summary: you don’t always speak your native tongue, mostly Japanese but when you do they love it. characters include: satoru, suguru (nsfw), toji, sukuna, kento, choso, hiromi.
italic bold text = native language.
gojo satoru; when you’re half asleep.
“angel?” Satoru murmured against your skin after he turned off his alarm. his fingers stroking the side of your hips, “y/n….” you turned towards him and shoved your face deeper into his chest, his voice raspy and raw. Satoru grabbed you by the waist and hoisted you on top of him, “mhm?”
satoru peeked open his eyes and started to stroke your soft hair, “wake up, baby.” you pointed, “no…five more minutes please…” you whined. Satoru felt a smile grow on his lips, “babe…I will not be giving you ten minutes remember last time. you were almost late for work.” you started to move gently, telling Satoru you’re slowly starting to wake up, “I don’t care. They can all die.”
“I don’t know what die means but it can’t be a good thing.”
geto suguru; when you’re about to have an orgasm.
“suguru….” You whimpered into his neck as you wrapped your legs around him, “I’m so close…..don’t stop.” Suguru’s breath became shaky as he placed soft gentle kisses when he deepened out on you. He kissed the corner of your lips as you moaned from the erratic sensation, “gonna cum for me? cum for your husband, mhm? it h-hasn’t even been ten minutes…” You whined, “don’t tease me….” he engulfed your lips into a hungry kiss, “you’re so cute when you’re needy. you know that…”
“suguru…I love you.”
“love you more…”
fushiguro toji; when the two of you are arguing.
“fuck off. get the fuck out of my face.” you screamed waving your hand trying to swat him away like a fly, “I can’t believe you would forget our son in school!.” you were mad at him for leaving megumi in his after school club. Toji grabbed you by the waist, “baby…I don’t understand but I know what I did was wrong and I promise to not doing it again. I just got distracted. There was this really cute vase and I thought of you. my beautiful wife.”
you rolled your eyes, “sure. Keep on lying.” you tried to rip his grip off your waist but he pulled you to his chest, “I’m not letting you go until you forgive me.” you smacked his chest a few times before leaning onto it, “this is the second time the school called social services. If it happens again megumi is going into foster care. do you want that?” he shook his head, “no babe.” you looked up and saw he looked apologetic, “it was an honest mistake baby…” he kissed your lips, “you’re gonna love the vase I hid inside the store…” he said in between kisses, “I just need your card…”
sukuna ryomen; when you’re gossiping with him.
sukuna was really good at learning and memorising. it didn’t even take him three months to be fluent in your native tongue. he loved the gossip, the downfall of other people made his life a little bit more interesting. The two of you would gossip anywhere because not everyone understood what the two of you were talking about and you didn’t really care, “you’re kidding. she still stayed with him after all that? She’s so fucking pathetic. What a loser.” he scoffed in your native tongue as the two of you were shopping for his brothers baby shower. “yeah I know. I kept telling her she needs to leave and she called me jealous.” you rolled your eyes. Sukuna slapped your bum playfully, “bet she’s jealous of you now, now that your married to a handsome man like me.” you rolled your eyes, “whatever makes you happy.”
“shut up and praise me, woman.”
nanami kento; when you’re FaceTiming your family.
“how is everyone?” you asked your mother who was yapping away at something else. She kept talking about how your extended family didn’t like kento which made you sigh, “I’ve already told them I don’t care about what they say. kento is a good man and he will make a good father and husband. Last time I checked finding a man who’s loyal to you was one in a million.” you defended. Your mother laughed on the phone, “i told them that you’re old enough to do whatever you want but you know they just keep talking.” you rolled your eyes, “well, tell them the more negative they talk about him the more I sleep with him.” you ended the phone call in frustration.
kento walked behind you and kissed your shoulders, “everything okay…?” he whispered. You sighed, “yeah I’m fine people just love talking about us…” he wrapped his arm around your waist, “and you defend me every time. I love that about you…”
“I love you too…”
kamo choso; when you’re scared.
the two of you were watching a horror movie. you honestly loved them, choso loved them too. It was like a guilty pleasure or some sort. the screen went quiet as the main character started to look underneath the bed, “is she fucking stupid? Why the fuck is she doing that!?” you sat up on the sofa holding your knees to your chest. you had choso’s jumper in your arms ready for the jumpstart, “the ghosts not gonna be under the bed it’s gonna be in front of her when she gets up!” you squealed.
choso shuffled up closer to you, “uhm. I don’t know what you’re saying but I agree…” his words coming out shaky. You chuckled and leaned closer to him, “you scared? awe, my little baby.” just as expected the jumpscare happened and the two of you flinched, “fuck! It was so predictable too.” You whined and held your hand over your heart, trying to calm it down, “you good, choso?” choso looked like he was about to throw up, “never better…”
higuruma hiromi; when the two of you are heated in a debate.
the two of you have this thing where you pick two sides of an argument. It was a fun conversation. this topic was on if schools should implement school uniform. the two of you were sitting on the sofa chewing on some popcorn, “sweetheart, children are at that age where they need to express themselves.” he said casually, “I know that.,.” You started, “but they can do that outside of clothes, with make up, hairstyles, shows, movies, books…you know…” hiromi denied, “but clothes make up 95% of you especially on first impressions.” you agreed with his statement, “I get that. What about the week or month later when they don’t have new outfits and they’re repeating the same one again? Doesn’t that make them more susceptible to bullying? Say a classmate can’t afford clothes and a few students recognise his clothes from three years ago. What then? They’ll start the abuse from his clothes and then soon move to his smell even if he showers everyday and then him overall. . All of that could be prevented with school uniform!” you started speaking about your experience in school, “or when students want to start fitting in so they force their parents to buy more clothes to fit the new trend? School uniform closes that door by making every student wear the same thing!”
hiromi chuckled to himself, “love, you’re doing it again.” he reached over and cradled your cheek with his palm, his thumb gracing your lips, “getting frustrated and speaking your native language.” you leaned into his touch, “sorry…” hiromi leaned forward and kissed your lips, “don’t be. I love it when you’re passionate…” he forced you to lay down, “how about I make you heated about something else, mhm?” he whispered in your ear and trailed kisses down your neck.”
you were in nothing but your underwear and a sports bra. every window in your house was wide open, every fan you could find was running, although there was no point seeing that all they did was push in more warm air.
you’ve been tossing and turning in bed for the past three hours. the darkness of the night meant absolutely nothing temperature wise, you were still scorching up. sweat clung to every inch of your body, as well as another, larger, heavier, and hotter body.
“ryo get OFF”
“mmm” his sleepy whines vibrated against your neck. how the hell he even managed to fall asleep in this heat, let alone the added body heat that was living between the two of you.
this heat was already irritating you, with sukunas added heat you could feel yourself going ballistic.
“Ryo i swear to god.” you tried pushing down on his shoulders, but it was no use. pushing and shoving did absolutely nothing, his grip on you was steady, even in his sleepy state. this was it. you were going to die of heatstroke, under your massive boulder of a boyfriend.
“m’stop pushin’ me woman.”
“ryomen. it is too fucking hot for your fatass to be on top of me like this.” silence rang out for a few moments, only to then be cut by sukunas snores.
there was no way you were ever gonna be able to sleep like this, so you had to find another way.
“Sukuna move yer ass I needa piss.” he groaned, but still rolled off of you. finally. it was like breathing for the first time.
you stood up from the bed and crept out of the bedroom, making sure to close the door, and plopping on the living room couch. it wasn’t much different from the heat from your bed, yet the slight temperature difference provided you a nice moment of relief.
until it was ruined approximately ten minutes later, by a big fat, scorching hot, log plopping on top of you.
“Sukuna.”
“fuckin’ liar.”
“Sukuna get off of me I’m so serious.” your eyes were near tears at this point, the heat only bringing out your frustrations even more.
“alright alright calm down woman, and go get dressed.” your big lug of a man sat up and leaned back into the couch.
“what? why?”
“I got us a hotel room.”
“Ryo-“
“yes there’s air conditioning. now hurry, cus I ain’t sleeping without holdin’ on to my woman.”
sukuna . . . the soft & sensitive dip where your neck meets your shoulder. he has a habit of stalking up behind you when you’re distracted—cooking, reading, or working—and wrapping his massive arms around your waist to anchor you against his chest. he’ll bury his face in your hair first, letting out a deep, rumbling sigh that vibrates right against your spine, before planting heavy, lingering kisses along your collarbone. it’s a slow display of complete affection, a reminder that out of everything in his world, this quiet space with you is the only place he actually wants to be
gojo . . . the very tip of your nose or right between your eyebrows. because of his ridiculous height, he absolutely loves looming over you just to make you look up. he’ll slide his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, give you a bright grin, and lean in to press an exaggeratedly loud kiss right on your face. if you try to swat him away or complain about him ruining your focus, it only encourages him; he’ll just laugh, cup your face in his large hands, and shower your cheeks with quick, bubbly kisses until you’re completely giggling and giving up on whatever you were doing.
toji . . . the crown of your head or your temple. affection with him is always grounded, and deeply comforting, usually happening at the very end of an exhausting day. he’ll sit on the couch and pull you straight into his lap, burying his face into the side of your head while his large arms lock securely around your middle. he doesn't say much, but the way he rests his chin on your hair and leaves soft, slow kisses against your temple speaks volumes. it’s his way of unwinding, letting go of his usual guarded demeanor, and finding a moment of absolute peace with you and only you!
nanami . . . the inside of your wrist or the palm of your hand. his style of romance is incredibly classic, deliberate, and respectful. when the two of you are sitting together after dinner, winding down from a long day, he’ll quietly reach over and take your hand in his. his thumb will trace the back of your knuckles for a moment before he lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a soft, lingering kiss right against your pulse point. it’s a deeply grounding gesture that feels incredibly intimate, because he dosen't need grand actions to show his love for you.
geto . . . the corner of your mouth or along your jawline. he is extremely attentive and tender, always making sure to fully connect with you before he even leans in. he’ll gently slide his fingers through your hair, tucking a stray strand behind your ear while looking down at you with a soft, adoring smile. his kisses are always slow and warm, lingering right at the edge of your lips as if he's trying to memorize the exact feeling of the moment. it carries a beautiful & quite intensity that instantly makes you feel like the center of his entire universe.
higuruma . . . your forehead or the space right beside your eye. because his mind is constantly running a mile a minute with legal cases and heavy thoughts, being with you is his only true escape. he’ll come home, loosen his tie with a weary sigh, and immediately seek you out. he likes to cup your face gently, closing his eyes as he presses a long, deeply affectionate kiss to your forehead. it feels incredibly reverent—like a silent thank you for being his calm in the storm, a safe harbor where he can finally turn off his brain and just exist in your warmth.
choso . . . your cheeks or the knuckles of your hands. because he takes his role as a protector so seriously, his affection is fiercely sweet and entirely gentle. he gets a little flustered if you catch him staring, but he loves holding your hands in his. he’ll carefully lift your fingers to his face, kissing each of your knuckles one by one with an earnest, intense devotion that can make your heart skip a beat. if you smile at him, his expression melts completely, and he’ll lean down to press soft, tentative kisses all over your cheeks, looking incredibly proud and happy just to be near you.
𝓲𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵 ♰ fushiguro toji slowly falls in love with you, his chaotic flower-shop neighbor, as your little daily moments turn his quiet, guarded life into something soft, green, and impossible to stay away from.
✿ ◞◟) fushiguro toji 𝓍 gn!reader
𝓬𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 fluff, tattoo artist!toji, florist!reader, soft romance, slow burn but also not really because it’s only 15 days but it kinda feels slow, neighbors to lovers, toji is the biggest softie ever (in heavy denial), grumpy x sunshine.
— day one.
toji fushiguro had been in this exact spot on the industrial stretch of maple street for nearly four years now, and in that time, he'd watched three different businesses cycle through the narrow storefront next to his tattoo parlor.
first it had been a vape shop that lasted eight months before the owner disappeared one night with all the inventory. then a sad little thrift store that smelled like mothballs and despair. then six months of nothing — just a dark, dusty window with a faded 'for lease' sign yellowing in the sun.
so when the lights flickered on again last week, toji didn't think much of it. it was probably another doomed venture; he'd give it three months, maybe four if they were stubborn.
but this morning, when toji pulls up to the curb at 10:47 — seven minutes late, because his coffee order got screwed up and he wasn't about to start a twelve-hour shift without caffeine — he stops dead in the middle of the sidewalk.
there are plants everywhere.
not like, a few sad ferns in the window. like, everywhere; the entire front of the shop is a riot of green and color, cascading vines spilling from hanging baskets, fat terra cotta pots clustered on the sidewalk like they're waiting for a bus, a wild explosion of flowers in every shade toji didn't know existed spilling out of buckets and urns and what looks like an old clawfoot bathtub painted robin's egg blue.
the sign above the door says "thistle & stem" in a pretty hand-painted letters that curve like growing things, each one decorated with tiny gold leaves.
toji stares at it for a long moment, then he stares at his own shop, two doors down — black brick facade, a single neon sign that says "black dog tattoo" in flickering red, a metal grate over the window that he never bothered to take down because it looked appropriately menacing.
it's fine. he's fine.
toji doesn't care what his neighbor does.
he walks past the flower shop without looking in, keys jangling in his fist, and doesn't notice the way his shadow falls across the windowsill full of white roses. he doesn't notice the person inside, sleeves rolled up to their elbows and dirt smudged on their cheek, glancing up at the sound of his footsteps.
toji doesn't notice at all.
— day two.
toji is trying to eat a sad gas station sandwich in his back room when he hears it — a crash that makes him choke on a bite of turkey and cheese, followed by a string of words so creatively profane he almost respects it.
he's not nosy. he's not.
but the wall between their shops is thin enough that toji can easily hear when the coffee shop on the other side of him plays that same annoying indie folk playlist, and right now he can easily hear what sounds like someone fighting for their life against a potted plant.
toji sets down his sandwich.
he tells himself he's just going to check if they need help because he doesn't want the landlord raising his rent to cover someone else's property damage.
when toji pushes through the connecting door — it was left unlocked from his side because he's never had a reason to lock it before — he finds absolute chaos.
there are flowers everywhere. not like, a normal amount of flowers for a flower shop. like, a botanical garden exploded inside a greenhouse that was already mid-explosion; buckets of blooms crowd every surface, half-arranged bouquets spill across the counter, and in the center of it all, you're standing with your hands on your hips, glaring at a fallen shelf that has scattered about fifteen tiny succulent pots across the floor.
you look up when the door creaks.
there's a leaf in your hair and dirt on your forehead and something purple smeared on your wrist that might be paint or might be crushed petals.
"hi," you say, slightly breathless. "sorry, did that wake you? i forget people can hear—" you gesture vaguely at the shared wall. "i'm still figuring out the acoustics in here."
toji blinks.
he'd expected someone different, maybe, older. more... flower-shop-owner-shaped. instead you look like you just finished wrestling a hedge and lost, but you're smiling at him like it's the most normal thing in the world.
"shelf fall," he says, because his brain hasn't caught up yet.
"yeah," you agree, kicking gently at a piece of broken terracotta. "i think i overloaded it. which is funny because i literally told myself this morning, 'don't overload the shelf', and then i looked at this beautiful calathea and i thought, you know what, what's one more?" you laugh, and it's bright and a little self-deprecating. "famous last words."
toji watches you crouch down to start gathering the scattered succulents, and something about the way you handle them — so gently, like each tiny rosette of leaves is something precious — makes his chest feel really weird.
"you need help?" the words come out rougher than he intended, almost reluctant.
you look up at him, surprised.
"oh, i couldn't ask you to—"
"you didn't ask. i'm offering."
there's a little pause.
you tilt your head, studying him, and toji feels suddenly really aware of how he must look — scarred knuckles, the faded bruise on his jaw from a sparring match three days ago, the permanent furrow between his brows that makes people cross the street to avoid him.
but you just smile, smaller this time, and say;
"okay. yeah. thanks."
toji ends up spending forty-five minutes in your shop.
forty-five minutes, crouched on the floor with you, scooping dirt back into pots and holding things steady while you reattach the shelf brackets. you talk while you work — about the shop, about how you've been dreaming of opening it for years, about how your last job made you want to scream into the void so you saved up and jumped.
"it's terrifying," you admit, wiping your hands on your jeans. "like, what if nobody buys flowers? what if i'm bad at this? what if the plants unionize and overthrow me?"
toji snorts before he can stop himself.
"plants unionize?"
"you laugh, but have you seen how fast a pothos can grow? they're plotting something."
you're grinning now, and toji realizes he's still holding a tiny succulent in his palm, a little rosette the color of pale jade.
"you should keep that one. for helping."
he looks down at it, then looks back at you.
"i don't... have plants."
"well, now you do."
you pluck it gently from his hand and press it into his fingers, closing his fist around the pot. your hands are warm, a little calloused, and you don't seem to notice the way toji’s whole arm goes still at the contact.
"it's a haworthia. they're basically indestructible. you could probably forget about it for a month and it'd still forgive you."
toji looks at the tiny plant before looking back at you.
"...thanks," he says finally.
and he means it more than he should.
— day three.
the haworthia sits on the counter of his tattoo parlor, right next to the register, and toji has caught himself staring at it approximately fourteen times today.
it's just a plant; a small green thing in a plain terra cotta pot, but every time he looks at it, he remembers the way you'd brushed dirt off his sleeve without thinking, the way you'd laughed when he'd accidentally knocked over a watering can and soaked his boots, the way you'd said "see you around, neighbor!" like you actually meant it.
his 3pm appointment, a guy named marcus getting a traditional eagle on his forearm, raises an eyebrow at it.
"didn't peg you for a plant guy, fushiguro."
"i'm not," toji says flatly, wiping down his needle cartridge. "neighbor gave it to me."
"neighbor?"
"the flower shop next door."
marcus twists to look out the window, which is currently offering a limited view of the word "thistle" and a lot of morning sunlight.
"oh, shit, the new place? my wife's been talking about it. says they've got those fancy dried bouquets."
toji grunts.
"you should ask them out," marcus continues, because apparently everyone in his chair feels entitled to his personal life. "plant people are chill."
"focus on not moving or i'm gonna fuck up your eagle."
but after marcus leaves, toji finds himself standing in the doorway of his shop, looking sideways at the flower shop.
you're visible through the window, arranging something tall and purple in a pretty vase, your brow slightly furrowed in concentration. every few seconds you step back to squint at it, adjust a stem, step back again.
you haven't noticed him watching.
toji should go back inside, after all, he has a stencil to draw for a 6pm appointment.
instead, he finds himself crossing the few feet of sidewalk and pushing open your door, the little bell overhead chiming in a way that's embarrassingly cheerful.
you look up, and your whole face lights up.
"hey! how's the haworthia?"
"it’s… alive," toji says, because he checked it this morning to make sure.
"good."
you're beaming now, and toji feels something warm uncurl in his chest, which is annoying.
"did you need something?"
he did not need something. he has no reason to be here, but his mouth opens anyway, and what comes out is;
"what's a plant that won't die?"
you blink. "what?"
"like… the most impossible to kill plant you've got. something that even i can't mess up."
you stare at him for a second, and then you laugh — that same bright, startled laugh from yesterday — and toji realizes he likes the sound of it more than he should.
"well," you say, wiping your hands on your apron and moving toward a shelf of small green things. "if you really want foolproof, you want a snake plant. they thrive on neglect. i once forgot i had one for six months and it was basically fine."
you pick up a little pot with long, pointed leaves striped in yellow and green.
"this is a 'laurentii'. very dramatic-looking, and very low maintenance."
toji takes it from you, turning it over in his hands.
"snake plant."
"also called mother-in-law's tongue, but that feels a little aggressive for a first-time plant dad."
plant dad. toji doesn't know what to do with that phrase. he tucks it into a pocket of his brain labeled 'do not examine'.
"how much?"
you wave a hand.
"on the house. consider it a welcome-to-the-neighborhood gift. i should have brought you something sooner, honestly, but day two was... chaotic."
"you don't have to—"
"i want to."
you say it simply, like it's the easiest thing in the world, and toji doesn't know what to do with that either.
he stands there for a moment, holding the snake plant, watching you move back to your bouquet.
you're humming something under your breath, some song he almost recognizes, and the afternoon light is catching the dust motes floating through your shop and turning everything gold and soft.
"thanks," he says finally.
you glance up and smile.
"anytime, neighbor."
toji leaves with the plant and a feeling he refuses to name.
— day four.
the snake plant now lives next to the haworthia on his counter, and toji's 11am appointment — a nervous college kid getting her first tattoo, a tiny crescent moon behind her ear — spends the entire three-hour session glancing at them.
"they're cute," the girl says, when he's wiping away the excess ink. "do you name them?"
"no."
"you should name them."
"i'm not naming my plants."
"you could name one after me."
"i'm not naming my plants after my clients either."
she laughs, pays, tips well, and tells him she'll be back for another one next month. after she leaves, toji stares at the two pots on his counter for a long moment.
he does not name them.
( toji thinks about naming the haworthia 'asher' and then hates himself for it. )
around 2pm, he hears you through the wall — not words, just the sound of you singing along to something on the radio, your voice slightly off-key but very enthusiastic. toji finds himself listening without meaning to, his needle pausing over the stencil he's sketching.
"you're distracted today," says his 2:30, a regular named danny who's been coming to him for three years. "you okay?"
"i’m fine."
"you've been staring at that wall for like two minutes."
toji looks down at his stencil.
he's drawn a small flower, detailed rose right in the center of what was supposed to be a skull.
"shit," he mutters, scratching it out.
danny looks at the wall, then at the door that leads to the flower shop, and grins like he knows something toji doesn't.
toji simply ignores him.
— day five.
the pattern begins today, though toji doesn't realize it yet.
it starts when he runs out of coffee — actually runs out, the bottom of the bag empty, which means he forgot to buy more and now he's facing a twelve-hour shift with no caffeine and that's simply not an option.
the coffee shop is three blocks away.
but the flower shop is right there, and toji can see you through the window, watering something with a long-spouted can, and his feet are moving before his brain catches up.
the bell chimes, and you look up.
"toji!" you say, and the way you say his name, like you're glad to see him, like you've been waiting for him to appear, makes something in his stomach flip. "what's up?"
"coffee," he says, which is not a complete sentence, but you seem to understand anyway.
"oh, i've got a kettle in the back. you want some? it's not, like, fancy coffee shop coffee. it's just the grocery store kind. but it's hot and it has caffeine."
toji should say no. he should simply go to the actual coffee shop three blocks away and get his usual black coffee from the barista who already knows his order.
"yeah," he says. "okay."
you make him coffee in a chipped mug that says 'plant mommy' in glittery letters, and you don't seem embarrassed about it at all. you make yourself a cup too, and you lean against the counter while you drink it, and you ask him about his work — what kind of tattoos he does, how long he's been at it, if he's got any pictures.
toji shows you some on his phone, and you make all the right sounds of appreciation, pointing at one and saying; "the shading on that is insane" and another; "oh, i love the color saturation on this one, that must have taken forever."
most people don't get it. really, most people see toji’s portfolio and simply say 'cool' in a vague way and move on. but you're looking at each piece like you're really seeing it, like you understand the hours of work, the precision, the way a single shaky line can ruin everything.
"you're really good," you say, handing his phone back. "like, really really good."
"thanks," he says, and it comes out softer than he meant it to.
you smile at him over your mug.
"so what made you want to do tattoos?"
toji tells you.
not the whole story — not the parts about his family, about the expectations he couldn't meet, about the years he spent trying to be something he wasn't. but he tells you about the apprenticeship, about the first tattoo he ever did on real skin (a simple anchor on his own ankle, crooked and blown out but his), about the way it felt to find something that made sense.
you listen. really listen, nodding and asking questions and not looking at your phone once.
toji stays for forty-five minutes.
he drinks two cups of coffee, and learns that you moved here from across the country because you wanted to be somewhere that had 'actual seasons' and not just 'hot and then slightly less hot'. he learns that your favorite flower changes depending on your mood but right now it's sweet peas because they smell like your grandmother's garden. he learns that you have an orange cat named beans who is 'an absolute menace' and you're waiting until the shop is more settled before you let him anywhere near the merchandise.
when toji finally stands up to leave, you say;
"the coffee's always on, if you need. i'm usually here by eight."
toji nods. "eight."
"or earlier, if you're an early riser. well, i'm not, but i could be, theoretically."
"you don't have to—"
"i know."
you're smiling again, that easy smile that makes toji feel like he's missing something important.
"but the offer's there."
toji goes back to his shop after that, and he stares at his two plants for a very long time.
— day six.
toji shows up at 7:45am.
you're not there yet — the lights are off, the door locked — and he feels stupid, standing on the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets, waiting for a flower shop to open so he can... what? drink your coffee? talk to you about nothing?
toji is about to leave when he sees you coming down the street, a paper bag in one hand and a travel mug in the other, wearing a jacket covered in embroidered flowers that's definitely not warm enough for the morning chill.
you spot him and your whole face changes — eyebrows going up, then a smile spreading across your face like sunrise.
"toji! you're early."
"couldn't sleep," he lies.
he slept fine. he just... wanted to see you.
"well, lucky for you, i brought pastries."
you unlock the door and wave him inside, and the shop smells like soil and something floral and faintly of last night's leftover air. you flick on the lights and the whole space blooms into color, and toji watches you move through it like you belong there, like you were made to be surrounded by growing things.
you make coffee, you give him a pastry — almond croissant, still slightly warm from the bakery, you sit on the counter (on the counter, like you've forgotten there are chairs) and swing your legs while you tell him about a delivery that went wrong yesterday and how you had to re-pot seventeen succulents and your back hurts but in a good way.
toji leans against the doorframe and listens, eating his croissant, and doesn't think about how natural this feels.
"you know," you say, mid-sentence about the structural integrity of different types of potting soil. "you don't need an excuse to come over. you can just... come over. if you want."
toji's jaw stops mid-chew.
you're looking at him with something soft in your expression, something that makes his chest ache.
"i mean, we're neighbors. and i like talking to you. so… you know. door's always open."
toji swallows. "okay."
"okay," you repeat, and you're smiling again, and toji realizes he's in big, big trouble.
— day seven.
toji comes over without a reason.
he just walks through the connecting door at 2pm on a tuesday, when his schedule has a three-hour gap and he's already cleaned his station twice and reorganized his needle disposal system for no reason at all.
you're in the middle of an arrangement — something big and romantic, red roses and white lilies and some kind of trailing vine — and you even don't look up when he comes in, you just says "hey" like his presence is expected now.
"hey," toji says back.
he stands by the counter and watches you work.
your hands are steady and sure, trimming stems, stripping leaves, placing each flower like it's part of a conversation.
you talk while you work, not expecting him to respond much, just filling the space with words about your day, about a customer who wanted "something that says 'i'm sorry i forgot our anniversary but also i love you but also please don't be mad'" and how you solved it with peonies and eucalyptus.
"peonies say 'i'm sorry'?" toji asks, because apparently he's the kind of person who asks about flower meanings now.
"peonies say 'i'm an idiot but i'm trying'," you correct, and toji huffs a laugh before he can stop it.
you glance up at him, eyes bright.
"was that a laugh? did i just make fushiguro toji laugh?"
"no."
"that was definitely a laugh. i'm marking this on my calendar."
"don't."
too late. you're already grinning, reaching for your phone, and toji reaches out to grab your wrist before he thinks about it; your skin is warm under his fingers, and you both go still.
"don't," toji says again, but his voice is different now — a little lower, and way softer.
you look at his hand on your wrist, and you look up at his face; something passes between you, something that makes the air feel thick and electric.
"okay," you say quietly. "i won't."
toji lets go and steps back, clearing his throat.
"i should—" he jerks his thumb toward the door.
"yeah," you say. "okay. i'll see you later?"
"yeah."
toji goes back to his shop and stands in the middle of the room, heart beating too fast, and stares at his snake plant like it might have answers.
it doesn't.
— day eight.
the haworthia has grown a tiny baby.
a little offshoot, nestled against the side of the main rosette, and toji notices it at 9am when he's wiping down the counter.
he stares at it.
then he picks up the pot, carries it through the connecting door, and holds it out to you without a word.
you're repotting something in the back, dirt up to your elbows, and you look at the plant, then at him, then back at the plant.
"is that... a baby?"
"i don't know. it just appeared."
you set down your trowel and take the pot from him, turning it over in your hands with an expression of pure delight.
"toji! it's pupping! that means it's happy!"
"pupping?"
"producing pups. baby plants. it's a good sign—it means you're taking care of it." you look up at him, and your smile is so bright it almost hurts to look at. "you're a good plant dad."
toji's ears feel weirdly warm.
"i just put it on the counter and forgot about it."
"that's literally what haworthias want. you're really perfect for each other."
toji doesn't know what to say to that.
the man stands there while you coo over the baby succulent, explaining how he could separate it and pot it on its own or leave it to grow into a cluster, and he watches the way your fingers trace the leaves so gently, like you're touching something really precious.
"you can keep the baby," toji says. "if you want."
you look up, surprised. "really?"
"i don't need two of them."
you're quiet for a second, holding the pot against your chest.
"okay. but only if you let me give you something in return."
"you don't have to—"
"i want to."
you set the haworthia down and disappear into the forest of plants at the back of the shop, emerging a moment later with a small pot containing something trailing and green, with leaves shaped like tiny hearts.
"this is a string of hearts. it's a succulent too, so it's pretty easy, but it's... prettier. and it grows really fast. you'll have vines hanging down everywhere before you know it."
toji takes the pot; the leaves are delicate, almost whimsical, and nothing like the kind of thing he'd ever pick for himself.
"string of hearts," he repeats slowly.
"yeah." you're looking at him with an expression he can't really read. "i thought it might suit you."
toji doesn't know what that means. he takes it back to his shop anyway and puts it on the counter next to the snake plant, and now he has three.
he names none of them.
( he thinks about naming the string of hearts after you, and the thought makes him feel seventeen years old and stupid. )
— day nine.
the flower shop is busy today — toji can hear the steady stream of customers through the wall, the murmur of voices, the chime of the register.
he's busy too, a full day of appointments, and he tells himself that's why he doesn't go over.
but at 5pm, when his last client walks out the door and he's wiping down his station, toji hears something that makes him pause; not a crash this time, but something softer, quieter.
he pushes through the connecting door without even thinking and finds you slumped against the counter, your head in your hands, surrounded by the wreckage of what looks like a hundred flower stems.
"bad day?" toji asks, and you look up with red-rimmed eyes that make his chest go tight.
"wedding order," you say, your voice rough. "fifty centerpieces. due tomorrow. and i just—" you gesture at the mess around you. "i don't know what happened. i can't make them look right. everything's wrong."
toji doesn't know anything about flowers, he doesn't know anything about centerpieces or weddings or what makes one arrangement better than another.
but he knows what it looks like when someone's drowning, and he knows he can't just stand there.
"show me," he says.
you blink. "what?"
"show me what you're trying to do. maybe a fresh pair of eyes."
you hesitate, then nod, wiping your face with the back of your hand. you pull up a reference photo on your phone; something soft and romantic, blush roses and cream hydrangeas and sprigs of something delicate and white.
"this is what they want," you say. "and this is what i'm making."
you push one of the centerpieces toward him, and toji looks at it. it's not bad. it's actually pretty. but compared to the photo, it's... off. too crowded, and too symmetrical.
"you're trying too hard," toji says.
"excuse me?"
"the photo. look at it." he holds up your phone next to your arrangement. "theirs is looser and more natural. yours looks like you're afraid to let the flowers breathe."
you stare at him. "how do you know that?"
toji shrugs.
"tattoos are the same. sometimes you overwork a piece because you're scared it's not good enough, but what it really needs is for you to step back and trust the design."
you're quiet for a long moment, then you pull the centerpiece toward you, and start pulling out stems, rearranging. toji watches your hands move, he watches the tension in your shoulders start to ease.
"like this?" you ask, pushing it back toward him.
he looks at it; it's better and looser, more like the photo.
"yeah," toji says. "like that."
you let out a breath — it was something between a laugh and a sob — and scrub your hands over your face.
"thank you. i'm sorry, i don't know why i'm so emotional about this, it's just flowers—"
"it's not just flowers," toji says. "it's your business. it's your dream. it's okay to care."
you look up at him, and there's something in your expression that makes toji’s heart completely stutter — something raw and really grateful and maybe something else, something he's not ready to name yet.
"stay?" you ask. "while i fix the rest? you don't have to help, i just—i don't want to be alone right now."
toji should go. he has inventory to do, invoices to send, a million little things he's been putting off.
"yeah," he says instead. "okay."
toji stays for two hours.
he doesn't touch a single flower, he just sits on a stool in the corner and keeps you sweet company while you work, answering your questions about his day and telling you stupid stories about difficult clients and watching the way you relax bit by bit, flower by flower.
by the time you finish, it's dark outside and your hands are stained green and your eyes are tired but you're smiling again.
"you're a good neighbor," you say, walking him to the door.
"i'm a terrible neighbor, actually," toji says. "i often play loud music and my clients smoke outside and i've never once brought you cookies."
you laugh.
"cookies would be nice, but i'll settle for you showing up when i'm having a meltdown over roses."
"deal."
you softly hold out your pinky, and toji stares at it like it's a foreign object.
"pinky promise," you say. "you show up, i'll have coffee."
he hooks his pinky around yours; your skin is warm, your grip surprisingly strong, and the gesture is so silly and earnest that something in his chest cracks open just a little.
"pinky promise," toji repeats, and your smile could easily light up the whole street.
— day ten.
there's a flower on toji’s doorstep when he arrives at 8am.
not a potted plant this time — it was a cut flower, a single stem in a small glass vial of water, with a little note attached in your pretty handwriting.
for being nice when you didn't have to be.
— the florist next door.
the flower is a rose. but it was not a red one — it was something way softer, peachy-pink, with petals that curl inward like they're still waking up.
toji stands there holding it for a good full minute before he finally goes inside.
he doesn't know what kind of rose it is, he doesn't know what it means, but he puts it on the counter next to his growing collection of plants, and he catches himself looking at it all day, and he doesn't tell anyone why.
— day eleven.
the pattern has shifted now.
toji doesn't make excuses anymore; the man just comes over when he wants to — when he has a gap in his schedule, when he needs coffee, when he hears you through the wall and wants to see your face. sometimes he brings lunch, and sometimes he brings nothing at all.
today toji brings a customer.
well… not intentionally. but his 1pm appointment, a guy named javier who's getting a portrait of his dog on his bicep, sees the flower shop through the window and goes "oh shit, my girlfriend would love that place" and before toji can stop him, he's crossing the sidewalk and pushing through the door.
toji follows, because apparently that's what he does now.
you're behind the counter, helping an older woman pick out a bouquet, and you glance up when the bell chimes. your face does that thing — that little thing where you see toji and your whole expression softens — and javier notices immediately, because of course he does.
"dude," javier mutters, elbowing him. "is that your—"
"no."
"could be."
"no."
you finish with the customer and come over, wiping your hands on your apron.
"hey. what's up?"
"this is javier," toji says. "he wanted to see the shop."
"i wanted to buy flowers for my girlfriend," javier corrects, grinning. "and maybe watch toji be weird around you."
toji contemplates violence.
but you just laugh — that bright, easy laugh — and say;
"well, javier, what's your girlfriend like?"
javier tells you; she's an artist, she loves bold colors, she's been stressed about work lately and he wants to surprise her.
you listen carefully, ask a few little questions, and then disappear into the back. when you come back, you're holding an arrangement that makes javier's jaw drop — orange lilies and deep purple irises and something spiky and modern that toji doesn't know the name of.
"this is called protea," you say, pointing at the spiky one. "it's a little dramatic and a little weird and impossible to ignore. like you said she is."
javier stares at it, looks at you, and then looks at toji.
"you're good," he says.
you shrug, but you're smiling. "it's just flowers."
it's not just flowers. toji knows that now.
javier buys the arrangement, tips you twenty bucks, and spends the entire tattoo session asking about you. how long have you known each other, are you dating, are you going to date, because honestly man you should really—
"focus on your dog," toji says, pressing the needle a little harder than necessary.
"oww."
"good."
— day twelve.
toji notices the little things now.
the way you bite your lip when you're concentrating. the way you hum when you're happy and go completely silent when you're stressed. the way your hands move when you're explaining something — always gesturing, always reaching for something, like you can't help but touch the world around you.
he notices the way you look at him, too.
the way your gaze lingers on his veiny hands, his arms, the scar on his jaw. the way you lean in when he talks, like you're trying to catch every single word.
toji is not imagining it. he's not.
but he doesn't know what to do with it.
today, he comes over at closing time — 7pm, the sun setting orange through your windows, the shop empty and quiet. you're sweeping the floor, your hair slightly falling in your pretty face, and you don't even look up when he comes in, just says "hey" in that soft way you have, again.
"hey," toni says back.
he helps you sweep. he doesn't ask, he just takes the broom from your hands when you set it down to water something, and finishes the job while you close up.
you don't comment on it, but you smile at him when you notice, and that's enough.
"you want to get dinner?" you ask softly, when everything's done and the lights are off and you're both standing on the sidewalk. "there's a ramen place a few blocks over. nothing fancy, but it's really good."
toji's heart does something complicated in his chest.
"yeah," he says, a little too quickly. "i want to."
dinner is... easy. it’s easier than it should be.
you talk about nothing and everything — about your cat beans, about the worst tattoo toji's ever done (a tribal butterfly on a guy who wouldn't sit still), about the customer who cried because your flowers reminded her of her dead mother and how you cried too, after she left.
"it gets me every time," you admit, stirring your ramen. "someone gets emotional about flowers and i just—i can't help it. they're just plants. but they're also not."
toji nods. he truly understands that now.
after dinner, you walk back together, shoulders almost brushing. the street is quiet, the streetlights casting everything in gold, and toji is acutely aware of how close you are, how easy it would be to reach out and take your hand.
he doesn't.
but toji really wants to.
— day thirteen.
the string of hearts is growing.
toji noticed it this morning — new leaves unfurling along the vines, tiny and perfect, each one shaped like a heart. he'd stood there staring at it for a full minute, feeling something swell in his chest that he refused to examine.
well… he's examining it now, actually.
toji is standing in the middle of his tattoo shop at 10am, with no appointments until noon, staring at the delicate green vines and thinking about you.
the way you'd said "i thought it might suit you."
the way you'd looked at him when you said it.
the way you are looking at him all the time, like toji is something worth looking at.
he's so deep in thought that he doesn't hear the connecting door open. he doesn't hear your footsteps. he doesn't realize you're there until you say his name, soft and close, and he turns to find you standing right behind him.
"you okay?" you ask. "i knocked, but you didn't answer, so i—"
you glance at the string of hearts, then back at him.
"oh. you're looking at it."
"it's growing," toji says, like that's not obvious.
"yeah." you step closer, looking at the plant with him. "they grow fast when they're happy."
you're standing so close that toji can smell you — soil and something floral and underneath it all, something so warm and so sweet. he can see the small scar on your chin, the way your eyelashes cast shadows on your cheeks, the slight parting of your lips as you breathe.
"toji," you say, and his name has never sounded like that before — soft and wondering, like you're asking a question you're afraid to hear the answer to.
"yeah?"
you turn to look at him, and you're close enough that toji could count your freckles if you had any. well, you don't. but he could, if he wanted to.
"i've been meaning to ask you something," you say.
"what?"
you're quiet for a second.
then you reach out and touch his hand — just a brush of your fingers against his, light as a leaf falling.
"do you want to go on a date?" you ask. "like, an actual date. not coffee in my shop or ramen after work. a real one."
toji's heart stops, starts again, then beats too fast.
"a date," he slowly repeats.
"yeah."
you're blushing now, a soft pink spreading across your cheeks, and you're not looking at him anymore, you're looking at where your fingers are still touching his hand.
"unless i'm reading this wrong. and if i am, just say so, and i'll simply go back to my shop and we'll pretend this never happened and i'll—"
"you're not reading it wrong."
you look up. your eyes are wide, hopeful, and terrified.
"you're not," toji says again, and his voice is rougher than he meant it to be. "reading it wrong, i mean. you're not."
"okay," you breathe. "okay. good."
"good."
you're both just standing there, your fingers still touching his, and toji realizes he's been holding his breath. he lets it out slowly, and something in his chest unclenches.
"so," you say, "a date?"
"yeah."
toji has never said yes to something so fast in his life.
"a date."
— day fourteen.
toji spends the entire day nervous.
he usually doesn't get nervous; he's fushiguro toji, he's been doing tattoos for fifteen years, he's faced down bikers and gang members and a guy who tried to pay him with a bag of loose change. toji doesn't get nervous.
but he's nervous now.
he's wearing his good jeans; the ones without the paint stain on the knee. he put on his cleanest black t-shirt and actually brushed his black hair and he's now standing in front of his mirror like a teenager going to prom, wondering if this is too much or not enough.
the date is at 7pm.
you're going to some restaurant you picked out, something 'cute but not fancy', and toji has no idea what to expect.
at 6:30pm, there's a knock on his back door.
not the front — the back, the one that connects to the alley, the one only a few people know about. he opens it and finds you standing there, holding a small potted plant.
"for good luck," you say, pushing it into his hands. "it's a jade plant. they're supposed to bring prosperity and good fortune and also i was so nervous and i simply needed something to do with my hands."
toji looks at the jade plant, then looks at you. you're wearing something soft and flowy, your hair different somehow, and you're looking at him like you're not sure if you're allowed to.
"you look nice," he says, because it's true and because he doesn't know what else to say.
your whole face lights up. "yeah?"
"yeah."
you're both quiet for a second. then you laugh, a little breathless, and say;
it's easy in a way that surprises him, conversation flowing like water, no awkward pauses or forced small talk. you tell him about your childhood, about the grandmother who taught you about flowers, about the years you spent working jobs you hated before you finally took the leap.
toji tells you about his son. about megumi, about the custody arrangement, about how hard it is to only see him every other weekend. he doesn't usually talk about this — he doesn't talk about it at all, actually — but you're looking at him with such open attention that the words just come.
"you're a good dad," you say softly, and toji feels something crack in his chest.
"i'm trying," he says.
"that's what makes you a good dad."
after dinner, you walk through the city, not going anywhere in particular; the streets are busy, full of people and noise, but somehow it feels like you're the only two people in the entire world. your shoulders brush, your hands swing between you, close enough to touch.
toji reaches out and takes your hand.
you don't pull away.
you squeeze his fingers instead, and your palm is warm against his, and toji thinks he might actually be okay.
— day fifteen.
the tattoo shop has changed.
toji notices it when he walks in this morning — the way the light falls different, the way the space feels different. it takes him a minute to figure out why.
there are flowers everywhere.
not in a bad way, not in the way you'd expect from a tattoo parlor. but small touches, here and there — a single stem in a glass on the counter, a tiny succulent on the windowsill, a dried bouquet hanging upside down near the back door.
the string of hearts has grown another few inches.
the snake plant is thriving.
the haworthia's baby is doing well in your shop, you told him yesterday, already putting out roots of its own.
toji stands in the middle of his shop, surrounded by green and pretty growing things, and thinks about how different his life looks now than it did fifteen days ago.
fifteen days since a shelf fell and a person with dirt on their cheek asked him for help. fifteen days since he started finding reasons to cross the sidewalk.
fifteen days since toji started falling in love.
the connecting door opens, and you walk in without bothering to knock, two cups of coffee in your hands. you're wearing his hoodie — the one you stole yesterday, the black one with the hole in the cuff — and your hair is messy and your eyes are still soft with sleep and you are, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing toji has ever seen.
"morning," you say, handing him a cup.
"morning," he says back.
you lean against the counter next to him, close enough that your shoulders fully touch, and you look around at the tattoo shop — at the plants, at the flowers, at the evidence of your presence in toji’s space.
"your shop is getting very green," you observe.
"whose fault is that?"
"mine," you admit, grinning. "i have no regrets."
toji looks down at you — at the way you fit against his side, at the way you're looking up at him like he's something good, something worth keeping.
"hey," toji says.
"hey," you reply, giggling.
"i'm glad you moved in next door."
your smile softens into something smaller, more private.
"yeah?"
"yeah."
toji sets down his coffee, reaches out, and tucks a piece of hair behind your ear; his fingers linger on your jaw, and you lean into the touch like you’ve been waiting for it all along.
"i'm really fucking glad."
you stand on your tiptoes and kiss him.
it's so soft, and so gentle; your lips taste like coffee and something really sweet, and your hand comes up to rest on toji’s chest, right over his heart, and toji thinks he might actually die — right here, in his flower-filled tattoo parlor, with his arms around the florist from next door.
when you pull back, you're smiling.
"good," you say. "because i'm not going anywhere."
toji looks around at his shop — at the plants, at the flowers, at the evidence of you everywhere he looks. at the way his life has become something softer, something greener, something that feels like coming home.
"good," he says.
and for the first time in a very, very long time, fushiguro toji lets himself smile.
i honestly wrote the whole thing on a whim so im sorry if its not that good ugh (｡ᵕ ◞ _◟) but i was really craving some fluff with toji lol
゛★ roommates ! satoru and sukuna use you as a body pillow.
oneshot .ᐟ ⋆ modern au ⋆ cuddling ⋆ gojo grabs your boob and sukuna grabs your ass ⋆ polyamory-ish ⋆ fluff ⋆ sfw but suggestive? art by to__0fu
you woke up to warmth. a lot of it.
there was a solid weight pressed against your back, all long limbs and bony elbows, and an arm thrown across your waist that had somehow migrated upward during the night. satoru's hand was cupping your breast like it was a stress ball, his fingers slack but undeniably there, palm warm through the thin fabric of your shirt. his breath was hot against the back of your neck, each exhale of warmth making you shiver, and his knees were tucked behind yours like he was trying to fuse your bodies together.
in front of you, sukuna was a wall of heat and muscle. your face was smushed into his chest, the faint smell of his soap still clinging to his skin, and your leg was thrown over his hip in a way that would've been scandalous if you weren't half-asleep and pretty much used to it. his arm was draped across your waist, large hand splayed low on your back, fingers curving just enough to rest on the swell of your ass. he wasn’t grabbing or groping though—unlike someone. a certain white haired someone.
you blinked slowly. this was normal. this was your morning. sandwiched between two men who could not be more different if they tried, both of them treating you like the human embodiment of a pillow.
satoru's fingers twitched against your chest, squeezing slightly in his sleep, and you felt a low hum of something that was definitely not annoyance.
"satoru," you mumbled, voice rough with sleep. "your hand."
nothing. just more warm breathing against your neck.
you tried shifting, but that only made him pull you closer, his arm tightening around your waist and his nose pressing harder into the curve of your shoulder. a soft, pleased noise escaped his throat.
"five more minutes," he slurred, barely coherent.
"your hand is on my boob."
"i know. it's nice."
you sighed, but you couldn't even pretend to be mad. this was just how it was. how it had been for months, ever since the three of you had fallen into this weird, unspoken arrangement that no one had bothered to define but everyone was clearly on board with.
you turned your attention to sukuna, who was still dead to the world. his face was relaxed in sleep, which was the only time he ever looked anything close to peaceful. his jaw wasn't clenched, his brow wasn't furrowed, and the perpetual scowl he wore like armor was nowhere to be found.
his hand on your ass squeezed once, reflexive, and you felt your face heat.
"you're awake," you murmured, because there was no way that was accidental.
sukuna's eyes cracked open—just a slit, those deep crimson irises catching the pale morning light filtering through the curtains. he didn't move, didn't speak, just watched you with that flat, assessing stare that would've made anyone else squirm.
then his hand squeezed again, deliberate this time, and one corner of his mouth twitched.
"morning," he rasped, voice a low rumble that vibrated through his chest and straight into your cheek.
"you're shameless."
"you’re still here."
you opened your mouth to retort, but satoru chose that exact moment to stir behind you, his arm tightening and his hand shifting just enough to make you gasp.
"oh my god," you breathed.
satoru made a sleepy, questioning noise against your neck. "what? what's wrong?"
"your hand."
"it's still on your boob, yeah. i noticed."
"then move it."
"don't wanna."
sukuna snorted, the sound rough with sleep. "you're a pervert."
"you're one to talk," satoru shot back, voice still thick with drowsiness. "i can feel your hand on her ass from here. don't act all high and mighty."
"at least i'm not groping her like a teenager at a house party."
"it's not groping, it's comforting. they’re like stress balls. there’s a difference.”
"there really isn't.”
you felt satoru shift behind you, his chest pressing closer, and then his hand—which had been resting innocently on your shoulder—slid back down. slow. deliberate. his fingers traced the curve of your ribs before palming your breast through the thin cotton of your tank top.
"groping would be if i did this—"
his hand firmly squeezed, fingers kneading the soft flesh, and then his thumb found your nipple through the fabric. he flicked it—once, twice, a lazy, practiced motion that sent a jolt straight through you.
you gasped, sharp and involuntary, the sound punching out of you before you could stop it. it was embarrassing, needy, and it hung in the morning air like an admission.
"satoru!" you smacked his hand, your face burning, and he let out a theatrical whine like you'd just wounded him.
"okay—okay, sorry..." he grumbled, but you could hear the grin in his voice. his hand slid down to your stomach, palm flat and warm against the bare skin there, fingers splayed like he was claiming territory. "but you made that really cute sound. like a little squeak."
"i did not squeak."
"you absolutely did," sukuna said, voice low and rough with sleep. his eyes were open now, watching you with that knowing look.
“shut up, kuna.”
satoru’s thumb traced a slow circle on your stomach, just above the waistband of your shorts, and you shivered despite yourself.
sukuna's hand moved, sliding from your ass up to your hip, then around to your thigh where it rested heavy and warm. his thumb pressed into the soft skin there, stroking slow, lazy patterns that made your breath catch.
"you're blushing," sukuna observed, and his voice was almost smug. oh how that bastard loved teasing you like this.
"it's warm in here."
"the ac’s on the lowest setting."
"yeah—well, you two are suffocating me. shut it."
satoru giggled and pressed a kiss to the back of your neck. his hand on your stomach tightened slightly, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. "you're so cute when you're flustered."
"i'm not even flustered."
"your heart's racing," sukuna said, and you hated that he was right. you could feel the thrum of it in your chest, quick and betraying. no matter how used to this you’d gotten, the two still knew exactly how to get to you.
"that's because you two are suffocating me."
"you love it," satoru sing-songed.
you didn't answer, because he was right, and they both knew it.
you groaned and tried to roll away, but both of them held firm—satoru's arm locking around your waist, sukuna's hand pressing flat against your lower back. you were trapped.
"you're both so annoying," you muttered into sukuna's chest.
"you say that a lot," satoru said, and you could hear the grin in his voice. "maybe you should get new material."
"maybe you should get a life."
"i have one. it's you. and him, unfortunately."
sukuna's eyes had slipped closed again, but you felt his chest shake with a silent laugh. "unfortunately is right."
"shut up," satoru taunted, kicking him under the covers. "you know you love me."
"i tolerate you. there's a really big difference. if you were smart you’d know that.”
“semantics. and for your information, i am smart.”
you smiled despite yourself, face still pressed against sukuna's chest. the morning light was growing brighter, painting the room in soft gold, and the warmth of both of them was starting to lull you back toward sleep.
"you're both dumbasses," you grumbled, but there was no heat in it.
"and that would make you?” satoru teased, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.
“he has a point,” sukuna grunted in agreement, his hand sliding up from your ass to rest on your hip, thumb tracing a slow circle against the skin there.
you let your eyes close, breathing in the mixed scents of them—satoru's sweet, almost floral shampoo, sukuna's sharper, spicier shampoo.
"breakfast?" you asked, voice sleepy.
"later," satoru mumbled.
"five more minutes," sukuna said, which was practically a declaration of love from him.
"fine," you sighed, practically waving a white flag. "five more minutes."
satoru's hand (which was honestly doing mean things to you) finally moved—off your chest, up to your shoulder, pulling you back against him until you were perfectly cocooned. sukuna's arm tightened around your waist, drawing you closer until there was no space left between you.
and for five beautiful, quiet minutes, there was peace.
then satoru said, "so who's getting up to make coffee?"
• real friends to lovers type shiii OH he’s such a loverboy it’s unreal.
• you don’t like that he boxes bc there’s a chance he won’t get back up. there’s no guarantee of coming back from a brain injury and that scares the hell out of you. you never discourage him, though. if that’s what he wants to do then you support him and he’s forever grateful since he knows how worried you get.
• on that note, he teaches you basic self-defense techniques so you can take care of yourself if need be. he’d rather you be prepared than sorry. of course, you listen and pay serious attention when he teaches but you do get distracted at times. you can’t help it! gunwoo looks so attractive when he’s all caring and attentive to you. (you stare when he isn’t looking and have to remember not to let those reactions out bc WHEW his beautiful tan skin looks SO good when it’s sweaty)
• rarely does he come to you bleeding and in need of stitches, but when you spot a bruise? forget it. he’s sat with no complaints and arguments and waits patiently for you to finish wrapping his knuckles or applying an ointment on his ribs.
• you get so flustered when he takes his shirt off so you can tend to him but you hide it so well. your poker face is top tier! gunwoo takes that opportunity to stare at you to his heart’s content and you have to act like his stare isn’t burning you up from the inside.
• he crushes hard on you from afar. such a hopeless romantic for you.
• he subconsciously studies all your little habits and quirks; how you like your coffee or if you’re a tea person, what kinds of teas you like and what you like to add in them. the way you blink when you’re nervous and how your hands rub against each other when you’re anxious. you get quiet and isolate yourself when you’re sad and are quite intimidating when mad. despite it all, he thinks you’re the loveliest.
• maintains his shy nature and would try his best to find something to say to you, but sometimes it comes out so random and awkward he wishes to have said nothing at all.
“i know they say ‘an apple a day keeps the doctor away’ but they’re not wrong! here, eat it, it’ll take your headache away.”
• he’s sweet like that, always looking out for you.
• happens to talk on his own to you! this is such a big giveaway of his feelings for you but you don’t pick up on it. you believe he’s just that comfortable around you and you’re proud to be a safe space for him. woojin has to hold himself back from telling you no! he is this way because he’d give you his heart if you asked! gunwoo is still a bit reserved but not in the insecure sense, but because he’s nervous to accidentally give himself away and make you uncomfortable (like he could ever do that!).
• gunwoo's masculinity is your favorite thing about him. (his strength being a close runner up 🌚) unlike most men, he cries and loves out loud, without any feelings of shame or embarrassment. gunwoo's heart may be soft but his mind is strong, and that's what makes him so perfect!!
• i can see gunwoo getting you something for your birthday, and it just so happens to be something so special. every year, he gives you something meaningful and useful, never the same thing twice. you don’t know how he does it, how someone can know someone this well. it makes your heart flutter and grow stronger for him.
• the type to associate you to songs he listens to. he could be doing anything; working out, running errands, going for a jog. as soon as he hears a nice melody with lovely lyrics, you’re the one he’s thinking of. it hits different if it’s a song he’s known for years.
• his mom likes you too, and that just makes his feelings stronger if possible. seeing the both of you interact makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. woojin clocks his reaction and teases the hell out of his bestie but even he’ll admit, you’re really nice and a pleasure to be around.
• woojin gives him advice on how to court you but gunwoo, ever the polite one, listens on even if he won’t follow through. eventually, woojin stops but he feels like he could do more as an older brother figure. he’d like to see gunwoo happily and openly in-love. but he learns to have faith in the younger man and lets him figure it out on his own, but not without a reminder of his presence!
• when smile capital came, he felt an immense amount of responsibility to protect his mother and you, and the feeling felt shared once woojin joined his cause.
• the type to long for you until the unfortunate (or fortunate, depending on your perspective) day you almost get hurt (just a little scratch above your eyebrow) and he can’t take it anymore :(
“gunwoo, i’m fine. really, i’m okay— more than okay, even!”
“what if i hadn’t shown up in time?” a heavy sigh exits his nose, not wanting to say the consequence out loud. “…i can’t lose you.” he whispers, the tears falling freely now. “i just can’t.”
you feel so helpless seeing him this way. the tips of your fingertips reach out to his arm, the gentle touch making his eyes sweep over yours. “you won’t lose me.”
gunwoo lets your words hang in the air, choosing his own carefully. “…seeing them come so close to you like that… it’s made me realize that i can’t keep these feelings to myself any longer.” gunwoo can feel his throat beginning to tighten up, but he pushes through. “what i feel for you is more, so much more than i can say, but know that i will try my hardest to get us out of this situation. i won’t let anything happen to you.”
you’ve imagined how this would go a lot. you know words don’t come easy to him so you thought to expect something different, but never did you imagine this— a heartfelt confession from a man of few words, who somehow finds all the right ones for you.
• if gunwoo is anything, he is a man of his word. he made good on his promise and got everyone out of this terrible nightmare and kept you out of harm's way.
• after everything was said and done, gunwoo takes you out on a proper date to a rooftop restaurant. it’s not fancy, but it’s formal enough to warrant a casual though nice dress and flowers from him. of course, he picks you up in that gorgeous white drop top car and turns his gentlemanliness up to the highest level you’ve ever seen (like how is that possible?! it took a lot of willpower to not climb all over him)
• i feel like your first kiss w gunwoo would be nervous and buzzing, but also perfect. he’d bashfully ask if he could and you delightedly answer with a content whisper of yes. and when he’d lean in to give you what you’ve always wondered about oh— fireworks explode and your heart thunders in your ears. gunwoo doesn’t know where to put his shaky hands but he thinks the sides of your face is a good place. you don’t mind— setting yours on his chest, a shiver runs up his spine at the contact and you both break away to chuckle softly. his eyes sparkle like twinkling stars, face hot to the touch and grin soft and warm, matching yours.
• to add on, gunwoo always asks for permission before kissing, that’s what makes his kisses so special!! they’re always soft, sweet, and make you feel cherished. he’s slow with the pace, only building up when the tension gets thick. his hands are gentle to the touch and go from your waist / hips to cradling your head. gunwoo smiles into the kisses a lot out of content, not believing his luck with you.
• you never have to question his intentions for you. you’ve known him since before you guys got together and you’ve seen quite a lot of his character. enough to fully believe that he’d never hurt you, he’d never break your heart. you never had your guard up with him so you never had to bring it down for him, either.
• if you’re a nightowl, he tries to stay up late with you but ends up clocking out before midnight 😭 if you’re an early bird like him, i can see gunwoo going for a morning run and trying to get you to come with.
• working out together is such couple goals for him, but only if you’re into it too. woojin doesn’t mind third wheeling since y’all aren’t one of those couples that are so obsessed with each other, everyone else is out of sight and mind. (but a certain someone is *cough woojin cough*)
• gunwoo is harmoniously obsessed with you. what i mean by that is, you bring a balance to his life. you help him make sense of things, give him strength to carry on, and help fuel his internal motivation to be successful in everything he does. his passion for you does not endanger his love for you. gunwoo may care extensively for you, but never unhealthily. for example, he may be hurt or tired, but he’ll always check up on you first. even before you guys got together, he sought out everyone including you, before caring for himself. caring for you is not something gunwoo needs in order to feel better about himself, he is 100% pure with his intentions.
• furthermore, he's always asking if you've eaten and how your day went. i can see him feeding you sometimes, just because he wants to feed you with his own hands. on the food note, gunwoo loves to cook for you. he can make just about anything with enough time and preparation, all you have to do is ask and he's on it!
• he’s always paying attention and hanging onto your every word, thought, and idea. it’s like he’s struck gold with your mind.
• gunwoo isn’t a fan of pda / showing affection in public, prefers to keep that to a minimum of his and yours eyes only. he’ll hold your hand and keep a hand at your back / waist if you’re in busy areas.
• gunwoo’s the type to have excellent memory when it comes to you. he remembers both important dates (your birthday and y’all’s anniversary) the very first time it’s come to his notice, he knows all your likes, dislikes, and allergies, and even knows your ring size. (he found that one out after y’all’s one year anniversary without you knowing)
• sidewalk rule comes naturally to him, he even did that when you both were just friends (with crushes on one another).
• just cuz he’s quiet doesn’t mean he doesn’t know how to get loud! his actions alone speak volumes. if someone even looks like they’re about to say something to you, he’s in front of you so quick, you don’t even see him coming.
• loves seeing you in his clothes!!! it makes him all lovey dovey inside omg he’s got this doe-eyed look before it transitions into the biggest smile on his face.
• when you tell him how safe you feel with him, he’s never been more proud of himself in his life.
• cried when you said “i love you” for the first time.
• also cried the first time y’all argued. it’s rare for y’all to argue so when they happen, you never let the other sleep without resolving it. thankfully they never get to the point where you guys can’t stand in each other’s presence!
• teared up when you kissed his scar for the first time:
you were stargazing on your rooftop when you look over at him and get the sudden urge to touch his scar.
you ask, he says yes, and he watches with a stuttering heart as your fingertips gently graze over the healed, red-ish pink skin. your touch travels down towards his chin, tracing it like tracing over a constellation.
gunwoo revels in your softness, warmth blooming inside him like a flower.
the memories of how he got the scar flash in your mind and you rub his cheek fondly, dropping your hand.
gunwoo sees the sad look on your face and immediately tries to cheer you up but you don’t let him.
“you didn’t deserve that.”
gunwoo sees how you don’t apologize, like you had anything to be sorry for. you don’t pity him or say how much worse it could’ve been. you just see him.
leaning in, you hold his face in your hands and press loving kisses along the curve.
gunwoo feels his eyes sting, overwhelmed with the amount of care and compassion from you. he closes his eyes as you kiss his soft lips, saying, “thank you for all that you do.”
• likes to pat your head when you’re asleep; his palm gently gliding across the crown of your head down to your hair, finding the softness of your hair satisfying.
• a light sleeper, and a clingy one too. if you pull away to use the bathroom, he’ll cling to you as soon as you dip back in and don’t be fooled by his sleepy figure! he’s got a tight grip, but will definitely scoot over if you ask.
• gets all shy and bashful when you gush over his strength/muscles. you just look at him and can’t believe this gentle giant is all yours!! his strength is so attractive to you, and he works so hard on his body so it’s only natural for you to admire and praise both it and him.
“you’re so strong, gunwoo.” you say in awe after watching him open a difficult jar with his bare hands.
you have to often unconventionally open them by putting the wide end of a spoon into the crevices to loosen the grip (which works almost 100% of the time) or using a thick towel to twist open the lid.
he just smiles and shrugs. “it was just screwed really tight.” ever the humble man.
• your sadness is his sadness, your happiness is his happiness. you never go through anything alone, everything’s always shared— from emotions to good and bad news to burdens and responsibilities. gunwoo believes that a relationship is two way street, both people have to put in a 100% effort, but he also knows that putting in a 100% effort all the time isn’t always possible; so he meets you wherever you are, and you do the same. with that being said, he cries when you cry. #empath
• though s2!gunwoo has gotten a bit more comfortable with talking, his shyness is a part of him. you see it with the way your relationship progresses. he’s careful with physical touch, always reaching out slowly and hesitant. but when he does touch you, it’s the best feeling. his hugs are always warm and so comforting, guess there’s some use for his muscles after all! gunwoo loves it when you rest your head on his chest or press your nose into his neck when you hug, makes him feel proud to be a safe space for you to let go and fall into.
• PRINCESS TREATMENT ONLY!!! he’s so adamant about that omg. holds your bags / purse, heels, anything and everything! pulls out chairs, holds open doors, plates your food first, opens your car door for you, carries you however you want when you’re tired (piggybacking is a favorite for you both). he’s so “i know you can do this by yourself, but i want to do this for you, so let me.”. he’s every independent woman / eldest daughter’s DREAM.
• with that being said, i can see gunwoo’s love language being acts of service. he lives to be of service. whatever you want done, will be done exactly the way you want it, if not better! i see him being the handyman, fixing things like a minor leaky faucet or a squeaky hinge on the door.
“i noticed your fridge light was flickering so i went ahead and ordered you a whole new fridge. 😊” and he has that cute ass smile on bc he knows he can get away with doing shit like that 😭
• to say he's an amazing boyfriend is such an understatement bruh there are no words to completely describe just how perfect he is at that role. he gets you flowers, remembers everything about you— even the “smallest most unimportant” details (because nothing about you is forgettable. because you're extremely important to him).
“i was passing by that local flower shop and saw these out front.”
“gunwoo, you really didn’t have to do that.”
your boyfriend disagrees. “but i did! they’re in season so you wouldn’t have this chance to see them again.”
you smell them and they’re just as sweet as you expected. reaching up, you plant a kiss on his cheek, leaving a red fire to spread across his face. “thank you.”
REQ. I would like to ask Hong Woo-jin, something like: Woo-jin and the reader are having dinner with Geon-woo and his mother, but suddenly Geon-woo's mother asks when Woo-jin and the reader plan to have children, making them both think about the possibility of having children (sorry if it sounds confusing, English is not my first language).
(BLDHS MLST) . hong woojin x fem!reader · est. relationship, slice of life, domestic fluff, discussion of kids
woojin lulled his head low, his eyes peeking just above the used napkin that covered half of his face. you, geonwoo, and his mother were talking, mostly about the weather or silly adult things that he was too distracted to be bothered with. you weren’t really sure how other people hadn’t noticed him yet, suspiciously crouching down alongside the table as he waited for the perfect time to strike.
“kkakkung!” woojin would exclaim, propelling himself up from his crouched-like pose and fully appearing from beneath the table.
the fat, rosy cheeked baby that sat at the next table over squealed in utter joy, easily entertained at the childish game woojin had initiated. a smile almost wider than his face came playing onto his lips, entranced and in complete awe of the adorable infant and her baby giggles. it had been like this for most of the night, you would be deep in conversation with geonwoo’s mother, while woojin kept himself entertained with a few rounds of peek a boo with an infant.
“i think you’re interrupting their dinner, honey.” you announced softly, rubbing your hand over woojin’s shoulder to pull him back to the table with his own family.
“sorry,” he apologized to the couple and waved to the baby, “it’s just that she’s cute and all. fun to play with, too.” he finally rejoined you.
it’s not that he was bored with dinner and the conversations, because he wasn’t. he adored soyeon so much, even as his own mother. but it was evident all he wanted to do was play another round of peek a boo. you can especially see it from the baby that kept making wide-eyed glances towards woojin, wondering if he was going to play with her again.
you noticed that he’s got that effect on kids. he’s good with them and seem to have a way with babies. even soyeon noticed it, admiringly smiling at him before sipping her drink.
“woojin-ah, have you and y/n thought of having one of your own, yet?” she asked sweetly. “don’t you think it’s time? the two of you’d make an adorable little baby.” soyeon encouraged, geonwoo nodding happily in agreement.
you and woojin exchanged glances. the mere idea being put out in the open made his heart flutter, and the genuine twinkle in his eyes appeared as soon as the words rolled off her tongue. his own baby? a mix of you and him, all wrapped up into a little human being he could call his child? it’s not like he hadn’t thought about this before, because he has. in fact, on some occasions, it’s dominated his thoughts late at night. as you slept next to him, soft snores slipping out from you as you were snuggled up beside him, he’d be staring at the ceiling thinking about it, thinking about how the two of you could create a perfect little baby. the idea being brought up again, reminding him of all his late night thoughts, made his chest ache in endearment before he started to excitedly fidget in his seat.
woojin doesn’t think there’s anything he’s ever wanted more. he’s sure of it; he just needs to know if you’re sure of it too, so after dinner, he opened the conversation about trying.
as he slid into the driver’s side of the car, he became nervous. while his knuckles grew whiter as he clutched onto the wheel, he couldn’t make the effort to do so much as glance at you. if he wanted to bring this up, he wanted to do it right. he wanted to make sure the delivery was perfect, and that he didn’t stumble or trip over words like the idiot he felt he was being right now. it wasn’t until ten minutes in, after watching you innocently tuck a piece of hair behind the nape of your ear. that sweet, content sigh that came tumbling so gracefully from your lips made him find a little solace. and, as you placed a hand to his leg subconsciously, he remembered that it was only you. so why would he be nervous?
“that baby,” he started slowly, figuring it was his best way to introduce the topic, “had a lot of fun. such a little thing, chubby and giggly.”
“she’s very cute.” you agree, eyes closing as you rested your head on the headrest.
“really love babies. pretty good with them, too.”
“i know you are, honey.” you hum, adjusting the position of your neck.
“but did you know that ever since i was young, i’ve wanted to one day have kids; two or maybe even three? i couldn’t wait to start a family. my aunt and my mother’s friends always looked so glowy and pretty when they were pregnant. sometimes i can’t help myself but want to see you look the same.”
woojin’s thought about it early in your relationship, truly believed that you’re the one, the one that he could start a family with, the one that would finally make him happy and give him a baby. he wants it so bad; he would take such good care of her, promised himself and you that he’d be there to watch her every step. he just wonders if you’d like that too.
“do you think eomma was right? that it’s time for us to…” woojin asked softly, eyes staring straight at the road ahead.
“maybe.” you shrug. “someday.” you add.
“right, someday. obviously whenever you’re ready.” he breathes nervously, making you squint in curiosity at his awkward mannerisms, “or like soon but whatever…. whenever.”
“well how soon are we talking? you’re kind of busy with geonwoo and i’ve got my own thing going on. i mean, unless—” you laugh, trying to lighten the mood as you noticed his body was quite literally tensing up, “are you ready?”
“let’s just say we did have to worry about it soon. would you still want one?” your lightheartedness did not work, as you could tell he was forcing himself to remember to breathe. you’ve honestly never seen him like this before.
“woojin—”
“actually,” he interjected abruptly, backtracking completely, “nothing, never mind. it’s— i was just wondering.”
his fingers tapped anxiously against the steering wheel, side-eyeing you briefly only to see the puzzled expression on your face as you tried to figure out why the hell he was being so weird. he never exactly hid his feelings about being a dad before, always making little comments about how your children would be the cutest or how he’d be the best father to them. you assumed that maybe it’s because the conversation about it was real now.
a baby, you thought. in secrecy, it had crossed your mind once or twice. there wasn’t a single thing about woojin that you didn’t adore, and a lot of the times you wondered what traits your kids would adopt from him. as much as the idea made your heart flutter and your stomach get all warm and tingly in the best way, you’d have to bring yourself back down to reality and remind yourself that neither of you were in the position to be parents. with his dangerous line of work, and your demanding job, it just didn’t seem like a good idea right now.
you didn’t talk anymore about it the rest of the ride home, however you brought it up again in the middle of the night while you’re both cuddling in bed. “i want it too, if that’s what you were wondering earlier in the car.” you sighed. “i think about it too, sometimes.”
“really?!” woojin shot his head up, optimistic.
“of course i do. and it sounds nice, but… just not right now.” and he nodded, because he knew as well it wasn’t the right time just yet.
woojin rolled you over so that you were now facing him, hugging you against his chest and caressing your head. “but one day, right? you’ll give me a baby one day, won’t you?” he whispered quietly in the darkness of the room and could feel your mouth curling into a smile from where it was brushing over his chest.
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: you catch your boyfriend smoking in the attempts of trying to cope with the feeling of guilt that’s eating at him
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: angst.ᐟ fluff ending.ᐟ mention of smoking as a coping mechanism.ᐟ season two events [lowkey spoilers for ep 1-3].ᐟ canon typical violence.ᐟ
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.0k
you abruptly jolted out of yet another nightmare, the whole situation with the IKFC bad guys has been giving you constant nightmares – mostly about gunwoo getting hurt.. or killed.
the videos you’ve watched from the illegal website of the brutal fights terrified you, how can people possibly pay to see guys fight to the death. no amount of money was worth someone’s life.
and knowing that those awful people want your boyfriend gunwoo to fight to the death made your stomach turn. it made you physically sick.
you took a deep breath in and out, turning to gunwoo’s side of the bed only to find it empty. the room was dark and quiet, almost too quiet.
a red light lit up in your head. anxiety rising in an instant, for weeks you and the rest haven’t felt safe anywhere, even in the hotel rooms provided to you by his dear friend, minbeom.
you jerked out of bed as soon as you noticed the time on the alarm clock – two in the morning. gunwoo should be asleep at this hour considering his healthy lifestyle routine.
food, sleep, exercise – doing everything to stay in his best form, especially now with gangsters on your tail.
deep down you were praying that he only went to the bathroom or something, but once you called out his name, knocking on the bathroom door to no response, your heart started racing.
“babe? gunwoo?” your voice shook, you opened the bathroom to find it dark and empty, just like the bed.
your instincts told you to look out the window, and you weren’t going to ignore them, not when it came to the safety of your boyfriend, or his family.
you moved quick, wasting no time. pulling the definitely expensive blackout curtains out of the way, at first you got a scare, seeing someone standing outside on the balcony.
but you quickly recognised that it’s just gunwoo. you let out a sigh of relief, but the feeling doesn’t stay long with you as you noticed him surrounded by the smoke he exhaled.
you caught your boyfriend gunwoo smoking cigarettes? something he always avoided with a ten foot pole? what was going on here, you thought to yourself. he didn’t even want to be around woojin attempting to smoke the cigar after winning the championship.
you opened the glass balcony door to join him on the balcony, slightly startling him as he obviously didn’t expect anyone to join him, especially at this hour.
“babe, what on earth are you doing?!” you closed the door behind you and walked up to him. stepping closer to the smell of tobacco that clouded around him, and now you.
gunwoo’s first instinct was to hide the cigarette behind him like a kid, then to maybe throw it out. he looked down at the ground with shame, he knew what he was doing wasn’t good for him, he always prioritised his health.
“since when does the box champion kim gunwoo smoke?” you added, gently placing your hand on his arm, trying to get him to look you in the eye.
gunwoo sighed, “i know it’s not an excuse but… it’s just been so stressful lately..” he looked down at the cigarette between his fingers before throwing it out.
“i know it has baby, especially for you.” you spoke to him softly, you weren’t mad at him for trying to find a coping mechanism for all this stress, hell you’d probably be doing the same in his place. you were simply worried about him in general. “you always take so much responsibility for everything…”
“because it’s all my fault..” his eyes softened, you could tell he was fighting a silent battle inside his head.
“sweetie, it is not your fault.” you shook your head, you couldn’t understand how he could even blame himself for all of this, for being stalked and threatened by some dark web gangsters.
“if i just accepted the fight.. you all would’ve been safe, no need to hide my mom in a hotel, woojin wouldn’t have a big gash on his hand.. and you-” his eyes welled up with tears.
“that’s enough. just– come here.” you couldn’t help but pull him into a hug, seeing the guilt ridden expression on his face.
this poor boy needed a hug. he needed someone to pull him out of the negative thought storm that he’s been trying to fight off all by himself.
“nothing–and i mean nothing is your fault gunwoo. do you hear me?” you pulled away just a bit, making sure you are looking into his eyes. your small fists clenching around his hoodie.
“if you would’ve taken that goddamn fight i’d lose you. your mom and woojin would’ve lost you.” you explained, your own eyes welling up with tears. the thought alone broke your heart. you loved gunwoo so much. you all did.
“so don’t you dare blame yourself for this. if anyone is guilty here it’s definitely not you. it’s those bastards that hide behind their dirty money thinking they own the world.” your voice rising slightly at how angry you were with those thugs, making him think it’s his fault.
gunwoo noticed the stray tears falling down your cheeks and at that moment something snapped in him, making him pull you in for a tender kiss.
his lips were so soft against yours with a bitter taste of cigarettes and saltiness of his tears, his big hands framing your face with such gentleness as if he was afraid he’d break you by accident. his iron knuckles bruised from all the punches he gave out hours ago.
you reciprocated the kiss, spilling all your emotions into it. hoping that after tonight, after what you told him, and after this kiss, gunwoo would finally stop blaming himself for everything, and start being a little more angry with those thugs who are trying to ruin his and his family’s life.
he slowly pulled away, his face inches away from yours, tears staining his cheeks. “i’m sorry..” he gently wiped your tears away with his thumbs.
“don’t be.” you smiled weakly. “you didn’t do anything wrong.”
“it’s cold… let’s get you inside, you’ll get sick.” he whispered before giving him a soft peck and tugging him by the hem of his hoodie.
❤︎ so overly protective. he’s not overbearing and he’ll never try to be that way but he’s always on the phone with you. texting, calling, or keeping track of where you are and if you’re safe or not. bad guys always find him.
❤︎ “princess? I didn’t mean to wake you but.. need you”
❤︎ his large strong hands are always on your waist or thighs. it’s just his thing, he loves those parts of your body the absolute most. if you ask him? he’d shrug his shoulders. not being able to answer. for some reason he loves your waist and how perfect it is. his hand fits perfectly on that spot and your thighs are so warm.
❤︎ “why are you so pretty, hm? my sweet pretty girl.”
❤︎ adores when you show up to watch him work out or practice. let’s say he’s in the ring! just for practice but it’s a bit of a rough practice. actually hitting and using a lot of new techniques. when he’s able to turn and look at you? he’s put back in the zone. you ground him.
❤︎ “I love you. I love you so much.. I can’t lose you.”
❤︎ insanely touching and LOVES cuddles. he’s so into cuddles that even when you’re cooking or baking he’s in the kitchen with his arms around you, swaying back and forth. humming softly or just talking to you about whatever it is that he wants to talk about. he loves it.
❤︎ “do you believe in fairytales? want to talk about it?”
❤︎ big on kissing. so big on kissing. kisses you so so much because he believes that’s how you show how much you love a person. his kisses are soft and very emotional. other times? it’s a bit more hot, wet, and a little needy. he wants you. needs you. all the time.
summary: you were bloated heavily for the first time around zuko and he thought about how beautiful you’d look pregnant.
cw: crack humour in this, mentions of farting and released gas (I promise you this isn’t fetish).
firelord zuko delayed the idea of having heirs. He said he wanted to work on himself, but that was just an excuse. in reality he was scared, he thought that one day he might turn out to be abusive like his father or neglectful as his mother rather than being like his anchor, his uncle.
the chambers were covered in whispers, in rumours why there’s no heir yet despite being married for three years. whispers were not only slandering you but also the firelord himself but neither of you cared. you understood his fears and you held him through it after all parenthood is a very tough job.
the two of you were walking back from the dining room when you let out a burp, “oops.” you giggled, zuko let out a soft smile, “mhm, smells just like chicken roast.” He teased and his arm went down to your waist. If only you knew that burp was just the beginning.
“zuko it hurts…” you whined in bed while holding your stomach. Your husband jumped from his desk putting the letter he was writing to the avatar on hold, “my love, is everything okay? Should I bring the doctor?” he ran towards you and he held your cheeks before placing his hand over yours that was holding your stomach.
“No…” you laughed slightly, “I just have trapped gas in my stomach.” zuko looked at you seriously, he does not play when it comes to you or your health, “love…” he whispered his eyes softening, “is there anything I can do to help?” you shook your head, “no it’s more of a waiting game…but, it would help if you asked uncle to make some ginger and spearmint tea.”
zuko ran out of the chambers before he even put back on his crown. He ordered his dragon and the two flew towards his uncles tea shop. People bowed down in respect and normally he would bow back but he was in a rush, “uncle! Uncle!” he yelled out frantically running towards the back of the shop.
“yes firelord zuko?” his uncle replied, “is everything okay?” he shook his head, “no no. y/n says she has gas trapped in her belly, I don’t know what that even means! shouldn’t she just fart? she said ginger would help.”
uncle iroh laughed, “oh zuko. Be grateful you are one of the few people that don’t know what pain trapped gas brings.” zuko frowned dramatically, “she’s in pain?!” uncle laughed again, “more of a discomfort, get ready to have a funny but smelly night.” iroh was laughing the hold time making the tea, “now this night is what’s going to take you from a boy to a man. trust me on that.” uncle iroh let out a little toot making zuko cringe in disgust, “Erugh uncle. really? why are you farting right in front of me?”
“haha, zuko I’m preparing you for the long night ahead.”
firelord zuko ran back towards the master room and he opened the door, “my love? my angel? Are you alright?” he turned and saw you rolling your hips and exercising in your sports bra. you smiled and ran towards him, “thank you thank you…”
zuko was lost for words, your stomach, a feature he loved on you was slightly plump, big and round. he walked towards you and placed a hand on your stomach. His large palm stroked your belly. you laughed sipping thr concentrated tea, “i know it’s really bad isn’t it? I look three months pregnant.”
he didn’t really say a word all he did was admire your belly. He guided you towards the edge of the bed where he said down and he was face to face with your stomach.
“pregnant…” he whispered in awe.
a child growing in the woman he loves. his child.
thoughts that he neglected was surfacing to his eyes, scenarios and future memories were clouding. you placed your hand over his, “zuko?” you weren’t answered. you could see intense emotions in his eyes even the one his was blinded in. he looked up at you with tears in his eyes, “I’m ready…”
“mhm?”
he leaned closer and kissed your stomach, an intimate gesture that made your heartswell, he pulled you closer hugging your legs, “I’m ready to be a dad…” he whispered, “I’m ready to give it my all…”
“I’m sorry it took me so long.”
you leaned down and kissed his head, “don’t be sorry…we still have a long life together ahead of us. you can take all the time you need.”
the whole night zuko kept rubbing your belly as though you were pregnant. You continued to drink the tea while moaning in pain. zuko held you in his arms, “I feel so pathetic, I want to help but I don’t know how…” he whispered.
you felt a large cramp in your stomach before sighing in relief, the bloated reduced a little. zuko smiled at your relieved expression before his nostrils twitched, “oh…” he instinctively grabbed his nose and pulled himself out of bed.
you started giggling in embarrassment, “I’m so sorry…” you started laughing at how red his face became, “y/n…” he whispered in disbelief, shock and slight awe that something potent came out of a gorgeous woman like you,
“that stinks. Might even beat uncles.”
you laughed even louder, your cackle making gas escape you more, “I’m so sorry…I didn’t have the heart to tell you especially with you rubbing my belly.”
he started chuckling, “this isn’t funny…the stench is assaulting my nose.” He grabbed his expensive perfume that him and toph made together and sprayed it around the room, “I’m gonna support you from right here…” He yelled out and stood in the corner.
“you can always leave the room…”
he shook his head, “nope. I’m being as present as I can especially since we’re married. this is part of our marriage isn’t it, sickness and health?”
he gulped finally understanding the wise words of his uncle. it was going to be a long night for sure.
sorry for disappearing I went on holiday to visit my grandma and they barely have any internet or network. but thought it would a crack fic would be a nice comeback.
I headcanon that zuko is blind in the eye his father burned and its slightly cloudy.
ღ summary: Your (not so) quiet crush on Sanji through Nami’s eyes
ღ pairing: Sanji x fem!reader
ღ warnings: Disgusting(ly bad) flirting :D not an established relationship but they act like a couple anyway! reader with long-ish hairr, she's chalant af
Nami finds out about your crush on Sanji during girls night.
You don’t know what was better, when no one knew about this thing you had for him, or having your best friend aware, which meant that you finally had someone else to rave on about Sanji and everything that he is.
She calls you “lame”, but the truth is that you are helpless.
You’re seated on a twirly chair in front of the vanity, right foot up on the cushioned surface to better polish your toes. They’re a vivid coral, matching the ones on your fingers. Nami’s lying upside down on her cot across from you, hands behind her head and feet up against the wall like it’s nobody’s business. She's finished her toes already, all coated in a beautiful teal that compliments her hair.
Everything is perfect tonight. As perfect as being bountied pirates on a ship can get. The flower scented candles around the girls’ cabin run warm, making sweetness blossom around the room. Your beds are made perfectly, pillows fluffed up just the way you like it. You and Nami move with an unspoken understanding, of unwinding and finally taking time to yourselves after a day full of adventure.
The sound of the sea has been quietly lulling the two of you into peace, though you have to delay your sleep for an extra hour of chatting away your complaints.
Girls night always welcomes honesty—when you and Nami can talk about everything the boys would never understand. And she’s being real truthful alright, hand enthusiastically waving around like a maestro to her own words.
And of course, the current topic of conversation was the blonde, women-loving cook in your crew.
Nami can be blunt, to say the least. It’s what you appreciate most about her, although you wish she’d soften her words up just a little bit.
Or maybe try to see him the way you do.
“He’s a lot.”
She’s talking about typical Sanji behavior. The incessant flirting, the hovering and his I-live-to-serve-women attitude, which she’s convinced is some type of overcompensation.
You definitely don’t think it’s annoying. If anything, you think it’s really sweet that he tries his hardest to impress Nami.
Matter of fact, you love it when he tries to impress the girls on this ship. Fortunately for you, the only two available ones include an independent, no-bullshit navigator who doesn’t easily fall for his smooth-talking. Now that just leaves him to focus more of his affection onto you, and you absolutely love being the center of his attention.
You bite your lips, trying to hold back your laughter. “I mean, he’s intense for sure.”
She rolls her eyes at your attempts to soften her complaints, and she truly can’t find it in her to understand why you would defend the cook. “Annoying.”
“I think it’s kind of cute.”
A beat of silence.
And then Nami literally whips her head to face you so fast you’d think you were a treasure made of a trillion berries.
The sight she’s greeted with is one she will never forget. And not in a pleasant way, because you look positively, 100%, absolutely sure about the words you just uttered out of your mouth.
You’re hugging both your legs up to your chest, lips still bitten in a silent restraint. You’re actually melting into yourself, lost somewhere in the clouds as you swing yourself right and left in your chair.
Where do you even begin?
From memorizing your likes and dislikes,—and not just about food—attending to your needs, whether you voice them or not, and genuinely wanting to know you for who you are. Sanji somehow manages to embrace who you were, who you are now and who you hope to become in the future, all in the same breath.
He is never quiet with the way he loves. God forbid he doesn’t worry about others for even one day. He’s dramatic, over-the-top, theatrical. All the synonyms of spectacular you can find in the dictionary. But also grounded, selfless, and so genuine that it makes your teeth ache and your heart clench erratically.
Sanji treats you with a kind of gentleness that makes you think you’re the most precious diamond in the Blue Sea. You are. To him. He never ceases to convince you of so.
So it’s an absolute no-brainer that you think he is the one for you. If not the only man ever. And, the fact that you aren’t alone in this fortifies your belief. You and Sanji have your own thing. A quiet game that only you seem to understand the rules of. A kind of connection that isn’t defined by or bound to labels; one that grew from quiet glances and secret smiles. The others may not notice—for now. They’d probably brush it off as you being kind to Sanji and finding genuine friendship in him.
But you like it that way, and you really, really like him. You don’t need to say it out loud, because you’re sure he knows you do. You’re content with what you have because you can feel it that he reciprocates.
You are his just as much as he is yours.
“Say that again.” Nami pumps out the sentence like she can’t believe her own ears. She’s fully upright now, propping her upper body with her hands. She leans towards you as if it’ll make her hear better.
“I think..” you mimic her pose and lean your chest forward, palms resting on both knees as if preparing to tell her a secret, “—that he’s kind of cute.”
It’s he, now. Not it, anymore.
God, you are hopeless. And crazy.
“You’re kidding.” The navigator hits you with the most deadpan stare you’ve ever seen her muster in her life.
Nami tries to look back at all your past interactions with Sanji. From the first time you joined the crew to the most recent ones. Then it all clicks for her—like a puzzle piece to answer a question she’s never bothered to ask.
It starts with the way you get quiet when Sanji’s around, a secret smile and an undeniable warmth seldom missing from your face. Gosh, you’re so shy when he talks to you sometimes. It’s crazy that it didn’t register to her because you’re typically always so sure of yourself. Then it’s how you never, ever brush off his attempts at flattery. How your sweet compliments always seemed to be drowned out by Luffy’s shouts and Zoro’s arguing. She looks back at the way you naturally gravitate towards him. It didn't matter if you were on the ship, jumping from island-to-island, in the middle of a fight or simply lounging around with the rest of the crew, you always found your way right beside him.
Huh.
It was all in her face the entire time. Loud and apologetic. She feels silly at the fact that she’s never thought to even look because she couldn’t fathom that any woman could genuinely put up with him. And you never denied anything either—not when there wasn’t anything to deny in the first place.
Her words set you off like a pirate looking for the one piece.
“Nami don’t you ever dream of a guy who’ll sweep you off your feet?”
You’re breathless, absolutely lost in your own daydreams as you twirl around your chair with a force that could blow the Going Merry across the Grand Line. There are stars in your eyes, genuinely. Your hands shoot up in a rainbow above your head, and your body melts further into the seat.
Something’s definitely gotten into you.
“And Sanji’s that guy for you?!” She exclaims. You watch her go through all the 7 stages of grief in the span of 3 seconds.
You laugh at her silliness, and then you’re back to swooning again.
It was as if she’d unlocked your inner beast. A lovesick, crazy girl who was spouting her dreams of romance and everything that was butterflies and rainbows. A woman who was absolutely mooning over Sanji.
From then on the navigator makes it her mission to uncover where this crush of yours came from. She can try asking the rest of the crew, but she’s 98% sure the boys are oblivious to this, or simply aren’t as perturbed as she is. (Because how has no one questioned this before?!)
Starting wasn’t hard. At all. Turns out you and Sanji are shameless. It just takes the right time for someone to pay attention and see how deep the connection runs between the two of you.
It happens bright and early a few days later. Nami—by instinct or intuition—woke up to an empty cabin. Your bed looked freshly mussed, like you couldn’t be bothered to tidy it up before getting up. She looked through the small window, greeted by the sight of the barely peeking sun in the darkness of the horizon. Way too early for anyone to be up. Except for Sanji, who she knows is already prepping for breakfast in the galley. And conveniently, you seem to be missing in action as well. It doesn't take much to put two and two together.
She catches you right as you are entering the kitchen.
Of course, Sanji is already busying himself on the counter, chopping an array of fresh fruits into—what Nami can’t see—hearts.
“Mon trésor.”
It barely takes a second for you to enter before Sanji is calling out to you, gaze immediately snapping towards your figure. He doesn’t need his sight to know that it’s you. He can’t admit that it’s because he’s memorized the weight of your steps on the ship, and the sweet scent of your perfumed clothes.
A lit cigarette hangs off from his lips, though he quickly puts it away when you make your way to the dining table.
You rub your eyes tiredly, hand then moving down to hug yourself closer in an attempt to chase some warmth. “Hi, Sanji.”
He’s melting at the sight of you.
This might just be his favorite part of the morning, second only to when you start talking to him. You’re in your pajamas still, shirt hanging loosely over your bare shoulders. Absolutely radiant, and so domestic. You can barely open your eyes in the morning sun, and the way you carry yourself feels heavier, but more honest. Relaxed. A good sign that you slept well.
Sanji doesn’t fight off the small flush that makes itself known across his face.
“Do you know that every time you say my name an angel gains its wings?”
You grin at the early morning flattery while you settle down on your seat. You could look like the messiest thing on the ship and Sanji will find a way to compliment you regardless. “Heaven must love me,”
“Heaven would be a fool not to love you, darling.” It doesn’t take even a beat for him to answer, and the cook puts down his knife to come closer. He makes a point to lean his face down to yours to greet you with an open teeth grin.
And that genuinely brings a giggle out of you, leaving Nami mildly disgusted.
When he's finally seen your smile, he returns back to the stove, slathering butter over the surface of a pan. The familiar rich aroma and the oddly calming sizzling sound makes you soften into yourself. You slouch onto the countertop, folding your elbows into each other and laying your chin on top. “I take it that this is a good morning for you?”
“Everyday better when I see your beautiful face.” He curls his lips into a smile, sneaking a quick glance at you before winking.
Thank goodness he goes back to focusing on the pan because you are already throwing your face away to the sea, pursing your lips in a barely restrained smile before burying yourself into the crook of your arms, releasing a hidden breath.
Sanji, that sly man, takes a quick peek from his shoulders. Seeing you, confident you, turn into a flustered puddle from his words makes him puff up so quickly. He wears his pride so boldly on his chest. No one could tell him anything for the rest of the day, and it was insufferable.
Unbeknownst to you, he’s already started on your breakfast. He knows that you’re an early riser, and that you will almost always seek him out first thing in the morning. So everyday he sets out your breakfast ingredients and preps as much as he can. He doesn’t start cooking them before he sees your face, because he only wants the most warm and freshly cooked meal for you.
You notice it though, the way he always serves you first, no matter the time and place. Dinner? A plate of the finest meat for you first (Luffy hates it.) Going over logs with Nami? All the snacks you like are immediately placed in front of you, and a drink to compliment it following behind. He always thinks about your needs first, and if that isn’t love then you don’t know what to believe.
Just as you are in the middle of your daydreaming, Sanji interrupts with the sound of cutlery against porcelain. He’s plating up your mouth-watering breakfast, made to absolute perfection.
“For you madam, golden brown honey toast with freshly whipped cream on top,” he dishes out the plate in front of you, and the aroma itself sends you straight to heaven. “—extra fruit, just the way you like it.”
You didn’t think it was possible to fall deeper in love with him, but you’re proven wrong once you see the fruits that decorate your toast, all of them heart shaped. Both hand-cut and perfectly uniform using the cutter he specifically bought to use for your meals.
You gasp in exaggeration, though deep inside you’re aching about how sweet he is to remember your preferences. “You spoil me,”
“Only the best for my favorite Strawhat.” He answers, pouring you a glass of freshly brewed coffee.
You’re in the middle of cutting your toast in half when you look up at him, teasing by saying, “Don’t let the captain hear you say that.”
Sanji exclaims back to you in all his confidence, turning away as he places the pot on the counter. “Bah! One sirloin steak and he’ll forgive me like it never happened.”
Your giggle is like the brightest melody in his ears, and the words that follow it could bring him back from the dead. “Thank you, my chef~”
“You know my heart can’t take it,” He playfully sighs out your name, clutching his chest. Sanji stands across the table now, resting his chin on his hand against the counter top. Just happy to watch you.
“Delicious!” You continue to shoot honeyed words at him, not just as a means for him to keep sweet-talking you, but also because you think Sanji deserves all the love and goodness of this world.
“Sing me your praises, my angel of music,”
Nami can almost see him propel himself to the sky with giddiness.
“So perfectly crunchy,”
“—and I’m yours forever.” He takes your hand in his from across the aisle, pressing a chaste kiss to your knuckles as he looks up at you.
Nami felt chills sweeping up her spine.
You guys were so cheesy. But sort of.. cute. That was something she couldn’t deny. She’s never seen Sanji this genuine, and when someone actually reciprocates, it makes him look less like a fool.
And the way you were bouncing back and forth on each other was like a sick game of ping-pong she couldn’t look away from.
She couldn’t figure out for the life of her why you two aren’t together already. It’s perfectly clear that you both feel the same way, and aren’t afraid to act upon it. A small part of her wants to meddle, and she’s halfway into a plan that’ll somehow get either of you to confess to each other, but then she abruptly stops.
Eh, you guys will sort that out yourselves. Eventually. You look like you’re exactly where you want to be. So, Nami shrugs and beelines into the kitchen, hoping to get a fresh plate of breakfast seeing that he’s already started with yours.
The next time Nami catches a moment between the two of you wasn’t intentional. Right, because she wouldn’t be caught dead seeking the conversations you and Sanji had after that traumatizing event.
It was late at night. For once a quiet one between all the chaos that seemed to follow the Strawhat Pirates. Luffy was snoring away somewhere with a full belly, Ussop tinkering away in his cabin, and Zoro likely in the crow’s nest. Nami decided to look for fresh air, feeling a little bit holed up inside her room. Between the gentle rocking of the sea and the soft melody of the waves, it was the perfect atmosphere to spend watching the horizon.
She didn’t mean to overhear your conversation, but the door was open and a ship doesn’t exactly leave much room for privacy. She tried to leave the two of you alone at first, but found herself leaning against the galley wall to listen in in the end.
When she takes a peek through the door, she finds you seated still and pretty on the stool close to him, cross-legged in your pajamas. Like a sous chef who wasn’t really a sous chef but boosted the cook all the same—if not a million times more.
When you first got to the galley, you paid mind to his laser-focused expression. You didn't want to break his flow, so you stuck yourself against the counter at a distance. You were content with the picture of him from afar, but Sanji had absolutely none of it. He began your conversation of the night while silently dragging a stool and placing it right next to him by the stove. Safely away from getting blasted by the heat, but close enough to where he could feel you around him and talk to you without feeling a million miles away.
He’s got on one of your top favorite get-ups: a classic blue striped dress-shirt unbuttoned just the right amount and his pink Doskoi Panda apron tied around the back. Sleeves deliciously rolled up to his elbows for a bonus. Though Nami isn’t attracted to him the way you are, she isn’t blind. She has to admit that the image of his forearms are a sight for sore eyes. Sanji can be quite charming at times, mostly when he keeps the talking to a minimum and does what he does best.
You’re not even hiding it at this point, gaze tracking every languid move of his hands like you were hypnotized.
It’s not hard for you to admire him when he’s deep in his element. You find yourself going quiet, not because you don’t want to talk to him, but because it’s mesmerizing to see the way he commands the kitchen like his own battleship.
There’s a small smile on your lips as you take in the passion he carries, and on your lap you fidget with the shiny silver ring on your thumb. It’s his ring—your favorite one that's shaped like a skull—that he gave to you for “safekeeping”, even though Sanji never ever takes them off. Even when he’s cooking. It’s incredibly intimate; a symbol of his trust for you.
He’s just finished cooking a dish of his own creation. A classic menu made of meat, but a little more experimental with the seasoning. You can only describe it as heaven in a plate, sweet and savory at the same time, with a hint of something that you can't fully describe with words. Yet, you enjoy it for all that it is, and the delectable fragrance isn't something to complain about, either. It’s almost shocking that Luffy hasn’t come running down the kitchen from the smell alone. Sanji isn’t technically done with the recipe, seeing as he’s trying to perfect the ingredients being used. He has his worn-out notepad by the counter, filled with endless scribbles and notes of improvement. The cook will come back to it once you’ve given your own comments on the taste.
Once finished turning down the heat, he takes a clean spoon out of the cabinet and offers you a small portion fresh out of the pan, where the dish was still simmering in the heat.
You feel honored that you are Sanji’s unofficial taste-tester. The first time you came across the cook experimenting with new creations was a complete coincidence. That particular night you’d been restless in bed, stomach aching for a bite of food. You ended up pattering into the galley to get maybe a few crackers, a slice of bread or cheese or something that’d temporarily distract you. But you didn’t expect to feast on a five star meal once Sanji found out you were hungry. You? His precious princess starving? Not on this ship.
What began as compliments to the chef turned into fully fledged reviews of each flavor profile, and eventually became something more intimate. A space for honesty just for you and Sanji.
You like to think that’s where you found the real Sanji. The kind heart beyond the ladies man, the truths behind his endless honeyed words.
You sought him out like a moth to a flame, and every night Sanji welcomed you with open arms.
Most of the times you were there to actually be his taste-tester, which is just his excuse of having a private late dinner with you. But, other times he’s prepping meals for the next day and you’re simply there to keep him company. Either way, you’ll never skip out on an opportunity to spend time alone with Sanji.
Funnily enough, more than once you’ve caught Luffy sneaking in and rummaging through the pantry, already halfway stuffing his face with something that makes Sanji tick before he notices that the two of you are occupying the room. It’s a bit adorable that he doesn’t make a fuss about it. He never questions anything beyond “Hey… are you sneaking for snacks too?!” and then an “Okay!” followed by his high pitched laughter after Sanji kicks him out for offering you the stolen goods from his sticky hands.
You take notice that he never lets Luffy get a bite of his cooking. Sure, if the captain asks, Sanji will make him something, but not from the same pan. A different dish all together. You think that maybe it’s because he isn’t open to someone tasting something he considers isn’t “perfect” yet, but another part of you just believes that it’s because he only trusts you to give him the honest truth.
Still, you find it hard to believe he’d ever need one, considering everything that he makes turns out flawless.
“More seasoning?” The cook watches as you chew on the meat slowly.
You shake your head in disagreement. “No, this is perfect, Sanji.”
“Not too sweet for you?”
Nami sees you visibly recoil at his questions, body moving as if he was spouting blasphemy.
He’s got his back turned to you while he rinses his hands over the sink, so he can’t see the flabbergasted frown on your face.
“This is quite possibly the best thing I’ve ever tasted in my life.” You make an emphasis on the word “best”, sticking the wooden spoon back at him to signal that you wanted more.
“You flatter me, angel.” He grins, pulling the dish towel from his shoulders to wipe his hand. Then he goes straight to follow your command exactly and dips right back into the pan, scooping up a portion before blowing it softly to cool it down.
You’re practically vibrating in your seat, legs bouncing and arms holding up the weight of your body as you lean towards him.
“Nope. I’m just sayin’ the truth!” The words come with a pause as you’re swallowing your last bite, and the brightness comes right back up your face while you praise Sanji.
By the All Blue, he just wants to scoop you up and squeeze you in his arms for all eternity. You can be so shy around him, but also incredibly animated when expressing yourself.
Once Sanji deems it the perfect condition for you, he motions the spoon to your mouth.
It’s a stupidly sweet gesture, and also his way of stopping you from eating the whole thing. You can just take the spoon from him and feed yourself, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like being pampered by Sanji. You’re not ashamed to admit that it makes you feel very special. If you truly weaponized your voice and asked him for the whole pan, he’d give it to you without a single doubt. But, it’d be a shame if he didn’t wait until he could properly serve it with some rice so you could have your very late dinner “date”.
He holds the spoon out for a beat longer to look down at the way your lips wrap around the surface, turning away only when you finish munching happily at the taste. After all, your satisfaction is his number one priority. Nami can’t see your face from where she’s at, but she can absolutely make out Sanji’s, and the way he’s staring is sensual, borderline debauched. It makes the navigator feel like she’s intruding on a private moment.
You are none the wiser to this, Sanji needs to get it together, and Nami’s very close to throwing up in front of the galley.
Your eyes are closed as you hum contentedly once the flavors settle nicely in your stomach, and it’s then when you start to feel the weight of his stare.
You’re only chin level on this short stool, so you have to look up to meet his eyes.
He's quiet and awfully still, taking you all in and leaving no part of you starving for his attention. There's an evident tension swimming around the kitchen, and it makes you acutely aware of just how close you are to him. Inches away. The position is a tad intimate, to say the least.
“What? Is there sauce on my face?”
You know there isn’t anything on your face except for pure happiness, though you’re a tiny bit flustered by his attention.
“Sorry, darling,” He's not sorry at all. He leans in to wipe the non-existent sauce, and for a second you think he’s going to deny his obvious admiration of you but then he pivots into something that is so Sanji it makes your brain melt.
“Your beauty demands to be seen. I can’t deny you that.” He traces the back of his finger over your cheek before tucking a stray hair behind your ear.
Time and time again, Sanji is able to surpass your every expectation. You continue to feel the weight of his stare, now much different than before because he looks at you with deep, unabashed, reverence. Not hidden, and not in halves. A softness he reserves only for you.
You’re speechless for a moment, but then he cups your face into his palms and it feels like everything just melts away.
Now Nami understands. Why you adore him so much. Why you don’t need to scream it out to the world that you love him (although you would love to). The two of you aren’t “together” officially not because you don’t want to, or are too shy to say it out loud. But because you enjoy every part of who he is. The chasing, the teasing, the thrill; it’s everything in him that makes you feel alive. You don’t need words for him to understand that you love him, just as he doesn’t.
Nami watches the way you look up at him, positively beaming. The silence is broken away when you start giggling to yourself, and it only makes Sanji move closer to you, his forehead bumping gently against yours as he sports an identical grin on his face.
She shakes her head, both astonished and happy to see you flourishing in his presence, before walking away with an affectionate eye-roll.
Yeah. You two are the lamest.
Mon trésor: My treasure
Aaah I couldn’t really decide which sanji to base this fic off of. I ended up doing a bit of both 🍽️
masterlist @ pls don't repost or feed my works into ai thaaank you
summary: Satoru has the biggest crush on the most popular girl in university. he brings up the courage to ask if he could borrow a pen from her and places the tip of the pen on his lip knowing she does the same.
shy!gojo x popular!reader.
cw: Satoru is a freak and is lowkey making out with the pen.
Satoru loved maths. It was one of his favourite subjects that’s why he chose it for university. he always got the best grades, stayed behind for questions and even helped the professor on the board. unfortunately that all came stumbling down when you joined his class.
you weren’t in the first semester, he was sure. He would’ve noticed a pretty girl like you in his class. You joined in the second week of the second semester. you were happily talking to a few people in the class like you knew them since childhood. your energy was captivated by the class. Most people that chose his degree were introverted, for nerds. but here you were talking about what you did over the weekend. you were the only extrovert in the class and he couldn’t keep his gaze off you.
whenever assignments were assigned classmates rushed to partner up with you, to help you so you can give them a slight praise and acknowledgement. Heck, Satoru was one of them. He wanted you to say his name. To speak to him. You spoke to him a few times but it wasn’t enough for Satoru. He wanted you to talk about your day, what you love, what you hate, what you’re afraid of, what’s your guilty pleasure. He wanted to know everything about you.
Unfortunately, he was shy. Incredibly shy. He couldn’t even meet your gaze nor could he speak to you without stuttering, cursing himself once he was alone. One time you complemented his cologne and he bought the whole stack on the way home from university.
Today it was no different, you would be sitting near the front (where he used to sit but he now sat a few rows back so he can admire you from afar) talking to the professor about lunch or completing the assignment. he walked into the lecture room and he saw you sitting near his seat. On the row in front of him on his left.
Oh no.
That was close.
Really close to him!
Satoru gulped and walked towards his seat, he looked at the front and saw a bunch of papers on your seat hence why you sat near him. Satoru felt his body tremble with each step he took, a step closer to you. Satoru bit his lips and slid into his chair, trying to be casual. He looked down and noticed his fingers trembling and he tried to control it.
Satoru let out a deep breath and sighed trying to control himself. He could smell your signature perfume. It was overpowering him. He felt his chest tighten, this was too much. he tried to breath normally but held his breath when you turned to face him, giving him your adorable smile. Satoru just gave a wobbly grin back, his ears burning red and he covered his lips.
He cursed himself again, he bet he looked so ugly right now all sweaty and red from being around you. students started to flood the room and Satoru started to prepare his desk. notebook? check. water bottle? check. sweet treat? check. pen? pen?!
he started rummaging through his bag and he realised he left his pencil case at home. he sighed and scratched his temple, todays topic was important. He checked the battery on his phone to see if he could make notes digitally unfortunately that was on three percent and Shoko took his power bank.
another sigh escaped his lips and he glanced over at you who was writing the date and subject down. he frowned when he saw your stack of pens. Satoru grit his teeth, his lips trembling before the eyes parted, he was scared. so scared you’d reject him, find him to be such an inconvenience. Worse if you give him a dirty look too. He’d just drop out of university if you did.
Almost as if you felt him starting at you, you glanced back and gave him another warm smile, satoru used this as a chance to ask, “uhm…y/n…” he whispered quietly, if you weren’t looking at him you wouldn’t even notice he was talking. You looked at his lips to try and read his request before looking into his beautiful blue hues again, “yes, Gojo?”
thump! thump! thump!
oh my god!
you knew his name!
Satoru felt himself get lightheaded and he gripped onto the edge of his desk tightly stabling himself. Thank god he wasn’t standing or else he would’ve made fool of himself stumbling, “uhm…” he glanced over at your pens, he couldn’t speak. The lump in his throat doubled in size and he felt as though he’s suffocating.
thankfully, you put the two together and you smiled cutely, “of course! i can lend you a pen.” you gave him a light blue pen from your stack and leaned forward to hand it towards him. He leaned toward too. Satoru felt electricity shoot across his body when his finger grazed yours. his knees buckling, “t-thank you..”
“no problem.”
that tiny interaction the two of you had might be insignificant to you but he’d be thinking about it until the next semester. He could still feel where your fingers touched his, it was warm, burning. he looked at his fingers and curled it, he wondered how it felt to hold your hand. would it be just as warm?
Satoru stated to take notes, treating your pen with extra care like it was precious silk. he stopped writing and that’s when he noticed chew marks on the back of the pen, it was light, barely noticeable. Satoru looked over at you and saw you tracing your pen on your lips, your lipgloss staining the end of it.
he gulped as he looked back at the pen in his fingers and he brought them to his own lips. he imagined what it would be like to kiss you, not that he has any experience in kissing. Would it be warm and soft like your fingers? he rolled the pen across his lips and swallowed back a moan. do you make noises when you kiss people? do you smile when you kiss people? whimper even?Satoru wanted to know. He wanted to know everything. He let his lips form into a small pout, subtly kissing it back.
his heart that once calmed down started spiking up again when he saw the tip of your pen go inside your mouth. He felt his legs tremble as he imagined your tongue tracing it. It must be warm and wet. he let the pen trace his lips one last time before he slid an inch into his mouth. his own tongue traced the places you’ve bitten.
Almost as if you felt it you turned to face him. You gave him a soft grin. Satoru immediately pulled out the pen from his mouth blushing violently that he’s been caught. You seemed to not have notice and looked back at the board. Satoru lowered his gaze in embarrassment and wanted to leave the classroom right then and there it was as if his parent caught him watching porn on his phone and all he wanted to do was hide.
thankfully, class was over and he immediately packed up everything and ran out of the class and towards the toilets not even going to the lecturer like he always did.
a few days go by and Satoru was packing his back with the items in his locker. Notes to go over during the weekend. the corridors were empty and Suguru and Shoko were long gone back to their shared apartment. He closed the door and flinched when he saw you leaning against the locker.
“hi satoru.” you grinned softly and looked into his eyes, refusing to look away. he let out a soft meek and smiled back, leaning against the locker for support so he doesn’t make a fool of himself and trip on air. Satoru swallowed down his nerves, “hello, y/n.” He looked down at his feet before he gasped, “oh! your pen!” he fiddled with his locker door, you obviously came back for your pen not to make small talk with him! how foolish was he to think that someone like you would casually want to speak to him?!
you laughed and Satoru felt your hand trace his shoulder before they reached his collar and you used your two hands to fix it. Satoru subconsciously lowered. His heart was beating so loud he felt like you could hear it. You still continued to look into his eyes and he felt like this act was very intimate. You fixing his collar, something only romantic partners do not classmates.
“you know…” you trailed and looked at his lips, “if you wanted to kiss me that bad all you had to do was ask.” Satoru flinched, of course you saw. He was practically making out with your pen. Guilt broke into him, he started stumbling over his words, “I’m sorry. I just…I don’t know why I did that. That was so disgusting of me! I’ll throw it away and buy you a new one…I’m sorr–”
you yanked him by his collar and pulled him into a kiss. a deep kiss. Satoru whimpered as his back hit the his locker. you smiled into the kiss before pulling back, “there.”
Satoru was dumbfounded.
He just had his first kiss with his crush.
his body felt like it was on fire and his lips were burning with heat and electricity. Satoru looked down at you and he saw your lip gloss smudged. He wanted to kiss you again until both your lips moulded together. he didn’t know how to say it but you watched as his eyebrows creased and his eyes gave a needy expression and his lips formed into a pout. you smirked tucked his long white hair behind his ears kissing the corner of his lips before walking away.
“plan something for eight pm tomorrow. it’s a date.”
summary: coming home from work into a warm snuggly bed with megumi as your plushy.
soft snores escaped your boyfriends lips as you walked into the main room. it was nine am and he was still asleep. you took off your work attire and slipped into your pyjamas. you slid into bed and shuffled quietly towards him trying your best to not wake him up. you always held your breath for this, some days he would wake up others he’s dead asleep. you hoped today he was asleep since he was working overtime.
you sighed when you felt his arm slither towards your waist and he pulled you towards his embrace with one arm, “how was work, pretty?.” his mornings voice raspy and deep, a voice you would never get used too. you kissed his temple, “you’re so warm….” he chuckled lightly, “you’re just cold…let me heat you up.” megumi didn’t need to open his eyes to know where your lips are. he can draw your anatomy at the back of his eyes. He placed feathery kisses against your lips softly. His hands rubbing along your body to warm you up, “work was that bad than you don’t want to talk about it?” you frowned, “work was alright.” you whispered, your one hand trailed to his nape as you scratched his scalp letting him groan against your lips, “thankfully we had no problematic patients.” he hummed against your lips and continued to kiss you gently. your other hand scratched his back, something he loved and you enjoyed doing. His kisses were getting less frequent and you knew he was falling back to sleep, “don’t have to worry about lunch, I put the slow cooker on.”
“…love you.”
“love you more, megs.”
mornings like this was one of the few reasons you can move forward in life.
hello!! i luv ur toji fics sm!!! can u pls write a toji x fem reader who is insecure about her face without make up and she just doesn’t like her features plzzz😣
toji and his girlfriend whos insecure without makeup .✦ ݁˖
you and toji had been out all day. running errands, drifting through crowded streets and little shops with him walking beside you like a large shadow. somewhere between leaving the apartment and ending up halfway across town, you realized you never put on any makeup.
but by then it was way too late, so you stayed close to him.
your hand was tucked in his while you walked, your fingers small in his rough grip. every time people passed by you leaned closer, sometimes pressing your cheek lightly against his arm, hiding there for a second before straightening again, and toji noticed almost immediately.
"why you keep duckin’ over here?" he muttered, glancing down at you while his thumb moved slowly across the back of your hand.
you shook your head quickly, eyes still lowered. "Im not," you murmured, even though you stayed tucked against his arm anyway.
he grunted quietly but didnt press it, just tightening his hold on your hand as you kept walking.
Later you both ended up sitting together on a bench outside a small cafe. toji leaned back with one arm stretched along the back of the bench, broad shoulders relaxed. your hand rested in his other one in his lap.
you kept your head down, and he kept looking at you.
you could feel it. the way his eyes, half lidded and heavy- kept roving over your face. his gaze pressing into you like a form of pressure.
"stop looking.." you muttered softly, your voice nervous.
he didnt answer.
Instead his hand lifted toward you, big fingers brushing gently through your hair first, pushing your hair back and away from your face. his thumb followed after, dragging slowly over your brow, and your stomach twisted.
"I forgot to put makeup on today," you blurted out quietly, eyes dropping again. "I didnt realise."
his thumb slid down the bridge of your nose, slow and unhurried, his voice a low rasp. "that why you been hidin’ all day?" he muttered.
you swallowed, barely meeting his gaze. "I look weird without it," you said, your voice small as you tried to turn your face away.
his hand caught your jaw before you could.
his thumb brushed slowly across your cheek, then over the tip of your nose before passing lightly across your lips, tracing them, and your chest tightened a little under his quiet attention. his thumb dragged once more across your lip before his hand settled against the side of your face.
"aint nothin' wrong with it" he added gruffly, giving your cheek a small squeeze. "got a cute lil face."
you blinked at him, still uncertain. toji leaned down a little closer then, his hand still warm against your jaw so you couldnt tuck your face away again.
"c'here" he muttered, voice low. "gimme a kiss."
your cheeks warmed, but you leaned forward anyway and pressed a small kiss to his mouth. he hummed quietly against your lips before pulling back just enough to look at you again, his thumb brushing your cheek once more.
"pretty girl shouldnt be worryin bout stupid shit like makeup." he grunts, fingers brushing you hair out your face again, lips pressing a slow kiss against your hairline.
✧ After being hopelessly in love with the campus crush, Satoru Gojo, you weren't able to tell him how you feel— nor even talk to him... Ten years later, you meet him again at your mutual friend's birthday party.
★ ˙🧷#: safe for minors !! angst, fluff, comfort, unrequited love, kinda slowburn, falling in love, yearning (both of you and Satoru)
art cr: @_3aem !!!
wc: 2,9k
Gojo Satoru was known as thee popular guy in school, an athlete, an achiever— literally anything the school ask him to do or participate, he can do it or win it... then there's the popular girl, Yui; she always gets shipped to him... It's always like this, and he likes it, he LIKES her, i mean– who wouldn't? she's beautiful, smart, humble? absolutely yes.
And then there's you... in the world full of his admirers, you're one of them, someone who's hopeless... HELL he won't even look at you nor notice your existence, and it's not like you can do anything about it, he's literally almost perfect. word, almost.
Gojo Satoru can be annoying sometimes, loud, trying to be funny (HEY !! sometimes he is!! ), and pride is almost as high as the mount everest... You still crush on him though, due to the fact that he's charming, smart and talented.
Highschool continues and the same thing happens, you go to school, hangout with your friends, eat your fav foods together outside school, there were times when you notice Gojo with his friends and ergh "girlfriend", then go home. repeat.
After 4 years of highschool, you never got to approach him or tell him how you felt, because you know how it will end. rejection.
You tried to get over it since it's your fault for not talking to him and confronting him about your feelings... Anyways, you basically did when college came by and thankfully, he went to another university. You were able to forget him due to how busy you were in college, Education was your major, other majors were expensive and you didn't wanna burden your parents more on things.
6 years later came and you became a teacher, expense aren't really your problem thanks to your parents house for giving it to you, no kids nor husband or even boyfriend.
"Heyy, you busy tonight?" Hana asked while fixing her stuff in her table. “Um well, no not really, I just finished grading my students,” you said, stretching your arms a little. Your eyes were tired from checking papers for almost two hours straight, she then grinned. “Good. Then you’re coming with me.”
"To where exactly?" you narrowed your eyes.
"Lia’s birthday... Don’t tell me you forgot?"
Your eyes widened. "Oh my god, that’s tonight?"
"YUP," she laughed. "And you need to come. You’ve been living like a grandma. No boyfriend, no drama, always there with your lessons. Boring"
"Excuse me?" you scoffed. "My lesson plans are very exciting, even my students love it."
"Sure," she said, grabbing her bag. "Get dressed because we’re leaving in an hour."
The place was warm and cozy, soft lights hanging from the ceiling, music playing in the background. Not too loud. Just enough to make everything feel so alive.
You weren’t really the party type anymore. College drained that out of you, work replaced it. But tonight felt nice. You and Hana were laughing near the drinks table when Lia suddenly pulled you into a hug.
"FINALLY!! You came!!" she said happily.
"Of course," you smiled. "I wouldn’t miss it."
People were talking everywhere, old faces you've met already, some were new...You were mid-conversation with someone about teaching struggles when— You felt it.. that weird feeling, it was like someone familiar just walked into the room.
You didn’t want to look, but you did anyway, and your heart actually stopped for a second.
White hair, tall, way too confident posture.
No...
No way. NO FREAKING WAY.
It can’t be—
But it was.
Gojo Satoru
He looked… older, obviously. Broader shoulders, more mature, but still giving the annoying energy in him, unfairly handsome face, smiling like he owned the entire room. as always.
Why is he here?
Your brain was already panicking... Maybe it’s someone who looks like him... Maybe you’re hallucinating... Maybe—
"Hey, you okay?" Hana whispered.
"…That’s Gojo."
"Gojo from high school?"
"Yes."
"THEE Gojo?"
“Yes.”
"The one you used to–"
"Shut up."
Before you could escape, Lia suddenly waved toward him.
“Oh! You guys should meet Gojo! GOJOO!! Come here!”
Oh, you have got to be kidding me.
He walked over casually, hands in his pockets, smiling that same beautiful smile.
“Liaaaaa, happy birthday,” he said, giving her a light side hug.
He smiled easily, hugging her like they were close. Of course they were, of course he knew everyone... You tried to look normal, tried to focus on your drink.
Don’t look desperate, don’t stare!! you’re not sixteen anymore.
You were doing fine, looking around, until Lia dragged him over.
"Oh! You guys should meet!" she said brightly. "Gojo, this is–"
He turned to you up close... and for a split second, you swore he looked through you, not just at you but through you.
"Hi," he said politely, holding out his hand. "I’m Gojo."
The world actually paused, you stared at his hand and of course he doesn’t know you.
Why would he?
Four years of watching him from the sidelines. Four years of memorizing the way he laughed. Four years of pretending you didn’t care, and to him? You were just another face in a hallway. You forced a small smile and shook his hand.
"I know."
He blinked slightly, amused. "Oh?"
"We went to the same high school."
He tilted his head, he tried to think, there was a pause.
"Uhh…We did?"
It wasn’t cruel, It wasn’t even mocking... It was a literal genuine confusion, somehow that made it kinda made it worse...
"Yeah,".you said calmly. Too calmly. "Same batch. Four years."
He snapped his fingers lightly. "Ahh... Sorry, I’m really bad with faces from back then."
It felt like someone lightly tapped your ego with a hammer.
“It’s fine,” you said. And surprisingly— it was a little.
He smiled again, easy and polite. “Nice to officially meet you then.”
Officially? God... highschool you would probably faint by now.
Lia was already being pulled away again, leaving you two standing there.
How awkward...
“Soo what’ve you been doing since high school?”
He shifted his weight to one leg while asking, hands slipping into his pockets. He looked relaxed now, like the awkward part had passed. The music in the background got a little louder, and someone laughed nearby, but his attention stayed on you.
“I’m a teacher,” you answered.
You watched his face carefully when you said it. You didn’t know why— maybe you just wanted to see his reaction.
His eyebrows lifted slightly. Not in surprise, more like interest.
"A teacher?" he repeated. "That's nice."
He nodded slowly. "And what subject?"
"Uh, english.
His lips curved into a small grin. "That actually suits you."
You blinked. "Why is that?"
"You seem clam," he said, studying you again. "Like the type who doesn’t lose their temper easily."
You almost laughed at that.
"And you?" you asked after a second, needing to balance the attention. "What are you doing now?"
He straightened a little at that question, like he was used to answering it. "Business," he said. "Helping manage my father's company."
He shrugged lightly, but there was still that quiet confidence in him. Not the loud high school pride — something more toned down. Looks maturity.
"You don’t do sports anymore?" you asked before you could stop yourself.
His eyes flickered with surprise. "Ah– you remember that?"
There it was... That tiny shift.
You nodded once. "Well, you were kind of known for it."
He let out a soft chuckle, looking down briefly. "Yeah... That was my whole personality back then." He looked back at you. "Guess you were paying attention."
Your heart skipped— but you kept your face neutral.
"Everyone was," you replied. "Did we ever talk back then?" He asked it casually, but there was curiosity in his tone now. His head tilted slightly again, and he stepped a little closer— not too close, just enough to hear you better over the music.
You shook your head.
"No,"
He frowned slightly. “Not even once?”
"Nope," you repeated.
For a moment, he looked genuinely confused. Like the idea didn’t make sense to him. "Four years in the same batch," he murmured. "That’s kinda crazy." You gave a small shrug. "You had your own world, Gojo."
He huffed out a quiet laugh. "Was I that unapproachable?"
You looked at him... Back then? Yes. Now? You don't know...
"...A little," you said.
His eyes widened slightly in surprise, then he laughed — softer this time. "Wow... I didn’t realize."
There was another pause... But it wasn’t heavy.
It was just two people standing there, realizing they shared four years of the same space without ever actually knowing each other.
He wasn’t looking past you anymore. His eyes stayed on your face, steady and attentive, like he was trying to memorize you properly this time. There was no teasing smile, no distracted glances around the room. Just quiet curiosity, It wasn’t even romantic and it didn’t feel like fate clicking into place. It felt simple. Real. Like two people who happened to share a past but never shared a moment.
The music grew slightly louder, and he leaned in just enough to hear you better. "What made you become a teacher?" he asked, his voice calm but genuinely interested. His posture shifted, shoulders relaxed, hands loosely in his pockets. He wasn’t just filling silence. He was waiting.
You adjusted your grip on your cup before answering. "It was practical. Education wasn’t as expensive as other majors. I didn’t want my parents to worry about money." You kept your tone casual, but saying it out loud still carried weight. You had never told him anything about yourself before. Not then. Not now. This was the first time.
He nodded slowly, absorbing every word instead of jumping in with a joke. "That’s responsible," he said after a moment. There was no exaggeration in his tone. He wasn’t praising you dramatically. He just meant it. His gaze softened slightly, like he was seeing something he hadn’t expected.
“Well... it was necessary,” you replied with a small shrug.
He studied you for a second longer. “You’ve always been like that? Thinking ahead?”
You thought about it before answering. “I guess. Someone has to.”
He gave a quiet hum in response, like that answer made sense to him. There was a brief pause, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt balanced. He wasn’t rushing to speak. He seemed to be choosing his next question carefully.
“You still live around here?” he asked.
“Mhm, my parents gave me their old house.”
His eyebrows lifted slightly. “Seriously? That’s impressive.” His reaction wasn’t loud or dramatic, just honest surprise. “Stable,” he added, almost thoughtfully. “Career, house,that’s solid, honestly.”
You let out a small laugh. “You make it sound boring.”
He shook his head. “No... I mean it sounds peaceful.”
The word made you pause. Peaceful wasn’t something you heard often. “Are you?” you asked.
He smiled faintly and looked away for a second before answering. “Not really. My life’s kind of messy.” There was something more grounded about him now. Less showy than before. “Work’s demanding, People expect things.”
You noticed the slight tension in his jaw when he said that. It was subtle, but it was there. He wasn’t the untouchable high school version of himself anymore. He was just a man with responsibilities.
“You’re different from what I imagined,” he said suddenly, looking back at you.
You tilted your head slightly. “Imagined?”
He nodded. “I don’t remember you clearly, so I guess I assumed you were shy. Quiet in a different way.” He paused briefly. “But you’re not.”
You raised an eyebrow. “How am I then?”
“You’re calm,” he said. “But you’re not small. You don’t fade.”
His words were observational and honest.
“I grew up,” you said simply.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “You did.”
Another pause followed, but it felt warm rather than awkward. He shifted his weight slightly and looked at you with something closer to realization.
“Did you really think I was unapproachable back then?” he asked.
You hesitated before answering. “You were popular, good at everything, always surrounded by people. It didn’t feel like there was space to just walk up to you haha.”
He went quiet at that. Not defensive. Not amused. Just thoughtful. “I didn’t know it felt like that,” he admitted.
“You don’t usually see the outside when you’re in the center,” you said.
He let out a slow breath and nodded once. Then he looked at you again, and this time his expression was steady, intentional.
“Well,” he said, voice quieter but clear, “I see you now.”
It wasn’t dramatic, absolutely not a confession... It was just a statement.
“And I kind of want to know more,” he added.
Your still felt weird and nervous but It didn’t feel like the old high school crush feelings anymore, It felt grounded and calm, comfort... don't even understand.
The noise of the party seemed to dull into a low hum, leaving a strange, quiet pocket of space around the two of you. For the first time, Gojo wasn’t scanning the room for his next distraction... he was anchored right where he stood.
"You're surprisingly easy to talk to," he admitted, tilting his head as he studied you. "I usually have to filter about eighty percent of what I say, but you just... listen. Without the expectations."
You took a slow sip of your drink, meeting his gaze. "That’s the job, Gojo. High schoolers are a tough crowd. If you can’t navigate a room of thirty teenagers without losing your cool, you won't last a week."
He chuckled, a soft sound that felt more intimate than the bright, public smile he’d worn earlier. "I bet you're the teacher everyone secretly likes. The one who actually notices when things are off."
"I try to be," you said simply.
A brief silence followed, but it wasn't the awkward, empty kind you’d feared. It felt like a bridge being built. Before the moment could be broken by a mutual friend or a change in the music, Gojo reached into his pocket and produced a sleek, dark business card.
"Look, I have to head out soon—family company stuff never actually sleeps," he said, handing it to you. His fingers brushed yours for a fleeting second, sending a spark of heat through your skin. "But I don't want this to be the only time we 'officially' meet. Text me? I want to hear more about these 'exciting' lesson plans of yours."
You looked down at the card. It was minimalist and professional, a far cry from the loud, colorful persona he had projected in their youth.
"I mighttt," you replied, tucking it away. "If I'm not too busy with my 'boring' life."
He grinned, that familiar flash of confidence returning, but this time it felt directed at you rather than over you. "I have a feeling you're anything but boring."
...The following Monday, the school hallways were drafty and loud, a stark contrast to the warmth of the weekend. You were sitting at your desk during a free period when your phone vibrated against the wood.
You expected a notification from a colleague or a news alert. Instead, it was an unknown number.
Unknown: I survived the Monday morning board meeting. Please tell me your day involves something more interesting than corporate spreadsheets. Coffee after work?
You leaned back in your chair, a small, genuine smile forming as you began to save the contact name. The distance you’d kept for years was finally closing.
The notifications got more active lately. He wasn't the same guy who you'd built up in your head years ago, someone who wouldn't give a shit about you; he was someone who sent grainy photos of overpriced lattes and complained about meetings that could have been emails.
Satoru: NOW. Tell me you aren’t still at that desk. It’s 7:00 PM.
You: Obviously, Gojo. These school activities aren't going to analyze themselves.
Satoru: You’re dedicated. I’ll give you that. But even teachers need a change of scenery. Walk with me tomorrow? Just a lap around the park near your placee (´∩｡• ᵕ •｡∩`)
You stared at the message. Giggling for a bit, you never thought that a grown man lime him would type like a teenage girl... and it's not like it's a date— he’d been careful to keep it casual— you remind yourself... but the prospect of seeing him in the daylight, without the safety net of a crowded people, made your pulse quicken.
The park was crisp, the evening air beginning to bite as the sun dipped low. You spotted him leaning against a stone pillar, his hands buried in the pockets of a dark overcoat. He looked less like the athlete you remembered and more like a man who finally understood the value of a quiet moment.
"Wow... You actually showed up," he said, pushing off the pillar as you approached. He didn't offer a handshake this time; he just fell into step beside you, his long strides slowing to match yours.
"I needed some fresh air," you replied, pulling your scarf tighter. "And you ?."
He chuckled, the sound muffled by the wind. "You have no idea. My father has me buried in logistics. Being out here... it feels like I can finally breathe without someone asking for a signature."
As you walked, the conversation flowed with a strange, easy gravity. You didn't talk about the four years of silence or the "what ifs." Instead, you talked about the present. He asked about your students—specifically the troublemakers—and you asked if he ever missed the adrenaline of being the school's star player.
"There were times," he admitted, looking at the horizon. "Where i try to do shit like leaving everything behind... Like, how should i uh say this... Runaway with my pocket money and live somewhere relaxing and beautiful? anywhere near beaches is THEE best." he said.
You stopped by the edge of the pond, watching the ducks ripple the water. "I didn't think you'd be this grounded," you confessed, your voice low.
Gojo turned to you, his expression unreadable for a moment before a small, lopsided grin took over. "I had a lot of growing up to do. Honestly."
The "friendship" felt stable, yet there was a lingering tension— a quiet awareness that the bridge you were building was leading somewhere neither of you had expected back in high school.
Gojo basically became your break time. He'd show up at the school entrance in a car that was way too fancy for the teacher's parking, just chilling by the door, all cool and relaxed. (He wasn't relaxed, more like nervous if you tell me)
"Step away from all of these," he’d say the moment you opened the passenger door, the interior of the car smelling like expensive cologne and leather. "I found a place three blocks away that serves coffee actually worth drinking. My treat for the person saving the next generation."
These café visits weren't like a grand type of place where people would go for clout chasing; the café were more chill and relaxing. You’d sit across from him, watching the way he’d actually listen to your day, his previous "annoying energy" replaced by a steady, too focused. He was like a man who seemed to find genuine relief in your "calm" presence.
Eventually, the café runs weren't enough for him. On days when he finished his meetings early, he began showing up at your office. He’d bring a bag of takeout or two cups of tea, making himself at home in the cramped chair across from your desk.
"You look like you're drowning in paperwork," he remarked one afternoon, pushing a container of food toward you. "Do I need to talk to the principal? I'm pretty sure this qualifies as a hostage situation."
"It's just midterms, Gojo," you laughed, though the weight in your chest felt lighter just seeing him there.
You weren't the only one noticing. Your students, usually preoccupied with their own lives, had become amateur detectives. During your office hours, you’d catch glimpses of familiar faces lingering in the hallway, "accidentally" peering through the glass of your door to see the tall, white-haired man sitting at their teacher's table.
The rumors spread like wildfire through the hallways...
“did you see the guy in the black SUV? He’s literally a model.”
“he was in Miss L/N's office again today. They were laughing.”
“is that her boyfriend? He looks like he owns half of Tokyo.”
You tried to ignore the giggles and the way the girls in the front row would nudge each other when you checked your phone and smiled. Even Gojo noticed the audience. One afternoon, as he was leaving, he caught a group of your students staring and gave them a playful, two-finger salute.
"I think I'm ruining your reputation as the 'serious' teacher," he teased as you walked him to the exit.
"You're certainly making it harder to keep them focused on Mr. ," you replied, though you didn't tell him that you didn't mind the distraction at all.
And it happened again during a quiet study period when the scratching of pens suddenly stopped. One of your more outspoken students, Lia— not the birthday girl from the party, but a junior with a penchant for gossip cleared her throat.
"Miss?" she started, her eyes darting to the empty chair by your desk where Gojo had sat only an hour prior. "That guy who keeps picking you up... the one with the white hair and the really nice car? Is he your boyfriend? "
The entire room went silent. Thirty pairs of eyes moved from their notebooks to your face, waiting for the confirmation they all expected.
You felt a faint heat rise to your cheeks, but you kept your expression as neutral as a grading rubric. "He’s an old friend from high school, Lia. We're just catching up."
"Just a friend?" a boy in the back snickered, earning a chorus of giggles from the class. "Miss, he looks at you like you're the only person in the hallway. My friends and I saw him waiting by the gate for twenty minutes yesterday just to bring you a latte."
"He has a very demanding job and appreciates the break," you replied firmly, though the memory of his "I see you now" gaze made the lie feel heavy in your throat. "Now, back to the essay prompts. You only have 10 minutes left before passing it to me."
Despite your denial, the students didn't buy it for a second. You could see it in the way they whispered when Gojo’s SUV pulled into the lot later that afternoon. They watched from the second-story windows as he climbed out, looking relaxed and far too handsome for a Monday.
When you finally got into the car, Gojo noticed your slightly frazzled energy.
"Rough day with the students?" he asked, shifting the car into gear with one hand while the other rested casually on the center console.
"My students thinks we're dating," you blurted out, looking out the window to avoid his reaction. "I told them we’re just friends, but I might as well have been speaking a foreign language. They aren't convinced."
Gojo went quiet for a beat. He didn't laugh, and he didn't immediately agree with the "friend" label either. Instead, he let out a soft, thoughtful hum.
"Well," he said, his voice dropping into that lower, more intentional register. "Technically, you’re right. We are friends. We’re just two people who shared a past but never shared a moment... until now."
"Can you stop that?" you said, trying to hide your smile.
He pulled up to a red light and finally turned to look at you, his blue eyes steady and attentive. "Mhmm... But if they can see how much I enjoy being here with you, maybe your students are more observant than you give them credit for."
You looked at him and rolled your eyes playfully.
The air in the car settled into something thick and quiet as the light turned green. Satoru didn't immediately floor it or crack a joke to break the tension. Instead, he drove with a steady, unhurried hand, the hum of the engine filling the gaps between your thoughts.
"They're just kids, Satoru," you said softly, breaking the silence as you leaned your head back against the headrest. "They see a guy in a nice car picking up their teacher every day and their brains go straight to the ending of a movie. It doesn't mean anything."
"Is that what I am? A nice car?" he asked. His tone was light, but he didn't look over. He kept his eyes on the road, his profile sharp against the passing streetlights.
"You know what I mean."
"I do," he murmured. He reached out, his hand hovering near the center console before he settled for simply adjusting the volume of the radio, turning the lo-fi beat down until it was just a pulse in the background.
You watched his hand return to the steering wheel. There was a rhythm to your afternoons— the vent blowing cold air, the specific way he hummed when he was thinking, the comfort of not having to perform.
"Is there a shift?" you asked, your voice barely audible over the heater.
Satoru pulled the car into the curb in front of your apartment. He didn't put it in park immediately. He sat there for a second, the car still in drive, his foot heavy on the brake.
"I think," he started, his voice low and grounded, "that if I were them, watching us from the outside... I'd probably be rooting for us, too."
He finally shifted into park, the mechanical thunk echoing in the cabin. He didn't lean in. He didn't try to catch your hand. He just sat there in the dim glow of the dashboard, looking at you with a quiet, steady sort of patience that felt heavier than any confession.
"Get some sleep," he said, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small, private smile. "You've got a long day tomorrow."
"Right. Tomorrow," you repeated, opening the door. The cold evening air rushed in, startling you back to reality.
As you walked toward your building, you didn't look back, but you could hear the car idling at the curb. He stayed there, his headlights illuminating your path until you reached the door— a silent, lingering presence that said everything he wasn't quite ready to put into words yet.
........
The next afternoon, the school bells echoed through the empty corridors with a finality that usually felt like a relief. You took your time, deliberately organizing the mess on your desk and checking your emails twice. You weren't rushing. You weren't checking the clock.
When you finally pushed through the heavy front doors, the usual spot at the curb was empty. The gray asphalt was slick with a light drizzle, reflecting nothing but the dull sky. There was no car, no silver hair leaning against a door, no familiar hand waving you over.
A strange, sharp sensation prickled at your chest—a sudden, involuntary scan of the street. You found yourself looking toward the corner, then at the visitor's lot, your mind already beginning to spiral. Did he have a meeting? I hope he's okay..
Then, you caught yourself.
The cold dampness of the air hit your face, snapping the thread of your thoughts. You stopped mid-stride, a dry, self-deprecating laugh catching in your throat. Why am I even doing this? There was no reason to be worried. There was no contract, no schedule, and certainly no obligation for him to be your personal chauffeur. You weren't in a relationship. Besides, there's no way Satoru will court you or anything, you know his type, if anything, he thinks of you as his new best friend. If he wasn't here, he was somewhere else, and that had nothing to do with you. You were an adult with a transit card and a perfectly functional pair of legs.
You ended up walking to the train station, but a sudden notification on your phone came...
Satoru: hey... sorry i wasn't able to fetch you there, an important board meeting came, I'll make it up to you tmr (´∩｡• ᵕ •｡∩`) I PROMISE!!!! ╰(⸝⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝⸝)╯
You chuckled a bit. A grown men texting like a teenage girl. You thought
You: it's ok
Then you proceed on walking.
The commute was stressful to you, loads of people around you. The annoying noises around. You can't even relax in your sit, being watched by some weird men around too.
The screech of the train tracks and the heavy, humid air of the crowded carriage made the walk from the station feel twice as long. By the time you reached your apartment, the silence of your living room felt like a luxury you hadn't earned. You dropped your bag by the door, the weight of the day—and the irritatingly persistent memory of Satoru’s blue eyes—still clinging to you.
You climbed into bed earlier than usual, the muffled sounds of the city outside acting as a backdrop to your drifting thoughts. You told yourself the restless feeling in your chest was just lingering stress from the commute.
The Next Morning, your routine of the following day was a blur of lesson plans and loud hallways. You didn't check your phone during lunch. You didn't glance toward the windows. You kept your head down, working through the pile of grading until the school finally began to empty out.
As you stepped outside, the afternoon sun was dipping low, casting long, golden shadows across the pavement. There, parked in the exact same spot as always, was the familiar sleek car. Satoru was leaning against the hood, his arms crossed over his chest. He wasn't on his phone this time. He was just watching the door.
When he saw you, he didn't give his usual flashy wave. He just straightened up, his expression uncharacteristically guarded, almost... careful.
"You look like you're about to tell me to go away," he said as you approached, his voice quiet.
"You're actually here," you said, stopping a few paces away.
"I told you I’d make it up to you," he replied, his voice low and devoid of its usual theatrical flair.
Suddenly you noticed something in his hands, he held out a cup— your favorite order, the heat seeping through the cardboard sleeve.
"Peace offering," he said softly, his voice low and intentional. "Since i wasn't present"
You took the coffee, the warmth of it grounding you. You wanted to remind him—and yourself— that he didn't owe you anything, that there was no contract or relationship that required him to make up for a missed afternoon. But as you looked at him, the words felt thin and unnecessary.
"You didn't have to do this, Satoru," you murmured.
"I uh... i know," he replied "But I spent most of that board meeting wondering if you were disappointed. It’s a distracting thought..."
You nodded, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through your professional exterior.
"I'll be at the south gate at 4:00," he said, finally turning to meet your eyes.
As you stepped back and headed toward the building, you didn't feel the need to overthink why he was doing it. For now, it was enough that he was the person waiting when the world got too loud.
The shift wasn't sudden, it was a slow, agonizing erosion of the routine you had come to rely on over the past year... It started with shorter drives, then "I can't make it" texts that lacked his usual playful emojis, and finally, a week where the south gate remained empty every single afternoon.
You told yourself it didn't matter. You weren't in a relationship, after all. You walked to the train station, ignored the noise, and pushed down the rising tightness in your chest by reminding yourself that you had no right to demand his time.
While you were navigating the crowded subway, Satoru was sitting in sterile, high-end lounges, suffocating under the weight of a name he never asked for. His family— the influential, traditionalist Gojo clan—had decided his "aimless" years were over. The "friendship" he shared with you wasn't just frowned upon; it was being actively erased.
They had chosen Aira, the daughter of a political dynasty whose shadow was as long as his own family's.
"She’s a perfect match, Satoru," his father had said, ignoring the way Satoru’s gaze remained fixed on his phone, waiting for a text from you that he didn't know how to answer. "Think of the influence. Think of the future."
The introduction happened at a private gala. Aira was elegant, sharp, and perfectly composed— the kind of woman who knew how to navigate a room without breaking a sweat. She looked at Satoru not as a person, but as a strategic move.
"I hear you're quite the rebel," Aira said, swirling a glass of champagne. "But even the strongest storms eventually run out of wind."
Satoru didn't smile. He felt like he was playing a role in a play he hadn't auditioned for. He wanted to tell you. He wanted to pull up to the school and admit that he was being sold off like an asset. But how do you tell someone you aren't "with" that you're being forced to be with someone else? The lack of a label, which had once felt safe, now felt like a cage.
The "business" of being engaged to the Gojo legacy meant he was constantly occupied— legal briefings, social appearances, and family dinners. To you, he was just... slowly fading.
One Tuesday, you were walking toward the station in a light drizzle when you saw him. He wasn't in his usual car. He was in a black town car, the tinted window rolling down just enough for you to see his tired, pale eyes. Beside him sat a woman with perfectly styled hair...
He didn't wave. He didn't smile. He just looked at you with a yearning so raw it felt like a physical blow, his hand twitching on the leather seat as if he wanted to reach out and pull the car over.
"Satoru? Who is that?" Aira asked, her voice cool and curious.
"Just... i uh, I don't know," he replied, his voice breaking in a way you could hear even from the sidewalk.
The car pulled away, leaving you standing in the rain. The thought hit you again, colder than the weather: Why do I care? We aren't in a relationship anyway. But as you watched the red taillights vanish, you realized that the silence of the last year had been much louder than you ever admitted.
The apartment felt too quiet, the only sound being the rain tapping a rhythmic, uneven beat against the windowpane. Satoru stood near the door, looking smaller than you’d ever seen him, his usual untouchable posture replaced by a weary slump.
"Please," he started, his voice barely a rasp as he searched your face. "Just let me explain. I didn't know how to tell you without making it real."
You didn't say anything at first. The image of him at the station, sitting beside that elegant, unknown woman in the back of a car that wasn't his, was still a sharp coldness in your chest. You hadn't asked who she was, and he hadn't volunteered a name, which somehow made the distance between you feel even wider. You simply nodded and stepped back, letting him into the warmth of your living room.
He didn't try to make a joke or hide behind a smirk. Instead, he told you everything—how his family had suddenly tightened the leash, using their influence to corner him into a "merger" with a woman from another powerful lineage. He didn't even say her name, as if naming her would give the arrangement more power than it deserved. He spoke about the endless, suffocating dinners and the meetings he couldn't skip without his family turning their attention toward his personal life.
"Ignoring you at the station... it was the hardest thing I've ever done," he confessed, his voice cracking. "I thought if I didn't look at you, if I didn't acknowledge you while they were watching, I could keep you out of this mess."
He walked you through every detail— the missed afternoons, the silent texts, the way he felt like he was losing his mind being trapped in rooms where you weren't even allowed to be mentioned. He wanted to make sure you understood that he hadn't chosen that life; he was just trying to navigate a minefield he hadn't asked to walk through.
As the weight of the confession settled. Satoru took a shaky breath and slowly sank to his knees in front of you on the rug.
He reached out, his hands trembling as he took yours in his. His skin was cold from the rain, but his grip was firm, as if he were anchoring himself to the only real thing left in his life.
"I am so sorry," he whispered, looking up at you with a raw, unpolished honesty. "Sorry, sorry, fuck... hated every second of it. I hated that you had to walk alone while I was stuck in a car with a stranger. I've spent a year trying to be enough for you without letting them see, and I messed it up."
He stayed there, kneeling at your feet, his thumb tracing the skin of your knuckles in a slow, grounding circle. The guilt of that moment at the station seemed to weigh on him more than the Gojo family legacy ever could.
"I don't give a shit about the influence," he murmured, pressing his forehead against your joined hands. "I just couldn't bear the thought of you overthinking—thinking that you didn't matter in my life, or that I’d just... moved on. That’s impossible." You looked down at him, your fingers finally curling around his.
The rain continued to steady its rhythm against the glass, but the air in the apartment finally felt like it belonged to the two of you again. Satoru was just there, kneeling, his hair still damp, looking less like a man caught in a trap and more like someone who had finally made a choice he was willing to stand by.
"Satoru, just get up," you said, your voice quiet but firm. "It’s okay. I’m just... I'm glad you told me. I didn't want to keep guessing."
He rose slowly, his height filling the room again, but the usual untouchable energy was gone. He didn't move away; he stayed right there, close enough that you could feel the slight chill from his wet clothes.
"I hated the silence," he admitted, his voice rough. "I thought if I just handled it— if I just sat through the meetings and played along with whatever they want—I could keep my life with you separate. But ignoring you at the station felt like a mistake the second the car pulled away. I don't care about the family 'influence' or the expectations. I just care that I made you feel like you were something I could just walk past."
He explained the situation with the girl, not as a victim of his family, but as a mess he was determined to walk away from. He gave you the details simply, without the drama, just so you knew exactly where he had been and why he’d been so occupied. He wasn't asking for permission to be with you... he was stating it as a fact.
"I'm not doing whatever we used to have anymore," he said, his gaze fixed on yours. "It was a safe way to stay near you, but it’s not enough. Not after this week."
He reached out, his hand hesitating for a fraction of a second before his fingers grazed yours. It wasn't a desperate grab, just a steady, grounding touch that bridged the gap. "I’m choosing this. I’m choosing you, and I’ll deal with whatever fallout comes from walking away from that arrangement. I just needed you to know that I'm not going anywhere."
You looked at him. For a year, you’d both lived in the gray area, but the threat of losing this had forced the truth out.
"I believe you," you said softly.
The tension in his jaw finally vanished. He didn't lean in for a movie-style kiss... he just let out a long breath and rested his forehead against yours for a moment, the two of you standing in the quiet of your living room while the rest of the world and its "influential" problems stayed outside the door.
After the heavy air of the apartment finally cleared, Satoru didn't overstay. He gave your hand one last, lingering squeeze, a silent promise that the "business as usual" act with his family was effectively over, before stepping back out into the cool night. The door clicked shut, and for the first time in a week, the silence didn't feel lonely... it felt like a transition.
The next 2 days, the school felt different. The tension that had been sitting in your gut for a year was gone, replaced by a steady, grounded warmth. When the final bell rang, you didn't hesitate. You walked toward the spot where he always waited, but this time, he wasn't leaning against the car or checking his phone.
He was standing right in the middle of the sidewalk, watching the doors. When he saw you, he didn't give a playful wave or a teasing smirk. He just waited until you were inches away, the space between you crackling with everything that had been left unsaid since the previous night.
"I ended it," he said, his voice low enough only for you to hear. "The arrangement, the meetings... bla bla bla, all of it. I told them I’m busy."
"Busy with what exactly?" you asked, a small smile tugging at your lip
"Busy with you," he replied.
He didn't wait for a comeback this time. Satoru reached out, his hands sliding upward to cup your face, his thumbs grazing your cheekbones with a tenderness that made your breath hitch. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned in, closing the gap that had existed between you for over three hundred and sixty-five days.
The kiss wasn't like what you've always been daydreaming back in the days... it was better. It was the taste of salt from the lingering rain, the warmth of his skin, and the sudden, overwhelming realization that the you being hopeless over him times was officially dead. It was a year’s worth of yearning finally finding a place to land
After he pulled back from the kiss, the world felt a little blurred at the edges, the frantic noise of the school day fading into a distant hum. Satoru didn't let go, his hands stayed resting on your waist, pulling you flush against him as if he were making up for every second he'd spent pretending you were just a friend.
Behind you, a chorus of muffled gasps and high-pitched whispers suddenly erupted. You glanced over Satoru’s shoulder to see a cluster of your students huddled by the main entrance, their eyes wide and their phones halfway out of their pockets.
"We knew it!" one of them shrieked, unable to contain the excitement. "We told you they were dating! Pay up, Tanaka!"
Satoru didn't look embarrassed. In fact, he let out a short, triumphant laugh, pulling you even closer into a protective, comfortable cuddle. He tucked your head under his chin, his arms wrapping around you securely, ignoring the chaos of the teenagers nearby.
The weight of the day seemed to dissolve in the quiet of the apartment, the only thing keeping you anchored to reality being the steady rhythm of Satoru’s breathing and the warmth of his chest against your cheek. You were tucked into the corner of the couch, limbs tangled together in a way that felt like a permanent home.
Satoru’s hand was still moving in those slow, lazy circles on your back, his gaze fixed on the shadows playing across the ceiling. He’d been quiet for a long time, the kind of quiet that meant his mind was wandering somewhere far away.
"You know," he murmured, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly tone he only used when he was truly relaxed. "I’ve been thinking about what I said earlier. About high school."
You hummed against his shirt, not moving, not wanting to break the spell.
He shifted, his fingers tangling into your hair, forcing you to look up at him. His blue eyes were searching, heavy with a kind of realization that made your heart skip. He didn't look like the untouchable man he was at work; he looked entirely human, entirely yours.
"You knew me," he said, his voice barely a whisper, yet it sounded like a confession. "I can see it in the way you look at me sometimes, like you’ve been memorizing the details for years. If I had seen you clearly back then... if I’d actually taken the time to look past everything else... I would have gone madly in love with you. I probably wouldn't have been able to keep my hands off you for a single day."
The air in the room seemed to go still. You felt a jolt of shock, then a wave of overwhelming tenderness. You thought of your younger self, the girl who had watched him from across the room and assumed she was invisible to him. You realized then that he hadn't just noticed you lately; he was finally seeing the history you’d been carrying for him all along.
"It’s nothing," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion, as you pulled him back down to rest his forehead against yours. "We're here now. That’s what matters."
"Yeah," he breathed, his lips brushing against your temple. "And I’m not letting you go back to being invisible to me ever again."
He let out a short, soft laugh, pulling you flush against him so there wasn't a single inch of space left between you. He tucked your face into the crook of his neck, his arms wrapping around you with a possessive, final kind of comfort.
You closed your eyes, the quiet of the night wrapping around you like a blanket. The high school girl in your head was finally silenced, replaced by the reality of his heartbeat thudding against your own, steady and real.
stormborns
vaporwave
