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the smell of your hoodie

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Fushiguro groans.

Yoo-hoo, Megumi. For the love of god, it is too early for him to deal with Gojo Satoru first thing in the morning. I’m counting to ten and coming in. Please don’t be naked.

Fushiguro sighs, yawns, rolls over. And comes face-to-face with a wide-eyed Itadori.

For a split second, everything stills. Then, Fushiguro, suddenly wide awake, bolts upright and hauls Itadori gracelessly out of the sheets.

Was that-

Yes, that was Gojo. Fuckin- get up, get up. Fushiguro scream whispers. Holy shit he’s never going to let us hear the end of this-

...Two...three... Gojo counts.


Wha- Itadori splutters.


Jesus fuck. Fushiguro panics. He’d rather sacrifice his pinky than let Gojo have a field day with all the implications that came with Itadori sleeping over in his room in his bed. Well, it’s not that the implications were false anyway. But Fushiguro knew better than anyone that Gojo was incapable of shutting up when it came to teasing and spreading gossip. Itadori might blush and shrug in his sunny, good-natured way, patiently letting everyone poke fun at him. Fushiguro, on the other hand, knew he would not be as graceful (or merciful).


Itadori looks so helplessly lost and confused that Fushiguro would laugh if he weren’t so incredibly stressed. He shoves Itadori towards his closet, eyes wide and gesturing frantically. Itadori all but tumbles into the small closet, landing with a dull thud just as Gojo slams open the door. Megumi leans against the closed closet doors as casually as he can muster and schools his expression into one of cool indifference.

Yo! Gojo flashes a smile and his signature stupid peace sign. You busy?

I was sleeping. Fushiguro grumbles.

And you’re up now. Great! Change of plans - I gotta go to this bakery that’s having a grand opening in the afternoon, so we’ll be training this morning instead. Want anything?

Fushiguro rolls his eyes. Gojo and his sweet tooth be damned.

Fushiguro sighs and begins to turn away. No thanks, I'm good. I'll get dress-

Is that Yuuji's hoodie?

Fushiguro stills. Uh, he says intelligently and glances over in horror. He hears a small gasp from within the closet. Sure enough, a red hoodie that was unmistakably Itadori’s lay haphazardly strewn a few feet from the bed. Fushiguro wills himself not to blush at the memories of the previous night.

(Take it off, Itadori- A wink, and then, Take it off for me, Fushi. Heated cheeks, roaming hands, both of them clumsily tripping into the bed-)

Fushiguro inhales a sharp breath, steels himself, and turns back to meet Gojo’s expectant expression. Is that a smirk on his face-

Uh, yeah. Fushiguro continues as gracefully as he possibly can even though he wants to implode. He, uh, asked me to mend it. There’s a… hole. From the last mission. Yeah.

Gojo raises his eyebrows. Fushiguro wants to smack him. He watches warily as Gojo saunters over to the hoodie and gingerly picks it up.

Where's the hole?

Fushiguro walks over. There, he points.

Gojo lifts his head. He feels Gojo's gaze piercing through his stupid blindfold.

Megumi. He says, slowly. Those are the pockets.

Ah. Fushiguro mentally bangs his skull against the wall and flings himself out the window. What the fuck Megumi why are you so bad at this oh my god- Gojo smirks, but takes pity and schools it quickly.

(Meanwhile, Itadori is curled into a ball in the dark closet, vibrating with a mix of laughter and horror on Fushiguro’s behalf.)

Besides, isn’t mending a hoodie something you would ask Nobara to do? Gojo asks lightly.

Fushiguro shrugs. I don't know. Ask Itadori.


Gojo smoothly approaches the closet, yanks open its doors, and-

Yuuji, isn’t this something you would ask Nobara to do? Gojo repeats, cocking his head down at Itadori, who is sitting with his knees curled into his very very shirtless chest, gazing up at Gojo in open-mouthed horror, and looking very small.

Gojo tuts when Itadori doesn't answer. Whatcha doin' in there, Yuuji?

Itadori splutters. Uh-I can explain-

Gojo has absolutely no mercy as he goes in for the kill. Nice hickeys, he comments.

Itadori slaps his hand over his neck and clamps his mouth shut with a click. Gojo smirks, sweeps his gaze around the room (surveying his damage), and calmly strides out of the room.

Fushiguro stares in disbelief after him. Swivels his head to Itadori who hasn’t moved a muscle.

Itadori, let's run away, he says lowly.

Itadori blinks. Then he bursts out laughing. Fushi, you gotta fix my hoodie first. The pockets-