms over her head.
Gojo barely hesitated. “Yeah, same.” His voice was flat.
You blinked. “Shortcut?”
Shoko gestured to a narrow side path. “Cuts the walk down. Bit of an uphill climb, but faster.”
“But it sucks,” Geto pointed out, unimpressed. “Too steep.”
She shrugged. “Worth it.” Then she turned to you and Geto, smirking. “Guess you two are taking the scenic route, huh?”
Your face immediately went warm. “That’s not—”
“Later,” she cut you off with a lazy wave, already tugging Gojo along.
You barely caught a glimpse of his face before he turned away. But for a second. Just a second. his eyes flickered toward you, something unreadable behind them. Like he wanted to say something. But he didn’t.
Instead, he let himself be pulled along, following Shoko without another word. Just the Two of You. The silence left in their absence felt heavier than it should have.
“Guess it’s just us,” Geto said lightly, casting a glance at you.
You huffed, still flustered. “Shoko says stuff just to mess with people, you know.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah. But… she’s usually not wrong.”
Your stomach did a weird little flip.
“What?” you blurted out, a little too quick.
Geto didn’t answer right away. He just smiled to himself, looking ahead like he knew something you didn’t. Your thoughts tangled together, a mess of contradictions. Gojo had been off tonight. And Geto was acting just different enough that you couldn’t ignore it.
It made something in your chest tighten. They were your friends. You weren’t supposed to overthink things like this. But something was changing. And you didn’t know how to feel about it.
The rhythmic sound of your footsteps filled the silence between you. The campus was still a ways off, the path stretching ahead of you under the glow of streetlights. “…Did you have fun tonight?” Geto’s voice was softer now, lacking his usual teasing edge.
You hesitated. “…Yeah. Did you?”
He nodded, his gaze lingering on you. “More than I expected to.”
There was something about the way he said it that made your pulse jump.
You looked away, focusing on the ground ahead of you. “…You want this back?” you asked, shifting under the weight of his jacket.
He shook his head easily. “Nah. Looks better on you.”
Your face felt warm despite the cool air.
“So,” Geto broke the quiet, hands still stuffed in his pockets. “You really gonna make me carry this whole conversation by myself?”
You shot him a look. “You’re the one who insists on talking all the time.”
He grinned. “Well, yeah. Someone’s gotta keep things interesting.”
You scoffed. “Oh, right. Because I’m just so boring.”
“Didn’t say that.” His tone was teasing, but his gaze flickered over to you with something unreadable. “Just quiet.”
You huffed. “I can be fun.”
“Oh?” He raised a brow, intrigued. “Prove it.”
You squinted at him. “What, you want me to juggle or something?”
“That’d be a start.”
You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. “Fine. Uh… okay, did I ever tell you about the time I completely humiliated myself in front of Mei Mei?”
His eyes lit up. “No, but I already know this is gonna be good.”
You groaned, shaking your head. “It was awful. I was helping her carry some stuff, right? Trying to be useful. But I tripped on absolutely nothing, flailed like a total idiot, and somehow managed to launch her entire stack of training manuals across the courtyard.”
Geto let out a loud laugh. “No way.”
“Oh, it gets worse. Instead of, I don’t know, getting up with some dignity, I just laid there for a second. Mei Mei didn’t even say anything, she just stared at me like she was trying to figure out if I was a lost cause.”
“That sounds like her.”
“I still don’t know if she was more disappointed or just impressed by how thoroughly I managed to embarrass myself.”
Geto was still grinning. “That’s beautiful. I wish I’d been there.”
“See? I am fun,” you said triumphantly.
He hummed, tilting his head in consideration. “I don’t know. That sounds less like ‘fun’ and more like ‘chronic bad luck.’”
You smacked his arm. “Oh, shut up.”
He just laughed, rubbing the spot like you’d actually hurt him. “Okay, okay. You win. You’re fun.”
“Damn right I am.”
You were both smiling now, the warmth of the moment making the chilly night air feel insignificant.
“…You should laugh more,” he said after a beat, his voice quieter.
You blinked at him. “Huh?”
He shrugged, looking ahead. “Just saying. It suits you.”
Your stomach flipped again, but this time, you didn’t push the feeling away.
Instead, you just shook your head with a soft chuckle. “You really don’t know when to stop, do you?”
“Not a chance.” He flashed you a grin, his steps falling just a little closer to yours.
The rest of the walk was quiet, but not uncomfortable. Just charged in a way you weren’t used to.
By the time you reached the school gates, your thoughts were a mess.
The weight of Geto’s jacket still lingered on your shoulders.
somewhere in the back of your mind, Gojo’s silence stuck with you in a way you didn’t quite understand.Something was changing and you had no idea what to do about it.
The school grounds were quiet at this hour, the faint hum of the cicadas in the trees the only sound filling the night air. Most of the students had long since gone to sleep, the dorms dark and still, but you and Geto lingered by the entrance, neither of you quite ready to part ways just yet.
You shifted the jacket draped over your shoulders, acutely aware of its warmth, of the faint scent of Geto’s cologne still clinging to the fabric.
“You’re thinking too hard,” Geto’s voice broke the silence, amused.
You blinked, glancing at him. “Huh?”
He smirked. “You get this little crease in your brow when you’re overthinking something.”
You scoffed, crossing your arms. “I do not.”
“You do,” he insisted, tapping a finger to your forehead in demonstration. “Right here. Deep in thought. Probably overanalyzing everything that happened tonight.”
Your stomach flipped.
You were overthinking it. Overthinking him. Overthinking Gojo, and the weird tension that had lingered between the three of you all night. Geto must have noticed the way your expression shifted, because his smirk softened.
“…You good?” he asked, quieter now.
You hesitated.
You could play it off, pretend everything was fine. But part of you, maybe the part still rattled by the way tonight felt different, didn’t want to.
“…Do you think Gojo’s mad at me?” The words slipped out before you could second guess
them. Geto’s expression didn’t change, but you noticed the way his fingers twitched at his sides.
“No,” he said simply.
You frowned. “Then why was he acting so weird?”
Geto exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “You’ll have to ask him that yourself.”
You huffed. “That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I can give you,” Geto said, looking at you now, gaze steady. “Whatever’s going on with Gojo, it’s not my place to say.”
That definitely meant something.
You stared at him, searching for some kind of hint, but Geto just smiled, unreadable as ever.
Before you could press further, a voice cut through the quiet.
“You guys are still out here?”
You turned, and there he was Gojo, standing a few feet away, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his uniform. He must have circled back at some point, because Shoko was nowhere to be seen.
For a split second, his gaze flickered to the jacket on your shoulders. His fingers tightened around the plush keychain in his hand.
“…You took a while ?” he asked, voice light, but there was something off about it.
You swallowed. “Uh. No. We just walked and talked.”
Gojo nodded, like that answer was expected, but the sharp edge in his expression didn’t ease.
“You didn’t have to wait up for me,” you said, attempting to ignore the strange tension between the three of you.
Gojo just shrugged, rocking back on his heels. “Yeah, well. I was gonna be real mad if you got kidnapped before I had the chance to make fun of you tomorrow.”
You rolled your eyes. “Touching.”
But there was something about the way he said it that made your chest feel tight.
The three of you stood there for a moment, the silence thick between you and then Geto, ever the smooth one, clapped his hands together. “Well. It’s late,” he said easily. “We should probably get inside before Yaga yells at us.”
You nodded, suddenly feeling exhausted.
Gojo said nothing. Geto turned toward the dorms, his stride unhurried. But just before he walked past Gojo, he slowed just enough to murmur something under his breath.
You didn’t catch it. But whatever it was made Gojo’s jaw tighten. You hesitated, glancing between the two of them. You could feel whatever was happening here, unspoken and heavy, and it made something in you twist.
“…Night,” you said finally, the weight of the day settling over you.
Geto smiled, easy and warm. “Night.”
Gojo just nodded, but his usual smirk was nowhere to be found. You weren’t sure what to make of that. As you finally turned to head inside, the weight of Geto’s jacket still on your shoulders, you had the distinct feeling that tonight had changed something.
.
.
Geto: I like your laugh😽
You: Chat is this rizz !?!
Geto: you just ruined it
Geto: we were having a moment
You: Chat am I cooked?
Geto: WHO ARE YOU TALKING TOO RIGHT NOW
You: chat clip that
.
🫧𓇼𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐
.
Gojo: can i try rizzing you up
You: sure
Gojo : PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE
.
Taglist: @inthedarkshadows000
Reply to the masterlist if you want to be added to the taglist!!!!!
so like i saw this prompt somewhere on here about a reader reaching…. completion and the other saying “i know baby” and im currently longing for the time when I used to play this game all the time
Kaeya Alberich
The night air in Mondstadt is crisp, carrying the faint scent of dandelions and the distant hum of revelry from the city below. But here, within the quiet sanctuary of Kaeya’s room, the only sound that matters is the soft cadence of his voice.
It had started with a drink, just one. A quiet escape from the noise of the tavern, from the ever watchful eyes of the city. Kaeya had offered, his smirk playful, his voice dripping with charm.
“Stay a little longer tonight, won’t you?”
And you’d said yes, because how could you ever say no to him?
Now, the candlelight flickers, casting warm shadows along the walls, bathing the room in a golden glow. Kaeya leans against the edge of his bed, a glass of wine resting in his palm, swirling lazily as he watches you from beneath heavy lashes. His coat had long since been discarded, leaving him in that deep blue shirt, the top buttons undone, exposing of his collarbone.
“You always look so tense,” he murmurs, tilting his head. His voice is smooth, teasing, but there’s something else beneath it something softer. Something meant only for you. “You let everyone else see you so strong, so put together… but I wonder,” he sets the glass down with a soft clink, his gaze locking onto yours, “who do you fall apart for?”
The weight of his words settles deep in your chest, warm and heavy. Your fingers twitch against the fabric of your clothes, a quiet tell you know he doesn’t miss. There’s something thick in the air between you, something unspoken but understood.
Kaeya rises from his seat, slow and deliberate, his movements fluid like the wine in his glass. He steps closer, close enough that you can feel the coolness of his body against the warmth of your own. His gloved fingers reach up, ghosting over your jaw, tilting your chin up just enough to meet his gaze.
“Let me, just this once,” he breathes, his voice a whisper between you. His fingers brush against your skin, featherlight, as if testing, waiting for permission. “Let me see you unravel.”
And you do.
—
The room is warm, the scent of candle wax and wine lingering in the air. The flickering light casts shadows over Kaeya’s face as he hovers above you, his body flush against yours, pressing you into the soft mattress beneath him. The usual playfulness in his expression has melted into something deeper something raw.
His breath is uneven, his usual composure slipping with every desperate movement. His lips trace slow, open mouthed kisses down the curve of your neck, his gloved hands roaming over your body, mapping you like he’s trying to commit every inch of you to memory.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice rough, hoarse with need.
Your breath hitches, fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. He exhales a soft curse against your throat, his forehead pressing into the crook of your neck as he tries to steady himself, to hold on just a little longer. But the way you move beneath him, the way you whisper his name it’s undoing him.
Kaeya groans, a deep, broken sound, his grip tightening around you as he presses you impossibly closer. His body shudders, his breath ragged, his voice barely a whisper as he murmurs against your lips, “It’s okay… Let go, baby. I’ve got you.”
And when you do, when pleasure overtakes you, leaving you trembling beneath him, Kaeya follows soon after. His breath stutters, his arms wrapping around you like he never wants to let go, his entire body shuddering against yours as he loses himself completely.
Even when the waves of pleasure fade, he doesn’t move, doesn’t pull away. He stays pressed against you, his heart hammering against your own, his fingers tracing lazy circles over your skin. His lips ghost over your temple, pressing soft, lingering kisses against your heated skin.
“I know, baby,” he murmurs, voice thick with exhaustion and something softer something more vulnerable. “I know.”
The night is quiet save for the sound of your breathing, the distant hum of Mondstadt beyond the window. And in that moment, wrapped in Kaeya’s arms, you know neither of you is ready to let go just yet.
VERY SHORT VERY SELF INDULGENT
Present Mic / Hizashi Yamada x Reader
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ This man has zero chill, and I have zero chill for him. He’s a freak. He has to be. The studded leather jacket proves it.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ You all see loud and annoying I see a rockstar who would definitely date a younger woman. peak rockstar behavior. Except instead of the wild, bad boy type, he’s got the personality of a total dad rock guy. classic vinyl collection, bad puns, probably owns at least three band tees from the ’80s.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ Anyway, this is teacher him, but you? You’re the new TA, and unfortunately, you’re already down bad and you’ve BEEN down bad…. The way I wrote this is a little taboo… how your high school crush on Present Mic never really faded, and now, as a new UA TA, you’re right back where you started… only this time, he’s looking at you differently.
Anyways I wrote this very light hearted!!
Warnings: idk you simp for older man and he sorta flirts back. you’re 22 in this story but yuh
૮₍´。ᵔ ꈊ ᵔ。`₎ა You could hear the distant hum of the city below as you and Hawks crouched on a rooftop, surveying the warehouse across the street. It was a classic sting operation, intel suggested a group of low-level villains were stockpiling illegal support gear, and you two were here to put a stop to it before things escalated.
Hawks adjusted his goggles, barely looking phased. “Man, these guys never learn, huh?”
You smirked. “You sound almost bored.”
“‘Cause I am,” he admitted, stretching his arms lazily. “I could’ve wrapped this up ages ago, but apparently ‘reckless property damage’ is frowned upon.” He threw up air quotes, grinning.
You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, heaven forbid you actually follow protocol.”
Hawks snickered but then glanced at you, tilting his head. “So, what’s next for you, anyway?”
You blinked. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, c’mon, you’ve got the skills, the power, and a shiny little hero license,” he said, casually flicking a feather toward the warehouse to listen in. “You ever thought about… I dunno, long-term plans?”
You frowned. “I am a pro hero. This is the long-term plan.”
Hawks hummed. “Yeah, for now. But what about later? You gonna keep doing this forever?”
You huffed. “What else would I do?”
“I dunno.” He shrugged. “Some heroes eventually go into support roles, some do solo work, some…” He gave you a pointed look. “End up teaching.”
You scoffed. “Yeah, no thanks.”
Hawks snorted. “Wow. Said that real fast.”
You raised an eyebrow. “You don’t exactly strike me as ‘teacher material’ either.”
“Hell no,” Hawks said without hesitation. “I’m not about that ‘shaping young minds’ crap.” He waved a hand. “I don’t got time to babysit kids who think they’re hotshots just ‘cause they passed an entrance exam.”
You exhaled through your nose. “You do know they need heroes to train the next generation, right?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Hawks said lazily. “Good thing there’s people out there willing to do it. But me? Nah. I care about results. Not teaching a bunch of kids how to throw a punch.”
Something about that didn’t sit right with you. You fell silent, watching the warehouse as Hawks kept talking.
“I get why some people do it,” he continued. “Sure, it’s important, but I’d rather be out here handling real threats, not lecturing some kid about ‘proper combat form.’”
You pursed your lips, staring at the city skyline. You’d never really thought about teaching before. You’d always assumed you’d stick to hero work, fighting, saving people, that’s what you trained for. But…
Wouldn’t it be better if newer heroes were properly prepared before getting thrown into all this? Before they had to stand on rooftops like this, watching crime unfold and making impossible choices?
You suddenly remembered your own time at U.A., the mentors who guided you, the lessons that stuck with you, the moments that shaped you.
Hawks might not care about the next generation. But maybe… you did. You inhaled deeply. “Someone has to do it.”
Hawks glanced at you. “Huh?”
“Teach,” you clarified. “Someone has to make sure they don’t just become a bunch of reckless brats.”
Hawks smirked. “That sounded real pointed.”
You ignored him, mind already racing. Maybe this was something worth considering. Maybe making a difference didn’t just mean being in the field. it meant helping others get there, too.
Before you could say more, Hawks suddenly grinned. “Welp. We can debate hero philosophy later. Right now-” He flexed his wings. “I believe it’s ass kicking time.”
You exhaled, pushing the thoughts aside. Teaching could wait. For now, you had a mission to finish.
—-
The idea had been nagging at you ever since that mission with Hawks. You hadn’t been able to shake it, how different would things have been if someone hadn’t taken the time to teach you? If the pros before you had just decided they didn’t care about shaping the next generation?
It was a dangerous job. Heroes had to make impossible choices every day.And if you could help even one student avoid the mistakes you had made… wasn’t that worth it?
So, when the opportunity to assist at U.A. came up, you took it. Standing at the school gates, you felt incredibly unprepared.
The school looked the same as when you were a student. The towering gates, the familiar pathways, the slight hum of excitement in the air.
But now, instead of wearing a uniform, you were standing here as a pro hero. A teachers assistant to the very people who had once trained you.
Before you could start spiraling, a very familiar voice rang out. “Nooooo waaay!”
You barely had time to react before a blur of yellow moved into your peripheral vision.
“Yo, Y/n!!” Present Mic grinned, stepping right in front of you. “Look at you, all grown up and back at U.A.!”
Your brain stalled for a moment. Because oh. Oh no. You had mentally prepared yourself to see your old teachers again, sure.
But Hizashi Yamada? The very same Present Mic who had been the coolest teacher when you were a student? The one whose energy was infectious, who had somehow made learning fun, whose voice had been a constant in your life back then?
Yeah. You were not ready. You forced yourself to smile. “Hey, Mic.”
He grinned even wider. “Man, this is wild! Feels like just yesterday you were wandering the halls! Now you’re back and all pro hero-y!” He clapped a hand on your shoulder. “I knew you were gonna be big someday!”
You swallowed. Say something normal. Say something normal.
“Uh well, you were one of my favorite teachers, it was bound to happen if you were there for me” you blurted. The moment the words left your mouth, you immediately regretted them.
Hizashi’s eyebrows shot up, and then he smirked. “Ohoho? Is that so?” He leaned in slightly, eyes glinting. “Favorite, huh?”
Your face burned.
“N-not like that!” you stammered, waving your hands. “I just.. I mean… your class was fun, and..” He laughed, clearly enjoying your suffering. “Man, this just keeps getting better.”
You groaned, covering your face.
Hizashi grinned, rocking back on his heels. “Well, it’s good to have you back. These kids are gonna love you.”
You exhaled, trying to compose yourself. “Yeah, well… let’s hope I survive them first.”
“Pshh. You survived me, didn’t ya?” He winked. “This’ll be a piece of cake.”
Your heart stuttered. Oh. Oh, this was going to be dangerous for your heart.
—
The halls of U.A. felt different now. As a student, they had been full of excitement, nerves, and the overwhelming presence of those who had come before you. But now, walking through the main building as a pro hero and teacher, the weight on your shoulders felt entirely new.
You adjusted the hem of your hero costume, feeling the crispness of how new it was. Even though you had experience in the field, nothing quite prepared you for standing in front of a room full of students expecting to learn from you.
“You got this,” you muttered to yourself, taking a steadying breath before stepping into the teacher’s lounge.
Aizawa was the first to look up, his usual tired expression unreadable. “You’re early,” he noted, setting down his coffee.
“I figured I’d try to make a good impression,” you replied, attempting a casual smile.
Present Mic leaned against the counter, grinning. “First day jitters? Don’t worry, we all had ‘em. Well, except for Eraser here. He just scowled his way through it.”
Aizawa sighed. “I still do.”
You chuckled, some of the tension easing from your shoulders. Before you could respond, the door swung open, and Midnight strolled in. “Oh, our new young hero teacher has arrived! Ready to inspire the next generation?”
“I hope so,” you admitted, rubbing the back of your neck.
Midnight winked. “Confidence is key. And if all else fails, just channel your inner Aizawa, give them the stare.”
“I’m right here,” Aizawa deadpanned.
The conversation continued as a few other teachers trickled in, welcoming you and offering small pieces of advice. It was reassuring, knowing that despite the prestigious reputation of U.A., the staff was still just a group of people doing their best.
Then, the bell rang. Your first class was waiting You turned to see Shouta Aizawa standing up and heading to the door, coffee in one hand, capture weapon draped loosely around his neck. He looked as exhausted as you remembered from your time as a student, but there was a small, approving nod in his greeting. “. Ready for your first day?”
You gave him a firm nod. “Yes, sir.”
He raised a brow at the formality but didn’t comment. “Good. You’ll be shadowing me for the first week. Learn the flow, get used to the kids. Don’t let them walk all over you.”
You swallowed. “They’ll try?”
“Of course,” he deadpanned. “They’re future pro heroes. Testing limits is in their nature.”
Before you could respond, the bell rang. Aizawa gestured toward the door. “Come on. Let’s introduce you.”
Walking into Class 1-A’s homeroom was surreal. The chatter died down the moment Aizawa stepped inside, eyes instantly on you. These weren’t just random students; these were the next big names in hero society, brimming with potential. Some of them were already whispering, clearly recognizing you from your own hero work.
Aizawa’s gaze swept over them, and the class immediately straightened up. “This is Lumine. She’s a pro and will be assisting in your training from now on. Treat her with respect.”
You took a step forward, clearing your throat. “It’s nice to meet you all. I was in your place not too long ago, so if you have questions or need advice, I’m here to help.”
A student raised a hand, an excitable redhead in the front row. “Can we see your Quirk in action?”
You smirked. “Maybe another time perhaps your next training session.”
A few students groaned in disappointment, but a blue haired student beside him adjusted his glasses, nodding approvingly. “A professional approach. I look forward to learning from you.”
As the students got to work, you exhaled, easing into your new role. First day nerves or not, you were ready for this. After all, you weren’t just here to assist you were here to help shape the future of hero society.
As Aizawa turned to the board, the atmosphere in the classroom shifted. It started small whispers, giggles, but you could feel it. The moment your eyes met with some of the students, they looked away too quickly, stifling laughter like they were plotting something.
Then, predictably, a hand shot up.
“Yes?” you asked, already bracing yourself.
Denki Kaminari grinned, leaning back in his chair. “So, uh… what’s your type?”
A few eyes shot up to stare at him. Particularly a certain purple adjacent kid started glaring. You blinked, thrown off for only a second before regaining composure. “My type?”
“Yeah, you know,” he wiggled his eyebrows. “Like… in a romantic sense.”
“Denki.” Iida’s voice cut through the air, scandalized. “That is highly inappropriate to ask a teacher’s assistant!”
“But it’s important info!” Denki argued, slouching in his seat. “Like, what if we need to set her up with someone?…. like myself” he muttered the last part but the rest of the class gathered what it was.
You raised an eyebrow. “I’m here to teach, not to date.”
Denki clicked his tongue. “Damn, there goes my plan.”
“Your what?” you asked.
Jirou groaned, smacking her forehead. “He’s been muttering about ‘securing the ring’ since you walked in.”
You blinked. “Wait. Excuse me?”
The class lost it.
Even Aizawa, who had been diligently ignoring the nonsense, finally turned, rubbing his temples like he had a migraine forming. “Kaminari. If you spent as much effort on your studies as you do on flirting, you might actually be a decent student.”
Denki pouted “Sensei, that’s harsh.”
You crossed your arms, fighting back a laugh. “I think what Kaminari meant to ask was if I have any advice for balancing hero work with personal life.”
The blond perked up. “Ohh, yeah! That’s totally what I meant!”
Aizawa sighed. “Right. That’s enough for today. Open your books before I start handing out laps.”
The class groaned but obeyed, even as you heard whispered bets being placed on whether Denki would propose by the end of the semester.
Class had barely settled before you heard the unmistakable sound of a palm smacking the back of Kaminari’s head.
“Ow!” Denki yelped, rubbing the spot where he’d been hit.
“Quit being an idiot,” Bakugo grumbled from his seat, arms crossed, eyes narrowed like he was personally offended by Kaminari’s entire existence. “You sound pathetic.”
“Excuse you, Bakugo, but I was just making conversation,” Kaminari shot back, still grinning despite the clear lack of support. “You don’t understand romance.”
Bakugo’s glare sharpened. “I understand that you should shut the hell up”
“Damn, man,” Kirishima cut in with a chuckle, elbowing Bakugo. “Give him a break. It’s not every day a there’s someone new teaching. Let him dream.”
Bakugo scoffed. “It’s embarrassing.”
Before Kaminari could retaliate, Mina gasped dramatically, slamming her hands on her desk. “Wait, wait, wait! Kaminari’s getting all the attention here, but I think we’re missing the real question!” She turned to you with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Who was your teacher crush when you went here?”
The class erupted.
“Ohhh, good one, Ashido!” Sero laughed, leaning forward on his desk. “C’mon, spill! Was it Aizawa-sensei?”
At that you whipped to turn to aizawa but you can see he’s already regressed into his sleeping bag.
“Present Mic?” Kirishima guessed. “He’s got that cool vibe, y’know?”
“I swear if anyone says Midnight, I’m walking out,” Jirou deadpanned, already rubbing her temples
.
You held up a hand, trying to contain your laughter. “Okay, okay, first of all, just because i’m barely older than you all doesn’t mean I’m just going to gossip.”
A wave of boos filled the room.
“Second of all,” you continued, ignoring them, “That wasn’t even anything I thought about when I was your age”
Mina sighed dramatically. “Ugh, so responsible.”
“I’m literally here as a teacher’s assistant,” you reminded her, crossing your arms. “What did you expect?”
“Secret romances,” Kaminari answered instantly.
“You guys watch way too much TV,” you muttered.
Meanwhile, in the corner of the room, Todoroki, who had been silent this whole time, slowly turned to Momo. “Is this… normal?”
Momo sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Unfortunately, yes.”
At the front of the class on the ground, Aizawa audibly exhaled, already regretting everything. “I should’ve taken the day off.”
The teasing finally died down after a few more minutes, mostly because Aizawa threatened extra homework, but you could still hear the occasional whisper of “I know it was Aizawa” and “Kaminari’s totally going to propose by the end of the week.”
You barely made it into the teachers’ lounge before dropping into the nearest chair with an exhausted sigh. The first half of the day had been absolute chaos. You knew Class 1-A had a reputation, but no amount of mental preparation could’ve readied you for Kaminari planning your imaginary wedding, Mina interrogating you about teacher crushes, and Bakugo nearly committing homicide out of secondhand embarrassment.
Aizawa sat down across from you, looking unsurprised. “You survived.”
You exhaled, rubbing your temples. “I think so.”
Before he could respond, the door slammed open. “YOOO! How’s our newest teacher assistant holding up?!”
Your stomach flipped. Present Mic strolled in, grinning ear to ear, and before you could even process the way your heartbeat definitely skipped, he was dropping into the seat beside you, all energy and enthusiasm.
“I heard 1-A gave you a hell of a welcome,” he laughed, elbowing you lightly. “Gotta say, I love the enthusiasm, but you good?”
Your brain was short circuiting. He smells good. Why does he smell so good?
You snapped out of it immediately. “Y-Yeah! Totally fine! Just y’know, Students being students, and uh, some… unexpected questions.”
Aizawa gave you a slow, knowing side eye but said nothing, sipping his coffee. Hizashi leaned in slightly, his expression full of curiosity. “Ohhh? What kind of questions?”
The door opened again, giving you a much needed second to gather yourself as Midnight, Cementoss, and Snipe walked in. Midnight smirked the second she spotted you. “Oho? Is this about the interrogation 1-A put you through?”
You groaned. “Why does everyone already know about this?”
Cementoss chuckled. “Word travels fast when it involves that class.”
Snipe took a seat, tipping his hat back. “So? What’d they grill ya on?”
You hesitated, but of course Midnight leaned forward, eyes glinting. “Don’t be shy now. Spill.”
You exhaled in defeat. “Okay, fine, Kaminari apparently thinks we’re getting married, Mina demanded to know if I ever had a teacher crush, and the rest were just hyping them up.”
Silence. Then, Midnight lit up. “Oh, now this I gotta hear.”
“No, you really don’t,” you muttered.
But it was too late. Present Mic gasped dramatically beside you. “WAIT.” He pointed at you with exaggerated excitement. “You had a teacher crush?!”
Your face felt hot. “Nope! That’s classified information,” you said way too quickly, reaching for your drink like it could physically save you from this conversation.
Hizashi let out an offended noise, leaning closer. “It’s me, isn’t it?!”
Your brain short circuited. Your entire body froze. Aizawa, who had been silently watching this train wreck unfold, took a slow sip of his coffee. “It’s not you.”
“You don’t know that!” Hizashi shot back, grinning, and oh no, he was looking right at you.
You could feel the heat creeping up your neck, but you refused to crack. “I- I am not answering that.”
Midnight smirked, clearly catching something. “Hmm… interesting.”
You glared. “Drop it.”
“Never,” she teased.
Meanwhile, Hizashi was still grinning, completely oblivious to your inner turmoil. “Aw, c’mon! I won’t tell anyone!”
You buried your face in your hands. “I literally don’t trust you.”
The teasing continued as the rest of the staff ate, and even though your entire body was still burning from that interaction, you had to admit… it wasn’t a bad way to spend your break.
—
You walked beside Aizawa, still recovering from the absolute disaster that had been lunchtime. Your face felt like it was permanently warm, and you were convinced you’d never be able to look Present Mic in the eyes again.
“So,” he started, voice dry as ever, “you want to be a teacher?”
You nodded, still staring ahead, trying to will away your embarrassment. “Yeah. I mean, today was hectic, but it felt… right, y’know?”
Aizawa hummed. “Uh-huh.”
Something about his tone made you glance at him warily. “…What?”
“Oh, nothing.” He took a slow sip from his coffee, expression unreadable. “Just thinking about how subtle you were about it in the lounge.”
You frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He side eyed you, and even though his face barely changed, you could feel the judgment.
Your stomach dropped. “I—what—” You groaned, covering your face. “Please stop.”
“Just saying,” he continued, deadpan, “if this was a test on subtlety, you’d be repeating the year.”
You groaned louder. “Oh my god.”
He sipped his coffee again, shrugging. “But, y’know. Mic’s an idiot, so you’re probably fine.”
“That is not reassuring.”
He didn’t respond, just kept walking like he hadn’t just ruined your entire life. You, on the other hand, were spiraling. How obvious had you been? Was everyone going to figure it out? Was Hizashi already onto you?
Before you could fall further into despair, Aizawa glanced at you again. “But if you’re really serious about teaching, you should stick with it. You did fine today.”
You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity. “Oh. Thanks.”
“Sure.” He paused, then added, “Just maybe work on your poker face.”
You groaned one last time, and Aizawa smirked ever so slightly as you both headed back to class.
—
It was the next day and stared at Aizawa like he had just told you to fight a Nomu with your bare hands.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“You’re assisting Yamada for the day,” Aizawa repeated, his tone flat as always. “He’s leading practical drills, and it’s good experience for you.”
Your stomach twisted. This is fine. This is totally fine. It was not fine. Because Present Mic. Hizashi Yamada was the one teacher you definitely didn’t trust yourself to be normal around.
It had been so much easier when you were a student, admiring from afar. But now? You had to work alongside him, one on one, for the entire day, and if yesterday’s conversation in the teachers’ lounge was anything to go by, you were one slip-up away from giving yourself away entirely.
Still, you swallowed your nerves and forced yourself to nod. “Got it.”
Aizawa gave you a slow, knowing look, because of course he did but didn’t comment. “Good. He’s in Gym Gamma. Try to keep up.”
You huffed. “I can keep up.”
Aizawa smirked slightly like he knew something you didn’t. That was never a good sign.
—
By the time you reached Gym Gamma, you could hear his voice from outside the doors.
“Alright, listeners! Today’s all about reflex training! You gotta be fast, ya gotta be alert, and ya gotta be ready to move at a moment’s notice!”
You took a deep breath and stepped inside.
The moment you did, Hizashi turned to face you, his signature grin in full force. “Ayooo! There’s my assistant for the day!”
You swore you felt your heart stutter for a second.
“Hope you’re ready!” he continued, jogging up to you. “’Cause today’s lesson is all about speed and adaptability!”
You forced yourself to nod, pretending you weren’t two seconds from combusting. “Right. Sounds good.”
He clapped a hand on your shoulder, and oh no he’s touching me—
“You ever seen my sound-based reflex drills in action before?” he asked, completely oblivious to the absolute crisis happening in your brain.
“uuuh not up close.”
He gasped, offended. “WHAT?!” He grabbed his chest like you’d personally wounded him. “Then today’s your lucky day, sidekick, ‘cause you’re not just assisting, you’re participating!”
You tilted your head. “oh? set the stage then”
The students murmured at that, sensing the challenge. Hizashi raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Ohooo, confidence! I like it!”
You just smirked. “Let’s get started.”
—
The second he fired off his first attack “HEY!!” your body reacted on instinct. In reality this was probably the worst person to fight against you for the demonstration against mic. Because with his quirk it basically didn’t work on you
Before the shockwave could hit, you shifted into light, letting the sound waves pass through you harmlessly before reforming on the other side.
The class gasped.
Even Hizashi blinked in surprise. “Well damn!!”
You shrugged, barely fazed. “Sound doesn’t hit photons the same way.”
Hizashi’s grin grew. “Ohhh, this just got interesting.”
What followed was an all out battle of speed.
Every time he tried to catch you off guard, you moved like light itself, phasing through attacks, blinking across the battlefield, even absorbing energy and redirecting it when necessary.
At one point, he fired off a rapid burst of sound—
“YEAHHHHH!!”
—and you split into pure photons, streaking through the air before reforming behind him.
The students went wild.
Kaminari practically screamed. “YO, THIS IS INSANE!”
Mina was jumping up and down. “OUR TEACHER ASSISTANT IS A BADASS!”
Meanwhile, Hizashi looked positively thrilled.
“You’re fast,” he admitted, pushing his shades up. “I like that.”
You smirked. “Told you I could handle myself.”
His grin widened. “Alright, alright, I see you.”
—
Training continued as you and Mic took turns guiding the students through drills. By the end of the session, they were still buzzing with excitement, practically vibrating with leftover energy. You, on the other hand? Barely broke a sweat.
Even after all that work, they were still hyped.
Mina came sprinting toward you, a crowd of students following close behind. “You are officially my favorite person now.”
“SO—ABOUT THAT MARRIAGE PROPOSAL—”
Before he could finish, Bakugo decked him straight into the ground. You barely had time to react before you were kneeling beside the poor guy, eyes wide in alarm.
Meanwhile, Shoto stood nearby, still deep in thought. “Can you move at the speed of light, or is it just partial?”
Midoriya, frantically flipping through his notebook, barely spared the scene a glance. “And if your body converts into photons, do you still feel force? Can you absorb soundwaves instead of dodging them?”
“Sensei, can you teach me how to be that fast?” Mina asked, practically bouncing.
“Yeah!” Kirishima grinned. “You gotta have some training tips, right?”
You chuckled. “It’s all about reflexes and learning how to read your opponent. I’d be happy to show you some drills.”
The class collectively cheered.
Even Bakugo gave a considering nod, though he still scowled. “Tch. I guess that was decent.”
Hizashi, standing beside you, elbowed you lightly. “Look at that, you’re already building a fan club.”
You felt your face heat up. Not now, heart. Not now
You sighed with a smile on your face, rubbing your temples before looking over at Hizashi, who was grinning like a proud parent.
“Man,” he said, shaking his head. “Didn’t expect you to steal the whole show!”
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips.
Hizashi strolled over, hands on his hips, still beaming. “I gotta say, did not expect you to be this OP.”
You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Guess I like surprises.”
He chuckled. “Well, consider me pleasantly surprised.”
Then, he winked. Damn it. You were this close to completely losing your composure.
—
The students were still hyped as they cleaned up, practically buzzing with leftover energy. Kaminari was full on re enacting the moment you dodged a sound blast, complete with dramatic slow-motion effects, while Mina hyped him up like a ringside announcer.
Meanwhile, you and Hizashi strolled toward the exit, letting them finish up.
“I gotta say,” he grinned, hands behind his head, “I knew you had skills, but damn! You didn’t even break a sweat!”
You smirked, keeping it cool. “Well our quirks kinda cancel each other put, I don’t know if i’m all that good”
He laughed, and damn it. why did it sound so nice up close?
“A bit of an advantage? You made dodging my attacks look like a warm up.”
You shrugged, playing it off. “Maybe I’m just really fast.”
He shot you a teasing look. “Ohhh, I see how it is, you’re humble about it, too.”
You chuckled, shaking your head, but something about this moment felt… surreal.
Because walking next to Hizashi like this, like equals, just chatting after sparring was something high school you never would’ve imagined.
You used to have a massive crush on him. And not just a little one. No, it was bad. He was your teacher, but also the funniest teacher in the school. You always looked forward to passing him in the halls, laughed at his corny jokes, and maybe, maybe daydreamed a little too much about him calling your name in attendance.
And now?
Now you were working with him. Now he was grinning at you like you were someone worth his attention.
You were so distracted by that realization that you nearly walked straight into a wall.
“Oi.” Hizashi nudged you before you could embarrass yourself further. “You still with me?”
You cleared your throat, trying to refocus. “Yeah! Yeah, just, thinking.”
He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oho? What about?”
How I used to have a hopelessly embarrassing crush on you, and now you’re standing next to me, smiling, and my brain is actively trying not to short circuit.
“…Lunch,” you blurted instead. “Thinking about lunch.”
Hizashi blinked. Then laughed, shaking his head. “Man, if that’s what’s on your mind after training, I must not’ve pushed ya hard enough!”
You grabbed onto the distraction like a lifeline. “Oh, please. I could do that all day.”
He shot you a grin. “Good. ‘Cause we’re definitely doing that again.”
Your brain short-circuited.
Oh.
But, no. You weren’t gonna let him have all the fun.
Summoning whatever ounce of courage you had left, you smirked. “Oh yeah? You sure you can keep up?”
The second the words left your mouth, you realized your mistake. Hizashi’s grin widened. Way too much.
“Ohhh,” he said dramatically, cupping his ear. “What was that?”
You instantly regretted everything.
“I—I said—” You hesitated. Why did he look so amused?
“You asking if I can keep up?” He leaned in slightly, eyes glinting. “Ohooo, you’re getting bold!”
Your face burned. “Never mind.”
“Nah nah, too late now!” He laughed, giving you a playful nudge. “I love this side of you!”
You turned away, internally screaming. Hizashi, completely unaware of your impending emotional crisis, just grinned. “Hope you’re ready for round two, Y/n!”
You exhaled sharply, forcing yourself to recover. “Looking forward to it,” you said, managing to sound almost confident.
Hizashi?
He just smiled that was the moment you knew, you were so screwed.
.
——-
It started off as a normal conversation in the common room. The class was unwinding, chatting about training, when Mina, of course, had to bring it up.
“Okay, but seriously,” she said, sitting cross-legged on the couch, “did anyone else notice the energy between Present Mic and our assistant today?”
Sero smirked. “Oh yeah. Flirt Central.”
“Flirt Central?!” Kaminari sputtered, nearly dropping his drink. “Nuh-uh. No way. I refuse to accept this!”
Mina blinked. “Uh… what?”
Kaminari crossed his arms, looking like a very pouty child. “They’re our teacher. They shouldn’t be flirting with some old dude!”
“Old dude?” Midoriya raised an eyebrow. “Hizashi-sensei is 30.”
“Yeah, and our TA is 22! That’s a huge gap!” Kaminari argued.
Yaoyorozu tilted her head. “eight years is maybe stretch for—”
“I don’t care! It’s not fair!” Kaminari whined, flopping over onto the couch.
Mineta, who had been unusually silent up until now, suddenly slammed his hands onto the coffee table.
“You’re all missing the point!” he cried dramatically. “This is a mentorship t-to-slow-burn romance unfolding right before our eyes! WOMEN WHEN THEYRE VULNERABLE MAKES THEIR BOOBS so-”
The room collectively groaned.
“Mineta, shut up,” jirou snapped from the corner.
Mineta ignored her, eyes sparkling with excitement. “We should be celebrating this! They have the perfect dynamic! The confidence! The power balance! The forbidden allure of—”
Jirou smacked him over the head. “You’re disgusting.”
“OW! You just don’t appreciate a good romance—”
“I appreciate not hearing you be a creep,” Jirou shot back.
Meanwhile, Kaminari was still sulking. “I don’t care what any of you say. Our assistant deserves someone their age. Like…like me!”
The room went silent.
Mina squinted. “Denki. You’re 16.”
Kaminari groaned, flopping dramatically onto the couch. “That’s not the point!”
“Yes, it is,” Sero said bluntly.
“But, like, imagine!” Kaminari sat up. “What if we had a thing going instead? They’d be so much happier with me!”
“Dude, you barely passed last week’s quiz focus on today first,” Sero deadpanned.
Kaminari gasped. “That has nothing to do with my marriage!”
Meanwhile, Midoriya, who had been furiously scribbling notes the whole time, looked up.
“You guys are focusing too much on how… conventionally pretty she is” he said nervously . “What we should be discussing is how their quirks could compliment each other in battle.”
Iida nodded. “Now that is a productive conversation.”
“Boooooring,” Mina said. “I wanna talk about how they’d be the coolest staff couple ever!”
Kirishima grinned. “Yeah! Imagine the interviews!”
Ochaco gasped. “Oh my gosh, the fan edits would be insane.”
“I know!” Mina grabbed her shoulders. “Someone has to start a ship name.”
Kaminari screamed into a pillow.
As the chaos unfolded, Bakugo groaned, standing up abruptly. “I swear if you extras don’t shut up about this, I’m blowing up the common room.”
“Aw, c’mon, man!” Kirishima laughed. “You gotta admit, they have good chemistry!”
Bakugo scowled.
—
Meanwhile, completely unaware of the discourse happening in the dorms, you were in the teacher’s lounge, where Hizashi was currently trying to convince you to join him for karaoke after work.
And if your face was a little too warm every time he winked at you…
Well.
Nobody needed to know.
Touya Todoroki / Dabi x reader
Summary: As you pick Touya up from rehab, you reflect on how you got here
WARNING: hurt/ barely comfort. It’s a Dabi fanfic so prepare for rude behaviour and a lot of self deprecation on his part.
word count : 9734
FOLLOW ME AND GIVE ME SOME IDEAS!!
RUN BOY RUN - Woodkid
₍^. .^₎⟆ You drum your fingers against the steering wheel, staring at the front doors of the rehab center like they might explode. The car hums softly beneath you, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the parking lot. You’ve been sitting here for a while, waiting. Thinking.
It’s been weeks since you last saw Touya. Weeks of wondering if he’d actually stay. Weeks of resisting the urge to show up just to check.
And now, finally, here he comes.
The doors push open, and there he is, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, shoulders hunched against the wind. His hair’s a mess, probably hasn’t touched a comb in days and his scars catch the sunlight in a way that makes them stand out even more. He looks tired, in a way that’s more than just physical. But his eyes? Still sharp. Still him.
The second he spots you, he stops. Just stands there, staring, like he wasn’t expecting you to actually be here.
You push open the car door and step out before he can overthink it. “Hey,” you say, keeping it easy.
Touya scoffs, tilting his head. “Hey.” His voice is rough, like he hasn’t used it much.
You take him in, scanning for any sign of what? A breakthrough? A relapse? Hell if you know. He just looks… different. Not better, necessarily. But different.
“How was it?” you ask.
Touya rolls his eyes. “Awful.” Classic. “Same boring speeches, same awkward group sessions. Food was shit.”
You smirk. “No shock there.”
He exhales sharply, something like amusement, but you don’t miss the tension in his shoulders.
“But you stayed,” you say, watching him closely.
Something flickers across his face quick, almost undetectable. He looks away, shifting his weight. “…Yeah,” he mutters. “Guess I did.”
For a moment, neither of you say anything. It’s not awkward, just… heavy. The weight of everything unsaid sits between you, pressing at the edges. You had spent weeks wondering if he’d bail, if you’d get some shitty phone call, if you’d ever see him again. And now he’s here. Whole.
Touya clears his throat and jerks his chin toward the car. “You just gonna make me stand here, or what?”
You blink, shaking off your thoughts. “Right.” You open the passenger door. “Get in.”
He hesitates for half a second before slumping into the seat with a quiet sigh. As you settle into the driver’s side, you glance at him out of the corner of your eye. He’s staring out the window, absently picking at the frayed edge of his sleeve.
You grip the wheel. “You hungry?”
Touya snorts. “Depends. You taking me somewhere that serves actual food?”
“Yeah, yeah. No more rehab cafeteria mystery meat, I swear.”
For the first time, he smirks just barely, but it’s there. Then, after a beat, he mutters, “…Thanks for picking me up.”
Something tightens in your chest, but it’s not worry this time.
“Yeah yeah,” you say, pulling out of the parking lot. “now don’t get emotional on me.”
Touya leans his head against the window, exhaling as the car rolls forward, the sun sinking lower in the sky. And for now, that’s enough.
—-
When you met him, no one could have guessed that he’d be in your car sharing an intimate bond to intimate so fast.
The first time you and Dabi met, he tried to kill you.
No, really he actually tried. None of that lazy, half-assed, villain posturing. He sent a fucking wall of blue fire straight at you, no warning, no witty one liner. And when you barely managed to dodge, he clicked his tongue like he was annoyed you had the audacity to survive.
“Should’ve just stood still,” he’d said, tilting his head, eyes gleaming with something between amusement and boredom. “Would’ve saved us both a lot of time.”
“You always this much of an asshole, or am I just special?” you shot back, already bracing for the next attack.
Dabi had smirked, rolling his shoulders. “Dunno. Guess we’ll find out.”
That was how it started.
And somehow, for reasons neither of you ever addressed, your run-ins turned into something else. You fought, sure. But over time, it stopped feeling like an actual battle and more like… a routine. A bad habit. A game. He never went for the kill. You never hit him hard enough to stop him. And when the fights ended, more often than not, you’d end up talking.
Which led to nights like this.
Tonight, it was an abandoned lot. He’d set some shit on fire, you’d put it out, and now he was perched on the edge of a rusted-out shipping container, cigarette between his fingers, watching you like he was waiting to be entertained.
“You’re getting slow,” he remarked, exhaling a curl of smoke.
You shot him a look as you stomped out the last few embers. “Or maybe you’re just getting predictable.”
Dabi snorted. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”
You climbed up onto the container, ignoring the way he barely shifted to make room for you. He always did that sat like he dared you to invade his space, then acted all put out when you actually did.
“Real ambitious arson job tonight,” you muttered, stretching out your legs. “You only half-commit to everything, or just crime?”
Dabi flicked ash in your direction. “Like you’re one to talk. You had at least three chances to stop me, and you didn’t.” He shot you a sideways glance, smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Starting to think you like having me around.”
You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, because listening to you bitch and moan is so much fun.”
“Hey, someone’s gotta keep you on your toes,” he said, lazily tapping ash off the side. “Can’t have you getting soft. If anything i’m helping a little girl become a hero”
You scoffed but didn’t argue. And that was the thing this was normal now. Fighting, bickering, sitting around after like you weren’t supposed to be on opposite sides. Like you weren’t supposed to be enemies.
Maybe that’s why you started noticing things.
Like how he leaned against walls like his legs were seconds from giving out. Or how his hands shook just a little when he smoked, like the heat didn’t quite reach all the way through him. Or how, no matter how sharp his smirk was, his eyes never quite matched.
And because you were a fucking idiot, you started caring.
Which is why, after another long, pointless fight, you threw a water bottle at him.
Dabi caught it, glaring. “The hell is this?”
“Hydration, dipshit,” you said, wiping sweat from your forehead. “Y’know, because you’re a walking pile of burnt kindling, and I’d rather not have you passing out mid fight.”
He stared at the bottle like it had personally offended him. Then at you. Then back at the bottle.
“You do realize I hate you, right?” he deadpanned.
“Uh-huh. Drink the damn water, Dabi.”
His jaw tightened, fingers flexing like he was debating throwing it at your head.
Instead, he cracked the cap open, took a slow sip, and never broke eye contact.
“…You’re fucking annoying,” he muttered.
You grinned. “And yet, here we are.”
He exhaled sharply, flicked his cigarette away, and leaned back against the wall. For once, he didn’t have a comeback. Just sat there, eyes flickering toward the skyline, quiet for once.
Not as a villain. Not as a hero.
Just as a guy too stubborn to admit he might not hate the company and just maybe a guy learning people can care for him.
Though it didn’t stop there, meetings became a lot more frequent.
“You stalking me, hero?”
Dabi didn’t even bother looking at you as you landed on the rooftop beside him. Just flicked his cigarette, barely missing your foot, and leaned back like he didn’t have a care in the world.
You sighed. “You just torched a building. Kinda my job to show up.”
“Yeah? And yet, here you are not doing shit about it.” He smirked, finally turning to you. “Shouldn’t you be slapping cuffs on me or whatever the fuck it is heroes do?”
You rolled your eyes. “Like you’d let me.”
“Damn right I wouldn’t.” He exhaled a slow stream of smoke, letting it curl between his fingers before he flicked the cigarette off the side of the roof. “And we both know you don’t have the balls to try though you might like the cuffs on you.”
You clenched your jaw but didn’t argue not wanting to entertain whatever thoughts he’s trying to imply, which only made his smirk widen. “That’s what I thought.”
“You always this fucking insufferable, or is it just for me?”
Dabi gave you a slow, lazy once-over, tilting his head. “I save my worst for special people.”
“Wow. Flattered.”
“You should be.” He stretched his arms over his head, sighing. “Not everyone gets to be my personal waste of time.”
You crossed your arms. “You say that, and yet, you’re the one still talking to me.”
Dabi chuckled low, rough, full of something mean. “Yeah. Guess I like watching you squirm.”
—-
You hit the ground hard, barely rolling in time to avoid getting fried. The pavement still sizzled from Dabi’s flames, burning through your sleeves as you pushed yourself up.
Dabi, still standing like he didn’t just try to incinerate you, gave you the most unimpressed look of all time. “That was pathetic.”
You spat blood onto the ground, glaring up at him. “You hit like a bitch.”
Dabi actually laughed at that, crouching just enough to get in your face. “You wish I hit like a bitch.” His fingers twitched, heat curling around them. “We both know I could turn you to fucking ash if I wanted to.”
You swallowed hard but held his gaze. “Then why don’t you?”
He tilted his head, watching you like a cat watching a half dead mouse. Then his grin stretched slow and sharp.
“‘Cause I like this,” he murmured. “Watching you scrape yourself off the ground. Watching you try so fucking hard to be something.” He leaned in just a little closer, voice dropping to something almost amused. “It’s entertaining.”
Your fists clenched. “You’re a real piece of shit, y’know that?”
Dabi smirked. “Yeah. And?”
You shoved yourself up, ignoring how your legs ached. “One day, I’m gonna put you down for good.”
His grin widened like that was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. “Oh, please do.”
——
Dabi was sitting on the curb like he had just clocked out of a long shift at his 9-to-5 arson job. Arms draped over his knees, a half-burnt cigarette dangling from his fingers, and an expression so profoundly bored that you had to take a second to process the absolute wreckage behind him.
The alley looked like a battlefield. Scorch marks everywhere, trash melted into unrecognizable blobs, and some guy still smoking from the flames. He was groaning, which was good it meant he was alive. But considering how crispy he looked, he probably wasn’t gonna be winning any beauty pageants soon.
You let out a long, suffering sigh. “Dabi.”
Dabi tilted his head back lazily to look at you. Then he exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. “Oh. You.”
You planted your hands on your hips, giving him the best I am so fucking tired look you could muster. “What the fuck happened this time?”
Dabi gave you a slow blink, like you just asked him why the sky was blue. “What the fuck do you think happened?” He waved a vague hand at the destruction behind him. “I had a bad night.”
You threw up your hands. “And what, this was your therapy session? You scorched a guy!”
Dabi sighed dramatically, rolling his neck. “And yet, he’s still breathing. How ‘bout that?”
You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. “You have to stop causing problems for fun.”
He snorted. “Wrong. The problems cause me for fun.”
You gave him a long, unimpressed stare. “Did you read that off a bumper sticker?”
Dabi smirked. “Nah. Came up with it just now. Pretty good, huh?”
You ignored that. “Did it ever occur to you to just… I don’t know, go home and watch TV like a normal person?”
“I am watching something,” Dabi said, grinning. “You. Losing your goddamn mind.”
You let out a slow, deep breath, resisting the urge to punt him into the nearest dumpster.
Then Dabi rested his chin on his palm, gaze flicking over you. “And yet, here you are. Again.”
You squinted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He smirked. “If I had a dollar for every time you showed up to stop me but didn’t actually stop me, I’d be able to afford the therapy that daddy dearest never gave me.”
You jabbed a finger at him. “Listen here, you little shit—”
“I mean, really,” he went on, like you hadn’t spoken. “You could be off doing hero stuff. Arresting actual villains. Filing paperwork. Touching grass. But nah. Instead, you’re here. With me.” His smirk widened. “Kinda pathetic, don’t you think?”
Your fingers twitched. So help me God, you thought, if I don’t get out of here in the next five minutes, I am actually going to commit a crime.
You inhaled sharply through your nose, turned on your heel, and started walking.
“You’re not worth the effort.”
Dabi chuckled behind you, lazy and full of smug amusement.
“Keep telling yourself that, hero.”
——
The drive is quiet. its a warm kind of quiet. No one felt like they wanted break it. It was comfortable.
Touya is slouched in the passenger seat, arms crossed, jaw locked, radiating the kind of hostility that could curdle milk. His whole vibe is very moody teenager who just got grounded, which is impressive considering he’s a grown-ass man.
You let the silence ride for a while, because you know him. You know he’s stewing. Probably pissed at himself for actually staying in rehab instead of setting the place on fire and walking out in a dramatic blaze of glory. Maybe pissed at you for witnessing the fact that he actually completed something for once in his life.
After a few more minutes of unbearable tension, you finally break.
“You want food?”
Touya snorts. “What, we celebrating?”
You keep your eyes on the road. “I just figured you’d rather eat something that isn’t microwaved cardboard.”
“Bold of you to assume I even ate that shit.”
You exhale slowly through your nose. Patience. Touya is like a stray cat he hisses, scratches, and pretends he doesn’t need anything, but if you ignore him long enough, he eventually starts lurking near your door at dinner time.
“There’s a diner up ahead,” you say, because you will be feeding this dumbass whether he likes it or not. “It’s either that or you starve.”
Touya sighs, like agreeing to basic human needs is such a burden. “Fine. Whatever.”
-
The diner you pull into looks like it should’ve been condemned twenty years ago. The neon sign flickers like it’s having an existential crisis, and the parking lot is a graveyard of questionable life choices.
Inside, the place is nearly empty just a couple of truckers at the counter, mumbling over half-eaten plates of regret. The waitress barely looks up as you both slide into a booth.
Touya, being Touya, immediately sprawls out like he owns the joint, kicking his feet onto the seat across from him. He snatches up a menu but doesn’t actually read it just taps his fingers against the table like he’s already planning an escape route.
The waitress shuffles over, popping her gum. “What’ll it be?”
“Cheeseburger. Extra fries. Coffee,” Touya says, snapping the menu shut like he just finalized a business deal.
You squint at him. “Coffee? This late?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m sorry, are you my mom now?”
You stare at him, debating whether or not to slide his menu across the table and slap him with it.
Instead, you sigh and place your own order. The waitress scribbles it down, looking just about as done with this conversation as you are, then walks off.
Touya slouches even further if he keeps this up, he’s going to merge with the booth. “So. You gonna give me some big, cheesy speech about how proud you are of me?”
You don’t even blink. “Do you want one?”
His lip curls. “Hell no.”
“Then no.”
Touya squints at you like he’s waiting for the catch. Like you’re gonna hit him with some life is a journey Hallmark bullshit at any moment. But when you don’t, he just clicks his tongue and looks away.
“You didn’t have to come get me,” he mutters. “Could’ve just called a cab.”
“Yeah, I could’ve.” You lean back in your seat. “But I didn’t.”
His fingers twitch against the table, like he wants to argue but can’t come up with a good enough reason. So instead, he scoffs and mutters, “You’re a pain in the ass.”
You smirk. “Yeah, well. So are you.”
When the food finally arrives, Touya wastes zero time inhaling it like he’s fresh out of a 24-hour famine. Fries? Shoveled into his mouth at breakneck speed. Burger? Absolutely demolished. It’s impressive, really. Borderline concerning.
You eat like a normal human being, sipping your drink as he continues his speed run.
Eventually, between bites, he mutters, “…Food’s not bad.”
You hide your smile behind your drink. “I’ll take that as a thank you.”
Touya glares. “Don’t push it.”
You let the conversation fizzle out after that. No talking about home. No lectures. No big emotional moments. Just greasy diner food and the occasional sarcastic remark.
And when you both eventually leave and get back in the car, he doesn’t argue when you take the long way home. Doesn’t snap when the silence stretches again this time a little less heavy.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s his way of saying thanks.
You’re halfway through your plate when you notice it Touya has stopped inhaling his food like a wild animal and is just… sitting there. Not glaring, not throwing sarcastic barbs, just absentmindedly pushing a fry around his plate with a vaguely thoughtful expression.
You blink. “Oh God.”
Touya raises an eyebrow. “What?”
“You’re thinking.” You point at him with your fork. “That’s never a good sign.”
He scoffs, shoving the fry into his mouth. “Shut up.”
But he doesn’t immediately follow it with another insult, which is weird. He just leans back, arms crossed, staring at you like he’s weighing whether or not to say something.
You tilt your head. “What?”
He exhales sharply through his nose, like this this moment, this entire night is physically painful for him. Then, finally, he mutters, “You look tired.”
You blink again. “Wow. Thanks. That’s what every person wants to hear.”
Touya rolls his eyes. “I’m just saying. When’s the last time you actually slept?”
You shrug. “I sleep.”
He snorts. “Yeah? When? Between your constant babysitting and whatever dumbass hero shit you’re doing?”
You open your mouth, then close it. Because okay, maybe you don’t get as much sleep as you should. But it’s not like he’s one to talk.
Touya notices your hesitation and smirks. “That’s what I thought.”
“Yeah, well,” you huff, stabbing at your food, “not all of us have the luxury of napping through our responsibilities.”
“Luxury?” He scoffs. “I was in rehab.”
“You chose not to set the place on fire and escape. I call that a vacation.”
Touya stares at you for a second, then against all odds laughs. Not his usual sharp, mocking laugh, but something quieter. Real. It throws you off so badly that you just sit there, blinking at him.
“What?” he asks, still smirking.
“You laughed.”
He tilts his head, pretending to think. “Shit, did I?”
“Yes, and it wasn’t even a mean laugh.” You squint. “Are you dying?”
Touya rolls his eyes. “You’re so fucking dramatic.”
“Says the guy who fake-died for three years.”
“Touché.”
You shake your head, still thrown by the fact that he’s being… weirdly chill. Like he’s actually letting himself exist in this moment instead of treating it like some obligatory punishment. It’s suspicious.
Then, just as you’re about to call him out on it, he reaches across the table, plucks a fry off your plate, and pops it into his mouth.
You gape at him. “Did you just—”
“Yep.” He grabs another one. “What’re you gonna do about it?”
You slap his hand away, scandalized. “I fed you! I rescued you from microwave mush, and this is how you repay me?”
Touya grins, all teeth, the corners of his eyes crinkling just slightly. “Consider it a tax.”
You groan, dropping your head onto the table. “I should’ve left you in rehab.”
“Eh,” he says, stealing one more fry just to be an asshole, “but you didn’t.”
And for once, there’s no smugness behind it. Just quiet acknowledgement.
No thank you, no big emotional revelation just a stolen fry and the simple fact that, no matter how much of a pain in the ass he is, you still showed up.
—
The air was thick with smoke, the night split by the wail of sirens and the distant shouts of first responders. The whole block was bathed in flickering orange light, fire consuming what used to be a warehouse now it was just a giant cautionary tale about what happens when dumbasses with unstable quirks play with explosives.
You exhaled through your nose, mask pulled up high, and glanced at the six-foot wall of muscle and arrogance standing beside you. Fucking Endeavor.
“So,” you said, tilting your head toward the raging inferno, “A+ work on the whole ‘subtle infiltration’ plan.”
Endeavor didn’t even look at you. Not surprising. “This isn’t the time for sarcasm.”
You gestured broadly at the absolute catastrophe in front of you. “See, I disagree. Because if we’re not laughing, we’re crying, and I—” You clapped a hand to your chest. “—am emotionally fragile.”
“Focus.” His voice was clipped, sharp, like he was the only professional here.
You rolled your eyes. “Right, right. ‘No nonsense. Only mission.’ Because God forbid we acknowledge that this is a shitshow.”
He ignored you, which was basically the foundation of your entire working relationship.
“What’s the plan?” you asked, already scanning the building for signs of movement.
“Contain the fire and get the survivors out,” he said, striding forward. Flames licked up his arms, rolling off his shoulders like he wasn’t currently surrounded by highly flammable debris.
You sighed, flexing your fingers. “Cool. Love a good ‘rushing into a death trap’ moment.”
Still no reaction.
You followed him in, ducking through the collapsed doorway as heat immediately punched you in the face. Smoke curled through the halls, thick and suffocating, clinging to the walls like a living thing. You yanked your sleeve over your mouth, glaring at Endeavor’s broad back.
“You ever not act like you’re fireproof?” you muttered.
“I am fireproof,” he shot back.
You scoffed. “Okay, but I’m not, so let’s not turn this place into a crematorium before we’re done.”
Predictably, he didn’t dignify that with a response.
You both moved quickly, scanning the rooms, stepping over broken crates and unconscious bodies. Most of the smuggling ring had been handled either burned, unconscious, or very interested in getting arrested if it meant not being roasted alive.
The first survivors were on the second floor, huddled in what used to be an office but was now just another death trap.
You stepped over the threshold, crouching beside a barely conscious man. “Hey, buddy,” you murmured, hoisting him onto your shoulder. “Let’s get you the hell out of here before this place caves in, yeah?”
Endeavor hauled up another survivor with ease, barely even trying. God, so annoying.
“Get them out,” he ordered. “I’ll keep moving.”
You adjusted your grip, ignoring the sweat rolling down your temple. “Awesome. You run headfirst into hell, I’ll play babysitter.”
You turned on your heel, smoke curling at your feet as you hurried back out.
By the time you made it outside, paramedics were already rushing forward, taking the man from your arms. You exhaled sharply, rolling your shoulders, and turned back toward the warehouse.
Endeavor was still inside.
Not that you doubted him. He was the number two hero for a reason. But you’d seen enough missions go south to know that confidence didn’t mean shit when fire had a mind of its own.
Then—
An explosion rocked the building.
Your stomach lurched, heart pounding. For a split second, pure instinct screamed at you to move, to go back in but then, blue-orange flames burst from the second floor, and a moment later, Endeavor strode out of the smoke, dragging the last survivor behind him.
Because of course he did.
You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, yeah. Congrats on being a one man army.”
He barely spared you a glance, brushing soot off his shoulder like he hadn’t just walked through an explosion. “Handled.”
You huffed, crossing your arms. “Oh, for sure. Totally casual. You ever not act like you just expect to survive every dumbass decision you make?”
His eyes cut to you, sharp and assessing. “You don’t take this seriously enough.”
You arched an eyebrow. “And you take it so seriously you forget to breathe. Maybe if you stopped treating every mission like a personal vendetta, people wouldn’t be so quick to call you an ass.”
His expression didn’t change. “I get results.”
You snorted. “And I get migraines every time we work together. Funny how that works.”
Endeavor let out a huff his version of done with this conversation and turned away, stalking toward the police.
You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you surveyed the mess around you. Another night, another catastrophic team up with Japan’s most emotionally constipated man.
You really needed a drink after this.
But before you could make a break for the nearest bar, a voice rumbled beside you.
“…You did well.”
You blinked. Slowly turned your head.
Endeavor didn’t look at you just kept his gaze on the wreckage, arms crossed, face unreadable.
You squinted. “I’m sorry. What?”
His jaw ticked, like saying it physically pained him. “…I said, you did well.”
A slow grin spread across your face. “Holy shit.”
Endeavor immediately looked regretful. “Forget it.”
“Oh no no no, you don’t get to take that back.” You clutched your chest, mock gasping. “Endeavor praised me? I think I might cry.”
He sighed through his nose, very pointedly not engaging.
But you weren’t done.
“Wow. This must be what being a favorite child feels like.” You nudged him with your elbow. “Does this mean I get a ‘World’s Okayest Sidekick’ mug? Maybe a ‘#1 Emotional Support Hero’ t-shirt?”
Endeavor turned his head slightly. “You want a mug?”
You blinked. “Wait. Are you serious?”
He shrugged, which, coming from him, was basically a yes.
You grinned.
Oh, you were never letting him live this down
Now your relationship with the number 2 hero was never your favourite team ups. Though you did feel a strange bit of validation and growth every time you had the chance.
—
You had fought villains, survived explosions, and worked with Endeavor without committing arson (yet), but nothing, nothing. had prepared you for sitting at the Todoroki family dinner table.
Yet here you were, trapped between Hawks, who looked way too entertained, and Shoto, who was sipping his drink like he was emotionally detached from this entire situation.
Endeavor sat at the head of the table, arms crossed like he also didn’t want to be here, and Fuyumi was the only one smiling like this wasn’t the most awkward hostage situation you’d ever been part of.
“So!” she said brightly, setting down a plate in front of you. “How has working with my dad been?”
You immediately froze, a piece of food halfway to your mouth. Slowly, slowly, you turned your head to glance at Endeavor.
He was already looking at you.
Judging.
Daring you to open your mouth and ruin your career.
Hawks, the absolute devil, nudged your side with his elbow. “Go on. Be honest.”
You took a sip of water to buy yourself some time. “Well…” You cleared your throat. “He’s, uh… very efficient.”
Shoto snorted. “That’s a polite way to put it.”
You pointed your fork at him. “See? He gets it.”
Endeavor exhaled through his nose, which, given the fact that his entire body was basically a walking furnace, made it look like he was barely restraining himself from setting the table on fire. “If you have something to say, say it.”
Hawks smirked, leaning closer. “Yeah, say it.”
You shot him a you are so dead after this look before sighing dramatically. “Fine. You want the truth?” You turned to Endeavor. “Working with you is like trying to have a conversation with a brick wall, if that brick wall was actively judging you and could also set things on fire.”
Fuyumi gasped. Shoto took another sip of his drink. Hawks nearly collapsed against the table, laughing.
Endeavor, completely unfazed, just grunted. “You still get the job done.”
“Wow,” you deadpanned. “I am so touched.”
Hawks wiped a fake tear from his eye. “Man, this is so much better than I imagined.”
You turned to Fuyumi. “Blink twice if you need rescuing.”
She actually laughed at that, waving a hand. “Oh, it’s not that bad!”
Shoto, still completely monotone: “It is that bad.”
Endeavor let out the longest suffering sigh of his life.
By the time dinner ended, you were slumped against the doorway, utterly drained. Hawks, of course, was thriving, stretching his arms over his head. “Well, that was fun! Same time next week?”
You whipped around. “Do not manifest that.”
Fuyumi clapped her hands together. “Oh! That would be wonderful—”
“NO.” You pointed a warning finger at Hawks. “This is your fault.”
He grinned. “Worth it.”
As you stepped outside, you exhaled deeply, rubbing your temples. “I need a drink.”
Hawks slung an arm over your shoulders. “Told you it’d be fun.”
You shoved him off. “Keigo, I swear to god—”
—
Fighting Dabi was always a pain in the ass. Not just because of the fire which, yeah, was a huge problem but because he never shut up.
Tonight was no different. Flames roared around you, painting the alleyway in flickering blue as you dodged another wave of heat. The bastard was laughing, like this was some kind of game.
“What’s the matter, hero?” Dabi taunted, taking a lazy step forward. “Too hot for you?”
You huffed, rolling your shoulders as you steadied yourself. “Wow, never heard that one before. You come up with that yourself?”
His smirk widened. “Nah. I save my best material for special occasions.”
Before you could throw back another quip, Dabi’s eyes flickered to your uniform specifically, to the slight burn mark on your sleeve, barely visible but unmistakable.
And then, his entire demeanor changed.
His smirk faltered, replaced by something sharper. More calculating. His gaze darkened.
“Huh.” He tilted his head, stepping closer. “That’s interesting.”
You kept your stance firm, watching him carefully. “What?”
Dabi’s eyes flicked back to yours, his grin returning, but this time it was more… sinister. “That burn mark.”
You frowned, glancing at your sleeve. “Yeah? What about it?”
He let out a low chuckle, but there was something off about it something almost too amused. “Been spending time with other guys? I thought we were exclusive”
Your stomach twisted, but you kept your expression neutral. “oh? and what makes you say that?”
Dabi crossed his arms, the flames around his hands flickering dangerously. “So… you’ve been working with him, huh?”
You blinked. “What?”
“Oh, don’t play dumb.” His voice dripped with something between mockery and genuine intrigue. “You’ve been on missions with Endeavor.”
You still weren’t sure why that mattered to him, but something in his tone made your skin crawl. You scoffed, keeping your voice even. “Yeah, so? He’s the number two hero. I work with a lot of pros.”
Dabi let out a slow whistle, shaking his head. “Man, that’s hilarious.”
You narrowed your eyes. “What the hell is so funny?”
His smirk widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You, hero. Running around, playing sidekick to that bastard.” He let out a low chuckle, stepping even closer. “I wonder… did he finally get what he wanted?”
Your jaw clenched. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Dabi’s smirk twitched, like he was enjoying some inside joke at your expense. “Nothing. Just seems like you don’t know your mentor as well as you think.”
Something about the way he said it sent a chill down your spine. But you weren’t about to let him rattle you. “If you’ve got something to say, say it.”
Dabi just grinned, stepping back. “Nah. I think I’ll let you figure it out yourself.”
And before you could stop him, he vanished into the night, leaving behind nothing but embers and more questions than you wanted to deal with.
—
You had somehow let Fuyumi trick you into another dinner. You weren’t sure how it happened one second, you were wrapping up a mission with Endeavor, and the next, you and Hawks were walking up to the Todoroki house like it was some weekly scheduled event.
“You manifested this,” you muttered, glaring at Hawks as you knocked on the door.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied, smirking. “I think this is great for you.”
“I hope you get hit by a rogue Nomu.”
The door opened before Hawks could come up with a comeback, and Fuyumi greeted you with her usual bright smile. “You came!”
“Yeah, yeah, against my better judgment,” you muttered as she ushered you inside.
This time, the vibe was slightly less tense than before. Natsuo still wasn’t here (no surprise), but the rest of the family was present Endeavor looked like he would rather be anywhere else, Shoto was neutral as always, and Hawks was making himself way too comfortable again.
As Fuyumi moved to set the table, you noticed something different this time a photo album was open on the coffee table, pages slightly worn at the edges.
You nudged Hawks and motioned toward it. “Look at this. Actual proof that Endeavor has been outside of a crime scene.”
Hawks chuckled, leaning in. “Wow. I can’t even picture him smiling.”
You flipped a few pages, finding old photos of Fuyumi, Shoto, and Natsuo when they were kids. The pictures looked almost normal—almost like any other family.
Then you saw a photo that made you pause.
It was a boy, older than Shoto but still young, with white hair and striking blue eyes. He was grinning, arms crossed with a cocky smirk, like he knew he was the coolest person in the room.
You frowned, tapping the picture. “Who’s this?”
Fuyumi turned from the kitchen and followed your gaze. Her expression softened just slightly. “Oh… that’s Touya.”
You glanced at Hawks, who also looked mildly surprised. “Huh. Never heard of him.”
Fuyumi’s smile dimmed just a little. “He was our oldest brother.”
Was.
You weren’t dumb. That single word told you enough.
Endeavor’s entire posture tensed, but he didn’t say anything, just kept staring at the table like the conversation wasn’t happening.
Shoto was unreadable as ever. “He passed away a long time ago.”
You blinked, looking between them. You hadn’t even known Endeavor had another kid, and now you were learning he was dead?
Hawks, who was usually one to crack a joke, was silent beside you, his sharp eyes studying the photo with an unusual seriousness. “How?”
Fuyumi hesitated, shooting a glance at her father. “An accident,” she said carefully. “A fire.”
You didn’t need a full explanation to understand there was a lot more to the story than she was letting on. The entire atmosphere in the room had shifted like an invisible weight had settled over the conversation, suffocating and heavy.
You looked at the boy in the picture again. Touya. Something about his expression, his posture, felt oddly familiar, but you couldn’t place why.
Hawks leaned back, whistling lowly. “Damn. Didn’t know you had another sibling, Shoto.”
Shoto’s eyes flickered to his father before looking away. “Most people don’t.”
You glanced at Endeavor, who was completely silent, jaw clenched. If the man was already emotionally constipated on a good day, now he looked like someone had shoved a grenade down his throat and pulled the pin.
Yeah. You were not asking follow-up questions.
Fuyumi gave you a sad smile before quickly trying to shift the mood. “Anyway! Dinner’s ready.”
You exchanged a glance with Hawks, silently agreeing to drop it for now.
But as you ate, your eyes kept drifting back to that photo. There was something about it, something that made your stomach twist.
Something that told you this wasn’t the whole story.
—
You’re barely five minutes into the drive when Touya starts fidgeting. One leg bouncing, fingers tapping, sighing dramatically every few minutes like he’s about to say something and then deciding against it.
You ignore him for as long as humanly possible.
Then another heavy sigh.
“For fuck’s sake,” you say, glancing at him. “What?”
Touya smirks. “Nothing. Just love a good awkward silence.”
You roll your eyes and turn down a side street, heading toward an old parking lot on the edge of the city. It’s the kind of place that’s either a sketchy drug deal spot or just an abandoned lot that no one’s cared about for years. Either way, it’s empty, which is exactly what you need.
When you park, Touya squints at you. “Oh, nice. Super ominous.” He leans back, crossing his arms. “So, what, this is where you tell me you’ve secretly been hired to kill me? ‘Cause, honestly? Should’ve done it before you wasted money on my food.”
“Yeah, yeah,” you mutter, digging around in the glove compartment. “I’m playing the long con.”
Touya watches as you pull out a slightly crumpled pack of cigarettes. He blinks. “The hell? Since when do you smoke?”
“I don’t.” You tap the pack against your palm, knocking one loose. “Except when I do.”
He huffs a laugh and pulls out his own pack. “Terrible influence. Hope you know that.”
“You’re literally the last person who gets to say that to me.”
Touya just shrugs, flicking his lighter open. He takes a slow drag, then leans over the console, offering you the lighter with a lazy smirk. “Go on, then. Join me in my terrible life choices.”
You roll your eyes but lean in, lighting your cigarette. The first inhale burns your lungs in a way that’s almost nostalgic, and when you exhale, the smoke curls into the night air.
For a while, neither of you speak. Just sit there, smoking in companionable silence, staring out at the city lights in the distance.
Then Touya, ever the shit-stirrer, side-eyes you. “Soooo… you’re in love with me, right?”
You cough on your cigarette, nearly choking. “What the fuck—”
He grins, leaning back against the seat. “I mean, think about it. You picked me up, bought me food, brought me to this super romantic abandoned parking lot—” He gestures vaguely. “Like, if you’re gonna confess, at least do it with some dramatic flair.”
You take a slow, pointed drag. Exhale. Stare him dead in the eyes.
“Touya,” you say dryly, “if I were in love with you, I’d have worse problems than this cigarette.”
He snorts, tipping his head back. “Fair point.”
Another silence stretches between you, this one lighter. Less heavy, more like… a pause between bullshit conversations.
Eventually, Touya flicks his cigarette out the window, watching the ember fizzle out. “…Y’know,” he mutters, “you didn’t have to pick me up.”
You shrug. “Yeah. But I did.”
He side-eyes you again, expression unreadable. Then he exhales sharply and shakes his head. “Idiot.”
“You’re welcome,” you say, smirking.
He groans, slouching further into his seat, but he doesn’t argue.
And that’s how you know he actually means thank you.
—
The smell of smoke still clung to the air, thick and acrid, curling in the space between you and Dabi… Touya. You didn’t even realize you were gripping your fists until your nails bit into your palms, but you couldn’t help it. You couldn’t breathe.
It made sense now. The way he moved, the way he spoke, the way he never really tried to kill you even when he had the chance. The pieces had been there all along, but now they were clicking together too fast, too loud.
And Dabi- no, Touya- was watching you like a cornered animal, all teeth and venom, muscles tight like he was ready to bolt or attack, whichever came first.
“Say something,” he muttered, voice rough. “You’re staring like a fucking idiot.”
Your throat was dry, words sticking to your tongue like glue. But then, finally—
“You’re Touya.”
His jaw twitched, fingers curling at his sides. “No shit.”
The sheer casualness of it nearly sent you over the edge. “No shit?” You took a step forward, shoving a hand through your hair. “That’s all you have to say? You.. You let me think you were just some guy this whole time”
“I am just some guy.”
“Don’t fucking do that,” you snapped. “You lied to me.”
Dabi let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Lied? Oh, that’s rich.” He took a step toward you, voice dropping into something low and mean. “You think I owe you the truth? That I was just gonna sit you down like, ‘Hey, by the way, I’m a walking family tragedy with daddy issues bigger than this whole fucking city’?” He sneered. “Be for fucking real.”
Your chest tightened, but you forced yourself to hold his gaze. “I thought we—”
“What? Had something?” His grin was all sharp edges, nothing warm behind it. “Hate to break it to you, but that was your mistake.”
You felt something crack in your ribs, but you ignored it. “I trusted you.”
Dabi’s expression twisted into something ugly, something raw, but it was gone in an instant, swallowed up by that same defensive, sharp-toothed smirk. “Then you’re even dumber than I thought.”
You sucked in a sharp breath, hands trembling. “Why are you doing this?”
He scoffed. “Doing what? Telling you the truth?” He stepped closer, and you could feel the heat radiating off him, warning you to back off but you didn’t. “You wanna play hero so fucking bad, then act like one. Arrest me. Fight me. Do whatever the fuck your little code tells you to do.”
You clenched your jaw. “You’re pushing me away.”
“Good.”
That hit harder than it should have.
Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. Dabi wasn’t looking at you anymore he was staring past you, at nothing, jaw tight like he was trying to hold back words that could shatter his teeth.
But you’d had enough.
You exhaled sharply and took a step back. “Fine.”
His head tilted slightly, but he didn’t move, didn’t react.
You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Guess I was wrong about you.”
Dabi let out a short, hollow laugh, shaking his head. “Guess you were.”
The city felt too loud. Even with the distant hum of sirens fading into the night, even with the crackling embers of the smoldering wreck behind you, the weight in your chest made it hard to hear anything else.
Touya—Dabi—was still standing there, arms crossed, head tilted just slightly like he was waiting for you to walk away. Like he expected you to.
And maybe you should.
Maybe you should turn on your heel, pretend like this conversation never happened, pretend like his words didn’t bruise, pretend like your chest wasn’t burning with something ugly and disappointed.
But you didn’t.
Instead, you took a breath. Steadier this time. Then another.
“Okay,” you said, voice quiet but firm. “I’m leaving.”
His shoulders barely shifted. “Yeah. Got that part.”
You ignored him. “But I’m not letting you do this.”
His jaw tensed. “Do what?”
“This.” You gestured at the space between you, at the sharp, jagged edges of this conversation, at the way he was standing like a kicked dog trying to pretend it didn’t hurt. “Pushing me away like it’ll fix anything.”
He scoffed, but it didn’t have the same bite. “And what, you think not pushing you away is a better idea? Think about it, genius. What do you actually want from me here?”
Your fingers curled at your sides. “I want the truth.”
Touya laughed. It wasn’t sharp this time wasn’t even mean. Just quiet. Exhausted.
“The truth?” He shook his head, looking past you again, somewhere far, far away. “I gave you the truth, and you didn’t like it.”
“You gave me a version of it,” you shot back. “The one that hurts the least for you.”
His expression flickered for half a second something too fast to catch, something that almost looked guilty. Then, just as quickly, it was gone.
“And?” he said, like he was daring you to argue. “That’s what people do.”
“No, it’s what you do.”
Silence.
For the first time since this started, Touya actually looked at you. Fully. His eyes were hard, unreadable, but you could feel the tension underneath it all.
He thought this was the last time you’d talk. Thought this was the final thread snapping between you, the moment where you’d finally decide he wasn’t worth the effort.
And maybe you should.
But instead, you exhaled, rubbing a hand down your face.
“Y’know what?” you muttered, stepping past him. “Forget it. Just forget it.”
And for a second, you thought that was it.
But then, so quiet you almost didn’t hear it—
“…I didn’t want you to know.”
You froze.
Turned back.
Touya was still standing in the same spot, still holding himself like his own body was a battlefield—but his fists were clenched, his head dipped just slightly, like this admission was something he hadn’t meant to say out loud.
He let out a breath, shaking his head. “You-” His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard. “You were never supposed to know.”
Your heart twisted.
“Why?”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he took a slow step back, eyes flicking somewhere over your shoulder—like he was making sure you weren’t blocking his escape route.
You stared at him for a moment longer, waiting.
He didn’t say anything else.
Didn’t take it back. Didn’t try to fix it.
So you nodded, lips pressing into a tight line. “Okay.”
The city air was still thick with the scent of smoke, but the fire wasn’t the problem anymore. Not really.
You should leave. You should let this be what he wanted it to be one clean break, one final cut before you could crawl too deep under his skin.
But then he said it again.
“I didn’t want you to know.”
Barely above a whisper. A confession that sounded like it had been ripped from his throat against his will.
You froze. Turned back.
Touya’s gaze flickered to you, but only for a second before he looked away, jaw locking.
You swallowed against the tightness in your chest. “Why?”
Nothing.
Not right away, at least. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, fingers twitching at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. Like he wanted to reach for something, maybe even you, but wouldn’t let himself.
Finally, after what felt like forever, he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Because you look at me like I’m-” He stopped himself, mouth pressing into a thin line.
You tilted your head, stepping closer. “Like you’re what?”
Touya scoffed, rubbing a hand down his face before running it through his hair, shoulders tensing. “Like I’m fixable.”
That knocked the air out of you.
“Touya…”
His fingers curled into fists, a sharp breath escaping through his teeth. “Don’t.”
But you couldn’t not. Not when he was standing there like this, when the usual cocky bravado had cracked just enough for you to see what was underneath.
“You think I’m trying to fix you?” you asked, voice softer now. “That’s not—” You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “That’s not what this is.”
He let out a short, humorless laugh. “Isn’t it?”
“No.” You shook your head. “I just- I care about you.”
His head snapped up at that, eyes narrowing like the words had physically hurt him.
You took another step closer, slow, careful, hands open at your sides like you were approaching something fragile. “You don’t have to push me away.”
His throat bobbed.
For a moment, just one, you thought he might actually let you close the distance. Thought he might let his shoulders drop, let you see him without all the fire and sharp edges.
But then he stepped back.
Not far. Just enough. Just enough to tell you what he couldn’t say out loud.
His head tilted slightly, like he was trying to keep his expression blank, but his voice betrayed him.
“I do have to.”
Your chest tightened. “Why?”
Touya’s jaw clenched, eyes darting away. “Because if I don’t—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “It’ll hurt more when you finally realize I’m not worth it.”
Something in you cracked.
You wanted to scream. Shake him. Make him understand.
Instead, you just let out a slow breath. “That’s not gonna happen.”
He huffed, a small, tired smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, well. We’ll see.”
The worst part was he truly believed that. He thought it was only a matter of time. That you’d come to your senses, see him for what he thought he was, and leave him behind before he could stop you.
And you could tell, deep down, that he was already bracing for it.
You hesitated for half a second before reaching out slowly, carefully and letting your fingers brush against his wrist. Just enough to feel the warmth of his skin, the faint, uneven texture of his scars.
His breath hitched.
Not a flinch. Not quite.
But he didn’t pull away.
Didn’t look at you either, though. Just stared at the ground, breathing unsteady, like he was trying to decide whether or not to bolt.
You squeezed, just slightly. “I’m still here.”
A pause.
Then, softer than anything you’d ever heard from him—
“…For now.”
And that? That was the closest he’d come to asking you to stay.
—
Dabi never liked to stick around after fights. He was a hit and run kind of guy burn what he wanted, say something snarky, and disappear before anyone could pin him down. But for some reason, he had been lingering more and more after your encounters. especially after how tense the last encounter everything had been weird. Yes you had found out he was Touya but he had also found out his current chase has been cozy with the thing he missed the most.
You weren’t sure why. You weren’t working together, you weren’t allies, but somehow, you kept running into each other. And somehow, neither of you had killed the other yet.
Tonight was another one of those nights.
You had spent the last half hour chasing him through an abandoned district, dodging fire and insults in equal measure. Eventually, it turned into a weird kind of truce he had gotten bored, you had gotten tired, and now you were sitting on a crumbling rooftop, catching your breath while he lit a cigarette.
He exhaled, watching the smoke curl into the night air. “You’re getting slower.”
You shot him a glare, still panting. “Or you’re getting faster.”
He snorted. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”
You leaned back on your hands, staring up at the stars. “Y’know, for a guy who’s so dedicated to burning society to the ground, you sure do waste a lot of time chatting with me.”
Dabi hummed, tapping ash off the side of the building. “Maybe I like watching you get pissed off.”
“Oh, yeah, that definitely tracks.” You rolled your eyes, glancing at him. “So? What’s the next step in your grand villain plan?”
He smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
You shrugged. “Eh. If it’s anything like your usual, I’m guessing ‘fire, explosions, and traumatizing civilians.’”
Dabi let out a low chuckle. “Not a bad guess.”
There was a beat of silence. Then, casually, you spoke.
“Had dinner with your sister again.”
You hadn’t looked at him when you said it, but you felt the way he tensed beside you.
It was subtle. So subtle that most people wouldn’t have noticed. But you had been around him enough now to catch the small things. The way his fingers twitched slightly against the cigarette, the brief pause in his breathing.
His voice was even when he responded, but there was an edge to it. “Oh yeah?”
You nodded. “Yeah. She made this crazy good teriyaki chicken. Even got Hawks to shut up for a full five minutes.”
Dabi scoffed, taking another drag. “Miracle worker.”
“Right?” You smirked. “Shoto was there too. And Endeavor.”
Dabi’s expression immediately darkened at the name, his grip on the cigarette tightening. “Sounds like a real fun time.”
You ignored the bitterness in his tone. “It was something, that’s for sure.” You leaned forward slightly, resting your arms on your knees. “Y’know… she still talks about you.”
Dabi went completely still.
You kept your gaze ahead, pretending not to notice. “Not all the time. Just little things. The way you used to joke around when you were kids. How you’d always eat the last piece of tempura when nobody was looking.”
Dabi let out a short, humorless laugh. “She remembers that?”
“She remembers a lot,” you said, softer this time.
Another silence. Dabi stared at the horizon, jaw clenched. His cigarette burned between his fingers, the embers crackling in the quiet.
You watched him carefully. For all his arrogance, all his cruelty, there were cracks in the walls he had built. Moments like this, when you could almost see past the fire and spite when the boy he used to be bled through, just for a second.
But just as quickly, he shoved it down.
He flicked his cigarette away, standing up. “This was fun, hero. Let’s do it again sometime.”
You frowned, watching him. “That’s it? No snarky remark?”
Dabi gave you a grin, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t worry. I’ll make up for it next time.”
And before you could say anything else, he disappeared into the night.
But as you sat there, watching the last of the smoke fade into the sky, you couldn’t shake the feeling that for just a moment. he had hesitated.
—
You both sit there in the car, letting the last wisps of cigarette smoke curl out the windows. It’s quiet, save for the occasional rustling in the nearby bushes, which based on the location could either be a raccoon or someone plotting a murder. Either way, not your problem.
Touya exhales sharply, flicking his cigarette out the window. “So, what now?”
You glance at him. “What do you mean ‘what now’?”
“I mean, what the hell are we doing? You kidnapped me from rehab, bought me food, let me pollute my lungs in peace feels like there should be a next step in this weird-ass bonding experience.”
“You want a scrapbook?” You lean back against the seat, stretching. “Maybe a trophy? ‘Congratulations, you survived rehab and only complained about it 47 times!’”
Touya scoffs, side eyeing you. “That’s lowballing it. I complained at least 93 times.”
“Yeah, I stopped listening after the first 50.”
He shakes his head, muttering something under his breath before running a hand through his already messy hair. “Whatever. This whole thing is pointless.”
“Oh, my bad, I didn’t realize I was supposed to plan a grand Welcome Back to Society party,” you say, deadpan. “Should I have rented a clown? Gotten one of those shitty banners that say ‘You Did It!’ in Comic Sans?”
Touya huffs a laugh but quickly wipes it off his face, like he refuses to let you win even a little. “Yeah, I’d rather set myself on fire again than be subjected to that.”
You smirk. “Damn, next time I’ll actually do it, then.”
Another silence stretches between you, but it’s not comfortable. You can tell he’s restless, fidgety, like he’s trying to swallow down some actual feelings and it’s making him physically ill.
And sure enough—
“…I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do now.”
There it is. The actual problem.
You tap your fingers against the steering wheel. “What do you want to do?”
He gives you an exhausted look. “If I knew that, don’t you think I’d be doing it?”
“Hey, some people like being miserable. You’re one of them.”
“Fuck you.”
You grin. “There it is.”
He rolls his eyes and slouches further into his seat. “I’m serious, dumbass. Like… what now? What the hell am I supposed to do? Get some boring-ass job? Become a ‘functioning member of society’ or whatever bullshit they kept telling me in rehab? What if I just don’t?”
You shrug. “Then don’t.”
Touya blinks. “That’s it?”
“Yeah.” You throw him a look. “Did you want me to give you a whole therapy monologue? ‘You got this, king! Chase your dreams! Live, laugh, love!’”
He gags. “Absolutely fucking not.”
“There you go, then.”
He mutters something about you being insufferable under his breath before rubbing his face with both hands. “Ugh. Whatever. This whole thing sucks.”
“Yeah, well, welcome to being alive.” You stretch again, popping your back. “Anyway. Let’s go.”
Touya frowns. “Where?”
“I dunno. But if you’re gonna sit there having a melodramatic crisis about your future, we might as well do it while driving.”
He stares at you. “You’re so fucking stupid.”
“You’re so fucking mean,” you shoot back, starting the car. “Buckle up, jackass.”
He groans but does it anyway, muttering complaints the entire time.
And with that, you pull out of the parking lot, heading absolutely nowhere by just you, a moody ex-arsonist, and a whole lot of sarcastic insults to get you through the night.
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—”
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