point nemo | fushiguro toji, gojo satoru, ieiri shoko, ino takuma, kamo choso, kong shiu, yuuta okkotsu
↳ making them sleep on the couch? you might as well have banished them to another planet.
a/n: this is what won the poll!! it was actually super close between this and a nanami fic, so I'll be posting that tomorrow :) this is baby's first smau, so hope you enjoy it! I feel like I'm actually pretty bad at texting irl, so this is probably awkward and bad, but fuck it. I also cuss a lot, but I feel like that's fine. some of these are more intense than others. warnings: cussing, mentions of violences and injuries, substance abuse, some toxicity. methinks that’s all. anyways, leave smau requests for sure, but honestly, I prefer writing....so don't expect like daily smaus or anything. love y'all <3 (also, this is just a random assortment of characters whom I was able to come up with ideas for....so if you want specific characters lmk).
the first time you kissed shoko ieiri, you were staying over at her dorm after a party. you were both a drunk, giggling mess, wiping make up off each other’s faces in her obscenely small bathroom. you’re not sure how or why it happened, it just did. because it felt right.
it always felt right with shoko. every kiss, every breath against your heated skin, every sweet word in your ear.
none of those things ever left the confines of your dorms, though. you didn’t have an explanation for this, why neither of you would reach for each other’s hand in public, why at every party, you’d have to make it look like a pure coincidence both of you had to use the restroom, or suddenly be sleepy at the same time to leave.
it didn’t matter as long as it felt good when you were with her, even if it meant you couldn’t kiss her in the sunshine, but only cloaked in the moonlight.
the day before you graduated college, she took you to the beach. it was cloudy and windy, the ocean freezing between your toes. you wrote your initials in the wet sand on the shore, like some lovesick teenager, and watched as a wave wiped away half of the wonky finger-drawn heart, along with your name.
you never saw her again after graduation. no texts, no phone calls, shoko never posted on her social media accounts— and she soon became a ghost, buried along that part of yourself only she had ever been allowed to see.
it took some time, but life eventually forced you to move on. and that’s when he came— stable, kind, the promise of stability, the white picket fence life you were expected to want. everything that came after that happened so fast you were suddenly walking down the aisle in a white gown.
with a bouquet of wildflowers clutched between your hands, you spotted violets, and halted in your steps. violets— her favorite flower.
all those years of missing her suddenly dawned on you, and you didn’t think twice about turning on your heel and leave. the horrified gasps of guests didn’t reach your ears, the yelling, the shame they attempted to chain you down with.
you’d had enough of that.
so you stopped the first taxi on the street, bunched your gown in the backseat and told him to drive off. you knew exactly where you wanted to go.
the sun was high in the sky, shining down on the crystalline waves, the sand warm underneath your feet, heels held in one hand, a corner of your voluminous skirt in the other. there weren’t many people, but you did not care for their stares, not when your eyes when locked on the figure sitting by the shore.
you didn’t say anything when you sat down beside shoko, and neither did she. her hair was longer, her eyes more tired, but your heart still leapt in your chest when she turned to look at you. the first real reaction it’d had in years.
she smiled at you, soft and understanding, but never surprised— like she’d been waiting, and she knew you would’ve come back some day. when your fingers traveled across the golden grains to meet hers, she didn’t pull back, resting her hand on top of yours instead.
and promised to never hide again.
┊┊a/n. you might be thinking "what the fuck is wrong with you!?" and the answer is that i don't know either. please don't throw tomatoes at me
You ask your girlfriend if she'd still love you if you were a slug.
▪︎586 words, fluff, teasing, a little suggestive, making out, a bit of groping, etc▪︎
She’s sprawled out beneath you, one arm behind her head, the other tracing lazy circles against your thigh. The sheets are kicked down around her waist, skin warm and damp where your nightgown clings to it. The ceiling fan hums above, stirring the faint smell of oil from her hands and the lotion you’d used after your shower.
You say it out of nowhere. “What if I turned into a slug?”
Her brow furrows. “A slug?”
“Mhm.” You shift your weight on her hips, slow, like you’re testing her patience. “Slimy, slow, tragic little thing. Would you still love me?”
She gives a small laugh, one that doesn’t reach her eyes. “That would never happen.”
“But what if I did.” you insist, voice dipping. “Would you still—”
“No,” she cuts in, deadpan. “I’d pour salt on you.”
You blink at her, mouth parted in disbelief. “You’d what?”
Her grin grows sharp, a hint of teeth. “Salt. I'd melt you right down.”
“Oh, well then—fuck you.” You try to slide off her, but she catches your wrist quick, the same hand that had been idle seconds ago. Her grip is warm, solid.
“Hey,” she murmurs, tugging you back until your knee presses into her side again. “I’m joking.”
You don’t look convinced. She leans up, kisses your cheek—just there, where your skin still glows from the bath, and stays close enough that you feel her breath move against your jaw.
Her voice softens, low and amused. “You really think I’d let you crawl away from me? Slug or not.”
You huff, pretending to stay annoyed, but your smile betrays you.
Her hand slides higher, up the back of your thigh to where the nightgown rides. Not rough—just enough to remind you she could keep you here if she wanted.
When you finally meet her eyes, they’ve gone heavy, that slow burn you recognize. The kind that always starts like this—half joke, half threat, all heat.
“You’re so annoying,” you mutter, though your voice has gone softer, caught between irritation and a laugh.
She only hums, that low sound that sits somewhere deep in her chest. Her eyes never leave your face.
Then she pulls you down and kisses you—slow at first, then deeper, hungrier. Her mouth tastes faintly like mint and sleep. You feel the shift in her body, the way she moves to meet you, the way her hand slips under the hem of your nightgown. Warm palms slide over the curve of your ass, fingers flexing like she’s testing the weight of you.
You make a small noise against her mouth when she grinds up, the thin fabric between you doing nothing to dull the heat. She swallows it with another kiss, rougher this time, one that makes your chest ache a little.
“I love you,” she breathes against your lips, the words coming out between a sigh and a murmur.
You pull back just far enough to look at her. Her pupils are blown wide, eyes dark and certain. Your own heartbeat stumbles. “I love you too,” you whisper back.
She smiles. You press your mouth to her throat, feel the jump of her pulse under your tongue. Her hand stays on your ass, the other tracing up your spine until her fingers rest at the base of your neck. You kiss her again, slower this time, and the room goes quiet except for your breathing and the soft creak of the bed beneath you.
The kind of quiet that feels like promise.
The intimacy is open, messy, the kind of kiss that tastes like breath and want. Her tongue drags against yours slow, deliberate, until you forget the joke that started this, forget everything but how close she feels.
Her hands get greedy. One stays low, cupping you through the thin fabric, guiding you down against her; the other drifts up your side, fingers pressing into soft skin like she’s trying to memorize it. You feel her nails catch slightly when she grips, and it makes you gasp against her mouth.
She takes the sound, deepens it. The air between you grows thick. You break just long enough to breathe, foreheads touching, both of you slick with sweat already. Her thumb slides along the inside of your thigh, teasing without meaning to—just restless, needing you closer.
You kiss her again, harder this time. She meets you with a low noise that sounds half like a groan, half like a plea. Her hips shift under you, and you follow the motion before you even think. The nightgown rides up, cool air licking across the back of your thighs.
You pull back, just to look at her—her lips swollen, eyes glassy, hair stuck to her temples. She looks up at you like she might bite or beg; you can’t tell which.
You smile, breathless. “You were gonna pour salt on me, huh?”
She laughs against your jaw, open-mouthed and warm. “Not a chance.”
You lowered the camera, impatiently waiting as the blank photo slowly slid out of the chunky device.
"Can I see? Can I see?" Satoru had rushed beside you, almost toppling over poor Shoko as he leaned over your shoulder.
"In a sec, it still needs to develop, Satoru." You mused, waving around the photo and blowing on it lightly. You heard that that was supposed to help the colors come out quicker.
Shoko plucked the photo out of your hand. There were some hints of grey peaking through now. "If it looks bad, blame Satoru for moving so much."
"Hey! Not my fault I want to look my best!"
Suguru squinted at the photo, noticing the harder lines and shadows now. "It kinda looks like you blinked."
"No!" Satoru grabbed the photo, ripping his glasses off and bringing the picture to his face. "No I didn't! You can't even see my eyes!"
"But your glasses were tilted down, see? You blinked."
"Did not!"
"Did too."
Satoru and suguru went back and forth, successfully distracting each other enough for you to slip the photo out of the white-haired boys hand and into your own. You let your lips curve into a smile. The colors were showing now.
Shoko noticed, leaning on your shoulder to get a closer look. "Why all the photos?"
"Hm? What do you mean?" You glanced at her, lollipop hanging out of her mouth.
"You bought that camera and practically never put it down, not to mention you take like a million photos."
Suguru noticed Shoko's comment just as Satoru had grabbed the collar of his shirt, seemingly unfazed by the threats rolling off of Satoru's tongue. "Isn't the film expensive?"
You nod. "A bit, yeah."
"Then why take so many photos? Are you making an album?"
"Something like that." You glanced down. The photo was fully developed now. "I'd just like to cherish the memories, yknow, while we're all here."
You stared at the photo a second longer, smiling when your eyes landed on a certain white-haired menace.
"Oh! So you did blink, Satoru!"
"DID NOT!"
inspired by the recent HI movie leaks. SIGH. This was not proofread and was written at 3 am through tears
shoko ieiri doesn't understand why your curly hair is so beautiful. ˚.✦
The first time Shoko catches herself staring, it's because of your hair.
You're leaning against the infirmary counter, still in yesterday's mission clothes, complaining about how the dry shampoo stopped working three hours ago. Your hair is somewhere between day-three and day-four, slightly flat but the lengths still holding that lived-in wave that makes it look expensive even when you swear it's a disaster. Strands catch the afternoon light slanting through the blinds and turn molten gold at the edges. There's a tiny halo of frizz framing your face like you just walked out of some indie movie scene.
Shoko's fingers twitch around the pen she's supposed to be using to sign off on your post-mission report.
"It's the hair," she tells herself firmly while you ramble about how you need to wash it tonight or tomorrow morning at the latest. "It's just the stupid hair. Anyone would stare."
She almost believes it.
Almost.
A week later you're back in her space again, this time because you "accidentally" got your forearm grazed by something cursed that left a thin, angry red line. It's barely a scratch. You've had worse paper cuts.
Still, you hop onto her examination table like it's your personal throne and swing your legs while she pulls on fresh gloves.
"Missed me already?" you tease her.
Shoko doesn't look up from the antiseptic wipe she's tearing open. "You're the clumsiest first grade I've ever met."
"You say that like it's a bad thing." You tilt your head, letting a lock of hair fall across your cheek. "Means I get to bother you more."
She finally glances up, and immediately wishes she hadn't.
Today your hair is freshly washed. The scent of your curl cream (something expensive with coconut and vanilla undertones) drifts toward her the second you lean just slightly closer so she can reach your arm better. The frizz is gone, just tight and soft curls. When you tuck the strand behind your ear your fingers brush the shell and Shoko has the insane, fleeting thought that she wants to do it for you.
She presses the alcohol wipe to the scratch harder than necessary.
You hiss, laughing through it. "Ow! Hey, are you trying to punish me?"
"Maybe." Her voice comes out flatter than she means it to. "Hold still."
You do. But you also watch her.
Shoko can feel your gaze like physical touch skating over her cheekbones, her mouth, the line of her throat. It's unbearable.
"You're awfully focused today, Ieiri," you murmur, softer now. "Something on your mind?"
She swallows. "Just trying not to scar your pretty skin."
The word pretty slips out before she can catch it.
Your smile turns slow. Dangerous in the sweetest way.
"You think my skin is pretty?"
Shoko's ears burn. She busies herself with the sterile gauze. "Don't fish."
"I'm not fishing. I'm collecting evidence." You lean forward just enough that your knee bumps hers. "You called it pretty. That's practically a love confession coming from you."
"It's not." She tapes the gauze down too fast. "It's an observation."
"Uh-huh." Your voice dips lower, velvet. "So if I told you your hands are pretty when you work… that would also be just an observation?"
Shoko freezes.
Your hair is brushing your collarbone now that you've tilted your head. One strand has escaped and is clinging to the corner of your lip. She wants—god she wants—to reach out and move it.
Instead she steps back abruptly, ripping the gloves off with more force than necessary.
"All done. Try not to get sliced open again for at least forty-eight hours."
You hop down, still smiling like you know exactly what you're doing to her.
"No promises. But if I do," You pause right in front of her, close enough that she can count the faint lines on your face. "You'll patch me up again, right?"
Shoko's throat clicks when she swallows. "Someone has to keep you alive."
You laugh and brush past her toward the door. The back of your hair bounces lightly with each step. She watches until the door clicks shut.
It gets worse.
You start showing up in the infirmary with increasingly stupid excuses.
A paper cut. ("I was grading second-years' reports. They have sharp edges, okay?")
A bruise on your thigh from "falling off a chair." (She doesn't even ask how you managed that.)
A headache that only seems to appear when she's the only one there.
Each time you find new ways to sit closer. Lean closer. Let your hair spill over one shoulder while you talk so the light hits it just right.
One late evening you're both alone in the infirmary after a long mission day. You're sitting cross-legged on her rolling stool, spinning slowly while you complain about how Satoru keeps stealing your snacks.
Shoko is pretending to reorganize her suture kits. Really she's watching the way your hair moves every time you turn.
You catch her.
Again.
"Shoko," you say quietly. No teasing this time. Just your voice, warm and curious. "You've been staring at me a lot lately."
Her heart stutters.
"I—" She forces a scoff. "Don't flatter yourself."
"Then why do you keep looking?"
Because your hair looks like it was made to be touched.
Because when it's up in a messy bun little pieces escape and curl against your neck and she has to physically stop herself from reaching.
Because when it's down and messy from sleep it makes her want to see what it looks like spread across her pillow.
Because when it's freshly washed and smells like vacation she wants to bury her face in it and never come up for air.
She says none of those things.
Instead she shrugs, too tight. "You're in my line of sight. Hard not to notice."
You stop spinning. The stool squeaks to a halt. Then you slide off it and walk toward her.
Shoko doesn't retreat. She should. She doesn't. You stop just inside her personal space.
"I think," you say softly, "you're lying to yourself."
Her pulse is loud in her ears.
"I'm not—"
You reach up. Gently. So gently. And with the tip of your index finger you brush one single strand of your own hair off your cheek, tucking it behind your ear.
The motion is innocent.
The way you hold eye contact while you do it is not.
Shoko's breath catches audibly.
Your lips curve—just the smallest, knowing tilt.
"Goodnight, Shoko."
You turn and leave her standing there, heart slamming against her ribs, fingers tingling where they almost reached for you.
She waits until the door closes.
Then she walks to the sink, turns on the cold water, and splashes her face until the burning in her cheeks dulls.
summary: you’re getting hit on!!! Luckily your friends have a protocol to neutralize this very situation.
content: fluff, satoru gojo x fem!reader (ft. Shoko and Suguru), silliness, gojo vs jealousy. Gege if he was full of joy and whimsy AU where they all at least make it to their last year of school together. Oh and thug Geto (but not really) allusion to the “Formation b” og at the end.
a/n: we all saw how quick Gojo was to reacting to Megumi “getting hit on.” formation b??? yeah, that was NOT his first rodeo…anyways, this is my first oneshot! please be forgiving, but I’m open to constructive criticism! also feel free to send feedback & reqs! info in my pinned.
“I don’t waannaaaaa!”
“Then go home.”
“I don’t wanna do that eitherrr”
Before you can snap at him again, it’s Suguru who smacks him upside the head, “then quit whining,” the man grumbles as Satoru whimpers and rubs the back of his head. “It’s already hot as balls out, you’re giving me a headache.”
Satoru huffs at that, purposefully stumbling along the sidewalk to knock himself into Suguru. There’s an oof as Geto returns the gesture by elbowing him in the gut, and some of your and Shoko’s shopping bags slip down Gojo’s arms as he shoulders the other man again, more intentionally this time. It’s moments before the two break out into a full on scuffle.
“Let’s bring Haibara and Nanami next time, kay?” Shoko jests loud enough for the two behind to hear, her thumb jabbing backwards towards them with that feline smirk on her lips. “They’re way more well-behaved than those idiots.”
“You can’t replace me— maybe Suguru, but not me!” Satoru wheezed out, sputtering a bit. Out of the corner of your eye you can see Suguru tightening the headlock around the other boy’s neck, squeezing a choked sound from Satoru as his sunglasses slipped down his nose. “You’d miss me too much!”
You roll your eyes. “Whatever, we’re almost done shopping, alright? I just wanna get one more thing.” You point a little ways ahead to the shop you’ve been meaning to get to after hearing they had a sale on all their blind packs.
Yet looking backwards, you could see the heat was getting to your friends, making them more irritable and haggard. Even Shoko looked about ready to call it a day, but it was Satoru who appeared to be the least tolerant. He was practically dragging his feet across the ground, cheeks flushed red from the absurd heat and a rare genuine frown on his lips. The sight made your heart pang just a little.
Your gaze traveled around the little outdoor shopping center, landing on something that you were sure would bring up the mood— at least for a certain someone.
“Oh!” You pepped, pointing out a little cart stationed at the corner across from the store you wanted to hit up. Perfect. “How about we stop for ice cream?”
The way Satoru brightens immediately is almost uncanny, azure eyes sparkling and wide. “How’d you know that’s exactly what I was thinking?” He beamed, toothy grin wide and unabashed. “See, this is why we’re soulmates!”
You wish he’d stop saying thoughtless nonsense stuff like that.
The four of you stroll up to the stand, the older man running it joyfully greeting your group as Satoru leaned over the counter, enthusiastically giving your orders. You can’t stop thinking about that shop across the way, though. Clarence. Blind boxes. Marked down. MiniBrands…other people were gonna buy them all out…
“Shookoooo,” You whine, your bottom lip jutted as you reach for her hand, nodding your head towards the store. “Come with me pleeaaase? I’ll be quick.”
Lie.
Both of you told the guys you’d only be a minute, but it’s been at least 15 by now. Where the heck were they hiding your stupid discount mystery boxes??
“I know they’re here,” You reassure Shoko after dragging her into the same aisle you’ve checked three times now. “Somewhere. I have that feeling.” She doesn’t argue, but you feel her unspoken doubt.
After a while still, Shoko taps you on the shoulder.
“You keep looking, I’ll be right back,” she hums, middle and pointer finger tapping her lips. Then she was waving and strolling out the automatic doors, right back to where you both left Satoru and Suguru. The latter was manspread on a bench and scrolling on his phone, the former half-perched on the armrest watching the screen over Suguru’s shoulder. He had his second half eaten popsicle in one hand, taking sneaky licks of your ice cream in his other when he thought no one was looking.
He didn’t pay Ieiri any mind for a good several minutes, not until he peered up into the glass window of the store across the street, tongue frozen mid-lick of your ice cream. You were in there, without them— with some guy— chatting. Laughing. Suguru’s head rose when he heard the plop of frozen dairy hitting the asphalt, following his friend’s gaze after registering his alarmed expression.
The ebony haired man sucked in a sharp breath between his teeth. “That’s rough.”
In a blink Gojo’s hands grip Shoko’s arms with urgency. “Shoko.” He gritted, hand flying to make wild motions toward the shop.
The girl squinted, spotting you inside after a few seconds, talking to some guy. “Oh. Good for her,” she’d acknowledge coolly around the cigarette at the corner of her lips.
Satoru’s frown drastically deepens.
“You were supposed to stay with her— what happened to girl code?”
“I needed a smoke. And what do you know about girl code?”
“Queens before nicotine!” Satoru stressed while jostling the easygoing girl.
“C’mon, c’moonn, we gotta hurry. Do it like we practiced, alright?”
“These what you’re looking for?” The man who’d originally approached you pulled out a small colorful package from a larger cardboard box, lopsided grin on his plain face as he held it out to you.
“Omg, yes!” You cheered, clasping your hands together. At long last, you’ve been reunited with your cheap blind boxes. “Thank you so much, you have no idea—“
Your name is called out somewhere down the aisle, and when you turn to look, you spot Shoko back from her smoke break.
The brunette looked less than enthused, however, eyes flitting down to very obviously scan some note cards between her fingers. She briefly cleared her throat.
“Another one? Damn girl. Isn’t this your third one today? I thought what we had meant something to you.” She exclaimed flatly, articulating every word like a robot. She shuffles to the next card. “Girl, you crazy.”
???
You stare at her with a gaped jaw and knitted brows, lips barely forming the beginnings of the word “What—“ when you hear the chime of the door. And in the storefront’s entrance stood Suguru- reimagined to look…vaguely thuggish?? Your eyes don’t know where to look, between the rolled up sleeves of his rumpled uniform that showed a poorly scribbled tattoo sleeve on the arm of his pocketed hand, and the jagged scar with a smudge of red that’s suddenly appeared on his right cheek. (You’ll learn later they’re sharpie marker and Shoko’s red lip stain.)
“Hey babe,” BABE?? “Sorry to keep ya waiting. There was…a complication.” He grunts around a toothpick. You only notice he’s lugging a bat over his shoulder when he taps it twice against himself for an intimidating emphasis. He begins to stride toward the three of you, unimpressed glare landing on the man who’s now shuffled slightly behind you. “But there’s no trouble here. Right?”
The poor guy looked ready to piss his pants out of fear. You were ready to explode out of shock and embarrassment.
“I—“ You open and close your mouth like a gasping fish, but no words are forming as your baffled expression shifts between Shoko and Suguru. “What the hell is happening?!”
Admittedly, you did feel a sense of foreboding. Like a piece was missing from this debacle of a puzzle. A grand finale that would ensure you would never set foot into this store for at least another decade out of pure shame.
“Would you step away from her? You homewreckers!”
No. Nononono—
To your horror, large hands clap over your arms, spinning you around to face teary cerulean eyes.
God knows where his uniform jacket’s gone, or where he’s managed to get a tie to wear at the collar of his white button up on such short notice.
The way he laments your name is already enough to make you cringe, his disheveled white hair cascading as he slumps his head forward between his shoulders, his hands bracing on yours.
“I knew you’d be out here, fooling around! Don’t tell me it was a lie? When you said I was the only one for you?? I slave away everyday at that damn office— to provide— for us!!” He’s sobbing, in the midst of his own soapy k-drama. You half expect cherry blossoms to start raining from the tiled ceiling covered in harsh fluorescent lights, or for some violin-heavy ballad to start playing.
“Come home,” he begs, lifting his face stricken with faux tears to meet your eyes. “the kids miss you…”
There are no words to describe how much you wish to disappear. The blood that had drained from your face comes back tenfold, now buzzing in fiery humiliation.
There’s a too heavy, too long, awkward pause.
“…Okay, well. If you don’t need anything else, I should get back to restocking…” The man who’d been the target of Satoru’s strategic wrath half-bowed his head, anxious to shuffle away with a forced polite smile. “Glad I could help you find what you were looking for, miss.”
“Huh.” Both Gojo and Geto chirp in unison, heads tilting in confusion. Only then do the men maybe register the fact the guy who was “hitting on you” was wearing a uniform and a name tag. And then understanding dawned. Not before you yank at either of their ears, unfortunately, which they begrudgingly accept.
“What is wrong with you guys??” You fume, and either of them shrug, wincing when you tug harder. Best to take this sitting down. “Why would you embarrass me like that— and why’re you dressed like the villain of a low budget movie?” Geto glances sideways and you can almost see the guilty cartoon sweat drop.
With a long suffering sigh you release the both of them, whipping around to Shoko with hands on your hips. “Okay, but why’d you go along with this?” You ask in exasperation. She merely gives a halfhearted shrug.
“‘Was bored.” Figures.
“So mean! We had good intentions, where’s the love?” Satoru pouted, faux tears in his eyes as he rubbed at his reddened ear.
“You,” Was all you could muster in a dangerous tone, accusing finger jabbing towards him. He jolted, at least having the decency to look somewhat fearful even if it was mostly overshadowed by thrill. “I know you’re behind this.”
“Sweetness, hey,” He attempted to pacify you, palms forward. “before you get mad, I—“ The squeal that elicits from him is girlish as he twisted just out of your reach. Then he’s booking it. Slippery bastard.
The way he cackles at you as you give chase makes your cheeks burn hotter, curses and promises of strangling him spilling from your lips. He howls when you nearly crash into the ice cream stand while whipping around the corner after him, the owner shouting his own swears at the two of you and…
…and the remainder of the memory escapes you as sunspots dance in your vision. Bright light sears your eyes the moment you manage to blink them open, a bead of sweat rolling from your forehead down the bridge of your nose. You just sit there for a minute like this, dazedly staring at the sky. Trying to hold onto the vivid imagery before it began to fade back into the recesses of your mind once more. With a grumble you gain your bearings, wiping your face with a sleeve as you stand. You swear there’d been shade over this bench when you sat down…just how long had you been sitting here in this heat?
You look side to side. Where have your students gone? Well, your students, and that overgrown manchild—
“Fushigurooo!!”
“No.”
“But Fushigur-“
“Stop following me.”
Your head snaps to where your students are zipping past the sidewalk, Yuji stumbling after Megumi as he stormed off.
“I didn’t mean to embarrass you, Fushiguro! I really thought she was hitting on you— y’know, Bros before Does!” Itadori placated with a pleading gesture of his hands. With one glance behind him however he jolted, picking up the pace into a sprint almost immediately after spotting Kugisaki barreling towards them.
“Itadori, you idiot!” She squawked, waving a fist as if to clobber him once she caught up. “Making us chase down that angsty sea urchin in this heat! You’re gonna get it!!”
All three disappear around that corner where that ice cream stand always used to be posted, an echo of the past. Come to think of it, it hasn’t been around for years, and you idly wonder what became of the old man who used to run it.
As if on cue, Satoru meanders up to you, ruffling his snowy hair as he readjusts his blindfold over his eyes. He beams simply at the sight of you.
Your glare hardens, and he startles. He knows that you know he’s the mastermind behind that spectacle you’d just witnessed. Was it really that long ago since he pulled this same stupid stunt? He never did quite change.
“Ehehehhh,” He pitters nervously, putting on a wide innocent grin as you approach, index scratching a nonexistent itch at his jaw. “Hi sweetie, baby, love of my life—”
What makes him give pause though is the way you just trudge into his side and nod your head against his chest. You feel an arm instinctively wrap around you, and it makes you uncomfortably warm in this hot weather, but you don’t entirely mind it either. “Hey, what’s up,” he murmurs more sincerely, head craning to get a better peek at you. “You good?”
“Yeah,” Is what you mutter in response, still replaying the dream of that memory in your head. It made you feel poignantly happy, but the aftertaste of the emotion left you…tired. “Heat fatigue.”
“Right.” His grip tightened, nestling you closer. He doesn’t say anything, just letting the quiet fill the air aside from the croak of locusts. You wonder if he’s reminiscing on those times, too. Before everything— “I betch’ya got a nasty tan line.”
“Satoru!”
“I’m kidding! You’d be sexy even if you had a redneck tan.”
“Ew, don’t even say that!” You scold even if you can’t keep the ridiculous smile off your face. You still check under your sleeve for good measure, to which he chuckles.
“Wanna get some ice cream?” There’s a smile in his voice, and you feel his lips stamp a kiss to your sweat damp forehead.
