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Having a Special Grade sorcerer for a boyfriend is one thing.
Having a Special Grade sorcerer for a boyfriend that has no sense of financial responsibility due to how filthy rich he is, is another. Especially if he’s hot—devastatingly so. Rippling muscles, a subtle confidence in the way he moves that could only come from years of experience, yet an annoyingly charming bashfulness to him that only has Toge falling further into his so-called dilemma.
And this all goes to say that, well, having a Special Grade sorcerer is not safe for Inumaki Toge’s sanity.
He should probably be grateful. Being able to wake up next to a man who could probably be Japan’s most devastatingly rich and handsome bachelor, should be a flex. It is a flex. Toge gets everything he wants, and more.
If Okkotsu Yuuta is all, well, that, then Inumaki Toge is probably Japan’s most spoilt boyfriend.
And that’s the problem!
It’s even more infuriating that all of Yuuta’s expenses on him barely dent his bottomless bank account, especially when Toge can get off perfectly fine on his own Semi-Grade One salary.
But if there’s anything that hasn’t changed about Yuuta since Toge first met him when they were still wet-behind-the-eared teenagers, it’s that Yuuta will do anything to make sure Toge never has to lift a finger if he can help it.
And no, Maki, Toge is not looking for problems in his life to nitpick because Yuuta has essentially rid him of every complication over the years. That, in itself, is a conundrum. And no, Maki, Toge is not being dramatic.
He’s playing a new fighting game on his switch, sitting on a luxury sofa (Yuuta bought), a Mongolian cashmere throw blanket draped over his legs (Also Yuuta bought), in a pajama set he refuses to believe Yuuta picked up from Prada on an overseas mission. He’s practically decked in everything lavish, his boyfriend never allowing him to be presented in anything less.
Though Yuuta on the other hand, sometimes still wears his shirts from high school. Shirts that are practically ripping at the seams, because it’s not like he’s shrunk, fighting curses for a living with a power like his is practically a promise for an Adonis build.
Toge doesn’t get it.
When Yuuta gets home that night, walking into the penthouse with his katana sheathed safely on his back, looking thoroughly exhausted from a long mission in Shizuoka. His black hair is a little messy, devastatingly attractive circles under his eyes. Though the moment he steps foot into the living area, his eyes dart to Toge, softening almost immediately.
He always gets like this when he finds Toge all bundled up and safe on his days off. Coming back to his boyfriend content and relaxed after a long day, Toge knows, is amongst Yuuta’s favorite things.
So Toge can’t be blamed if all of his spite for Yuuta dissipates just like that, with those dark eyes gazing at him with fondness as vast as the ocean. After all, Toge is begrudgingly just as soft for Yuuta.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Yuuta exhales, rushing to take his shoes off, carelessly placing his katana on whatever surface he can lean it against for the meantime. He’s far too tired to take the time to shower right now, Toge assumes he needs some time to wind down before he takes care of himself.
Toge isn’t one to complain either, because the sweaty musk of his boyfriend is extremely attractive.
“Konbu,” Toge greets with a small smile, setting his switch aside as he makes space for Yuuta next to him.
Yuuta takes a pause before sitting down next to Toge, smiling at his little getup despite Toge always being like this when at home without any missions to attend to. Yuuta can’t help but grin a little smugly, “You look cute.”
Toge only rolls his eyes fondly in response, reaching forward to tug at Yuuta’s white jacket, “Okaka,” he responds exasperatedly.
“I know, I know, I say it all the time,” Yuuta chuckles as he allows Toge to pull him down, but there’s a careful gentleness in the way he scoops Toge—throw blanket and all—into his lap, “But it’s true. I love coming home to you like this, all comfortable, and—“
Toge covers Yuuta’s mouth promptly. The man talks too much sometimes.
Yuuta pouts in response. He looks like a puppy, and Toge’s always been weak for that stare. With a sigh, he lets go of Yuuta’s mouth, “Tsuna tsuna.”
“Mmm,” Yuuta grins, a snark to his look now, the puppy eyes gone. A facade, Toge thinks, Yuuta is evil. With a kiss to Toge’s soft cheek, Yuuta whispers, “Don’t shut me up. If you really wanted to, you would.”
Like Toge’s cursed speech even works on Yuuta anymore, Toge thinks behind another pout, the Special Grade’s tolerance can rival that of Satoru Gojo’s.
But Yuuta clearly has intentions for Toge tonight, and the latter doesn’t really think he opposes the direction that things are going in.
A couple of hours later, though, when they’re laying together in their king-sized bed, exhausted after a night of bliss, Toge has his hands in Yuuta’s hair, massaging his scalp as the man rests his head on Toge’s stomach, laying between his thighs.
This is nice, Toge thinks, Yuuta looks smaller like this. Comfortable. Young.
Then, Yuuta shoots up as if he’s remembered something important, and Toge raises an eyebrow—what could possibly interrupt their domestic moment?
“Toge, baby, oh,” Yuuta’s eyes are crazed with excitement, and he immediately sits up, “I almost forgot!”
The puppy is back. Toge blinks, tilting his head in subtle confusion, “Yuuta?”
“I got you something.”
There it is. Toge’s night was going amazingly. Perfectly, even. But that glow in Yuuta’s eyes whenever he impulsively spends a small fortune on Toge lights the petty fire in him all over again.
And if Toge pouts for the rest of the night after he’s presented with yet another imported tea for his throat that he swears is cared for more than well enough? He deserves it.
Toge wants to get back at Yuuta, because he feels that his boyfriend has forgotten that he doesn’t need fancy gifts to feel safe or special, and that he’s perfectly fine just knowing Yuuta is safe and coming home to him every night. Yuuta always assures him that all of the gifts are just bonuses, little reminders of what he’s accomplished and who Toge is in his life. And also, the excuses.
It reminded me of you! Toge, my money is practically begging me to spend itself! You looked at it, I know you want it! I want you to have the best things in life, baby!
It was endearing as much as it was annoying.
And Yuuta is so good at distracting him before Toge can even prepare to deny him his gifts.
But if there’s one thing Toge’s good at, it’s provocation. Trolling. Something he’s been known for ever since his first year at Jujutsu Tech. And though Yuuta’s learned to fall for it less and less over their years together, Toge knows how to adapt. He’s methodical about his pranks now, able to catch Yuuta once in a while.
But this might be his most meticulous one yet.
Toge stands with his arms tightly crossed over his chest, his eyes narrowed into a deadpan glare as Yuuta reviews the refrigerator door.
On the brushed steel surface of the multi-million-yen appliance, directly beneath a travel magnet, hangs the five printed pages of Form 10-A. Toge had spent two hours formatting the lines, ensuring the font looked as dry, tedious, and soul-crushing as a tax audit. He’s entirely certain that forcing Yuuta to navigate corporate red tape just to buy a casual gift would break his spoiling habit.
Yuuta looks at it carefully, his blue eyes tracking down the page. He doesn’t sigh. He doesn’t look annoyed.
Instead, a slow, brilliant smirk creeps onto the corner of Yuuta’s mouth. He looks up, his dark eyes flashing with a sudden, competitive intelligence that Toge usually only sees right before Yuuta engages in a long battle with curses, or in Monopoly with their friends.
"A standardized approval process," Yuuta murmurs, his voice entirely steady, entirely mature. He snaps his fingers together with a soft click. "Brilliant. Honestly, Toge, I was always worried my sudden deposits were cluttering your transaction history, whenever I send you money. This is a very efficient way to manage our logistics."
Toge’s jaw slightly drops behind the high collar of his shirt. “Okaka?”
"Let's see," Yuuta continues smoothly, pulling a sleek, matte-black fountain pen from some place it was lackadaisically thrown onto the kitchen counter. He clicks it open with a practiced flick of his thumb. "Section 2: Itemized Description of Proposed Procurement. I’d like to formally log an application for a case of organic Shizuoka winter-harvest green tea."
Yuuta leans over the kitchen island, his posture fluid and entirely relaxed as his pen begins to move across the paper with flawless, rapid writing, experienced from endless mission reports written in his years as a sorcerer.
“Under 'Justification of Urgency,'" Yuuta reads aloud as he writes, his voice dropping into the precise, formal tone he uses when delivering reports to the Jujutsu High principals, "I am noting that the subject's primary cursed technique utilizes high-frequency vocal strain. Ahem, Therefore, a failure to supply premium-tier anti-inflammatory herbal fluids constitutes a direct threat to Semi-Grade 1 defensive readiness. Am I right, honey?”
Toge steps closer, staring at the paper. Yuuta isn’t rushing. He’s filling out the boxes with absolute, terrifying competence.
“Okaka, Yuu—“
"For 'Expected Emotional Return on Investment,'" Yuuta continues, a soft, amused glint in his eyes as he glances up at Toge’s stunned expression, "I’ll write that the purchasing of said tea historically results in a 30% increase in the subject's willingness to sit on the couch with the applicant during evening hours. This yields a direct morale boost to the Special Grade deterrent force that consists of one Okkotsu Yuuta."
Yuuta finishes the line with a sharp, elegant flourish of his pen. He taps the paper, looking at Toge with a warm, utterly smitten expression that perfectly balances his professional delivery.
"There. Form 10-A is fully populated and submitted for review," Yuuta says, leaning his hip against the counter, crossing his arms with a confident smile. "According to your preamble, you have forty-eight hours to process it. However, if you look at Subsection C, I’ve attached a clause offering a standard 'Dishes and Laundry' premium processing waiver to expedite the delivery to tonight. What’s the verdict, Inspector?"
Toge stares at the form. He looks at the flawless reasoning. He looks at Yuuta, who is standing there looking incredibly handsome, completely unbothered by the trap, and entirely proud of his own bureaucratic maneuvering.
Where did he even learn to talk like this?
Toge lets out a long, slow breath that rattled his collar. He reaches out, grabbed Yuuta’s pen, and furiously scribbles a large, messy APPROVED across the bottom of the page.
"Shake," Toge mutters, turning his back to hide the tiny, reluctant smile pulling at his own lips. “Salmon.”
Toge will let Yuuta win this round, but he knows that he’ll get tired of it eventually and his purchases will dwindle down, becoming seldom, little gifts over time.
Yuuta lets out a soft, triumphant laugh, immediately moving into Toge's space to wrap his arms around his waist from behind. "Thank you, Toge. I'll log the shipping invoice immediately, unless you have any additional requests?”
Yuuta’s soft laugh buzzes directly against the fabric of Toge’s shirt, his chin resting comfortably on Toge’s shoulder as his arms tighten around his waist. He radiates a terrifying level of smug, domestic satisfaction for a man who has just successfully filled out a piece of fake paperwork.
“Okaka,” Toge mutters, though he doesn't actually pull away. He taps the APPROVED stamp with his index finger, then points aggressively toward the sink.
"Right, the processing waiver," Yuuta murmurs smoothly, his breath warm against Toge’s neck. He gives Toge one last, affectionate squeeze before stepping back and rolling up his uniform sleeves with efficient, practiced movements. "Dishes and laundry. I’m on it, baby. No need to ask twice."
Toge stands by the island, watching the strongest sorcerer of their generation immediately submerge his hands in the sink, humming a light tune as he tackles a coffee mug.
The immediate threat is contained, but Toge’s eyes slowly drift back to the five-page document pinned onto the refrigerator door. He adjusts his collar, a profound sense of tactical dread settling into his chest.
He designed the form to be a tedious, exhausting deterrent. He included fields for financial depreciation, and long-term storage logistics. He thought the sheer boredom of administrative work would force Yuuta to just throw his hands up and say, “Fine, I’ll stop buying things.”
Instead, Yuuta looks at the red tape and treats it like a competitive sport.
Though he’s always been serious when it comes to Toge, and he’s probably used to all of this corporate-level filing him and Toge experience on a common basis due to their lives as sorcerers. But.
Toge was so sure he would get him this time!
While Yuuta’s preoccupied with his newfound chores for the night, Toge pulls out his phone, his thumb flying across the keyboard to update the group chat he’d created specifically for Yuuta-shaped problems.
Toge: the target is compromised. didn't blink. cited Subsection C. he offered a laundry waiver.
The response from Maki is instantaneous.
Maki: What are you talking about? I’m tired of your shit Toge
Wait
Nevermind. Why the fuck did you ask us to edit some psychotic form your boyfriend has to sign when he wants to buy you shit… at 3 in the fucking morning? I have a life
And you should know that man is incapable of being mad at you. It’s sickening
Yuuji: Can I apply for protein powder in bulk through the form? Or is it a form made for Yuuta only?
Does it even work that way?
Megumi: you’re a fucking idiot.
When Nobara joins in on the Yuuji-bullying, Toge finds that his beloved, yet dumb, group of friends will be no help to him. Instead, he finds himself scrolling mindlessly, losing track of the time.
It’s later when he hears his name that he finds himself back in reality.
Toge locks his phone with a sharp click and stuffs it into his pocket. He turns around to face the kitchen.
Yuuta is already done with the dishes, drying his hands on a kitchen towel that Toge happens to know costs twelve thousand yen because Yuuta panic-bought a whole crate of them when they first moved in. Yuuta turns back to the fridge, tapping his chin thoughtfully as his eyes scan the blank copies of Form 10-A Toge left in a neat stack on the counter.
"Hey, baby," Yuuta says, his voice entirely casual, a dangerous, brilliant spark in his dark eyes. "I’m just thinking about tomorrow. I have a brief meeting with the Tokyo executives about a rogue Grade 1 curse near Tochigi. If I want to order that high-protein bento box to be delivered to you for lunch while I’m out, do I need to log the nutritional breakdown under Section 3, or can I file it as a standard operational expenditure?"
Toge stares at him. He doesn't blink.
Yuuta smiles, a soft, incredibly fond, and thoroughly unbothered expression that completely weaponizes his natural innocence against Toge’s authority. He walks over, that same look on his face as Toge finds himself unable to respond.
"Because if it requires a nutritional audit," Yuuta whispers, leaning down slightly so they’re eye-to-eye, "I might need to fill out the paperwork tonight before bed. Which means we might have to skip the couch cuddles. Unless... I file an emergency motion?"
Toge let out a long, slow breath. He realizes, with absolute clarity, that he hasn't built a trap for Yuuta at all. He has accidentally handed his boyfriend a multi-page excuse to negotiate for his time, his attention, and his affection—and Yuuta is absolutely brilliant enough to play the system until Toge runs out of ink.
With a deadpan huff, Toge reaches up, pulls down his collar, and fixes Yuuta with a sharp, warning glare.
“Sujiko,” Toge says flatly. (Sit down.)
Yuuta’s smile widens, his entire aura practically glowing as he moves to sit next to Toge’s spot on the couch, "Understood. Motion to sit approved. Thank you, sweetie."
Toge thinks he hates this even more. He hears enough of this formal talk at work, and now it’s transitioned over to his home-life. It’s even worse that he brought this upon himself.
But he’s put a lot of effort into this, and despite Yuuta’s unwavering commitment to going along with Toge’s whims, the cursed speech user knows he’ll waver eventually.
It doesn’t get better.
Toge realizes this as he’s approved yet another infuriatingly reasonable application from Yuuta. This whole 10-A form has become a trap for Toge to work more than he already does as a sorcerer.
While reading what he assumes to be Yuuta's form of corporate flirting, with big words that mean nothing and could be said much more concisely, Toge sighs, finding himself defenseless against Yuuta once again.
And no, Toge isn’t enjoying this. He doesn’t end up with butterflies in his stomach whenever Yuuta pops in his vicinity to deliver another proposal like some formal transaction. It’s also Yuuta’s fault, he likes to drop in with his annoying pet names.
Toge swears Yuuta probably shouldn’t be saying them if he’s trying to be so professional about this, and if it were actually an office setting, he could probably get in trouble for flirtation as an HR violation.
But they aren’t in an office. They’re boyfriends. And Toge isn’t even sure if he wrote his form with the law in mind, just did whatever seemed fancy and complicated. But in pure Yuuta fashion, he plays along.
The high-rise penthouse is quiet on Friday night, the ambient temperature perfectly locked at twenty degrees Celsius by the automated luxury climate-control towers. Toge stands in the kitchen, staring deadpan at the stack of pre-filled, perfectly filed forms Yuuta had overnighted from a mission outpost in Kyoto just to ensure a delivery of rare, organic honey wouldn’t trigger a household audit.
Toge drops his chin into his faded sweatshirt collar, a profound sense of tactical defeat washing over his chest.
Seriously, this has gotten to be too much!
A week of this bureaucratic cold war has proven one undeniable fact: the system is broken. Form 10-A is a luxury strategy game Yuuta enjoys entirely too much. Toge is powerless. You cannot weaponize inconvenience against a man who considers corporate red tape from his boyfriend an absolute privilege.
The penthouse door clicks open, conveniently timed.
Yuuta steps inside, his white unform jacket damp from the rain outside, his katana sheath hanging heavily from one shoulder. He looks profoundly, intrinsically exhausted—the kind of deep, systemic fatigue that comes from tearing curses apart with your bare hands for four straight days. There are sharp, heavy shadows under his eyes, and his posture carries the rigid, defensive tension of a soldier who hasn't quite realized the battle is over.
Toge hates whenever he’s like this, the look brings back memories from years ago when they were too young to be doing this.
But the moment Yuuta’s gaze sweeps the kitchen and lands on Toge, his entire face undergoes that familiar transformation. He brightens instantly, his dark eyes crinkling with absolute, liquid adoration.
"Toge," Yuuta says, his voice a low, rough whisper as he sets his kayana down. He reaches into his pocket, his hand, and pulls out a squished, 150-yen plastic-wrapped tuna-mayo onigiri from a station convenience store. "I... I followed the manual. I bought it with pocket change at the platform. I didn’t think I needed to fill anything out, but I didn’t want to come home with my hands empty. Is this okay?"
Toge stares at the cheap, crumpled rice ball in Yuuta's scarred, calloused hand. He looks at the damp fabric of Yuuta's uniform, the raw vulnerability in his eyes, and the frantic, desperate eagerness to please that Yuuta carries like a second curse.
The petty, comedic irritation evaporates completely from Toge's chest. The realization doesn't hit him like a lightning bolt; it creeps in heavy, quiet, and sharp.
Fuck. Only Yuuta would be idiotic enough to take some stupidly-complicated form seriously. Toge wrote it, after all.
The luxury, the penthouse, the endless stream of wealth—it isn't Yuuta being arrogant, and it isn't an insult to Toge's strength as a Semi- Grade 1 sorcerer. It’s Yuuta's survival mechanism, a way to cope with the life they lead. Yuuta spent his teenage years haunted by death, terrified of his own power, and running from execution whilst trying to prove himself to the higher ups and Jujutsu society. He doesn't know how to exist in a peaceful world without frantically building a fortress around the people he loves. The spending is Yuuta’s anxiety turned into pampering. If keeping Toge wrapped in silk and diamonds when he can is the only thing that keeps the monsters out of Yuuta's head, Toge can live with a few warm towels and a pantry full of expensive tea.
Without a single word, Toge steps forward. He reaches out, grabs the Form 10-A holding magnet off the multi-million-yen refrigerator door with a sharp clack, and drops it straight into the junk drawer.
Yuuta freezes, his face instantly dropping into a look of absolute, devastating panic. The confident Special Grade completely vanishes, shrinking into what reminds Toge of a Yuuta who had shaggy, black hair, and looked as if he had wronged the world.
"Toge? Wait. Did I make a mistake? Is it the wrong flavor? I can file an emergency amendment—"
Toge pulls down his high collar, exposing his face completely, and steps directly into Yuuta's personal space. He doesn't reach for his phone. He grabs the front of Yuuta's damp jacket, tugs him down with a firm, equal grip, and kisses him squarely on the mouth to shut him up.
Yuuta’s frantic words die instantly. He melts into the touch, his arms winding tightly around Toge’s waist, pulling him close until the heavy, high-tech silence of the penthouse completely dissolves.
When Toge pulls back, his violet eyes are soft, grounded, and entirely unyielding. He hooks his fingers into Yuuta's belt loops, anchoring the strongest sorcerer of their generation flat to the earth.
"Shake, tsuna mayo, okaka, Yuuta," Toge says gently, his real voice clear and steady in the quiet kitchen.
(You can buy whatever you want.)
Yuuta blinks, a slow, massive wave of relief washing over his features. The rigid, combat-ready tension completely snaps in his shoulders, his head dropping forward to rest heavily against Toge’s neck with a long, ragged exhale. "Really? No more forms? To be honest, baby, I had to get really creative with them.”
Toge runs a hand through Yuuta's messy, damp hair, letting out a soft laugh. “Shake, mentaiko.”
(No more forms.)
"Can I keep the automatic towel warmer?"
"Shake."
"Can I buy you that scarf I’ve been eyeing from Hermés?"
Toge rolls his eyes, but his grip on Yuuta’s jacket tightens, pulling him back down for another kiss.
“Shake. Sujiko, Yuuta,” Toge murmurs against his lips.
(Just go take a shower.)
…
The high-rise penthouse is exceptionally quiet on Saturday afternoon. Sunlight streams through the floor-to-ceiling glass, illuminating the polished concrete floor of the living room. Toge sits cross-legged on the kitchen counter, his phone in hand, looking over a normal, thoroughly unremarkable grocery store receipt.
A week has passed since they retired the extensive form that the both of them had been victim to. The corporate jargon is gone, the artificial limits are off, and they have finally settled back into a rhythm that feels less like a battle of petty wills and more like a home.
Then, Toge looks toward their living room rug.
Every single throw pillow from the sofa, the heavy wool blankets from the guest room, and two plush silk-cased duvets are currently piled into a massive, structurally sound nest in the center of the floor. It isn't a flawless designer tent; it is just a deeply comfortable, slightly messy fortress of fabric anchored by the edge of the coffee table.
Yuuta pops his fluffy black head of hair out from under a gray wool blanket. He’s wearing a worn, faded gray sweatshirt, his dark hair falling into his eyes, looking thoroughly relaxed. A tiny, completely fond smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth.
"I didn't use a form," Yuuta says, his voice low and raspy from sleep. He rests his chin on his forearms, looking up at Toge from the floor. "And I didn't spend a single yen. But you made me talk like a corporate lawyer for seven days straight, Toge. This is my counter-strike."
Toge tilts his head, bewildered, yet fond, “Okaka?”
Toge slides off the counter and walks over, peering down into the nest.
"The rules are basic," Yuuta murmurs, reaching up to gently catch the hem of Toge's shirt. "No phones. No talking about missions, we’re both off. And you have to stay down here until I say so."
He tosses a heavy, oversized black hoodie—explicitly his own—over Toge's head.
Toge pulls his arms through the sleeves, the familiar scent of Yuuta’s laundry detergent wrapping around him instantly. He looks at the ridiculous pile of blankets, and Yuuta's quiet, steady gaze. The residual exhaustion Yuuta usually carries home from Special Grade missions is entirely absent today, replaced by a calm, grounded warmth.
Without a word, Toge drops flat into the nest, burying himself directly into the blankets and pulling Yuuta down with him by the sleeve of his sweatshirt.
“Shake, Yuuta,” Toge murmurs against the wool fabric, his real voice quiet and completely content.
Yuuta lets out a soft breath, his arms wrapping tightly around Toge's waist as he buries his face into the crook of Toge's neck. They lie there in the quiet apartment, the Tokyo skyline stretching out far below them, completely forgotten.
Toge finds that he likes Yuuta like this, comfortable in a stable shelter he’s built for him and Toge.
For the first time in a while, Toge lets himself be spoiled without a fight.