𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐩 [toji fushiguro]
synopsis: toji will never forget the first night he spent away from the zenin clan and the day he met you.
pairing: toji fushiguro x f!reader | song inspo: saw you in a dream, timeless | hidden inventory: the lost tapes series masterlist
warnings: mentions of emotional abuse but generally pretty much a fluff fic where toji and y/n meet for the first time. | a/n: finally launching my little love project called “hidden inventory: the lost tapes”! 🍒
Now isn’t this just perfect?
Toji’s is just one inconvenience away from just going back to the Zenin clan with his tail between his legs. First, he underestimates just how expensive living in Tokyo is so, with what little pocket money his emotionally distant mother gave him before he left the estate, the first thing he does is spend it all on a girl — in broad daylight — he’s heard his brother, Jinichi, talk about those cute little call girls that crawl the streets of Kabukichō with flyers in their hand for thirty-minute “massages”. Naturally, as a young man who is only first experiencing the carnal joys the city has to offer, Toji was curious and he took the bait.
A bait that cost him ¥30,000 and the girl was unfortunately sloppy at best.
Now, he doesn’t have money to buy so much as a soggy red bean pancake for dinner. He doesn’t know how long he’s been walking around this dingy part of Shinjuku but as long as the red light district’s trashy ambience is distracting him from the growling of his stomach, then, he’ll stumble around this hellhole until morning.
“Ha! You won’t even last two minutes out there!” That’s what Naobito Zenin, the head of the clan said to him when he left. “Only two things await you when you get out of here, either you’ll die hungry or a cursed spirit will get to you first — either way, you’ll die with your eyes wide open with no one!”
Overrun by his thoughts, Toji doesn’t even notice that he accidentally intruded on a random cockroach and curse-infested alleyway that apparently belonged to some junkie who is now angrily telling him to get lost. “I was just looking for a place to sit down,” Toji scoffs. Weren’t they both bottom feeders in this city? Why was this rancid-smelling meth addict acting like he’s any better than him?
“Well, go sit somewhere else, this place is off-limits!”
It was almost funny how Toji thought that the world beyond the gates of the Zenin estate was any better than the shit show he was born into.
He should have known better than to be enticed by the glitz and glamour of living independently from his abusive family who at least had the decency to feed him maggoty rice from the estate’s second storehouse dedicated to prepare the animals’ food. They also gave him shelter, of course, he’s had to live in the Zenin estate’s shed for a while now since his father discovered he was born useless without an ounce of cursed energy. But at least he was warm, and the termites made him feel less lonely.
He continues on in his aimless quest. The night is still young. There’s plenty of time for self-depreciating introspection.
Hopefully, that grade three cursed spirit that’s been following him around the block for a while now gets to him first before the rain does.
“That guy over there,” your coworker whispers to you from the cash registers. “He’s been there for a while now and he hasn’t ordered anything.”
You look up from your pocketbook, your eyes curiously trained on the rugged looking man whose eyes were downcast, trained on the service water he requested from the counter when he came in. As if he could feel a pair of eyes on him, he looks up, and glances your way for a bit but you quickly hide your face behind your book.
“He kinda looks like trouble, no? Shady too, just look at the scar on his lip…”
“It’s not fair to judge someone like that, Rika-chan,” you whispered to your junior, turning to arrange the menus, painstakingly wiping each one clean with a cloth dampened with sanitizer. A small smirk appears on Toji’s lips at your passive defense of his character and as if to goad you on, he drums his fingertips against the table daring you to say another word. “Anyway, I’ll handle closing the shop tonight. You need to get home since you have class in a few hours.”
That seemed sudden. Rika looks at you funnily before shrugging off her apron in favor of her raincoat. “Well, alright, if you insist. Should I clean up the kitchen at least?”
“I’ll handle it,” you give her a thumbs up, waving her goodbye as she leaves through the backdoor. Now that you’re alone, you could hardly stop yourself from glancing at the mysterious man, and Toji himself wonders if his presence here is starting to turn into a nuisance. You were probably waiting for him to step out so you could close shop for the night but it’s raining hard right now and there are no other places open nearby to take shelter in.
The chair’s feet screeches against the wooden floorboards and you head to the restaurant’s kitchen. Toji stares at your retreating form, looks like he overstayed his welcome. He searches around for a few coins to give to you for your hospitality, of course, it probably doesn’t mean jack shit, but you must have known he didn’t have enough money for a meal when he came in here. You would have realized that immediately. But you allowed him to stay regardless.
You return a couple of minutes later with a bowl miso soup with ginger pork gyoza and shredded cabbages. You set the bowl down in front of him and Toji is thoroughly taken aback, he looks at you dumbfounded. “I don’t have any money,” his voice comes out a little gruffly but you barely flinch at the sharp edge of his tone.
“Don’t worry about it.”
Refilling his water, you explained that while you could have easily stuffed those leftovers back in the freezer, customers wouldn’t want to eat frozen food, so, you decide to heat these items up to give to him instead. “Oh,” Toji answers a little dumbly. “Or you could have thrown them out.” He stares at the sumptuous meal in front of him. Even in the Zenin estate, he never had such good food laid out in front of him before and it was surreal to see a stranger do the things his family should have done for him.
You return to the counter, leaning on your forearms as you engage in light banter with him. “You’re saying I should feed rats over people?” you chuckled, sitting back down, smiling softly when Toji gingerly bringing the bowl of miso soup to his lips, the rich earthy broth warming his throat that he lets out a content sigh.
He smirks at your little remark. “I’m saying you shouldn’t make a habit of feeding strays.” He polishes his soup bowl clean within minutes and you have to remind him to slow down every now and then as you watched him eat ravenously. “You never know when you could get that dainty hand of yours bitten off.”
You blushed pink at that. He was right, being too generous could cost you dearly one day but being the altruistic soul that you are, you’ll probably continue to be graciously selfless despite the risk of being taken advantage of. It’s just how you are as a person who believes that a little kindness can make the world better than it was yesterday. “I…don’t really know about that…whether I get bitten or not by the people I help isn’t really something I can control. The world would be better off if people just learned to be kind to one another.”
Toji hums at your naive countenance, folding his arms over the table. The room is silent for a few minutes save for the occasional rumble of thunder in the distance. “You’re kinda dumb, aren’t ya?”
“And you’re a pessimist,” you answered, quirking an amused eyebrow at him. “Who doesn’t even know how to say thank you.” You stand up to clear out the table, a teasing glint in your eyes as your curious orbs collide.
Toji scoffs, leaning against his seat, crossing his legs. At his reluctance, you shake your head, giggling softly. What an infuriating interesting guy. Toji hears the rushing of tap water from behind the counter and he smiles inwardly. The rain begins to slowly stop and he takes this window of opportunity to leave.
You don’t even try to hide your disappointment when you come back to the dining room only to find it empty, the stranger having left nothing in his wake — not a goodbye, not a thank you, and certainly not his name — except a single rusty five yen coin on the table.
Clang-dong!
“Hello, welcome—“ You stop mid-sentence. Your throat constricting with a mix of emotions, the most dominant one being joy at this happy chance, you’d recognize those sharp dark green eyes anywhere despite only first seeing them a week ago. After all, they looked so dangerously beautiful under the dim light of the dining room’s ceiling lampshade. “—back. Welcome back,” you smiled brightly at Toji.
Toji nods, his hand coming up to cover his lips as he coughs once. “Thanks…ah, right — shit, where is it?” After rummaging around his parachute jacket’s many pockets, he finally takes out his wallet and you look at him, bewildered, when he hands a few hundred yen bills to you. “For last week. Sorry I couldn’t pay you back then.”
“It’s fine.” You take his larger, calloused hand and return the money which Toji responds to by stubbornly placing it on the table.
Toji pinches the bridge of his nose when you playfully return the gesture by rolling it up and placing it in his jacket pocket, buttoning it. “Look, it was real nice of you to treat me back then, but I’m not a charity case, alright? I just wanna pay my dues.”
“Then, a simple ‘thank you’ is enough.” Toji just couldn’t understand you. You have absolutely no reason to be nice to him, but you are. For a moment, he begins to fall into the enticing thought that maybe life outside the Zenin estate won’t be too bad after all if there are people like you still around just waiting at random corners to be found in joyful happenstances such as waiting out a storm at a random family-style restaurant over a heartwarming serving of miso soup with tender pieces of gyoza and cabbage.
Relenting, he smirks at you, unable to figure you out. “Thank you.”
“Anyway, need a table for lunch?” you smiled warmly at him as you lead him to the table he sat in a week ago which you now affectionately refer to as ‘his’ table instead of table number four.
Toji nods following your lead and chuckling when you hand him the menu. “Where’s that thing I had last time?“ he oddly flips through the booklet.
“Oh uh…it’s not on the menu actually, but I could make that for you if you’d like.”
“Sounds good.” Toji hands you back the menu. You are just about to scurry away to the kitchen when he calls out to you. “So, do you have a name or should I just keep referring to you as gyoza girl or something?” Embarrassed at the way your knees seem to become weak at his boyish grin, you have to take a few deep breaths before turning around to face him again. “I’m Toji.”
He doesn’t say his last name. He doesn’t feel the need to anymore now that he’s finally closing the door to his past. You nod, noting how the name suited him. It’s brief but strong, muted but loud in its rhythm. Toji. At that moment, you find it impossible to name a prettier sound. After a few excruciating minutes in the kitchen, you come back out with two bowls of miso soup this time around and you sit down on the chair directly in front of him.
“Y/N.”
Toji repeats the melody of your name in his head. “And how much do I owe ya for this, Y/N?”
You shrugged as the two of you dig in, your hand coming up to cover your mouth as you chew the steamed gyoza, joining him as he laughs (well, he’s scoffing more than actually laughing, really), his eyes alight with wonder, when you simply say, “Five yen.”
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I WANT YOU CLOSER, CLOSER EVEN STILL ; SUGURU GETO
synopsis; in the midst of a rainshower, you run into your mysterious classmate.
word count; 6.1k
contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader, implied no curses au, fluffy summer vibes, forced proximity (my beloved <3), pining, very shoujo manga coded, vague allusions to sugu having a troubled background, (kind of same w reader), switching povs, gojo slander, stsg implications if you squint (my brand), he’s a sweet sweet boy and i love him :((
a/n; teen sugu reminds me a lot of the kind upperclassman type of otome game li… with secret emotional baggage that makes his route really hard to complete….. anyway i dedicate this fic to hit mobage jujutsu kaisen: phantom parade PLEASE bring sugu home to me please please please ple
geto looks beautiful in the rain.
it’s an embarrassing first thought to have, as he rounds the corner and comes into view. a black head of hair, making you stop in your tracks, breathe in a gulp of humid air.
you can’t help it, though.
it’s raining. droplets ricochet against the sidewalk in an endless cadence, the sky above you blanketed by gray clouds; enveloping your city in a summery shadow, the scent of hot concrete and blossoming hydrangeas. everything smells of a blistering summer, youth in a bottle cap. tasty on your tongue.
those very same hydrangeas surround him, on all sides, framing his figure like a painting come to life — splotches of colour, flecks of purple and pink and blue, clashing with the gray sky and the black umbrella in his hand. he looks a little disheveled, hair a little frizzy, bangs sticking to his skin. oddly at peace. when his eyes meet yours, you see a flash of recognition — a tiny spark in the amber hue.
you take that as your cue to move closer.
he waits for you, always so patient, smiling as you look both ways before crossing the street — shoes hitting the concrete in a steady thud, thud, thud. a splash from the puddle you step in.
you’re in a good mood. veins flooding with sugar and buzzing with joy, raindrops sticking to your skin and the plastic bag in your hand, absently humming along to a song playing through your headphones. your clothes are soaked, but you’re smiling; swinging the bag of treats as you walk. bags of chips, colourful lollipops, bottles of ramune, clinking together for every step you take. enough to last you a couple weeks. in your good mood, you ended up stocking up on your classmates’ favorites — bouncing on the balls of your feet at the thought of giving them away, seeing their satisfied little expressions.
you even got something for gojo. he’ll have to fight for it, obviously, but you look forward to seeing his face light up when he takes a bite of the soft mochi.
(you like giving them things. it’s fun. it makes you feel like a normal high school kid.)
nothing can dampen your spirits right now. the entire world smells of rain, and hydrangeas, and apple blossoms from the backyards behind you. a scent that creeps into your bloodstream, sneaks into your breath. a smile grows on your lips — blooming even brighter when you step into your classmate’s orbit.
”hey!” you chirp, raising a hand up in greeting.
”hey,” geto echoes, voice honeyed and smooth, bringing a hand up to wipe at his forehead. wet from the humid air. ”out on a walk?”
with a smile, you lift the plastic bag, grabbing his attention. clasping it tightly, with your wet fingers. ”just went to get some snacks. you?”
”i wanted to get some fresh air,” he smiles. eyeing you up and down. ”did you forget your umbrella?”
silently, he takes in your appearance. your breathing is a tiny bit laboured, and the flimsy, oversized hoodie you’re wearing is sticking to your skin. it’s all that protects you from the steady downpour; no umbrella to be seen. you look small, tilting your head up, meeting his gaze. he feels the beginnings of a smile play at his lips. exasperated. all you do is blink, seemingly unbothered, as if you aren’t straight on the road to catching a cold. you can be a little scatterbrained.
maybe that’s why he can’t help but dote on you.
(that’s what satoru calls it, at least. suguru thinks it’s just called being nice — not like satoru would know anything about that.)
”oh. no, i didn’t forget.” you scratch at the back of your neck. ”just didn’t know it was going to rain.”
the sudden downpour gave you no time to prepare, heavy and abrupt — clouds obscuring the glowing sun in what felt like no more than a second. like someone high above flicked the light switch of the world. all you could do was pull your hood up, try to walk under whatever apple tree you came across. it didn’t help much, though.
you shift your weight from one foot to the other, soles weighed down with dew. sort of sheepish.
geto chuckles, raspy and soft. the sound makes your heart skip a beat. ”didn’t you see the weather report?”
”well, it… just slipped my mind, i guess.”
silently, you avert your gaze. now you remember — yaga-sensei did mention that, didn’t he? you heard him say it. but you just forgot.
geto is laughing at you, a little, from within his eyes; at least that’s the impression you get. so you continue, eager to defend your honour.
”it’s fine, though,” you assure him, smiling brightly. a sunny grin. ”i like the rain!”
geto raises an unimpressed brow, but the expression fades away just as swiftly — giving way to something softer. ”you’re heading back to the dorms, right?” he asks, continuing once you give him a slight nod. ”then we can share.”
you blink. one moment passes, then two. but geto only smiles, shifting his umbrella a little, hoping you’ll get the hint. silently beckoning you over.
it makes you feel oddly flustered.
in truth, you and him aren’t particularly close. he’s nice to you, sure, but geto is nice to everyone. you’d like to call him a friend, but what do you actually know about him? not much.
suguru geto is a bit of an enigma. a little mysterious. he’s polite, well-mannered, and he seems like the most normal of your classmates — but the bar is in hell, because you know for a fact geto isn’t normal either. no normal guy deliberately chooses to keep his bangs like that.
there’s a gap, there. a kind of inconsistency. he’s hard to approach, but he puts you at ease. pulls you in and scares you off. with a soft voice and kind smile, keen eyes and a heavy palm on your head. sometimes he brings you snacks when you study in the library, or helps you with homework. kind of like a dependable senpai. someone to lean on.
… but then there’s that gap.
the real geto, who you’ve only seen glimpses of, only ever in gojo’s vicinity, is boyish and bright — he laughs and pouts and takes up space. he glows brighter than the sun. but the geto you’re seeing, right now, is more like the moon. wearing a polite, patient smile. standing up straight.
waiting for you to join him under his umbrella.
(he’s kind. but is he doing it because wants to, or because he feels obliged to?)
”… oh.” a pause. ”no, it’s fine!” you take a step back, quick to reassure him. ”i can walk there without it! i’m already soaked, anyway.”
geto observes you. for a moment, something in his expression flickers; a crease between his brows.
then he shakes his head. still wearing a comforting smile, the same one he always slips on when he’s around you. ”still. we don’t want you catching a cold,” he persists, sounding something like a nagging mother. ”you’ll miss the exam next week.”
and with that, your shoulders drop.
right — the exam. the one you haven’t been studying for in the slightest, completely distracted by the feeling of summer in the air. the one you can’t fail, under any circumstances, because yaga-sensei can and will force you to take summer classes ad compensation. that exam.
a wistful sigh leaves your lips. ”god, i wish.”
geto chuckles — a little deeper than usual. it makes your heart flutter. then he’s beckoning you over, again, with a slight shake of his head.
”c’mon. there’s enough room for two.”
he gives you that same familiar smile, and you’re forced to admit that you might be slightly weak to it. something about the way his lips tug upwards, the light crinkle of his eyes. a certain glint in them that tells you he’s not budging on the issue.
you’re still a little hesitant. but…
(this is a chance, isn’t it? a chance to bridge that gap between you.)
silently, shyly, you join him under his umbrella. shielding you from the still falling rain.
pitter patter, pitter patter. you don’t know where the rain ends and your own heartbeat begins. he’s so close — your shoulders nearly brushing together. it makes your nerves bubble up, in rhythm with the droplets bouncing off the cover up above. you feel stiff. the tiny, miniscule gap between you feels like a sweltering stove, radiating a heat that warns you to stay away. as if his touch could burn you. like this, you can even smell him; fresh laundry, an earthy cologne. the slightest hint of caffeine and tobacco. you blame it on shoko — the whole dormitory smells of cigarettes, thanks to her.
it’s comforting, though. his scent. blending together with the aroma of rain, wet earth, blooming flowers. with his fragrance smoothing over all your senses, the closeness between you a constant reminder of the situation you’re in, you can’t bring yourself to look at him.
all you do is murmur out a quick thanks, as you begin to walk, in tandem.
geto can’t help but steal a glance at you, out of the corner of his eye. you look a little meek, a little flustered. he hopes the narrow distance between you isn’t making you feel too uncomfortable.
just to be sure, he angles his body away from yours. ever so slightly, one subtle step away, to make the gap a little wider. then, as discreetly as he can manage, he tilts the umbrella in your direction — not wanting the never-ending drops of rain to graze your skin. he can feel them, now, soaking through the material of his shirt, hitting his shoulder. but he doesn’t mind. to his relief, you don’t seem to notice. he’s pretty sure you’d protest; and as enjoyable as another friendly squabble would be, he’d prefer to avoid it for now.
you’re nice. accommodating, he thinks, in a subtle kind of way. always showing up with trinkets after your little outings, offering to get everyone a drink on your way to the vending machines. you’re friendly with the other two; always nagging at shoko to stop smoking, even when she just rolls her eyes and calls you a goody two shoes. recently, you’ve even started to be patient with satoru, even when he tries to get a rise out of you. it wasn’t like that at the start of the year. geto wonders what changed.
he’s a little interested in you. just a little. you’re sweeter than the other two, easier to worry over. he saw you trip over your own shoelaces last week. you’re a little clumsy, a bit of a ditz — airheaded. maybe that’s why he can’t help but feel protective of you. satoru brushes everything off with a cheeky grin, and shoko is self-sustaining, but you’re often in need of a helping hand. the last time he tried that with the other two, they wouldn’t stop calling him mother geto until he smacked them over the head with satoru’s shounen jump issue.
it makes him feel out of place — when he doesn’t have anything to tend to. itchy, a feeling of dread crawling up his throat. peace and quiet feels suffocating, when he isn’t in total control over it.
so, in his own way, small as it may be, geto enjoys taking care of you. grabbing you a carton of strawberry milk, or warding satoru away when he’s annoying you a little too much. he likes the smile you grace him with when he does. it’s pretty. and it’s all geto really knows about you — that, and that there’s a tenderness to you that’s hard to fake. it’s not much to go on.
so this is the perfect opportunity to learn more.
(a heartfelt connection. something he’s always, always craved. something that maybe he can finally have, with satoru, and shoko, and you —
if you’re willing, that is.)
”hey,” he starts, breaking the rainfilled silence. keeping his umbrella steady, leading you both away from a big puddle in the middle of the sidewalk. ”can i ask you something?”
you raise your head to look at him. blinking owlishly, at the sudden question, nerves beginning to rise again. he sounds kind of serious. did you do something? paranoia gnaws anxiously at the ridges of your ribs, but all you can do is swallow empty air and stammer out a meek reply.
”… uh, sure!”
geto glances over at you, his eyes meeting yours. that gaze of his is kind of heavy — the deep colour of his eyes coaxing you closer, luring you in. honey and amber, splotches of cedar and flecks of gold.
they’re pretty.
”this might be kind of a weird question,” he begins, reaching a hand up to adjust his bun, sneaking a finger under the black hair tie. voice light; to put you at ease. ”but i’m just curious.”
he looks ahead, at the street before you, only meeting your stare once you give him a slight tilt of your head. then he parts his lips.
”why did you come here?”
you blink.
silently, confusion painting the interior of your iris, you stare at him. waiting for a clarification that doesn’t come, before giving him a hesitant answer. ”… to get snacks?”
geto has the audacity to laugh, after such a vague question. the sound is light and breathy, melting together with the pitter patter of the rain, and for some reason it strikes you as sincere. ”not like that,” he grins. ”i mean, why did you come to the school in the first place?”
ah.
that’s a different question. harder to answer. he must notice your hesitance, the puzzlement in your features, because he’s quick to elaborate. hiding a smile behind his fist, disguised as a cough.
(you’re sort of cute when you’re confused.)
”i mean — it’s an odd choice, isn’t it? far off the map, barely any students....” you nod along, and he continues. ”i don’t know about your background. but moving away from home must be kind of tough, right?” when he glances in your direction, you notice a sparkle of genuine curiosity in his eyes. ”so i was curious about your reason. if you feel comfortable telling me, i mean.”
a hum. it buzzes in your throat, absentminded, as you stare into space. brows furrowed.
geto gives you time, as much time as you need, always willing to wait. for a minute or so, the only sounds that fill the space around you are the pitter patter of raindrops hitting the plastic cover of umbrella, and the sound of your shoes meeting puddles on the street. silently, you ponder the question. thinking of your answer.
geto has a point. you’ve been curious, too — about how your classmates ended up in such an eccentric little school, so detached from the rest of the world. a quirky private school in the middle of nowhere. you must all be a little eccentric yourselves. that’s probably why you feel so safe with them — you get the sense that you’re all lacking something. something that would ward normal kids away from such an unorthodox choice.
you could say you were just going with the flow. a relative of yours used to work with yaga-sensei, and heard about his position at a newly reinstated private school — heard that he was looking for students to fill the roster.
so you accepted.
(if it was really that simple, geto would already have his answer.)
what drew you in, more than anything, was the promise of something new. a strange, small school, far away from home; from the people you know, the town you know, the life that you’ve lived. far away from the person you are, the person you was, the person you’ve always been.
an escape. that’s all it was.
a way out.
he’s still waiting for your answer, even now, trying to read your thoughts off your face. eyes trailing over every contour. very briefly, you consider dodging the question — but his silent, steady presence squeezes a little honesty out of you.
you want to give him a genuine answer.
”… i guess,” you begin, weighing the words on your tongue. they feel stale, a little awkward, but not dishonest. ”i wanted to stop being me for a bit.”
the words are unexpected, surprising even to your own ears — like your mouth and your mind weren’t quite cooperating, one ahead of the other, one not weighing in on the honest choice. they catch geto off guard.
he looks at you, silently, attempts to dissect your expression; but he doesn’t succeed.
for a second, something flashes in his eyes. a glimmer that you just barely catch, that you can still sense behind his eyelids when they flutter shut. you’re not sure what to call it. recognition, maybe, or something like empathy. a sense of acknowledgement. it’s gone when he opens his eyes.
he doesn’t look at you when he answers.
”… i get that.”
there’s a depth to his words that you’re afraid to uncover. you feel their weight, all the same, glancing up at him, studying his expression, the humid drops of dew that stick to his lashes. and you feel a tug. faint, non-existent, the string between your pinkies —
a growing connection.
(it makes you feel oddly bare.)
all you can give him is a chuckle, a little breathless. ”do you?” you ask, grinning weakly. ”it’s a little melodramatic.”
geto only smiles. silent, comfort personified. there’s no judgement in his eyes, none whatsoever — because he knows exactly what you mean.
fleeing from the past.
it’s a kind of murder, he thinks. a rebirth.
maybe the two of you are similar. similar in the sense that he recognizes the shadow in your eyes, the one he sometimes sees in mirrors; familiar in the sense that you both suffer from that same sickening awareness.
(maybe you want the same thing he wants, what he’s always wanted —
control.)
it’s a realization that creeps up on you, the both of you, slow and steady. a sense of kinship. it envelops you, cradles you close, in the same way molten clouds cover the summer sky.
geto isn’t lying, you can tell. he does get it. you know, just from that tilt of his voice, the way his eyelashes flutter, his absent shifting from one foot to another. and it soothes your worries.
everything is silent, for a bit. you look down at the asphalt, at your own reflection in a puddle, and geto gazes at the bushes of hydrangeas to his right. you feel safe, right next to him, under his umbrella. and he feels content to have you there. your shoulders brush together, for a moment, and it sends a jolt through your heartbeat.
geto inhales a breath.
”by the way —”
”— have you studied for the exam?”
you both still. blurting out the words at the same time, turning to look at each other; sheepishly blinking in the other’s direction.
then he barks out a laugh.
”sorry,” he hums, a sleek smile on his lips. bright and sheepish. ”what was that? the exam?”
”ah — yeah,” you feel heat settle on the back of your neck, crawling up your ears. ”have you, um, studied for it at all?”
geto moves the umbrella from one arm to the other, smoothly directing you to stand on his right instead of his left. guiding you with his hand on your lower back, ghosting the fabric of your clothing. he stretches his free arm, a little stiff.
”yeah,” he exhales. ”not a lot, though.”
”really?” you blink up at him, trying not to blush at how easily he maneuvered you. stupid, stupid heartbeat. ”you strike me as the honour student type…”
geto scoffs. it leaves his lips before he can tug it back. ”satoru said the same thing.”
a breath spills from your lips, almost a chuckle. you’re not sure how to feel about being compared to gojo, of all people, but you’ll let it slide this once. ”well, you just kinda have that vibe.”
now he’s huffing, tethering on the edge of something childish, and your smile grows. you’re seeing him make a lot of new expressions today.
”why, though?” comes a sigh. he must be playing it up, a little — you almost get fooled into thinking he’s pouting. ”is it the hair? i don’t even wear glasses anymore...”
”well —” you pause. ”hold on, you used to wear glasses?”
all you get is an absent hum. he doesn’t notice your wide, shellshocked eyes. ”when i was younger. i got rid of them a couple years back.”
“oh…” you try to imagine it, for a second. he’d look frighteningly good in them. just barely, you manage to keep yourself from saying it out loud. ”i think it’s more just your general personality. like, you’re responsible and polite… or something.”
and geto chuckles; the intersection between a teasing smile and a soft grin. it’s just a little bit ethereal, painted over with the humid summer air. he turns towards you.
”and that makes me an honour student?”
”… okay, maybe not.” you bring a hand up to your hair, fixing it absently. deflating a little. ”you just strike me as intelligent, i guess.”
geto smiles, again, as always. the chuckle that escapes him is faint and fond, and awfully soft, dripping down his lips. ”well, thank you.”
his eyes are warm, burning into yours. all you can do is glance away. you still don’t really understand this sensation — why he’s suddenly so easy to talk to. why he feels like something other than just a classmate, when he looks at you like that.
then again, geto has always been a natural at putting people at ease. maybe that’s why you can’t help but warm up to him, compliantly, the way a child dutifully follows the first butterfly they ever see — it’s a little too pretty to resist.
you want to slip deeper into his world, you realize. you don’t want this moment to end so soon.
”you guys really get along, huh?” you change the subject, speaking slowly, savouring every syllable. there isn’t any rush to get the words out all at once, when you’re with him.
geto blinks, tilting his head.
”hm?”
“you and gojo, i mean.”
a glimmer passes through his eyes, as your query sinks in. ”ah. yeah.” his gaze strays upwards, and a contemplative look settles into his face. he knows what you’re after, what you’re really asking; why are the two of you so close? why do you put up with his antics?
what do you see in him?
he thinks it’s a fair question. it’s not like he hasn’t asked himself the very same thing, before — satoru can be annoying. ignorant, too, and terribly rude. a little prick. when he stole his curry bun yesterday, geto wanted to kill him. spoiled little brat.
(then again, he’s…)
”he’s… well.” geto exhales, a little breathless. tasting the words on his tongue. ”you know how he is — but he’s not a bad guy.”
and it’s true. he really isn’t. satoru is a lot of things; rude and spoiled, cocky and bratty, an expert at ticking everyone off. but there’s a kind of charm, there. an innocence that geto admires.
satoru is childish — because he is a child. a child who knows a lot of things that children shouldn’t know. a child who doesn’t know the most basic of things. satoru doesn’t know how to make friends. he doesn’t know how to ask for help, doesn’t know how to give it. he doesn’t know what cotton candy tastes like, because he’s never tried it before.
his childhood couldn't have been very warm. it definitely wasn’t normal.
is that why he puts up with him, then? out of pity? of course not. the bare thought of it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. he’d never look down on satoru, like that — and he knows he’d hate him for it. if anything, geto thinks that maybe the two of them are close because he doesn’t give him any special treatment. even if satoru wasn’t treated with warmth or love, he was certainly coddled. spoiled. it’s evident, in the way that he acts.
but satoru isn’t a god, and he shouldn’t act like one.
one punch, right across the face; knocking the white-haired boy off his feet. that’s where their friendship began. there were stars in satoru’s eyes, geto thinks, when he looked up at him from the ground. sunglasses fallen off from the impact, blue eyes entirely on display, catching the light of the sun — gleaming with a certain bewilderment. almost amazement. like he didn’t know he could be hit, didn’t know it was possible. the sun shone down on him, illuminating the vague bruising on his cheek, and geto wondered if that was the first punch the boy had ever taken.
it certainly wasn’t a first for him, when satoru lunged at him next —
it was a little juvenile. more than a little deranged. geto isn’t one to throw fists, in the first place — he’s out of practice. the punch he fed satoru might’ve been a little too forceful. he couldn’t help but feel bad, every so slightly, for putting a bruise on that irritatingly pretty face of his.
but it still ended with satoru’s arm around his shoulder, a buzzing voice by his ear, proclaiming them as friends. cheery and bright.
geto couldn’t help but echo the statement.
(satoru is a lot of things.
most of all, he’s really hard to hate.)
geto’s answer brings a smile to your face. ”yeah,” you hum, soft voice breaking him out of his reverie. ”he isn’t.”
he looks at you. silently, a question of his own brewing in his irises — and with you so close, close enough to touch, smiling at him like he’s an old friend… geto can’t help but indulge in his own curiosity.
he tries to appear nonchalant, stealing a glance at you out of the corner of his eye. ”seems like the two of you are getting along better, too.”
”me and gojo?” you blink, surprised. a little flustered. huffing out an amused breath, trying to brush off the bare thought. ”no way.”
geto laughs — it’s a deep sound, a full one. somehow very earnest. you wonder if that’s how his laugh always sounds, whenever gojo’s involved. ”oh, come on. you don’t hate him that much.” a teasing glint blooms in his eyes, as he scrutinizes you. ”or am i wrong?”
you pause. faltering, a little, gaze falling down to the pavement — then to the sky — then to him. and then back to the pavement.
”… i mean…” you attempt to squeeze the words out from within your chest, but you can’t help but feel hesitant. as if gojo could jump out of the bushes at any moment, ready to tease you if you say anything that paints him in an even moderately decent light. ”i don’t… hate him. but he’s still annoying.” a pout slips onto your lips. “he has it out for me, you know.”
geto laughs, again. you note that you’re fond of the sound. ”isn’t that because he likes you, though? he just doesn’t know how to show it. it’s like pulling pigtails.”
”don’t even joke about that,” you scoff, shooting him a scowl. “and that wouldn’t make it any better, even if it was true.”
a fond smile. ”yeah, you’re right.” he opts to dial down on the teasing, shifting into a more sincere tone. ”you do seem more friendly now, though. before it felt like you really hated his guts.”
a hum buzzes in your throat. brows furrowing, as you mull on what to answer with. unsure how you really feel. it’s not like you’re suddenly super close, or anything — but you have gotten friendlier. just by a smidge, but still. you’ve gotten better at putting up with him and his antics, at finding comfort in how open he can be.
after a tiny pause, you speak up.
”… i still don’t really understand him.” you gnaw at the skin of your bottom lip, trapping it between your teeth. “but i think i might be starting to.”
you’re a little embarrassed over the words that fall from your lips, barely above a whisper.
”… he’s not the worst.”
geto smiles, but you don’t see it — gaze still lingering on the droplets that bounce off the pavement. ”i’m glad,” he hums, earnest. ”that guy needs more friends.”
something about his tone of voice urges you to look at him. that smile of his is bright, gleaming in the rain, in the midst of the flowers all around you. a little teasing, a little boyish, but somehow very sincere. you didn’t think you’d get to see it up close.
and you can’t help but chuckle. the raven-haired boy glances over at you, confusion in his eyes.
noticing it, you breathe out a quiet chuckle. ”sorry, it’s just —” a teasing grin smooths over your lips. ”you guys bicker a lot, and you act like he annoys you… but you really care for him, don’t you?”
this time, geto almost stops in his tracks. his eyes widen, slightly, and you’re not sure why he seems surprised — when he always sounds so fond saying satoru’s name, talking about him like they understand each other fully. maybe he didn’t notice it until now.
a moment passes, before he collects himself, clearing his throat and averting his gaze. awfully good at keeping his composure.
(though he fails to fully conceal the flustered look on his face.)
”i wouldn’t go that far,” he mumbles, but it only makes you chuckle again. his lips curl up slightly, at the sound; despite his embarrassment. ”someone’s gotta look out for that idiot.”
”right. of course.”
geto gives you a displeased little look. you bite back a laugh. feeling at ease, by his side — you get the sense that you can trust him, that you could tell him absolutely anything, and he still wouldn't use it against you. it’s a relief.
standing there, under geto’s umbrella, in the shadow of summer, rain obscuring the world — you reach a definitive conclusion.
you want to get to know him. want to see inside his heart, hear more of his thoughts. if you could only step over that gap between you, wriggle your way into his world —
you think you’d be happy.
so, as you walk side by side, narrowly avoiding puddles and breathing in the humid summer air, you try to coax them out of him. little thoughts, bits and pieces of the suguru geto you yearn to meet.
(unbeknownst to you, he’s doing the same.)
you continue to talk. about miniscule things, meaningless things, a comfortable sensation of trust simmering in the air between you. and before you know it, you’ve stepped onto the school grounds, stopping right in front of the dormitory.
”here we are,” geto hums, folding the umbrella and tucking it between his arm and torso. you turn to look him in the eye, taking an absent step away.
”thanks, geto,” you can’t help but smile. ”for letting me walk with you.”
”don’t mention it.” he brushes you off with ease, quick to drag the door open; waiting for you to step inside before following suit. always so accommodating.
for a second, he hesitates. a glimmer of uncertainty, in his eyes, that you miss — stretching out your tired limbs with a shallow groan, enjoying the warm and dry air on your skin.
finally, geto takes the leap.
when he parts his lips, his voice comes out soothing. natural and breathy, floral patterns blooming on his tongue; as silky as jasmine petals. ”you can call me suguru, you know.” he lets the silence linger, for a moment. ”if you want to.”
you turn to look at him, eyes widening, at the sudden offer, and he can’t get a good read on the emotion reflected in them. you seem caught off guard, but he can’t tell if it’s a good or bad thing.
after a moment or two, you fumble for a response.
”oh. um — okay? i will, then.” you shake your head, as if brushing off the hesitance you feel, mustering the courage to imitate his offer. ”in that case, you can call me by my first name, too.”
a brief pause.
”… if you want to.”
geto smiles. it’s laced with relief, hard to notice, impossible to miss. instead of answering with an affirmation, he takes a more teasing approach — unable to resist the temptation.
so he says your name. your first name, dragging the syllables out on his tongue, as if tasting it. trying to get used to the way the letters bend as they come out of his mouth. despite the teasing lilt it carries, the sound is oddly earnest; he pronounces it clearly, like he’s trying to call you to his side. you almost feel compelled to take a step towards him.
geto looks you in the eye, as he calls you by your given name, for the very first time — and you can’t help but grow flustered.
”… suguru,” you echo, for whatever reason. you think your brain may be slightly fried. but it feels right, to say it. suguru.
(what a pretty name.)
suguru smiles at you. you think it’s just a little wider than usual, a little more sincere. almost giddy, if you squint. in the open air, the intimate atmosphere simmers.
finally, you clear your throat, glancing in the direction of your dorm room. a silent que for him to follow.
and he does. leaving the umbrella by the hall, before walking you to your door. his steady, soothing presence sticking to your skin. you’re just about to place your fingers on the doorknob, when a pang of realization hits you — stopping you in your tracks.
”oh — right!”
swiftly, you turn on your heel, facing suguru again. he gazes down at you, bemusement in his eyes. watching as you rummage through the plastic bag hanging off your arm. finally, you find what you were looking for; holding it out towards him.
”here,” you give him a warm smile. ”as thanks.”
suguru accepts it, compliantly, allowing you to slip a pack of gum into his palm. he recognizes the brand, one he favours over others. it helps him, on days he can’t find his appetite.
did you see him chewing it at some point, he wonders? when, though?
maybe you’re always paying attention to the people around you. the way they like their coffee, their favoured flavour of gum. it may be a small kindness, an absentminded one, but suguru thinks that makes it all the more meaningful. a kindness that seeps out of you, that draws him in.
he wants to know more, about you. he really does.
but for now, this is enough. a walk back to your dorm, your shared home, talking and growing closer than before.
it’s a small step, but in the right direction.
the pack of gum stirs a mellow, tender feeling in his chest. all he can do is give you a smile, and a thank you that you’re quick to brush off. then you say your goodbyes, and you close the door behind you — flopping down on your bed with a muffled squeal. a giddy kind of excitement swimming in your veins. because finally, finally, you feel like the gap between you has been dented.
you know what his real laugh sounds like. that the tips of his ears turn pink when he’s embarrassed. you know that he used to wear glasses, that you’re a little more similar than either of you could have assumed.
you know that you’re fond of him. fond of a boy with black hair, who smells of summer and rain and chewing gum. fond of a boy you’ve only scratched the surface of.
on the other side of the door, suguru walks back to his room. with a pep in his step, one that satoru notices — because of course he does — appearing from around the corner with a shit-eating grin.
“oh? what were you doing over there, suguru?”
suguru ignores him. popping a piece of the gum you gave him into his mouth, a flavour of apricot melting on his tongue — he sinks his teeth into it, slowly, feeling his lips curl up into a smile.
it tastes of summer and youth. a memory that both of you will savour, for many years to come.
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-Benjicot Blackwood x Arryn!Reader
{Benjicot doesn’t mind getting his hands bloodied if it means protecting your honour}
word count- 1.7k
!CW!//vulgar language, descriptions of blood// Enjoy my lovelies💕
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The Vale was all harsh winds and rain since the sun had first begun to rise above the horizon, a thick layer of fog rolls through the high mountains and over the hills creating a rather eerie atmosphere around the courtyard of Raventree hall.
You sit on the balcony that overlooks the training grounds with your sister, Jeyne Arryn, protected from the light rain by the stoney overhang. You both had been asked to unite your houses for a few days in hopes of getting the men more accustomed to the sword and shield a little faster.
It had been going great in all honesty, they seemed to have lifted each other spirits despite the pressure of the looming war.
“Is your friend down there?” Jeyne smirks, looking over at you with a playful gleam in her eyes.
She takes joy in the way your eyes widen ever so slightly, how you move away from the edge to slouch back into your chair. “No, not yet.” You mumble, crossing your arms over your chest in a harrumph.
You roll your eyes at Jeyne and the sound of her chuckles, smiling into her cup whilst she continues to tease you. Her jabs are soon cut off by the sound of men cheering and metal clanging together in excitement.
You immediately lean back over the stone railing of the balcony, looking down at the group of men searching for…
Benjicot. He had made quite a name for himself over the past few moons, his way with a sword was… wild to put it more kindly. He was a madman on the battlefield, charging in with absolutely no fear, the complete opposite of the shy boy you grew up with.
For a small second your gazes meet. He waves softly, sending you a sweet smile which you happily return before he’s dragged away to the training yard by his friends.
The sound of your sister’s giggling snaps you out of the moment, your face twisting into a small frown. “Do not start.” You huff, slouching back into the chair with a pout.
Your sister makes small conversation, keeping it light as you watch over the training. Benjicot found it hard to stay focused, his mind drifting over to the fact that you were watching him with your pretty eyes.
The pair of you shared plenty of fleeting moments together, lingering touches and sweet whispered words. You danced along the line of friends and something more but neither of you took the leap, too scared of ruining the deep friendship you have.
Benjicot sits on a tree stump, cleaning his sword with a rag as his eyes glance between the balcony where you sit and the men around the training yard. He was miles away, thinking about how he could see you tonight… perhaps a walk through the garden… or maybe sneaking you into the kitchens.
His mind soon gets away from him, all of his thoughts consumed by you… but then again when are they not?
The sound of two rowdy men snaps him out of his trance, his expression immediately darkening with his brows pinched together tightly. They sound drunk as they speak horrid nonsense about women, barely able to hold their swords let alone stand on two feet.
“I’d fuck her… bet her cunt is tight too, ey?” The taller one says, harshly nudging the other man's shoulder almost sending him tumbling to the floor.
Benjicots fingers tighten around the hilt of the sword, his knuckles going white with anger. He hopes for their sake that they’re not talking about you. “Mhm… bet shes a squealer.” The other man agrees, the pair of them chuckling.
The sound goes right through Ben, his blood running cold as he watches them cast their predatory gaze over to you as you lean curiously over the edge of the balcony.
The sword that he was cleaning drops to the floor with a dull thud. He acts way before he thinks, his body moving without hesitation and before he knows it he’s coiling back his arm, colliding his tight fist down against one of the taller drunkards face as the other scurries off.
A crimson colour stains his knuckles, the blood warm and wet in between his fingers. The adrenaline overshadows the pain that shoots down his arm, reducing it to a mere tingle that he’ll surely feel later on. He watches the fool drop to the damp, cold ground, writhing in pain whilst clutching his nose as it weeps a thick red.
Benjicot opens and closes his hand, trying to lessen the ache. “Perhaps next time you’ll hold your tongue.” He sneers before storming off with a mean glare that makes everyone step out of his way.
You had watched the whole scene unfold, worry immediately settling in the pit of your stomach, etching across your face. Your sister tells you to ‘stay put’ however her words fall upon deaf ears as you rush back inside, running down the halls and the twists and turns of the castle.
The Maesters chambers are where you find Benjicot. His aunt walks out of the room with a displeased expression, however, the candlelight gives away the amusement that flickers through her dark eyes.
She greets you with a warm smile, nodding her head. You return the action before slipping into the room, your gaze immediately finding his as he gives you a sheepish smile.
“Hey…” his words break through the silence, the crackle of the hearth taking over once more as you wordlessly walk deeper into the room.
His hand was submerged in a dark oak basin, the water inside had long turned murky with a minty almost medicinal aroma. You sit down on the chair adjacent to his own, brows pinched together in concern.
“Where’s the Maester?” You ask, looking at him with a small smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.
“Gone to get some sort of balm… I don’t need it.” His words make you tut, shaking your head as you watch him pull his hand out of the water. He seethes a little in pain, teeth clenched.
You reach over for a cloth, drying off his hand but whilst being careful to not cause him any more discomfort, he was already shifting and squirming in his chair.
“What even happened?” You sigh, holding his injured hand against your lap. Your thumb ever so gently caresses his palm in such a way that it makes his mind spin and his heart skip a beat.
He swallows, clearing his throat. “They— they were making… distasteful… comments towards you. I won’t repeat them.” He tells you, shaking his head firmly.
“How silly… look at your hands over some words.” You scold lightly, although there was no real bite to your soft tone. You couldn’t be, in fact, the thought of him defending you like this sends a pleasant warmth blooming through your chest. Although you wouldn’t tell him that, for his own sake.
“I’m fine, I have no regrets. They deserved it.” He states, watching the way you bring his knuckles into the candlelight to assess the damage.
They were red raw, the skin split open at the tips of each knuckle save for his thumb. A purplish colour tints the delicate skin, the shade darker around the cuts then fading off into a more dull colour. It certainly was not fine.
“You should be more careful.” Your words are hushed, whispered into the air, so soft that if he weren’t sitting so close to you he probably wouldn’t hear you. His eyes meet your own once more, admiring the way the candles cast an orangey light across your pretty features.
His fingers itch to reach out and tuck a loose curl behind your ear, to graze the back of his fingers along to warm cheek. But he refrains, even the mere thought has his stomach swarming with nervous butterflies.
You take another thin sheet of cloth, edges ragged with loose threads and the fabric an off-white colour. He looks at you with a quizzical expression, watching you dip one end of the cloth into the basin.
Before he can ask any questions you’re already leaning closer to him, knees bumping together. Your hand reaches out to ever so gently cup his jaw, fingers curling against his cheek to hold his head still whilst you wipe away a small mud stain just under his eye.
“Thank you…” he says, breath hitching in his throat at the way your thumb brushes along his warm cheek.
“No, I should be thanking you, really.” Your words make him smile, his eyes softening. “Thank you,” You add, your eyes searching his own.
He doesn’t speak, he can’t, not with you so close to him. He fears that he might have ruined the moment when silence wraps around the room. He suddenly doesn’t know what to do with himself or if he should move the hand that rests upon your lap.
He lets out a small noise in the back of his throat, trying to will the words from his lips but none come and it only serves to cause his mind to spiral, cursing himself and his inability to speak.
The feeling of your lips against his cheek brings him back, his worries and fears ebbing away until the only thing that was on his mind is your flowery perfume and the softness of the kiss. He finally lets out a breath. His hand rests against your knee as you pull back, a pang of disappointment hitting his chest.
“You don’t need to thank me… I’d never let anyone slander your name, but either way, you are welcome.” He finally manages to speak, the words tumbling out of his lips rather ungracefully.
You entwine your fingers with his own, minding his roughened knuckles, holding his hand ever so gently with your own. His thumb caressing the inside of your wrist, the calluses feel strangely nice.
“Perhaps afterwards we could walk through the gardens?” The suggestion makes his heart skip a beat, the image was already vivid in his mind, walking arm in arm with you.
“Of course, if it would please you, my lady.” He replies, hoping the words sound more graceful than before.
You hum in agreement, nodding your head. Your warm hands still in his own, the kiss lingering on his cheek, your knees pressing against either side of his own and your honeyed gaze still upon him… he realises he’s completely doomed, you hold his heart in the palm of his hand.
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