#*and it's mutual also. important detail. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

celestie0 · 4 months ago

Text

gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony ch4. in a mother’s eyes

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance plan in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity, mentions of cigarettes, depression/anxiety; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ chapter. 4/x

ᰔ words. 10k (omg a whole number...very sexy)

a/n. hellooo my ihm friends! hope you're all doing well. ahh i'm glad to finally be posting this chapter lolol. it's a littleee off tangent from what happens in ch3, but still has some important plot developments. it does dive into feelings of depression & anxiety, so just wanted to give a warning on that! but yea other than that i hope you enjoy and see you at the bottom!! :) also so sorry if there are errors i only had time to skim through it once :((

nav. masterlist

“Just go ahead and sign right here for me.”

You take the pen from the hospice nurse’s hand. It’s cheap black plastic with a pink fuzzy pom pom attached to the end of it with peeling glue.

Your eyes briefly flit across the paragraphs detailed in printed ink until your gaze lands on the highlighted lines at the bottom of the page. Your signature. Spouse’s signature.

“We’ll need to have your husband come here to sign the paperwork as well, since he’ll have to add your mother on his list of dependents, but we can certainly get started on expediting this process for you since the insurance has already been pre-approved,” the nurse tells you as she accepts your signed paperwork and then neatly tucks it into one of the compartment holders.

The afternoon goes by smoothly, with your mother surprisingly patient as she sits in the waiting room while you wait for the nurses to formally show you to her new room.

You thought that you could put off putting her in hospice for a little longer, because in all honesty, you weren’t prepared to let her go just yet. You weren’t prepared to not have her in the house anymore. But lately, she’s been putting herself in lots of danger, like attempting to take her own medications when she does not know the correct dosing, and forgetting things on the stove when she attempts to cook.

But the last straw was when you came home from a very brief run to the grocery store at night a couple days ago to see a handful of your neighbors out on the front lawn with your mother at their side. She had apparently gotten out of the house and walked down the neighborhood, then fallen on the sidewalk but was unable to get up. When your neighbors had found her, a miracle as they were just coming home from dinner and caught sight of her in the illumination of their headlights, they tried to help her get up but she couldn’t. She couldn’t even tell the firefighters that came by to help her what her name was, or what year it was, or where she lived.

It was when you realized you couldn’t even keep her safe anymore that you had to let go.

“Is that a wedding ring?” your mother asks, pointing a trembling finger to it as she lays tucked inside her new hospice bed, “are you married?”

You glance down at the ring Gojo gave you in the courthouse, almost surprised to find that you were still wearing it in good faith. “Yes, mom. I am.”

“Why am I here?” she asks you, “I don’t want to be here.”

You stiffen a little. Although you were mentally preparing yourself to answer these questions, the preparation didn’t make it any easier. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just for a little short while, okay? The doctors want to run some tests on you.”

“Who are you married to?” she asks.

“To Satoru,” you tell her, “our neighbor.”

She lets out a small gasp. “The sweet boy who fixed our A/C?”

You roll your eyes. not sure why your mother has hyper fixated on that memory with Gojo when most days she’ll look at you like you’re a stranger. “Yes mom.”

“Oh, I like him,” she tells you with an affectionate nod. She hesitates slightly, wearisome of some other thought that flashes through her mind. “How long have you been married?”

You let out a small sigh. This is already a conversation you had with her a couple days ago, and it doesn’t feel good to lie to her. It was hard enough to do once, but to have to constantly lie to her over and over again over all the smallest things just so that she stays calm and safe and happy seems to drain you of all your energy and happiness you had left in your bones.

Little white lies, that’s what they are. Harmless ones. That’s what you tell yourself to absolve yourself of the guilt.

“I’ll come back soon, okay? I’ll tell you more about him some other day,” you say to her, speaking gently in the way an adult would speak to a child. The way she used to speak to you. You could never exactly pinpoint when those roles became reversed.

You finish discussing some more insurance matters with the front-desk nurse as she puts together a small folder of documents for you. While she works, you glance at the little counter shelf that includes a plethora of pamphlets on how to deal with the complicated feelings that arise from putting a loved one in hospice care, and dealing with the emotions of having a relative with advanced stage dementia. They are pretty brochures, lovingly creased at the folds as if looked through multiple times by people who walk in and out of this facility, but seemingly only few take them home. You slip one of each into your folder when the nurse hands it to you, manage the best smile possible, and then turn on your heel to head out the hospice doors.

The sun is setting outside as you take the walk back to your car, which was purposefully parked a half mile away to afford you the luxury of a melancholic stroll. Somehow, you feel like you’ve left a piece of yourself back at the hospice. A feeling you can’t quite shake from your bones.

Your feet stop walking somewhere along the sidewalk on their own, the street lights above you flickering brighter into life as the sky is now a dusty gray with only streaks of purple. There’s a liquor store you spot across a small parking lot to your right, and you’re guided towards it, but not without a sickening feeling in your chest.

When you open the door, the bell at the top jingles, and you glance to the right where you see a lanky young man playing some sort of shooter game on his phone by the cash register. You grab a bottle of vodka, a bottle of white wine, some packs of skittles, one of the mini pizza boxes at the hot food station, and then dump it all onto the counter.

The young man scans all your items without even so much as sparing you a glance, but does take a look at your ID, then says, “Total’s $68.65, cash or card?”

“Card.”

Just before you tap your card, something displayed behind the cashier counter catches your eye. Something familiar, something tempting, something you weigh in your head about twenty times within one millisecond all due to the cortisol coursing through your veins and you eventually say, “Uh, and could I get one of those, too?”

The cashier looks behind himself to what you’re pointing at before turning around. “Sure.”

The same jingle is heard on top of your head as you leave the store, now with a burning hot mini pizza box in your hand as well as a plastic bag that carries your candy and the two clinking bottles of alcohol.

“Oh!! omg, y/n,” you hear a feminine voice call out and you’re instantly wincing. The last thing you wanted was to be bothered right now. You just wanted to go home and get drunk and then pass out on the floor of your living room. But alas, the world is small.

You turn around to see Hana come running across the sidewalk lot towards you, and when she’s about a few feet away, she glances down at your hands and all the things you were carrying. You quickly shove your last-minute purchase into your jacket pocket with a shameful conscience, and try to hide the plastic bag of liquor behind your calves. There was no hiding the pizza box, but at least that was the least incriminating.

“Oh, Hana, wow! What a coincidence seeing you here,” you say to her, pressing your lips into a small smile.

“Yeah, I um,” she points over her shoulder towards the hospice that’s standing tall in the darkness of night, cells with windows illuminated with light. If you didn’t know any better, you would think it was a prison. “Remember I told you my friend’s mom is sick and she’s at this hospice?”

“Yeah,” you say.

“I was just visiting her mom with her,” she tells you.

“Aw,” you comment, “I see, I see.”

You adore Hana, you really do. She was there for you when the whole Yuna and Choso thing went down, picking your shifts up for a good week when you couldn’t stomach going into work when your ex-best friend’s stupid face was gloating in the halls over how she stole your boyfriend. Hana was there for you when you were a new hire and all the doctors were being bitchy about a “newbie in the ED”, but she stood up for you, even cussed the fuck out of one of attendings for the whole hall to hear when you were being disrespected by one of them. She’s someone you can beam about how hot the EMT and Firefighter men that stroll into the ED are, too. A priceless companion.

And even though you two have hung out after hours sometimes, it was still always a little awkward to see a coworker outside of work.

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

“I actually, um, was going to tell you at our shift tomorrow, but I just admitted my mom to the hospice too,” you say, “and…thanks a lot for telling me about it. I really appreciate it. It seems like a wonderful facility.”

Her eyes briefly widen with surprise before they soften once again. “Oh, that’s wonderful, love. I hope all goes well. And your little insurance scam worked! Good for you!”

“Shhh,” you hiss at her, looking around yourself with paranoia, “the feds are everywhere.”

She laughs, sweet in the air, before the sound settles and she looks at you with something reminiscent of well-intentioned concern. Her eyes flit to the plastic bag you were still holding behind your legs. “Hey…um, if…if you ever want some company when you come to visit your mom, just let me know. I hope you know you don’t have to do everything alone.”

You blink at her, sucking in a short breath to respond, but it only leaves you as a slight puff of air. There’s a silent gratitude that you give her, because it’s hard for you to express any feelings with words, but you’ve found that the people in your life who know you best can always read you without them.

“Thank you, Hana,” you manage to say with a slight croak to your voice because you were fighting back tears.

She smiles at you. “Take care, okay? And see ya tomorroooowwwwww,” she coos at you, coming up to you to give you a small hug, a squeeze of your upper arm, and then she heads back towards the direction of the hospice.

You watch her walk away until you can’t see her anymore. And then you head towards your car.

When you arrive at your neighborhood, you park in front of Gojo’s house. You have a feeling that you won’t be able to bear the vast emptiness of your home now that your mother is elsewhere, and so you drag your feet up the stone stairs of his house with a heavy heart instead.

The spare key that he gave you weakly pushes into the keyhole with about as much force as your fingers can manage, and you realize they almost feel atrophied.

The house is dark when you step inside, spare for the ambient street lights shining through cracked open blinds on the windows, and the curtains rustle gently from the draft of the AC, a chill that reaches you too by the time you make it to the staircase.

It doesn’t seem like Gojo’s home. A glance at the clock tells you it’s close to 8pm. You briefly consider texting him to ask where he’s at, why he’s out so late, when he’ll be home, and what’s for dinner, but you can’t even bring yourself to pull your phone out of your coat pocket.

Weak legs manage to take you upstairs and you’re about to pass through to your room when the slightly open door to the master bedroom taunts you, like a peephole into some other wordly dimension. Like the wardrobe in the chronicles of Narnia. A portal into your fake husband’s life.

With a palm pushing on the door, you slowly crack it open, and you know the anxious voices in your head are getting worse by the day when the creaking of the door hinges sounds like a lullaby to you.

Was this an invasion of privacy? And did you really care if it was?

The room is big, with a king sized bed off to the left, sheets neatly made and duvet primly tucked under, like the way hotel beds are set up. You feel a slight flush of embarrassment when you remember you haven’t been making your bed in the mornings for the past couple days you’ve been living here so far, and you wonder if Gojo would judge you for something like that. If he’d think you were a messy or undisciplined person. If he would think less of you.

Truthfully, in a lot of ways, you still felt like a child. You barely weathered a lot of your formative adolescent years when dealing with your parents’ divorce, and you’ve had to put so much of your life on pause to take care of your mom ever since she got diagnosed. So here you were, in the body of a 29-year-old woman, yet still feeling so painfully juvenile. One that forgets to make her bed in the mornings, and on most nights can’t seem to stomach anything other than cereal for dinner. It was like you were still at a party that everyone else had left, except all it ever was is hell. Your life was such a stark contrast to the lives of other adults you’ve come across. The ones that wake up at six to go on runs, the ones that have paid off mortgages with five figures in their retirement accounts, oh god, the ones that meal prep, and the ones that, all things considered, have their lives together. The ones that don’t spend at least an hour of every day, in fetal position on their bed, sobbing until tears soak through the sheets of the pillow down to the feathers like bone, because you’re so overwhelmed with stress and preparing yourself for the grief of losing your mother which you know that, no matter how hard you try to save her from, will inevitably one day come.

You used to cook dinner every night, make your bed every morning, and go to pilates on the weekends. Back when you were a little younger and healed and excited to live life. But now, you barely get by. Your priorities are with your mother. You can’t remember the last time you did anything nice for yourself, including something as simple as the luxury of getting to come home to a clean house because you hardly ever had time to clean it, not with all the doctor’s appointments you were driving your mother to, not with all the extra shifts you were picking up at the hospital to pay off your debt, not with all the times you felt too depressed to even get out of bed.

But your mother is in hospice now, so you’ve made time, right? You’ve made the decision that everyone in your life has been begging you to finally do. So why do you still feel so empty inside?

By a quick survey of the room, you notice Gojo doesn’t really have many framed photos hung up on the walls or perched up on surfaces. None, actually. Only a contemporary painting above his bed frame and then a faded vintage horror movie poster plastered up near his desk. Not terribly odd, since in your experience most men don’t really do the whole “cluttering the house with millions of photos of their family” thing until they at least have a couple of kids and some purebred dog. The thought of Gojo someday setting up a little portrait photo at his desk with his wife’s—his eventual real forever wife’s, pretty face in it, posing with their two beautiful kids, makes an oddly melancholic feeling waft through you. You wonder if he would keep a two-by-two in his wallet, too.

Your feet move one in front of the other as your finger traces the surface wood of a dresser cabinet, something that looks a little vintage and oaky, in stark contrast to the modern minimalist vibe Gojo has set up in the rest of the room. A family heirloom, maybe? There’s no dust that coats your finger, which surprises you. If you were to run your finger across your dresser at home you’d have collected enough dust to snort down your windpipes like a recreational drug. But Gojo’s a real estate agent, making a living off of dressing houses up in perfect cosplay so that monetarily stable middle class families feel inclined to buy them. So you’re not exactly surprised he’s invested in keeping his own house in pristine condition too.

There is a little bit of chaos, though. Like the shirt he has haphazardly hung over his chair at his office space over to the right. There’s a coffee mug sitting there too, porcelain and reflecting the moon light off, but upon peering inside you see that it’s half empty with stale coffee. He’s got pens sprawled across the desk, in a fashion that suggests he accidentally knocked them over in a rush, and slowly, like some grounding exercise, you place them one by one back into the paper mache pencil holder. It briefly occurs to you that he has a lot of paper mache containers of sorts around the house. You lift up the pencil cup, turning it in your hand until your eyes catch something written on it with glittery pink gel pen.

i luv u unkle toru! -yur BEST FREND 4EVUR juno!!! :D

A small smile makes it onto your face. The handwriting was messy, more like scratches than smooth lines, and nothing less than what you would expect of a child. You remember making paper mache and clay trinkets at preschool for your mom and dad when you were younger. And you’re sure if you were brave enough to open the box of memorabilia that sits in your attic some day, you’d see your own scratchy scribbled handwriting on them. An innocence that is long gone and buried, never again to be delicately placed on desks or counters for all the living.

The draft from the AC reaches you once again, brushing over your skin and causing a chill to shiver down your spine. It kicks at the curtains as well, causing them to ruffle up towards you, baring the dark outside world into the streets. And you notice in that momentary glance that there’s a roof just outside the window that overlooks the backyard. A roof? Spotted by a depressed woman going through a quarter life crisis? There was nothing more tempting than that.

The window was easy to open, which only caused unease over the revelation of how easy it would be for someone to rob this house. You make a mental note to tell Gojo to get a ring camera or security system of some sort since he doesn’t seem to have one, but you can already picture him telling you something about how statistically low the crime rates are in this neighborhood compared to all the other neighborhoods, and then you’d tell him that it’s just for your peace of mind. But whether he’d compromise or not after that, you’re really not sure.

You take a seat on the roof, a little scared as you sit because of the slight slope, but it’s comfortable once you’re settled. You sit criss-cross-apple-sauce, staring out into the neighborhood of perfectly lined up suburban houses. You’ve got a better view into some neighbors' backyards, noticing that a couple of them had pools while some of them have big gardens. There's a cat resting up on a fence in the distance. A car drives by with headlights illuminating everything in its proximity briefly before zooming off. You glance up at the sky, and notice the full moon, but it’s too cloudy to see any stars. Or perhaps it was just the light pollution from the lamps making it difficult to see.

On instinct, your hand reaches inside your coat pocket for your phone, but your knuckles hit something else instead. A moment of brief confusion flickers through your head, but then you immediately recall the last-minute purchase you made at the gas station.

Your hand pulls out the object, and then you stare down at it. Squinting your eyes a little, because it’s a sight that feels familiar but also one you haven’t seen in so long: a pack of twenty Marlboro red cigarettes.

You’ve tried a lot of things to manage your stress over the years. Excessively working out, eating a lot of sugar, going on six hour hikes to touch grass, flirting with random men at bars, fucking Choso until he was rendered speechless, multiple types of antidepressants, you almost tried smoking weed once with your roommate in college but you wimped out last second. But the habit that had gotten you through the years of 21 to 24 is held loosely in your hand right now. It’s been five years since you quit, but resolve was often a fickle thing. As the saying goes, once an addict, always an addict.

There’s a brief moment of hesitation as you slowly peel the plastic off of the back, but then it all comes back to you like a reflex you’ll never forget up to where you slide a cigar up out and then pinch it between your two fingers. Forgetting to buy a lighter with the cigarettes is definitely something you would do, but because you remembered it was something that you would do, you remembered not to do it. The flick of the flame coming to life is ASMR you didn’t know you were painfully nostalgic for, and you balance the cigarette between your lips in that sort of movie-star way people used to obsess over back in the day. But just as you bring the lighter up to the end of the cigarette, and just before you can light it—

A hand shoots out in your periphery, grabbing your wrist and entirely stalling the movement.

You gasp, lips parting enough for the cigarette to fall from them and into your lap. The hand wrapped around your wrist is large and masculine, and you briefly consider screaming, but when you snap your neck to look at the perpetrator, you see Gojo crouched down next to you on this roof. You notice he’s wearing a black suit, a tie that was loosely secure hanging from his neck into the space between his spread thighs as he’s crouched, and whatever gel he had in his hair from earlier only barely remains as strands fall over his forehead haphazardly. He looks like he’s on the other end of a long work day.

You blink at him, expression plastered with surprise, but his is only earnest. With breathtaking blue eyes that you realize he could easily use to surrender a person just by looking at them, like the way he’s looking at you right now. His lips are pressed together into a firm line, as if to suppress some emotion, but the slight crease to his brow makes you feel like you’re in trouble somehow. Like he was silently scolding you for something.

“I—” you stutter.

He lets go of your wrist and discreetly pulls the lighter out of your hand. And then his hand reaches for the pack of cigarettes you were balancing on your knee, but on some reflex that you don’t even think about, you try to snatch them away from him, and now you’re both tugging at the same pack of cigarettes.

“y/n,” he says, “let go.”

“No,” you say stubbornly.

He sighs and tugs a little harder. “Give them to me.”

“But—” you stammer, voice becoming softer to see if that’d work on him, “I’m…” Your grip on them tightens. “I’m stressed.”

He raises an eyebrow at you, then finally loses his patience and snatches them right out of your hand. He stands up from his crouched down position to toss the pack off to the side onto the roof somewhere. You’re surprised when he lets out a sigh and sits down next to you on the roof, as if he felt the obligation to. His legs stretch out in front of him, but still bent slightly at the knees, and he leans backwards with his body weight braced on his palms laid flat on wood paneling behind him. “There are better ways to relieve stress,” he tells you candidly.

“Like what?” you ask, and just when he opens his mouth to speak, you clarify, “and don’t say sex.”

He shuts his mouth and his eyes flit up to the sky for a brief second. “Damn. I didn’t have a back-up answer.”

You roll your eyes, releasing a deep breath, then draw your knees to your chest before resting your chin on top of them.

“I didn’t know you smoke,” he says after a century-long minute.

You wince a little, because you were half hoping he was going to just drop the subject all together.

You bite your lip nervously and hug your knees to your chest tighter as if to hide yourself from him. “I don’t. Well, I haven’t. Um, not for a while.”

“Huh. I see,” he says.

Another silence passes, and as he shuffles next to you, the fabric of his suit brushes against the fabric of your coat, and you’ve become entirely too aware of the feeling.

“So,” he says, breaking the awkward silence, “your mom’s in hospice now?”

You nod, enthusiastic enough to where you won’t look like you’re entirely depressed about it.

“That’s good,” he says, “no issues with the insurance?”

You shake your head. “They need you to sign some papers by the end of the week though,” you tell him. “We’ll have to go in person.”

He nods slowly to affirm he’ll make time for it. “I really hope things get better for your mom,” he says, voice soft as he stares off into neighbors homes like you had been doing ten minutes ago. You see the cat that was resting on the fence get up, do a big stretch, and start walking along the length of the fence. Your eyes briefly glance at Gojo, and you notice his gaze is tracing the cat’s path.

“My—” you start, hesitant all of a sudden by the vulnerability you already feel swelling within you, most definitely due to sitting with someone on a rooftop late at night, but you decide that you’ll be nice to him for once, “…my mom seems to remember you a lot. More than she remembers me.” You let out a small humoring laugh, as if that fact doesn’t completely destroy you. “She was blabbering to me again for the seventh time about how you apparently fixed our AC.” You try to bite your tongue, but can’t help it when you say, “although I’m pretty sure you just pressed a bunch of buttons until it started working again.”

“Yup. That’s exactly what I did.”

You roll your eyes and sigh.

Another awkward silence.

“Can I ask you a question?” you say.

“Sure.” His voice sounds deeper, like he’s sleepy.

“Why did you agree to marry me? That’s not something people just do out of nowhere.”

He glances over at you, and you flicker your eyes to him. “Why? Having regrets?” he teases, with a slight nudge of his elbow to your side.

“Just answer me.”

He lifts his palms up from behind him and leans forward, placing his hands on his knees instead. “I don’t know. If something I could do would help someone out that much, I wasn’t going to say no.”

You hum quietly, still confused by his intentions. But you’re too jaded to question them.

“It costs nothing to be nice,” he adds.

You run soothing circles over your thigh through the fabric of your jeans. For some reason, your mind wanders to Choso. Thinking of all the years you wasted staying with him even though you knew his affections were long gone, just because you didn’t want to break his heart. Only to realize that you never had that privilege in the first place.

“I think,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper as you draw your knees closer to your chest, “that sometimes it does.”

A gust of autumn wind breezes by, ruffling the trees that the two of you are at eye-level with at the moment. You're pretty sure you’ve completely lost Gojo’s interest at this point, where he’s finally too tired to deal with your oddly cryptic attitudes and overall generally displeasing vibe, assuming this based solely on his prolonged silence beside you. You’re ready for him to get up and abandon you here on this roof, left to ponder every single thing you’ve done wrong in your life. It was any second now.

“Sometimes,” he instead speaks up, and it’s so surprising to you that you jolt a little bit, “you can do everything right, and people will still find a way to fuck you over. But I don’t think that’s any reason to stop being nice to others.”

You glance over at him, your eyes widening slightly, but he just continues to peer off straight into the night. His blinks are slow, lingering on being closed for a moment before he opens them again, and you’re mesmerized by the sight. The skin under his eyes is slightly dark from exhaustion, heavy with character that makes you aware that he’s just a person too. And for what feels like the tenth time this week, you realize that he’s—…handsome. And for what feels like the tenth time this week, your heart flutters in your chest.

He scoffs suddenly and dusts his hands off. “I sound like a fucking youth pastor.” He lets out an exhale before suddenly standing up onto his feet before you can think more on it. He looks off into the night again and lets out another exhale that sounds more like a sigh this time. “God, it’s getting a lot colder these days. Might have to start running the heater.”

You blink up at him with no commentary to add.

He looks down at you. His face is relaxed, but you can tell those eyes are distracted. A shimmering blue ocean in its own world while he attempts to stay present in this one.

He holds his hand out to you, and you stare at it blankly like you’ve got no clue what he intends for you to do with it. But you finally take the hint and curl your hand around his palm so that he can pull you up onto your feet too.

You stumble a little, falling forward from the sudden blood flow to your brain, but he holds you steady by the strong grip of his hands on your elbows. He’s close to you, close enough to where you can smell the faint lingering scent of his cologne. Something different than that expensive one he wore to the courthouse, but it’s comforting somehow. A fragrance that’s more him. And you feel nervous as you look up at him underneath pale moonlight.

He lets go of your elbows. You feel cold from the loss of his touch. But his right hand moves to gently hold your left hand in his palm, holding it curled as his thumb barely grazes the stone you wear on your ring finger; the one he gave you.

The way his thumb prods at the silver band is like he’s inspecting its quality, as if it has to pass some test to be worthy of sitting on your finger. Or maybe just any finger, if you were to quell the delusion. You’re not sure if he’s satisfied with his inspection.

“Where did you get it—” you blurt out.

His gaze flickers up to your face briefly before he’s back to examining the ring. “It was my mom’s.”

Your mouth gapes slightly in shock, heart dropping a little in your chest, and all of a sudden you feel guilty. Guilty that he put his mother’s ring on your finger for something that was fake, something that was essentially a business deal, something exchanged to you out of fraud when it was a precious family heirloom that should be exchanged with love. And maybe he didn’t care about it much, some people don’t care about the sentiments of objects. But your mind thinks of the oaky vintage dresser in his room, so out of place in the aesthetic of its surroundings, a decision you can only imagine him of all people, mr. “everything in this house has to look like an IKEA catalog”, would do if the dresser held some importance to him that was more than meets the eye. And so you’re compelled to think that maybe this ring did, too.

“Why would you give me this?! You could’ve just gotten a cheap fake diamond ring from a pawn shop and called it a day,” you ask him, suddenly feeling burdened by it.

“Well I wasn’t exactly given much time to think of other options.”

“But—” you start, only to realize you have no counter arguments for that.

He lets out a huh noise, like the sound someone makes when they’re pleasantly surprised by something, as he looks down at your hand that he still held in his. “It’s kinda crazy that it fits you perfectly. I wasn’t sure.”

Your mind wanders to when he slipped the ring onto your finger in the courtroom, followed by the kiss. Soft, sweet, the lingering warm sensation of his palm on your cheek as he cupped your face, the same way those heartthrob actors do in all those romance movies and kdramas that you watch on Friday nights while snuggled up in a blanket, wondering when anyone will ever kiss you like that. You remember the ghost sensation of his hand hovering over the small of your back, fingers lightly grazing the nape of your neck, his frame blocking out everything around you as he kissed you, just to pull away and for the two of you to then pretend like it never happened, as if it wasn’t one of the sweetest kisses you’ve ever known.

You slowly pull your hand out of his, the moment feeling too tender for your liking, and you clear your throat before flitting your eyes up to his.

“Rule #1,” you remind him with a soft whisper, “no touching.”

You purse your lips, watching his round eyes blink once, then twice, before he shoves his hands in his suit pockets. He rocks back and forth on his heels for a few seconds, nodding slowly in submission, and then he turns on them to head back to the house. You’re standing a little stunned from the abrupt ending to this trance of a moment on the roof, and you’re also a little surprised with how your chest is heaving a little bit with fast breaths, but you eventually snap out of it to follow him inside too.

You two make it back inside the house, with little words exchanged. You pretend to not notice the way Gojo tilts his head at his desk, like he’s confused about why it looks tidier than when he left it. You’re prepared to feign innocence or ignorance, but he doesn’t press you about it.

“Y’know,” he says from behind you, his chest briefly brushing against the back of your head as he pushes the bedroom door in front of you open so that you can head out into the loft, “those oversized 1800s-esque nightgowns you’ve been wearing around the house kinda make you look like a less-hot version of Ebenezer Scrooge.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

“Sign right here for me, sir.”

You watch as the nurse slides the papers across the high-raised counter of the hospice nursing desk towards Gojo, his eyebrows narrowing as his eyes skim the words on the paper and land at the highlighted lines where he’s been intended to sign. You feel nervous for some reason, as if he’d suddenly find something disagreeable and refuse to sign, then take you to the courthouse first thing to finalize a divorce and send you off to prison while claiming he was blackmailed into the whole marriage in the first place.

Instead, he pulls a pen from the chest pocket of his suit jacket, clicking the end of it and scribbling his signature onto the paper with some jet black ink that looks like it takes a second to dry. How pretentious of him. The pink pom-pom pen was right there.

The nurse behind the counter continues to chat with him about something, blah blah dependents, blah blah tax claims, blah blah you’ll receive an itemized bill in the mail. You’re trying your best to eavesdrop in on the conversation, but most of your senses are being occupied by examining all your surroundings. When you dropped your mother off at the hospice, your feelings were at the forefront of conscience, but now that you’ve had a couple days to come down from that overwhelming emotional high, you’re here to scope out the quality of this place you’ve just dumped your mom at.

The facility is clean and sleek, with a color theme of red and an ocean blue across the signs, the furniture, even with the paperwork they hand out. All the workers had color-coded scrubs based on their occupation or specialty, and none of them had stains on the fabric. You take a glance down at the modest leather pumps you were wearing past the creases of the long skirt, and notice that the floor was shimmering off their reflection in a perfect polish. It wasn’t bad, this place.

“Thanks, you too,” you hear Gojo say to the nurse behind the counter. He has a professional smile on his face, but still kind and genuine, which makes the woman at the computer something bashful and unable to make eye contact. He folds something that looks like a receipt into his chest pocket before tucking his pen back in there too and then turns to face you. You make a mental note to pay him back for whatever he just paid for, at least once you move some money around.

Your eyebrows lift, feeling a little dazed as you blink at him blankly.

“Alright,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets, the sound of his shoes on the polished hospital floors satisfactorily tapping in your ears as he took a couple steps towards you, “where’s your mom’s room?”

“Huh?”

“What’s her room number?” he asks you.

“Y-You wanna go see her??”

“Of course I want to,” he says, “she’s my mother-in-law.”

You roll your eyes and pet the fabric of your skirt to smooth the wrinkles out. “You’re getting a little too invested in this role of fake husband.”

“I get to annoy you all day and ride the adrenaline rush of committing a federal crime,” he says, “of fucking course I’d get invested.”

You sigh, tossing some of your hair to behind your shoulder before glancing up at the signs, squinting slightly to locate the ward where your mother’s room is, before you hear an extremely high-pitched and somewhat catty feminine voice call out from behind you. You glance at Gojo’s face as he peers off to whoever’s behind you, and you see him visibly stiffen a little.

“Is that Dayton county’s sexiest realtooorrr???” the voice purrs, and you turn on your heel to see a blonde bombshell of a woman clacking her kitten heels down the glistening floors of the hospice, with another brunette bombshell just a few paces behind her. Bombshell #2 sighs something like “it issss” before they walk right up to your fake husband and take turns at giving him a playful squeeze of his bicep. You have to physically stop your jaw from dropping at the sight.

“Wow! Ladies, so–...so great to see you two,” he says out of polite obligation, and you immediately clock the fact that he doesn’t address them by name.

Bombshell #1 turns to look at you, all of her hair moving as one solid entity with the motion from all the hair spray that’s probably holding it up, and she points at you with a long slender finger that narrows into a french-tip. “Oh who’s this?? Another one of your clients??”

“Oh, no, she’s my–”

“I’m his wife,” you interrupt him, irritated for some reason.

Both the women chirp something out like oh! before their faces twist with confusion.

“I didn’t know you were married,” Bombshell #2 says in a thick New Jersey accent.

Gojo lifts his left hand up, the silver band on his hand glimmering under fluorescent hospice lighting. “Very happily,” he says, as if someone was holding a gun to his head.

Bombshell #1 crosses her arms, and you try not to stare at how nice her boobs look in the low scoop-neck jaguar print top she was wearing. You were no better than a man. And now you’re pissed off at the idea of Gojo glancing down too, but a flick of your gaze up to his face tells you he’s safe. For now.

“You weren’t married when I asked you if you were a month ago,” Bombshell #1 sneers at him. It’s true, the math wouldn’t make sense, but in his defense, this marriage was a fraud.

“Or when you took me out for dinner last week after I bought my house,” Bombshell #2 snarls with an undertone of hurt.

Gojo clears his throat beside you before pointing at Bombshell #2. “How is that, by the way?” he asks in an attempt to change the subject, “the half acre down on Maple Ave, right? You, uh, enjoying the pool?”

The woman let out an offended scoff and–were her eyes sheening with tears?? She puts her hands on her hips. “No. Mine is the three bedroom house with the cedar gazebo on 14th street.”

Her friend next to her rolls her eyes and smacks her gum between her cheek. “I’m the one that bought the half acre down on Maple Ave, jerk. Ugh!” She grabs her friend’s arm with a high-pitched hmph noise leaving her throat, and you can hear the other one sniffling subtly as she wobbles on her heels with her friend’s pull of her arm.

Right before leaving the two of you alone, Bombshell #1 turns to you and says, “I hope you find someone who treats you better,” and then they storm off together down the hallway, their perfectly blow-dried hair bouncing in sync with each stomp.

You blink at the sight, a little flabbergasted from the interaction, and then flit your faze up to Gojo. You see him awkwardly scratching at the back of his head with a grimace on his stupidly handsome face.

“That’s what you get for being a manwhore,” you tell him.

“I’m not a manwhor–”

“You went on a date with another woman while you were maaaaarrrieeeddd?!” you coo as you let out a fake gasp and slap your cheeks with your hands, “despicable, really.”

He lets out some disgruntled noise, the source coming from deep within his throat. “No. We weren’t fake-married yet,” he vindicates himself, “and it wasn’t a date. I just bought her dinner as a congrats for buying a house. Not a big deal. I do it for all my clients.”

“Satoru. You do realize you’re leading these women on, right? I mean, I’ve seen the way you talk to them. Even if you think you’re just being friendly, please know that your definition of friendly is most people’s definition of flirting.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s true.”

He raises an eyebrow as he glances down at you. “Alright, how come this flirting in disguise of friendliness hasn’t worked on you then?”

You scoff in disbelief before crossing your arms. Maybe you did deserve a better fake husband. “You’re never friendly with me. You’re always rude to me.”

“What? I’m not always rude to you.”

“Well, you’re certainly much more rude to me than you are to other women,” you say, tapping the tip of your shoe with irritation.

“Can we not do this right now? We’re in the middle of a hospice.”

“God, you’re such a cop-out,” you mumble as you forcefully push past him towards the hallway that’ll lead you to your mother. You can hear that Gojo’s on your tail, following you down one of the more dimly lit hallways, and you can tell he needs to stall the strides of his Daddy Longlegs to not overtake your pace.

“What the fuck is a cop-out?” he asks you from behind.

“Look it up on urban dictionary, Grandpa. Unless you don’t know what the Internet is, either,” you spat.

You waltz right up to your mother’s room just in time to see a nurse making her way out with a clipboard in her hands. She glances over to you when she sees you approaching in her periphery.

“Hi! How can I help you?” she asks.

“Is it alright if we visit my mother?” you ask her.

“Oh! Sure, let me just clean her bed pan really quick.”

Your brow furrows. “B-Bedpan?? Why is she using a bedpan??”

The nurse stops in her movements. “Well, yesterday and today, that’s just what she has decided to use.”

You immediately become hostile. “That’s not right. She never needed to use one at home. Why is she suddenly using one here? Is that not a clear sign of deterioration? The restrooms must not be kept well enough here if she doesn’t want to use them.”

The nurse becomes something meek, her eyes widening as her mouth gapes slightly. “Ma’am,” she squeaks out, “we see this commonly with patients as they begin to adjust to hospice life. We’ll urge her to use the restroom, but as of right now, we need to prioritize what she finds most comfortable.”

Your expression softens, your shoulders relaxing from their tense position, and you duck your head a little with guilt. “Right…I’m sorry.”

The nurse presses her lips together with a well-meaning smile before shuffling into the room and closing the door behind her. You sigh and lean your back against the wall next to the number plate, cheeks flushing slightly from the confrontation. You have no idea how loud your voice was or who heard you. But you try to convince yourself that you’re just stressed and trying to look out for your mother, although the guilt still sits.

You glance up to see Gojo staring at you with slightly wide eyes, his hands shoved into his pockets, and he tilts his head to study your expression.

“What?” you snap at him.

“Are you doing okay?”

“Just fine, thanks.”

“Are you sure?”

“Satoru,” you cut his questioning off by raising a palm into the air, “just—…just stop.”

His brow furrows together slightly, but before he can show any further concern, the nurse exits the room and holds the door open for the two of you.

“All set!” she chirps, and Gojo moves to hold the door open in her stead, and then the nurse bolts down to disappear somewhere down the hallway.

You hear Gojo let out a small huff of a scoff as he stares down in the direction the nurse ran off in. “Glad to know I’m not the only one that’s scared of you.”

You roll your eyes and walk into the room through the open door.

Your mother lays in her bed, looking out the window with her hands resting on top of layers of white linen sheets, her skin looking slightly paler than usual. You approach her bedside slowly and she finally turns her head to look at you.

“Hi mom,” you gently greet her, sitting down on the stool beside her bed, “how are you doing?”

Her eyes dart across the features of your face, and you briefly glance towards the wall to the right where you see Gojo standing from a slight distance.

“Oh, hi dear,” she says with a smile, and relief washes over you.

You match her smile with your own. “Mom, I brought someone here to see you.” You glance over at Gojo, who starts to close distance now as he approaches the foot of the bed, “this is Satoru, my husband.”

Your mother’s eyes widen, “Oh! I know him,” she scoldingly swats a hand at you, like you’ve embarrassed her somehow by assuming that she doesn’t know who he is, “he’s my neighbor!”

You sigh, “yes mom, the one that fixed the A/C?” You attempt to finish her sentence for her.

She looks confused for a moment, but slightly nods as if to avoid any further confusion for herself. “But—…but, why…” she trails off and then looks at you, “I’m sorry, are you my nurse?”

Your shoulders drop slightly. “No, mom, it’s me. Your daughter. Do you remember?”

Her face scrunches before it entirely relaxes to keep some image of composure despite the haze you know she feels in her head. “Oh…yes, yes…my little girl. I remember you, of course!”

Your eyes become layered with a slight sheen of tears, “I’m glad.”

“Where’s your father?” she asks, “he said he’d bring me some��oh dear, what—…he said he’d bring me tea. I’ve been waiting.”

“Mom, dad is—” you pause for a moment to think on your feet. You could either tell the truth, or a little white lie. You never know what to do. And either one comes with either guilt or sorrow. “Well, he’ll be here soon, I just wanted to come see you.”

“Oh okay…” she trails off, her eyes squinting at you once more with that same look of confusion on it, but then they drift towards Gojo. “Oh you’re a very handsome young man! You look just like my neighbor.”

Your eyes flicker up to Gojo, and he walks up to your side by your mom’s bed. “Yes, Mrs. l/n, I am your neighbor.”

“With the lemon tree!”

“The avocado tree,” you correct her with a small sigh. “And he’s my husband mom. And also our neighbor.”

“Oh I see I see…” she says, looking up at him, and in a moment that shocks you, she holds her hand up for him to take.

There’s a slight moment of surprise on his face too, but he accepts her frail hand in his, and you glance over to your mom to see her look at him with some look of peace on her face.

“Oh, sit down here, won’t you?” she tells him, and you both blink at her in a moment of hesitation.

He pulls a stool up to the side of the bed right next to you and takes a seat down onto it. Your mother holds his hand with both of hers now, soothing her palm over the back of it before she taps on it lightly.

“Oh, my little girl is very sweet. She would bring me flowers from the garden when she was,” she glances at you, confused once more, “well I remember her when she was so little but she looks…a little older now. Ah, but she would bring me such pretty flowers.”

Your heart aches in your chest. You never knew what version of you your mother would remember. Some days, you’re still supposed to be an angsty teenager that shuts doors in her face, some days you were just as you are right now, and other days, you were just her little girl. And it confused her, the image of not seeing you in the way that she remembers. In the only way she knew how.

“You’ll take good care of my sweet girl, won’t you?” she asks him.

And it knocks the wind out of you.

It drops your heart to the center of the earth.

The thought that, after so many moments where she doesn’t remember you, she still knows that you’re someone she wants to keep safe.

Your mouth gapes slightly, tears welling in your eyes and you try your best to blink them away, but you see Gojo’s hand slip out from being held by your mother’s hands, to instead use both of his to hold hers. Your eyes snap to his face, and you see that same earnest expression you’ve been growing used to seeing these days.

“Yes,” he responds, eye contact level with hers, “I will.”

A small puff of air leaves your lips, a single tear streaming down your cheek and you quickly swipe your trembling fingers to remove any evidence of it before you huff out a shaky, “excuse me.” And then you’re standing up off the stool, and in a few hurried steps across the room as more tears continue to stream down your face, you make it to the door to push out into the suffocating air of the hallway.

It’s hard to breathe, huffs and puffs barely leaving your lips as you struggle to pull air into your lungs while you storm down the hallway at a fast pace, your heels clicking underneath you in a way that only sets you off further. Suddenly, all the sounds around you make you sick to your stomach, a wave of nausea washing over you, and your nose burns with the intensity of the tears that continue to stream down your face. A few hospice staff look at you with concerned expressions, and you eventually reach a heavy-duty door that leads you out into a secluded staircase hallway where the dim lighting serves to relax at least some of your senses, but you still feel like you’re about to pass out.

Even in the haze of your emotions, there’s this glimmer of a memory that comes to mind. One from when you were younger and you were pushed on the playground at school. You cried and cried and cried in your mother’s arms, but even then, you didn’t want her to baby you. You would say to her, I’m a big girl now! in that same way a child knows nothing of what it truly means to brave the world.

That little girl had no idea that one day, there would be moments where she wouldn’t be remembered as her mother’s little girl anymore.

No matter how old you grow, you will always be my little girl, your mother’s voice echoes to you, the feeling of her squeezing you in her arms as she holds your sobbing little form in hers casting a ghost sensation across your skin.

In a mother’s eyes, you’ll always be her baby.

And that’s why it hurts.

Because it’s all fake.

It’s phony.

It’s not real.

This arrangement you have with Gojo.

And if your mother were to die tomorrow, there would be no one to take care of her little girl anymore.

Not in the way she believes there will be.

Of all the white lies, this one pierces you straight through your heart in a way that leaves you gasping for air.

Amidst your whirlwind of thoughts, you hear the door push open harshly, and when you glance over, you see Gojo standing in this dimly lit hallway as he turns his head quickly to the left and sees you standing there.

“Hey,” he says, catching his breath as he lightly jogs up to you, “hey, hey, hey,” he repeats with more concern now when he sees the state you’re in, and he seamlessly pulls you into a hug, your cheek pressing against his chest that feels warm even through the fabric of his suit jacket and shirt, and that familiar scent of him completely engulfs you.

You sob quietly, wiping your snot on his tie and your tears on the felt fabric beside it, your hands balled into tiny fists at your chest, squeezed between the two of you. You feel him tuck your head under his chin and his arms wrap around you tighter. You don’t even realize it at first, but suddenly, it has become easier to breathe.

Then, you wail, and you cry, and you sob, because you don’t have the words to even explain how you feel, about not just this, but with everything, a buildup of everything that has been suffocating you in your life that just comes crashing down on you all at once.

“I know,” he says, his palm resting on the back of your head as he holds your face to his chest, his voice soothing in your ears while you sob until there’s nothing left to cry. “I know.”

You two stay like this for another minute or so as you come down from the cries, your remnant sniffling echoing in the hallway while you wipe more of your snot on his jacket. You make the first move to pull your face away from his chest, but he still keeps his arms wrapped around you when you look up at him.

With your gaze darting across his face, you take in the blue in his eyes. Eyes that are looking at you so softly it’s suddenly hard to breathe once more. And when those eyes flit to your lips, your mouth parts slightly as you two breathe in unison.

It’s possible that you could have dreamed the moment you saw him lean down slightly towards you, his eyes still set on your lips, but it didn’t matter because you’re pushing him away with strong fists before you can even register the thought in your head.

He lets go of you entirely, his eyes wide once more, and you glance down at your feet.

A tender moment, just like on the roof, broken just because you can’t handle that—…that way, that intense way that he looks at you. New rule, no looking at me longingly like you want to kiss me. I won’t allow it.

“I want to go home,” you whisper, still examining your shoes. And you suddenly feel embarrassed that he had to see you this way. He’s supposed to be scared and intimidated by you, not holding you in his arms while you cry.

He’s silent for a moment, but you can tell he’s searching for things to say. “You don’t want to say bye to your mom before we go?”

You swipe your palm against the wetness on your cheek. “No. I just want to go home.”

“y/n,” he tried to convince you.

You finally look up at him. “Please.”

He breathes in a few breaths as he studies the features of your face in a way that makes you feel so seen that it’s frightening. But he slowly nods, then says,

“Okay.”

[end of chapter 4]

a/n. hi friendsss i hope you enjoyed :'') yea like i said at the a/n in the beginning, this chapter is a slight off-tangent from last chapter, but ch5 will continue with a lot of the stuffs that were brought up in ch3. but yea i wanted to explore the whole process of emotions reader would go through putting her mom in hospice, since it kinda felt like a big thing, hence why it got its own chapter. aaa i hope to see you in the next one!! much love from me :''0

➸ take me to chapter five!

note: please do not ask me for updates or when i will next update (read rules)

🏷�� @tremendousbouquetflower @semra4 @noctuaism @gojonegs @reinam00n

@bloopsstuff @bbyxxm @yungbloode @elloredef @spriteshawtyy

@joemama-2 @luniunia @4y3sh4 @ironhottubstranger @lushafterglow

@hermizery @manyno @idiot-juice-enthusiast @fairyflorasworld @teramisuyhin

@mmeerraa @bnha-free-writing @xenop0p @spaghettinewt @pngjpn

@anniegojo @rirk-ke @chiyokoemilia @higurumapet @pickuptruck01

@electrckchild @vi-ola666 @arishaxml @lavender-hvze @starmapz

@sxnkuna @billiondollarworth @fallintothechasm @mavvsmm @satorubluu

@ricaliscious @satxoru @oyaoya-bungeegum @satowooo @samistars

@ifartmangos @andeverden @13-09-01 @lindyloomoo @tvdumarvelhpsimp

note: i’m starting to transition towards tagging interacts to make sure i’m tagging active readers! but as always let me know if/when your taglist preferences change :)

taglist is closed

1K notes · View notes

waffliesinyoface · 10 months ago

Text

a fun thing in the naruto universe is how names work

because like, in japan, the polite thing to do is call people by their LAST names, with given names being like. a friends/family thing?

except, in the naruto universe, they had the clan wars, which went on for GENERATIONS before the hidden villages were formed. And clan tensions were so tight that if you introduced yourself by your last name, someone might just try to kill you because your clan is allied with a clan thats allied with another clan who is an enemy of the person you're talking to.

obviously, this was a hassle.

so, there was like, an unspoken rule of only giving your first name, as seen with Hashirama and Madara. Because if you didn't know for a fact that someone was a senju or an uchiha, you could just treat them as another ninja and mutually decide not to kill each other. Things like the sharingan or any notable techniques would be a dead giveaway, but as long as you're not fighting, everyone can just. Politely not ask questions.

but also, because clans are important, they still want to have something which ties the clan together, if last names are omitted from conversation with outsiders.

This is less important in the modern era, but it's still present - everyone in naruto's academy class, even students who aren't friends, exclusively use their classmates first names. Even the teacher isn't immune, he's called Iruka-sensei, not Umino-sensei.

Which is why most clans have first names with common, repeated elements, especially where the main line comes in.

Ino/Shika/Chou is the obvious one, but you also have things like the Hyuuga having a history of the first-born having their name start with Hi (Hizashi, Hiashi, Hinata, Himawari, etc.) or the senju having -rama (Hashirama, Tobirama, Kawarama), the Inuzuka being named after animal body parts (Tsume - claw, Kiba - fang, Hana - nose), all sorts of stuff like that.

It works both in universe (clan loyalties and traditions) and out of universe (group similar characters together)!! its really neat!!!

kishimoto did a lot of dumb things with the Lore and consistently forgot details he'd written about earlier on, but when he DOES have a consistent worldbuilding thing it's super cool to think about.

#naruto #does anyone else care about ninjaland linguistics or just me #also as a side note: this is why Hasami is named Hasami. because it can be read as ''pincers''.

2K notes · View notes

yinyuedijun · 7 months ago

Text

SINCERITY

Flirting with Suo is never a good idea—you can never tell whether he means to charm you or make fun of you when you do it. Sometimes it feels like both. Occasionally it feels mean. More often than not, you like to entertain it. But you can't right now, not when his blood is all over the washroom sink. Your manager will be furious about the mess, and also about the fact that you're giving first aid to three delinquents while you're on the clock. If Suo makes one more joke about marrying you, you'll probably throw up and cry. (Or: Suo, Nirei, and Sakura get into a fight in the red light district and go to you to get patched up. Suo takes the opportunity to tease you mercilessly.)

4.5k words, suo x reader with implied one-sided sakura x reader, sfw with mature themes. set post-canon (they are all 18-19 years old), non-canon backstory details for suo and sakura (speculative as of ch. 146). fem reader – references to gendered professions, e.g. hostessing; reader wears a dress for her job in a girls’ bar. warning for inaccurate depictions of first aid! dividers by @/cafekitsune.

Suo’s never liked your job.

You suppose this is fair. The feeling is mutual. You’ve never liked the fact that Suo chose to go to a delinquent school rather than a proper high school, and he’s never liked the fact that you chose to drop out of your proper high school to go work in the red light district—first at a kyabakura, and now at a girls’ bar. His master, who also happens to be your master, has always told you that this was a natural reaction on his part. Having a secondary school certificate is important, after all. But Suo’s disapproval of your income sources, no matter how politely or subtly phrased, has always felt like it runs deeper than simple concern for your education.

Still, this has never stopped him from visiting you at your place of work, though he only tends to come by under the worst possible circumstances—tonight worse than any other.

When you see the three of them limping through the clamour and heat of the red light district—the neon glow of the street making the blood smeared across Suo’s face shine vibrantly—you entirely forget that you're on the clock. You chuck your sign onto the ground (3000¥ per hour! it reads) as you cut a path toward them, almost tripping in your stiletto heels. Your customer service voice gives way to your regular one, which is so outraged that it startles everyone around you.

“Suo, you motherfucker—are you trying to lose the only eye you have left?!”

Suo is unbothered. His smile is calm and deeply shameless as you approach him. It’s nothing like Nirei, who cringes at the furious look you give him, or Sakura, who looks like a deer caught in headlights when you round on him instead. Like he doesn’t know what to do at the fact that someone is worrying over him, and especially not when that person is wearing an extremely revealing evening gown. For a minute, you think he's going to bolt.

But Suo keeps him there, grip tight on his arm.

“Hi,” he says brightly, like there isn't blood all over his face and shoulder. “Are you busy? We might need to trouble you.”

“Of course I'm busy! I'm in the middle of a shift!” you fume at him. But you still extract Sakura from him, scruffing him by the neck before he can clam up and run. You pull him in the direction of your bar, and gesture for the other two to follow. “Hurry up before my manager sees you.”

Smuggling three delinquents into the washroom of a girls’ bar is not a skill you thought you'd ever need, but it is one that you've become an expert in. This is at least the third time you've done it. The Furin trio rarely ever loses fights, but they occasionally slip up in the part of the red light district that isn't controlled by Roppo-Ichiza. This is somewhat unavoidable, as Keyaki Street is a different beast from Keisei Street. It isn't just delinquents here, but bona fide criminals. “Like, actual fucking Yakuza,” you grouse at Suo for the millionth time. You wipe at the blood remaining on his face—most of it you've already rinsed off, staining the melamine sink with iron—and the paper towel in your hand blooms red.

“But these guys weren't Yakuza,” he says cheerfully.

“They still pulled weapons on you! Bladed weapons!”

“Mm… well, that's true. I'm sorry.”

You scowl at him. “No, you're not.”

“No, I'm not.” He’s still smiling. “In our defense, we didn't have much of a choice. They were about to do something terrible to an innocent person,” he says, and you deflate a little, because you know Suo can't stand to see injustice. This is something you love very dearly about him, and also a quality of his that constantly raises your blood pressure. But then you roll your eyes when he happily adds, “And in my defense, it’s all our Captain’s fault!”

“Oi!” Sakura yells from one of the stalls, where he’s sitting and holding a bag of ice to a knot on his head. “Wasn’t my fault we ended up fighting. They were practically beggin’ to have their asses kicked.”

“You did provoke them, Sakura,” Nirei says. He's in the other stall, trying to stay off his sprained ankle.

“Well, they were dangerous! Not like you wanted to just leave them alone either,” Sakura grumbles, and Nirei apologises, though Suo accurately points out there is no need for him to. After hearing this story, you can't help but agree, and you suppose you shouldn't have expected any differently. After three years at Furin, Sakura is no longer the type to pick fights for no reason. Whatever those guys were up to must have been pretty bad for him to start shit in unfamiliar territory.

Still. The red light district is what it is. Touts, street gangs, and Yakuza are constantly causing problems here, with violence of a scale and nature that Bofurin simply don't see on their own turf. Your street in particular makes someone like Endo look like a joke. “You should still learn to exercise some restraint,” you say to Sakura. “And you”—you give Suo a miserable look—“you know the area. You should have known better. At the very least, you should have called me for backup.”

“But you were on the clock,” Suo points out, and you frown. Despite having absolutely no need, you take out an alcohol wipe and swipe it over his cut. He winces.

“I'm still on the clock now,” you reply, voice dry, “and here you are, distracting me anyway. My boss is going to be on my ass about it if I don't bring in any customers tonight, you know.”

“We can be your customers,” Suo offers.

“You aren't old enough to drink!”

“Neither are you, yet you work here.” His gaze has turned a little sharp. His voice too. You blink, suddenly mollified.

“...okay. If each of you buys a drink after this, I’ll call us even.” Then you glance down at his changshan, which is sliced through, the pearly silk stained red at the shoulder. He’s insisted that the wound is unserious and said that he'd rather clean up his face first, and you're starting to question his priorities. “That is, if you don't have to go to the hospital after this.”

“I don't.”

“I don't know if I believe you.” You pull out some polysporin. “Come closer.”

Suo could do this on his own. His hands aren't incapacitated. But he humours you, as he's always humoured you, and allows you dab his cut with the antibiotic. You feel a little sentimental as you do it, and almost a little sad. Doing this reminds you of when he was a kid who had just started learning martial arts. Granted, he never got any real cuts back then, but sometimes he’d scrape his knees or his elbows or—god forbid—his face, and you would plaster bandaids all over him when he did. But none of those were real injuries.

More than anything, doing this reminds you of when he lost his eye. The state that he was in after the accident. The way his face was bandaged after the surgery. The texture of the gauze against your fingers when you asked to try swapping out the dressings for him.

If Suo notices the way your lip is trembling, he doesn't comment on it.

“You’re so mean—how come you never believe anything I say?” he asks. You press the gauze to his cut with more pressure than necessary, and he blinks. He opens his mouth again, but then the door rattles violently.

“Sorry!” you yell. “Washroom’s closed for cleaning!” You wince as you hear complaints in reply—you’ve been closed for half an hour!—and shoot Suo a sour look as the customer leaves. “I’m really risking it all for you three,” you remark.

“I'll make it up to you,” Suo says. “I'll stick around the whole night and buy as many drinks as you want. Your manager won't be able to hassle you about anything then.”

“No way. You're not wasting that much money on the red light district.” You frown. “Master will kill me if I let you piss away your inheritance like that.”

“I’m not wasting my money on the red light district. I'm wasting it on you.”

“Well, I'm employed at a girls’ bar, so when you waste money on me, you are in fact spending it on the red light district.”

“Then you should quit so I can spend as much money on you as I want.”

“Quit and then live on what income?” You set aside the first aid kit and grab some more paper towel. “Take off your shirt.”

“Oh? Right here? Right now?” His eye goes wide. “How forward.”

Sakura coughs very, very loudly from the stall. If you weren't so used to Suo saying this kind of thing just to mess with you, you'd probably do the same. In fact, you'd probably choke on your spit and die on the spot. But as it is, you only sigh and start unbuttoning Suo’s changshan, starting at the high collar. Any sentimentality or concern you previously felt is quickly drowned out by annoyance.

“Suo.”

“Don’t worry—I don't mind,” he adds. “I thought you'd never ask. I just didn't think it’d happen here. And so suddenly.”

“Don’t do that. I can't do this today.”

“Don’t do what?” he says innocently. He lets you slip his changshan off one shoulder. To your relief, the cut does look very shallow—he’s too quick for anything other than a bullet to land a serious hit on him, you guess—but you still swallow when you see it. It looks like he's bled a lot more than he probably actually has.

Or you hope so, anyway.

“Joke like that,” you reply after a moment. “It's very mean.”

“I’m not joking about anything.” You feel his eye on you as you start dabbing at all the red on his skin, the paper towel in your hands blotting crimson as if with ink. Your breath shakes as you study the wound. He lifts his hand, his knuckle brushing against your cheek. You smack it away, but he doesn't seem bothered. “I was being very serious,” he continues. “Quit working in the red light district and let me support you instead.”

“Suo,” you say, your voice flat, “there is no job you could qualify for on this planet that will let you earn more than what I'm making now. If anything, you should let me support you.”

“Ah,” he says brightly. “I get it now—you want me to be your trophy husband!”

Now you are choking on your spit and you do think you're dying. Sakura sounds like he's not doing much better—something bangs loudly against the washroom stall, and you assume it’s his forehead. Even Nirei is affected, not-so-subtly clearing his throat.

“I do not want you to be my trophy husband.”

“Just a regular husband, then?” he asks. “That’s alright. If I joined the Yakuza, I could make plenty of money. You could even stay at home if you wanted.”

“Suo you motherfucker you are not joining the fucking Yakuza! And I wouldn't be a stay at home wife!”

“Oh? You wouldn't want to be?”

“No, god! Do you know how much I could make if I scored a hostess gig at a high-end place? Why would I ever turn down that kind of money?!”

“Ah, so you want us to be dual income?”

“Of course I would want us to be dual income!”

“You could get a different job and we could still be dual income.”

“There’s no other job that would pay as well.”

Suo sighs, and your brow twitches. You've always been suspicious about why he disapproves of your choice in career. It’s not in his disposition to judge people, but sometimes you still worry that he's doing it to you.

“What,” you ask, “would you be so against marrying a hostess?”

“No, not at all. But I'd be worried if my spouse worked somewhere unsafe. What if you end up at a Yakuza-owned club?”

You pause, startled at the abruptly earnest tone of his voice. Suddenly you feel guilty.

“Oh… well, I wouldn’t work at a Yakuza-owned club.”

“Hm… then I guess it's fine.” Suo nods, as if arriving at a decision. “We’ll get married, we’ll be dual income, and neither of us will work for the Yakuza.”

“Yes, exactly. We’ll get married, we’ll be dual income, and neither of us—” Your eyes go wide as you realize what you're saying. You feel yourself flushing. “Wait.”

“What? Is there a problem?”

“Suo.”

“Don’t tell me you're going to change your mind now. That would just be mean.”

“I'm being mean?” you ask, flabbergasted.

“Well, yes. You don't think it would hurt if you changed your mind about marrying me? And so soon after agreeing, too.”

You stare at him in disbelief. You have a number of possible retorts that cross your mind, and somehow you pick the least relevant one: “You can't trick someone into marrying you.”

“Then can I trick you into dating me?”

“Suo! I said don't do that!”

“Don’t do what?”

“Joke about that kind of thing!”

“I'm not joking about anything.”

“Yes you are? You don't actually want to date me. Stop saying that you do!”

Suo leans in. He stares at you, his gaze distinctly vulpine. It's very attractive, and also intimidating, and you should be used to it by now, but your heart rate ticks up anyway. You swallow thickly as his thumb glides along your cheek again, your skin scorching beneath his fingertips. You forget to bat his hand away this time.

“You’re so mean,” he repeats, voice lilting, “how come you never believe anything I say?”

He's baiting you. He's obviously baiting you, and you consider for a moment whether you want to bite.

Flirting with Suo is never a good idea—you can never tell whether he means to charm you or make fun of you when you do it. Sometimes it feels like both. Occasionally it feels mean. More often than not, you like to entertain it. But you can't right now. His shirt’s stained with such a bright red that it keeps distracting you, just like the blood he's left all over the washroom sink. Your manager will be furious about the mess, and also about the fact that you're giving first aid to three delinquents while you're on the clock. You think they'd go broke before they could spend enough money here to appease her, were she to discover the four of you. You might even lose your job. Then you wouldn't be able to support yourself anymore, let alone Suo, who cracks jokes as easily about being your trophy husband as he does about being Leonardo DiCaprio.

If he makes one more joke about marrying you, you'll probably throw up and cry.

“You're not being very gentlemanly right now,” you finally point out. He raises a brow.

“No?”

“No. I'd even say you're being a menace, actually. Doing a very bad job of”—you almost laugh as you say this, because you've heard this speech so many times—“engaging with my feelings. Not being supportive at all. Really falling off the staircase to adulthood, you know.”

Suo studies you. Something complicated passes through his eye before he pulls away, his expression now back to normal. It's deceptive how innocent he looks.

“Sorry,” he says. “You’re right. I’ll play nice.”

“No, you won't,” you retort, and Suo smiles at you, not replying. But he does give you a break. You finish cleaning up the cut without incident, although you do get flecks of blood on your evening gown, which you hope won't be too noticeable against the black satin. You bemoan the lost cause of Suo's changshan too—made of Suzhou silk, a gift from your master—and silently make a note to buy him a replacement sometime.

You're in the middle of buttoning up his shirt when the door clicks and swings open. Met face to face with your coworker, you freeze up.

Your stage name leaves her mouth in an angry bark. “What are you doing? I told you you're not supposed to be having sex with customers here, you should be doing that someplace—” She stops, evidently spotting the blood on Suo’s shirt, and then the other two individuals locked up in here with you, one of whom is blushing violently and looks to be on the verge of dying from embarrassment. Beneath your hands, you feel Suo’s body go stiff too.

“Oh,” she says before either of them can comment. “It’s just your delinquent boyfriend and his buddies.” Suo waves at her, and she nods back before squinting at the sink. “Are you going to clean that up?”

“Yes,” you say quickly. “Please don't tell our boss.”

“Have I ever ratted you out?” she asks. “Just get out of here soon. People do have to piss, you know.” Then she stops, looking at Suo with a dubious expression. “And make sure your boyfriend doesn't die.”

You're too tired to correct her on the nature of your relationship. “I've been trying,” you say, and she gives you a sympathetic look before retreating. You hear her laughing with a customer about people fooling around in the washroom, and I'm so sorry for the inconvenience, sir, and could you please go downstairs while I clean up. You’re so relieved, you nearly fall to your knees. A calloused hand touches your back as you rub your temples.

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” Suo says quietly—sincerely—and instead of saying no, you're not, you reply, “I know. I’m sorry too.”

Suo’s always hated your job.

He’s always hated your job, your boyfriends, your apartment, and a lot of other things about your life that Sakura doesn’t have any business prying into. And it's just as well. Sakura also hates your shitty job, and your shitty boyfriends, and considering that you live in the same shitty building as him, he isn't a fan of your rental situation either. Nirei’s too polite to say anything about it, but Sakura can tell that he disapproves as well. It’s not like any of them are living the most comfortable lives either—Sakura has personally been living from shithole to shithole, mostly alone, ever since his parents passed—but your lifestyle does make them all feel poorly.

You're just a very easy person to like. And it's very easy to want nice things for you. So Sakura gets it, how Suo feels about you.

What he doesn't quite get is how Suo acts about you.

One thing he’s learned over the years is that Suo is very good at reading people. Sometimes he understands Sakura better than Sakura understands himself, and he can convince Sakura to do things which he himself didn't think were possible for him to do. He's done the same with Nirei, and about half the other people in their grade, and at least a third of the guys in Bofurin. It’s frankly a terrifying skill. But Suo never uses it with you—not to get you to change jobs, or boyfriends, or even apartments.

At first Sakura thought that you were just immune to Suo’s tactics, but he's recently come to realise that Suo simply gets too emotional about you to know how to convince you of anything. He’s even emotional enough to get kind of petty and a little mean with you, which is something that Sakura has only witnessed from Suo during fights. Really bad fights.

It’s terribly uncomfortable, especially when you’re clearly head over heels for Suo.

Sakura doesn't have any business prying into your personal problems. Though truthfully, he’d be happy to thrash some random assholes for you anyway, if that would fix your heartbreak. (He's already done this to at least one of your exes, and it worked shockingly well.) The problem is, Suo is not a random asshole and Sakura isn't sure that you'd want him thrashed in the first place. But it's just fucking painful watching the two of you act like this around each other, so he ends up pulling Suo aside after you kick them out of the girls’ bar, scowling.

Suo looks at him, surprised. “Sakura? What's the matter?”

He doesn't mince words. “How come you were being such a dick to your friend?”

Nirei goes stiff. “Sakura,” he says in his panicked ‘why are you trying to pick a fight now’ voice, “where is this coming from? I don't think Suo was being rude…” But Sakura can tell, as Nirei’s finishing his own sentence, that he's second-guessing himself.

“No,” Suo replies. “I was being a bit terrible, wasn't I?” There’s no humour in either his words or his face, but the corner of his mouth lifts. He actually looks endeared. “I'm surprised you noticed, Sakura.”

“I mean”—Sakura feels himself going red, embarrassed at just the memory of how you looked at Suo; first so worried, then painfully fond, and then like you were going to burst into tears right there in the washroom and ask him to hold you, as if you were in a horrible getsuku drama—“it was kinda hard not to.”

Suo nods. “I suppose it’s natural to be sensitive to the feelings of someone you like.”

Heat floods his face. “I don't like her!”

“Did I say you did?” Suo’s mouth curls when Sakura can't answer. “Don’t be embarrassed. She's a very easy person to like.”

Sakura tries his hardest to ignore Suo—which should be easy, because Suo lies randomly and pointlessly all the time, whenever he thinks it's funny—and says, “If she's an easy person to like, how come you act like you don't like her at all?”

“Was I acting like that? Or was she acting like it was impossible for someone to like her?” Sakura stops. Suo gives him a long look, then smiles. “You would know how difficult it can be to accept being liked, Sakura. And how long it can take to understand that there are people who want to support you unconditionally.”

Sakura opens his mouth once, twice. A third time. Nirei sighs. The two of them watch as Suo—rather than walking in the direction of the subway—steps over to a vending machine and buys a bottle of oolong tea.

“Are you going to wait for her shift to finish?” Nirei asks.

“Mm, I think so.” Suo glances down at his ankle. “But you should go home, Nire-kun. You can’t fight like that. In case those guys come back here, I mean.” He opens the bottle, takes a sip. “They had bladed weapons. It would be bad if you risked it.”

Nirei glances at the entrance to your bar, worried. “But…”

Sakura understands without Nirei finishing his sentence. The security at your bar is terrible, and plenty of people like to exploit that. It was Nirei who noticed a group men eyeing you before anyone else did, following you all the way from Keisei Street to your place of work. And sure, Suo kicked the shit out of them in the end, did much worse to them than vice versa—but who knows if there aren't more of them.

Suo hates your job. All three of them do.

“It’s okay,” Sakura says. “I'm sure the two of us will be enough.”

“...I'll ask Tsubaki if he's free,” Nirei finally relents. “And I'll text Kiryu and Tsugeura too.”

“Thanks, Nire-kun.”

Suo gets a bottle of ramune after Nirei leaves, passes it to Sakura. Tsubaki comes by later, still in his pole outfit, with several pieces of taiyaki for them to share—I’m always snacky after dancing, he explains—and the three of them loiter in front of your bar until four in the morning. Tsubaki asks questions about you in a tone that has Sakura wanting to crawl into an alleyway just to hide, and Suo deflects masterfully with questions about Tsubaki’s new boyfriend. The guys from earlier don't show up. Maybe the sight of Roppo-Ichiza’s top fighter scares them off.

You're surprised to see them there when you emerge a little later. You give Tsubaki a happy but perplexed look as he hugs you.

“Tsubaki? What are you doing here?”

“Keeping these two company,” he replies. “And I wanted to say hi, of course. You should come by the club sometime, you know! I haven't seen you in forever.”

“Sure! That would be nice, but…” You turn to Sakura and Suo, puzzled. “Why are you guys still here?”

Sakura, on instinct, nearly recounts the whole evening to you—about the men tailing you, about how they got into a fight, about the kind of things they said they'd do once they caught you—but Suo answers first.

“Troubling you again,” is all he says. “It’s fine since your shift is over now, right?”

You give the two of them a long, curious look. For a moment, you look worried, but you're eventually disarmed by Suo’s expression.

“I guess it's fine,” you reply. You sound so happy. Suo’s gaze goes soft, and Sakura has to force himself not to look away. “Let's hurry up and go home.”

You smile at them, and it's the kind of smile that makes it very easy to like you. The kind of smile that makes it natural to want nice things for you. The kind of smile that would make anyone emotional, even if they're normally very controlled. It makes something in Sakura squeeze tightly, all knotted up and painful.

He’s starting to understand why Suo acts the way he does around you.

END

this wasn't meant to be a love triangle, my apologies…

this was also meant to be a very short piece (like 500w lol), but I kept thinking about what suo’s backstory might be, and why he was so comfortable in the red light district in the manga, and what these guys might realistically act like in an aged up, romantic context. that all coalesced into this very bizarre fic LOL. I'm not sure how it'll land, but I hope someone out here enjoyed it! I would like to write more about this triangle (+ nirei) but I'm not sure what the level of interest would be, or if it'll even make sense with the manga. I guess we’ll see eventually!

in any case, thank you for reading!! <3

#hayato suo x reader #suo hayato x reader #haruka sakura x reader #sakura haruka x reader #wind breaker x reader #wbk x reader #i cannot believe this was 4.5k words...#yueshuo.fics #divider by @/cafekitsune

1K notes · View notes

screamingcrows · 15 days ago

Text

HSR characters as ways animals court and mate

Welcome to the (hopefully) weirdest biology lesson you'll ever have! Essentially a shitpost. I shouldn't be allowed near blorbos. There might be better suited animals, these are all my takes on the characters and animals picked from ones I knew.

Repost from my old blog so I added more characters as compensation.

Characters included: Sampo Koski, Veritas Ratio, Ruan Mei, Jing Yuan, Argenti, Sunday, Kafka, Caelus, Moze

Warnings: nsfw in the way a national geographic documentary is, there are no graphic details but proceed at your own discretion, breeding mention for Jing Yuan, Sampo's ridiculously large appendage, Caelus slander,

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Sampo Koski - Limax maximus (leopard slug)

Truly, few people are as slick as Mr. Koski. You might not even notice at first that you are being observed by a mysterious, handsome stranger. Sure, his methods may be a little on the unusual side, but he values being well-informed before acting. Once he does decide to act, you may find yourself in quite a few unfortunate situations, luckily, your good friend Sampo is there to help you out. He is quite well endowed in certain departments, but where others might feel shame or even outright fear for their partner's comfort, this ingenious entrepreneur prides himself on always having the right tools for the job. Rest assured, your comfort and pleasure is of the highest importance! Or, for the right price, he will gladly put himself on the receiving end to satisfy your desires. Limax maximus is somewhat unusual in its mating habits compared to other slugs. They also have a ridiculously large penises (largest observed being 92cm or 36 inches) - mind you, a snail's penis emerges from their gonopore which is located on the side of their head. The leopard slugs court by circling each other for hours before eventually climbing a tree, coiling around each other and producing a string of mucus to hang upside down from - letting gravity unfold their penises. Since these slugs are hermaphroditic, both receive a sperm package and goes on to lay eggs.

Veritas Ratio - Strix varia (barred owl)

While Veritas might not exactly be keen on grand gestures to express himself, your persistance in seeking him out and staying close does eventually lead to the realisation that his days wouldn't be the same without your presence. Though he prefers to save his words, there's never a shortage around you, always talking, asking, listening, engaging in conversation that only you can provide. The shift in behavior is endearing, Veritas becomes keen on inviting you home, cooking for and with you, bathing together (something that had been near unimaginable for him). His hands gravitate towards you as often as possible, either just resting there or rubbing tension from your muscles. He takes care of you and lets you take care of him. It's a beautiful everyday life, after all, why would he confine himself to expressing his love a few times a year, when he could do it every day in countless ways instead? Strix varia - as many owls - remains mostly monogamous, with the exception being in instances of younger, widowed birds. Their courtship usually involves the owl hen following around the male for a time before they both begin engaging in duets and mutual preening. Every year for a period of time before mating, the male will take up all hunting responsibilities and dote on his partner :3 These owls are also, compared to closely related species, known for disliking man-made nesting boxes (microbiome is inferior to a hollowed out tree trunk) and they're considered some of the most curious and polite predators.

Ruan Mei - Timema (genus of stick insects)

While you might be interested in Ruan Mei, chances are she won't be interested in the same sense. There is little time for such 'pleasantries' and even less willingness to make time for it. Whether she cannot, or doesn't want to, understand the concept of love, she recognises the value it holds in terms of reproduction and evolution. And even then, she has gone about creating life by herself just fine. So, perhaps she will let you into her bed for a night, but it's unlikely that she lets it lead to more. Members of the genus Timema primarily reproduce through the process of parthenogenesis (virgin birth), meaning they reproduce asexually and males are very few and far between. Sexual reproduction is incredibly rare and speculated to only be done by a few individuals to keep a diverse enough gene pool.

Jing Yuan - Panthera leo (lion)

It's no secret that Jing Yuan has had ample time and opportunity for sexual experiences. Nor is it any secret that he's attractive (which he's aware of), despite his long life, Jing Yuan appears to be in the prime of his life and health. All that experience doesn't make his time with you any less special, it simply means that your pleasure and desires are exceedingly important. Anything you could want to try he will indulge, of course, you'll have to tell him, use your words, even if the answer is written all over your face. The one thing he does often want to indulge for his own sake is finishing inside. Other than that, Jing Yuan is more than happy to lay back and watch as you pleasure yourself with him. If you ask, he's happy to help, he knows your body quite well by now - ah just don't ask him in the afternoon. He's napping. Male lions are - apart from on the rare occasions that they have to defend their territory - very relaxed individuals. The females hunt for him while he sleeps (and looks good). The mane serves as a 'sexual ornament' and shows off how 'healthy' a male is. A more pigmented mane means higher testosterone levels (Ignore the pigmentation part for Jing Yuan and just consider how healthy and well taken care of he looks). A few days before the female enters estrus, the male picks up on changes to her scent and starts following her around. Female lions are known for having incredible stamina during estrus, often to the point of tiring out the male to a point where he will try to stalk off and sleep. Also worth noting that lions have a barbed penis that scratches the vagina upon pulling out, this can cause the female to ovulate just like I would if Jing Yuan did me

Argenti - Panthera leo male x Panthera tigris female (Liger, hybrid)

A knigh of Beauty passing by, not exactly the smartest choice to throw your heart at, is it? Argenti is kind, chivalrous, perhaps a little odd, and beautiful. He sees in you a work of art, compliments you as though he has no choice but let the words flow. Unfortunately, he doesn't let anyone get close. Perhaps he will indulge you for a night, find pleasure in seeing you come undone while he remains clothed. There is no settling down for him, no family life, he swore an oath that he must keep. Ligers are incredibly rare and only found in captivity. As with other hybrids, ligers follow Haldane's rule meaning the heterogametic sex (in this case the male) is sterile. These hybrids are stunning creatures, highly social, and the biggest living cat. But there is no 'successful' mating for them. Reproductive behavior in females follow that of their parent species.

Sunday - Anthochaera phrygia (regent honeyeater)

Once Sunday becomes free to act for himself, it's not particularly hard to recognise his little displays of interest. They're sweet and awkward at best and downright embarrassing at worst. He tries his best - he truly does - by learning from those around him. Unfortunately, those people are now the Astral Express crew, and aeons above, some of them aren't great at flirting to begin with, but having Sunday attempt mimicry? Horrendous. Once he gets a little more confident (perhaps you should reassure him that you enjoy who he is) you can expect him to open up more. Expect his care and love to be presented with something akin to devotion. With time, perhaps he'll even sing for you? Unfortunately, regent honeyeaters are critically endangered. This is in part due to the loss of their unique song. During early life, birds spend months learning various calls that will be important for signalling. These are typically learned from the parents, but regent honeyeaters leave the nest before this happens and a loss of habitat meant fewer individuals to learn from. Males have begun copying other bird species, leading to significantly lower interest from females, accelerating their decline.

Kafka - Crocuta crocuta (spotted hyena)

So you're enamoured with Kafka? Difficult not to be, she truly just... has a certain appeal wouldn't you say? Approaching with care and submission rather than aggression will see your chances of success increase. Kafka is confident in herself and her abilities, knowing what path she walks and the destination. But that doesn't mean she won't indulge in a little fun from time to time, after all, the script she has doesn't dictate every single action. She's in control throughout it all, even in the occassion of you being allowed on top, there's still no doubt about the hierarchy. She would have every stellaron hunter ready to protect you if your safety is deemed worthwhile. The spotted hyena lives in highly complex social groups with females most often ranking higher than males. Anatomically, the spotted hyena females have developed a 'pseudo-penis' (very enlarged clitoris) complete with faux scrotum and testes that cover the vagina - making forced copulation by a male impossible. The female needs to retract the pseudo-penis which is also what the male will insert his into. Males that remain passive and subservient have higher chances of successful mating compared to aggressive ones.

Caelus - Ailuropoda melanoleuca (giant panda)

Teeny tiny penis. Caelus is very easily goaded into doing things, sometimes you don't even have to suggest a stupid idea before he's halfway done trying. Poor man has no idea what to do with himself the moment things turn spicy. Very cute, very sweet, probably good cuddles. But you're gonna need a toy. At around a whopping 3cm (~1 inch), the giant pandas aren't giant everywhere. Courtship can involve males doing a handstand against a tree and peeing as far up as possible to signal that he's near. Famously, giant pandas seemingly lose interest in mating when kept in captivity and there's been a lot of initiatives to figure out how to get the spark back (this includes showing them panda-porn and giving them an equivalent to viagra)

Moze - Canis lupus (grey wolf)

Though he may appear reserved (and a little scary even) once you get to know Moze, it quickly becomes clear that he just.. he has a certain way of showing his affection. It's almost like having gained a shadow with how he follows you around. At first, he may be more inclined to keep you away from any and all danger, but gradually warms up to the thought of being partners in every sense. His trust in you is absolute and nothing could sway his loyalty. Still, Moze does enjoy seeing you well taken care of (going so far as having Jiaoqiu give him lessons on your favourite foods). Once he loses himself in the pleasures of your body, it becomes near impossible for him to stop. All that careful control slips from his grasp until the moment you're both panting for breath and utterly exhausted. During those times, he wraps his arms securely around you, keeping you there for as long as he can justify. I think we all know how dogs mate, no? Mounting, knotting, all that. Wolves are monogamous and form tightly knit packs. Mated pairs are excellent at cooperating, both for hunting and raising pups. The male wolf hunts for the first couple of weeks after the female gives birth, making sure she can rest in the den and look after the young. Interestingly, the more newly bonded a pair is, the more frequently will the male scent mark their territory to dissuade any potential intruders.

#didn't want to add any of the amphoreus cast because I haven't played the quest to end and even then #it wouldn't be enough for me to be comfortable with picking an animal lmao #anyway sorry for the repost - i hope the three added characters can make up for it just a little #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #sampo x reader #dr ratio x reader #ruan mei x reader #jing yuan x reader #argenti x reader #sunday x reader #kafka x reader #caelus x reader #moze x reader #hsr fanfic #crow with a pen

381 notes · View notes

mostlysignssomeportents · 2 months ago

Text

Trumpism’s healthcare fracture-lines

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/20/clinical-trial-by-ordeal/#spoiled-his-brand-new-rattle

There was never any question as to whether Trump would implement Project 2025, the 900-page brick of terrifying and unhinged policy prescriptions edited by the Heritage Foundation. He would not implement it, because he could not implement it. No one could. It's impossible.

This isn't a statement about constitutional limits on executive authority or the realpolitik of getting bizarre and stupid policies past judges or through a hair-thin Congressional majority. This is a statement about the incoherence of Project 2025 itself. You probably haven't read it. Few have. Realistically, few people are going to read a 900-page group work of neofeudalist fanfic shit out by the most esoteric Fedsoc weirdos the world has ever seen.

But one person who did read Project 2025 was the leftist historian Rick Perlstein, who was the first person to really dig into what a fucking mess that thing is:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/14/fracture-lines/#disassembly-manual

Perlstein's excellent analysis doesn't claim that Project 2025's authors aren't sincere in their intentions to wreak great harm upon the nation and its people; rather, his point is that Project 2025 is filled with contradictory, mutually exclusive proposals written by people who fundamentally disagree with one another, and who each have enough power within the Trump coalition that all of thier proposals have to be included in a document like this:

https://prospect.org/politics/2024-07-10-project-2025-republican-presidencies-tradition/

Project 2025 isn't just a guide to the masturbatory fantasies of the worst people in American politics – far more importantly, it is a detailed map of the fracture lines in the GOP coalition, the places where it is liable to split and shatter. This is an important point if you want to do more about Trumpism than run around feeling miserable and scared. If you want to fight, Project 2025 is a guide to the weak spots where an attack will do the most damage.

Perlstein's insight continues to be borne out as the Trump regime makes ready to take power. In a new story for KFF News, Stephanie Armour and Julie Rovner describe the irreconcilable differences among Trump's picks for the country's top public health authorities:

https://kffhealthnews.org/news/article/trump-rfk-kennedy-health-hhs-fda-cdc-vaccines-covid-weldon/

The brain-worm-infected-elephant in the room is, of course, RFK Jr, who has been announced as Trump's head of Health and Human Services. RFK Jr is a notorious antivaxer, chairman of Children’s Health Defense, a notorious anti-vaccine group. Kennedy's view is shared by Trump's chosen CDC boss, Dave Weldon, a physician who has repeated the dangerous lie that vaccinations cause autism. Mehmet "Dr Oz" Oz, the TV "physician" Trump wants to put in charge of Medicare/Medicaid, calls vaccines "oversold" and advocates for treating covid with hydroxychloroquine, another thoroughly debunked hoax:

https://www.usatoday.com/story/news/health/2024/12/17/hydroxychloroquine-study-covid-19-retracted-trump/77051671007/

However, other top Trump public health picks emphatically support vaccines. Marty Makary is Trump's choice for FDA commissioner; he's a Johns Hopkins trained surgeon who says vaccines "save lives" (but he peddles the lethal, unscientific hoax that childhood vaccines should be "spread out"). Jay Bhattacharya, the economist/MD whom Trump wants to put in charge of the NIH, supports vaccines (he is also one of the country's leading proponents of the eugenicist idea of accepting the mass death of elderly, sick and disabled people rather than imposing quarantines during epidemics). Then there's Janette Nesheiwat, whom Trump has asked to serve as the nation's surgeon general; she calls vaccines "a gift from God."

Like "Bidenism," Trumpism is a fragile coalition of people who thoroughly and irreconcilably disagree with one another. During the Biden administration, this resulted in self-inflicted injuries like appointing the brilliant trustbuster Lina Khan to run the FTC, but also appointing the pro-monopoly corporate lawyer Jacqueline Scott Corley to a lifetime seat as a federal judge, from which perch she ruled against Khan's no-brainer suit to block the Microsoft-Activision merger:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/judge-rules-for-microsoft-mergers

The Trump coalition is even broader than the Biden coalition. That's how he won the 2024 election. But that also means that Trumpism is more fractious and off-balance, and hence will be easier to disrupt, because it is riven by people in senior positions who hate one another and are actively working for each others' political demise.

The Trump coalition is a coalition of *cranks*. I'm using "crank" here in a technical, non-pejorative sense. I am a crank, after all. A crank is someone who is overwhelmingly passionate about a single issue, whose uncrossable bright lines are not broadly shared. Cranks can be right or they can be wrong, but we're hard to be in coalition with, because we are uncompromisingly passionate about things that other people largely don't even notice, let alone care about. You can be a crank whose single issue is eliminating water fluoridation, even though this is very, very stupid and dangerous:

https://yourlocalepidemiologist.substack.com/p/the-fluoride-debate

Or you can be a crank about digital rights, a subject that, for decades, was viewed as by turns either unserious or as a sneaky way of shilling for Big Tech (thankfully, that's changing):

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/18/greetings-fellow-pirates/#arrrrrrrrrr

Cranks make hard coalition partners. Trump's cranks are cranked up about different things - vaccines, culture war trans panics, eugenics - and are total normies about other things. The eugenicist MD/economist who wants to "let 'er rip" rather than engage in nonpharmaceutical pandemic interventions is gonna be horrified by total abortion bans and antivax. These cranks are on a collision course with one another.

This is on prominent display in these public health appointments, and we're very likely about to get a test of the cohesiveness and capability of the second Trump administration, thanks to bird flu. Now that bird flu has infected humans in multiple US states, there is every chance that we will have to confront a public health emergency in the coming weeks. If that happens, the Trump public health divisions over masking, quarantine and (especially) vaccines (Kennedy called the covid vaccine the "deadliest" ever made, without any evidence) will become the most important issue in the country, under constant and pitiless scrutiny, and criticism.

Trump's public health shambles is by no means unique. The lesson of Project 2025 is that the entire Trump project is one factional squabble away from collapse at all times.

409 notes · View notes

anastasia12 · 20 days ago

Text

Simon "Ghost" Riley NSFW Alphabet

A - Aftercare: Ghost might surprise you with his tenderness after intimacy. Though he’s stoic and reserved, he ensures you’re comfortable, offering a soft touch or a quiet reassurance. He’s not overly verbal, but his actions speak volumes—a warm towel, water, or holding you close in his arms.

B - Body: Simon’s body is a canvas of scars, each telling a story of battles fought and survived. He’s strong and imposing, yet he’s self-conscious about his scars. Hearing you admire or cherish his physique helps him see himself through your eyes.

C - Confidence: Ghost is confident but not cocky. He knows his strengths and brings an unshakable calm to intimacy. His quiet assurance can make anyone feel safe and desired, though he’s more focused on his partner’s pleasure than his own.

D - Dom/Sub: Simon’s natural dominance is evident, but it’s never overbearing. He thrives on being in control, but he’s attuned to his partner’s needs, ensuring mutual satisfaction. If he trusts you deeply, he’s open to letting go occasionally.

E - Experience: Years in the military haven’t left him much time for relationships, but his maturity and attention to detail make him an attentive lover. He’s learned to read people well and adapts effortlessly to what his partner wants.

F - Favorite Position: Ghost prefers positions that allow for intimacy and connection, like missionary or spooning, where he can see or feel you close. He’s also a fan of standing positions—a practical choice for his strong physique and intense moments.

G - Goofy: Simon has a dry sense of humor, and while he’s serious in most aspects, he might throw in a sly quip to lighten the mood. He values the comfort of his partner, even if it means cracking a rare joke.

H - Hair: His short, regulation haircut is practical, but his facial hair is another story. He’s aware of its appeal and might let you tug on it playfully during heated moments. He secretly loves the attention.

I - Intimacy: Intimacy with Ghost is layered. He struggles to open up emotionally but craves a deep connection. When he lets his guard down, he’s intensely devoted, treating every moment as significant and meaningful.

J - Jealousy: Simon is not outwardly jealous but fiercely protective. He’ll observe from the shadows, ensuring no one crosses boundaries with you. His quiet possessiveness manifests in subtle gestures, like keeping a hand on your lower back in public.

K - Kinks: Ghost’s kinks lean toward dominance and control. He enjoys restraint, whether it’s physical or situational, and takes pleasure in heightening his partner’s anticipation. He’s also partial to praise and enjoys hearing his partner’s appreciation.

L - Location: Simon prefers privacy and safety, valuing control over the environment. A quiet bedroom or secluded space is his comfort zone, though he’s adaptable if the moment calls for spontaneity.

M - Mood: Ghost’s mood during intimacy is intense and focused. He’s not one for casual flings; when he’s with someone, it’s deliberate and passionate. His energy can shift from tender to commanding, depending on the dynamic.

N - Noise: Simon is relatively quiet, but his low grunts and occasional whispers are intoxicating. When he speaks during intimacy, it’s deliberate and laced with an irresistible edge.

O - Oral: Ghost is thorough and meticulous. When he’s giving, he’s entirely focused on his partner’s pleasure, taking time to learn what makes you tick. Receiving is less important to him, but he’ll let you take the lead if it pleases you.

P - Pace: Simon’s pace is controlled and intentional. He’s not one to rush, preferring to savor every moment. He can adjust depending on the situation, from slow and sensual to fervent and intense.

Q - Quickies: While he prefers meaningful encounters, Simon understands the demands of time and circumstance. He’s efficient and attentive during quickies, ensuring you’re as satisfied as possible.

R - Risk: Ghost is cautious and values safety above all else, but he’s not averse to calculated risks. If it strengthens your bond or adds excitement, he’ll consider stepping out of his comfort zone.

S - Stamina: Years of training and discipline have given Ghost impressive stamina. He can go for extended periods, ensuring his partner’s satisfaction before considering his own. He’s in it for the long haul.

T - Toys: Simon isn’t opposed to incorporating toys but prefers to rely on his skills first. If his partner expresses interest, he’s open-minded and eager to explore together.

U - Unpredictable: Ghost’s reserved nature makes his rare spontaneous moments thrilling. Whether it’s an unexpected kiss or a sudden shift in intensity, he keeps you on your toes.

V - Vulnerability: Opening up is a challenge for Simon, but with the right partner, he’ll let his walls down. His vulnerability is most evident in quiet moments, where his actions convey the emotions he struggles to put into words.

W - Wildcard: Despite his stoic demeanor, Simon has a surprising romantic streak. He’ll plan intimate moments, like lighting candles or bringing you small, thoughtful gifts to show his affection.

X - X-Ray (Physical): Simon’s body is as strong as his presence, with broad shoulders, a muscular build, and scars that tell a story of resilience. He’s well aware of his physical appeal but values connection over appearance.

Y - Yearning: Ghost’s yearning runs deep. He’s a man who’s lived through loss and pain, making him crave genuine connection. When he finds someone he trusts, his passion is unwavering.

Z - Zest: Though his life is defined by discipline and danger, Simon brings an unexpected zest to intimacy. His dedication to his partner’s pleasure and his rare moments of levity make every encounter unforgettable.

#cod #cod mw2 #ghost x reader #cod smut #call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon riley smut #ghost cod #ghost smut

311 notes · View notes

mononijikayu · 5 months ago

Text

blanket kick — fushiguro megumi.

You blinked, momentarily surprised by his sudden and straightforward confession. A smile slowly spread across your face as you took in his earnest expression. “Are you asking me out on a date, Megumi?” His cheeks flushed a deep red, and he nodded vigorously, feeling both exhilarated and embarrassed. “Yeah, that’s what I meant. I know it’s kind of sudden, but I really want to….” Before he could finish, you interrupted with a warm, affirming smile. “I’d love to go out with you, Megumi.”

GENRE: Alternate Universe - Canon Convergence;

WARNING/s: Fluff, Romance, First Love, First Date, Comfort, Humor, Light-Hearted, Slice of Life, Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Confessions, Mutual Affection, Love, Pining, Cheek Kiss, First Love Panic, Fushiguro Megumi is In Love, Sorcerer! Megumi, Sorcerer!Reader, Megumi and Reader Are A Bit Older, Gojo Satoru is A Father, Genmei Mention Again, I Love Us And Them, I Need To Write it;

WORDS: 8.7k words.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: i adored writing this because megumi come back!!! this makes this future possible where older! sorcerer megumi just has his first date and being able to experience his first love. i am genuinely ahhhhhhhhh, megumi comeback the best thing to me. also i usually write genmei in she/you pov but since reader is in the you perspective, i needed to differentiate. genmei my beloved ily i will write for you and satoru more. but anyway, i love you guys so much!!! i hope you enjoy this!!! 🫶

main masterlist

kayu's playlist - side 1000;

if you want to, tip! <3

________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊

┊ ┊⋆ ┊ .

┊ ┊ ⋆˚ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭

✧. ┊ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭

⋆ ★

IT WAS RARE FOR HIM TO FEEL LIKE THIS. As Megumi stood in front of the mirror, he found himself swallowing hard, his nerves frayed and his heart racing. The reflection staring back at him was both familiar and strange—a young man dressed carefully for his first date, a significant step into uncharted territory. Today was not just any day; it was the day of his very first date, and the anticipation was almost overwhelming.

He adjusted his collar for the umpteenth time, each small movement reflecting his anxiety and eagerness. His normally disheveled dark hair was neatly styled, and his outfit was carefully chosen—a simple yet elegant look that he hoped would strike the right balance between casual and thoughtful.

Despite the preparation, his mind raced with a thousand worries: whether he looked presentable enough, if his nerves would get the better of him, and most importantly, whether he would be able to make a good impression on you.

Megumi’s eyes scanned his reflection, taking in every detail with a critical gaze. He noted how his fingers twitched slightly as he adjusted his tie, how the slight tremor in his hands betrayed his inner turmoil. He had always been confident in his jujutsu abilities, but standing here now, dressed for a date, felt like stepping into a whole new world.

The gravity of the situation settled over him like a heavy blanket. It wasn’t just a date—it was a meaningful gesture, a chance to share a special moment with you, someone who had become incredibly important to him. He replayed the words he wanted to say, the plans he had meticulously made, and the hopes he carried for the evening. The weight of wanting everything to go perfectly was both exhilarating and daunting.

Megumi took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart. He remembered the way you had smiled when he asked you out, the genuine warmth and acceptance in your eyes. That memory was a comforting anchor amidst his swirling thoughts. He wanted to make this first date memorable, not just for himself but for you as well. The thought of disappointing you was the last thing he wanted, and that fear only heightened his nervousness.

As he continued to gaze at his reflection, he caught sight of his own eyes—nervous yet determined. He realized that despite all his anxieties, this was a chance he was ready to embrace. It was his opportunity to show you how much he valued and cared for you, to step out of his comfort zone and into a moment that could change everything.

A soft, self-assured smile began to form on his lips as he made a final adjustment to his outfit. He squared his shoulders, lifting his chin slightly, and took one last deep breath. The mirror no longer reflected just a nervous young man, but someone ready to take a step forward, someone who was willing to face his fears for the chance to be with you.

He could remember the day he asked you out. You really didn’t seem to be interested in guys like him, let alone romantic pursuits. But he wasn’t going to know if he didn’t try. Well, that’s what Yuji and Nobara said to him. He had to ask, he had to know what you felt about him. And just go with the flow. But the thing is, Fushiguro Megumi didn’t know what to do with the flow. And with you? He’s going to fail. He knows he will. Because, when it comes to you, he is always defeated. Because he’s too much into you. And the thing is — he doesn’t want to get out.

He thinks he blacked out when he asked you. But when you finally say yes to a date with Megumi Fushiguro, his emotions surge through him like a flood. He’s overwhelmed, not just with happiness, but with a strange mix of excitement and disbelief.

Fushiguro Megumi feels as if he’s rooted to the ground, yet his heart flutters wildly, making him feel almost ridiculous, like he’s become something other than himself—like a tree, sturdy on the outside, but swaying with the breeze of his emotions.

He had to take some time to get his shit together. He could only remember what happened, now that he’s already getting his senses in order. Or at least some semblance of it back. It’s hard to do that too, when it comes to you.

The usual rhythm of punches, kicks, and curses filled the air. You and Megumi moved through the drills with practiced ease, the intensity of the training casting a sense of focus. You were the only ones here today, since Yuji and Nobara were given separate missions. You both still weren’t, since you both had just come home from one.

So, all the agenda today was training strengths instead. He tries to be into the game, he really did. Yet, beneath the surface of the grueling workout, Fushiguro Megumi's mind was far from the physical exertion. He had been wrestling with his feelings for a while now, and it's been hard on him.

Because you were everything and he…he didn’t know how to cope. But after a long struggle, he knew he couldn’t let you slip away. You were a marvel in his world and he can’t let you slip away. Not right now. Not ever. And so, today, he had decided, was the day he would ask you out.

As the training session neared its end, Megumi found himself glancing at you more frequently, his thoughts racing. His heart pounded with a strange mixture of excitement and anxiety, the weight of his decision pressing down on him like an invisible force. Would you even consider dating him? His thoughts were bleak about it. But…But what if you say yes? Wouldn’t that be a good thing? There’s always that hope.

Finally, as the session concluded and you both took a moment to catch your breath, Megumi cleared his throat, trying to gather the courage to speak. The casual atmosphere of the gym felt oddly charged with tension, and he found himself fidgeting with his training gear, unable to maintain eye contact.

“Hey.” he started, his voice coming out a bit hoarse. You looked over, wiping sweat from your brow, curious about what he had to say.

“Yeah? What’s up?” you asked, giving him a reassuring smile that made his heart skip a beat.

Megumi took a deep breath, his resolve solidifying. “So, I was thinking… Maybe we could, um, go out sometime. Like, on a date. I mean….If you want to. I just, it can be anything—”

You kept looking at him as his words tumbled out in a rush, and as soon as he finished speaking, he felt an immediate wave of relief and nervousness. His heart raced as if it were trying to break free from his chest, and he could hardly believe he had finally said it. The air around him seemed to thicken, the usual sounds of the training area fading into the background.

His cheeks flushed a deep red, and he nodded vigorously, feeling both exhilarated and embarrassed. “Yeah, that’s what I meant. I know it’s kind of sudden, but I really want to….”

Before he could finish, you interrupted with a warm, affirming smile. “I’d love to go out with you, Megumi.”

His reaction was instantaneous. It was as if a floodgate had opened, and all the emotions he had been holding back surged through him. He felt rooted to the ground, his body rigid with a mix of disbelief and elation. Yet, inside, his heart fluttered wildly, making him feel almost ridiculous, like a tree swaying in the breeze of his emotions.

For a moment, Megumi simply stood there, processing your acceptance. The overwhelming joy and relief made him feel like he was floating, and he couldn’t help but let out a nervous laugh. He tried to play it cool, but his face betrayed his excitement, his eyes bright with a mixture of happiness and awe.

“Really?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he couldn’t quite believe his own luck.

You nodded, still smiling. “Really. I’m looking forward to it.”

Megumi’s grin widened, and he felt a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the post-training sweat. “Great. I’ll… I’ll figure out the details and let you know.”

As you both gathered your things and prepared to leave, Megumi couldn’t shake the feeling of joy that seemed to be bubbling up inside him. He had asked you out, and you had said yes. It felt like the start of something new and wonderful, and as he walked beside you, the world seemed to sparkle just a little bit more.

He’s puzzled by his own behavior. It would have been nicer if he was able to say it properly then. Why is he getting so weird in front of you? Why does he suddenly feel like a child, when he’s far from one? He catches himself making silly jokes, laughing too loud, and it embarrasses him. But when he looks into your eyes, he hopes you can see that none of it is meant to be taken seriously—except for the part where he likes you, and saying it out loud feels like moving a mountain.

He always thought he was too shy to be someone’s sun, so he became a cold, distant moon instead, quietly admiring you from afar. But now, lying in his bed, his emotions are anything but cold. They’re a raging ocean, and he’s caught up in waves of blankets, tossing and turning, jumping around like a madman. He imagines himself in a UFC ring, fighting off his embarrassment with high kicks, jabs, and hooks, trying to punch away the nervous energy that’s been building up.

But even as he lets it all out, pounding his mattress like a punching bag, he wishes for an iron to smooth out the tension in his hands and feet, to calm the storm inside him. You’ve already slipped into his thoughts, into the lyrics of his heart, repeating over and over in his mind. His poor blanket has taken a beating, but all he really wants is for you to be there with him, to share in this moment that feels like the beginning of something new and beautiful.

Megumi Fushiguro paced back and forth in his room, his normally calm demeanor unraveling with every step. His mind raced, tangled with a thousand what-ifs that refused to settle. His hands were buried in his hair, tugging slightly as if that might somehow pull the anxiety out of him. You had already said yes—you had actually said yes to going on a date with him. But now, the reality of it all was sinking in, and he felt like he was drowning.

What if he messes this up? What if he says something stupid? What if—

“Wow, you’re really losing it, huh? I’ve never seen you this worked up, Megumi. It’s almost cute.”

Megumi spun around to see Gojo Satoru sprawled out on his bed, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. His mentor’s carefree attitude only heightened Megumi’s frustration. He was sitting primly, drinking some overly sweet soda that he always likes. It was his day off today, now that he was taking some time to just enjoy his day to day from working. Megumi had been glad for him to just rest, but today was a bad day. He will never see the end of it when it comes to Gojo Satoru’s teasing tones.

“This isn’t funny, Gojo–sensei.” Megumi snapped, his voice tight with nerves. “I’ve never done this before. What if I ruin everything? I can’t ruin it with them—”

Gojo waved a hand dismissively, as if Megumi’s concerns were nothing more than trivial worries. “Relax, you’re not going to ruin anything. Just be yourself. You’re already overthinking it, already. Slow down. I doubt they’ll mind if you make a mistake, hm?”

Megumi groaned, the tension in his shoulders refusing to ease as he dropped down onto the bed beside Gojo. He stared at the ceiling, trying to find some semblance of calm, but all he could think about was how easily he could screw this up.

“That’s easy for you to say. Especially with Gen-san around.” Megumi muttered. “You’re always so confident. I feel like I’m going to freeze up the moment I see them.”

Gojo’s smirk widened as he nudged Megumi with his elbow. “Freezing up isn’t the worst thing that could happen. I mean, you could trip and spill something all over them. Or, I don’t know, accidentally insulting their favorite food or something.”

Megumi’s eyes widened in horror as the thought struck him with unexpected clarity. He was mid-adjustment of his jacket when it hit him—a startling realization that sent a cold wave of panic through him. The possibility of something going wrong, of embarrassing himself in front of you, suddenly felt all too real.

He could almost see the scenario unfolding in his mind: a clumsy misstep, an awkward silence, or worse, a complete lapse in composure that would make the date memorable for all the wrong reasons. The dread of potentially making a fool of himself was overwhelming, and his heart raced as he pictured each disastrous possibility in vivid detail.

At that exact moment, Gojo, who had been lounging casually nearby, caught sight of Megumi’s distress. The sudden change in Megumi’s demeanor, from calm to panicked, was impossible to ignore. Gojo’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he watched Megumi’s struggle with the growing anxiety.

“You’re not helping!” Megumi shot back, sitting up abruptly, his heart pounding even harder now.

Unable to contain himself, Gojo burst out laughing, the sound echoing around the room. “Oh man, look at you!” Gojo exclaimed, shaking his head with a grin. “You’re really losing it over this, aren’t you?”

Megumi’s face flushed crimson as he turned to look at Gojo, his initial shock quickly morphing into a mix of embarrassment and frustration. “Shut up, Gojo–sensei!” he snapped, though the edge in his voice was softened by the underlying anxiety. “I’m trying to get this right.”

“Okay, okay,” Gojo said, still chuckling but with a hint of sincerity in his voice. “Seriously, though, Megumi, they already said yes because they seem to like you. Just talk to them like you always do. You don’t need to impress them with anything fancy or overcomplicated. Besides, you’re already way cooler than you give yourself credit for.”

Megumi took a deep breath, trying to let Gojo’s words sink in. He could feel his nerves still bubbling beneath the surface, but maybe Gojo was right. Maybe he was overthinking this. “Is that what you did with Gen–san?”

“Eh? But my wifey already loved me from the beginning, Megumi. What can I say, I’m a charmer?”

“That sounds like an outright lie.”

“I never joke about my wifey!” Gojo Satoru grinned, raising his soda as though to toast. Megumi rolled his eyes. “You’ll do great, don’t worry. Well, maybe not as well as me.”

“But what if I say something awkward?” Megumi asked, his voice quieter now, almost as if he was afraid to voice his fear.

Gojo shrugged with a grin. “Then laugh it off. You’re allowed to be a little awkward; it just makes you more human. And trust me, they’re probably nervous too. Just focus on having a good time together. It happens like that, hm?”

Megumi nodded at him. “.....Alright.”

Gojo’s laughter continued, his eyes sparkling with a playful glint. “It’s just a date, Megumi! You’re going to be fine. You’ve got this in the bag.” He put a hand on Megumi’s shoulder, his tone shifting to one of mock-seriousness. “There’ll always be more. Slip on the wet floor sign? They’ll giggle and get you another date. I’m sure they’ll give you another shot. You’re a good kid after all, you know?”

Megumi couldn’t help but feel a bit of his tension easing at Gojo’s infectious laughter and his playful reassurances. The sight of Gojo’s exaggerated gestures and the sheer absurdity of his over-the-top reactions reminded Megumi of how he had allowed his worries to spiral out of control.

“Yeah, well, easy for you to say.” Megumi grumbled, though a small, reluctant smile tugged at his lips. “You’re not the one going on their first date.”

Gojo’s laughter finally subsided, and he looked at Megumi with a more sincere expression. “Hm, I’m already past that phase. But well, tip from someone who had their first date, don’t be so bothered about perfection. You’re going to do just fine. Just be yourself, and everything will work out.”

Megumi nodded, taking a deep breath as he absorbed Gojo’s words. Despite his continued nervousness, the reminder that he didn’t have to be perfect—just genuine—helped to calm his racing thoughts. Gojo’s light-hearted teasing had, in a strange way, helped him to gain perspective and regain a bit of his confidence.

“Thanks, Gojo–sensei.” Megumi said, his voice softer but more determined. “I appreciate it.”

Gojo gave him a reassuring pat on the back. “Anytime. Now go out there and make that date unforgettable—in a good way!”

With Gojo’s playful encouragement still ringing in his ears, Megumi took one last look in the mirror, feeling a renewed sense of resolve. The horror of his initial thoughts had given way to a steadier determination, and as he prepared to head out, he felt more ready to face the evening with you, knowing that, despite his nerves, he had the support of his friend.

Megumi nodded, feeling a flicker of confidence take root inside him. “Yeah, I think I can do this.”

“That’s the spirit.” Gojo grinned, standing up and stretching. “Now, go knock their socks off. Just… not literally. Not yet, okay? You guys are still not hitting third base!”

Megumi rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “Thanks, Gojo.”

“Anytime, kiddo.” Gojo winked as he headed for the door, turning back with a teasing grin. “Just make sure to tell me all the juicy details afterward.”

Megumi grabbed a pillow and hurled it at Gojo, who dodged it with a laugh as he slipped out the door. Alone in his room, Megumi took a deep breath, feeling the remnants of his panic begin to dissipate. He still felt nervous—how could he not? But with Gojo’s words echoing in his mind, he also felt something else: a quiet determination to make this date something special, something memorable.

And maybe, just maybe, everything would turn out just fine.

“Tell Gen–san I’ll be home late.”

“Hm, okay~ Get home safe, okay? Score a kiss or a hug at least!”

“Shut up!”

“How about no?~”

________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊

┊ ┊⋆ ┊ .

┊ ┊ ⋆˚ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭

✧. ┊ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭

⋆ ★

EVERYTHING WAS GOING WELL SO FAR. The evening was warm, the kind of night where the air felt like a gentle caress, and the city was bathed in a golden glow as the sun began its descent. You and Megumi had chosen a cozy, quiet restaurant tucked away in a corner of the city, away from the bustling crowds. It was the perfect place for your first date—intimate, yet casual enough to ease the tension that had been building up since you both agreed to it.

As you sat across from him, you couldn’t help but notice how his eyes kept drifting to your face, lingering on your eyes, your nose, your lips. It wasn’t the first time you caught him staring, but tonight, it felt different—intense, almost as if he was trying to memorize every detail. You could tell he was struggling to maintain his composure, his usual stoic mask cracking ever so slightly.

Megumi cleared his throat and looked down at his menu, trying to distract himself, but the slight flush on his cheeks betrayed him. “So, uh, what do you feel like eating?” he asked, his voice a little too casual.

You smiled, feeling a mix of amusement and fondness. “I’m not sure. Maybe something light? What about you?”

He nodded, still avoiding your gaze. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

The waiter came by, and you both placed your orders. When the drinks arrived, Megumi raised his glass to you, his eyes finally meeting yours. “Cheers,” he said, his voice a little softer now, more sincere.

You clink your glass against his, noticing the way his hand trembled slightly. He took a big gulp, almost as if he was trying to steady himself, and for a moment, you wondered if he was nervous. But then, as the night wore on, you realized it wasn’t just nerves—it was something more, something deeper.

Megumi didn’t know how, but somehow, with you, everything felt easy. It felt easy to get lost in your eyes, to be drawn into the sound of your laughter that seemed to erase every worry from his mind. When he was with you, the weight he usually carried so heavily on his shoulders seemed to lift, replaced by the simple warmth of your presence. It was as if your very existence wrapped around him like a comforting blanket, making the world feel less daunting and more like a place where he could just be himself.

The conversation between you flowed effortlessly, each word building a bridge that drew you closer together. It was as if you were weaving a delicate thread between your hearts, a connection that grew stronger with every passing moment. Laughter punctuated the evening, light and genuine, and Megumi found himself smiling more than he had in a long time. The stories you shared felt like precious gifts, each one revealing a little more of who you were, peeling back the layers of the person he was growing to care for more deeply with each passing second.

And through it all, Megumi felt a sense of ease that was rare for him. It was easy to be with you, to let go of his guarded nature and simply enjoy the moment. He didn’t feel the need to put up walls or keep his distance. Instead, he allowed himself to be present, to savor the feeling of being close to you. Each glance, each shared smile, made him realize how much he had come to value these moments with you—moments that felt like they were meant to be, like they were part of something bigger, something that was just beginning to unfold.

“Remember that time Gojo-sensei tried to teach us how to cook?” you said, grinning as you recalled the chaotic kitchen scene.

Megumi chuckled, shaking his head. “How could I forget? He nearly burned down the entire place. I think that’s the last time we'll let him anywhere near a stove.”

“You looked so serious, trying to salvage the meal. It was adorable.” you teased, leaning in just a little closer. “I think I still have a picture from that night.”

He hesitated for a second, his usual calm demeanor faltering as a soft blush crept up his neck. “I was just trying to prevent a disaster.” he mumbled, but there was a shy smile on his lips. “And….can you share that picture with me?”

You grinned back at him. “Of course, Megumi. You can keep it in your wallet. And maybe you’ll think of me, hm?”

The moment you said that to him, it was almost automatic, the way he turned scarlet. You just have that way with him, a power that no one else can truly have. He lowered his face for a bit, as though trying to avoid you seeing how red he was. But he knew how obvious he was being. Hiding wasn’t going to work. But…he at least has to try.

“......Okay.” He mumbled under his breath.

You grinned even harder as his hands gripped the glass of wine and drank it swiftly. He was cute this way to you, you were sure. And by the way your eyes were following his every move, you were smitten with him as much as you think he is with you. Well, at least you hoped he was.

As you continued talking, you noticed that maybe you were right with your theory—an unspoken tension that lingered in the air, almost tangible. It was in the way his beautiful blue–green eyes kept finding yours, lingering a bit too long, as if he was trying to memorize every detail of your face. And every time your gaze met, a flutter stirred in your chest, a warmth that spread through you like wildfire.

Megumi’s voice would occasionally falter when you leaned in closer, a slight quiver that betrayed the emotions simmering just beneath the surface. “You’re really good at this.” he said at one point, his tone softer than usual. “More than I thought before.”

“At what?” you asked, tilting your head in curiosity.

“Making me feel… comfortable.” he admitted, his eyes locking onto yours for a moment before he looked away, almost shyly.

A smile tugged at your lips. “I’m glad. I feel the same way with you.”

There was a pause, a brief moment where the weight of what was unspoken hung between you. Then, almost as if compelled by the invisible thread drawing you closer, Megumi leaned in slightly. His hand brushed against yours on the table, just a fleeting touch, but enough to send a spark through you. You lifted your gaze, looking at him as though he was the only one in the world.

“Is it just me, or does it feel like there’s something… different tonight?” you asked softly, testing the waters.

Megumi’s eyes flickered with something deeper, a mix of emotions that he had been trying to keep hidden. “It does.” he agreed, his voice barely above a whisper. “It feels… important.”

You nodded, understanding what he meant. The connection between you had always been there, but tonight, it was as if it had intensified, become something neither of you could ignore. It was a first date, to be sure. But you’ve known him for a long time, and you’ve liked him for a long time. And the more you think about his words, the more you think that he’s liked you longer than you thought. You purse your lips, letting your smile reign.

“You’re good at this,” you whispered to him, your voice soft and full of warmth.

Megumi raised a brow, his curiosity piqued. “What do you mean?”

“Making me feel good,” you replied, a smile tugging at your lips as a blush, as vivid as a scarlet sunrise, bloomed on your cheeks.

Megumi’s eyes widened at your response, the sincerity in your words taking him by surprise. His heart began to beat wildly in his chest, each thump echoing the growing emotions he struggled to contain. For a moment, he couldn’t find the words to respond, too caught up in the way you were looking at him, your expression filled with something that made him feel lighter than air.

“And that’s everything to me.” you added, your gaze unwavering as you spoke.

Those simple words struck him deeper than anything had in a long time. Megumi felt his heart swell with something indescribable—something that made him realize just how much you meant to him, and how much this moment meant to you both.

Megumi felt a rush of emotions flood through him, a mix of awe and disbelief at the way you looked at him—as if he was the only person in the world who could make you feel this way. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat reminding him that this was real, that you were here with him, and that somehow, he had become someone important to you.

He took a slow, deep breath, trying to steady himself as he searched for the right words. “I… didn’t know,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know I could do that for you.”

“You do.” you assured him, your smile softening as you reached out to gently touch his hand. “You don’t even have to try. Just being with you makes me feel… safe, understood, happy.”

Megumi’s breath caught in his throat at your touch, the warmth of your hand sending a shiver down his spine. He felt a lump form in his throat, the weight of his emotions almost too much to bear. “You make me feel that way too,” he admitted, his voice tinged with a vulnerability he rarely showed. “I’ve never felt this way before… not with anyone else.”

You squeezed his hand gently, your eyes never leaving his. “That’s how I know it’s special, Megumi. What we have—it’s real.”

He nodded, swallowing hard as he tried to keep his emotions in check. But the way you looked at him, with such trust and affection, made it impossible to hold back. “I want to be that person for you,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “I want to make you feel good, to make you happy… because you mean everything to me too.”

There was a moment of silence, the weight of his words hanging in the air between you. Then, without thinking, Megumi leaned in closer, his heart racing as he let himself be guided by the pull he felt toward you. He hesitated for just a second, searching your eyes for any sign of hesitation, but all he found was warmth and acceptance.

And in that moment, all the uncertainty, all the nerves, melted away. Megumi closed the distance between you, his lips brushing against yours in a tender, hesitant kiss that held all the feelings he had been too afraid to express. The world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in that moment, connected in a way that felt as natural as breathing.

When he finally pulled back, his heart was still pounding, but there was a new lightness in his chest, a sense of calm that he hadn’t felt in a long time. “Thank you,” he whispered, his forehead resting gently against yours. “For letting me be this close… for trusting me.”

You smiled, your hand coming up to cup his cheek. “I wouldn’t want it any other way, Megumi. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”

And with those words, he knew—without a doubt—that this was the beginning of something extraordinary.

“Sometimes, I wonder if I’ll ever be able to say what I really feel.” he confessed, his eyes downcast. “I’m not good with words like Gojo or even Yuuji. But with you… it’s different. I want to try. I want to always make you happy. So, I just….”

You reached across the table, your fingers brushing against his hand. “You don’t have to be like them, Megumi. Just be yourself. That’s all I want.”

He looked up at you then, his gaze softening, and for a moment, the world seemed to stand still. The warmth between you grew, wrapping around you like a comforting blanket, and you felt a sense of belonging, a feeling that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

“You know, I’m not even drunk, but I feel like pretending I am.” He gave you a small, almost shy smile, the kind that made your heart skip a beat. “This….this feels crazy. Am I dreaming?”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly. “And why would you want to pretend? And you aren’t dreaming. This is… this is real.”

“Maybe it’s easier to be a little more… honest that way.” he replied, his eyes glinting with a mix of mischief and something else, something darker, more intense. There was a brief moment where you thought you saw the hint of desire flicker in his gaze, but before you could say anything, he looked away, clearly embarrassed.

“This is making my heart beat a lot. I’m sorry, if I get quiet,” Megumi said, his voice trembling slightly, his cheeks flushed a deep scarlet.

You blinked at his response, a soft laugh escaping your lips. The genuine, almost endearing awkwardness in his words made your heart swell. “I don’t mind,” you reassured him, your smile widening. “But… I just want to say, I’m really glad I can make you feel like this. It… it makes me happy.”

The sincerity in your voice seemed to wrap around Megumi like a warm embrace. He looked at you, his gaze softening as he took in your words. Your reassurance, your happiness at his nervousness, seemed to melt away his apprehensions. He felt a comforting warmth spread through him, a sense of relief and contentment that made him want to open up even more.

“I… You don’t have to worry about it,” Megumi continued, his voice growing steadier, though still tinged with emotion. “I… I only like you, okay? No one else.”

Your eyes widened slightly, a mix of surprise and delight crossing your face. Megumi’s confession, so simple and earnest, struck a chord deep within you. The fact that he was expressing his feelings so openly, despite his usual reserved nature, made your heart flutter.

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still. His declaration, so raw and genuine, held a weight that made you realize just how much this moment meant to both of you. You could see the vulnerability in his eyes, the way he was laying his emotions bare, and it made you feel incredibly special.

“Really?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper, as if you were afraid to break the delicate bubble of intimacy that surrounded you.

Megumi nodded, his gaze unwavering. “Yeah. I’ve never felt like this before. It’s just you. Only you.”

Your heart soared at his words, a warmth spreading through you that felt almost like a physical presence. You took a deep breath, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions that had taken over you. “That means so much to me, Megumi. I feel the same way. I… I only want to be with you.”

A smile slowly spread across Megumi’s face, a rare and genuine expression of happiness that lit up his features. The relief in his eyes was palpable, and for the first time, he allowed himself to fully embrace the joy of the moment.

He reached out, taking your hand in his with a tenderness that spoke volumes. “I’m glad we’re on the same page,” he said, his voice filled with a quiet resolve. “It makes everything feel… right.”

You squeezed his hand gently, feeling the connection between you deepen. “Me too, Megumi. I’m really glad.”

The night seemed to wrap around you both like a warm, comforting embrace. The conversation flowed easily once more, but now it was colored by a new understanding, a shared feeling that made everything feel even more special. With every glance, every touch, the bond between you grew stronger, weaving together the threads of your hearts into something beautiful and lasting.

When you stepped outside the restaurant, the cool night air was a welcome change from the warmth inside. Megumi walked beside you, his hand brushing against yours occasionally, as if he was considering holding it but wasn’t sure if he should. The conversation had slowed, and now there was just the quiet sound of your footsteps and the distant hum of the city.

Finally, you reached your house. You turned to face him, expecting the usual awkward goodbye, but instead, you saw something different in his eyes—a determination, a resolve that hadn’t been there before. He took a deep breath, his hands hovering near your shoulders as if he was about to pull you close. You could see the hesitation in his eyes, the internal struggle playing out in his mind.

“I—” Megumi began, his voice low, almost a whisper. “I’m really glad we did this. And I’ve been wanting to do this for the longest time. I’m glad we managed to do it.”

“Me too.” You grinned back at him, your face tender with warmth for him. “I’m glad you asked me out, Megumi. This was amazing.”

He smiled back just as warmly. “Me too, I really am glad that I—”

But before Megumi could finish his sentence, his phone rang, the sound slicing through the moment like a sudden, jarring interruption. He winced, pulling it out of his pocket with an almost defeated sigh. The light from the screen illuminated his face, which fell as he saw the caller ID.

“It’s… it’s Gojo-sensei.” he said, his voice laced with frustration as he glanced at you with an apologetic look. “He’s asking when I’m coming back home.”

You tilted your head, puzzled by the sudden shift. “Gojo-sensei?” you repeated, trying to suppress a giggle. It seemed that Gojo had an uncanny knack for showing up just when things were getting interesting.

Megumi nodded, his expression a mix of irritation and resignation. “Yeah. I guess he must’ve known I was having a moment. He always seems to show up at the worst times.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Gojo’s impeccable timing. Despite the disappointment of the interrupted moment, you could see how much the evening had meant to Megumi. The mood had been perfect, and the sudden intrusion felt like a cruel twist of fate.

“Don’t worry about it.” you said softly, trying to lighten the mood. “We’ll just have to save the best parts for next time.”

Megumi looked at you, a mixture of frustration and affection in his eyes. “I really wanted to…”

“I know.” you interrupted gently, reaching out to touch his hand. “But we’ve had a wonderful evening, and there’s still so much more time ahead of us.”

He squeezed your hand, a small smile forming on his lips despite his disappointment. “Yeah, you’re right. I guess it’s just typical of Gojo to show up right when things are getting good.”

You laughed softly, nodding in agreement. “He definitely has a knack for that. But don’t let it ruin our night. We’ll just have to make the next one even better.”

Megumi’s gaze softened, his frustration melting away as he looked at you with a renewed sense of hope. “I’d really like that.”

He answered the call, his voice calm but tinged with a hint of annoyance as he spoke to Gojo. You watched as he dealt with the interruption, admiring how he managed to balance his irritation with the warmth he continued to show you.

As the call ended, Megumi pocketed his phone and turned back to you, a sheepish smile on his face. “Well, it looks like I’m going to have to head back soon. But I want you to know… tonight has been incredible. I really appreciate your understanding.”

You smiled back at him, your heart feeling lighter despite the sudden end to the evening. “I wouldn’t have wanted to spend it with anyone else.”

He reached out and gently cupped your cheek, his touch tender and reassuring. “I feel the same way. And I promise, next time, I’ll make sure nothing gets in the way.”

You leaned into his touch, feeling the warmth of his words and the sincerity in his eyes. “I’m looking forward to it.”

You leaned in, pressing a soft, tender kiss to Megumi’s cheek—a simple gesture, but one that seemed to catch him completely off guard. His eyes widened slightly, and he stood there momentarily frozen, as if trying to fully comprehend the warmth of your lips against his skin. The blush on your cheeks mirrored the deep crimson that had spread across his face, and the way he remained still, caught in the aftermath of the kiss, spoke volumes about the impact of that brief, intimate touch.

As you pulled back, your eyes met his with a proud, affectionate smile. The way his posture remained rigid, his gaze lingering on you, highlighted just how deeply your kiss had affected him. It was clear that the warmth of your gesture had left a lasting impression, one that would linger long after you had gone.

“Goodnight, Megumi,” you whispered softly, your voice carrying a note of sweetness as you clutched your bag. The words felt like a promise and a gentle farewell, your smile reflecting the happiness you felt in the moment. “I’ll… I’ll see you around!”

Megumi’s reply came, his voice low and almost wistful, as if he were savoring the final moments of your time together. “Good night.” he said, his tone tinged with a mixture of reluctance and tenderness as you turned to leave.

You glanced back at him one last time before getting into your cab, the evening air cool against your skin as the door closed behind you. As the cab pulled away, you could see Megumi standing there, his gaze fixed on the retreating vehicle, a look of both longing and contentment in his eyes.

Inside the cab, you felt a flutter of excitement and warmth in your chest, a reflection of the connection you had shared. The memory of his surprised reaction, his blush, and the quiet intimacy of the evening would linger with you, a cherished reminder of the bond you were building together.

Megumi, still standing on the curb, felt the lingering touch of your kiss on his cheek, a gentle reminder of the special night you had shared. As the cab disappeared from view, he took a deep breath, feeling a mixture of wistfulness and anticipation. He knew that this evening was just the beginning of something meaningful, and as he turned to head back home, he carried with him the warmth of your smile and the promise of more moments to come.

When Megumi arrived home, the familiar comfort of his apartment greeted him. He closed the door behind him, his mind still drifting back to the evening’s events. The soft warmth of your kiss on his cheek lingered like a gentle, pleasant ache, making it hard for him to focus on anything else.

Gojo, lounging casually on the couch and flipping through a magazine, looked up as the door opened. His eyes sparkled with a mix of curiosity and amusement as he took in Megumi’s slightly distracted state.

“Hey, Megumi!” Gojo called out, his tone light and teasing. “How was your—”

But Megumi barely registered the question. His thoughts were still wrapped around the soft press of your lips against his skin, the way your smile had felt like a promise. He was caught in a reverie, his hand absentmindedly touching the spot on his cheek where you had kissed him.

Gojo’s brows furrowed slightly as he observed Megumi’s distant expression. “Hey, Earth to Megumi!” he said, raising his voice a notch to grab his attention. “Are you even listening?”

Startled, Megumi blinked, slowly pulling himself out of his thoughts. He turned to look at Gojo, his expression a mix of confusion and bemusement. “Huh? Oh, yeah. Sorry. I was… just thinking.”

Gojo arched an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Thinking, huh? You look like you’re in a daze. Did something happen?”

For a moment, Megumi was too wrapped up in the lingering sensations of the evening to fully process Gojo’s question. He simply shrugged, a faint smile playing on his lips. “It was a good night. Really good.”

Gojo eyed him critically, clearly not buying the vague response. “A good night, huh? So, what’s with the goofy grin and the dazed look? Did something happen with your ‘good night’?”

Megumi’s blush deepened, though he tried to hide it by looking away. “Nothing. Just… had a nice time. It’s nothing.”

Gojo’s curiosity was piqued. He walked over, leaning casually against the wall with a knowing grin. “Nice time, huh? So nice that you’re practically glowing. Spill it, Megumi.”

Realizing he wasn’t going to get out of this easily, Megumi sighed, still feeling the warmth from your kiss. “It’s just… there was this moment,” he said, his voice soft. “It was… really special. I didn’t expect it.”

Gojo’s grin widened, clearly enjoying the reaction he was getting. “A moment, huh? Sounds like someone’s got it bad. I��m guessing it was someone special?”

Megumi didn’t meet his gaze, instead focusing on the floor. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

Gojo chuckled, clearly delighted by Megumi’s apparent infatuation. “Well, I’m glad to see you so happy. Even if you’re too distracted to notice my wonderful company.”

Megumi finally looked up, a sheepish smile on his face. “Sorry about that. It’s just… I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Gojo’s teasing expression softened slightly as he clapped Megumi on the back. “It’s fine. Enjoy the moment. And remember, when you’re ready to come back to reality, I’ll be here to remind you how to interact with the rest of the world.”

Megumi nodded, still lost in his own thoughts as he headed to his room. He appreciated Gojo’s understanding, even if he was more focused on the sweet memory of your kiss. As he settled into bed, the warmth of your touch and the promise of more moments like this kept a contented smile on his face, making it clear that tonight had been more than just a good night—it had been the beginning of something truly special.

When Megumi finally made it to his room, he collapsed onto his bed with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling as if seeking answers from the blank expanse above him. The soft rustle of the blankets beneath him was the only sound in the otherwise quiet room.

He groaned, kicking his feet against the blankets in a frustrated display of pent-up energy. “It was so good.” he muttered to himself, his voice muffled as he buried his face in his hands.

The memory of your kiss, the warmth of your presence, and the way you had looked at him—all of it replayed in his mind, mingling with the sting of the missed opportunity.

For a moment, he allowed himself to wallow in the frustration, the feeling of having the perfect evening cut short gnawing at him. But as he lay there, the initial disappointment began to fade, replaced by a quiet, simmering determination.

He turned onto his side, gazing at the dimly lit room with a newfound resolve. The evening had been everything he had hoped for and more, and though it hadn't gone exactly as planned, it had shown him something important. There would be another date, another chance to savor the moments he had missed tonight. And next time, he was determined to make it perfect, to not let anything—or anyone—interfere.

A soft smile touched his lips as he imagined what could be. He pictured another evening, where he wouldn’t have to worry about interruptions, where he could focus entirely on you and the connection you shared. The thought filled him with a sense of anticipation, a promise of something even better to come.

Megumi took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his frustrations lift as he embraced the positive outlook.

“I’ll make sure of it.” he said softly, to no one in particular, as he closed his eyes and let himself drift into a hopeful sleep.

The night had ended with an unfulfilled promise, but it had also planted the seeds for something even more meaningful. As he sank into the comforting embrace of his bed, the thought of you and the evening to come filled him with a quiet, hopeful excitement, making the future seem brighter and full of possibilities. Nothing was impossible with love, right?

________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊

┊ ┊⋆ ┊ .

┊ ┊ ⋆˚ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭

✧. ┊ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭

⋆ ★

epilogue

The sun was setting over Tokyo, casting a warm glow through the windows of the Jujutsu High lounge. Genmei and Satoru were lounging on the sofas, sipping on their drinks and chatting about the recent happenings in their lives. The atmosphere was casual, with Satoru’s usual exuberance tempered by a rare, relaxed demeanor.

“You know…..” Genmei began, looking thoughtful, “I’ve noticed that Megumi’s been a lot happier lately. It’s like there’s a spring in his step that wasn’t there before.”

Satoru’s eyes widened with curiosity. “Really? I haven’t seen him smile this much since… ever. What’s the secret?”

Genmei leaned in with a mischievous smile. “Well….something pretty significant event happened recently. I heard in the grapevine that our little Megumi’s gotten a kiss!”

Satoru nearly choked on his drink, cerulean eyes bulging as he set the glass down with a clatter. “He did what?!” he exclaimed, his excitement palpable. “And you’re telling me this now? What happened?”

Genmei chuckled, enjoying the reaction. “Apparently, things went quite well. And, then boom! A kiss!”

Satoru’s face lit up with wild enthusiasm. “A kiss?! Oh man, you’ve got to be kidding me. I can’t believe it.He didn’t tell me! That kid! So, what kind of kiss are we talking about here? A peck on the cheek, or—”

“Just a simple kiss on the cheek, Satoru.” Genmei said, holding up a hand to indicate the gentle nature of the gesture. “But it seems it made quite an impression.”

Satoru’s excitement was infectious. “No way! A cheek kiss making him this happy? Megumi, of all people, is floating on cloud nine over a cheek kiss! I’m going to have to get the details from him myself.”

“Satoru, you’re acting like you weren’t the same way when I kissed your cheek the first time.”

“Uh, that’s not the point—”

Just as Satoru’s animated commentary reached its peak, Megumi happened to walk by the lounge, catching the tail end of the conversation. The mention of a “cheek kiss” made his ears turn a shade of red as he froze in place, his eyes widening in embarrassment.

“What are you guys talking about?” he asked, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

Satoru turned, his grin stretching wider as he saw Megumi standing there. “Oh, Megumi! We were just discussing how you’ve been a lot happier lately. Seems like the cheek kiss you got has had quite the impact!”

Megumi’s face flushed even deeper, and he stammered, “W-wait, you heard that? Who told you? Ah, this is…..”

Genmei stifled a laugh while Satoru’s eyes sparkled with mischievous delight. “Yep, we heard it all! And I have to say, it’s good to see you so happy. It’s like you’ve been reborn or something.”

Megumi’s embarrassment was palpable as he tried to hide his face. “Can we not talk about this? It’s… it’s not a big deal.”

Satoru’s laughter rang out, echoing through the room. “Oh, come on, Megumi! It’s adorable. It’s like watching you grow up right before our eyes. And hey, if a cheek kiss is what makes you this happy, maybe I should start giving out kisses too!”

“Please don’t do that, Satoru.”

“But wifey!”

“Don’t wifey me. Satoshi would say the same thing.”

“Lies, Satoshi would love his papa’s cheek kisses.”

“Hm, we’ll see what he says when he comes from my mother’s house.”

Megumi groaned, sinking into a nearby chair, hiding his face in his hands. “I swear, if you don’t stop, I’m going to find a way to make sure you never hear about my personal life again.”

Genmei chuckled softly, patting Megumi on the back. “Don’t worry, Megumi. We’re just happy for you. It’s nice to see you smiling for a change.”

As the laughter subsided, Satoru threw an arm around Megumi’s shoulders in a rare display of affection. “Seriously, though, I’m proud of you. Even if it took a cheek kiss to get you to loosen up a bit.”

Megumi gave a reluctant smile, finally lifting his head to meet their eyes. “Thanks, I guess. And… just keep this between us, alright?”

Satoru’s grin softened to a more genuine smile. “Deal. But just so you know, I’m always here if you need to talk about anything.”

Megumi had just shrugged off Satoru’s latest comment with a hint of sarcasm. “No, I think Gen–san’s better with this sort of thing.” he said, nodding towards Genmei.

Genmei’s face lit up with a mischievous grin. “A–ha! In your face!” Genmei declared triumphantly, savoring the moment of victory.

Satoru, always the dramatist, threw his hands up in mock despair. “GAH!? Megumi, you tear your father’s heart!” he exclaimed, his tone laden with exaggerated sorrow.

Megumi rolled his eyes, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’re not my dad, Gojo–sensei” he retorted, clearly amused despite himself.

Satoru gasped theatrically, clutching his chest as if wounded. “HUH!? Wifey, our son hates me!” he cried out in a tone so over-the-top that it had both Genmei and Megumi laughing.

Genmei sighed, a playful exasperated voice echoes, “What a life to live.”

The playful back-and-forth continued, each remark adding to the tapestry of their lighthearted dynamic. Fushiguro Megumi, despite his earlier embarrassment, found himself caught up in the laughter, the tension of the day melting away under the warmth of their happy home.

594 notes · View notes