CONTEXT: Before the world fell apart, your biggest concern was getting Hiromi Higuruma to answer your messages. Somewhere between courthouse hallways and coffee he never asked for, you fell in love with a man who believed justice had long since failed the innocent. Then came the day he passed judgment in a courtroom and disappeared without a trace. Refusing to let your story end without a goodbye, you walked away from everything you'd worked for to find the man you loved — no matter where that path led, even if it meant stepping into the Culling Games.
GENERAL WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI. Explicit/implied sexual content, canon-typical violence and gore, character death, injury, angst, strong language. Dirty talk, dry humping, cunnilingus, fingering, piv, unprotected sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, cum eating, manhandling. This fic follows canon events from the Culling Game and Shibuya arcs — spoilers ahead if you haven't caught up. Reader insert (she/her, fem-coded), afab.
AUTHOR’S NOTES: Hi everyone, this is my masterlist for my Higuruma fic! I haven't decided how long it will be yet or how many chapters there will be, but it should be around 80k and over. I'll try to update as much as possible. I hope you enjoy it, and if you do, don't hesitate to leave a comment, like, or reblog! If you want to talk about anything related to the story, or just anything random about JJK or anything else, my asks are open, so feel free to do so, I love talking to everyone. I finished reading the JJK manga a long time ago and watched the anime a while back, so if there are any mistakes I apologise, but I'll try to keep it as canon as possible! Enjoy!!
★ proofread but still sorry for any mistakes!
★ fluff, fluff and fluff.
¨There you go.¨ You sigh as you finish placing the long medical strap over Leon’s chest all the way back to his homoplates.
He looks down to the brown material over his shoulder. He just got home barely an hour ago from a mission. The huge bloodstain on his shirt was the first thing that caught your eye when he made it past the front door.
Naturally, you had him undress off of that shirt, throwing it on the laundry basket before you sat him down on the couch and start cleaning the ugly wound like you’ve done a thousand times before. But Leon insists that he can do it alone.
Ever since your daughter was born he’s been extremely careful to not show any little scar, even the faintest one. He’d been cleaning his wounds in the bathroom with the door locked multiple times, even though you insisted on helping him. He wanted to avoid facing his daughter while he was wounded, just like he did when you meet him.
Tonight, he was very tired and the wound had come down to almost his back, making him unable to clean it alone. He knew it but he still tried, cursing as he looked himself in the mirror when he wasn’t able to reach his back. You told him to just let you help him.
Leon sighs as he rests his back against the couch, closing his eyes as he runs a hand through his messy hair.
¨Thank you, baby.¨ He says softly as your daughter is asleep in her room down the hallway.
You hum as you get up. You place your hands on his thighs, leaning down to him as you kiss him softly. Lingering on his lips, moving slowly before pulling away slowly.
You start gathering the medical supplies you used and putting them away on the first aid kid you have. You walk over to the kitchen, you open the fridge and pull out some water for Leon.
Tiny rushing footsteps come in from the end of the hallway. Neither of you hear them as you’re talking softly about his mission. You grab a glass from the top shelf before a scream, followed by a sob, nearly made you drop it.
¨DAD!¨
Both of you turn your heads meeting your daughter figure next to the couch Leon is sitting on. The neck of her flying unicorns over a purple sky pajamas is soaked with tears as her lip twitches uncontrollably. She drops her bunny plush and climbs over the sofa. She launches herself at Leon before either of you can react.
She buries her face on Leon’s naked shoulder as she cries so hard she can barely breathe properly.
¨I don’t want your booboo!¨ She mumbles against his skin.
Leon hugs her with his good arm, his hand brushing her hair gently.
¨Hey, baby. Look at me.¨
She shakes her head as she sniffles hard and grips her fist over Leon’s chest. He shakes her a little, moving his shoulder as his hand rubs her little back.
¨I’m okay. I’m right here.¨
She simply sobs.
¨No, you’re not!¨ She cries harder as she shifts closer to her father’s neck. Believing Leon is going to disappear.
You set the glass of water down on the small table in front of the couch as you kneel in front of Leon poking her leg gently.
¨Honey…¨ You say gently. ¨Remember when you scraped your knee last week?¨
A little sniffle escapes her lips as she moves her face away from Leon’s neck, her head still resting on his good shoulder. She simply nods.
¨And you remember how Mommy cleaned it?¨
¨It hurt.¨
¨It did.¨ You nod as you move a strand of her wet hair away from her face. ¨But then…¨ You point at her knee. ¨It got better, right?¨
¨Yeah.¨ She wipes away a few tears looking at Leon for a brief second and then back at you once you spoke up again.
¨I’m doing the same to Daddy.¨ You smile at her.
Not fully convinced she turns to face Leon again. Her tiny hands come up to cup Leon’s cheeks as she starts checking her dad.
¨Daddy.¨
¨Hm?¨
¨Can you smile?¨ She asks, dead serious as she tries to hold her tears as best as she can.
Leon smiles softly at her.
¨Can you talk?¨ She asks again, almost interrogating him.
¨I’m talking, baby.¨
Her eyes widen as soon as an almost crushing reality hit her, making her start crying again.
¨Ca-Can you breathe?¨
Leon blinks but with hesitation he takes in the biggest, most exaggerated breath you’ve ever seen. Your daughter copies him, making sure she can also do it again.
¨Can you hug me?¨
He squeezes her gently as tight as he safely can. Leon buries her face against her messy blonde hair as she sobs softly against his chest. She calms down as the hug lingers, starting to believe he’s ok. Because every single test she’s giving him, he’s passing.
She sniffles as she pulls away, Leon looks at her, trying to see her face before she looks down and notices the plain brown dressing on his skin. She frowns.
¨Mommy.¨ She calls out for you.
¨Yeah?¨
¨Wrong band aid.¨
Leon looks down confused.
¨Wrong? How, baby?¨
She nods, entirely sure of the words she’s about to say.
¨This bandaid is not magical like mine! It’s ugly…¨ She points out.
You and Leon exchange that universal parent look of confusion.
¨Honey-¨ You start but she cuts you.
¨Daddy needs the pink one.¨
With a jump she’s back to the floor as she runs away to her room. Running desperately to help her dad. Now, she has a job, curing dad.
You both look at each other as you hear her going around her room, the rummaging can be heard faintly before she comes rushing not as fast as before. She’s carrying an, almost as big as her, pink first aid kit.
She sets it down next to Leon’s feet with a small ´Oof´. She opens it and you both see it full of all types of bandaids. Pink ones, glittery ones, dinosaurs, princesses, her favourite kid’s show, rainbows, unicorns, rocket ships…
You both blink at the endless bandaids. She straightens up after she picks one the glittery pink bandaid and shows it to Leon.
¨Daddy. This one is to get better fast!¨ She tells Leon and starts peeling it, bandaid sticking into her fingers as she speaks again. ¨Hold still.¨
Her expression shifts completely to a serious one as she fixates her gaze on the pink band on her fingers. Tiny tongue peeking out in concentration as she places it.
Nowhere near the injury, right on the middle of Leon’s forearm… of his healthy arm.
She steps back to admire her work.
¨Is it better, daddy?¨
Leon rotates his arm dramatically. Completely amused.
¨You know…¨ He looks at her again. Her big blue eyes and her hands over her belly waiting, make him smile softly. ¨I feel better already.¨
Her face lights up and she jumps excitedly. She hugs Leon’s arm.
¨I TOLD YOU!¨
You laugh from the chair next to her, unable to hold it in anymore at the cute scene in front of you. You’re not safe either as she comes in hugging you tightly before she kneels down in front of her personal first aid kit.
She stills as she frowns, looking back at Leon and back at the uncountable sets of bandaids in front of her. She grabs a dinosaur one with one hand, a princess one with the other. She brings them up to her eye level, comparing them.
She sets down the princess one and she takes the rainbow one instead. Her tiny brows brought together and her lips pressed against each other.
Her brain short-circuits as she finds her logic.
¨All of them have magic powers!¨ She says excitedly. ¨The more I put on daddy, he will be better soon!¨
She turns around again as she places the dino bandaid on Leon’s watch. He blinks at his daughter as she takes a few of them, sorting them in little piles, then back at you, shrugging your shoulders as you feel like you’re watching a movie.
¨All of them?¨ Leon asks, looking at his daughter again as she nods vigorously.
¨Dino helps to be stronger.¨ She explains as she points at the bandaid. ¨Rainbow helps to not be sad.¨ She places it on Leon’s elbow.
She takes another.
You look at Leon again, blinking in confusion as she keeps talking. None of you talk but your expression says everything. The ´just go along with it´.
¨Unicorn… is magic so it helps.¨ She shrugs as she places it on Leon’s wrist. ¨Heart one so daddy feels love.¨ She stands on her tippy toes and places it on his chest.
¨Space ship so shoulder zooms better.¨ Leon blinks, having absolutely no idea what it means and neither do you.
¨Great job, sweetie.¨ You say and she smiles at you.
¨Daddy has a big booboo. He needs lots of bandaids.¨ She explains as she looks at you before continuing with her work.
Eventually…
Leon’s arm looks less like the arm of an agent and more like a kindergarten art project. Some aren’t even sticking to skin anymore, some of them are on his tummy. Others are wrapped around his nails. One on his forehead. Another is attached to the table because she missed.
Finally, and only once she’s satisfied with her work and happy to help her dad get better soon, she climbs into his lap. Her eyes are sleepy and she can barely keep straight.
You notice Leon’s jaw tighten for the briefest moment as she suddenly bumps his shoulder, before his attention returns entirely to his daughter as she cuddles his arm.
¨I’m done. Now we can sleep.¨ She says, repeating the words you always tell her.
Leon flexes his fingers dramatically.
¨I feel…¨ He pretends to think for a second as he brings her head closer to his chest. ¨Way better now.¨
¨I knew it!.¨ She gestures to Leon to lower his head and he does. ¨Cause…¨ She lowers her voice, covering the side of her mouth as she shares her secret. ¨The more bandaids the faster you feel better.¨ She nods as Leon leans back. She snuggles against his arm and chest.
He’d never tell her otherwise. He’d wear these ridiculous bandaids until they start peeling off on their own.
After a few minutes, she’s fast asleep in Leon’s lap. He gets up carefully and carries her back to her bed.
As he walks down the hallway he stops at the bathroom, looking at himself in the big bathroom mirror before your head peeks from the door.
¨… You know.¨ You start biting your lower lip as you try to hold back your giggle. Leon sighs, already knowing what you’re about to point out.
¨The rocket’s upside down.¨ Leon snorts softly, as he glances at you briefly. Completely covered in children’s bandaids.
¨So…¨ You start again, crossing your arms in front of you.
¨So.¨ He catches your reflection in the mirror.
¨You planning on showing up to the DSO looking like that?¨
Leon’s eyes fall to his chest, at least 5 bandaids there. Shutting his eyes as he can already tell peeling them off is going to feel like a waxing session.
¨Hadn’t thought that far.¨
¨Leon. You have a princess on your forehead.¨
He nods. ¨I noticed.¨ He says, as he leans against the sink. He’s already accepted the fact that he won’t take them off.
¨So you’re not taking them off.¨
Leon shakes his head as he glances at all of them. You smile, walking up to him as you kiss his arm gently.
¨She’s going to check tomorrow morning.¨
spain won the finals lets goooo! (i literally never watch football but this one occasion)
AO3
Pairing: RE4R!Leon Kennedy x CIA!Reader
Summary: You’ve spent your career being the hand that sweeps the world's atrocities under the rug. You’re cynical, you’re tired, and you’re definitely too old for Leon Kennedy’s brand of heroics. There are rules to this job: Don’t get attached. Don’t hesitate. Don’t trust anyone. You break all three somewhere between a dive bar, a hospital room, and Leon Kennedy looking at you like you’re something worth saving.
Content: 18+, graphic descriptions of violence, eventual smut, second person POV, no use of Y/N, age gap (about 10 years, older reader), coworkers to lovers, mutual pining, angst, hurt/comfort, awkward Leon, almost kisses, romantic tension, sexual tension, survivor's guilt, eventual smut, avoidant attachment, past trauma, patching each other up,
“Leon!” You gasp, craning your neck to avoid his lips as he huffs against the skin of your jaw. “Seriously, what’s gotten into you? You—“
You’re cut off by another kiss to the lips, and Leon huffing as your hands move to get him off of you. He wasn’t even back from a mission this time. He just started kissing you stupid once he got home after his welcome back kiss, and you’ve been stuck at the front door for half an hour doing nothing but making out with your poor husband. Alright. Poor is an exaggeration. You’re the one in distress right now.
“You taste good.” Leon mumbles, nipping at your bottom lip as he finally gives, catching his breath as he rests his forehead on the dip between your boobs. “Did you change your lippie? Or whatever it’s called.”
“I’m surprised you noticed.”
“Smells so good…” Leon licks his lips, getting a taste of the strawberry on his lips. “Reminds me of those chapstick challenges on YouTube from the 2010s.”
You bark out a laugh, running your hand through his hair as he grumbles.
Thinking abt RE2R Leon seeing his gf in lingerie for the first time I bet his eyes would pop out of his head LOL
˗ˏˋ ꒰ summary ꒱ ˎˊ˗ RE2R!Leon Kennedy coming home after a long day at the station to his girl in a pretty lingerie set ᝰ.ᐟ 18+ he’s such a cutie oml
Leon is finally home after twelve brutal hours. The familiar sound of his boots thudding against the hardwood floor echoes through the apartment, sending an excited shiver down your spine as he makes his way through the halls, beelining towards the bedroom like a man on a mission.
“Baby, you would not believe the chase Kevin had me on today.” He groans seconds away from going on a full-blown tangent, then his breath catches in his throat, and he stumbles in the doorway— his eyes widening at the sight of you.
You’re standing there in front of the mirror, dripped in the orangey afternoon glow and pretty lace, looking absolutely angelic, and Leon forgets how to breathe for a good ten seconds because god he feels like one lucky man right now.
“A chase?” You ask sweetly, and he nods dumbly, mouth suddenly very dry.
He doesn’t speak; he can’t; all he manages is a small noise caught between a moan and a ragged sigh as he walks over to you, still wearing his police vest and heavy utility belt.
“It doesn’t even matter.” He breathes out, baby blues dragging along the shape of your perfect body. “You look— I mean— holy shit, you’re gorgeous, so pretty, baby.”
“Yeah?”
You blink up at him coyly as if you weren’t fishing for that exact compliment when you slipped into the lingerie set. You give him a shy little twirl, and he leans back to check you out shamelessly with a boyish sort of grin, his cheeks all pink. Then he’s suddenly fumbling with his gun holster along with his belt, dropping them onto the dresser with a thud so he could get his hands on you without his uniform in the way.
“Yeah, yeah, baby, such an angel. Can I… please?” He trails off, hands hovering over your hips, practically vibrating with excitement.
You nod once, and he’s instantly all over you, his warm palms dragging over the swell of your hips and across the curve of your plush ass, pulling you flushed against him with a groan— the sound low, rich with appreciation and very much happy, like a puppy who's been given his favourite treat.
“Leon-” you giggle, all giddy from his affection, fingers curling lightly into his biceps as he squeezes your ass, playfully toying with the thin fabric of your panties.
“Sorry, sorry. I can’t help it, baby.” He murmurs lamely, running his fingertips up your spine to play with the lace straps of your cute little bralet that cups your breasts perfectly. “Got the prettiest girl in all of Racoon City.”
You huff in fond amusement, hands cupping his face as he leans down to kiss your exposed collarbones, each smack of his lips sloppier than the last.
“Just Racoon City?” The question comes out teasingly, and he pulls back, face all flushed.
“No, the whole wide world, baby… hell, the universe.” He corrects himself with that charming smile, eyes fixed up onto you as he slowly lowers himself down onto his knees. “Wanna kiss you everywhere,” he confesses, already kissing down your soft tummy as his hands fall to squeeze your hips. “So damn pretty n’all mine, you make me feel so damn lucky.”
Without warning, he lifts your leg over his shoulder, brushing a feather-light kiss to the cute little bow on the hem of your panties, then another over the lace that covers your pussy. You gasp, hands grasping at his shoulders to try and stabilise yourself as he darts his tongue out to taste you through the flimsy piece of lingerie.
“Leon, you can’t go down on me here, m’gonna fall.” you huff quietly, a little amused, and he simply blinks up at you with those blue eyes of his.
“You won’t fall, won’t let you.” He promises, tilting his head to press a wet kiss to your inner thigh, “Wanna taste you through these pretty panties, then again without ‘em, can I do that, baby? Please? Had such a long day at work too, please?”
And how could you say no when he’s on his knees, begging for you?
જ⁀➴ Resident Evil Masterlist જ⁀➴ General Masterlist
‧₊ higuruma coming home early to his girlfriend studying
your boyfriend was a lawyer, and most lawyers like him, didn’t believe in leaving the office before dark. you gotten used to making dinner for the both of you, just to end up putting his plate in the fridge.
so when the front door opened just after 7pm, you immediately looked up from your notes.
“…what are you doing here?”
he loosened his tie as he stepped inside, a tired smile finding its way onto his face the moment he saw you. “I live here, need I remind you?”
“you do,” you said, still blinking in disbelief, “but you’re never home before ten.”
“i know.”
he slipped off his shoes and walked further into the apartment, his briefcase hanging loosely from one hand. “I finished early.”
you narrowed eyes at him suspiciously. “did you get fired? lost a case?”
a laugh escaped him. “no.”
“then why are you home early?”
he slipped his watch off and placed it on the counter, along with his briefcase, before looking back at you.
“I spend enough of my life arguing with strangers.”
his smile softened. “I figured I’d rather spend tonight with the person who gives me peace.”
his words caught you off guard. you smiled to yourself. “I didn’t know lawyers can be sweet.”
“we’re not.”
“no?”
“no.” he slipped off his jacket, draping it neatly over the back of a chair before walking to where you were seated. “we’re just very good at knowing what we want.”
“and what do you want?”
his gaze drifted to you, seated cross-legged at the dining table, highlighters scattered across pages of handwritten notes.
he smiled. “this.”
you looked down at the chaos spread across the dining table before looking back at him, unable to hide your laugh.
“my colour-coded notes?”
“no.” his voice was quieter now. “you.”
he took a slow step toward you, his tie still hanging loose around his neck, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled just enough to reveal his forearms.
“I spend all day surrounded by case files, deadlines, and people trying to prove each other wrong.” his eyes softened. “then I come home…”
his fingertips gently lifted your chin until you were looking at him.
“…and I find you here, studying just as hard as I do.”
a smile tugged at your lips. “you make me sound impressive.”
“you are.”
before you could tease him again, he leaned down and kissed you.
one hand came to rest gently against the side of your neck while the other reached up to your face, his thumb brushing lightly along your cheek. his fingers hooked around the arm of your glasses, carefully sliding them off before setting them on the table beside your open textbook.
“didn’t want these getting in the way,” he murmured, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
you laughed softly, but it barely escaped your lips before he kissed you again. his lips were warm, carrying the faint bittersweet taste of the coffee he’d been drinking earlier. without thinking, your hands found their way into his hair, your fingers threading gently through the soft strands at the nape of his neck.
he smiled against your lips, his hand settling a little more securely at your waist as though he’d been waiting all day to hold you like this.
when the kiss finally broke, neither of you moved very far.
he rested his forehead against yours, a slow smile tugging at his lips.
“I’m starting to think coming home early was the best decision I’ve made all week.”
Hey pretties! One more fic from the Jujutsu character as Taylor Swift songs series!! Hiromi deserves some love and peace
likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated!!
complete masterlist
word count: 2.3k pairing: hiromi higuruma x reader divider by: @pixopix
The rain did not just hit the apartment windows; it battered against the glass in a relentless, rhythmic drumming, a heavy downpour that completely drowned out the distant, chaotic hum of Tokyo traffic below. It felt fitting, somehow – the world outside weeping, washing the grime from the city streets while the systemic rot remained entirely untouched beneath the surface.
Inside, the living room was suffocatingly quiet, dimly lit and bathed only in the fragile, amber glow of a single floor lamp. Hiromi Higuruma sat rigidly on the edge of the sofa, looking like a man who had been hollowed out from the inside. His elbows rested heavily on his knees, his broad shoulders bowed under the weight of an invisible, crushing monolith. His hair, usually combed back with meticulous, unforgiving precision, was slightly damp and falling into his eyes. He was wearing a loose, worn-out grey sweater that made him look impossibly soft, terrifyingly human – a stark, almost jarring contrast to the sharp, suffocating suits he used to wear like armor into the courtroom.
Between his calloused, tired fingers, he turned a small, golden pin over and over again. The sunflower scales. His defense attorney badge.
A year ago, that tiny, gilded piece of metal had meant absolutely everything to him. It was the sole anchor of his sanity, the absolute symbol of his unwavering belief in a system he desperately thought could be salvaged. He had waged a lonely, agonizing crusade to protect the innocent from a rigged, suffocating 99.9% conviction rate. For years, he had sacrificed his sleep, his youth, and the very marrow of his bones to that badge. He had stood in blindingly bright courtrooms, swallowing his own exhaustion, fighting a Sisyphean battle against judges whose minds were made up before he even opened his mouth.
And for what?
Then came the Culling Games. The pristine illusion of the courtroom had shattered, replaced violently by the visceral, blood-soaked reality of jujutsu sorcery. His meticulously constructed castle of laws and ethics had crumbled to ash overnight. He hadn’t just brought a metaphorical knife to a literal gunfight; he had brought a rulebook to a slaughterhouse. He had been forced to watch the foundations of his entire worldview disintegrate, culminating in the agonizing realization that the justice he chased was nothing more than a fragile, manufactured lie.
Society considered his sudden, abrupt disappearance a tragic career suicide. The legal world – the same world that had quietly mocked his relentless idealism – had swiftly stripped him of his crown, labeling him a burnout, a cautionary tale of a man who simply couldn't handle the pressure.
They didn't know the truth. They didn't know the absolute horror of realizing your entire life's work was meaningless. The real tragedy wasn't that Hiromi Higuruma had lost his mind.
The tragedy was that he had finally opened his eyes.
And what he saw in the blood-soaked aftermath of the Culling Games was a monster wearing his own face. When the barriers finally fell and the dust settled, there was no profound catharsis, no triumphant return to the light. There was only the deafening, suffocating silence of survival. He had awakened to a power that allowed him to bypass the broken system entirely, only to realize he had become something infinitely worse. He had played judge, jury, and executioner, swinging a gavel made of pure, violent cursed energy to end lives with the same ruthless finality he had once despised.
He had crossed the unforgivable line. The man who had once wept in frustration over unfair verdicts had stood in a ruined city and willingly condemned others to death. The hypocrisy of it burned in his throat like bile. He had become the exact culmination of the unfeeling, absolute violence he had spent his entire career fighting against.
Even now, months later, in the quiet safety of this apartment, his hands still felt stained. The blood could not be washed away with legal precedents or moral philosophies. Every time he closed his eyes, the phantom weight of the executioner's maul settled heavily into his palms, accompanied by the metallic tang of copper in the air and the hollow, terrified eyes of the people he had struck down. The justice system could not indict him for what he had done inside the barriers, but his own mind was a relentless, inescapable prison.
Hiromi stopped turning the pin. He stared at it, feeling the heavy, irrevocable weight of the past. The man who earned this badge was dead, buried somewhere in the rubble of a Tokyo colony. And then, he let it drop into the trash bin beside the sofa with a hollow clink.
He lifted his heavy gaze. You were standing in the doorway of the kitchen, holding two steaming mugs of tea, bathed in the soft, warm light spilling from the hallway. You were wearing one of his old, faded law school t-shirts – the collar stretched, the fabric practically swallowing your frame – and your hair was tangled and messy. To him, you looked like the absolute antithesis of the rigid, demanding, blood-soaked worlds he had barely survived. You were a quiet, breathing sanctuary.
"There's no point," Hiromi murmured. His voice was a low, gravelly hum that vibrated perfectly through the quiet confines of the room. He leaned back against the cushions, letting his head fall back with a long, exhausted sigh. "It belongs to a ghost. A man who thought he could fix a rotting foundation by arguing with the termites."
You walked over, the soft padding of your socks entirely silent against the hardwood floor. Setting the mugs gently on the coffee table, you climbed onto the sofa beside him. You didn't push him to analyze the dark metaphor, nor did you offer hollow, empty platitudes about how much good he had done in his past life. You didn't try to aggressively fix him. You just understood the profound, bone-deep disillusionment he carried, meeting his darkness with a quiet, unconditional acceptance that still managed to render him speechless.
You shifted closer, tucking your legs underneath you, and simply rested your head against his broad shoulder.
Hiromi exhaled a shuddering breath. The remaining, stubborn tension locked in his jaw and shoulders instantly melted away. As if operating on pure, starving instinct, he shifted his arm, wrapping it securely around your waist to pull you completely flush against his side. His large, calloused hand rested heavily on your hip, his thumb beginning to draw slow, rhythmic, grounding circles against the worn cotton of his old shirt. The solid, living warmth of you pressing against his ribs was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.
"They called my old firm today," Hiromi said quietly, his voice a low rumble against your hair, finally breaking the comfortable silence. "Looking for me."
He paused, his gaze drifting to the rain relentlessly lashing against the windowpane.
"The Bar Association officially revoked my standing. It's finalized," he continued, stating the facts with the clinical detachment of a man reading a coroner's report. He pulled you just a fraction of an inch closer, his chest expanding with a deep breath as he rested his cheek against the crown of your head. "I am, by all societal metrics, entirely ruined."
He delivered the news with the sterile, emotional detachment of a man reading a grocery list. There was no sudden spike in his heart rate, no lingering, desperate grief, and absolutely no frantic scrambling to salvage the ashes of his once-impeccable reputation. For a man who used to care so violently about his standing in the world, the apathy was striking.
"How do you feel about it?" you asked softly. You shifted against his side just enough to tilt your head back, studying the sharp, aristocratic lines of his profile in the dim, amber light.
Hiromi finally tore his gaze away from the rain-streaked window to look down at you. The stark, dark purple shadows that used to permanently bruise the skin under his eyes – the physical brand of his chronic insomnia and relentless self-flagellation – had significantly faded over the last few months. The heavy, suffocating guilt that used to dictate his every waking breath was being slowly, methodically dismantled. It hadn't been cured by a grand moral epiphany or a judge's absolution; it had been meticulously unraveled by the quiet, mundane sanctuary you had stubbornly built together within the four walls of this apartment.
"I feel..." Hiromi paused, the word catching slightly in his throat as he searched for an honest answer. He looked at you, taking in the soft mess of your hair and the quiet, unwavering devotion in your eyes.
Then, a slow, breathtakingly genuine smile broke across his face, entirely softening the harsh, cynical lines of his features. It was a rare, beautiful expression that made him look a decade younger, stripping away the hardened executioner and the weary lawyer until there was nothing left but the man underneath.
"Relieved."
He shifted entirely on the sofa, pulling his body out of its defensive slouch to turn fully toward you. He reached out, his rough, calloused knuckles brushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear with agonizing slowness. The touch was incredibly tender – a reverent, almost trembling stroke from a man who had spent the last year utterly convinced he was too stained to ever be worthy of holding anything soft.
"My entire life was a performance," Hiromi murmured, his voice dropping into a raw, vulnerable register that existed purely and exclusively for you. "A desperate, arrogant attempt to hold up the sky while everyone else just stood by and watched it fall. When the Culling Games hit, my castle crumbled overnight. I brought a knife to a gunfight, and I thought I was going to be buried alive under the wreckage of it all."
His hand slid smoothly from your jaw to the sensitive nape of your neck, his long fingers tangling gently in the messy knot of your hair. He closed his eyes, drawing in a long, shaky breath, letting his guard down completely. The familiar, comforting scent of his soap, mixed with the sharp, clean smell of the rain drifting through the open window, enveloped you entirely.
"But then the dust cleared," he breathed, opening his eyes. The sheer, overwhelming devotion burning in his dark gaze pinned you perfectly in place. "And you were there. When my world was freezing over, you just quietly built a fire to keep me warm. You didn't care about the badge, or the blood, or the mess I made of my life. You just loved me like I was brand new."
Your heart executed a slow, heavy, aching thud against your ribs. The depth of love you felt for him in that moment was enough to bring tears to your eyes. You reached up, resting your hands flat over the solid, steady beating of his heart beneath the soft grey sweater.
"I'm not going anywhere, Hiromi," you whispered fiercely, pouring every ounce of your soul into the promise. "I'm right here."
"I know," he replied quietly.
Coming from a hardened defense attorney – a cynical man who had built an entire career out of doubting people – the absolute, unwavering certainty in his voice was enough to completely steal your breath.
Hiromi slowly pulled back, just far enough to look completely into your eyes. He shifted his weight, his large hands sliding from your neck down your arms until his fingers found yours, intertwining them gently.
"I know I've burned a lot of bridges. I know I made the same mistakes every time, trying to save a system that didn't want to be saved," he murmured, his thumb drawing a slow line over your knuckles. "But you... you are the only thing I've ever been absolutely certain of."
He released one of your hands, reaching slowly into the pocket of his worn grey sweater.
There was no grand, theatrical spectacle. He didn't stand up, and he didn't drop to one knee. It was just the two of you, tucked away in the dim, amber light of the sanctuary you had built, high above the whole scene of the city below.
He pulled out a small, simple velvet box.
Your breath hitched violently in your throat. You stared at it, your mind going completely blank as Hiromi flipped the lid open with his calloused thumb. Resting inside was a delicate, beautifully understated diamond ring, catching the warm light of the floor lamp.
"They took the crown. And I know all the liars and hypocrites down at the courthouse are calling me a failure right now," Hiromi breathed, his voice thick with raw, unrestrained emotion. "But I look at you, and I know I'm doing better than I ever was. Out of all the wreckage... I did at least one thing right."
He slipped the ring from the velvet slot, holding it between the exact same fingers that had just discarded the last piece of his painful past.
"Let them talk. So call it what you want," he whispered. It wasn't a question; it was a desperate, beautiful plea from a man who was finally choosing his own happiness. "The rest of the world can call me whatever they want. I just want to call you my wife."
A tear finally broke free, tracing a hot path down your cheek. You couldn't even manage a word, your throat entirely tight with an overwhelming, consuming joy. You just nodded, a watery, breathless laugh escaping your lips.
A breathtaking smile – the brightest, most unburdened expression you had ever seen him wear – broke across Hiromi's face, his starry eyes sparking up the darkest night he had ever known. He slid the ring onto your trembling finger, a perfect, absolute fit. Before you could even look down to admire it, his hands were framing your face again, pulling you in for a deep, desperate kiss that sealed the only vow he would ever need.
various instances of jjk men realizing that they're in love with you, what triggers their realizations, confessing to you, and everything in between ... ₊˚⊹♡ | fluffy, mutual pining, yearning, sapppppyyyyy, a bit of angst in higuruma's - i fear i lost the og request somewhere so sorry, this was long overdue!
satoru thinks he's heard your laughter before, only he's not so sure anymore now that the very sound has made his smile drop in stun and his heart flutter with something too terrifying to name.
there's always a certain level of professionalism that you maintain when you are within your work environment, always keeping order in your classrooms or during your lessons to prevent any room for distraction. this very discipline does not allow room for distraction, and you are sure to lead your teachings with this very motto. your students understand. they respect it. they learn.
consequently, you don't allow much to sway you during work hours - things like off kilter jokes or a pencil accidentally flying across the room, a shameful result of toge's frequent pencil tapping against his desk to occupy his body whilst retaining the information you share, don't receive much reaction. the most you'll give is an exasperated glance, or a weary eye roll that leads the corners of your lips to twitch with the slightest bit of amusement, but that's all you've got before you're redirecting focus back to the chalk board.
satoru, of course, took notice, as he finds himself picking on any of his coworkers or students who dare not to flash even the subtlest of grins within such a dreary atmosphere. he gives you grief frequently about it, telling you that you would look a hell of a lot prettier if you'd flash those pearly whites of yours. you know that he is, of course, purposefully being gross and annoying about it just to get a rise out of you, just as he does nanami or utahime or, hell, even poor megumi or nobara on occasion.
you brush him off time and time again, reminding him that you aren't some unfeeling monster who does not show joy. in fact, you're quite down to earth as a professor, much more down to earth than other mentors who have taught you, sparking memories you look back on with a resentful chill.
"i'm just doing my job," you would say as satoru walks beside you, hands tucked in his pockets as he leans over to meet your eye level. his head tilts and pink lips curl into that teasing, self-satisfied smile he always wears.
"yeah, a real boring job," he'd sigh wistfully, dramatics and airiness twisted up in his tone. you'd shoot him a glare, he'd chuckle. "come on, just one smile."
"what are you talking about, gojo? i smile all the time," you slightly chuckle at his sheer ridiculousness, a mild display of what you insist to be the personality that you very much so do have that satoru is always griping that you don't.
"you know what i mean. let loose. live a little."
"i let loose while i'm teaching, i put those kids' lives at risk. i'm not doing that."
"are you insinuating that because i have a more laid back teaching style than you, my students are more prone to danger?" the ivory haired sorcerer gasps, mimicking offense.
you think back to yuta's first day under satoru's watch. "yes," you deadpan.
"blasphemy," he'd deny. "my kids are smart and powerful because of me. and funny."
he'd go on about something else regarding the way you carry yourself at work, mentioning something about the way your nose always crinkles a certain way when you're too focused, how you'll give yourself worry lines instead of smile lines.
you'd ask him how he even notices something so minuscule like that, and he'd stand upright again with a shrug and his tongue peaking past his smiling lips playfully. he tries not to give your question much thought when you've arrived to the field where your students are sparring, approaching side by side like sun and gloom.
and you'd leave it be. no matter how much he continues to try and pester you into entertaining his mockery. no matter how many stupid jokes and stories he throws your way as you work your way through the winding halls of the school, just to get you to crack the kind of smile or laugh that shakes your entire body instead of lingering small in the front of your face.
you don't think anything of satoru's constant nagging, and neither does he. at first.
you see the way he treats the others who perform more rigidly than you do within their fields, who always - always groan and toss their eyes to the ceiling in disdain when satoru's jolly frame saunters into a room or barges through the door. you see how strategically he stretches out his pestering tactics, how he'll say just the right thing at the right time to bait nanami into forcefully shutting his newspaper and muttering something about taking a bathroom break to just get away from the sound of satoru's neverending words.
despite having not spent your youth with your coworkers the way they have with each other, as your addition to the school transpired within the recent year, you think you've got a good idea of who satoru is behind that big, shiny, glittering title of the honored one.
lighthearted, a little arrogant in a way that charms those less familiar with his antics, pride acceptable enough for it to be overlooked by his warm energy and indulgence in everyday simplicities: sweets and laughter and childlike wonder. he's a big kid. and though he's an irritating little shit, what the world does not see is the generosity, the care, the intelligence. he's a good guy. stupidly aggravating and too flirty at the best of times, but far more human than how he is perceived, how he is treated.
you don't think anything of the way he tends to follow you around, as you assume this is his routine treatment of fresh meat, of the less boisterous among you. shoko told you that's just how he is. too friendly. too invasive. too loud. too talkative.
too clingy.
satoru, on the other hand, doesn't quite know what's wrong with him yet, but he knows something is wrong.
he likes you. a bit too much, probably. it's been so long since he's met someone new who is like you, someone who fit so well into the dynamic him and his former classmates have cultivated for their students. your arrival was greatly anticipated, if not slightly disorienting. you came in with a regal air and a face so pretty that it almost paralyzed him where he stood, but he thought nothing of it. he's met beautiful women before. he’s flirted with them before. he knew it meant nothing. yet he’s flirted with you, and it always feels like something.
so he's not so sure why he often finds himself stopping dead in his tracks when he hears your voice echoing from the sparring field, instructing your students with a stern yet almost motherly cadence. he'll turn and locate you down there from where he stands by winding pillars, watching the way your hands find your hips and your (e/c) eyes monitor your students' movements with that pinch of concern. like you didn't just get here. like you raised them yourself, and their survival is your responsibility.
satoru will swallow the saliva that has built in his mouth, suddenly becoming aware of the way his cheeks ache from having smiled at the sight and sound of you for so long from afar.
he's not sure why he is so curious about you and your adjustment to your job. he perks up at the very mention of your name in any setting, tuning out whatever yuji is rambling on about to listen to what yaga is detailing about your next mission in the room over. he wonders if you're even up for the job, and decides to catch yaga long after his conversation about you to offer himself up to go in your place. yaga would lower his sunglasses and quirk his thick brows, pursing his lips in inquisition as he stares up at the white haired man he's known since he was a young boy.
"why are you so worried about (l/n)'s business?"
why is he?
satoru shrugs. "just looking out for the newbie."
"(l/n) has been a grade one sorcerer for years. she can handle herself just fine," yaga gives gojo one last skeptical work. "get back to worrying about your job, satoru. not hers."
he brushes off the bitter taste yaga's words leave in his mouth, as though peers and colleagues and friends and former classmates have not come and gone at the hand of the unknown, having been thrust into what they had believed to be familiar territory only to find themselves sorely mistaken, outnumbered, and overpowered.
you're new. you're nice, and humble, responsible, and you actually listen to what gojo has to say, despite how everyone around him feigns or feels palpable disdain or aggravation toward him. you don't treat him like he's a joke. you go to him for advice, looking to him as an inspiration rather than a pest to belittle, his title neither pushing you away or sparking excessive glorification. you simply respect him, beneath all that goofiness and bickering. you're sweet in that way. unbiased. unjudging.
and you treat every one of your students like family, bracing them for the cruel world, remembering that they are still children. not weapons. people like you, people who are kind and generous and stable, are a rarity within the jujutsu world. satoru would prefer not to lose the refreshing air that you bring to the campus just because you were sent on an muddy mission too soon.
he would prefer not to lose you at all.
when shoko starts to look at him sideways whenever you walk by or finish up a conversation with him, satoru knows for sure that his suspicions about his own behavior are not just in his head. that the strange way he is acting, the strange way he is feeling whenever you are around, is actually noticeable. she observes how your presence slowly begins to dictate how satoru is feeling, or how he will behave for the remainder of the day.
you'll tell him and the brunette that you'll be sent away for a few days, and satoru is pouting, glossy lips pulled downward as his brow furrows with disappointment beneath his blindfold. he'll bombard you with a hundred questions, asking how far away you'll be, what kind of curse you'll be encountering, if you will be going alone. and with each patient answer you give, his sulking grows tenfold.
because why do you have to leave? it's so boring without you here, though he always claims that you contribute to the drab atmosphere with your refusal to entertain his antics throughout the school day just to get a reaction out of you.
still, that would be days without your soft smile. days without your eager questions that satoru always drops everything to answer happily, his heart thundering at the calm, attentive way you look past his blindfold as if to hold his gaze, to let him know that you have all of his undivided attention.
days without your heavy lectures that ring out in the halls and weigh down the air, your delivery so urgent and resolute that it makes the snowy haired man himself want to stand at attention.
days without those reserved chuckles and thoughtful eyes. without your maternal agency toward your students. without those breezy compliments that must hold no true substance, as they flutter past your lips like daily greetings.
your hair looks really fluffy today, gojo.
did you get a new uniform jacket tailored? it looks nice.
you have really broad shoulders, you know that?
and you're never flirting. never seeking anything in return. you're just... like that. endearing and observant and eager to share the good that you see in others with them. you're fully aware of gojo's arrogance, yet unbothered by the possibility of making his head ten times bigger than it already is. you compliment him the same way you'd compliment utahime, or kusakabe. it's effortless, thoughtless kindness.
and the higher ups expect satoru to go days without that?
he's all but begging you to stay, though there isn't much of anything you can do to get out of direct orders from higher command. shoko will watch lazily with a cigarette hanging from her glossed lips, her cheek in her palm as the gears turn in her head, and she decides that maybe gojo isn't like this with everyone. that with you, he's a bit more clingy than too clingy.
she can tell for certain that something is up when an air of silent, tormented pensiveness captures satoru when you leave to meet with one of your students, unaware of the fact that your absence truly wounds satoru. you think he's overexaggerating his desire for you to stay.
he's not.
"what was that about?' shoko asks from where she sits just behind satoru, the sorcerer standing before her desk as he stares at the empty doorway.
"i don't know," he sighs. "some new mission. they've been throwing her out in the field a lot lately."
"it's her job," shoko says flatly. "but that's not what i mean. i'm talking about you."
he turns to look at her, a bubble of anxiety brewing in his chest as he tries to appear normal. "what about me?"
shoko's brow raises, her index and middle finger pinching the cigarette between them. a cloud of smoke wafts from her lips as she lowers it away from her mouth. "you were really persistent just now. why don't you want her to leave so bad? it's just a few days. do you always get like that when she leaves?"
yes. he does. and it's only been a few months.
"what do you mean? i worry about all of my friends and colleagues."
she's being dramatic. he claims everyone but himself is being dramatic when they toss him those questioning looks, the looks that scream out how different he has been acting since you came along.
he just cares about you. he cares about everyone at jujutsu high. he wants you to stay safe, vigilent, like the rest of them, so that you can stay in one piece and he can spend more time with you. so that he can learn more about you, and sit with you as you talk with that hypnotic, smooth authority that makes his brain mushy and his knees weak. what's so bad about wanting to be around you?
satoru is still trying to figure out exactly what is going on when a few of you go out for a couple of drinks. satoru, as usual, does not indulge, but encourages you to nonetheless, eager to see how you'd behave when alcohol has made you limber and slow.
it's been a long month, you're a bit battered and overworked, and normally you wouldn't, but you finally have a day ahead of you where you don't teach or get sent out to damn battle, so you think that just one drink won't hurt.
you're four drinks in when the others leave, leaving you and satoru at the bar talking for hours. your inibitions have lowered significantly, and in contrast to the tight composure you keep at school, you’re slumped casually in your bar stool, elbow propped on the counter and eyes big and glittery as satoru tells you a story from his days back in high school, where the sun seemed to shine all the time and his best friends' laughter constantly filled the air.
he's telling you this one story about when a group of them - him, nanami, geto, haibara, and shoko, all snuck out of the dorms one night to try to make it to a concert that was happening a few blocks away, only to be caught by yaga the second they stepped off school grounds. satoru, ever the rebellious teen, was dragged back to his dorm kicking and screaming by the principal after having attemped to combat him.
something about the liquor warming your stomach and lightening the atmosphere makes satoru's story and the animated hand movements and voices he incorporates to revive the memory for you all the more hilarious. and instead of brushing him off or telling him to quit playing around, you bend over at your waist and release the loudest, most obnoxious laugh satoru has ever heard in his entire life.
the sound startles him at first, his sapphire eyes going slightly wide behind his dark shades, his lips twitching in shock as he freezes just to watch you and listen.
your skin is slightly flushed, your eyes a little glassy. but your lips, your lips are stretched wide across your pretty face, all teeth on display, your jaw open to free the symphony of cackles that spill from you. your hand raises to hover over your mouth as if to conceal your laughter, but it doesn't work. you're still laughing, your eyes little crescents, the skin beside and underneath wrinkled, your nose crunched, your brows curled just slightly with humor as if it pains you.
satoru's mouth runs dry, and the chaotic white noise of the buzzing bar goes mute. his surroundings blur out to slowly focus on you. your laughter seems to echo through satoru's mind like a distant memory playing on repeat, ringing out through the hollow space of his head. the dim bar lights appear to glow about you, twinkling around your hair and against your (s/c) skin slightly moist from the atmosphere thick with heat from confined bodies.
satoru always jokes about your dismal air. he's seen you smile. he's heard you laugh.
but never like this.
it's like music to his ears. like the prettiest song he's ever had the privilege to hear. your entire body shakes with your laughter, like it has completely taken over you and you don't care that it has. it shines in your gaze, flutters out so bright and loud that gojo thinks it brightened your entire aura.
satoru's smile is gone, having faded away with each passing second your laughter soaked through his ears. he watches you like that for a while, awed, and then, his smile returns as if compelled. his skin warms, dimples poke into his cheeks, and he beams along with you, his own laughter slipping into yours. it's just so contageous.
his heart is hammering in his throat, his gaze suddenly soft and tender on you, the vision of you before him so angelic that it makes his entire mass quiver with the electricity of your beauty.
you laugh. the very thing satoru has been trying to get out of you finally happened. all because of him.
then you say it. clipped words between breathless giggles, your true soul finally bearing itself raw in the comfortability of the public. away from your concerns. away from the safety you must ensure your kids practice. away from the burden of sorcery. you exist.
"you kill me, gojo."
he feels something resolute strike him in the chest right there, his lips twitching in his smile and his body running hotter than the sun.
you think he's funny. you think he's funny. you're laughing all breathless and beautiful and shamelessly because of him, and he's choking over charm, fumbling in his mind for a smooth quip, an i told you so, a finally.
but all he can think of is how fucking pretty you look laughing like that, letting joy take you, letting your cares slip away in his company.
that strike to his chest cements firm and hot, and he chuckles rather awkwardly, chin thumping against his palm as he gazes at you with an impending realization. his mind conjures up glittery flowers and floating hearts that surround your laughing figure, and he abruptly knows what's been wrong with him.
it's not just that you make every room brighter when you step into it. it's not just that your beauty renders him speechless any time he's within your vicinity. it's not just that he has a little work crush on you and likes to tug your pigtails over it.
it's not any of that. he knows by the way he's looking at you now, by the way his body feels warm and fuzzy like he's stuck inside a sweet, insulated dream that he doesn't want to wake up from, that what is plaguing him is far stronger than the aforementioned simplicities.
he knows by the way your laughter makes him want to drop to his knees before you and plead you to never stop, to never deprive him of such a sound again.
he sighs. he's in love with you.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
suguru geto: the future!
suguru has always known that he likes you.
he has no reason to deny it. nothing is standing in the way of how he feels, even if he finds out one day that you don't feel the same. suguru has accepted his crush, his puppy dog attraction to you and his simultaneous desire for your affection.
he shields it thinly but smoothly, always greeting you with warm smiles that make you feel toasty inside and eyes that always lock directly onto yours, as if he is reminding you every day that he sees you and wants to continue seeing you for the rest of his life. you're a dear friend to him, very dear, and you should know it each time you see him - how much he appreciates you. how much he cares.
his fingers always find some way to touch you, whether curving a piece of hair from your face or grazing your arm to eventually slip his hand into yours, and hold it as you walk side by side as if it is nothing. as if friends do this all the time. and whether he's saying hello or goodbye, he always opens his arms wide to invite you into a soothing embrace, his arms circling around you and holding you snug to his chest. you always hum in content, smiling sweetly and hugging tight around his middle, sinking into his comfort.
and when he's departing for an extended period of time, when your face just looks too sweet as you look up at him and wish him safety, he ducks to hold your head and press his lips to your forehead chastely, pulling away to smile sweetly down at you.
like friends do.
suguru has nothing to be ashamed of.
especially when you make him feel the way he does. flooding him with joy and fuzziness that he once believed himself undeserving of. helping to lift the weight of the world from his shoulders at the end of long, testing days with the time vessel association, without even trying. further fueling his ambitions for a non-sorcerer free world for you, because someone as sweet, loyal, selfless, and beautiful as you deserves a peace that only the world he has envisioned promises.
a world where the two of you can live freely, where you can be perfectly, permanently, blissfully happy by his side. void of any unwarranted responsibility, void of any pain.
why should suguru feel embarrassed of his affections toward you? why should he shield how dearly you mean to him? how deeply he cherishes you, alongside the rest of his family?
especially when you stayed, when everyone else he loved turned away from him. he doesn't blame them, and never has, but you. you didn't leave him behind. you didn't hesitate. you stayed.
and that's all that mattered in the end.
despite suguru's overt self awareness regarding his feelings for you, he does not attempt to pursue you until he has realized that these said feelings have grown past what he initially believed them to. and this intensity dawns on him much later than he would have expected for himself.
it hits him one sunny day on the roof of the time vessel association, a spot he frequents with his girls when the three of them need a bit of quiet time away from all the noise just below their feet.
geto has a newspaper cracked open over his lap as mimiko weaves a fishtail braid into his long, black locks. the breeze whistles through pinned linen on wires, a slight chill nipping at the wind, an indicator of the cooler months creeping in.
the cult leader and his girls ordinarily talk of whatever comes to mind, catching up on little things happening around the facility, dreaming up all the wonders that geto intends to provide when his goals reach fruition.
he expects further talk of the new phone that is coming out within the next few months, or the rom coms that the girls desperately want him to watch with them, but what he doesn't expect is the bold question that leaves nanako's mouth that inevitably draws his mind right back to you, as it always does.
"geto, do you think you'll ever wanna get married in the new world?" the blonde questions curiously from her spot crouched next to geto's chair, her nose still pressed into her telepohone screen.
the hazel eyed man blinks, turning slightly to look down at the young girl's head. "married?" he echoes, taken aback. "what could have possibly made your mind go to that, nanako?"
she shrugs, tilting her head back to look up at her father figure from upside down. "i dunno. i feel like you should get to settle down after all your hard work has paid off."
he smiles softly, half amused, half affectionate. "you think so?"
"sure. mimiko and i were talking about it the other day."
"were you now?"
the brunette teenager behind him hums flatly. "mhm."
he chuckles. "well, i'll be honest with you girls, marriage hasn't crossed my mind just yet. other priorities come first, and will continue to until i see fit."
"but," nanako twists her body around to look up at him properly. "wouldn't it be nice for you to have someone by your side? to care for?"
"i already have that. i have you all."
"that's different," mimiko says monotonously.
"it is!" nanako agrees, puffing her cheeks. "what we mean is, like, someone to love. someone to hold and to tell you how great you are," she fantasizes, painting a pretty idea of a domestic life.
suguru's brow quirks slightly down at the teenager, as he detects from her tone that she is imagining such things for herself as well.
"like i said girls, i already have people to love. i love you and the rest of our family very dearly," he says calmly. he feels mimiko hesitate amidst his strands, and catches the pout that begins to cross nanako's face. he smiles, closing his eyes. "though i understand what you're saying, and it's sweet of you to care about things like that, but i don't plan marry. i never have."
"...are you sure?" mimiko asks gently, carefully crossed one section of silky hair over another.
"i'm positive," he affirms.
"but why not? we thought you liked (y/n)."
suguru's eyes snap open wide, the brunette's hands completely freeze in his hair, and nanako's face swarms with a bashful pink as she puckers her lips, testing the waters.
he doesn't miss the way his body reacts to your name. the way his heart swells the slightest bit more as if pumped with obsessive air. the way his entire nervous system seems to halt its functions, his brain swarming with your phantom touch and scent. the way a smile subconsciously comes to his face with ease, like your name is a trigger for his happiness, even when mentioned in this setting.
"nanako," the blonde's sister hisses after a few beats of silence, and the said girl throws her hands up in defense.
"what?! we did! you do, don't you master geto?"
"even if he does, why would he admit it to us, let alone entertain talking about marrying her?"
"don't be such a hypocrite! you know you were thinking the same exact thing as me, sis! we just talked about it!" nanako reiterates.
"so? it's not the same as confronting him with our speculations, dummy."
"don't call me a dummy! you're the dummy, dummy!"
"girls," the cult leader's voice rings out sternly, and the teens know to instantly stop fussing. they clamp their lips shut and look to the man who saved their lives, and he eyes them with a fatherly assertiveness. "what did i say about fighting? we only have each other, alright? no one's a dummy. enough of that."
"sorry," they murmur in unison. suguru sighs and turns his head forward again, allowing mimiko to resume her task.
"that being said," he starts lowly. "i'm a little anxious about these 'speculations' of yours. you thought i would marry (y/n) when it's all said and done. is that it?"
the girls exchange glances. "well," mimiko starts slowly.
"we'd be surprised if you didn't."
"and why is that?"
"...don't you like her, geto?"
the sentiment comes again, and suguru's head rings. not because his girls, and likely everyone with the time vessel association have caught wind of his very obvious emotons regarding you, but because he can't seem to shake this strange feeling hat sits in the pit of his stomach now that the idea of settling down with you has been abruptly brought to his attention.
suguru always assumed that you would just be by his side forever, as you've already promised to remain loyal to him and only him for the rest of your life. being a part of his family, that was a given. that you all would never part.
but... marriage? settling down?
in truth, despite being a planner down to his very core, he hasn't thought that far ahead yet, not of anything beyond making his new world become a reality. for so long, that's all that has consumed his head. erradicating the weak. preserving the safety and dignity of the strong. taking care of those who have always taken care of him. his family. his girls. you.
but suddenly, he envisions you in white. a veil long enough to drag past your ankles, a soft white dress that hugs your body as if it was made just for you - and it would be. suguru would have it tailored by the best in the country, so long as you'd let him take some part in the dress planning. he imagines you'd be quite anal about such things, not letting him see the dress or you during your wedding day. he'd respect it, entertain it for a bit, but have his girls sneak to see you and report how gorgeous you appear as you prepare to stroll down the aisle as his bride.
he's clasping your warm, small hands in his like he always does, smoothing his fingers over the ring he's just slipped onto your digit. the rock twinkles over your skin, a grand symbol, but not quite grand enough to account for all that you mean to him. still, the 8 carot gold will do for now.
his vision is blurry, and his cheeks ache from how hard he knows he would be smiling. and you look like an angel in front of him, eyes glossing over with something gracious and sweet, your lips pinched together to prevent from bursting with the sheer emount of emotion overcoming you. you'd be happy there. he'd make you so happy.
your lips would unite with a passion, the weight of waiting finally released. he'd tug you close by the small of your waist with one hand holding your cheek delicately, and you'd melt into each other, knowing that you could finally rest in each other's arms and enjoy the life he once dreamed to give you.
if you'd want kids, he'd maybe ponder giving you one more, but you have the children you need in the teenagers who he swears make his strands go grey, who are responsible for even making him conjure up this fantasy. though, to see you waddling through the house, glowing with oncoming maternity and content would be a treat he could never deny himself.
he'd give you everything. he'd make you the happiest wife to grace this earth. he'd work hard every day to keep you, to remind you of his love the way he does now.
his heart aches with yearning.
it doesn't bother him that the girls gossiped about the possibilities between the two of you in private, or that they know how he feels. everyone knows except you.
what bothers him is that he was wrong. the ever prideful, ever diligent suguru geto was wrong about what he had thought he had all figured out.
he doesn't like you at all. he loves you. and he does in fact want to be with you until the day he dies, united in holy matrimony under his name. (y/n) geto. a beautiful, hypnotic ring he must make come to fruition in addition to a curse-less world.
he turns to look down at nanako with a gentle grin, one that makes the breeze feel warmer and the golden rays above shine the slighest bit brighter.
"maybe i do like her," he says playfully.
nanako stares up at him for a moment before a big grin spreads over her face in understanding.
"but you two are skipping a few steps. i'd have to ask the lovely woman out before jumping into marriage, now wouldn't i?"
suguru decides to forgive the way mimiko accidentally yanks at his roots due to jumping up with her sister in excitement.
he lets the girls yammer on about various ways for suguru to ask you out, a perfect fishtail woven into his hair and long forgotten. he humors them, enjoying the sheer excitement they bestow regarding his affections for you, further solidifying your place in their lives as a wife and mother, but he does not have the heart to tell them just yet that he already knows what he'll do to attempt to woo you into being his.
suguru is a dramatic man, one of great gestures and movements. he is passionate, at times almost scarily so, and he handles everything with empassioned precision. he certainly handles his pursuit of you the very same.
he stretches the act out over the course of a few days.
he starts, first, by greeting you with his familiar hugs accompanied by a fresh bouqet of flowers that the girls take the privilege of making with him every night.
he watches your face flush with red, your pretty eyes blinking almost confused before you allow yourself to swoon, your fingers gingerly reaching for the bunch of stems that suguru presents serenely to you, a relaxed captivation gracing his gorgeous features.
the first bunch are an arrangement of chysanthemums, a bright explosion of fierce reds and fushias that pops against your eyes and skin when you bring them to your nose to smell. suguru watches you calmly, heart twisting, cheeks burning, and he thinks that he could do this for the rest of his life when you bat those pretty eyes up at him and beam with a sheepish thank you fluttering from your lips and into the petals that you use to hide your face.
you don't know that there are more coming. that this first bouqet is meant to represent a sanction of what he promises you, a symbol of devotion and his unyielding legacy, the legacy you have helped him build. the legacy he intends to share with you.
the next day, he gifts you a bunch of cream colored anemonaes when he first sees you in the morning. you're shocked expression makes him chuckle lowly as he presents the flowers to you, the stems laced with a white ribbon, the petals fluttering eagerly around their black pistils. you stare up at suguru in awe, as he has caught you off guard once again, stolen the breath from your lungs and made your jaw drop in a stupor. two bouqets of flowers, two days in a row, in tandem with his soft hugs and soft looks and soft hands brushing yours.
"suguru, wha...?" you trail off as he places the bouqet in your hands, helping to secure your fingers around them. you stare at him, stunned, bashful, flattered, and he simply flashes you that serene, warm smile that soaks up the sun. "more flowers? but you already - "
"i know," is all he says, his hands holding yours around the bouqet. he glances at the flowers, a symbol of his patience, of how long he would be willing to wait for you if you decide to have him. the sincerity of his emotions, and how far he'd go for you and only you. his eagerness to obtain you, despite his willingness to hold off so long as it would make you comfortable. "they're all for you, angel," he eventually says.
you melt, your shoulders sagging with the curl of your brow. "i don't know what to say... why are you doing this?"
"because you deserve it."
the third and final day, suguru tells you to meet him in his drawing room. you're buzzing with the adrenaline of his very recent affections, the way he has been looking at you as of late in addition to his gifts of flowers.
you don't think you can find the words when you slide the door open to reveal the inky haired cult leader standing before you, at the very center of the room. sweet perfumes of incense intoxicate the candle lit space, and a generous bunch of your favorite flowers settles in his arms amidst his buddhist robes. a symbol of all that you are in his life, radiant. bright. loyal. a symbol of his immense adoration, and the fruitfulness of his love for you.
sunflowers.
your throat clamps up and you attempt to swallow the automatic lump that ails you. your heart pounds in your ears, your skin hot to the touch, and you ask yourself if you are inside of some kind of dream. if the man you've fallen for is truly right here in front of you with his heart in his hands and your world in his hazel eyes.
you freeze up, shaking your head. this can't be real. suguru is all dreams of the new world, ambitions to wipe out existence, eagerness to make the unloyal and the greedy pay with their lives. he is a passionate man, yes, but never one for romantics. never one for love, as you had previously believed.
he's generous, therefore you thought nothing of the way he would hold you close to him, his breathe murmuring that he's missed you throughout the day against your ear, though you've only been parted for a few hours within the cult. you thought nothing over those lingering, sultry looks past miguel's figure during family meetings, or the way his warm lips would meet your skin with fatigue. you thought nothing of it because suguru is a man of his people who hardly shies away from bestowing such affections on those he cares for.
still, you've never seen him hug miguel the same way. or look at manami with such intensity, let alone kiss any of the others on the head, save for his girls.
nevertheless, you never allowed yourself to believe that you were special. not when suguru has always made his priorities in this life painfully clear.
so you struggle to understand what this means. why he is showering you with affections and doting on you like you could possibly mean anything more to him than family.
"no, this is too much," you shake your head, your voice ringing out wobblier than you intended. "this is too much, suguru, what are you doing?"
the hazel eyed sorcerer does not panic when he hears your voice crack, for any time you are in his presence, a pink filter washes over his senses, and all he can register is your unfathomable beauty shining through the way you speak and the way you look at him.
he smiles, body warm. "do you not like them?"
"do i - no, i - i love them. that's not what i... those are for me, too?" you ask incredulously, though deep down you know the answer.
"of course they are."
"...suguru, why?" your breath hitches. "this is way too much."
"it's not nearly enough."
"but why would you - "
"you should let me talk, beautiful. then everything will make more sense. i promise."
you frown, eyes glazing over. suguru only smiles and shifts the bouqet, holding a hand out to you.
"come here."
you do, carefully sliding the door closed behind you in a stupor and moving to approach him. he takes your hand, holds your gaze, and brings it to his lips, pressing a warm kiss to your fingers. you inhale sharply, lips twitch, eyes glossy.
"i was talking with the girls the other day," he starts slowly, lowering your hand as he caressing it gently. "and they made me realize something."
you're scared to speak, but your voice croaks out anyway. "what?"
"that i don't want to waste any more time with you," suguru's voice dips just slightly, his tone taking a raw vulnerability that you have not heard in quite sometime. it takes you back to high school, before he snapped, when the two of you were just kids seeking one another's comfort within a strange and unforgiving education.
"suguru, what are you talking about?" you breathe a whisper.
"ever since we were kids, i've known. that i never want to live without you," he confesses. "but it's taken me too long to truly understand what that means and to actually do something about it."
you shake your head with a disoriented breath, a tear you can't fight catching your lashes. suguru releases your hand to swipe the tear away with his thumb.
his hand curves to your chin and he lifts your head slightly, encouraging your teary eyes to meet his again. his pupils expand, his eyes lidded.
"so now i'm doing something about it," he mumbles. "i want you to be with me, (y/n). i want you to be mine. there's no one else in this godforsaken world for me but you. it's always been you."
you feel another tear trail down your cheek, your heart soaring, your mind still not quite comprehending that this is real. that this is happening.
suguru is patient. he doesn't need an immediate response, nor does he demand your immediate reciprocation. instead, he is merely happy to tell you, to watch the awe float over your pretty face as his chest becomes lighter, having freed the weight of his truth to you.
"these flowers are a promise. i'll be good to you. i'll put you before everything. i'll love you as you should be loved. because i do. i love you. and i always will, whether you'll have me or not."
your heart skips a beat. or two. or ten. "...you love me?"
"i love you," he confirms.
the past nine years whip through your head, all the doubts, the hopes, the longing, the fear, that have brought you to this very moment. your cloudy gaze finds the flowers brushing your chests between you, then his warm hazel eyes. you see into his soul, you see the cracks exposed, the hint of anxiety that swirls in the back of his mind as he bears himself raw to you behind a front of serenity.
you cave with the breathless call of his name, and he takes the chance, his name on your tongue dispelling any fear and uncertainty. he ducks down and pulls you in, petals brushing your chins as his lips press to yours fervently. you whimper and he groans, both symphonies of long awaited relief, and in the brief disconnect of your hungry lips, you whisper into his mouth.
"i love you too."
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
choso kamo: your patience!
“it’s okay, cho. here, let me help you.”
sharp violet eyes blink down at you in a stupor as you ease your palm onto his shoulder blade, stepping close to take initiative as he submissively backs away. you look up and give him a soft smile before turning your attention to the electronic fast food kiosk to help him navigate the options.
the brunette lets you take the lead, as you always do when it comes to human things like this, and he watches you from your side with a blank expression, something far more intense shining in his wide eyes.
choso knows he can be a handful. basic things do not always come to him very easily, like small talk or technology or anything within the realm of human functionality that he has yet to completely accomodate to. while the brunette has been around long enough to assimilate into his brother's livelihood and the people directly surrounding him, he still significantly struggles to comprehend certain mortal concepts.
it took him a whole day to figure out how to program the phone that yuji helped him purchase, and that was with the help of the salmon haired teenager. each day, he still battles with comprehending some of the slang his kid brother uses when talking to him, often opting to pretend to know what yuji is talking about when he sends little acronyms like lmao or wyd. he doesn't quite grasp the goal of certain sports when he sees yuji and his classmates playing them, and he has absolutly no idea how to decipher or navigate the internet.
in the human world, choso often feels like a fish out of water, much to his chagrin. the persistent internal dilemma of existing as something between a human and a curse often leaves choso confused as he attempts to navigate how he is supposed to behave, what he is supposed to know, how he can be accepted by either jujutsu or human society.
and people are less than forgiving, less than patient with those who appear to be outsiders, choso has come to find. the world is a cruel place, and as he continues to manage how to move about it, strangers expect him to figure it out.
it tells in the way he gets shoulder checked in crowded markets when he does not know where to go, or what the number on his ticket means as he stands in the middle of a bustling grocery store right in front of the deli, having promised yuki that he'd pick up her order during lunch. it tells in the dirty glares that are tossed his way when he scratches the back of his scalp, nose twisted with frustration and brows angled as he tries to figure out which direction this particular train he was told to board is going to take him in. it tells in the way the kids jokingly gasp when they hear that he has yet to try the newest fad sweeping through the social media feeds, some kind of food vendor that everyone is suddenly obsessed with and expects others to share that same obsession in order to be viewed as an equal.
choso sighs. the world is not very understanding toward people like him, who need time to grasp what is happening around him and how to adjust to its functions. to people who move slowly, cautiously, carefully to ensure that he is doing the right thing, to reduce the chances of making excessive mistakes. to people who can not just click into society's expectations with the snap of a finger, who need patience and understanding.
so when you come around and begin to show him such things, begin to teach him those societal functions with a calm, peaceful countenance and an eagerness to help, choso finds his heart fluttering in his chest.
his feelings for you come abruptly, quick and stunning like the shock of an ice bath.
the first time you helped choso with something, he didn't even know what to say. you're one of the institution's frequently traveling sorcerers, about twenty or so years old, often popping in to serve as a mentor for the first years. you are ordinarly paired up with yuki for missions, which is how you were introduced to choso, who was pinned with her as well.
choso already thinks you're pretty and nice when you first introduce yourself to him. you smell like sugary, sunny summer days, and you have (e/c) eyes that pierce the veil to his soul. but what makes him weak and renders him a fool at your beck and call is when you catch him one day in the break room fiddling with the rather expensive coffee machine.
you saunter in the room behind him and notice his hunched figure over the device, and when you approach his side, you see that the dark circles that live under his eyes are more prominent, and an irritated grimace is crossed over his lips. your eyes follow his gaze to the stubborn machine and you realize that he is having a hard time getting the water to filter through.
choso sees you out of the corner of his eye and straightens up, locking eyes with you, attempting to blink away his clear vexation. "(y/n)," he says your name surprised, as if he would have never expected to see you here despite this being your place of work as well. "hi," he fumbles.
you grin. "hi choso! whatcha doin?"
"j-just trying to make coffee. sorry, are you waiting to use this?" he asks, immediately thinking that he has been standing in your way, taking up the time you could have used to fix yourself a cup of coffee. he thinks himself a useless burden once more and is prepared to abandon the task for your sake, despite how lethargic he feels.
but instead of rolling your eyes or expressing any kind of impatience with him, you smile up at him sweetly. "no, it's okay. just saw you and wanted to check in. do you need any help?" you ask softly, unbothered.
choso's face falls as your question leaves him taken aback. not even just your question, but the way you ask as though you wish to assist him, as if it is really no problem. he goes silent for a second, and you wait for him to answer, still looking up at him with a gentle smile.
his cheeks burst red and he clears his throat. "um - yeah. kinda. if you don't... don't mind. sorry," he scratches the back of his neck.
"you don't have to apologize," you chirp with a soft chuckle. "i know how these things can be. super stubborn sometimes, y'know?"
you don't even blame his incompetence. you blame the coffee maker in order to make him feel less out of place. choso blinks, baffled, and swallows hard. you step closer to him, and he takes an involuntary shuffle away, averting his gaze from your pretty eyes and kind smile. your scent suddenly invades him, and he shivers, a lump forming in his throat.
"what's wrong with it?" you ask.
"...it's - uh - just not pouring. it keeps making a click sound, but nothing's coming out."
you hum thoughtfully. "i hate when it does this," you murmur, looking over the device. "here, let me try something."
you step closer to him, and choso takes the hint to move back, standing behind you as you work your magic. you reach back behind the machine and unplug it, wait a few more seconds, then plug it back in. you then lift the top of the machine open once it powers back on, and close that one more time. you press a few buttons, it clicks, then in seconds, brown liquid dribbles down from the spout and into choso's navy mug.
you grin and turn over your shoulder to look up at the half-curse. "there you go! sometimes it just needs to be restarted to get working again. if it gives you any more trouble, just unplug it and plug it back in, okay? that's what i always do anyway."
choso stares at the coffee filtering into the mug, then at your bright expression. he nods stiffly, eyes shimmering, face beet red. "thank you," he says earnestly.
"don't mention it. let me know if you ever need help with anything else!"
you hum a soft tune as you walk out of the break room, and violet eyes follow your retreating figure. choso feels his heart spasm, for he thinks this is the very first time someone has appeared truly happy to assist him - the first time anyone has ever treated him unlike a chore. and you walk off like it's nothing.
choso starts to like you immediately after that, but he doesn't quite know that those feelings he is experiencing means something more than platonic admiration. he doesn't know what it means when his face flushes in your presence, and your phantom scent smacks him in the face whenever you're not around, and his heart thumps a mile per minute whenever you so much as look at him.
ever new to the human experience, he is much newer to intense human emotions like these.
and the feelings grow more intense each time you assist him with something so nicely, a stark contrast to the way others are so impatient with him. he’s holding a camera the wrong way? no worries, you’re there to pat his shoulder and help him flip it around, demonstrating an easier way to point it at his beloved brother. he can’t figure out directions to that spot his coworkers want to eat at? not a problem! you’ll take over directions with him and set him up for how to find things on his own next time around. trying to follow a tutorial for how to fix the squeaky hinge on his brother’s door? he doesn’t have to do it alone! you’re happy to assist him and make the whole ordeal quicker.
and today, yuji insisted on going out to the nearest fast food place with his friends, both you and choso having accompanied. yet no matter how many things you continue to show him, he still can’t quite grasp how to save his order on this damn screen.
the kamo hears your voice narrating your actions as you tap through the options, inquiring what he wants, and while he responds to you flatly, he’s not really paying attention. not to what you’re showing him.
all he can hear is the sweet, understanding cadence of your gorgeous voice as you swipe through selections, the way your lashes blink when you turn over your shoulder to meet his eyes and double check with him before adding something to the cart. he doesn’t even know what the hell you’re putting in there or what he’s telling you to get, but he knows that your lips are a tint of cherry red today instead of your go-to peachy gloss.
"do you want anything?" he suddenly speaks up, accidentally interrupting you in the middle of your little spiel. he comes closer behind you involuntarily, his chest brushing the tip of your shoulder as you look up at him softly.
you blink a few times, aware of his close proximinity, and you press your lips together, heat flaring in your cheeks, your cool countenance disrupted. "it's okay, i'm not really that hungry."
"are you sure? we've had a busy day. i can get you something. whatever you want."
you're suddenly bashful, biting back a warm smile. "...i mean, sure, if you're offering. i kinda want an icecream cone..."
an ice cream cone. suddenly it's the most important thing on this planet.
choso nods firmly. "okay."
and you watch as he reaches past you to hesitantly take control of the screen under a mask of confidence, utilizing your tips and brief tutorial to scroll through the options, locate your desired item, and land it in the cart.
you beam, your hand flying to his bicep. "look, cho, you did it all by yourself! i'm so proud of you!" you praise. "thank you so much!"
a huff of air dispels from choso's nose as he looks down at your sweet expression, tenses under the soft touch of your palm, and processes what it feels like to be on the receiving end of your gratitude. to step up and do something for you in return for all the patience and kindness that you've shown him.
pink bursts over his pale cheeks, and a wobbly hint of a smile rises. his heart hammers louder and louder in his ears, and his entire body feels as though its catching a sweat. is he sick? is it you?
is he sick off of you?
he doesn't know, nor does he care. all that he knows is, as your fingers slip away from his arm, and your warmth is dragged along with you as you rejoin the teens at the table they snagged, that he wants to feel this way with you for as long as he possibly can. he wants to make you feel just as seen, just as happy, just as heard, just as warm.
the brunette eventually rejoins you all, flustering in silence when you pat the seat that you've saved for him across from the booth nobara, yuji, and megumi cramp themselves in.
choso sits with his broad shoulders tense and his hands in his lap as you talk excitedly with nobara about this new top that you found online, and choso's eyes eventually fall to the two teenage boys across from him who quirk their brows at his posture and exchange knowing glances.
you and nobara somehow convince the guys to trail behind you as you seek out the tops you found. as the boys trail behind, and as choso's eyes glue to the back of your head while you walk beside the brunette fifteen year old, he feels yuji nudge him in the side.
choso looks down at his little brother, blatantly dazed, pupils wide. "hm?" he inquires softly.
"dude. you've been staring at her the entire time we've been out," the salmon haired boy deadpans. on his right, megumi walks while staring boredly ahead, hands in his pockets as he agrees.
"pretty painful to watch," the navy haired boy murmurs.
"oh," choso blinks, turning back to look at you when a giggle spills past your lips. his heart flips. "yeah. sorry," he swallows, distracted.
"aw man, you've got it so bad," yuji shakes his head. "why don't you just tell her already? it's so obvious."
choso turns to him again, suddenly invested. "tell her what? what's it? what do i have?"
"y'know? lovesickness. you're down bad."
choso tilts his head. "i'm sick? down where? it's bad?"
yuji exhales defeatedly. and drops his shoulders. "no man, you're not actually sick. i mean, like, you're in love."
the half curse's eyes grow wide. "in love?"
megumi sighs. "i don't think he knows, yuji."
the said boy's eyes snap wide with realization. "oh shit! choso! do you not know?!"
"know what?"
yuji throws his arm up and around his brother's shoulders, bringing his face down in secrecy as they walk. choso furrows his brows in confusion at the salmon haired boy's abrupt intensity. "answer me this - does your face get all hot whenever (y/n) is around?" he whispers aggressively, megumi rolling his eyes.
"um... yes...?"
"does she make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside?"
"...yeah."
"when you look at her, do you just wanna scream and cry and do everything you possibly can to make her happy all at the same time?"
"yes. i think she's the prettiest girl in the world," choso affirms, eyes still stuck to you. his younger brother huffs conclusively, fighting off a gag and releasing choso so that he can stand up straight again. he closes his eyes, nodding as if making an internal diagnosis.
"you're in love big bro. you like (y/n) as way more than a friend. so much it's making you crazy."
choso thinks it over, the strange urges that overcome him when you're near, his desire to always be around you and make you proud. "...you're right. i do feel crazy."
"everyone literally already knew that but you, kamo," megumi adds.
"what do i do?!" choso panics.
yuji shrugs. "you should tell her."
"tell her that i - " the image of confronting you in such a way, standing before you as his feelings get caught in his throat, watching as you bat those pretty lashes up at him and await what he has to say with a patient smile makes his heart sieze up in his throat and his stomach churn with something discomforting. choso grits his teeth, shaking his head furiously. "no, i can't do that. she'll hate me. i don't want her to hate me."
"what? who says she'll hate you?" yuji waves him off.
choso's mind flies to the way strangers regard him, to how clueless he is about most things that someone his age should know about. he imagines all the men out there who are more experienced, who know more than he ever could, including how to treat you the way you should be treated.
he's not that guy. he isn't normal. he doesn't know things. he's only himself, caught between darkness and light, and you are kind enough to stand by his side and help him through some of his confusion, but you deserve more than his empty head. hell, he didn't even know that he had feelings for you until his fifteen year old brother pieced it together for him.
"i don't want to make her uncomfortable," he mumbles.
megumi's eye twitches. "but she literally - "
"shh, shhh, shhh!" yuji blindly smacks his hand over megumi's mouth, earning him a rather merciless smack upside the back of his head. the two glare at each other before yuji turns his attention back to his brother, rubbing the tender spot of his head. "listen choso, the thing about love is that you never know what to expect. you shouldn't assume that (y/n) doesn't like you just because you don't know or haven't tried to tell her. she's super nice and she loves spending time with you. she'd be lucky to have you."
"no, i'd be the lucky one. i'd just slow her down."
"that's your head talking. don't listen to your head, listen to me! your brother!" yuji fumes, gripping choso's shoulder tight. choso sighs, looking down. "look at her, man. look how happy she's been ever since you got her that ice cream. does that look like someone who'd hate you if you confessed?"
choso looks up at you again, noting how the golden sun seems to illuminate you, that smile that could send him into shock spread wide across your face as you talk. god, you're pretty.
"you think that's... because of me?"
"trust me, bro. i know women - "
"do you?" megumi intercepts sharply, ready to go home.
"shut up," yuji bites back. "i know women, and i know for a fact that no girl gets as happy as i see her get whenever you're involved. trust me on this. any time we buy nobara anything, she snatches it from our hands and tells us it's the least we could do for being pains in her ass."
"oh. (y/n) has never said anything like that to me."
"that's because she probably sees you as more than a friend too. but you'll never know unless you tell her." choso hums, taking in his brother's advice. "don't be scared. go for it! besides, you'd end up regretting it if you wait too long."
in a trance, choso moves to march up to you, but yuji's grip tightens on his shoulder as he pulls him back. "what the - not now, i don't wanna see that! just wait 'til you two are alone. it'll be more special that way."
so he does, but every single time the two of you wind up alone, choso chickens out. despite having won difficult battles and overcome extinction itself, the violet eyed half curse can't seem to muster up the courage to face you like a man and tell you that he's obsessed with you, that he thinks about you every single day, that he wants to be able to hold your hand and kiss you and be yours.
every single time he thinks he will, his eyes find yours, and he fumbles. like a coward. he can't get out of his own mind. he can't fight the thoughts that are telling him that he's just not good enough, that you deserve better, that he can't be what you need.
he'd rather have you in his life as a friend than screw things up by confessing to you and inevitably losing you completely.
instead of telling you how he feels, choso finds himself clinging to the memory of your praise, the day he first did something for you and not vice versa, and stepping in to perform random, small tasks for you, tasks that don't even require his help.
he brings extra ponytails to work on his wrist for you just in case you need them in the midst of sparring or mentoring. he keeps an extra jacket close by in case he sees you shiver and rub your arms from the cold of the air conditioned conference room. he asks you every day if you want him to run out and get the coffee he sees you drink so frequently, eager to serve you in any form, eager to make you smile, eager to prove himself worthy of your love.
you notice the change, how he frantically jumps to assist you more and more each day. how he tries to impress you by picking up your hobbies, or telling you about a book that he's reading that's written by an author he heard through the grapevine that you enjoy. you notice him trying to fit into your world more, trying to talk to you about shows and music and ideas that you've never heard him talk about before learning that you've shown interest in them. you observe how much more inherently human he tries to be around you, how desperately he tries to stray from himself with his eyes glued to your every move, and you start to think you know what's going on.
your last straw is when he approaches you one day at the field when you're packing up your weaponry and gloves. the sun sets behind the nearby mountains, the entirety of the sparring field melted in a rich orange glow. you perk up when you hear footsteps against the grass, and you turn around to see choso holding something out for you to take, cheeks rosy and eyes soft.
"hey... for you," is all his says, and when you look down at his palms, you see a cute little cream puff keychain - a gift associated with your passing mention of loving baked goods.
you melt with a sigh. "choso," you coo, abandoning your duffel bag to approach him slowly. "you didn't have to get me this."
"i know. i just thought you'd like it. unless you don't. you don't have to take it. i'll get you something else."
"no," you cup under his outstretched hands and he shivers under your touch, looking up at you shyly. "you don't have to get me anything else. this is - this is so sweet, but, i don't need this. you didn't have to do this."
"oh. okay. i see," he nods, taking your words as rejection.
you notice the dip in his tone and the way he goes to turn and walk off, but you stop him gently. "no, that's not what i - i like it choso i do! i didn't mean to say i don't. i love it... but are you okay?"
"yes," he answers quickly.
"are you sure? you've been so... anxious lately."
you noticed. you notice things about him. he tries not to let that fact alone further push him into a delusional state. when he meets your eyes again, he gets lost in your gentle concern as your palms brush his knuckles. his breath hitches when he speaks again. "i'm fine."
"...okay..." you say slowly, unconvinced. you look over his flushed face, then around at the area, ensuring that you are alone. "hey... listen, i kinda wanted to... to actually talk to you."
choso freezes, keychain still presented to you. "oh. okay," he gulps. is this it? is this the cold sting of rejection that he's been working so hard to avoid? is it time for him to give up on the foolish dream of making you happy? "what's wrong?" he asks.
"i've noticed... lately, on top of being so anxious... it seems like you've been trying to - like - impress me? is that it?" you say softly.
choso's heart begins to pound again, and dread overcomes him. "w-what do you mean?"
"you know what i mean, cho. all the little gestures. the gifts, the acts of service, the pretending to like what i like - "
"i do like what you like."
you give him a look. "cho, i know you've only gotten interested in all of that stuff because of me."
"...is that a bad thing? do you not like that i did?"
"i'm not saying it's bad. i just want to understand why you feel like you have to do that all of a sudden. you never did before, then suddenly you started acting like i would only be interested in you if you do those things. did i make you feel like you have to do all those things for me to... enjoy your friendship?"
friendship. you still think of him as a friend.
choso frowns. "i don't know," he murmurs, nervous. he glances down at his hands over yours, then back into the sun glittering in your perfect eyes. could he ever appear that perfect to you, the way you do to him?
"choso, it's okay. you know you can talk to me about anything, right?"
his jaw clenches hard. can he really?
"...and i never meant to make you feel like you have to be someone you're not. it's okay if you have different interests from me. you don't have to like everything i like to get my attention. i like you just the way you are. i always have."
his eyes glisten. "you do?"
you smile something warm and comforting. "of course i do."
"but... i do like liking the same things as you," he says lowly, face fiery. "i like learning about you... and making you happy... and being someone for you to lean on. you always are to me. i want to repay that."
you giggle lightly. "aw, cho. you're so sweet. but i don't do any of that stuff for you out of obligation."
"i know," he says. "that's why i want to do the same for you. you're always so nice to me and it means a lot. i just wanted to show you that i... care."
you soften, heat crawling over your skin. "i care about you too."
he swallows hard again, eyes unblinking. "like... as a friend?"
you hesitate, averting your gaze briefly. "y-yeah. as a friend," you affirm, peaking back up at him hopefully. the corners of your lips twitch as you sway awkwardly, puckering your lips in thought. "...unless you... care about me some other way...?"
choso's body goes rigid. do you know? have you read him so easily? more importantly, are you hoping that he does like you as something more? do you reciprocate the intensity he feels?
he's never felt more scared of anything in his life. "um..." he looks down at the keychain in his large palms and shudders. "well, i don't know... i guess-"
choso's words are caught in his throat when he feels your hand wrap around his wrist and tug him forward. you press onto your tip toes and lean up, pulling him down to press your sweet lips to his cheekbone. the brunette's eyes snap wide, pupils small, the sensation of your pillowy lips on his skin completely disrupting the function of his brain. he stares ahead, shocked as you pull away and you laugh at his expression.
"choso," you chuckle, holding onto his wrist as you toy with the hem of your shirt girlishly. "i like you as more than a friend too. a lot, actually."
he can hardly think or speak. "...what?"
"come on, i'm dying here," you whine. "i like you, choso. okay? and i'd never want you to think that you should change anything about yourself for me to see you that way. i already do. i like you, unfiltered, as you are. you're perfect," you emphasize. "...you like me too, right?"
"...you like me?"
"yes," you laugh.
"as... more than... a friend?"
"obviously, cho."
choso thinks he's seen heaven as your words land gracefully on his ears. your keychain drops to the ground in his stupor, and before you can ask if he's alright or decide that you've completely broken him, he clobbers you in a tight embrace, finally allowed permission, finally assured. his strong arms wrap tightly around your waist and you yelp as he lifts you into the air effortlessly, his face buried into your shoulder as he holds you tight.
his eyes scrunch closed and he breathes you in, overjoyed, relieved, happy enough to bawl his eyes out right there. he sniffs, pressing his lips tight together, savoring your body against his. he hears you laugh out before feeling your arms wrap around him for stability, and he can finally breathe. for somehow, choso lucked out. the most beautiful, kind, deserving woman on this planet chooses him, and now that he knows, he's not going to let a second of you go to waste any more than he already has.
for how can you even begin to ask if he likes you when you are all that he has ever wanted?
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
hiromi higuruma: your new boyfriend!
hiromi has heard all of the accusations, every single last one, and has denied each one with an adamance.
the dark haired attorney has known you for years, and throughout those years, you have remained a gracious constant in his rather chaotic, exhausting, ever so stressful life. having a best friend like you certainly had never been in the cards for hiromi, who always prides himself on his independence and insists that intimate relationships of any kind would hinder his concentration.
that, however, did not stop him from growing close to you after meeting you in law school. before the world got too big. before he became the very center of right and wrong, justice and injustice, guilt and innocence.
it was at an annual law convention that law students were encouraged to attend. he found you at a neighboring booth, tabling as an intern for another firm he had heard of in passing, and in the midst of the day's hectic buzz, the two of you ended up sneaking away to grab a drink after sharing a few rather striking conversations.
your mind is intriguing. that is what first pulled hiromi to you, but what he found beyond that was your ability to shed your professional air to expose your more human side in his privacy. you're quite social, personable, and full of smiles, and with the week hiromi had been having, your company had proven quite refreshing. you weren't stuffy. you didn't seem to be hiding any tricks or secrets up your sleeves. you merely existed in your own space, and the attention came to you, whether you had asked for it or not.
and when you smiled, hiromi smiled. thus beginning your rather close friendship.
you and higuruma do most things together. in your early days, you were often found cooped up together in the library, studying senselessly for the bar. you'd quiz each other, spitballing debates, bouncing ideas and theories and arguments off of one another to the point where it felt like a game, where the most stressful time in your lives was momentarily treated like a challenging, engaging activity.
you made everything feel easier, lighter. caught in a whirlwind of dedication to justice, you often found higuruma in a dissociative state with his pen flicking restlessly between his fingers as he stared out of a nearby window with distance eyes and a blank face. you'd sigh, for you knew this burden all too well. you saw it sag in his shoulders, watched as the weight over his posture built and built with the coming days, as he climbed higher and higher, and filtered his mind with more knowledge.
with the expansion of hiromi's natural intelligence, his light threatened to dwindle. he's a prodigy after all, far beyond anything that you could have dreamed to become, but he was still your best friend at the end of the day. when he withdrew, you were there to pull him back. until study sessions became cooking dates at your apartment, where flashcards were eventually discared after hours of memorization and muttering terms under one another's breaths. you'd say something like: "you can't retain a single thing if you don't give your body nutrients, no matter how smart you are!" and you'd force him out of the cocoon he'd built on your faded leather couch and push him into the kitchen.
stubborn with conviction, hiromi would give you an earfull at first, griping about how the bar isn't a game. about how law is the future, his future, your future, and you can't afford any moments to slack as long as injustice continues to run rampant just outside your window. and you'd hum mindlessly as you move about your cramped kitchen, for you'd heard this lecture countless times, before shoving a red onion into his palm outstretched - mid sermon, and ordering him to dice it into cubes.
"(y/n)," he'd call your name, weary, aggravated. "i was talking."
"shush," you'd hush him, unaffected by his feigned anger with you. hiromi would stand and glare at you in defiance for a minute longer each time, before eventually giving in and dicing the onion as you'd ordered, murmuring under his breath.
he certainly found no reason to complain when the two of you were eating out of chipped china over your dining room table in silence, hunger having finally been satiated after hours of unintentional starvation. thick books lay forgotten just for a moment on your coffee table as the two of you enjoy the silence and satisfaction of a home cooked meal.
you were often the reason he saw the light of day, as you'd drag him to study outside in a nearby park, picnic blanket layed out under a great oak as sun poured through the cracks left in the leaves, a gentle breeze tossing your pages back and forth. you'd lay on your stomach as hiromi sat upright with his back pressed against the bark. against hiromi's better judgment, he'd let his eyes leave the page of his textbook upon registering the sound of a nearby dog barking. he'd find that your attention had already strayed, a gentle smile gracing your lips as you watch life flourish around you, the little dog off in the distance yapping excitedly at a flock of geese gliding across the pond.
and then his chocolate eyes would fall to you, the way you lounge with your elbows caging around your thick book, eyes full of the sky's light and your dream of capturing this peace for those wronged by the justice system, for those abused by the unpunished.
your eyes would eventually snap away, finding hiromi's, and he'd look back down at his book casually, muttering that you need to stay more focused. you'd roll your eyes, nudging his knee playfully.
"lighten up a bit, romi. you can't try to protect the world if you don't look around at it once and a while. see what's actually going on."
and you, of course, are the only reason hiromi ever stepped outside of his apartment past the hours of 09:00. you'd call him up, telling him that a few of your classmates invited you out to trivia night at a nearby bar. he'd click his teeth and tell you that he'd pass, only to find that you're already standing outside of his door, dressed in knee high boots and a leather coat, scarf wrapped around your neck and lips painted dark.
the brunette would open the door to reveal your image and frown at your expecting grin and open arms. he'd give you a flat look before turning to find a coat, for he always knew that you weren't leaving without him. after all, he could never say no to you. not when you refuse to leave him stewing in the intellectual misery that this profession has already imprinted upon him. not when you're constantly reminding him to bring his head up from the water. he'd certainly drown without you.
and without fail, at every outing you'd drag him to, in every space you found yourselves with other people in, some guy you're both acquainted with would tap him on the shoulder and lean in to inquire about you.
"yo, are you two dating?"
and every single time, hiromi would raise his drink to his lips and answer plainly. "no."
you're hiromi's best friend. you have been since the moment you met. you spend every waking moment together, and you hound him like an overbearing mother, but you are not romantically involved. you never have been. and he does not understand why that's so difficult for people to understand. so what, you're the only person he goes to about anything? so what, you can singlehandedly clear the grey skies of his cloudy mind? so what, you're his favorite person to be around, to talk to, to spend time with? you're friends. friendship isn't a crime.
"so you've hooked up?"
"no."
"you haven't even kissed?"
"no."
"but you're attracted to each other, right?"
"no," a vein would bulge over hiromi's temple as he'd growl into his glass. "we're close friends. that's all."
and every time he'd repeat so with such finality, inquirers would lean back with a whistle and the shake of his head, as if being platonic with you was some sort of unfathomable notion.
and then, like clockwork, the question will come. "then... she's single?"
hiromi's eye would twitch, and he'd grumble some kind of affirmation. for it's true, you are single. you don't belong to one another, and you can certainly do as you please. while hiromi has no interest in such affairs, that doesn't mean that you should close yourself off to them as well.
nevertheless, every guy that's come your way after hiromi has confirmed that you are not his girlfriend has always met your rejection. it surprises the dark haired man every time, for you aren't like him. you're brighter. you enjoy people more. you should have fun, but when he asks you about it, you just shrug him off.
"i'm not gonna start fooling around with anyone while studying for the bar, romi. that's just asking for failure."
"that's a little unhealthy. someone could make you happy."
"says you," you'd nudge him. "why don't you listen to your own advice?"
"it's different."
"it's not at all actually."
you've been evasive in regard to relationships for as long as hiromi has known you, and he doesn't know why. your excuses continue to shift as well depending on the time, for after the two of you pass the bar, you say that you're too focused on building your career. after your career has been build, you say that you're too busy with work. hiromi has not even heard of you engaging in one night stands or little flings, much to his relief if he were being honest. he thinks you're far better than something as casual and shallow as that.
still, you've shied away from topics of romance, catching a strange look in your eye every single time he asks. he doesn't understand why, nor what that look has meant as it developed over the years, but he swears he knows you well. he had been confident that, no matter the time or place, you would continue to stubbornly refuse romantic advances.
therefore, the attorney is a bit floored now that you are in your thirties, and after years of watching you turn down advances, you suddenly turn up with a new boyfriend.
higuruma's chopsticks freeze midair, sushi squished between the wooden sticks, and his eyes widen just a smidgen as you stand before him after hours in his office, an excited glint in your eyes.
the sushi drops back down to its container as silence floods the empty space, and you await a reaction. "what did you just say?" he asks slowly.
"i said i met someone!"
"...as in..."
"as in, i have a boyfriend, romi. and i want you to meet him soon!"
the words echo through his mind like some kind of curse that he struggles to digest. slowly, he lowers his chopsticks to his desk and folds his hands before him, adjusting himself in his seat as he processes this odd revalation. he eyes you carefully, brain working overtime to decipher whether you're messing with him or not. your smile dwindles and your hand finds your hip, your brow raising.
"what the hell? what kind of reaction is that? aren't you happy for me?"
"i'm... why... is this the first time i'm hearing about this? a boyfriend?" he echoes, despising the way the word tastes on his tongue. "that's a big step. how quickly are you moving?"
"not that quickly, hiromi, we started talking like two months ago."
"and you never told me?"
"i didn't wanna bother you while you were in the middle of dealing with that one case. you were so stressed!"
"what case?" his brow twitches.
"the saito one."
"that case was forever ago, (y/n). you could've told me when it was over."
"yeah, but - i don't know, it felt stupid - and anyway, i still just didn't wanna disrupt you. you know how you are, you constantly jump from one thing to another like a lunatic."
the brown eyed man exhales, turning to face you fully in his office chair. his left elbow remains propped on the table while his other hand rubs at his forehead. "we tell each other everything," he eventually says.
"i know. i'm sorry. that's why i'm telling you now," you shrug. "what if things went badly? i wasn't gonna tell you about the guy if he ended up being an asshole."
"two months is still hardly enough time to know if he's an asshole or not."
you scrunch your face. "what is with you? i thought you'd be excited for me. you're always telling me that i need to put myself out there."
"yes, i know, but - " hiromi stops himself, his grim attitude on the subject suddenly dawning on him. you have a point. he is always telling you to put yourself first, to find someone to make you happy, but this? this is so abrupt. he had at least expected you to give him a heads up whenever you began seeing someone. he would have liked to learn the journey of how the two of you even got to this point, to be a part of that with you, but instead you spring this on him like he shouldn't feel excluded from that area of your life, the area you've always left so grey. what changed? why, all of a sudden, are you happy to be with someone else - with someone, now?
still, you're his best friend. you're right. he should be happy for you, and put his cynicism aside.
"i apologize. i'm just surprised, is all," his voice softens. you fold your arms across your chest, shifting your weight with a pout. he catches your attitude and rolls his eyes, chuckling tiredly. "i said i'm sorry. i am happy for you. you deserve to be happy."
"jeez, was that so hard?" you grumble. "and... it's fine. i guess i do owe you an apology for not saying anything. i really, honestly just didn't think you'd - wanna hear about it. with everything you've got going on."
"if it's about you, (y/n), i would like to hear about it. you know this. i'm never too busy for you."
you purse your lips, softening. "...yeah. neither am i."
he raises a brow. "are you sure?"
you click your teeth, whacking his knee with your handbag. "yes, i'm sure," you groan. you reach back and pull up another nearby office chair, and plop down in front of him. "at least let me make it up to you by catching you up now," you grin cheekily.
hiromi exhales once more, turning his attention back to his dropped sushi. "i'm listening."
the defense attorney viciously fights the sinking feeling in his stomach when you pull out your phone and show him pictures of the tall, strapping, chestnut haired man who has finally managed to tie you down. you chatter with a giddy tone about where you met, the dates he's taken you on, the flowers he's purchased you, and how he asked you to be his the night before.
a light smile graces hiromi's features as he listens to you talk, for he's never seen you so openly lovestruck over someone, and a lump molds itself in his throat with the realization that this is the first time he's seen you with another man.
and while he tries to be happy for you, while he tells you that he's lucky to have you, while he lets you flaunt pictures of your hand in his and his lips on your cheek as you beam at the camera...
he doesn't fucking like it.
in fact, he hates it, seeing his best friend so happy in such a way. and he doesn't understand why, for he doesn't know the man. he has no personal vendeta against him. from what you've told him, the guy has only passed every test you've thrown his way and treated you nicely. he has a solid job, makes a good living, and he's not bad looking. not at all. in fact, he fits beside you aesthetically, pairs well with your beauty.
but the image makes him sick. the thought of him kissing you, holding you, keeping you in the intimate spaces, late at night, early in the morning, has hiromi souring with something foreign and detestable. he does not like it.
and it feels even worse when he finally meets the guy. when you arrive at the cafe you told hiromi to meet at with your arm linked in his and a smile so bright it blinds him, your hand waving enthusiastically above your head as you approach.
hiromi's eyes flicker to your boyriend. he's tall. muscular beneath the frame of his cashmiere sweater. an easy smile is plastered on his face, one hiromi could never wear in the whirlwind of his cluttered mind.
his arm is locked in yours like you belong right beside him. like you're his.
and you are.
hiromi's stomach drops, and his mood is dampening before the two of you even reach the umbrella shaded table he's reserved. the table he'd reserved for you, because you asked him to. you asked him to book this. you wanted to introduce your new boyfriend to him, praying that he'd like him, and hiromi organized the entire thing solely because you you begged him with that lilt in your voice, the one you use any time you want to guilt hiromi into doing something. the one you used every day in law school, when he wanted to stew in his future and you encouraged him to live in the present.
because he's never seen his best friend so vulnerable and sweet before, and it kills him, but he'd rather kill himself before taking away that light in your eyes.
he'd never say no to you, to your happiness.
still, he doesn't understand his problem. he doesn't understand why he allows himself to speak with a poisonous, dull sting in his voice every time your boyfriend asked him a question. he doesn't understand why his nose curls just the slightest as he turns away to look anywhere else but at the way he drops a kiss to your forehead while you're talking. he doesn't understand why his chest is tight enough to restrict air, why it feels like a thousand tons are weighing down when he sees your knees brush under the table the way yours would against his six years ago back in that library, crowded by the sun-caught lint filtering in the window, dusty books that cursed hiromi's life, and the shoulder of the girl who saved it brushing against his as you read.
he doesn't understand why, when your boyfriend leaves to go to the bathroom and your face falls the moment you're alone, and you ask what the hell is wrong with him, his frown deepens. and he is suddenly... annoyed.
"there's nothing wrong with me," hiromi responds robotically, brows at a slight angle.
you scoff with disbelieving smile. "what are you talking about? you've been glaring at him and hardly speaking the entire morning! he probably thinks you hate him!"
"you're exaggerating."
"i'm ex - okay," you throw your hands up. "you've been acting weird ever since i told you about him. you can't keep denying it."
"i don't know what you want from me. i hardly speak to people outside of work anyway, why is it suddenly different now?"
"because i asked you to make an effort, and you're not. you haven't asked him a single question. you're brooding."
"i'm tired."
"you're always tired."
"i can't think of anything to ask."
you give him a deadpan expression. "you, the nosy ass defense attorney of the century, can't think of any questions to ask your best friend's new boyfriend?"
"why does it matter to you if i like him or not, (y/n)?" hiromi settles is chin over his knuckles, elbows propped on the table. his haunting eyes are sharp on yours as you frown, sadness swirling in your gaze and that hint of something strange he's caught so many times. he just can't name it. "you asked me to have coffee with you two, so i am. i did this for you."
"hiromi, what?" you breathlessly whisper. "why does it matter? you're my best friend, that's why it matters. because you asked to be involved, because... because you always said - you wanted me to explore. so i did, a-and i'm happy, and you're... not. and this is the only time i ever - "
you stop yourself, ducking your head, and hiromi immediately snaps out of it. his eyes catch the curl of your brow, the way your voice falters, and his vexation is suddenly melting away to make room for his concern.
he's supposed to see you happy, after all. not do this. not make you upset.
he's never made you upset before. not like this.
what is wrong with him?
"i'm sorry," he says suddenly, softness and steadiness returning. you shake your head, and hiromi reaches over the table for your hand. your head whips over to him, his warm palm resting over yours. you meet his eye, and see the remorse. "i'm sorry. you're right. i didn't mean to upset you. i'm sorry, sweetness."
your eyes flutter at that old, rare nickname. you look down at his hand, then back up at him. "what is with you, hiromi?"
"nothing."
"yes there is. i know you. what's wrong? why won't you be honest with me."
"it's nothing."
"it is something. do you have have something... to say? something that's bothering you?"
hiromi blinks, and when he stares in your eyes long enough, he sees the years you stayed by his side. the years you remained his, and only his. his best friend.
his shoulders raise ever so slightly, then deflate. you see something retreat back within itself, then watch as a thin wall washes over him. "no."
his hand slips away, and your fingers twitch. your hold one another's gaze longer, lost, until you see your boyfriend walk back outside. you purse your lips in a half attempt to smile as he sits back down beside you, his arm winding around you and pulling you into his side.
hiromi pretends to have a business call, and leavees within the following ten minutes.
that night, in hiromi's sleep, warm figments of you sweep across his subconscious. it's him sitting in your boyfriend's place, holding you close, feeling your body press to his, letting his lips dot to the corner of your nose.
you walk hand in hand back to that library, and before you sit down, he hovers over you, pressing you against the side of the table, his hand on your jaw, the other caging your hip, pressed to the wood surface of the table. your hands melt over his cheeks, and he melts, lips curving into a tender smile as he looks into your eyes.
he brings you closer, your sweet breath wafting against his lips, and the gasp you take before his lips touch yours is what wakes him up in a cold sweat with a snap.
his eyes pierce his bedroom ceiling, his heart hammering in his chest, and breaths heavy. hiromi takes a moment, adjusting to his surroundings, turning to read the alarm clock on his desk that reads 3:05 am, and he realizes that he was dreaming.
the ache of loss comes quick, your warmth tugged away by the mercilessness of his consciousness, and suddenly he feels his chest tightening, his browl furrowing, his mouth running dry.
it all pieces together in the darkness of hiromi's bedroom after years of friendship, years of watching you turn guys away, years of telling you that someone was out there to love you before he realized it was himself.
he's in love with you. he has been this whole time. like an idiot.
and he let you slip away to someone else, like the version of you he just woke up from.
for the first time in his obsessively planned life, hiromi hasn't the slightest clue what the hell to do now.
⋆˙⟡ your honeymoon with husband!nanami ⟡˙⋆ᰔ
~fluff wc~0.5k
An amber glow blanketed the island as the sun dipped low toward the horizon. The air was filled with the sweet scent of saltwater and blooming hibiscus.
Wandering along the sandy path, basking in the warm evening breeze, you spotted the most perfect pink hibiscus flower. It sat perched on the highest branch of the tropical tree beside you.
Determined to pluck it, you locked your gaze onto the lone flower. Pressing your bare feet into the warm sand, rising on to your tiptoes. You stretch your arm out as far as you possibly could, hoping to snag it from the branch.
The bloom was so close, as your fingertips grazed the very edge of the petals, but it still remained just out of your reach.
You huffed out a small frustrated breath, now focusing entirely on the prize, completely unaware of the footsteps approaching you.
Suddenly, you felt a large, familiar presence envelop you from behind.
As your husband stepped into your space, his broad chest pressed gently against your back, as he snaked one arm around your waist.
As you struggled reaching for the bloom, his arm slid over yours. You let out a soft gasp, your body relaxing against his strong frame as he lingers close, his breath warm against your neck.
He slowly traced his fingers along your extended arm which sent goosebumps blooming across your skin and your heart racing.
He plucked the flower with ease, admiring it for a moment before his eyes drifted down to your face.
He spun you around to face him. His warm fingertips gently brushed against your sunkissed cheeks as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear.
He carefully nestled the fresh flower ensuring it was behind your left ear (so it let everyone know you were his).
Nanami learned that it was an island tradition that showed a woman's relationship status. As the left ear is closest to your heart, placing a flower behind it signifies your heart is taken.
He leaned in closer, a soft smile gracing his lips as his love filled eyes washed over you. “So this is where you disappeared to my love?”
Your heart fluttered when you locked eyes with each other. You smiled lovingly as you leaned slightly into his touch. “i'm sorryy ken. I didn't mean to wander off. I just got completely distracted by how perfect this flower looked.”
Your handsome husband let out a gentle hum as his heart warmed, admiring how adorable you were being.
His hand moved down to wrap securely around your waist, pulling your hips closer to his.
“It is perfect. I can hardly blame you sweetheart” he agreed softly, though his eyes were still fixed on yours never once drifting down to the petals.
Slowly, his fingers tangled into your hair, tilting your head up just enough to bring your lips a breath away from his.
“But it doesn't stand a chance against my beautiful wife,” nanami whispered against your soft lips, as his other hand moved to gently caress your face.
“The moment I saw you standing here, the entire garden completely faded away.”
he finally closed the remaining distance, pressing his lips to yours in a sweet kiss that sealed this perfect moment on your paradise honeymoon.
a/n: omg its been a while since I posted something🫣 i've lowkey been hating everything i write ughh😭😭 but im forcing myself to post more this summer
pairing: dad!nanami x reader genre: fluff, family, comfort
“And he gave me a flower from the playground.”
Your daughter has been going on and on, giving you all the intricate details of her newfound crush at school. Loud footsteps in the background overpower her light voice.
“Honey, I’m home,” Nanami shouts down the hall.
Before you can stand up from the couch, your daughter darts out of the room toward her dad, jumping into his arms. You join them, giving him a quick kiss on the lips.
“Eww! Do you guys have to do that?” She crosses her tiny arms.
“Yes. I love your mom, Princess.” He looks down at you with gleaming eyes.
“Dad, how do you know when you love someone?”
Nanami drops his briefcase onto the floor and clears his throat.
“I knew I loved your mother when I realized I didn’t want to spend another day without her.” He smiles as he looks at you.
“Mom, does that mean I love Ethan?”
Nanami’s eyes shoot wide open, and he clears his throat again.
“Who is Ethan?”
Your daughter looks down, a slight red tint appearing on her cheeks.
“Ethan is my crush, Dad. I love him.”
“Princess, you’re in the first grade,” Nanami says, rubbing a hand over his face.
“So? You said that when you love someone, you don’t want to spend a day without them. I want to see Ethan every day.”
Nanami takes a deep breath.
“Honey, why don’t you go to your room and start on your homework?”
She rolls her eyes.
“Fine, Mommy.”
She runs up the stairs. By the time her bedroom door shuts, Nanami is sinking into the living room couch.
“She’s six. She doesn’t need to be worried about boys. I thought I wouldn’t have to deal with this until she was sixteen.” He blows out a breath, rubbing a hand over his face.
“Don’t worry about it. Everyone has at least one crush in elementary school. She’ll grow out of it.” You rub his shoulders gently.
“I hope she’s still my little girl.” His eyes begin to water.
“She loves you, baby. She’ll always be your little girl. You’re all she talks about—especially when you sneak her lemonade for breakfast.”
You both let out a quiet laugh. He wraps his arm around you before resting his head against your chest.
nanami-about you i surrender-kento! pregnant x reader ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡
the home your husband had built for you was quiet, with the smell of the coffee nanami had made and let go cold beside the couch because he’d forgotten it the moment you’d fallen asleep against his shoulder.
you were eight months along, and somewhere in the last few weeks kento had become someone who could sit motionless for an hour just to avoid waking you. (he is very strict when it comes to you getting your beauty sleep)
he looked down. your head had slipped from his shoulder to his lap at some point, and your shirt had ridden up over the round swell of your belly, bared to the lamplight. he watched it rise and fall with your breathing. sometimes, if he was patient, he’d catch a small ripple beneath your skin, an elbow, a heel, something of the two of you deciding to stretch.
he’d never tell you this, because it embarrassed him even in the privacy of his own head, but he thought your belly was the most beautiful thing he had ever been allowed to touch. if he had to tell you, he would describe it as something beautiful the way something sacred was, quiet, warm, entrusted to him.
his eyes drifted to the little tin on the side table, -you’d bought it weeks ago on a whim- belly paint, safe for skin, safe for baby, made for exactly this kind of nonsense, joking that he should paint you a masterpiece sometime. he’d laughed then, politely declined with
“i’m not an artist, love”
he looked at the tin. then at you, deep asleep, utterly trusting, utterly unaware.
now, nanami didn’t usually act on impulse. but some things, he’d learned, were worth the exception.
he worked slowly, barely breathing, the brush light as a whisper against your skin so it wouldn’t wake you. he started with indigo along the top curve, blending down into something softer, dusk-colored, and then he let himself get carried away. small strokes of gold for stars, a pale crescent moon just above your navel, a few careless swipes that might have have been clouds if you were generous about it. it wasn’t perfect. his lines wavered where his hand wasn’t used to this kind of work. but he kept going, painting an entire sky across the place where his child was sleeping, because some part of him wanted them to have one before they’d even see the real thing.
he was cleaning gold paint from his thumb when you stirred.
“… kento?” your voice was rough with sleep. you blinked down at yourself, and went still.
a whole night sky looked back up at you. stars scattered like he’d flicked them there by hand. a moon slightly off center, slightly imperfect, painted by a man who had never once called himself an artist.
“you painted the sky on me” you said, with a smile and a laugh stuck on your throat. maybe even a lil cry
“I did.” he didn’t look sorry at all. he set the brush down and rested his hand, bare and careful, over the curve of your stomach, right beside the little painted moon.
“why the sky?”
he was quiet for a moment, thumb tracing slow along your skin, and when he answered, his voice sounded so honest and soft. which you were used to cause duh, you’re his wife the only person he needs in every lifetime, but this time it just felt a littlee more softer.
“because i’ve spent my whole life looking up at it and thinking it was the most beautiful thing i’d ever see” he said. “and then i met you. and now our child is going to grow up looking at you the same way i do. as if you were the whole sky, and everything worth wishing on is already living inside you.”
you didn’t trust your voice enough for it to not break if you decided to say something right away.
he leaned down, pressed a kiss to the crescent moon over your navel. nowhere else in the world where he needed to be.
“i just wanted them to have their own sky before they got here,” he murmured against your skin. “something to sleep under”
outside, the real sky had gone fully dark, stars finally out. but you didn’t look at it. you looked at him instead. at the quiet man who carefully spent an hour painting galaxies onto your skin just so a child who hasn’t even arrived yet, would never have to wonder if they were wanted.
“i love you” you whispered. “so so so much it terrifies me”
nanami smiled, resting his forehead against yours. “good.” he said “terrify me back for the rest of our lives” ₊˚⊹♡₊
≽^•⩊•^≼: while listening to that song i couldn’t stop thinking nanami would dedicate that song to his wife omfg
Hiromi's life used to be quiet– nah, jk. He doesn't mind having his ear blown off by you and Nobara.
⤷ series masterlist ┈ hiromi's dad lore
CW. smau / family au / fluff / a very tired dada and his fave yapatron3000 duo
📝 Nobara's poetry entry
Chairs by Nobara
I have chairs set for the people that I love.
A soft, multicolored couch for my friends; their personalities just as bright as the cushions they sink into. Comforting, gentle, and warm just like each and every one of them.
A rocking chair for my grandparents, each creak a quiet tick of time passing by. Its steady sway keeps them company, as they knit a beautiful life with every careful hook and pull.
My mommy sits in an eccentric, beautiful chair as striking and as full of life as she is. Beneath her feet, I’ve laid a fuzzy rug, because life has never been soft to mothers.
The most restful and most thoughtful chair, I’ve saved for my Dada; fit for someone who carries not just our family on his back, but the weight of others, too.
The chairs in my life are few, but each one is chosen with care, built gently from the words of my heart.
💭 Hiromi's takeaways after a yap session
"[...] and then they were doing the footsies under the table! During the meeting!"
→ This is adultery in broad daylight, and the boss' wife should file for divorce and get alimony. Hopefully, she wins and gets the majority of their properties (custody included)
"She's better than me. I would've posted screenshots if you cheated on me, hun."
→ This could be grounds for invasion of privacy, I believe. Better safe than sorry.
"Kris Jenner worked her ass off building an empire. She literally set her kids for life!"
→ I don't understand why my wife is so invested in reality TV... Their legal team is highly commendable, though.
"Dada, how much money would I make if I sell my magic jars for $10? "
→ My god... I hope she doesn't get sued for fraud.
"Your tie's funny today, dada"
→ Felt a bit criminal. Do I really dress that badly?
"This episode is scaring me... Do you think My Melody will die, dada?"
→ Jesus, that Kuromi is dangerously close to having a paper trail of lawsuits behind her. Personally, I would suggest filing for attempted homicide.
🗓️ Hiromi's weekend schedule
7:00 AM — Peace and quiet
8:00 AM — Feed Nobara's cat
8:20 AM — Make breakfast & try not to burn the kitchen
9:00 AM — Drive my wife to work
10:00 AM — Grocery run (return with everything except what was on the list)
11:00 AM — A healthy discussion with Nobara and her cartoons
12:00 NN — Lunch
1:00 PM — Take Nobara to ballet class
1:15 PM — Sit in the waiting area pretending not to cry because she's getting so big
2:30 PM — Ice cream bribe for surviving ballet
3:00 PM — Talk Nobara out of adopting another stray cat
4:00 PM — Family grocery unpacking (mostly supervised by my wife)
5:00 PM — "Help" with whatever DIY project my wife started
prguitarman
gamechangershow
titsay
germansingergirl
