something old, something new - ft. yuuta o. x fem!reader
cw: special grade reader inplied, fluff, lowk mean reader?, sassy yuuta ml
an: this isn't exactly how his ct works but the idea came to me while i was sleepy and i thought it was cute
“babe, are you ready? we're gonna be late-” yuuta's words came to a quick halt as he stepped into your shared bedroom, jaw almost falling slack at the sight infront of him. you, still clad in a towel, holding up two outfits on racks to rika— yes, his shikigami, rika. “what are you doing.”
gojo invited you both to a social networking event for sorcerers— mostly because he didn't want to attend alone, partly because he wanted you both to interact with other sorcerers that were on par with you. the event started at 7:30 and was a thirty minute drive. to be on time, you two would need to leave at seven; it was currently 6:45 and you weren't even dressed.
“i'm asking rika for her opinion, duh.” you responded with a roll of you eyes. meanwhile, rika lifted a pale, boney finger, pointing to the outfit on the right. “oh, i was thinking this one too. she has such good taste, doesn't she?” you beamed, holding up the outfit rika chose to yuuta, who was still standing in the doorway and absorbing everything around him. he never thought he'd meet a girl that didn't feel threatened by the curse lingering around him, much less befriending it “you could've asked me, y'know. i'm your boyfriend.”
at his words, you scoffed as a snarl curled at your lips. rika let out a child-like giggle, long fingers reaching out to you, gently curling a tress of your perfectly styled hair around jagged fingers. sometimes, he thought rika liked you more than she ever did him “rika's a girl. she understands these things better than you."
“i highly doubt that,” yuuta refuted, his tone carrying a hint of sass as he placed a hand on his hip. “you do realise rika still has the mentality of an eight year old, right?” at his words, you just scoffed with a dismissive wave of your hand as rika let out a wounded noise, scurrying behind your smaller frame. yuuta's face almost contorted in shock.
“tsk, you hurt her feelings," you stated before turning to rika, giving her a gentle pat on the.. nose? with a fond smile. “don't be sad. come, i'll let you help with my eyeliner.” rika immediately perked up at that, purring contently as she preened under your touch. yuuta stood in the doorway, betrayed and appalled, but he also knew that he'd never trade this for the world.
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⊹ ࣪ ˖ think i like you best when you’re just with me and no one else
The exposed skin of your back is the only thing that Yuta can focus on right now. His eyes slowly trace down the curve of your spine, soaking in every small detail. He commits it all to memory, not knowing when another opportunity like this will come.
His fingers twitch in his lap. The urge to reach out and trail them along your skin runs deep, like he’s fighting off every muscle in his body that screams at him to touch.
His sits at the edge of your bed, hoping that you aren’t paying attention to his reflection in the mirror. Deep, blue eyes that look at you with desperation and want. Furrowed brows and a small pout on his lips. Like a puppy that waits for its owner’s attention.
“What do you think, Yuu?” You ask, doing a little spin to show off your cute dress. The hem lifts slightly, twirling with your movement.
He’s pulled out of his thoughts before you could even finish asking your question. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger and he doesn’t mind in the slightest. The second his eyes land on you it’s like all the words he wants to say get stuck in his throat.
“You look very beautiful, my love. That color suits you.” He manages to get out after a second.
Words really can’t describe how enamored he is with you. His pretty baby. If he had a say in the matter, Yuta would keep you here with him and kiss your pretty face until you got sick of him. But he can only beg and hope that you give in.
You walk over towards the bed, stopping right in front of Yuta. He parts his legs, pulling you in close by the hips. Tilting his head just a bit, the grip on your hips becomes a little tighter.
“Why not just stay home with me?” The little hint of desperation in his voice and the small pout that paints his face is sure to win you over. It does every time.
“Hey that’s not going to work on me this time, Okkotsu,” you say, bringing your hand up to give him a light tap on the cheek. Narrow eyes look back at him like you’ve got him all figured out. He likes to play this little game every time you go out.
“Yuta, my love. You call me Yuta,” he says, nuzzling into your hand that cradles his cheek. It’s almost too tempting to stay in with him, but you’re already dressed up and you’ve been excited for these plans all week.
“I’m just saying, Yuu. I’m not canceling on my friends last minute.” You lean down to give him a soft peck on the lips before turning to leave. A small smile makes its way onto your face. “Be good for me, okay?”
You’re only able to get a step away from Yuta before he’s pulling you back. Grabbing your jaw with delicate fingers, he captures you in a soft kiss. It’s slow like he’s savoring the taste of your lips—the sweetness of your lip gloss. The feeling of you against him. It’s hard to not pull you into his lap, but he needs to be good for you.
He lets out a deep sigh—almost like a soft moan into your mouth. Eventually, Yuta pulls away with much hesitance. Using his thumb, he wipes away some of lips gloss that got smeared.
A lovesick look on his face as he admires you. “Have fun.”
✴︎ with a temper like you ⋆˚࿔ pt. 2
⤷ suguru, yuuta, toge, toji, choso, hiromi, takuma, shoko x fem!reader
syn. when you're fighting but they still care. angst to fluff, comfort
pt. 1 ଓ (ft. megumi, yuuji, nanami, gojo, sukuna)
all roughly 600-800 words !
ෆ g. suguru
you misunderstand him asking for space
you and suguru rarely argue.
when you do, it's small things. small things that get resolved within the hour.
but this time it's different. tight words, clipped tones. neither of you willing to back down. the kind of quiet disagreement that builds quicker than you can stop it until it feels too heavy to carry.
you’d both been sitting on opposite ends of the couch, voices overlapping, neither of you really listening anymore. just waiting for your turn to speak.
and then he'd said the words: “i think we should take a little space.”
calm and measured. like always.
but you were nothing but calm. you’d gone still.
“space?” you echoed.
he nodded once, already standing, then already by the front door, already reaching for his coat, “we’re both getting frustrated.”
you didn’t say anything. just watched him leave.
the door clicked shut softly behind him, and the silence that followed was deafening.
you've been replaying that in your head for the past hour. curled on the couch, in the same spot he'd left you, knees to your chest, cheeks wet with tears and eyes trained on some stubborn mark on the coffee table as you tried to piece it all together.
space.
space.
what does that even mean? people don't usually ask for space unless something's wrong, right?
unless he was pulling away— or trying to let you down gently.
your throat closes at the thought.
no. nonono, he wouldn't just leave like that, would he? suguru was always so communicative, surely he'd at least tell you if he really was breaking up with you.
space didn't mean forever. did it?
but what if he was just trying to soften it?
your thoughts move faster than you could grab at them.
the conversation played in your head again as hot, stinging tears well up in your eyes. you psycho-analyse every part of it. every pause. every breath that now sounded suspiciously like a sigh of annoyance. every look on his face. was it disgust? anger? or was he tired?
did he seem distant recently? had he already been pulling away without you noticing it? did you miss it?
your body jolts when you hear the lock click.
the door opens again. and suguru walks in, holding two to-go cups of warm beverages, and his small smile back on his face, "hey." he says.
your head snaps up. and all you can do is stare, mouth slightly agape in confusion. he's... back?
he blinks when he sees you. really sees you.
your tear-streaked face. your curled posture. the way you look at him all furrowed brows like you weren’t expecting him to return.
his expression softens instantly.
“…oh, sweetheart.”
suguru sheds his coat and shoes, and finds his spot beside you, putting the cups down. one in front of him and one in front of you.
his hands are gentle as they come up to your face, thumbs brushing under your eyes.
“i was only gone for an hour,” he murmurs. “what happened? have you been crying this whole time?”
you stare at him, lost. “you…” your voice trembles. “you said… space.”
“i did.”
“but… but you’re back…” your lips wobble, “i—i thought you were leaving for… a long time.”
his brows knit together, something like guilt flashing across his face. “…is that why you think i wanted space?”
you hiccup, looking at him with wide, watery eyes. “is… it not..?”
he frowns, “no, baby,” his voice is quiet and wrapped in silk, fingers brushing the tears from your cheeks. “not at all.”
you sniff, your breathing uneven as you try to process it.
“i just saw we were both getting frustrated,” he continues, “and i didn’t want us to say something hurtful.”
you blink at him. then your shoulders sag. like something heavy finally slipped off them, “…oh.”
he smiles softly at your realisation, a breathy chuckle leaving him. he exhales softly, thumbs still tracing slow, soothing motions against your skin, “i’m sorry,” he murmurs sincerely. “i should’ve explained that better. i thought you understood what i meant.”
a small sniffle escapes you and you shake your head, "no. it's okay." you mumble.
"come here."
and you do. then you sit there. silent, face in his shoulder, and his arms looped around your back, gentle hands stroking your skin comfortingly.
once you're calm again, there’s a pause. then suguru reaches forwards for one of the cups, pressing it gently into your hands.
“drink."
you take it, fingers still trembling slightly. it's your favourite order from the cafe nearby.
you swallow, feeling the hot liquid chase its way down your throat, warming your chest and soothing you. your head finds its usual spot on his chest and you sigh. "i'm still mad at you." you mumble, reminiscing the earlier fight that had still gone unresolved.
suguru only smiles. "me too, baby. we'll talk later, hm?"
ෆ o. yuuta
you forget your phone at his place
you're halfway down the elevator when you realise your pocket feels way lighter than it should.
empty.
you pat it, and frown. then check the other pocket. your jacket. your bag. then your pocket again for good measure.
"...ugh." a quiet groan escapes you.
your phone. you forgot your phone. up there.
in that apartment. with that boyfriend. the one you'd just stormed out on.
the one who's probably still standing at the door, staring at it like you might come back. which now, you're forced to.
he gets like that after arguments. quiet and wide-eyed and apologising profusely even if he doesn't quite understand what he did wrong. like a kicked puppy.
and you... always cave. but you hadn't this time. mostly because you'd fully managed to avoid eye contact all the way until the door.
you had succeeded. if only you hadn't forgotten your phone in the heat of your annoyance.
the elevator dings at the ground floor and the doors slide open. you grumble and instead of getting out and going home like you're supposed to, you press the button for his floor, and glide back up.
yuuta blinks at you as he opens the front door, clearly confused why you're back so soon, eyes round and a little red around the rims. you immediately snap your gaze to ground. if you look at him for too long, you'll feel bad and give in.
"shut up." you mutter, pushing past him and inviting yourself into his house.
yuuta hadn't said anything. but he chooses to listen to your warning. he stands there, idly, watching you stalk around his living room, searching for something. he wants to offer to help, ask what you're looking for... but he's not quite sure if he's allowed to exist in the same space as you right now. even if this is his own house. besides, you had just told him to shut up.
you stand straight, back rigid. you can feel his gaze on you.
it pisses you off. because you know what face he's making even without looking at him: he has his head tilted to the side, his lips pressed together and his eyes wide and questioning and nervous. and he looks way too adorable for someone you're supposed to be mad at.
"say it." you mutter.
"huh..?"
your head snaps to him— big mistake. but you were absolutely correct with your prediction. he was making that exact face. "whatever you're thinking."
"...what are you looking for?" he almost steps forward, but his foot hovers before he retracts it, choosing to stay in his spot. as if one step would make you coil away in disgust.
"my phone."
"oh..." he scratches his nape, trying to think of when he last saw you with it. nothing comes up except for flashes of the argument and you walking out that make his chest hurt a little, "uh... do you want me to ring it?"
you pause. jaw flexes and unflexes and yuuta swears he sees a vein in your neck pop. before you sigh, "fine."
he fumbles and pulls his phone out of his pocket. and presses a few buttons and rings. a faint 'bzzt bzzt' accompanied by your ringtone reverberates from the couch. you walk over shoving your hand between the cushions and fish out the noisemaker.
you head for the door again, and yuuta simply watches, unsure if he should walk you out. he decides you probably wouldn't want that. "text me when you're home," he says instead, "...please."
you pause, your hand on the handle and your heart squeezes.
his voice is quiet and unsure like he's not sure if he's been given permission to ask that from you. you close your eyes, head tilting forwards and you almost groan. how the hell were you supposed to stay mad at him now?
with a turn of your heel, you step back into his space, and throw your arms around him in a hug. yuuta stiffens instantly, clearly not expecting the turnaround. but just as quickly, he melts, holding you, cheek pressed into the top of your head. "i will." you mumble into his shirt.
he nods against your head, "okay... bye..."
there’s a pause, you can feel it; the hesitation— like there’s something else he wants to say.
but he’s holding it back. perhaps because he doesn’t want to push you. or because he thinks he’s not allowed to.
you pull back slightly, looking up at him. his expression is soft and a little uncertain.
you roll your eyes, but there’s no bite to it now. just affection, “love you,” you say for him.
his eyes widen just a little.
like you’ve just given him something he wasn’t expecting.
“…love you too,” he says, quieter. relieved.
you huff softly, stepping back again, grabbing the door handle. “i’m still mad at you,” you clarify, just to be clear.
he nods immediately. “i know.”
“we’re talking about it later.”
“okay.”
you open the door and step out. then pause. “…don’t just stand there,” you mutter. “go sit down or something.”
he blinks. “oh... okay.”
you shake your head, a small smile slipping through despite yourself. then you leave.
ෆ i. toge
clingy bf final boss
you’ve been ignoring him since last night, which, in theory, should’ve made you feel better.
it doesn’t.
it just means you’re on the track with nobara and maki, supposedly training, grumbling through your annoyance while pretending you don’t feel a pair of eyes burning into the back of your head.
“hey, y/n?…” nobara tilts her head slightly, squinting past you. “i think you have a fan.”
you don’t evem need to look. you know. “don’t acknowledge him,” you mutter. “i’m mad.”
maki snorts under her breath, arms folded. “i think he’s sorry.”
“i don’t care,” you say immediately. “he can be sorry from over there.”
behind you, a certain presence stays exactly where it’s been for the last ten minutes. quiet. still. watching. not paying the slightest bit of attention to anything his training buddies panda or yuuta have to say to him on the other side of the oval.
toge doesn’t move unless you move first.
and even then, it’s not really moving, it’s copying.
when you pace the track, he does too from his side. when you stop, he stops.
when you glance over your shoulder, he’s already looking at you.
expression unreadable. but persistent.
nobara eventually laughs, “this is insane.”
"i feel like that must take more energy than actually training," maki adds.
“ignore it,” you repeat, firmer this time, like that’ll fix your heartbeat.
it doesn’t. he knows exactly how to make you feel guilty. although you really can't tell if he's doing it on purpose or not.
you’re mid-sentence, telling the girls you’re going to go into the city for lunch— just to get space, clear your head, avoid the feeling of being watched wherever you are.
then you feel it.
a presence at your side.
you don’t even need to look.
you already know.
he reaches for your hand gently.
“salmon?” he asks, almost a little pouty. like he’s daring you to turn him away.
you glare at him instantly. “no. you’re not coming.”
he pauses.
blinks.
then tilts his head.
“okaka.”
you groan loudly and turn away, already walking. “i don't care,” you mutter. “i said no.”
he follows anyway.
it’s the worst game of 'what’s the time, mr wolf' you’ve ever played.
you walk. he walks. you speed up. he matches you instantly. you slow down. so does he.
and every single time you stop and turn around—
he’s stopped too. just standing there. looking at you.
like he’s waiting for you to keep walking. like you're just a normal couple out on a normal walk on a normal day. like you're the weird one for stopping all of a sudden.
you whip around at him once, frustrated. “s-stop following me!”
he tilts his head, “…tuna?”
you groan again and keep walking.
he follows again.
by the time you reach the restaurant, you’re fully done.
the hostess at the door smiles politely, holding up two fingers. “for two?”
you exhale through your nose like your soul has left your body. toge nods for the both of you, and then you're seated.
you sit across from him with your arms crossed.
he sits across from you like he didn’t just trail behind across half the city like a clingy stray caught on your scent.
for a few minutes, there’s silence. you refuse to look at him, even though his eyes are on you.
then the food arrives.
he watches you for a second. then picks up a piece of food, and holds his chopsticks under your chin in offering.
you immediately turn your head away. “no.”
he doesn’t move.
you glare at him. “i don't want it.”
he blinks slowly, “salmon.”
you refuse.
he waits.
ten seconds. twenty.
you try continuing with your meal, but he doesn't put it down. you can feel him still holding it there out of the corner of your eye.
still waiting.
you groan, rubbing your temple. “isn't your arm tired?”
"okaka."
"that was a rhetorical question."
"salmon."
your jaw tics, half in humour and half in annoyance "you don't have to respond to everything i say."
"salmon." he keeps holding the food up.
you finally snap, just to make him stop. “fine!”
he smiles, satisfied. you take a bite and chew, a little more aggresively than usual, as if you imagined his head being ground repeatedly between your teeth.
he watches you eat like he’s won something.
ෆ f. toji
you don't ask him for help
you’re still mad at him. which is why you’re doing it yourself.
because he doesn't deserve the sweet, soft; “baby, can you grab that for me?” nor the batting of your lashes like you usually do just to see that stupid smug smirk tug at his mouth.
no.
you drag a chair across the kitchen tiles instead.
deliberately scrape it a little louder than necessary to get him to look up from the tv.
you climb up without looking at him, reaching toward the top cabinet for your favourite mug— the one he always gets for you.
behind you, the couch creaks.
he’s noticed.
you smile faintly with your back turned, enjoying the idea of the annoyed grimace that must be present on his face now.
toji doesn’t say anything at first. just watches. eyes narrowed slightly.
you stretch a little higher, fingertips just brushing the shelf.
the chair wobbles.
just a little, but that’s enough.
“oi.”
his voice cuts through the room, low and irritated.
"what? you ask haphazardly, reaching again.
the chair shifts once more as you lower cup after cup onto the counter to clear space for you to grab your favourite one. you swear he hides it at the back on purpose just to make sure you ask him every time.
heavy footsteps cross the room in two strides.
then suddenly, you’re airborne. clean off the chair like you weigh nothing.
“hey—!” you yelp, grabbing his shoulder on instinct as he sets you down on the floor like you’re the problem. “when the hell did you get there!?” you snap, glaring up at him.
he doesn’t even look fazed.
“shut,” he mutters, already reaching up to the cabinet.
he grabs the mug easily.
you cross your arms, still annoyed. “i could’ve gotten it.”
he shuts the cabinet with a quiet thud and turns to you.
“…yeah,” he says flatly. “looked real stable up there.”
you huff. “i wasn’t gonna fall.”
he steps closer. too close. close enough that you have to tilt your head up to keep glaring at him, “don’t care,” he says, tone rough but quieter now. “don’t like it.”
your irritation falters for half a second, but you recover quickly, scoffing, “well... i don't like you. and i don't need your help.”
he snorts. "yeah?"
"yeah."
"then how come every morning all i hear is—"
"don't mimic me." you grind out through tight teeth, already feeing the mocking tone coming.
he bats his lashes at you, "ohhh toooji." he trills in a high-pitched voice impishly made to resemble that of yours, "it's too high, i can't reeaaach."
you grit your teeth, lips pursing and head whipping in the other direction, looking away quickly so you don't laugh. now would be the worst time to laugh. it would only vindicate him and his ego. "shut up."
then he presses the mug into your hands.
firm.
final.
“drink your tea,” he says smugly.
"don't tell me what to do."
minutes later, you glance at him over the rim of the steaming mug.
he’s back on the couch like nothing happened.
controller in hand, leaned back, game unpaused.
ignoring you again. except his eyes flick to you.
just once. quick. checking. making sure you’re not climbing anything else you shouldn’t be. and he gives you that infuriating sharkish grin.
ෆ k. choso
clingy bf final boss pt. 2
you don’t go to bed afterwards.
the argument had fizzled out hours ago— no real resolution, just quiet tension and too many things left unsaid. he’d gone to the bedroom eventually, slow steps, softer than usual, like he didn’t want to push you.
you didn’t follow.
instead, you'd curled up on the couch with a blanket and a pillow, the tv casting soft light across the living room. some random movie plays that you’re not even really watching.
it’s late. really late. your retinas burn a little, a warning that you should just turn it off and rest, but you don’t move.
you’re still mad… at least you think you are. but too much of that madness is diluted by sadness and guilt and also how badly you miss his puppy dog eyes.
the hallway light flicks on.
soft footsteps.
you don’t look. because a part of you still feels the need to keep up the act.
choso appears in the doorway, hair loose and messy, sleep shirt wrinkled, eyes still heavy with exhaustion. his eyebags even more pronounced than they already usually are.
he pauses when he sees you. really sees you.
the blanket. the pillow. the way you’ve set up camp like you’re planning to stay there.
his brows pull together slightly.
“…you’re not coming to bed?” he asks, voice quiet, careful. and sad. undoubtedly sad.
you don’t answer.
just stare at the screen.
he steps closer anyway.
you hear the soft clink of glass before you see it—a cup of water placed gently on the coffee table in front of you.
“you should drink,” he murmurs.
still nothing from you.
he lingers.
waiting.
you don’t look at him.
don’t acknowledge him.
don’t give him anything to work with.
a minute passes. then two.
you expect him to sigh. to leave. to go back to bed. anything but stand there watching over you in the dark like the babadook.
he doesn’t.
"if you're gonna stay there, can you sit?" your voice croaks from exhaustion and unuse, "creeping me out."
"oh." he whispers. the couch dips beside you.
you finally glance over. he’s sitting there.
quietly.
hands folded loosely in his lap. watching the movie like he’s been invited.
but choso doesn’t move. doesn’t talk. doesn't snuggle into your side or join you under the blanket, even if he's a little cold and the blanket is definitely big enough to share. just sits with you.
the movie keeps playing. some backstory scene you don’t care about. but now you’re aware of him. the warmth beside you. the quiet presence. the way he glances at you every so often like he’s checking if you’re still there. watching your reactions to every line. the way your eyes follow the captions at the bottom of the screen and your lips press together to suppress a snicker when a character makes a dirty joke.
he smiles when you do. not because he heard or processed the joke but because you're smiling.
time passes. ten minutes. twenty. you shift slightly under the blanket.
he doesn’t say anything.
just adjusts the edge of it absentmindedly so it covers your shoulder better.
you notice, but you don't move.
fifteen more minutes.
eventually, curiosity gets the better of you.
you look over, expecting to see him watching the screen or you. he’s slumped slightly now, head tipped back against the couch, eyes closed, breathing slow and even.
…he fell asleep.
you stare at him for a second.
then sigh. soft. fond.
“you’re so stupid,” you mumble under your breath, but there’s no bite to it. you nudge him lightly. he stirs with a light whine but doesn’t wake.
he was already half-asleep when he came out here.
you shift, pulling the pillow out from under your head and sliding it beneath his instead. you tug the blanket up, draping it properly over him, tucking it around his shoulders.
his hand moves in his sleep. fingers brushing your wrist. then curling around it.
you stare at him, laying with the pillow and blanket you'd brought out for yourself with the intent of sleeping away from him and can't do anything but sigh again.
✴︎ BONUS!
(my apology gift for dragging this pt. 2 for like 3 months OOPSIE DAISIES)
ෆ h. hiromi
he forgets to exit lawyer mode
you’re halfway through ranting about your coworker when he starts doing that thing.
that lawyer thing.
the one where his brows knit, his fingers fold beneath his chin, and suddenly he sounds less like your boyfriend listening to you vent and more like a man preparing cross-examination notes.
“well,” hiromi says slowly, “did you instigate the exchange at all?”
you blink, “…what?”
he continues, maddeningly calm. “because you do have a habit of responding sarcastically when agitated, and that can escalate—”
“hiromi.”
“i’m just saying there may have been contributory—”
“hiromi.”
he pauses.
looks up.
you stare at him in disbelief from across the kitchen.
“i’m your girlfriend,” you say flatly, grabbing your coat from the hook by the door, “not your defendant.”
his mouth opens.
closes.
you yank the coat on with a furious huff.
“where are you going?”
“for a walk,” you snap.
the door shuts behind you before he can answer.
the cold air does help.
a little.
mostly because it gives you something else to focus on besides the fact your boyfriend had just tried to assign legal fault percentages to your workplace annoyance.
you walk for twenty minutes. then thirty. rounding the block and angrily murmuring to yourself.
by the time you come back, your anger’s dulled into that grumpy stubbornness where you’ve already decided you’ll be silent for the rest of the night.
you unlock the apartment.
step inside.
and stop.
the lights are dimmer.
soft jazz hums quietly from somewhere in the living room.
there’s a mug of coffee on the table.
your coffee.
made exactly how you like it.
and beside it—
flowers.
you blink.
“what…”
“in here, sweetheart.”
you turn.
hiromi appears from the kitchen, tie loosened now, sleeves rolled up, looking deeply sheepish in a way that almost never happens.
almost.
he walks over carefully, like approaching a witness he’s already intimidated.
“before you say anything,” he starts, “i’d like to formally state that i handled that conversation very poorly.”
you fold your arms.
and stare
he winces. “yes. deserved.”
you try not to smile.
try.
he notices anyway.
of course he does.
he steps closer, taking your coat from your shoulders and hanging it up for you.
“i’m sorry, sweetheart,” he says, voice softer now. boyfriend voice, not attorney voice. “you wanted comfort. i gave you a deposition.”
that gets a snort out of you.
you hate that it does.
he smiles faintly, relieved.
“i should have just told you your coworker sounds insufferable and that you were right.”
you narrow your eyes. “…i was right.”
“you were absolutely right.”
“and she’s annoying.”
“unbearably.”
you hum, accepting this.
he offers you the coffee and you take it. still grumpy, but less committed to the bit now.
“are the flowers part of your apology strategy?”
“yes.”
“did it work?”
he looks down at you, mouth twitching, “the jury seems undecided.”
you sigh dramatically. then step into him.
he wraps his arms around you instantly, warm and secure, kissing the top of your head. “for the record,” he murmurs, “i am on your side.”
you grumble into his chest, “that should be your default.”
“noted.”
ෆ i. takuma
accidental pervert
it happens so casually that it throws you off.
you’re both lounging around his place, tv playing something neither of you are really watching, on your phones, when he glances over at you and goes—
“…hey baby, what’s your bust size?”
you blink. slowly turn your head.
“…my what.”
takuma doesn’t even look phased. he’s still half-focused on his phone, like he just asked what your favourite colour was.
“your bust size,” he repeats. “like, the measurement.”
you stare at him, “…why.”
he shrugs. “just asking.”
just asking.
you sit up straight, narrowing your eyes. “why are you asking me that like it’s casual conversation.”
he finally looks at you properly, confused. “because i need to know?”
that does not help.
“takuma.”
“what?”
you chuck a pillow at his head, “what's wrong with you?!”
"ow! what?"
“why are you asking me that out of nowhere, you freak?” you ask, incredulous.
he opens his mouth. closes it. opens it again. as if this is absolutely not where he saw this conversation going.
“i'm going to bed,” you cut him off, grabbing your phone, "sleep here.”
“wait—”
“shut up.”
you stand up, already walking off, leaving him on the couch blinking after you like he just lost an argument he didn’t realise he was in.
he doesn't argue against you telling him to sleep on the couch of the house he pays for while you get his bed.
and you don’t bring it up again. the next morning is a little awkward, but you're fine again quite quickly.
even if he does act a little… awkward for the next couple days. like he wants to say something, but remembers how that went last time and decides against it.
a week later, a package arrives, addressed to you.
you frown, turning it over in your hands. “did you order something for me?”
takuma freezes. just for a second. then scratches the back of his neck. “…open it.”
you narrow your eyes suspiciously. but you do.
inside is a dress.
not just any dress.
a gorgeous one.
soft fabric, the kind that has to be tailored, your exact style like he reached into your brain and picked it out himself.
your mouth parts slightly. “…kuma.”
he’s suddenly very interested in the floor.
“it’s… custom,” he mutters.
you blink. look at the dress. then back at him. then back at the dress. “…custom.” you repeat
“yeah.”
realisation hits you like a truck. your jaw drops.
“takuma.”
"so... sorry if it doesn't fit right," he winces, “…i tried asking for your size,” he says, voice quieter now, “but you didn’t take too kindly to that.”
you stare at him. then at the dress. then back at him again.
“kuma, why would you ask me like that?!” you burst out. “if you told me it was for this i wouldn’t have gotten mad?”
he frowns, defensive now. “well i didn’t know it was weird!”
“how did you not know that was weird?!”
“because i didn’t even know what bust meant!” he blurts.
you pause, “…what?”
he rubs the back of his neck again, embarrassed. “i was just reading it off the website. it said bust, waist, hips... i thought it was just a regular measurement.”
you stare. “…you didn’t know what it meant.”
“not until you got mad at me and i googled it,” he admits.
you blink at him.
once.
twice.
then you start laughing.
he groans, face heating up. “it's not funny..."
“oh my god.”
he crosses his arms, sulking. “i was trying to do something nice.”
your laughter softens. you look down at the dress again with a grin. run your fingers over the fabric.
“…it’s really pretty,” you say softly.
he glances at you. “…yeah?”
you nod. then step closer, hugging him. “thank you, baby,” you mumble into his chest. “and… sorry for yelling at you.”
he huffs. “you’re still mean.”
“you asked me my bust size out of nowhere!”
“i didn’t know what it meant!”
you laugh again.
he sighs.
but he’s smiling too.
“…try it on?” he asks after a second.
you pull back, grinning, “yeah.”
ෆ i. shoko
she ate your cupcake
she's being dramatic. at least, that’s what you claim.
it’s just a scraped knee. you’ve had worse. it doesn’t even hurt that much anymore.
still, you’re sitting on the cool metal of the bench in her office, arms crossed, refusing to look at her because you’re still annoyed about the cupcake situation.
“it was in the fridge for a week,” you mutter. “i was saving it.”
“mm,” she hums. shoko doesn’t even look apologetic anymore.
she’s crouched in front of you, hair slightly messy, gloves on, disinfectant-soaked cotton ball pinched between a pair of silver tweezers, dabbing lightly at the broken, bloodied skin.
“i didn't think you wanted it anymore,” she says simply.
you glare at her, “so you just assumed it was abandoned?”
“yes.”
"it was waiting for me.”
“and you never arrived. poor cupcake.”
you huff.
she reaches forward and gently takes your leg, pulling it closer so she can clean the scrape at a better angle.
you flinch slightly.
“don’t move,” she says flatly.
“i am moving because you’re attacking me with alcohol.”
“i know. you're very brave.”
"haha. really funny. you proud of that one?"
she doesn’t respond. but smirks lightly as if to affirm, yes, she is in fact proud of that one, and presses the cotton pad to your knee again.
you hiss softly. “ow.”
“don’t be dramatic.”
“i am literally injured.”
“you’re alive.”
you narrow your eyes at her. “my cupcake isn't.”
“because i put it out of its misery.”
“it was my cupcake, shoko.”
she finally glances up at you.
“…you’re more upset about a cupcake than your actual wound.”
“because the cupcake was important.”
she sighs. like she’s tired. like she’s always tired. but there’s something softer in her eyes that only ever appears when you're around..
she finishes wrapping your knee with practiced ease, fingers light, careful.
then presses her lips to your bandaged knee gently.
“done.”
you look down.
“…you’re surprisingly gentle for a thief.”
“i'm not a thief,” she corrects. “i rehome neglected cupcakes.”
you snort.
she stands up, tossing the used materials into a bin before walking over to her desk.
you watch her. still sitting there. still mildly grumpy.
she grabs a small box from her drawer and places it graciously onto your lap.
you blink. “what’s this?”
“replacement.”
you open it. inside is a cupcake. perfectly frosted. freshly chilled. your favourite kind. you stare at it.
then at her.
"forgive me?” she requests.
you smile despite yourself. “hm. i suppose.”
“you’re so charitable.”
all dividers by da best @anitalenia !!! saur kyoot
★ the school's star volleyball player is struggling keep her grades up. her friends are kind enough to help her get a tutor.. but it turns out to be her ex boyfriend. what happens when she and yuta cross paths a second time?
★ tutor/tutee with a TWIST, implied nobamaki and itafushi, extremely self indulgent, volleyball knowledge, trying to be funny, foul language, pole vaulter maki
larp city we owe megumi $150
★ rotation 1 - psychosis
★ rotation 2 - certified opp
★ rotation 3 - to your advantage
★ rotation 4 - can't say no
★ rotation 5 - back then
★ rotation 6 - born to fly
★ rotation 7 - whip supreme
★ rotation 8 - remind you
★ rotation 9 - cupcakes and unicorns
★ rotation 10 - in a crunch
★ rotation 11 - sidetracked
★ rotation 12 - intervention
★ a/n! Guys i'm so excited to write this i'm so sorry it's SO self indulgent i miss playing volleyball so much. i'm coping with this. I HOPE IT GETS LOVE athlete reader is always my favorite :p ALSO IM AT 1K LIKES TOTAL HELLO THANK YOU GUYS WTF
The music was too loud or maybe it was just your head.
Everything blurred together—the flashing lights, the laughter, the warmth spreading through your chest that felt a little too heavy to be fun anymore. You didn’t even remember how many cups you had, only that someone handed you one, then another, and suddenly walking felt like trying to balance on air.
“Hey… hey, easy.”
A familiar voice cut through the noise. Firm, steady.
Yuta.
You barely registered how he got there, but his hands were already on your shoulders, grounding you before you tipped forward. Your vision swayed, and when you tried to focus on him, his face doubled.
“Yuta…?” you mumbled, words slurring together. “I’m fine… I think. The floor just… moved.”
“It didn’t,” he said quietly, chuckling slightly at your current condition, his voice already sounding tired in that gentle way he got when he was worried. “You did.”
You laughed weakly at that, but it came out more like a breath. The room spun again, sharper this time, and your stomach dropped.
“I don’t feel good.”
“I know.”
Before you could say anything else, he crouched in front of you slightly. “Come here.”
“What—?”
Your words dissolved into a small noise when he lifted you with ease, one arm under your knees, the other steady at your back. You instinctively grabbed onto his hoodie, clinging without thinking.
“Yuta—!” you whined, voice soft and embarrassed. “People are looking…”
“I don’t care,” he replied, already moving.
And he didn’t.
What mattered more was you're in his arms.
—
The night air was cool, but everything still felt warm.
Too warm.
Your face pressed against his chest, cheek squished against the soft fabric of his hoodie as he walked, steady and careful.
Each step was even. Controlled.
Like he was afraid you’d fall.
“…Yuta,” you murmured, voice muffled.
“Yeah?”
“You smell nice.”
He nearly stumbled.
“…It’s just detergent.”
“Nooo” you dragged out, shifting slightly in his arms..too much that he had to tighten his hold on you. “It’s you. You always smell nice.”
A pause.
“…Thanks,” he said quietly, ears and cheeks feeling warmer than they should, clearly not knowing what to do with that.
You hummed in satisfaction, fingers absentmindedly rubbing against his chest through the fabric. Not really thinking. Just… feeling.
His shoulders tensed.
“Hey—don’t move too much,” he muttered, adjusting his grip again. “You’ll fall.”
“I won’t,” you insisted, even as you leaned closer, practically melting into him. “You won’t drop me.”
“…I won’t, never” he admitted.
Your head tilted up just enough to look at him, though your eyes barely focused. “I trust you.”
That made it worse.
Yuta looked away quickly, jaw tightening just slightly. “…You’re drunk.”
“Mhm,” you agreed easily. “And honest.”
“…That’s not how that works.”
“It is,” you said, nodding like it made perfect sense.
Silence settled for a moment, broken only by his footsteps.
Then—
“I like you.”
He froze.
Not completely.. but enough that his next step faltered.
“…What?”
You frowned slightly, like he was the confusing one. “I said I like you.”
“Yeah, I— I heard you,” he stammered, grip tightening instinctively. “You’re just— you’re drunk. You don’t mean that.”
“I do,” you insisted, louder this time.
Too loud.
A couple passing by glanced over, and Yuta’s ears went red immediately.
“Hey—shh,” he said quickly, lowering his voice. “Not so loud.”
“But it’s true,” you argued, pouting slightly as you shifted again, pressing closer. Your arms slid more securely around his neck now, clinging. “I like you a lot.”
His face was burning now.
“You— you don’t have to say this right now,” he muttered, clearly flustered. “We can just— talk about it later, okay?”
“Nooo,” you whined softly, shaking your head against his shoulder. “You always avoid it.”
“I don’t avoid it!”
“You do,” you insisted, poking weakly at his chest. “Every time I get close, you act like you don’t notice.”
“That’s not—”
You shifted again, this time rubbing your face lightly against his shoulder, nuzzling into him without thinking. “You’re so warm…”
He went completely still for a second.
“…You’re making this really hard.”
You blinked slowly. “What’s hard?”
“…Walking,” he said quickly.
You giggled, completely unconvinced. “Liar.”
His grip tightened again when you shifted, your knee brushing slightly as you adjusted yourself in his arms.
“Stay still,” he said, voice a little strained now, shyer than ever. “Seriously.”
“Make me,” you mumbled, clearly not helping.
“…I am carrying you.”
“That’s not making me,” you argued, though your voice was already getting softer, heavier.
Another few steps passed in silence, though it wasn’t comfortable for him.
Because you didn’t stop.
“I like you,” you repeated, quieter this time, almost drowsy. “You’re always nice to me… even when I’m annoying.”
“You’re not annoying.”
“I am,” you insisted. “But you still take care of me.”
His steps slowed slightly.
“…Of course I do.”
“Why?” you asked, tilting your head again to try and look at him.
He didn’t answer immediately.
Your fingers curled tighter into his hoodie. “Is it because you like me too?”
That did it.
Yuta nearly stopped walking entirely.
“…You should sleep,” he said after a moment, voice softer now, but somehow more affected. “We’ll talk when you’re sober.”
You stared at him for a second longer… then smiled faintly, eyes fluttering.
“…Okay,” you whispered.
But even then, you didn’t let go.
If anything, you curled closer, face tucked into his neck now, breathing evening out as sleep slowly started to take over.
Yuta exhaled quietly, adjusting his hold one last time.
“…You’re really unfair,” he murmured under his breath.
But he didn’t put you down.
Not once.
Maybe Yuta is forgetting that drunk people are the most honest.
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yuuta is sensitive. Everything you do has him a flushing mess in seconds.
The way your soft lips connect with his own, gentle yet so passionate. He subconsciously groans whenever you two kiss. His brows pulled together, hands either fisted or gripping your waist.
When your arms snake around his waist to give him a bone crushing hug, his whole body is buzzing with butterflies, he thinks he might throw one up.
Or how your hands grace the hair on the nape of his neck when you guys are making out. He adores the way your lips feel against his neck. Sucking marks and bites all along it, Addams apple bobbing with every lick you leave on his pale skin. He wears his love bites proudly even though you protest to cover them up.
But god does he love when you’re in between his legs. Where he’s the most sensitive of them all.
He breaks into a sweat, panting, face hot as you litter kisses on his inner thighs. His legs involuntarily jumping when you suck marks. Yuuta wears the same expression always. He almost looks as if he’s in pain but you know exactly what that face means. He tries so so hard to conceal his noises once you engulf him in your warm tight mouth. His head thrown back as he melts into the couch.
“Feels—hah—good.” He musters out and you hum, the vibrations further stimulating his cock. Your tongue licking the underside of his lengthy dick as you take him deeper. Your nose hitting his pelvis, he gasps. His hands, rake through your hair.
“Yes, baby, yes.” He whines out.
He’s so fucked out, his mind mush. He lets out the prettiest moan ever when you massage his balls, even going far as to suck them. He whines, his hips bucking into your hand as you suck and suck. Releasing them with a pop, his tongue is practically out of his mouth, panting even harder as he grows closer to his release.
“Mouth honey, please.” He whimpers, his eyes rolling to the back of his head when you comply. You don’t give him time to breathe, taking him in fully.
“F-Fuck! can’t—m’s-sorry!” He moans, his hands gripping your hair tightly. Holding you in place as fucks his dick into your mouth. You gag and the second your throat constricts around him he’s shooting his load into your mouth, hips stuttering as he fucks out his high. Desperate whines and whimpers leaving his mouth.
“Oh baby.” He moans out, coming down from his high. You pull off of him, opening your mouth to show him you took all of it. He chews on his lips. Reaching down to catch just a dribble of his cum with his thumb, shoving it in your mouth.
“You’re so perfect.” He huffs out, eyes lidded as you suck his thumb. You rest your head on his thigh, hands feeling his toned body greedily.
Yuuta was sensitive, especially when it came to you.
NSFW MDNI. how they react to a nice glock for the first time!
n. keeping it short n’ nasty 😏 hope ya like it babes <3
ITADORI YUUJI. his breath hitched, and he couldn’t help but let out a soft whimper. face flushed in pink and forehead drenched in cold sweat already. even from the first second your lips parted around his shaft, you earned a sweet wail from your boyfriend. “a-ah, fuuuckkkk, baby,” your eyes flew open as you felt him jerking his hips forward, a lil’ frantic for your attention, making you chuckle at him. tipping his head backwards every now and then as he begged and moaned desperately.
FUSHIGURO MEGUMI. groans, breathy groans were all you could hear from him. you swirled your tongue around his tip, earning a silent gasp from your boyfriend. his emerald eyes shutting and head thrown back as you drooled over his thick veiny length. “fucking, hng, god,” he grunted, compressing his syllables into groans and biting his lower lips to make the moans sound rough. your movements were deliberate and slow. so you took a long, flat lick down his length before taking it all in again. that's when he couldn't hold it back anymore.
GOJO SATORU. he thought you were the goddamn best with your hollowed cheeks, tongue playing at his cock and gulping him until his tip reached your back as your head bobbed up and down constantly. moans furiously as your lips swallowed him whole, his favorite part when you draw back to lick along the underside of his cock. “mhmmm, so soo gooood for mee,” gojo was completely and utterly lost in the ecstasy of the pleasure. “shiiiit, yeah—just like dat, keep goin’ baby, keep, hng, going..”
YUUTA OKKOTSU. it started when you flicked your tongue around his warm top and took it all in, giving it a short suck with only your naked lips enclosing his cock. yuuta began to squeal and pant heavily as a result of your tongue's vicious movement. "b-baby, don't—ah" tears welled up behind his eyes, and all he could see were the hazy lights that dazzled them. the guy was growing hotter, and the sensitivity down below was pushing him to cry even harder.
something about yuuta enabling your habits. not all of them. the cigarette you roll between your fingertips, searching your pockets for a lighter, gets put down when he finds you outside the izakaya.
“it really isn’t good for your health,” he says, softly, damp warm eyes and a hesitance that borders on reverence.
he uses honourifics and a pressure that never feels overbearing.
but there are others he happily indulges. you’re laying on the couch together as the rain turns the dim apartment grey. cheek pressed against his shoulder as you scroll your phone, gnawing on his left arm.
“did you hear about this?” you say without looking away from your phone.
“hmm?”
“the cursed tool that was recovered in, ah, some prefecture,” you murmur, breath warm against his skin, lips brushing it in a kiss that never fully ends.
yuuta looks down at you. the jacket of his you’d stolen that rides up milky thighs, the phone’s blue light turning your eyes glassy. he shifts and puts his chin on your shoulder and says, “I haven’t yet. you’re so well-informed.”
“it’s just routine updates.”
“I miss them all,” he says woefully, and you give him a look over your shoulder. brows furrowing. he smiles and the pink dusting under his eyes crinkles. “don’t look at me so meanly. I’m sorry.”
“I haven’t even said anything!”
“you didn’t have to.”
you bite his bicep. you’re always surprised by yuuta, yuuta who winces when he laughs sometimes, who blushes at your humour, and when you feel the strength in his physicality, you remember he isn’t always home and that your yuuta is bound to many responsibilities woven within that same kindness he weeps with.
“ouch,” yuuta says sweetly, smoothing your hair with his free hand.
“that didn’t even hurt you.”
it’s your turn to be plaintive now. he laughs and kisses your cheek even as you nip at him again. bad habits all around, each of which he indulges.
