Sweet Strawberry Fluff For Spring

Sweet strawberry fluff for spring 🍓💖

𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬.

yuji itadori x fem! reader

🗯️! minor injury, established relationship, kissing!

synopsis; it’s finally warm out in japan, so as a treat yuji takes you on a sweet date to go strawberry picking — ♡

Finally the winter-y cold months had past and it was now time for spring. The air smelled fresh as you soak up the sun’s warm rays. You couldn’t deny it, spring was your favorite season, the fresh fruit, the warm sundress worthy days, the light drizzling of rain. It was all perfect to you. Almost as perfect as your perfect boyfriend, Yuji Itadori. The sweetest sweetheart you’d ever had the graces of laying your eyes upon. As you stood outside your dorm enjoying the sun and watching Yuji make his way towards you. He was wearing a light brown, sandy, pair of shorts and a yellow t-shirt with a cute smiling sun in the middle. The second he saw you were staring at him he sprinted at you like a happy puppy seeing their owner after they get back from work. Yuji scoops you up and twirls you two around making the both of you laugh wholeheartedly. The feeling of your chest pressed up against Yuji’s chest and the quick rise and fall of it from his laughter makes you shy as you hide your face in your hands. With the most care anyone’s ever touched you with, Yuji pulls your hands away from your face so he can admire the pink hue spread across your features, smiles as soft giggles fill in the space between you two. Yuji let’s out a loving sigh, one that makes you want to pass out right on the spot. You were internally squealing as he reaches his rough, calloused hands to your face. Lightly he grazes his middle finger across your smile lines. Your heart becomes heavy as a lovesick feeling dwells in your stomach. Yuji’s lips finally make contact with yours , that’s when you can taste your own vanilla chapstick on his lips. You push his lips off yours and raise one of your eyebrows.

“Yuji Itadori, why are you wearing my chapstick?”

“Oh! You left it at my dorm the last time you were over and i thought it’d be cute if I wore some and we kissed. Is it weird?”

You wrap your arms around Yuji’s neck as his hands softly lay on your hips, “It’s not weird, it’s really cute, the cutest”

“Nah, you’re the cutest” His presses a soft, butterfly kiss to your nose.

He interlocks his hand with yours walking with your to the bushel’s of strawberry plants that were acres upon acres long. He swore they went on for an eternity, but he really wouldn’t mind if he got to spend an eternity picking strawberries with you. You crouch down and start picking away and fro a few seconds Yuji just stares. He stated at you a lot, like you were the most interesting thing he has ever seen. Of course it made you shy sometimes, but you appreciated the sentiment.

You realize he just stood their, so you look up from your spot at your boyfriend, but the sun’s too bright so you shade it with your hand to clearly see Yuji smiling with heart eyes practically protruding out of their sockets.

“Yu? Are you alright, handsome?”

Blinking himself out of his trance, “Huh? Oh! yeah, sorry”

His shy smile as he rubs his neck makes the butterflies in your stomach go wild in your stomach. He crouches down beside you filling his basket with strawberries similar to what you were doing.

As 2 hours pass, you decide that it’s time to go back to your dorm so you could start making jams and other sweet treats. Once you’re back at your dorm, you try one of the strawberries.

At least half of the strawberry is in your mouth when Yuji asks, “Can I have one?”

You hand him one but he puts it back in basket leaving you confused, before you can pull the starwberry out of your mouth Yuji pulls off the green leaves with one quick yank as he sinks his teeth in the other side of your strawberry. A bright red hue covers your face, too distracted by your boyfriend staring into your soul merely centimeters away from you, you accidentally bite your tongue.

You pull away from the strawberry leaving it to Yuji, “Ouch..”

“Oh my goodness! Love, I didn’t mean to are you okay?”

“Mm..” You frown at the metal-y taste now forming in your mouth.

“Want me to kiss it better?” Yet another wave of red coloring floods to your face at his words.

You look at him, a sly smile kissing his lips. You push him away from you.

“Jerk” you mumble with a small smile.

“Aw, I’m sorry, what do I have to do to have you forgive me? I’ll do anything” Yuji asks with a sincere look in his eyes.

“I just want you” Is all you say, resulting in Yuji kissing your forehead and laying his head on top of yours.

☆ | GAHHHHHH i love writing fluff it makes me so happy and joyous!!

Please read this

Before anyone gets on my case and think I'm jumping on the "Gojo is racist" bandwagon because "I hate Gojo" I'm telling you right now that I'm not saying he's racist. I don't even hate Gojo. In fact, I am a fan.

But I'm not gonna act like that man is so pure or Gege is always have it out for him.

What Gojo said is racist, but more so out of ignorance. And it is not the first time he said something ignorant to Miguel. So the scene in 255 isn't out of nowhere it just feels like it is because some of you probably haven't read the JJK 0 manga. 255 is more so a continuation.

This happens in the manga.

Gojo compares Miguel to a real life kickboxer and comedian, Bobby Ologun. This scene's dialogue is changed in the movie. I don't know why, probably because Bobby has some controversy surrounding him about assault charges in 2020, a year before the JJK 0 movie came out.

Now, before anyone goes "that's not ignorant, that's not racist", shush and take this from a view from a BLACK PERSON.

Bobby Ologun is a popular TV personality in Japan. Gojo sees what how Black people are on television. He grew up in a sheltered household and even after probably never interacted with a Black person until Miguel.

Saying "he's talking like he's Bobby Ologun" is putting is not what you say to a Black person. It's the assumption that Miguel, a Black person, knows this other Black person. It's the "every Black person knows every Black rapper".

And when we don't? It's assumed that Black person isn't a "true Black person" or "not acting Black".

I have had bad experiences with this. People like to act surprised that I'm a full Black person because "Oh my gosh your hair is so curly" and "but you're not ghetto" and "you're so sweet" and "you're so light skinned" and "you like anime". And when I tell them that I'm not mixed or another race they hit me with the "are you sure"? I'm born Black, my parents are both Black. Both of their parents are Black. I am Black, it's not up for debate!

Gojo unintentionally placed Miguel in a box by comparing him to another Black person who just so happens to also be African. I never been to Africa, but I know a Nigerian African isn't the same as Kenyan African. (Miguel is from Kenya.) Just because they're both African Black men doesn't mean Miguel has heard of the guy.

There's no such thing as a Black person "not acting Black". A Black person not displaying the stereotypes you think applies what to "what a Black person is" doesn't make that person any less Black.

They were born Black, that what makes them Black. But that doesn't mean we are all the same. Miguel is right. He isn't special because he's Black. He's special because he is him. This is even more explicit when you remember that jujutsu and curses are common in Japan, but not in other places. Miguel just so happens to be a rare case. It's like how Yuji was able to suppress Sukuna when it's an one in a million chance of survival.

So now the "Gojo is racist" jokes aren't funny? Because some of you were quick to laugh the first time when JJK 0 came out and the Black guy got a combo from your pale skinned fave. So now that the Black guy had to school your favorite on being ignorant, it's not funny? "Gege is trying to create chaos" or maybe you didn't pay attention the first time.

Or maybe you don't like the seeing reality that some of you are like this. Maybe you're that person who is quick to assume every Black person you cross is an athlete. Probably threw a slur or two at a Black person in the JJK fandom (and others) in their inbox.

Could you be upset because you were wrong that Miguel didn't die this chapter as you assumed and he actually showed out on Sukuna and survived? Mad because he got the spotlight? (Like how some of you were so sure Maki died of a Black Flash even though everyone else survived one, but okay.) "Damn it, the Black guy didn't die." Is that how you're feeling?

Some of you are acting as of Gege really dragged out that scene with ten pages or something. It was just a quick scene. And it's not like Gojo didn't apologize and learned from it.

Again, I love Gojo, I do. But let's not act like sometimes he's a little too arrogant and ignorant and he rightfully so should be brought back to reality. He's flawed. He's not some pure person. He grew from how he was as a teenager, but he still has this bad habit of being inconsiderate of how others around him feel.

Take Utahime for example. He constantly calls her weak. She has every damn right to hate his guts. She's not "confused about her feelings" and it's not "Oh my gosh, so romantic". He's an ass and he's disrespectful. He has no reason to call her weak. She has more experience than him given she is older than him.

It was a long time fucking coming anyways.

I don't want to remember 😭😭😭😭😭😭

the parallels i just can’t anymore ✋🏻😭

ib: @/vantaeprod on tt

ALL THE ATTENTION 👉🏻👈🏻

Some more would be nice ;-;

Baby Daddy!Choso 🥺💜💜

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

I've been thinking about Choso's blood manipulation, and how free fetal DNA can persist in a woman's bloodstream even decades after carrying the child.

Thinking about how this means, ostensibly, that a woman may carry the DNA of a man who fathered her child, for the rest of her life, even if she loses that child; forever a low-grade chimaera, imprinted upon.

Thinking about how the DNA of that baby, half Choso's, and half yours, will form a part of you, a stamp on the very soul of you, Choso's sigil in your blood, for the rest of your days.

Thinking about Choso and you, who fall pregnant unexpectedly...but for one who always wanted a family, Choso is full of such exquisite joy. He loves your baby from the first positive pregnancy test. He sings to your belly, still barely showing. He introduces his baby to his "Uncle Yuuji" and you weep at how Yuuji shows just as much excitement as Choso does.

Thinking about the blinding pain, the hot rush of blood, the unwilling theft of this child from your body-- a miscarriage ripping your baby from you, even as you and Choso try so desperately to hold on. It's too late; your baby is gone. The weeks you held them were so short, but the love was real, and you and Choso hold each other in the night, grieving your loss, your love.

Thinking about how Choso had a jar, but he gives your baby a rose; at rest forever in your garden, blooming.

Thinking about how, months later, you face another gruelling battle together. You bleed, and Choso is almost at the end of exsanguinating himself. He has no blood left to give.

But as the Curse bears down upon you, Choso grasps your blood, staining your skin...and rains it down upon the Curse like a hail of needles, killing it and saving you both.

The free DNA of your lost baby, half Choso and half you, remains within you...and Choso is able to manipulate blood with his stamp upon it.

Yes...thinking about free fetal DNA and Choso Kamo, the master blood manipulator.

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Sources regarding free fetal DNA: 1. Me, a professional, and 2.https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC40117/#:~:text=PMID%3A%208570620-,Male%20fetal%20progenitor%20cells%20persist%20in%20maternal%20blood,long%20as%2027%20years%20postpartum.&text=Division%20of%20Genetics%2C%20Children's%20Hospital%2C%20Boston%2C%20MA%2C%20USA.

My heart can't, for real 💖

I could even learn how to love like you

There’s a certain type of peace you find in the mundanity of the typical morning commute. The soothing whirring of the railway, the chill of metal against your fingers wrapped around the handholds, even the odd comfort of being surrounded by strangers who are equally as half asleep as you are, willing to shuffle the slightest bit to make room for new passengers. Sure, it’s a nuisance for the most part, but it’s your tiny pocket of harmony before the usually stressful workday. A routine you’ve grown accustomed to, something you can rely on to stay the same in this ever-changing society. 

Change is never a bad thing, though. And sometimes, it takes a stranger on the train to show you that.

He immediately captures your attention the first time you see him. Tan business suit, straight posture, hair neatly parted, stoic expression etched on his face. The typical salary man heading to his office job in the city. While his stature is most-impressive, it’s his tie that piques your interest, a spotted pattern akin to leopard print. A splash of pizzazz on an otherwise ordinary outfit. 

He maneuvers his way to you, wrapping his fist around the same pole you’re holding, his grip a safe distance above yours. He glances at you through his spectacles, giving you a short nod to acknowledge you. You return this with a small smile, and when you notice he doesn’t have any headphones in, you say, “I like your tie.” You normally wouldn’t speak to anyone here, most people too immersed in their preferred choice of media, like music or the news. Something tells you that straying from your usual habits might be good for you today.

The second of silence where he’s processing what you said scares you; maybe you’ve become a bother for him in this already troublesome commute. Then, he clears his throat, his gaze flickering at you for the briefest moment before it focuses on the floor. “Thank you.”

The conversation ends there. In fact, that’s your entire interaction throughout the remainder of the journey. Your station arrives before his and you leave without another word. It’s neither awkward nor extraordinary. Still, the moment doesn’t stop replaying in your memory the rest of the day. You wonder if you’ll get a chance to see him on the way home, knowing the chances are slim. Schedules vary, there are many different sections of the train. The stars would have to align just right for you to be reunited with this stranger. Despite the improbability of it all, you allow yourself to be hopeful. The little taste of excitement this morning has you craving more. 

~~~

Two days pass until Nanami meets you again. Maybe he does it subconsciously, maybe it’s intentional, but he finds himself gravitating towards you. When he places his hand above yours on the pole, in similar fashion to the last time, he gives his usual nod, unsure if you recognize him.

You beam at him. “Good morning!”

He doesn’t say anything else; he’d only be pestering you with trivial conversation. Though he can’t help watching from his peripheral as you scroll through pictures of delicious food on your phone. He notices you screenshot the ones that include recipes in the description, causing him to grin to himself at how he does the same. The urge to comment is in the back of his throat, the tip of his tongue. Getting it out proves to be difficult, and he knows why. Nanami made a vow to himself ever since he returned to being a Jujutsu Sorcerer: don’t fall in love. He’s completely aware of how dangerous his job is, how his life is at risk every single mission he’s sent on. It’s what he signed up for, the life he’s currently committed to. There’s no room for attachment, for love. It's easier for him to avoid it altogether, even if it means swallowing down a simple hello on the train. It’s better this way. And quite frankly, he isn’t sure if he’s even capable of loving the way others do. His heart has become so callous throughout the years that there’s no chance at it ever softening, he’s sure of it. Perhaps the flutter in his chest at the smile you flash him is a coincidence, nothing more. 

This theory is soon debunked. 

Nanami is especially tired after today’s mission. Heading home, he manages to secure a row of empty seats and plops himself down, resting his head back, sighing. He closes his eyes, listening to the usual hustle and bustle of rush hour, resisting every temptation to fall asleep. Missing his stop would put a damper on his already foul mood. 

Eventually, the automated voice announces your stop. For whatever reason, he made it a point to remember it when you hopped off this morning, just two away from his. When he feels someone sit beside him, he peeks with one eye open, curious. 

“Hi.” You smile softly at him, eyes crinkling with genuine kindness. “It’s you.”

While Nanami is guarded and closed off from people outside his intimate circle, he’s never rude. He has no other choice but to respond to you, ignoring the obvious thump in his chest at your endearing greeting. “Hello.” He tries his best to convince himself that this unfamiliar flutter surrounding him is some sort of medical condition that needs proper diagnosis and not affection towards a beautiful stranger on the train. Stiffening in his seat, he pretends not to be intrigued by the food magazine you start flipping through, secretly studying the way you fold the corners of all the recipes you want to save for later. 

Halfway into the ride, he actually does fall asleep, only rousing awake when he feels a gentle tap on his shoulder. Blinking the bleariness from his eyes, he catches you staring at him guiltily. “Sorry,” you apologize. “I think your stop is coming next and I didn’t want you to miss it.”

He sits up straight, readjusting his tie, clearing his throat before he replies, “Thank you.” Sure enough, the automated voice from the speaker announces that they’ll be approaching his stop next. Slightly disoriented from his nap, he stands up, grasping the nearest handhold tight. His mind is racing, body itching to say something more, say anything more. Before he can, the train comes to a halt. The doors open and without another glance, he’s gone. 

Nanami spends the entire fifteen minutes of his walk home attempting to quell the stir of emotions inside him, from guilt to giddiness, all over the simple fact that you’ve memorized his stop. That you’re paying attention to him just as he is with you. 

~~~

This time, he’s the first to greet you, offering a polite nod before he grabs onto the same pole that you’re occupying. “Good morning.”

You’ve been boarding this particular section ever since you started seeing him, hoping he’d do the same. “Hello, stranger,” you respond with a grin, unable to contain your happiness.

He holds his other hand out to you. “Nanami. Nanami Kento.”

You state your name in similar fashion, shaking his hand. His skin is rough against yours, though his grip is gentle. You let go of him, dropping your arm to your side, fingers tingling. “I guess we’re not strangers anymore.”

“I guess not,” he says with a small smile. And it’s enough to send you into a tizzy. 

Conversation is easy with him. He mentions the magazine you were reading the other day, expressing his mutual interest in food. From there, the two of you talk about your favorite restaurants and eateries around the area, giving your best recommendations. Because of all the ambient noise, you lean in close to one another to hear each other properly. The gap between your hands on the pole is shorter by the time your stop approaches. You’re prepared to bid him a reluctant farewell, so it surprises you when he follows you off. “Is this your stop too?” you ask him, though you already know it isn’t. 

He shakes his head, fixing his tie idly. “My office is fifteen minutes from here. I want to get a quick walk in before I start work.”

“Are you sure this isn’t an excuse to spend more time with me?” you tease him, smirking.

He gazes into your eyes. “Maybe it’s that too.”

This is the start of a new and exciting routine for you, one that involves Nanami. You’ll spend the morning together, talking to each other in the middle of the crowded train. Then, he’ll walk you to your office building, where he leaves you with a cordial bow. You’re reunited during rush hour, sitting next to each other sharing either the newspaper he brings along with him or the new issue of a magazine you’re subscribed to. You’ll even rip out recipes for him to keep, which he tucks safely in his pocket. When he’s too tired from the workday, he’ll close his eyes, his head falling just shy of your shoulder. It all seems silly and insignificant, but to you, it’s special. 

Your relationship never goes beyond this. The two of you don’t talk about work, you never ask questions about the new injuries on his hands or the minor scrapes on his face. The idea of being anything other than acquaintances who commute together terrifies you, and you have a strong sense that it terrifies him as well. While it would be nice to be in love, you’re not confident if you can give that to him. 

It's only after Nanami stops coming when you realize that maybe you can love him. 

On Thursday, the morning after Halloween, the commute takes longer than usual due to a mysterious incident in Shibuya that the media hasn’t disclosed fully. You listen carefully to the gossip surrounding the train. According to the elder folks, it has something to do about “the hooligans” partying too hard on Halloween. The younger generation of passengers chalk it up to some conspiracy about magical entities attacking civilians to lure other magical entities. You’re not sure what to believe, and whatever is the truth doesn’t matter once you realize Nanami hasn’t boarded at his usual stop. The delays don’t help your anxiety as you spend the remainder of the ride wondering where he could be, why he hasn’t shown up, if he’s okay. 

You follow the same routine as best as you can, frequenting the same section as you usually do, holding onto the same pole, which is lonely now without his presence. On the way home, you place your bag in the seat beside you, saving it for him if there’s ever the slim chance he does show up. You continue to tear recipes from the magazines you would normally read with him, placing them inside a small envelope marked with his name, ready to present to him if you ever do see him again. To show him that you never stop thinking about him even in his absence. 

Nothing is ever revealed about what really happened in Shibuya. The general consensus is that whatever danger emerged on that Halloween night is no longer a threat and that the citizens of Tokyo are once again safe. And based on the timing of Nanami’s sudden disappearance, you believe that he’s part of the reason for that. It’s the only solace you find in this otherwise heartbreaking situation. Still, you hold out hope. For what? You’re not sure until two months later when Nanami returns to your life. 

~~~

It takes one month for Nanami to be discharged from the hospital. He was admitted two days following Halloween, after Ieiri performed all she could with her abilities to aid him with his injuries. But he’s alive, they all are. The Jujutsu sorcerers succeeded at defeating Kenjaku and all his minions, thwarting whatever horrible fate they had in store for Tokyo, potentially the entire world. They won. 

However, their triumph came with a cost. The Shibuya Incident left him permanently scarred on the left side and one eye lost forever. Rehabilitation has been grueling the past few weeks, struggling to come to terms with this battered body. He’s received unyielding support from his colleagues who he shares this trauma with. Despite this, there’s something missing, someone missing in his life. He thinks about you much more than he ought to, wondering if you’ve noticed his absence, if it’s affected you at all. Ever the pessimist, Nanami has convinced himself that you have forgotten about him, even after all the tiny, special moments you’ve shared together. It’s better this way, he knows that. After all, he doesn’t have the slightest clue what love is or how to love somebody. 

Still, he’d like to see you again, just to know that you’re doing alright. 

Another month passes before he musters the courage to be out in public again. Because of the winter season, he can hide as much of himself without rousing any suspicion. A large coat, mittens on his hands, a scarf around his neck, a mask to cover the burn scars. He dons his usual spectacles, hoping to conceal the eyepatch draped across his hollow socket. Ever since the incident, he’s felt like a monster, unable to reveal himself to strangers oblivious to the true events of that night. 

He finally boards the train, stepping foot in the usual section as he would going home, searching for a familiar face. There you are, as beautiful as ever, sitting in the same seat, your bag occupying the one beside you. You look up, your eyes meeting his, holding onto his gaze a split second longer than expected before you focus back on the magazine laid out on your lap.

It takes everything in him to deny the swell in his chest, the tiniest sliver of hope fluttering in his belly at the thought of you recognizing him. Before he loses his composure, he takes his place on the empty row across from you, enough distance to observe you inconspicuously. That’s all he intends to do, nothing more. 

As much as his world has been shaken, he’s comforted by you flipping through your magazine as usual, your life continuing normally as it should. However, he can’t help feeling a deep sadness, knowing he’s not a part of it anymore. 

Once again, you prove his assumptions wrong.

His eye widens, intrigued by you grinning at a particular page, carefully tearing it from the binding, something you used to do this for him not too long ago. He watches with bated breath as you retrieve from your bag a marked envelope already teeming with what he assumes are other recipes from previous issues. You add the new one with a delighted expression, making sure to close the flap for a temporary seal. And clear as day on the front of the envelope, even with his obscured vision, is his name written on the front. 

He sits up straight at this, his full attention on this seemingly insignificant discovery. This captures your attention, the inkling you had earlier validated. It’s him. The stature, the posture, those distinct steampunk glasses. You didn’t want to be wrong, so you didn’t say anything, trying to stifle your quickening heartbeat. But you’ve been waiting two months for this reunion, yearned for it more than anything. Unable to contain yourself any longer, you stand up, traversing towards him until you’re an arms-length away, gripping a pole tightly to steady yourself. “Nanami?”

Panic sinks in as he decides to reveal himself to you, anticipating the shock and terror in your face when you see what he looks like now. He removes the mask slowly, avoiding eye contact. “Yes, it’s me.”

Your reaction surprises him. With that same warm smile he’s missed so much, you sit down beside him, unfazed by the scars. “I’m so happy to see you.”

Love is standing close on a crowded train to keep each other company. Love is getting off at the wrong stop to spend more time together. Love is magazine clippings in an envelope with his name on it. Love is seeing all the broken pieces of him and still finding him completely beautiful. 

Nanami is certain now that he could learn how to love like you. 

Author's Note: This is the final installment of the past lives vignettes series. It’s a bit cheesy, but I really wanted to explore the aspect of “missed connections” and I thought strangers on the train would be perfect to do that. Title inspired by the song “Love Like You” by Rebecca Sugar. Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are never expected, always appreciated. Thanks for reading. Divider credit to @/cafekitsune.