This was your usual routine. You'd text Nanami on the Thursday evening, coordinate an outfit with her, and then on the Friday drag her out with whoever you were currently seeing and their friends. It was your idea of heaven and Nanami's idea of torture. But she loved you - as best friends do - and so she put up with the headache that came from alcohol fuelled nights of dancing. This night, of course, had been no exception.

And yet for Nanami Kenna, it had been the night that everything had changed.

Nothing extraordinary had happened. In fact, the change had come in the most mundane of moments. The two of you found yourselves stood by the men's bathrooms waiting for your boyfriend and his friends. It was easier when you had dated girls in the past, if they went to the bathroom, you went too. But now, when your boyfriend goes, Nanami finds herself in a position where she has to babysit you. She doesn't mind, of course, she'd do anything for you, but stopping a drunk you from running back to the dance floor was like trying to keep a wild bunny still.

Keeping you calm and patient was a great feat, one that required promises of movie nights and free drinks later, but Nanami didn't mind spending extra money on you. Especially when it made your eyes shine in a way that only she could notice. She has a way of reading you that none of your exes ever had. But that's completely normal, I mean she's your best friend, of course she notices how your eyes shimmer, and how you bounce on the balls of your feet when you're bored, and how your hair falls to frame your face perfectly, and how your jeans hugged your ass just right, and-

Her train of thought is broken by you trying to brush your hair out of your face and then bouncing around so much that it immediately falls back into place. Idiot, she thinks… Cute idiot.

Half an hour later, she catches herself staring again. More people had crowded into the club, filling up the booths around the dance floor. You had ran off ahead, claiming one of the last free booths, sitting smack in the middle so Nanami could sit on one side and your boyfriend could sit on the other. The latter was preoccupied at the bar, buying you a drink to help you 'loosen up' after you'd refused to grind on him earlier. Nanami had rolled her eyes at the idea, and did so once again when your boyfriend returns with a beer. When had you ever drank beer? It wasn't like you were picky with your drinks, but fruity little cocktails with paper umbrellas or decorative cherries were always the safest option with you. Nanami just barely caught your boyfriend whisper to you to just drink it because he 'wasn't going to spend more than ten dollars on a stupid drink'.

Well that just wouldn't do. Not when that little pout pulled on your lips as you stared at the glass bottle. Nanami slid out of the booth, making her way to the bar ordering a sex on the beach. Classic, fruity, what could go wrong?

Condensation was rolling down your beer bottle, creating a little pool on the table as Nanami returned. It got wiped away by a paper napkin and then replaced by the tall glass, a small cocktail umbrella decorating the drink along with not one, but two little straws for when you inevitably offer to share your drink with Nanami.

"Drink it, sweetheart" she said calmly, the pet name sliding out naturally as you started thanking her, a familiar twinkle returning to your eyes. She focused on you, completely. Eyes fixed on your lips around one of the tiny straws, your eyes watching your boyfriend, your airy laugh when he told a bad joke. This environment is where you thrive, loud noises, bright lights, endless conversation. It's easy, it's busy, it's Nanami Kenna's personal hell.

Her idea of a nice evening with you would be a quiet sleepover watching a movie. Preferably at your place with your twinkling fairy lights and cosy blankets. Nanami loved when the two of you had sleepovers, you'd insist on making a fort, she'd sigh but comply. You'd order too much takeout and she'd watch as you ate enough to make a normal person sick. You'd fall asleep halfway through whatever romcom you'd selected, your head would rest on her shoulder, your breaths would even out. Those moments, those quiet moments of peace are the moments when Nanami feels that she can truly breathe.

And yet, instead of being at peace, Nanami is sat in a sticky bar listening as your boyfriend tries to impress you with his knowledge of sport — a topic that Nanami knows that you do not care about. Eventually, after what feels like hours of him droning on and on and on and — you get the gist — your boyfriend finally goes to dance, leaving you and Nanami to chat. Which is exactly how Nanami ended up listening to you explaining why he wasn't what you need.

"I just feel like he doesn't listen, you know? Like, when have I ever expressed interest in soccer or drinking beer? It's insane…" You'd complain, mixing your drink with your straw. "I don't know what it is about men, I mean, at least my ex-girlfriends listened to me! I mean, sure, we argued a lot, but she at least heard me out!"

Nanami would nod through each complaint feeling a little guilty at how happy she gets when you mention breaking up with your current boyfriend. And then came the kicker.

"He's also just not my type, you know? I mean, he's attractive, but he's not a bit of me."

"What is your type then?"

"I think I'm into blondes," you answered casually. "Oh, and someone a bit more serious. I know I'm a bit… bubbly… maybe I need someone who can balance that out."

Nanami almost choked on her drink, pausing briefly before recovering. She watched you as she sipped from her glass, testing, seeing if you were looking at her the same way that she was looking at you. Praying that you felt the same way.

Then you joked "maybe I should just date you" and it took every ounce of Nanami's self control to not seriously agree.

Things only got worse from there.

Before, Nanami had thought about you a normal amount. Occasionally seeing something in the store and thinking you'd like it, or sending you TikToks of bunnies that she thought you might enjoy. But suddenly, you consumed her every thought.

It was you that she thought of when she woke up.

It was you that she thought of when she chose her outfit for work — wondering if you'd prefer her in trousers or a dress.

It was you that she texted the moment she thought of something funny.

It was you that she thought of when she sought out women to take home. Usually, she dated all kinds of women, not picky about looks or personality. But now, the women had started to look more and more like you, and they became louder, bubblier, gigglier. Soon enough, Nanami had found that if they didn't resemble you in some sort of way, she just wasn't interested.

However, the biggest change came at a moment she least expected. Because now it was you that she pictured as her hand travelled across her body. She imagined how you would squirm as she circled her own nipples. She pictured your lips and how soft they'd probably feel as she squeezed her own chest. Her hand slowly slid down the soft expanse of her stomach, fingers light as they teased at the waistband of her panties. It was like she was in her own world, like she wasn't alone in her bed after a gruelling eight hours at work.

No, in her mind, Nanami Kenna was in your room, hovering over you as you panted and whined for her. Maybe she's going crazy, but she swears she can actually hear your voice begging for her. Sweet, saccharine whimpers of her name on your tongue as her middle finger teased you through soaked lace.

Real Nanami gasped, her own middle finger stroking lightly over cotton feeling how aroused she already is. It isn't like she struggles to get aroused normally, but picturing you has undoubtedly sped up the process. Slender fingers lightly tease her clit, further soaking the fabric as she imagines pressing her lips to every inch of your body. She'd start at your jaw before slowly moving down to your neck, finally free to mark what she wants to be hers.

Would you prefer her hands on your breasts or her mouth? Nanami has no idea, but she can't help but imagine sucking a peaked nipple into her mouth, tongue swirling around the bud until you were whining. Would you beg her to move down or would you let her take her time? Were you quiet or loud? Would you want toys or would she be enough? These are all things that Nanami wonders as her hand slips into her panties.

Her fingers gather her own wetness, using it to coat her clit before drawing slow clockwise circles, barely touching. Yet it's still enough to make her pant your name. Her eyes close, envisioning you beneath her. Your moans would be intoxicating, she'd want to record them and play them on a loop like white noise. Slowly her own moans grow louder as she imagines you panting out her name. Before she can process what's happening, her back is arching, legs trembling as her orgasm crashes over her like a wave.

It's almost embarrassing how easily she came, just by imagining your voice, picturing your body, envisioning the way your mouth would open around a moan as you finish.

After that sinful night, Nanami had pictured you again and again. Enough times that she felt guilty when she looked at you, but as long as you didn't know it'd be fine, right? And maybe one day you'd feel the same, so for the time being, she was happy to sit back and wonder what she could do to win you over sooner.

Soon enough, it was impacting every interaction she had with you. Sweet, oblivious you, you never noticed. Assumed she'd become more affectionate. I mean, it's normal for friends to play with each other's hair, hug, and kiss each other on the cheek to say goodbye. Sure, it's new for Nanami, but she's your best friend; it's only natural that she'd feel more comfortable with you.

It impacted her in more hidden ways, too. She started reading into conversations too much, started searching for clues that you felt the same. If told her you had a crush — she assumed it was her. When you said you were feeling closer to someone from work — she assumed it was her. The worst was when you started talking about asking a girl out. Nanami spent the next few days imagining how you'd ask her out, waiting for it to happen.

And then, one day, it all crumbled around her.

"She's actually just the sweetest person ever," you'd been rambling for five minutes. Confiding in Nanami about the girl you were interested in. "She's blonde and a little taller than me, which is so hot, and she always looks so serious, like she could just tell me off — God, I wish she'd tell me off-"

Nanami was barely listening anymore. Just enough to hum along with what you'd been saying. Until she heard those words…

"Nanami, will you be my girlfriend?"

Shocked, she glanced up at you briefly, frozen, waiting for you to repeat what you'd said.

"Hello?" You joked, waving a hand in front of her face. "Earth to Nanami. Kenna, are you listening?"

"Sorry, sweetheart, could you just repeat that last thing for me?"

"Yeah, of course! I was just wondering if you think I should ask her to be my girlfriend…"

A/N: Happy Pride everybody!!! Wowie, this took a while. I really hope you all enjoy this, I'm currently unsure how I feel about it but I think I like it (this is prone to change as I am my own biggest critic).

This is a part of the pretty girl avenue event by @seventasia so definitely go and check out everybody else's fics and send them love too!!!

I had hoped to have this out earlier this month but I am i the process of moving (I have survived the flatmate from hell everybody cheer)

Perm taglist: @ackpplepie, @cassideezlife, @coralbae, @fricks, @kixxtie, @kireampie, @lemonswirlss, @purescription, @shnauwi, @strawb3rryhachi

Nanami taglist: @caramelluxe, @stellarixe

Info on how to join or leave my taglist here!

© 2026 xstars-alignedx. All work belongs to @xstars-alignedx Do NOT repost, modify, translate or plagiarize in any way on ANY platforms or AI chatbots.

he’s blushing, again. he always seems to do that around you. soft, kiss swollen pink bottom lip caught like prey between his incisors, nails digging into his jeans. jeans that don’t do much to hide his steadily growing erection.

the sight sends a rush of heat down south, own imagination fueling your arousal and drawing a giddy giggle out of you. you lean back on your palms, huffing out a soft sigh. “you know I don’t bite. no need to be shy.” you watch a full body shudder wrack through him, hand shoving his glasses up into his hair before both stray to his belt. “i’m not shy.”

your nails graze over the leather belt, fingertips pressing into the cool buckle. “oh yeah?”

you’re hooked, eyes following the way he undoes it himself with his shaky fingers, tugging and pulling, tossing the belt aside. undoing the button and his zip, not even taking his pants off fully before he’s hooking a finger on his briefs. “yeah. but like…y-you’re sure? you want to see it?”

“it?” your head tilts as though confused. “you mean your cock?” you shift to sit higher on your heels, peering down at the newly exposed skin. the coarse trail of white from his navel that disappears into the tight band of his briefs. the taut lines of his lower abdomen. “yeah, satoru. I wanna see ‘it’.” and touch it, and hold it.. “if you still want to, you know..let me see it. obviously.”

his eyes bore into yours for a few seconds, something nervous there as the tips of his ears glow with how red they are. your lips part to reassure him—you’d been fine with just kissing the other times, this time wouldn’t be any different. but he’s tugging his briefs low and your thoughts instantly empty. it’s almost funny how the sight robs your lungs of the air it so desperately needs, gaze fixed on what he’s just unveiled for you. slapping against his tee as its freed from its confinement, bobbing slightly with its weight.

satoru’s hard as diamond, thick and flushed. cock a pretty, ruddy shade of pink. pearlescent droplets bead near the head and you instantly feel saliva pooling warm under your tongue. you take in everything—from where the trail leads to an equally neat patch leading down to his base, the way he's half hard and steadily getting harder just from you looking—

“what the hell?”

he feels like he’s gonna die. first time you’ve ever seen his cock and you exclaim ‘what the hell?’ — what exactly is he supposed to take that as?

“oh my god, you hate it.” his hands fly down to hide it uselessly, tremor in his fingers not missed. “is it ugly? you think it’s ugly.”

his face is scarlet, lightly painted over pale skin. just when you think you can’t like him any more than you already do, he just fuels your affection towards him. “no! no, I don’t hate it.” you’re quick to make the words said in awe clearer, scooting closer to him on your knees, “ugly? never.” your hands reach up to slide his glasses back down so they’re perched on his nose again and not in his hair, lightly thumbing at the apples of his cheeks. “I really like it, trust me.”

you let your gaze drop back down. deliberatecan, slow, dragging over every inch of him before finding his face again with the most innocent expression you can manage.

"why are you hiding?" the playful pout comes easy, head tilting. your hands lower to smooth up his jean covered thighs, gently squeezing, fingers grazing bare skin when you get to his upper thighs. his eyes follow your path, fixed on your fingers now hovering over his shielding his length, “can I touch you?”

his nod comes fast, and your hands move once you have the okay. prying his away, getting your fill again just from looking at it.

with his hands gone you can get a proper look - thick with a flushed, glistening tip, another bead spilling free from your attention alone. the vein and the side taunts you, gusset of your panties growing uncomfortably slick and plastering itself to your folds. you press your thighs together instinctively—you’re not sure what you’d expected but you do know that this far surpasses it. sitting on his lap had clearly been an inaccurate way to gauge his size because…how would you even begin to take him if you guys got that far? “…god.”

your fingers wrap around him and he shivers, a shaky moan punching out of him as his head pitches forward. he’s warm and thick in your grip, heavier than you expected, thumb immediately finding the precum welling near his tip. you smear and spread it, hand slowly stroking downward once, cock steadily becoming slick the more you play with him. “so pretty, satoru..”

you’ve barely done anything and he feels like he’s close to embarrassing himself. you’re just so pretty and nice to him and he’s been thinking about doing something like this for ages…he doesn’t exactly have it easy right now. “satoru, are..” your voice sounds distant, his mind somewhere far away. all his brain power is focused on the point of contact between you and him, cock throbbing in your grip. heat pools low in his gut, sharp and insistent - the kind that makes his brows furrow, jaw slackening around shaky moan. his hands grip at the sheet on either side of him, bunched in his hold like it’ll help him maintain any semblance of his sanity.

“..’toru? are you listening?”

a squeeze to his base does a quick job of bringing him back, gasp warming you to the core as his hips buck upward. his hazy, half lidded gaze fixes on you again, giving you a quick nod. "i’m—yeah. sorry, i’m listening.”

you smile at the brief distraction, hand finding a gentle rhythm. up down in firm, even strokes that spread every glossy bead gathering at his tip down his rigid shaft. you pick up on the change of his breathing, the rising pitch of his moans, curses muttered under his breath.

you’re closer before he can process it, thigh on either side of one of his with your hand never slowing, nosing at the side of his jaw. “wanna kiss some more..?” his head turns and his lips meet yours before the question can even land, desperate and entirely too eager to continue where you’d left off. his hands finally leave the sheets to slide into your hair, angling your head, pulling you closer. your mouths move together, something wet and urgent - lips smacking, tongues mutually probing at each other’s lips for access. one slide of his over yours and you’re moaning in sheer glee, getting closer because even this isn’t close enough. lowering your hips so your clothed cunt is flush to his hard thigh under you, hips rolling absently for any sort of stimulation. you’re sharing breaths more than you’re breaking free for fresh air, and neither of you seem to find issue with the arrangement.

“mm, ‘toru..’ a giggle warms his lips. you’re dizzy from the oxygen you’d deprived yourself of, kissing wetly across his cheeks, down his jaw, “god, I love kissing you.” you honestly think you could sit for hours doing just that and you’d die happy.

“I—o-oh god—me too. I love kissing you.” his head tilts, almost instinct at this point to bare his neck to your attention. your mouth finds its target instantly, instantly latching onto soft skin. you suck at the flesh slowly, feeling marks bloom hot under your lips, fist keeping rhythm along his length.

“aw, do you?”

the words leave you, muffled against his neck, but he picks up on the teasing tone despite that fact. you’d think you’re the one being touched with how turned on you are, teeth finding a new spot to bite into, moaning at the pressure of his thigh against your clit. “do you like cumming for me too? hm, satoru?”

the teasing hadn’t done him any favours in the first place but asking him a question like that all casually, calling his name that way…

“I…wait,” he feels that heat that's been settled low for the length of your teasing suddenly flaring hot, balls twitching. pulling tight.

“nng—haah. w-wait, please—” satoru’s hips jerk before he can even warm you properly.. the warmth hits your fist first, before you’re even registering anything. it seems continuous, pooling in your grip. spilling down your knuckles and his length in thick pulses.

“oh?”

by the time your brain catches up and you’re pulling out his neck to look, a strangled noise claws its way out of him, hand pulling you back in to kiss you harder. a shaky moan breaks against your lips, hips helpessly rolling up into your grip in the face of his orgasm. “‘m..shit, s-so sorry—c-cumming—” you put up 0 fight, swallowing every sound, working him higher and higher with firm strokes as he empties into your grip, shaking under you.

“that’s it, pretty boy…keep cumming.” you breathe the words into his mouth, high on his moans, his hand grabbing at your wrist that continues to twist. your stroking slows to a stop after a little, glistening strand stretching thin between your lips when you break from your kiss.

satoru’s chest is heaving, eyes squeezed shut behind the glasses as the embarrassment hits and settles post his mindbending orgasm. “..oh my god.” he wishes a sinkhole would just open up under him and pull him under.

“—toru..satoru?”

his eyes open and his eyes are instantly on yours—pupils blown but your gaze is soft, still smiling. “don’t get in your head about it. that was really hot, I promise.”

he trusts you, he really does. but finding…whatever that was hot? you can see the skepticism on his face and it only makes your heart swell, unoccupied hand reaching for his. your fingers wrap around his wrist, and he watches dumbfounded as you guide his hand right under your skirt. his fingers find the arousal damp fabric of your underwear and his jaw slackens, the skeptical look replaced by something that makes your stomach flip. “oh.”

“yeah, oh.” the smile on your lips wobbles as his fingers trace the shape of your cunt over the fabric, next words breathless as they leave you, “don’t feel bad. we’re—mm, ‘t-toru—basically in the same boat. see?”

“yeah...same boat..” barely out of his first orgasm, his arousal returns with a vengeance.

his fingers find the swell of your clit through your panties, pressing down just to see your expression falter just a little. and falter it does, your whine warming his cheeks, flutter of your eyes mirroring his own. “nng, satoru..”

the next 5 seconds feel like somewhat of a blur—one second you’re on your knees, sat on his thigh close to him. but the next? you’re on your back. sheets soft as silk under your molten skin, skirt flipped up just enough that he can see underneath it. his cock is still warm and heavy in your hand, growing thicker with his renewed arousal. satoru's fingers worm their way past the gusset of your underwear to circle your bare clit with enough pressure that your hips tilt upward, a rush of arousal pooling wetly against his fingertips as he moves down to your entrance. then back up to your clit just to spread your mess. moving like he already has his mind set on something, like he wants the same thing that you do.

"...i'll last longer this time, i promise."

author's note :: 𑣲⋆ I offer inexperienced gojo today 🧎🏽‍♀️added a teeny bit more than originally planned but I like how it turned out

he blushes pink at the thought. your words are enough to relight the fire licking at his groin. he watches you for a moment; tries to discern whether or not you're only saying what might please him, but ultimately nods.

you don't throat him immediately, though. instead, you duck your head down and press a few messy kisses to his balls. his hips twitch upwards at the contact, his breath hitching in his lungs. you smile, dart your tongue out to lick at the source of his hesitation.

"god, that's dirty," he groans. "you like this?"

"i like you," you hum, mouthing at his balls with spit-covered lips. you're making a mess of him, though that only gives you an excuse to suggest showering together later. "like your balls too."

"i... shit, i see that."

he's so sensitive, knitting his brows together as you suck and lick and kiss his balls with a feverish sort of worship you didn't know you had in you. his cock rests against your face, throbbing as it hardens even more. he could cum like this.

but you aren't quite done with him.

when you pull back to take his cock back into your warm mouth, all the way down to the base, kento swears he must've been a saint in his previous life to deserve such pleasures in this one. you trace the vein that tracks the underside of his length with your tongue, and then hollow your cheeks out to suck.

he cums all too-quick and with a loud and uncharacteristically whiney moan that makes you wonder how he'd sound tied up and begging. it feels almost wasteful to take his load anywhere other than deep inside of you, but you're sure you'll have plenty of opportunities for that in the near future.

he tastes good. salty. you want to keep sucking, see if you can milk him for more, but he's already overstimulated and panicking a little at the sensation he's feeling. although you think he likes it, you know it'll be too much for his first time. you pull off, careful to spill as little of his release as possible, and sit back on your heels.

and kento is a mess. his lips part as he watches yours pull into a greedy smile. he's eager to watch you spit it out, perhaps just to see the visual reminder that he came in your mouth. but you meet his eyes, let him sit on your tongue a moment longer, and then swallow.

oh. he wonders how he'll ever lead a normal life again after a sight like that. his mouth is dry, cock still wet with your spit, heart beating out of his chest...

still, he manages to stop you when you move to get up and start on his aftercare. "wait."

you raise your brows. "yes, ken?"

Angels aren't stuck in limbo, watching as all their loved ones get slaughtered simply for the gifts they were given upon being born.

Angels don't have to watch their friends' bodies be paraded around as puppets, just to have to clean up the aftermath.

No, Shoko's always been human. Devastatingly so. She was never one for the spotlight. She never had grand plans to save humanity or change the world. Growing up with friends like Gojo and Geto means getting comfortable hanging back and waiting to be noticed. Never on the front lines, never the first turned to in a crisis; shoko is silently valuable, a tacit boon to jujutsu society.

And as much as she's pushed her cursed technique to its full potential, she's never been able to heal a broken mind. After Geto broke, she spent hours spent pouring over text after text, mapping brain circuitry and studying neural pathways. Despite all her efforts, she was never allowed to touch the mind.

It's probably for the best. Why should she be trusted to determine what makes a "right" mind and a "wrong" mind? How does one parse out the broken from the misunderstood? Besides, Shoko can't judge other people for their inclinations. She's a healer, but she was given a morbid curiosity instead of the natural warmth most people in her profession exude.

The wooden coffee stirrer resting between her fingers muddles the carefully poured steamed milk into the brown of her latte. She came to the cafe for a change of scenery. She thought that maybe if she spent less time in the morgue or surrounded by wounded bodies, the clouds fogging up her mind would let up. Instead, they're swirling around her and bringing everything she wants to forget about up to the surface of her mind.

Gojo would have loved to try the sickeningly sweet frozen coffee abomination the cafe's advertising on the chalkboard out front.

Geto would have shared a matcha with her.

Even Nanami would have liked this place, clean and efficient as it is.

Shoko could've called Utahime before coming here, but…she's always busy. Shoko can't tell if she gives the same canned answer simply because she's actually swamped with work or because Shoko represents the unprocessed agony of the past few months.

She knew she would be signing up for a life of losing her friends, but she never expected to be alone before she hit 30. That has to be a record, even for the jujutsu world.

By the time the first sip of her coffee is taken, it's already tepid. It matches the weather outside of the window she's looking through: somewhere between sunny and gray, like the sky itself can't decide whether it should be gloomy or bright. The cafe is busy, but the bustle is lost on Shoko. It smells like ground coffee beans, steeping tea, and…strawberries…?

The sudden sweet smell makes Shoko come back to herself, and she notices a tray intruding on her peripheral vision. There's a strawberry cupcake and some kind of latte sitting on the plastic, but Shoko's more focused on the hands holding the tray. Phalanges attached to the metacarpals…she follows your radius and ulna up to your humerus. Her eyes linger on the small bit of exposed clavicle the collar of your shirt affords before she finally looks at your face.

You're laughing.

"What's funny?" she asks, a bit annoyed at your perceived judgment.

"Nothing," you smile. "You just seem surprised. I've been watching you for a bit—since I came in, really—and you haven't looked at a single person since. I just wanted to know what would happen if I approached you."

"I'm glad I piqued your curiosity." Shoko's chin finds its way back to her palm, and her gaze fixes on the latte she knows she won't finish. "But I'm not—"

"Hey, do you mind if I sit here?" Not only do you interrupt Shoko, but you're sitting down across from her before she could give the emphatic yes, I do mind that was on the tip of her tongue. "It's just so packed, and I'd rather not sit with a man. You get it."

"…right."

"Sooo," you start. Your speech lulls for a second while your fingers fiddle with the paper lining of your cupcake. "Do you always come to cafes to sit around and sulk?"

"Do you always come to cafes to ask invasive questions to strangers?"

"Well, no. Just to the people who look like they need it."

Shoko mulls your answer around in her head as she watches you bite into your cupcake. Your lips are shiny. Do you use lipgloss? Lip balm? Chapstick? Her mind then begins to wonder if whatever's coating your lips is flavored. Would it match the sweet strawberry of your cupcake? Or would it taste like artificial cherries? Mint? Mango?

Why am I so fixated on this girl's mouth?

"You're staring. Ah, do I have something…?" you trail off and gesture at your mouth.

A quick shake of her head accompanies Shoko's response, "Uh, no. Nothing's there."

You find yourself smiling before you can stop it, and Shoko internally curses herself when she catches the mischievous look in your eyes. "So you were staring because?"

"I zoned out." The excuse is lame, even to Shoko's own ears.

"On my face."

"You have an interesting face."

"I'm taking that as a compliment, by the way."

All Shoko can do is shake her head at your audacity. "Go ahead."

You're odd. That's all Shoko can pin down about you. Even then, you haven't displayed any overtly odd mannerisms. You're just being friendly. Maybe a bit more playful than you should be with a stranger, but you're also carrying a bright pink purse decorated with trinkets and fluffy keychains, something completely at odds with your work attire.

Once again, Shoko finds herself in a loop of meaningless questions. Are you odd or just different? Is there something wrong in your mind, or are you simply more outgoing than she is? Is there even a point in trying to differentiate the ends of a spectrum that no one will ever quite reach?

"Are you feeling well?" you ask casually.

Shoko blinks at you and then glances away. "I guess so."

"You guess so? That's not really much of an answer. You look a little…I don't know…"

"I was…trying to get a change of scenery today," Shoko mumbles. Her hands tremble when she tries to grab the handle of her mug. "But I don't think it worked out very well."

"Ah, I see." The weight of your gaze is tangible. Shoko can feel the way you're trying to dissect her, treating her the same way she treats the cursed bodies resting in her morgue. She looks at you again, and she's glad you don't know what she does. "Well, it's good that you tried, anyway. Things don't get better unless you try to make them better. That's what I've learned, anyway."

"Oh? Through school or…?"

"No," you laugh, "through living. It doesn't do you any good to see everything as a punishment, y'know? Sometimes you have to take things as a lesson, learn from them, and go on."

"Right." Shoko chases the word with a sip of her cold coffee and sets her mug down again. Her fingers are trembling harder now, and the mug clanks down against the saucer louder than she intended. Her mind's all over the place now, too.

I need a cigarette.

"Hey, do you smoke?"

"Do I smoke?" You pause for a moment and set your empty mug down on your tray. God, how long has it been that you've finished your food already? "No, I don't. I'll get out of your hair, though. I have to get back to work soon. My lunch hour's almost up."

You stand up and shrug your jacket on, and all Shoko can do is watch on, even as a wounded feeling blooms in her chest. Watching you walk away has her stomach clenching. Still, she doesn't reach out in time. Her hand is still dangling uselessly at her side as the cafe's door swings shut behind you.

That's another thing about Shoko Ieiri.

She's always late, always waiting just long enough to have the things she wants most slip away from her.

 Though, perhaps she's developed a new intensity if she's wanting you so badly after just having met you, feeling an intense urge to rush out after you.

She stands up after finally abandoning her coffee and puts on her jacket. The pack of cigarettes she has in her pocket weighs heavy against her hip. Her fingers are itching to light up, but something stops her as she goes to leave.

Your purse is sitting on the table.

She glances around. No one's looking. The zipper is smooth as she tugs it open, and, sitting inside, is your wallet. She finds your ID nestled inside, your address printed on it plainly.

Maybe it's time for her to take action after all.

Shoko shifts outside your door nervously. The purse in her hands weighs heavily, the leather soft and worn against her fingers. Your apartment building is nice, but perfectly average. It's warm in a way that's unfamiliar to someone accustomed to spending her nights sleeping on cramped cots in an infirmary.

She lifts her hand to knock, but doubts suddenly plague her mind.

What if you think she's a freak?

What if you call the police?

What if it goes well and you invite her in?

…as if.

With a heavy sigh, Shoko finally bites the bullet and knocks on your front door. A few moments pass, then you offer up an "I'm coming!"

Your door finally swings open, and Shoko's immediately hit with a flood of gentle lighting and the smell of cooking food. Then, her eyes register you standing in the doorway, and her knees go a little weak.

You're stood in front of her looking like something plucked out of her dreams. Your hair and makeup are done, but they're much less professional than this morning. Instead of the beige repression of the corporate world, your makeup is vivid, and your hair is wild in a way that makes her heart flutter.

And your outfit…gone are your stuffy work clothes. They've been replaced with a decidedly alternative outfit, but Shoko's eyes are stuck on the distressed Tomie t-shirt you're wearing. As she glances from your face back to the shirt, she can't help but be struck by the irony.

What brought her here, after all? If she's honest with herself, it was more than just the desire to pay you a kindness. After all, she could've just turned your purse in at the cafe. Surely, you would've realized you left it eventually. No, Shoko got lured here, by your face, by your spirit, by a sick and desperate desire to cling onto the one person who'd paid her any mind since she lost her last friend—whatever it was, it doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter because you're smiling. At her.

"Wow, hi! Is that my purse? Did you bring it here for me?" you beam. Shoko's almost in disbelief. Your lack of suspicion is astounding. As someone who's grown to be wary of almost every person she comes into contact with, you might be Shoko's exact opposite.

"You seem happy."

"I am happy. You came all the way out here for me?" Your fingers brush against Shoko's as you take your purse from her hands. Your eyes meet, and your next words coupled with the sheer sincerity in your voice makes Shoko flustered in an unfamiliar way. "That was really sweet of you. I appreciate it."

"Oh, no, don't even…don't even worry about it," Shoko flaps a hand in the air to brush you off, though the flush on her cheeks gives her away. "It was nothing, really. I didn't have anything going on. I never really have anything going on."

She could curse herself for her awkwardness. How could she admit that to you? "I never really have anything going on" way to go, making yourself sound like a fucking loser. She supposes that she is, after all. She doesn't really have anything going for her. A stable job, maybe? But what does stability mean as a jujutsu sorcerer?

"I'll be going now. Sorry to have…yeah, sorry." Shoko shakes her head and turns to leave, but your hand catches her wrist and tugs her back.

"Hey…you don't have to apologize," you say softly. "And you don't have to leave. You can come in, have a drink. I'm making dinner right now, and I'd be more than happy to share if you're hungry. Let me do something for you, too."

Maybe it's the earnestness in your voice, or maybe it's the gentle way your thumb strokes her wrist, but Shoko soon finds herself seated on your living room couch with your overly-friendly cat curled up in her lap.

"So, yeah, anyway, I told her that she shouldn't take the offer because, honestly, leaving behind a job where you're bound to get a promotion to make less money with no upward mobility just because you like the manager is a little iffy. I mean, I guess it depends on how bad the environment is at her current place, but yeah…" you glance over your shoulder—your living room is directly connected to your kitchenette—and make eye contact with Shoko. "What do you think?"

Shoko has intimate knowledge about the human body, anatomy, and cursed techniques. Shoko has absolutely no knowledge about corporate politics.

"Hmm…" She runs her palm over your cat's sleek fur and shrugs. "I think you're right."

"Thank you! I knew I liked you." The little victorious smile and the wink you throw her way has Shoko's stomach flipping. Seriously, what is up with her? Yeah, you're pretty. And you smell good. And you can cook. And you're sweet. And you're actually so fucking pretty that it's kind of making Shoko go dumb.

If she let herself indulge, she could imagine night after night like this. Coming home to see you cooking, walking up behind you, holding you from behind while she asks what you're making and how your day's been…

Get a fucking grip.

One day. Not even a whole day. It's been seven hours since she met you, and this crush has turned into something catastrophic. Shoko's not sure why she's tripping over herself, but there's just something off-beat about your bubbliness that makes her want you. She wants to get closer to you, to get to know you, to pick apart your brain and figure out what makes you tick.

In a non-serial killer way. Obviously.

"Do you want some tea…" you trail off with a confused furrow to your brow. "Sorry, I just realized I never got your name."

"Shoko. Shoko Ieiri, and, yeah. I'd like some tea. Thanks."

"Alriiiight," you walk over carrying a tray of food and a pot of tea. "I know it's not elaborate or anything, but I hope you enjoy it."

Shoko almost scoffs. Who needs an elaborate meal when someone's offering you the first homecooked food you've had in months?

"I'm sure it's great. I'm used to takeout and microwave meals, so," Shoko shrugs and takes the bowl you brought for her off the tray. "It looks great, anyway."

She lifts a bite up to her mouth, and you're acutely aware of the way her lips close around the ends of her chopsticks. Shoko notices you watching her, waiting with baited breath for her reaction before you let yourself start eating. She offers you a satisfied nod, and that's when you start digging into your own food.

The meal is shared in amicable silence, Shoko quietly offering up a few "this is good"s or "thank you"s every now and again. Once you've both finished eating and the dishes have been cleaned, Shoko thinks it's time for her to go.

"Hey," she says, looking over at you from where she's leaned against your fridge. You're still drying off one of the bowls you used for prep.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for the food and all, but…I think it's time for me to head out."

"Oh, yeah." Disappointment flits across your face, but it disappears as you start chewing on your bottom lip. "But, y'know, I was thinking—well, it's just that I'm going to this party tonight, and I usually don't mind going alone, but…" you glance over at her through your eyelashes, "I think I'd have more fun if you came. Only if you want to."

Call her weak, but how could she possibly say no when you're looking at her like that?

The city changes when the sun goes down. The packs of professionally dressed salaryworkers are replaced by droves of people looking for something, whether it's fun, lust, or trouble. Street light and neon signs blur in the corner of Shoko's eyes, but all she can focus on is you. As you walk next to her, her hand firmly grasped in your own, Shoko's sure you're looking for fun.

She's just trying to feel alive again.

It helps, having you by her side, your shoulder bumping into hers at every crosswalk stop. It's been so long since she's felt someone as real as you. While most sorcerers have an intense air about them, it feels less solid than that of a regular human. She supposes it makes sense that those who can manipulate cursed energy have restless auras. But it's nice to exist next to someone without feeling their energy brushing against her like an irregular tide.

Usually, when she speaks with others, it's laced with an underlying aggravation and a desire to rush through every interaction that's quietly plastered over with practiced nonchalance and tired sarcasm. Her conversations with you, however, distinctly lack any nagging annoyance, and it leaves Shoko flustered, fumbling, and completely distracted. So distracted, in fact, that she doesn't notice that you've stopped walking, and she runs right into your back.

Thankfully, you're sturdier than you look in the platforms you're wearing, and you don't go toppling to the ground. Still, Shoko grabs onto your waist. Just in case.

"Sorry about that," she murmurs. The warmth of your body bleeds through your t-shirt, slowly warming her cold palms. She'd be happy to spend the rest of her life slowly stealing away your body heat.

"It's okay." You look over your shoulder, and the scent of your hair catching on the cool breeze makes Shoko's heart flutter. "We're here."

Her hands linger on your waist for a moment and only slide away from you when you take a step forward. Shoko follows after you. It's just occurred to her that you're leading her up the stairs of an apartment building in a part of the city she's rarely visited, all to go to a party.

"Do you know who's throwing the party or something?"

"Oh, yeah, it's my friend's party. I promise you, I'm not dragging you to some random person's place!" The airy laugh that follows your reassurance does nothing to actually assuage the nerves fluttering in Shoko's chest.

"Right."

The closer you draw to your friend's apartment, the louder the steady thudding of the bass feels under your feet. To you, it feels lively. Shoko might as well be hearing a death knell.

She stays a few paces back as you approach and knock on the door. It swings open easily, and a man, whom she assumes is your friend, pulls you into a hug upon seeing you. Shoko pays him no mind, only focused on his hands that rest on your waist, right where her own used to lie. Something jerks in her chest, and she has to fight to keep a frown off her face. You're smiling up in your friend's face as you chatter in his ear, and he listens on with a smile.

The sudden realization that she could've read everything wrong sinks so deeply into her skin that she feels itchy and tingly all over.

What if that man is your boyfriend? What if you're straight, and you were just being friendly? If that's the case, when did Shoko's observational skills dim so much?

She's once again broken out of her spiraling thoughts by you, though you're not as subtle this time. Your arm is around her waist, hand settled on her hip as you yank her toward the doorframe. There's a split second where your nose brushes the strands of her hair, and she could swear she hears you sniff her.

What a confusing woman you are.

"Shoko, this is Nikko. He and his boyfriend are some of my best friends." You're whispering in her ear, and it's all Shoko can do to pay attention. "Anyway, he's happy to see a new face."

"Happy to be here," she mutters, nodding at Nikko. That's all it takes to have him moving out of the doorway to let you in. You immediately beeline to the kitchen, tugging Shoko behind you as you snatch up a few drinks, mostly fruity flavored or bubbly. Shoko accepts the Buzzball you press into her hand, but she can't help but wish it was a tumbler of whiskey instead.

You spend a few minutes milling about, saying hello to everyone, and Shoko watches on in a disconcerted kind of awe at the ease with which you navigate this world. By most standards, you're both young, but she has a bone-deep weariness ingrained into her that you seem to lack. You only get brighter the more you talk to your friends. Shoko follows after you like a moth to a flame. She just hopes that, y'know, you won't burn her alive.

Though, if the warmth of you is as gentle as it was earlier, maybe she'd enjoy being slow-cooked by you.

She finds her way over to a loveseat in the corner, and you gravitate to her a few minutes after. You plop down next to her, bouncing a bit and ending up pressed against her side. You've clearly been tearing through your drinks faster than she has.

"Shokoooo, are you having fun?" you smile sweetly.

"Yeah, it's…nice. Could use a cigarette, though."

Your eyes widen with a gentle kind of concern, and you're pulling her toward your friend's balcony soon after. "C'mon, they don't like people smoking inside, but they let everyone use their balcony."

The door slides open, and cool air rushes into the apartment. Pounding bass and electronic rhythms are traded in for the sounds of people chatting on the streets below and the irregular honking of cars as people try to make their way home. Shoko's quick to pull a cigarette out of her pack and lights it with the clean, stainless steel lighter she keeps in her pocket. Your eyes stick to it as the city lights bounce off the surface.

"How long have you been a smoker?"

Shoko glances at you then shrugs. "I used to smoke in high school. I went to college and gave it up for a bit, but…I picked the habit back up recently."

"Stress?"

"Something like that." Shoko mutters the words around a cloud of smoke. "You said you don't smoke? Have you ever tried?"

"Here and there. I never really made it a habit."

Of course you didn't.

Shoko takes a step closer to you and holds the lipstick-stained end up toward your mouth. It's a silent offer, one she doesn't expect you to take, but a pleasant tingle shoots down her spine when your lips settle over her lipstick marks. She watches quietly as you inhale and doesn't laugh when you start coughing. She just tugs you a bit closer and rubs your back.

"I don't think I'll ever get used to smoking," you grumble. Shoko hums and takes another drag, and she swears she can taste the lingering flavor of the Buzzball you were drinking.

"I think I can help with that."

"Yeah? Do you have a trick or something?" you tease.

"Something." Shoko takes another drag and leans in closer. Her approach is slow, giving you ample time to move away, until her lips are on yours and she's exhaling the smoke into your mouth. You're too shocked to sputter and cough, and Shoko decides that she likes the surprised, helpless look in your eyes. "Don't hold it, exhale."

And, when you do as she says and release the smoke from your lungs: "Good girl." If your knees go weak after, Shoko's happy to keep that little secret for you.

You stay tucked into her side while Shoko finishes her cigarette. Even after she's done, it's all too easy to linger on the balcony with each other. You're not sure when, but your fingers started combing through the ends of Shoko's soft hair. She hasn't stopped you.

"We should go inside," you murmur finally. "I'm getting cold."

And, as much as Shoko wants to say that she could be the one to keep you warm if you just asked…she doesn't. Instead, she quietly follows you inside and settles down on the loveseat again.

"Don't you want to dance?" you yell over the music.

"Not really my thing," Shoko drawls.

"Well, it's my thing, so you can join me if you change your mind."

With that, you're off, wandering into the small crowd in the middle of your friends' living room. Shoko watches on, cracking open a wine cooler you gave her as her eyes trail up and down your body.

People seem to instinctively know to give up the space you readily take , and it's mesmerizing. It's been apparent to Shoko since she met you that you don't particularly care for what other people think of you or your decisions, that you march to the beat of your very distinct drum.

And she likes it. Usually, she finds people like you a bit grating and unpredictable, but you're so warm that it lights her blood on fire. She thinks about what you said before you left to dance. 'It's my thing, so you can join me if you change your mind.' No pressure, no expectation, just the certainty of what you enjoy and an invitation to join in.

She watches you again, and she hopes the weight of her gaze settles over your shoulders like a blanket: steady and comforting. Your hips sway with a fluid grace that has multiple people, not just her, watching you. One man in particular seems to be intent on making a move.

Jealousy is an emotion that never suited Shoko. For years, people pestered her about how awful it must be to be friends with the two strongest sorcerers while not having a fighting technique at all. People have always insisted that she should be jealous, that she should want the praise and the struggle. But she's the kind of person who turns away and finds her own place. Sure, she wasn't a fighter, but the jujutsu world still needed her. She was praised in a different way and had different strengths. She carved her own niche, and she was happy to stay there.

Now, she finds that she's battling the overwhelming desire to carve herself into your life. Shoko's on her feet before she can really think about it. Lazily discarding her half-finished wine cooler, she cuts through the room and spins you into her arms just as the unidentified man was about to tap your shoulder.

Finally, she's right on time.

"Hey," you giggle.

"Hey," Shoko smiles, her hands settling on your hips.

"Changed your mind?"

She leans in closer and bumps her nose against yours. "Maybe."

"Well…" you place your hands on her shoulders, and she immediately leans into the warmth you exude. "Let's dance."

"Okay, but I'll warn you," Shoko leans in and whispers like she's confessing a crime, "I'm not a very good dancer."

"Don't worry, just do what feels right." You guide her to start swaying, and Shoko falls into an easy rhythm with you. God, when was the last time she let herself feel like this? "That's it, just move your hips in time with mine. Don't worry about anyone else."

"Honey, I don't think I could think about anyone other than you if I wanted to."

And that, for the first time since she met you earlier today—it's only been a day?—has you blushing and hiding your face against her shoulder. Your cheeks feel hot, your heart is fluttering, and all you want to do is keep this woman as close to you as possible.

Once again, how could Shoko deny you anything?

Two hours later, the party's died, and you've long since been kicked out of Nikko's apartment. Shoko finds herself in your passenger seat, the city lights blurring outside the window as rain patters on your windows erratically. Despite the unevenness, the experience is shockingly soothing and accompanied by soft music floating from your speakers.

The alcohol's worn out of your system, but Shoko's head is still blissfully fuzzy. She squints and tilts her head at just the right time to catch light dancing across your side profile. A content sigh parts her lips, and she reaches out toward your face. You smile, catch her hand, and kiss her fingertips.

Shoko does something that she hasn't done in years.

She giggles.

It's not a laugh or a chuckle or one of the mocking scoffs that Gojo always managed to pull out of her. It's a giddy little giggle that makes her turn her face into the seat.

"You're cute," you murmur.

"You're cute."

"Not as cute as you are."

"Sure." Shoko leans her seat back and lets out a slow sigh. Your fingers keep brushing over the center console. Shoko's heart is beating fast in her chest. She can feel her blood pulsing under her skin. This is the most alive she's felt in years, and all it took was one night spent with you.

"Y'know, I don't know where you live. I'm kind of driving around aimlessly here."

Going home, or rather, going back to Jujutsu Tech hadn't even crossed her mind. How humiliating would it be, having you drop her off drunk at a high school just so she can go curl up on one of her cots in the infirmary?

When Shoko finally speaks again, her voice is small and fragile. "I don't want to go home. I don't really have one."

"You're homeless?"

"Not what I said." Shoko sits up and drags a hand down her face. "I just don't want to be alone tonight." Or any night ever again for that matter.

"Then you don't have to be alone." The words came easily to you. You don't feel pity for Shoko. That's not the right sentiment for it, exactly. The innate desire to care for others has always lived inside you and seeing someone as downtrodden as Shoko activates that desire tenfold.

A few turns, and you're on your way back to your own apartment. Twenty minutes later, and you and Shoko are collapsing onto your mattress. She curls up next to you instinctively as if some small gravity exists that has you coming back to one another.

Truthfully, she'd be fine being dragged back into your arms for the rest of her life. Her breathing slows against your collarbone, and her muscles go lax as you start rubbing slow circles between her shoulder blades.

Her wandering mind has finally found a new target in the strange, magnetic woman holding her so closely.

Healing.

Helping.

Saving.

Stitching.

She's spent her life fixing others and satiating her own morbid curiosities. She's never once thought of herself as the angel others have seen in her.

But, when she looks up, and she sees you smiling at her so sweetly…she could almost believe that she's angelic after all.

With that, Satoru's picking himself up off the couch and strutting off to take a shower. You watch him disappear down the hallway and hear the water kick on moments later. The hollow in your chest that's been gnawing at you all day only gets wider and wider until you feel a chasmic ache forming from your heart down to your gut.

You don't know why you're upset. You don't know why you reacted the way you did, but the guilt at snapping at Satoru makes you feel worse and worse until you find yourself curled up on your side as you cry into a pillow. Your usual energy has left you, and the tears that have replaced it don't even have the decency to be dramatic. They're silent, quietly streaming down your cheeks as you sniffle and shake.

The absence of the water from Satoru's shower doesn't phase you. The creaking of the bathroom door swinging open doesn't catch your attention. You're lost in your own little world and guilty thoughts until a warm hand finds your cheek.

"Hey…" Satoru's gentle voice coaxes you into looking up, and you're met with a worried, baby blue gaze.

"I'm sorry," you whisper. All the fight has drained out of you, and you have nothing left to offer your husband except yourself, in all your fragile glory.

Satoru shakes his head and climbs onto the couch, pressing your back against the cushions and your front against his chest. "I know. It's been hard recently, hmm?"

Now that you're folded up in the warmth of Satoru's arms, the weight you've been carrying is so much easier to bear. As much as you hate placing your burdens on his already strained shoulders, Satoru's never complained about it. Being there for you is the one thing on this planet that's guaranteed to bring him solace.

"Just relax, sweets," he murmurs, rubbing slow patterns along your back. "Nothing's big enough to take my baby down. You're too strong for that."

suguru geto

Suguru Geto has the patience of a saint and the conflict resolution skills of a licensed therapist, skills you learn awfully quick when your best friend's name is Satoru Gojo. Those very same abilities have been honed and fine-tuned over the years and are currently the only things keeping him from snapping at you.

"Suguru, you're breathing too loud." He was sitting across the room from you, scrolling on his phone.

"Suguru, you're wearing the wrong kind of socks." What's so bad about plain white socks?

"Suguru, you're staring at me."

That one gets him.

"That's my job, pretty girl." He smiles, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your hair, only to let out a sharp sigh when you smack his hand away. "You're abusing me."

"That's not what abuse is, you little—"

"What? I'm a little what?" Suguru looks you right in your eyes until you're unable to meet his gaze. "Don't be shy. Tell me what you were going to say."

Suguru tuts and reaches out to tilt your head toward him once more; however, his heart nearly stops in his chest when he sees the shiny tears pooling in your eyes. "Oh no…hey," he whispers.

"I'm sorry, 'guru. I've been feeling off all day, and I just—" Suguru cuts you off by squishing you against his chest. His big hands smooth down a few wayward strands of your hair, and he places a kiss to the top of your head.

"It's okay," he murmurs soothingly, the vibrations of his deep voice soothing your mind and your heart. "I can take it. Your anger, your sadness…if you need to show it someone, I'm right here. Always. Never feel as though you have to hide from me."