#why the fuck was he carrying around a ramen seasoning packet?!?!?!

[sesshy380]

Follow up to the fact that I'm raising a cartoon villain

Had to run back to the store today because brain is brain and why would I ever remember my list???

Walking through the isles and my 6'4" 14 y/o decides to do the normal teenage thing of sticking his hands in his pockets (why bother with the jacket when you wore freaking shorts in a snowstorm???). He then stops dead in his tracks, pulls something out of his pocket, and holds it up while looking me dead in the eye. "Mom...wha-...what is this?" I wish I was making this up when I say that he was holding a RAMEN SEASONING PACKET. Like, I have so many freaking questions!!! Why was it even in his pocket? Where did it originally come from? How freaking long has it been in there? And why was he looking at me like it was some kind of evil plot to getting what he needed to make his newest -inator to defeat a platypus in a fedora???

I can't even with this kid some days.

I just shook my head and pretended this was normal, because to be honest, I don't even know why I'm surprised anymore.

[peachsayshi]

Chapter 10 - Intimate (2)

Tags: Friends with Benefits, Angst, Fluff 

Summary: Gojo uses you to relieve some of his stress after his little argument with your best friend, and poses a question that catches you off guard.

A/N: this chapter was a bit difficult for me to write and I think it's because it turned out to be sort of a filler chapter! Also, please excuse any errors - I am definitely posting this half asleep lol! but I am really excited to share the upcoming ones! I initially said that this was going to be 25 chapters but I outlined the rest of the story and there will be more! Hehe I do plan on doing the few extra one-shots in the end, so I hope you enjoy.

- - - 

“Tell me you’re mine…”  

You blushed at the thought of Satoru’s words, painfully aware of the knot that tightened in the pit of your stomach which then tugged at your lungs, slowing your breath. You reached for the seasoning packets, ripping open the colored wrappers to prepare the ramen broth. You watched as tiny circles began to form from the bottom of the metal pot, bubbling it’s way to the surface. You could hear the shower still running from your bathroom, a bit relieved that Gojo was taking his time because you wanted to bask in the few precious minutes you had to yourself to try and quieten your racing thoughts.

You couldn’t focus on the task of preparing dinner because the word “mine” slipping from Gojo’s lips in a feverish claim was playing on a loop in your head. The way his tone darkened with urgency when he held his body close to yours sent goosebumps to run up your arms. You couldn’t figure out where the possessive streak came from or why he felt the need to assert his dominance over an act that should not have been as intimate as it felt. You folded your arms over your chest, subconsciously pinching your skin as you tried to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat.

There was a difference when you made your own personal comparisons in the safety of your mind versus Gojo bringing it up in the bedroom. Somehow admitting your confession to him made you feel vulnerable and his reaction didn’t make it any  better, appearing to be competitive about the entire situation.

That doesn’t make any sense, why would he care? you wondered.

You never actually paid attention to how Gojo felt about your ex-boyfriend. For the most part he’s always been nice to him. Although the two of them weren’t the closest of friends, they seemed to get along whenever you all hung out together. You never would have anticipated that Gojo would be…

Jealous of him ?

That he would resent him?

Honestly, you didn’t even have an explanation for what it could possibly mean.

“ Pay attention…”

Gojo’s voice startled you, you didn’t even realise he was standing right behind you until you noticed him reach his arm forward to reduce the flame, stopping the water from bubbling over the pot.

“Whoops! Lost my train of thought for a second...” you lied, refusing to look in his direction in the hopes that he wouldn’t catch you blushing.

“That’s a safety hazard, you know?” he teased, still standing dangerously close behind you as he reached for the dry noodles himself and placed them into the pot. “You need sharp eyes when cooking otherwise you’ll end up having an unnecessary accident.”

A nervous chuckle escaped you as you circled to face him. Gojo had borrowed one of your black silk scarves, using it as a makeshift blindfold since his own was now tumbled between your bedsheets on the floor. You could smell your coconut and hibiscus body wash off him, the scent combining with the residual cologne on his clothes. An easy smile spread across that handsome face, his relaxed demeanor contrasting the state he was in when he first knocked on your door.

He’s your friend, you reminded yourself. What happens in the bedroom doesn’t mean anything…  

It shouldn’t mean anything.  

“Whatever you say, sensei ...” you chirped, burying your wayward thoughts. “Why don’t you grab those mats and I’ll bring these over to the table”

You assembled the two bowls, adding a little extra broth for Gojo because you knew he preferred it that way. Meanwhile, he had placed the two mats on the opposite side of the dining table, taking care not to disturb your work set up.

“Here you go,” you said, as you slid the bowl in front of him while he took his seat.

“Thank you!”

At first you both sat in silence, Gojo was responding to a few unanswered text messages but you were studying him with curious eyes, waiting for him to give you an explanation for his sudden visit.

“ Sooo, you want to tell me what that was all about?” you asked.

“That being?”

You waved your chopsticks in the direction of your bedroom, raising your brow before replying, “That being the sequence of events that just transpired…”

“ Stress relief ...” Gojo explained in between bites as he casually tucked his phone back into his pocket.

You thrummed your fingers against the warm bowl in your hands, fidgeting with the chopsticks in the other.  “Well, I’m glad I could help you unwind, I guess...”

He flashed you a wicked grin, “Me too, because I need a repeat of the show...”

“I can’t look at you when you say that,” you remarked, focusing your attention onto the noodles and growing shy at his comment.

“Am I embarrassing you?”

“A little…”

“I don’t understand why, that was fucking hot ...”

Your face burned, the heat radiating all the way to the back of your neck from his words. You cleared your throat as you rolled your eyes at him, desperately trying to brush off his statement in a cool manner. You could feel the knot in your stomach, the thoughts you were having crept back into your mind as you tried to hush them away.

You decided to shift the conversation away from the bedroom and back to Gojo instead. If he wasn’t so flustered by his own emotions, you might have accepted his excuse of needing to relieve stress but you knew there was more to the story.

“Did something happen at work?” you questioned.

Gojo chuckled to himself, “It’s funny how you won’t even acknowledge my compliment... ”

“Are you really going to make me pry a proper answer out of you?” you huffed, and he could hear your annoyance in your tone.

Gojo wished that he didn’t have to get into this particular part of the conversation with you, knowing full well how it was going to bring down the mood.

“No, nothing happened at work,” he said with a sigh, “I was with Rina. She asked me to stop by her shop…”

You knitted your brows in confusion, “That’s kind of random.”

Gojo nodded his head, “I thought so too. She initially told me that she wanted to get my opinion on some new items she was dropping for her menu. Turns out I was only there because she wanted to know how long you and I have been sleeping together for…”

You choked at his statement, his nonchalant words nearly going over your head.

Gojo kept eating, unphased by your reaction. “Need some water?”

“Y-yes…no, ugh, nevermind …she asked you how …”

“ How long you and I have been fucking… ” Gojo replied, flicking his index finger back between you both to fully clarify his statement.

The knot in your stomach cinched, a wave of nausea swirling in your gut as you placed your chopsticks down.

“How... how did she even find out? ” you whispered to yourself as you slumped against the back of your chair.

“She saw us at the park.”

“ Oh .”

You and Rina have both had your fair share of arguments before but sometimes when her emotions got the better of her, Rina’s outbursts often came with her sharp tongue. Over the years you had to explain to her that her words carried more weight than she thought, and in turn she became more conscious around you. However it suddenly dawned on you that Gojo might have been on the receiving end of Rina’s unfiltered anger.

You covered your face with your hands, groaning with frustration. “What did she say?”

“ Hmm ?”

“What did Rina say to you?”

Gojo shrugged his shoulders, “don’t worry about what she said to me. I know she didn’t mean anything by it...”

“But you were upset when you got here…”

“Let’s clarify something, Rina was upset because she was hurt. I was just annoyed by the situation. There’s a difference...”

You wished he would take your conversation a little more seriously and not brush it off with such ease but sighed knowing full well that Gojo wasn’t going to tell you what exactly happened which meant that Rina must have said something deliberately hurtful towards him.

“ I’m sorry… ”

“Why are you apologizing?”

You picked up your utensils, “For dragging you into this unnecessary drama I started. I should have just told Rina what was going on between us…”

Gojo paused after slurping a noodle, “well, why didn’t you tell her?”

“She’s been overprotective recently… ” you explained, not wanting to get into the details that the reason was purely based on your break up and how terrible you have been about getting over it. “I knew that if I told her about our arrangement she would analyze me to death over it and I didn’t want to deal with that…”

“Fair point,” Gojo acknowledged with a hum.

His short responses unsettled you, and you found yourself overcompensating to make up for it. “I’ll talk to her and smooth things over and I’ll make sure she apologizes for whatever it is that she said to you. She shouldn’t take her frustration out on you just because she was upset with me...”

Gojo nodded his head but you could clearly sense that he was not in the mood for any serious conversations right now. Taking himself out of this particular topic, Gojo quickly changed the subject after you made your last statement.

He kept the rest of the chat lighthearted, distracting your worries by telling you little anecdotes he had about his co-worker, Nanami. You suddenly found yourself giggling when Gojo revealed that he practically stalked Nanami for an entire day just so he could force the man to hang out him.

“I feel bad for the poor guy, you completely terrorize him,” you stated, clearing the table once you were both done eating.

You made your way over back to your kitchen where you rinsed off the bowls before placing it in the dishwasher. “You’re free to hang out if you want,” you offered, noticing Gojo get himself together as he was preparing to leave.

“I think I distracted you enough for tonight,” he replied.

You walked him to the door, following in line with his long strides. Just as he was about to reach the handle of your front door, he stopped before turning to face you.

“You don’t owe anyone an explanation about what is going on between us,” he stated, his voice low and serious.

You blinked a couple of times in surprise before parting your lips to respond, “I know I don't owe anyone an explanation but I know what Rina’s feeling and the only way I can see myself fixing this problem is by telling her everything. We never keep secrets from each other and I would probably be equally as hurt if she chose to hide something from me too... ”

Gojo pressed his lips together, navigating the words floating in his mind before reaching his hand out to touch your fingers.

“I get it but I just…”

“ Just ?...”

He exhaled, “I don’t want you overthinking anything between us, okay?”

“Don’t worry, even though we are terrible at sticking to our own rules, I am fully aware of where we both stand…”

You notice the relief wash over Gojo’s face as he slips his fingers away from your touch, “Good, because I like what we are doing.”

“I-I like it too…” you replied almost instantly, your heart racing at your own admittance.

The sorcerer left you a bundle of nerves when he said his goodbye. The knot in your stomach made its presence known, twining itself around your insides as you couldn’t escape this foreign emotion that seemed to have infiltrated your body.

*** 

CHAPTER 11 - FRIENDS

[shih-coulda-had-it]

in sickness or in health

Notes: Post-Mr. Shimura & Kotarou, pre-relationship Nanahiko; beginnings of a sickfic (spoiler alert, it’s pneumonia). I just wanted to write about a kotatsu table.  Word count: 1,590

//

It’s not that Torino Sorahiko has a delicate constitution, but Nana is very close to begging Chiyo to write a doctor’s note so Sorahiko is obliged to stay at home when the weather turns cold.

First he starts to sneeze, and then his voice begins to rasp, and suddenly Gran Torino is showing up to work while coughing his lungs out. Nana usually has to wait him out; the instant he falters mid-air, Nana smoothly swoops in and excuses him for the rest of patrol. For the rest of the week, if possible.

Sorahiko can pretend all he wants. But one disruption to his airflow is all it takes to send him flailing.

The fateful, annual misstep thankfully occurs before they resume patrol. They are taking a noontime break on their rooftop, surveying the street below, having fallen into the comfortable silence that fills the gap between conversations. Sorahiko clears his throat to indicate they need to move on. He does not stop clearing his throat; he’s doubled over, locked in a coughing spasm that nearly topples him over the edge of the roof.

Nana catches him by the waist, steadying him.

“I’m fine,” he chokes out.

“If I kicked you off this roof, you’d go splat on the asphalt,” Nana tells him sincerely. Sorahiko can’t even meet her eyes, and his face is red with exertion and embarrassment and what has to be the beginning of a fever. His frame shudders with another great cough.

“We can’t just stop patrol.”

“Sick days exist for a reason, and so do vacations! Time to use ‘em!”

“Ugh,” Sorahiko says, but he complies with her insistence that they return to the agency. Nana drops him onto the cot in the backroom, and cheerfully points at the civilian clothes sitting at the end of the mattress. Patrol can wait until Toshinori is done with school; even though Toshinori cannot fly, he’s remarkably agile about scaling rooftops.

“So you go home,” Nana says, internally planning out the rest of her day, “and get some rest until we know for sure that you don’t infect our civilian employees.”

It’s already a given that One for All will keep her and Toshinori spry and healthy; Nana’s immune system hasn’t encountered a virus or infection that it couldn’t burn out since she swallowed Rokudo’s hairs. Bonus, One for All keeps her toasty warm during the winters—she gleefully cut out winter gear from her expenses years ago.

Sorahiko looks up at her. He’s already peeled off the domino mask, and even with the dim ceiling light, Nana discerns the glaze in his pale brown eyes.

“Can’t go home,” he confesses.

“Huh?”

“My complex, it’s getting… fumigated,” Sorahiko informs her. He sounds smug. Like he’s won the argument Nana hadn’t realized they were having. “I told you about the termite problem.”

“No,” Nana says slowly, “you said your place had a cockroach problem. Termites, when did—no. When did the fumigation start?”

“Three days ago.”

“Where have you been sleeping?” Nana demands in a higher-pitched voice. Sorahiko eyes her shiftily, and he scrunches up his civilian wear in his hands. Looking at it closely, Nana realizes that the clothes are pajamas: flannel pants and a thick cable-knit sweater the color of a pale sun. “If I look under this cot, am I going to find a suitcase, Sorahiko?”

“Not under the cot,” he hedges. So, probably squirreled away in his desk’s drawers.

“Wait. Wait, wait, wait. Are you at least keeping the heating on overnight?”

Sorahiko looks at a point over her shoulder and blatantly lies, “Would I suffer the cold?”

She glares at him because Sorahiko would be the type to deny himself the right to a warm office and minimize their heating bill. They don’t even keep a pillow and blanket for the cot! It’s literally a mattress on a tiny metal bedframe, bought for the office with the express purpose of napping, not actual sleep.

He shrinks where he sits. A sad sniffle punctuates the scene.

“Sick day for everyone,” Nana says promptly, and leaves Sorahiko alone in the backroom to tell their civilian staffers the good news. They are unhappy to find out that Gran Torino has been slowly but steadily contaminating the office with his seasonal germs. Thankfully, their concern for his housing situation outweighs their outrage over Sorahiko continuing to work while sick.

These are their most senior staffers; they know the pattern of a sick Sorahiko too.

She waves goodbye and doubles back to her and Sorahiko’s enclosed office to collect his cache of spare clothes (toothbrush and travel-sized hygiene products included). Once all that is in a tote bag, Nana returns to find Sorahiko still sitting unchanged on the cot, staring blankly at his pajamas. Nana squashes the burgeoning panic. The tote bag is dropped at one end of the cot, and she touches his shoulder.

Sorahiko startles, snaps to attention. Inelegantly, he says, “Wha’s happ’nin’?”

“You’re coming home with me,” she tells him. His eyebrows draw together.

“Says who?”

“Says your best friend.” Nana takes the pajamas and stashes them away into the tote; she picks up his domino mask and smooths it over his face, careful around the eyes, firm about the stray air pockets that tend to gather over his cheekbones. “C’mon, Sorahiko. I’ve got a kotatsu with your name on it.”

“You still own one?”

“Not everyone decided to prioritize a Western bed,” she says dryly, and helps Sorahiko stand upright. He breaks into a series of coughs again. She holds him through it and hopes that this year is just particularly bad for Sorahiko. When Nana had sent him home before, had he curled under his blankets and hacked his lungs out, every breath coming out as a rasp? Surely not.

“You still have one of those,” he remembers. Of course that’s what he remembers.

They stagger outside, Nana propping Sorahiko up with his arm around her shoulders. She locks the front doors and squints at the direction back to her apartment.

“Don’t wanna walk,” he mumbles into Nana’s hair.

“We’ll fly,” she assures him. And they do. Sorahiko’s pride matters less than his comfort, when his stubborn streak peters out. Nana scoops Sorahiko up in a bridal carry, hangs the tote bag on her elbow, taps off the ground and soars to the rooftops. The flight back to her apartment is swift, even with Sorahiko shuddering with stifled coughs.

Entering through the lobby, and then ascending the stairs with judicious use of Float, they finally make it home. Already, the heated building prickles at Nana’s skin. It wakes Sorahiko up too, if the faint stirring of his head is any indication.

“Home?”

“Home,” Nana agrees, keying them inside. She sets her partner onto his feet and sits him on a stool in her genkan. By the power of muscle memory, Sorahiko automatically starts tugging off his boots and various accessories. Nana’s quicker; she helps with the gloves, then ushers him to the bathroom. “Don’t fall asleep yet.”

“Hngh,” he manages. When the door shuts behind him and her shower starts, Nana reheats her kotatsu table, fiddling with the electric heater settings until there is a veritable warmth seeping through the carpeted padding.

Sorahiko needs rest, nutrition, and medication. Possibly Chiyo. Nana weighs the potential humiliation of telling Chiyo she was oblivious to Sorahiko sleeping in the office, chilled to the bone with not even an emergency foil blanket available—versus the danger of not telling Recovery Girl at all.

She stalls for time by making tea and checking her supplies. Painkillers, present. Canned soup? Worryingly absent, along with cough syrup. Nana may have to use her instant ramen powder packets for a broth.

“Nana,” she hears Sorahiko croak. “Just buy take-out.”

“And pass on my cooking?” Nana reflexively says before she jerks her head from her pantry. Sorahiko looks bedraggled. Dressed cozily, yes, but his towel-ruffled hair sticks up in jagged tufts, and the haggard shadows lining his face signals exhaustion more than stress.

“No need for two incapacitated pro-heroes.”

Nana rolls her eyes and gestures to the living room. “Kotatsu, go.”

He shuffles at first, then makes a delighted sound as his naked feet hit warmed territory. Sorahiko lowers himself to his knees, and then visibly decides, fuck it, and slides his entire body, neck down, under the heavy patterned futon.

“Oh,” Sorahiko sighs. His eyes flutter shut; Nana quietly picks her way over and sits by his head.

“I think I’m going to call Chiyo-chan,” she informs him.

“Unnecessary.”

“I’m calling Toshinori too.”

One eye cracks open. “Very unnecessary.”

“He’ll want to know why the agency is out for the day,” Nana explains, giving into the impulse to stroke her fingers through his fluffy silver hair. She cards the tufts into a smoother angle—less bedhead, more rakish. Sorahiko’s contented rumble stutters with a cough. “And he has easier access to Chiyo-chan.”

“I’m not sick.”

“Uh-huh.” His pout is ridiculous and endearing, and Nana’s heart hurts. She tries to smile anyway. Sorahiko ignores her valiant attempt to lighten the mood; the downturned corners of his mouth deepen into a real frown. How is he always tuned into her actual feelings? Ridiculous.

“... I’m a little sick,” he concedes grouchily. “Don’t let the kid be noisy if he invites himself over.”

“Okay,” Nana says, soft. She lets herself cradle his jaw for one long moment, feels the shifted weight of Sorahiko leaning into the touch, before withdrawing. She has a phone-call to make.