#yuji fluff

Yuji Itadori x Reader

Yuji enjoys reader’s baking!!!

Sunlight streamed through the kitchen window, bathing the room in a warm golden glow and illuminating the bowl filled with ingredients for Yuji’s favorite cookies.

The first time you’d baked for him was not long after you met. One bite was all it took for him to declare them the best cookies he’d ever had, and ever since then, he’d found every excuse imaginable to ask for another batch. Whenever he caught even the faintest scent of vanilla or chocolate chips, he’d appear beside you with those hopeful puppy-dog eyes, shamelessly asking if you were making his favorites.

Today, you were feeling generous.

Behind you slowly wrapping his arms around your waist and digging his face into your neck to prep needy kisses making you giggle

With a quiet laugh, you tied your apron around your waist and reached for the whisk.

Why not make him happy?

Are those my favorites?” Yuji asked, his eyes immediately lighting up as he spotted the tray of cookie dough on the counter.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his excitement. “They are. You’ve been asking for them all week, so I figured I’d surprise you.”

“Seriously?” His face lit up even brighter. “Baby, you’re literally the best girlfriend anyone could ever ask for!”

Before you could even respond, he rushed over and wrapped his arms around your waist, effortlessly lifting you off the ground and spinning you in a circle. Your laughter filled the kitchen as he peppered your cheeks, forehead, and nose with quick, messy kisses.

“Yuji!” you giggled, trying and failing to push him away.

“I love you,” he mumbled between kisses. “So much.”

Kiss.

“You’re amazing.”

Kiss.

“You’re the sweetest.”

Kiss.

“And these cookies are gonna be so good.”

You finally cupped his cheeks, laughing as he gave you one last exaggerated smooch.

“The cookies aren’t even in the oven yet.”

Yuji pouted dramatically before flashing you that familiar sunshine grin.

“Doesn’t matter. I already know they’re gonna taste perfect because you made them.”

You were both eighteen, the futon was already pulled out, and Yuji had taken your cardigan from your shoulders earlier to fold it over the chair because he still did things like that with a seriousness that made you want to bite him.

The convenience-store bag sat open by the table with iced tea, onigiri, and the big sushi variety takeout you had insisted on buying after your work anniversary in the Jujutsu Tech kitchen as its junior live-in cook.

The job revolved mostly around prep work, yet it paid better than the store and the repair shop combined, and it no longer took every hour of your day, letting you finish high school through correspondence and check up on Yuji.

Yuji had looked guilty when you told him about the offer letter because better work was something he should have found for you sooner, so you had flicked his forehead and told him it was gonna be fine now and Yuta was the one who recommended you after the Culling Games when your repair job and grandmother’s hospital got disrupted.

After your grandmother passed, the first year was the hardest, and Yuji had tried his best to be there, but he wasn't the same after Shibuya, and with how often he was away during the culling games, it was hard, but he didn't abandon you. Stayed with you whenever he was not on a mission.

Then slowly you start to realize that your grandmother had been in pain, and it would have been selfish to keep her here. Your grandmother had been tired. You missed her and wanted her back but understood, slowly, that laying her to rest had been the last debt left.

Still, grief came sometimes when you opened a pharmacy app by habit or saw a woman your grandmother’s age counting coins at the register, but it no longer dragged you under for the whole month. In fact, now you make enough to offer to pay a few of those bills and even donate a small sum to charities.

Your grandmother had met Yuji before she passed. That mattered so much more than you could say without making yourself cry for hours. She had liked him too much, actually, kept calling him a good boy with both hands around her tea, and Yuji had taken it so seriously he brought her the exact same brand every visit until she was gone.

Life kept moving forward with your new work being good to you in certain regards that your other jobs hadn’t been. The kitchen manager made you eat before the lunch rush, corrected your knife grip without making you feel stupid, and sent you back to your dorm when your hands started shaking from exhaustion. Nobody dumped a full shift’s worth of work on you under the “training” label, nor did they treat your age like an invitation for exploitation, calling it proof of maturity when they needed extra labor.

You washed rice, chopped vegetables, packed late trays, managed deliveries, learned which herbs from the garden went into broth and which ones the infirmary staff stole for tea. Sometimes you carried food up to the dorm rooms yourself, soup balanced on a tray with steam still rising from the onigiri—the sorcerers always looked surprised for half a second before they thanked you like you had brought something greater than just dinner. A simple bowl of miso could make someone bleeding from the shoulder hum into the spoon. Rice could get a half-dead student to sit up. Tea could make a teacher stop pacing outside the infirmary door.

After some more time, you started wanting the real thing: culinary school, proper training, your license, a kitchen that was yours one day. You wanted to become a chef because food was the one kind of care nobody had to apologize for accepting.

But that wasn't the only reason—you'd learn early that Yuji didn’t just say he cared, but he cooked to show it. He brought food, shared it, noticed who hadn’t eaten, made too much because someone might need it, and thought of feeding people as a way to keep them here. That made your ambition feel honest because through everything Yuji had always been honest.

Though he got red every time you’d talk about it with the girls at Jujutsu Tech, who teased him relentlessly.

Today, you wore the tennis skirt he'd given you his last birthday, back when he graduated from Jujutsu Tech as a special-grade sorcerer and looked embarrassed about buying you clothes, even though he had picked your exact size after only a few times of fooling around.

Yuji kissed you first, which was rare and made you weak in your knees before his mouth even settled properly against yours.

He usually waited and gave you room to decide the pace, even after a few years of dating and stopping just before either of you got brave enough to cross the line you had both been circling.

Tonight he did none of that because you’d talked about it earlier. His hand came up to your cheek, cold from the iced tea can he had been holding, as he kissed you with the nervous hunger like he hadn’t spent the walk there pretending he was chill about any of it.

You made a small sound against his mouth that had his fingers tightening on your skin.

His other hand slid to your waist, pulled you down into his lap, and held there with a pressure that made your fingers curl in the front of his shirt. The top buttons were already open because he had gotten embarrassed earlier and complained that the room was hot. Now the gap showed skin, the dip of his collarbone, the faint mark near his shoulder from a fight he had shrugged off when you asked. You pressed your palm there as Yuji sucked in a breath and kissed you harder.

The table knocked against your knee, making the convenience-store bag crinkle, and the condom box bump right in the corner of your vision, and Yuji must have noticed you seeing it because his whole face went red against yours even while his hands tightened on your waist.

“I bought the normal kind,” he mumbled into your mouth, mortified.

You laughed, breathless. “Yuji.”

“I panicked. There were too many options.”

“You looked at the shelfs that long?”

“Please stop talking.”

You kissed him again because his embarrassment was going to kill you. He answered immediately, mouth open this time, less careful after the first few seconds, his tongue meeting yours. He tasted faintly of the ice tea and bubblegum he’d been chewing earlier.

His hands squeezed at your waist until you shifted closer, and then his fingers spread along your back through your shirt, gathering fabric because even the distance through the cotton was unbearable to him. You felt his breath catch when your hips settled heavier over the heat of him, making you instantly know how badly he wanted you.

The heat was getting syrupy sweet and making him stupid, and Itadori Yuji was absolutely not about to come in his jeans like a loser before anything had even happened, so he dragged his mouth away just enough to breathe and pressed his forehead to yours. Spit connected his lips to yours even as his eyes kept dropping to your mouth and climbing back up.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Are you?”

He nodded fast, then slower when you looked at him through half-lidded eyes and a small, wanting smile.

“Yeah,” he said, voice rougher than usual. “More than okay.”

You carded your fingers into his soft, messy pink hair, longer since the war and grown out unevenly because he kept forgetting haircuts were supposed to happen before Nobara threatened to do it herself. Yuji tipped his face into your palm, and his mouth found your neck, then the skin behind your ear, then your exposed shoulder, teeth and lips dragging lower in a kiss so hot and clumsy it made your stomach flip.

His hands moved lower, slipping under your tennis skirt. His palms flattened against your ass, half-covered by thin panties. He squeezed hard, dragging you by your hips and grinding the two of you together.

“Yuji,” you whimpered softly against his hair, chest heaving, and he came back to kiss your mouth at once.

Your hands moved to unbutton the rest of his shirt, one after the other.

His breath hitched each time your knuckles brushed him. His hands came up as if to stop you, then changed their mind and moved to squeeze your breasts over your top instead, careful yet firm enough to let you know what he wanted.

You loved his cute self so much it made you a little cruel. You rolled your hips once, slowly, and his head fell back against the wall with a broken little sound he didn’t bother hiding. His fingers tightened on your body. You kissed the line of his jaw, then the corner of his mouth, and felt him tremble under you.

For all his strength, for all the terrible things his body had carried, Yuji was still the boy who brought melon pan when he did not know how to apologize, still the boy who carried your grandmother’s medicine and asked whether you wanted him to know. He was still trying to be good to you with his shirt open and his chest heaving and his hands shaking because wanting you mattered less to him than keeping you safe.

You kissed the scar at the corner of his mouth.

His whole body went rigid under yours.

“Wait.

You crawled off his lap immediately.

Yuji looked down at his own body as if the scars belonged to someone who had left them behind. “Before this goes further, I need to tell you something.”

You finally relaxed. “Okay.”

“I wasn’t just a sorcerer.” He swallowed. “Sukuna was inside me—the curse everyone was afraid of. He’s gone now, but he was there. I had to carry him so he could stay caged. But people died because of him. Because of me too, sometimes. I don’t know how to separate it cleanly.”

The tea bottle clicked suddenly as the gas settled, making you almost jump out of your skin.

You turned back to him and asked, “Is this a metaphor?”

“No.” He frowned.

“Because if this is a very weird virginity panic thing, I’m going to hit you with the pillow.”

A laugh broke out of him too fast and came apart at the end. He pressed the heel of his hand into one eye.

You moved closer then, carefully, and touched the scar again.

“Yuji.”

“Yeah?”

“I loved you when you bought melon pan and apologized better than the boy who kissed me first.” Your thumb moved once over the raised skin. “I can handle your curses.”

His mouth trembled before he hid it against your shoulder.

The futon stayed untouched for another hour.

That was fine. You had time.

The End

Bonus

Then the knock came before he could undress you.

Three soft taps.

Yuji went still against you.

You looked toward the door. “Expecting someone?”

His hand slid from your wrist to your waist and held tight enough to hurt. “No.”

Another knock.

The next second the door broke down with a loud sound.

Then a voice from the hallway, low and familiar, turned the room cold. “Yo, Yuji. Missed me?”

Yuji’s face emptied of his soul.

Outside the door, Fushiguro Megumi smiled with stitches across his forehead.

A/N: How do you like my curse technique, readers? JK, feel free to not take the lines from the "knock" as this AU's canon. But seriously, the line was inspired by fan art by @/KoaBoaaa.

Let me know which ending you took—the good or the dark?

Ch 1 | Ch 2

Masterlist

You did not know why he introduced himself like James Bond, but you told him your name.

“I figured you were one of Fushiguro’s friends.”

“Yeah,” he said, glancing back before he could stop himself. “I am.”

Itadori seemed a little smug about the fact.

Fushiguro stood by the drinks cooler with a can of coffee in his hand and said nothing. He did not look embarrassed or sorry. Only watched the can, as if the whole thing had nothing to do with him.

Itadori looked back at you, and whatever he saw on your face made his own expression shift.

“So,” he said, awkward now, one hand still at the back of his neck. “Are you and Megumi…?”

“No.”

Kugisaki’s eyes snapped to Fushiguro.

Zenin stopped turning the bottle in her hand.

Yuta made a small sound.

Fushiguro cracked open his can.

Itadori asked, “So you ahh dating anyone?”

The aisle froze around the question.

“No.”

Itadori’s eyes went immediately to Fushiguro.

You understood loyalty and even respected it. What you hated was the way Fushiguro let Itadori look at him as if the answer belonged to him.

Itadori looked at him, waited one second too long, then turned back to you.

“Then can I ask you out?”

Nobody moved.

Kugisaki leaned both elbows on the top of the cooler. “Well?”

Itadori flushed. “Not like that. Only if you want to. We could get food sometime, or something to drink. Normal drink, obviously, I’m not eighteen yet, and you look younger than me, so—” He stopped, looked briefly horrified by how much he was talking, then tried again. “Here is probably weird since you work here, so somewhere else.”

Zenin took a bottled water from the shelf. “Itadori, breathe.”

Yuta coughed into his fist.

Fushiguro said nothing.

You looked at Itadori. “You’re not doing this because you feel bad, right?”

“No.” His answer came too fast, then he steadied it. “I mean, I do feel bad, but that’s not why.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I’d like to.” He swallowed, then added, “You can say no.”

You looked past him once, to Fushiguro by the cooler, waiting for anything from the boy who had kissed you under the dead store sign last night and then made you feel small in front of his friends.

Fushiguro lifted the can to his mouth.

You looked back at Itadori. “Can I think about it?”

His shoulders lowered a little, his smile still warm. “Yeah. Of course.”

Kugisaki bought three puddings she did not need so she could linger by the counter. Zenin paid for water and protein bars. Yuta thanked you twice. Fushiguro left without meeting your eyes.

---

Outside, on the sidewalk near the vending machines, Kugisaki rounded on Itadori before the door had finished swinging shut.

“You looked at Fushiguro before talking to her.”

Itadori rubbed the back of his neck. “I know.”

“That was ugly.”

“I know.”

Zenin twisted the cap off her water. “If he cared, he had words.”

Fushiguro stopped walking.

Itadori looked at him because he could not seem to stop doing that. “Fushiguro?”

Fushiguro kept his eyes on the road ahead. “Do what you want.”

Itadori’s mouth opened, then closed.

Kugisaki stared at Fushiguro for a long second. “That’s all?”

“What else do you want me to say?”

Zenin slid her water into her bag. “Anything.”

Fushiguro stayed silent.

---

Two days later, Itadori came back alone.

He stood at the end of the counter with his hands in his pockets while you wiped down the espresso machine. He had a small paper bag from the bakery near the station, the cheap one that sold melon pan after six for half price.

“I shouldn’t have looked at him before asking you.”

You set the cloth aside and sanitized your hands.

He looked embarrassed. “That was rude.”

“It was.”

“Yeah.” His fingers tightened around the bakery bag. “I’m sorry.”

You looked at the bag first, then at him. “Did they make you come back?”

“Nobara yelled at me,” he admitted. “Zenin senpai said I was being stupid and she was embarrassed to know me.”

“That sounds...”

“And Megumi said to do what I wanted.”

The almost-laugh died before it reached your mouth.

Itadori saw it happen and did the first thing right by leaving Fushiguro’s name alone after that.

He held up the bakery bag. “I still want to ask properly. Food somewhere that isn’t your job. No pressure. You can say no, and I’ll still buy stuff here like a normal customer who doesn’t make the closing shift weird.”

That got a small laugh out of you, mostly because he looked genuinely worried about the possibility.

“You brought melon pans?”

“Yeah. I didn’t know what you liked.”

“I like them.”

From there it started small.

---

That weekend, Itadori showed up outside the repair shop ten minutes before closing with a clear umbrella he clearly didn't need and a packet of strawberry gummies.

"I panicked," he explained when you looked at the gummies.

"About what?"

"The possibility of me having a date."

That made you chuckle.

The date itself lasted twenty-three minutes.

You missed your train.

Itadori paid for the replacement ticket before you could argue. "You're not paying me back."

"I didn't even get to offer."

"That's why I said it first."

---

The next one was at a platform bench near the station while you waited for your train.

Two canned coffees and a pack of dorayaki.

Itadori spent fifteen minutes telling you about a movie he'd half watched and completely misunderstood.

You spent fifteen minutes explaining the ending.

When he walked you to your train, he handed you the unopened second coffee he'd bought by mistake.

"You hate black coffee."

"I know."

"Then why did you buy it?"

He looked offended. "What if you wanted two?"

---

The actual relaxed date was at a ramen place near the river.

You ordered the cheapest thing on the menu.

Itadori ordered the same thing.

Halfway through the meal he excused himself to the bathroom.

When the bill came back, it already had a receipt stapled to it.

You stared at it.

The waitress smiled. "Your boyfriend paid before he got up."

You found Itadori outside afterward kicking at a loose pebble.

"I can pay for myself."

"I know."

"Then why?"

"My grandpa would've comeback to haunt me."

You laughed a little.

He looked relieved.

---

Then another one was a walk to the pharmacy one rainy afternoon because you said you had to pick something up before work, and he matched your pace.

The rain started halfway to the pharmacy.

Itadori opened the umbrella before you could.

The two of you walked shoulder-to-shoulder beneath clear plastic while water rattled overhead.

You were talking about nothing important when you reached the counter.

The pharmacist handed over the white paper bag. "Would you like to delay the remaining payment again?"

You answered on autopilot. "Yes."

The pharmacist nodded and moved on.

You left the store and walked with Itadori.

Your tote strap snapped crossing the street.

Without a word, he took the pharmacy bag before it could hit the pavement.

The florist was next door.

You would have walked right past it.

Itadori stopped.

"What?"

"Wait here."

"Why?"

"Because I'm doing something, and if you ask too many questions, I'll lose my nerve."

Before you could answer, he disappeared inside.

You stood under the awning watching him through the glass.

He spent an embarrassing amount of time talking to the woman behind the counter.

Pointing.

Shaking his head.

Pointing again.

Eventually she laughed and handed him something wrapped in pale paper.

When he came back out, he looked almost nervous.

The bouquet was small, white sweet peas, pale pink and blue delphiniums.

“I…” Itadori held them out. "For you."

You stared. "What are these for?"

He shrugged. "No reason."

People didn't buy you flowers for no reason.

People didn't buy you flowers at all.

Flowers you'd never once thought about buying for yourself because flowers were for people with spare money.

You were still looking down at them when a woman from your old neighborhood stepped out of the florist. She stopped when she saw you, then looked at Itadori, the pharmacy bag, your work shoes, and the old school charm still hanging from your cracked phone case.

“Oh,” she said. “You’re still here.”

You smiled. “Hello.”

Her eyes went back to Itadori. “Better this than the old man, I suppose. Your poor grandmother.”

Your fingers tightened around the broken tote strap.

Itadori said nothing until you reached the station platform. The rails buzzed underfoot. A vending machine swallowed someone’s coin and refused to give it back. You watched the red numbers over the tracks count down from seven minutes.

Itadori held the pharmacy bag in both hands. “Do you want me to know, or do you want me to stay out of it?”

You looked at your grandmother’s name printed in blue on the white paper.

“It’s over,” you whispered. “That arrangement never got far.”

He waited.

“My grandmother got sick. People got generous in ugly ways and tried to set me up with an old guy. I left school and picked up more shifts. I don't have anyone other than her. That’s the story.”

He nodded and held you closer with one arm around your shoulders. “Okay. Thanks for telling me.”

You hid your face against his chest as the tears came.

His hand settled between your shoulder blades and stayed there.

The train rattled through three stations before the knot in your throat finally loosened.

By then your eyes burned, your head hurt, and exhaustion had crept into your bones.

At some point you drifted sideways against him.

Yuji shifted just enough to keep your head from knocking into the window.

When you woke near your stop, his arm was still around your shoulders and his thumb was moving slowly across the back of your cardigan.

He looked down when he realized you were awake. "Sorry," he whispered. "You looked comfortable."

You stared at him for a second because nobody had ever treated your sadness like something worth holding onto before.

"Don't apologize," you mumbled.

His ears turned red.

---

After that, Yuji started showing up in different ways when he wasn't at school or on a mission somewhere.

He unloaded milk crates when deliveries ran late and stayed red-faced through half the task because he kept trying to lift too many at once. He carried parts boxes up the narrow stairs to the repair shop and listened when you told him which labels meant "fragile." He learned which tea your grandmother would drink.

He never told Fushiguro.

You knew that because Fushiguro looked at you the same way he had in the refrigerated aisle, as if he had mistaken silence for a place to stand still and realized too late that the ground had caved under him.

He came into the store less after you started seeing Yuji.

When he did come, Yuji’s name sat between you on the counter with the coins and the receipt tape.

Once, Yuji was behind the counter helping you break down cardboard when Fushiguro walked in for bandages and a rice ball.

Yuji straightened. “Hey, Fushiguro.”

“Hm.”

Fushiguro’s eyes landed on the flattened boxes, the cutter in Yuji’s hand, then on you.

You kept taping the next bundle.

He paid and left.

The bell rang once. The door shut. Yuji looked at the tape gun in your hand.

“You want me to go after him?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

You pulled the tape hard. “He made his choice.”

Yuji did not argue.

---

Winter came in through the door every time a customer opened it. Your grandmother got worse, then steadier, then worse again. The repair shop cut hours after New Year. The store heater coughed dust into the air. You slept when you could and worked when you could not.

One night, just past closing, the bell rang, and Fushiguro walked in alone with split skin over his knuckles again.

You were counting cigarette cartons behind the counter. He set a packet of gauze down without speaking.

You finished the count, typed the number in the ledger, and reached for his hand.

He let you take it. His skin was cold.

“Do you do this on purpose?” you asked.

“Do what?”

“Come in here bleeding.”

He gave you the silence again. You cleaned the cut, wrapped the gauze, and pressed the tape flat. His breath held too carefully in his chest.

“You heard me that day,” he finally whispered.

You pressed the tape down over the bandage.

His hand stayed under yours. “I didn’t mean—”

You looked up.

He stopped there.

That was the problem with Fushiguro. He always got close enough for you to see the thing under the surface, then he sat on top of it until the moment passed.

“You didn’t mean what?”

His jaw moved. “I don’t know.”

That almost made you laugh because it was the most honest thing he had ever said to you and still somehow did nothing.

You let go of his hand.

He set money on the counter. It was too much.

You pushed back the excess. “You don’t have to do that.”

He looked at the coins, then at you. “Yuji knows things.”

The sentence was bitter where it should have been ashamed.

You stacked the returned change into his palm and folded his fingers over it. “Yuji asks.”

His face sank further.

Outside, footsteps crunched over the salt thrown down near the entrance. Through the glass, you saw Yuji under the awning, half-hidden by an umbrella and carrying the pharmacy bag you had forgotten to pick up that morning.

Yuji had been checking his phone, looked up, and saw Fushiguro.

He did not come in.

You reached for the back hook and took down your coat.

“We’re closed,” you said softly.

Fushiguro looked at the coat in your hand.

Then he nodded, picked up the bandages he had already paid for, and walked to the door. At the threshold, he stopped with one hand on the glass.

If he had turned then and found the right words, maybe seeing him around would've hurt less.

He left them unsaid.

The bell rang above him, bright and so stupid.

You killed the front lights, locked the register, and stepped outside into Yuji’s umbrella. He moved it over you first, then himself.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

You looked through the glass once.

Fushiguro was already halfway down the street, shoulders set, head lowered against the cold, both hands in his pockets.

“Yeah,” you answered Yuji.

Yuji shifted the pharmacy bag so it would not get wet. “Your train?”

“In twelve minutes.”

He nodded and started walking with you.

Behind you, under the flat white store sign, Fushiguro turned with bandages on his hand and nothing useful left to protect.

A/N: Do we like the ending and the endgame?

Ch 1 | Epilogue

Masterlist