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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 7 months

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the green in your eyes (makes me feel warm inside) ; megumi fushiguro

synopsis; in the comfort of a familiar bookstore, you find a boy. a pretty boy, who’s always reading, who doesn’t speak unless he has to. you’d like to get to know him — and maybe you will.

word count; 4.6k

contents; megumi fushiguro/reader, gn!reader, fluffy!!, lots of pining from afar, bookstore au, no curses au, reader is an overworked student bc uni is beating my ass, gumi is kind of awkward but hes cute <3, gojo mentioned twice (stay safe), can u tell im excited for christmas … :'3

a/n; bookstore employee gumi who hates every single customer except for you is so real to me

(@riaki its here …🙇‍♂️)

he’s there again.

with a decisive step forward, you drag the door open, and the flutter of a bell resounds throughout the bookstore. a precious little jingle, alerting him of your presence.

the boy at the counter gives you a glance. his navy eyes settle on your bundled up figure, and a flicker of familiarity blooms in the scope of his iris, a kind of recognition. something that makes your heart feel like a clumped up little ball of snow.

(oh. it’s you.

you can almost hear the silent words fall past his lips.)

it only lasts for a second, barely even that, your gazes overlapping — then he’s back to reading.

today, you recognize the book in his hands. the hardcover looks just a tiny bit worn, but still well taken care of. well-loved. and it’s a pretty rendition; a butterfly just above the title, snakes crawling on either side, vines stretching out across the scope of the image. there’s a kind of mystique to it. pretty.

wuthering heights, you read off the cover.

a little odd, in hindsight. you’ve only ever seen him read nonfiction. maybe he decided to broaden his horizons?

after a brief moment’s contemplation, your feet begin to move. taking another small step forward, inching closer, while the door falls shut behind you. blocking out the snowfall and colourful lights illuminating the street.

mitten-clad hands go to brush stray snowflakes off your shoulders, as you shift from foot to foot, halfheartedly attempting to warm up your numbed toes. wallowing in the atmosphere of the cozy little bookstore; breathing in the smell of peppermint, the hint of freshly brewed coffee. from the boy, you assume — he’s got his usual mug on standby, a cute little black dog etched into the ceramic. steam rises from it, floating up into the air, and a fragrance of espresso wafts throughout the store.

low christmas music plays from the speakers, barely audible. pleasing to your sensitive ears and tired mind. it’s the usual mix of well-loved songs, for the most part, but then some you haven’t heard before. you can only assume he picked them out himself; pretty instrumentals, or low, gravelly voices, adding to that particular atmosphere simmering around you. nostalgic, a little melancholic.

the boy behind the counter looks angelic.

he always does, when he’s reading — and he usually is. gentle, in the way he turns the pages, awfully delicate, keeping them still between his thumb and forefinger. lips pursed, brows just a tiny bit furrowed. concentrated, immersed. dark eyes trailing over the tiny letters, scanning the ink of the paper, twisting the syllables inside his mind. almost tasting them on his tongue, with the way he wets his lips. they look a little chapped.

for some reason, the sight seems to render you sort of speechless. frozen. like he’s a pretty bluebird seated on your windowsill, chirping softly in the wake of morning, and you’re afraid of scaring him away.

— his eyes meet yours, and you visibly stiffen.

it’s smooth, the motion of his hands. how swiftly he flicks the book shut, placing it face down on the counter with a twitch of his lithe fingers. not before slipping a pretty bookmark in between the pages, lilac-coloured, with flowers embroidered into the silky texture. you wonder if he made it himself.

his voice spills out into the air, a little raspy. deep, but velvety, sending shivers down your spine. he clears his throat, and you watch his adam’s apple bob. ”do you need anything?”

a second passes.

it catches you off guard, the mellow sound of his voice. when you’re so unaccustomed to hearing it. excluding the brief words you’ve exchanged paying for your novels, you’ve only heard it a select few times — mostly from afar, not-so-sneakily listening in on his conversations with the pink haired boy and pretty girl who sometimes come in and never look at any of the books.

(there’s the tall guy with the not-so-seasonal sunglasses, too. but when he enters the store, all you pick up on are usually grumbles and threatening hand gestures.)

but now, that low, low voice is directed at you.

it can’t be good for your physical health. or mental, for that matter. you’re not sure you remember to properly breathe, and you’re almost certain hearts aren’t supposed to flail the way yours is right now.

when the boy behind the counter tilts his head, just by a hair, you’re finally snapped out of your little trance. stumbling for something to say, stuttering out a response, your hands grip at the insides of your pockets.

”well, um — i’m looking for a book.”

a moment passes. the song coming from the speakers changes into an instrumental, kind of jazzy. it’s nice.

”… a specific book,” you elaborate, under your breath. gnawing at your bottom lip, feeling a bit of heat on your ears. clearing your throat, as you step forward, tearing your mittens off with your teeth.

searching for a certain image, your numbed fingertips begin to tap at the cold screen of your phone. the warm air of the bookstore envelops your chilled knuckles, and a shiver runs through them.

the boy watches, silently, as you get closer.

you don’t notice him glancing at your reddened hands, and when you look up to see a glimmer of something displeased in his eyes, you only assume it’s because you’re taking too long. speeding up slightly, you hear a low click of his tongue. his back straightens.

when he gets up from his chair, you notice that he's tall. you don’t think you’ve ever seen him do anything but sit behind the counter with a book in hand, either reading his own or scanning a customer’s.

and, upon closer inspection — he’s maybe just a little bit too pretty for words. smooth, pale skin, a sharp jaw and defined cheekbones, dark eyes that hide a subtle kind of softness. pierced ears, a glimmer of silver on his earlobes, same as the rings on his bony fingers. his nails are painted black, a little chipped. and he’s wearing a big, bright green christmas sweater; one you really can’t imagine him picking out on his own, if his previous all-black turtlenecks and gray sweaters are anything to go by.

while you fumble with the phone in your grasp, the pads of his fingers go to silently tap at the edge of the counter. a rhythmic motion; forefinger, middle finger, ring finger, over and over again.

it’s a little bit distracting. when he moves his hand a certain way, his big sweater sleeve rides up just a tiny bit, showing off the blue veins of his inner wrist. you think you catch a glimpse of a mole or two on his pale skin, and you swallow down a gulp, feeling a little like a victorian man seeing a girl’s ankle.

and then finally, you locate the image in question. swiftly showing him the cover of the book you were assigned to read. he squints a little, blinking drowsily, a flutter of his pretty eyelashes that has your heart skipping a beat.

you clear your throat.

”i’m supposed to read it before christmas break, but i couldn’t find it at our library…” you tilt your head, a little sheepish. ”do you have it here?”

he stares at the screen for just a second more. then he’s angling his head to the left, finger pointing towards a corner of the store. ”it should be over there,” he hums. monotone.

a tentative smile forms on your lips. you thank him, and his eyes find yours.

all he does is shake his head, softly, brushing you off — a silent don’t worry about it. maybe a tad gruff, but you sense an acute gentleness to it. something tender, kind of. or maybe you’d just like to believe the kindness you sense in his eyes is real, more than just a delusion.

but you don’t have time to dwell on it. the boy behind the counter goes back to reading, cradling the spine with his pretty hands. when he tries to grab the handle of his mug, one of the rings on his fingers knock against the ceramic, and he clicks his tongue in annoyance.

you go to hunt down your own book, still thinking about his voice, how it trickled like honey from out his lips.

the bookstore is entirely empty, tonight. no loud noises drilling into your groggy brain, no people to chatter amongst themselves and disrupt the illusion of peace you gain when you spend time here. a tiny respite, from your studies, from the stress and fatigue that you’ve come to associate with winter. hunting for christmas gifts, finishing late assignments, trudging through the snow. pretending that you have it all together.

but here, none of that matters.

a sense of calm washes over you, as your eyes trail over the books by the science fiction section, and a soft sigh tumbles from your throat. gradually, your hands begin to warm up, and you look out the window.

outside, the world is blanketed by a veil of snow and frost, pure whites and murky grays as far as the eye can see. falling down to earth, smothering everything in a bitter chill. a cold, cold embrace. but when looking at it like this, from inside a cozy bookstore, with a pretty boy by the counter…

it's a breathtaking sight.

little snowflakes descending, dancing in the wind. desaturating your world. if you close your eyes and focus, you think you can almost feel the wind nip at your fingertips, almost taste the fragrance of dried tea leaves and caramel fudge from the tiny shop across the street. almost bask in the green and red of the decorative lights in the skeletal trees, illuminating the city, buzzing with artificial warmth.

(your heart feels light.)

it doesn’t take long for you to find the book you need. keeping it safe and warm between your arm and torso, you walk back to the counter, gaze still lingering on the windowpane. the little snowflakes fluttering about, the glimpses you catch of passerby and their knit scarves in the darkness of the winter evening.

the boy behind the counter is as efficient as ever. he takes the book, fingertips resting exactly where yours just were, and scans it in a matter of seconds. you pay, and he puts it in a plastic bag, handing it to you — all while his copy of wuthering heights sits on the counter, pointedly, as if beckoning you to mention it.

before you can think to stop yourself, you’ve parted your lips.

”is it good?” you ask. finger pointing at his book.

the boy blinks. eyelashes fluttering. once, then twice. he seems a little caught off guard, but still speaks within a split second. almost like he doesn’t even think about the answer. ”yeah.”

a hum buzzes in your throat. you shift a little, from foot to foot, plastic bag in hand. ”i’ve been meaning to read it,” you say, desperate to prolong the conversation, ”but i haven't had much time lately.”

a chuckle slips from your lips. it comes out sounding just a little exhausted.

(he glances at the dark bags beneath your eyes, but you don’t notice.)

”i think i might buy it in time for christmas break, though…” you lift your gaze to meet his own. showing the briefest glimpse of a smile, polite.

he doesn’t return it. lips pursed, silent, gazing at you with slightly lidded eyes. a navy blue, little splotches of a murky green blooming in the corners of his iris. they only appear when you’re this close. soothing, somehow. they’re pretty.

he isn’t saying anything, not a single word, and some part of your heart clogs up like a clump of wet snow. subconsciously, you trap your bottom lip between your teeth, digging into the soft flesh before letting go. cowering a little under his intense gaze.

did you annoy him?

(he probably doesn’t want to talk to you. maybe he thinks you’re hitting on him, or something. are you hitting on him? that doesn’t matter. he must be stressed — it’s holiday season, after all. the last thing he needs is some annoying customer taking up his precious reading time.

gosh, what were you even thinking?)

you’re just about to excuse yourself, mentally berating yourself for forcibly striking up a conversation with an obvious introvert —

when the sound of something sliding against wooden material catches your attention.

you blink.

the boy behind the counter does a little cough. under his breath, clearing his throat. he wets his lips, in what you immediately recognize as nervosity — absentmindedly fidgeting with the rings on his fingers.

”here.”

when you look down, a certain book is placed on the edge of the counter, right in front of you. wuthering heights.

another blink. you look down at the hardcover, and then back up at him, but he’s not meeting your gaze. if you look closely, you think you see a slight flush to his neck, red like a candy cane.

”you can borrow it,” he says. a pause. then he continues, clearing his throat again, a hint of hesitance in his raspy voice. ”… if you want to, i mean.”

”… ah.” is all you can answer. barely a word, more of a weak little hum. an absent tremble of your voice.

outside the comfort and warmth of the bookstore, the wind whistles, digging its claws into the city. tiny whirlwinds of snowflakes dance from street to street, fluttering about joyously. you vaguely pick up on the song from the speakers changing, into a poppy christmas-themed kpop song.

a moment passes.

your muddled mind finally reacts. on instinct, sending little instructions to your frozen limbs. to your heart, face down on the floor, completely useless.

”oh — no, there’s no need!” you blurt out, putting your hands up hastily. waving him off. ”it’s fine, i can just buy my own copy!”

but the boy only clicks his tongue, with that signature furrow of his brows. ”you’re a student,” he states, just a little gruff. but then there’s that kindness. ”you shouldn’t waste your money.”

you’re just about to protest, when he continues. ”besides,” he sighs. ”i’ve already read it. you can just bring it back whenever you’re done.”

and again, your instinctual desire is to protest. unsure of what to say, somehow exasperated by his trust. that’s what it is, isn’t it? trust. trusting a stranger, a customer he’s barely even spoken to, not to just take his book and then never return. trusting you to be a decent person. a good person.

isn’t that naive?

something sprouts like a snowdrop in a ridge between your ribs, though, and you know that it’s happiness of some kind. you’re glad, that he has something even vaguely similar to trust in you.

glad that he’s acknowledging you, in a way. your presence, the sneaky glances shared between you. the comfortable feeling that sleeps inside your veins when it's just you and him, silently passing each other by, in a quiet bookstore that feels a little like heaven on earth. a safe haven, of sorts, with no incompetent professors, tight deadlines or numb fingers.

it’s just him, and cozy christmas music, and a pitter patter rhythm of your heartbeat that sounds a little like jingle bells to your muddled mind.

a lump forms in the back of your throat. you gulp it back down, and part your lips. an unsure question spills into the open air.

”are… you really sure?”

”yeah.” he doesn’t even skip a beat. fingers tapping at the edge of the counter, over and over again. another slow moment passes. ”we can… talk. about it.” he coughs into his closed fist. ”once you've read it.”

with a soft furrow of his brows, he averts his gaze. his voice comes out sounding soft, albeit a little rough around the edges. ”if you want,” he adds.

you’re so distracted by the flutter of his long eyelashes that you barely even feel your lips stretch into a smile. your hearts skips around happily within the confines of your ribcage, and you’re worried that you might look a little too excited — but how could you ever hide your joy, when he’s acting so dangerously, uncharacteristically cute?

”yeah!” you blurt, teeth peeking out when you flash him a bright smile. and finally, he meets your gaze. pretty eyes fixed entirely on you.

at your evident enthusiasm, his shoulders seem to relax. the rapid tapping of his fingers ceases, and he opts to simply bite down on his lip — attempting to obscure his own smile. but you see it, anyway; a tiny, tiny smile. the softest little curl of his lips. you’re entirely mesmerized, all the same.

a hand goes to rub at the back of his neck, and he does that cute little cough again, and you wonder if the warmth sprouting in your chest will be enough to protect you from the snowfall on your way back home.

angelic; that’s the impression he always seems to leave you with. you wonder if he has any idea just how pretty he is. if he has the slightest clue. you wonder if you’ll ever be able to tell him, yourself.

you wonder if you’ll get to know him, someday. if you’ll ever get to know the pretty, quiet boy behind the counter of your go-to bookstore, who radiates a softness so palpable you wish you could stay there until spring blooms beyond the windows and melts the frosted glass.

with tentative hands, a little shaky — not from the cold, but the anxious and excited tingle of your bloodstream — you reach for the book on the counter. taking it into your arms, cradling it gently, like it’s so fragile the pages could scatter away if you aren’t careful. with a steady hand on its spine, you begin to flip through the pages, until three little words on the first blank page catch your attention.

without thinking, you repeat the little scribbled down sentence under your breath. hoping for something. more lulls of his voice, maybe, mumbling to yourself but hoping he’ll hear.

”happy birthday, tsumiki…”

the boy stiffens.

a silent beat. then he clears his throat. ”my sister,” he explains, and you hum.

so he has a sister. a tiny fragment of his existence, now known to you, a little piece of trivia. you want to collect them, want to put them all in your pockets and carry them around, like little precious bells.

”megumi,” he blurts out, sudden, and you look up from the book to meet his gaze. ”my name,” he elaborates. and then a pause. ”i work here.”

…

in a matter of seconds, his face reddens. ears and neck slathered over with that sweet cherry hue, blooming across his pale skin. a soft giggle slips from your lips, before you can think to bite it back, and that red hue exacerbates.

”mm,” you hum, an amused smile on your face. eyes crinkling as you look at him, book safe and secure in your arms. ”i've seen you.”

megumi looks a bit like he wants the ground to swallow him whole. squirming slightly, shifting from foot to foot, tugging a little at the sleeve of his sweater. looking into your eyes, and then back at the counter.

it’s sweet. it makes you feel closer to him, somehow. like you aren’t the only nervous one here. like you aren’t the only person in this city who’s a little bit of a mess.

(it makes the sludge piling up inside your brain feel just a little more bearable.)

”… thank you.” you smile. ”i’ll take good care of it. and i’ll bring it right back when i finish it.”

a low hum. megumi brings a hand up to fix his bangs, nimble fingers running through dark locks. absentminded — a nervous habit, maybe? ”don’t worry about it,” is all he says.

again, that sweet dichotomy; a hint of something gruff, hiding an unmistakable softness. a little like snow. cold to the touch, enough to make you want to stay away, but then it melts on the skin of your palm. turns soft and warm beneath your touch.

unable to fully hide the smile still lingering on your lips, you allow yourself one final inhale — letting that scent of peppermint and espresso invade your mind, soothing every frazzled nerve inside your brain. then you put wuthering heights in your bag, protected and snug, and get ready to leave.

it’s still snowing. if anything, it seems to have gotten worse, enough that all you see when you glance towards the frosted windows are little clumps of snowflakes. obscuring everything else.

just when you’re about to speak, say a little goodbye, a voice spills out into the air.

”… the snow’s supposed to get worse. apparently.”

his navy eyes carry a gentle hue, as they look into yours. maybe a little worried, like a protective mother wolf towards her cub. you blink, and megumi sees it as his cue to continue.

”you can stay until it gets better.”

a brief pause. his signature cough reaches your ears, and it’s enough to have you smiling, even before he adds a tiny if you feel like it. nonchalant, or at least you think that’s what he’s going for. he mostly just sounds like an awfully caring person trying awfully hard to appear uncaring.

and again, a little smile slips itself into the curl of your lips. all giddy and nervous, a little flustered. but happy. now you won’t have to walk through the relentless snowfall outside, feel the wind chew at your reddened cheekbones. now you can spend just a bit more time with him, bask in those quiet, drawn out moments of pure peace, browsing through books while he sits and reads behind the counter.

”thanks,” you breathe. adjusting your knitted scarf. ”i think i'll look at the books a little more, then.”

megumi’s eyes soften. relieved, you think. hope. it’s a subtle shift, but still enough to notice, enough to see. little splotches of a mossy green sinking into that sea of ink blue.

you think he must feel a little embarrassed, though. like he’s gotten too close to broaching the line he’s set up between the two of you. because he quickly fixes his gaze entirely on a book in his hands, a new one — was it just waiting beneath the counter?

you don't think much of it, but you note that he's back to his usual nonfiction. something on astronomy, you think.

and with one final glance at his tousled hair, you begin to stroll through the store. languidly, walking to whatever spine captures your attention. savouring the tiny words on the back of the books, wallowing in the peppermint and espresso that wafts through the air, only growing heavier while you’re busy admiring the white opaque frosting of the windows’ glass.

at some point, the low whirring of a coffee machine buzzes from afar, and when you turn to the counter megumi isn’t there.

a little later, when he comes back, he’ll be carrying two mugs — matching dogs etched into the ceramic, one black and one white. he’ll put one of them on the edge of the counter, closest to you, and then meet your eyes. give a vague nod towards it, but nothing else. you’ll notice the red tint to his ears, though.

and when you do, a warmth will blossom in your chest, enough to chase away the phantom ache of the winter chill soon to envelop you.

when the little bell of the bookstore jingles its jolly tune, and the door shuts itself as you cross the threshold to leave, megumi lets out a barely audible sigh.

he thinks his heart may be beating just a smidge faster than usual, a little out of rhythm. palms against the counter, he allows his eyes to flutter shut — trying not to acknowledge the heat he feels on his face when he finally begins to process your interaction.

he smooths a hand over his face, skin just a little sweaty. chewing at his bottom lip with two sharp teeth.

god.

really, it was no more than a stupid twist of luck. that you happened to come in just when he started reading it, that you noticed and didn’t question him on any of the contents. that you believed him when he said he’d already finished it.

and, sure, maybe he was secretly really hoping you’d come in. really hoping you’d notice it, that it’d be enough to make you strike up a conversation with him, something, anything.

he happened to see you eyeing it once, that’s all. twice, and then thrice, each on different occasions. tsumiki’s old collection came in handy, rotting on the dusty shelves of her room — although he has no memory of her ever reading it.

(he remembers some, though. remembers her reading a few of them to him, on nights he couldn’t sleep. remembers the soft lull of her voice, how the whole world seemed blanketed by a wool of safety.

he wonders if he’ll ever get to hear it again.)

megumi’s heart feels warm. despite everything.

even though he didn’t even get past the first half of wuthering heights, and has no idea what the hell he’s going to be able to talk to you about. even though he thinks heathcliff is a dick and catherine is a brat, and wishes they could save everyone else the trouble and just talk to a psychiatrist.

even with the cold baring its fangs outside, and the cup of espresso sitting right in front of him, still untouched, made with the store’s shitty coffee machine. even in the ugly sweater gojo forced him into. even though he doesn’t even really know you, not even at all, and still somehow feels certain that you’ll come back with tsumiki’s book in tow.

trust.

megumi thinks it’s a little weird, how just that single overlapping of your gazes when you first stepped in seemed to solidify such an abstract notion. he’s always had a sense of it, though — a sense of goodness. an ability to seek them out, those good people, bubbly and cheerful and so tragically hard not to love.

no matter where he goes, he ends up finding them. like tiny sunflower seeds persisting beneath the winter snow. blooming when spring comes around, in a burst of golden vermillion.

resting his jaw on the heel of his palm, megumi allows himself to wallow in the solitude of the bookstore. tired eyes soaking up the words on the pages he flips through, slowly, utterly at ease. drinking his shitty coffee, trying to ignore the itchy feeling of the sweater on his skin, unable to forget the memory of your stupidly pretty smile.

so pretty he thinks it might just keep him warm, all throughout winter, until you return once more. bringing with you the glimmer of snowflakes on soft skin, and a pleasant fragrance of tea leaves from the cozy shop across the street.

a single sunflower, persisting even through the cold.

megumi smiles. a tiny curl of his chapped lips, while he flips the pages of his book. content in the knowledge that this won’t be the last time he speaks to you.

(now he just needs to read up on some good papers on wuthering heights.)

#im just thinking abt ….. bookstore gumi who goes out of his way to only work the quiet lazy shifts . and all he does is drink coffee n read #so its like his selfcare time and he hates customers n gets annoyed when they come in PHDJD…. acting like he owns the store #but then u come in !! :< n ur presence is just so gentle and soothing . n the more he sees you the prettier u get in his eyes.#so he tries to silently impress u </3 reading ur fave books even if he doesnt like them <//3 cutie #just to be clear if a bookstore employee randomly offers u a cup of coffee Do Not drink it . even if hes hot. stay safe ✌️#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #megumi x reader #megumi x you #megumi fluff #megumi fushiguro #megumi x y/n #megumi fushiguro x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x gender neutral reader

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cheesecakethots · 8 months

Text

you complain about mosquitos to xiao and he’ll mutter something about humans being so fragile, and act as though he doesn’t care.

if you wake up in the middle of the night however, you’ll find him hovering beside you, expression dark and focused, eyes darting around the room.

suddenly your mosquito problem is gone.

#a fave cringelord of mine #scara does this but electrocutes the bugs #u wake up with ur hair standing up and static in the air #and he’s all i don’t know what ur talking about #ok bud #im gonna write for scara at some point #xiao x reader #genshin impact #yandere xiao #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader

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jhuzen · 1 year

Note

Small brainrot--

Zhongli: You always seemed to get injured when I accompany you on your commissions, is there something wrong? Have I done something to cause this? Please, talk to me...

Reader: My love, darling, sweetheart, I swear it's not that deep. I keep getting hurt because I'm distracted staring at your ass-

-Morax

distractions [gn/m.reader]

AAAAAAAAAA MORAX ANON PULLING THRU WITH A GOOD ZHONGLI BRAINROT! i planned to make just me also brainrotting but here’s a quickie HAHDHSJDCJD. i had so much fun making this LMAO

𖦹 kinda crack lmao, degenerate reader 😭

He was hypnotic.

Zhongli, as your dearest beloved, exceeded your expectations far more than you could ever imagine. He was all too good! An absolute gentleman, completely attuned to your needs and would never lead you down into a path of agony and harm. He was always there, perhaps almost always there, considering that his job as the consultant at the funeral parlor was the only thing keeping him away from you 24/7.

You had no doubts that this man is absolutely enamored with you, tailing you around like a loyal dog when you’re out in your errands. And by these errands, often they are commissions posted by certain people, asking the bravest souls out there to get rid of a few pests loitering around in Liyue.

You were perhaps one of the most sought out bounty hunters in the field. And while you weren’t directly affiliated with world renowned Adventurer’s Guild, you still were often dragged into their commissions, as adventurers personally had to come and ask for your help in the middle of your afternoon tea to track down some pesky ruin guards that indiscriminately attacks everything in its sight.

People may have fretted at the sight of any ruin machine that they came across their paths, but to you, they were the quickest way to earn a lot of mora as having Zhongli for a lover doesn’t come cheap, the man basically buys anything that catches his eye, and the fact that he’s absolutely atrocious in bargaining with you barely excelling at it as well, you’re bound to constantly have enough on you for his spending exploits. Suffice to say, you were the apex predator of these machines, constantly on the hunt for them.

Though that did not seem to apply as you winced for the tenth time at this very moment.

How lucky was it that you were nearby Mingyun Village when you took on a certain bounty that was given on you. It offered a million mora as you had to deal with two hulking ruin hunters, aggressive in temperance as it looked to be one of those just seem to lock on to you in sight.

Zhongli was free that day, and offered to come with you. Your endearing lover expressed his concerns when he happened to look over the paper that contained all the details for your target. And to see you deal with those merciless machineries, he couldn’t hold himself back and immediately asked to come with you.

You weren’t one to deny his offer. Zhongli was a warrior god above all and you’ve seen him countless times on the battlefield when the traveler had asked you and him to accompany them on a tedious commission. And on the off chances that you’ve been on a mission with your adoring lover… you’ve noticed one insufferable thing.

He’s far too distracting.

There was a common denominator in every single time you and him went out on a mission; you were always somehow barely escaping death by the skin of your teeth. It was ridiculous. You’d think having Zhongli in the field would inspire you to do better — but no. He distracted you. Him and his graceful movements, the way his shield just granted you unparalleled protection and when he kicks his spear, you could almost shrivel up and just die then and there.

And unfortunately, this one almost had you kicking the bucket.

Blood trails can be seen on the grassy fields as your worried lover hurried to the nearby village. The residents were quick to aid him and had given him the much needed things for your wound treatment. There was a concerning gash on the juncture of your neck and shoulder, and Zhongli was damn near in tears as he patched you up.

You failed to hold in a wince as you joked around to lighten the mood, “Guess that hunk of junk was eager to be on me, huh?” You peered up at your lover while you sat on the chair, whose frown never left him as he continued to clean around your still bleeding wound. “Hey, c’mon, don’t look so sad… I just happened to be at the wrong spot, love.”

A tensed silence fell between you and him and even in his unresponsive state, you could feel the worry that emanated from him. And even that was something you felt responsible for, unable to say anything else.

And finally he granted you mercy as he heaved a soft sigh, looking at you with eyes that overflowed with so much concern, “I was so worried… you’ve never been this badly injured before.”

You had no heart to tell him the stupid reason behind your fuck up, so you opted to stay silent.

Zhongli took your silence as remorse for your mistake and only continued to press on, eyebrows furrowing as he caressed your face that had a tad bit of dirt smudged into it, “I never wanted to bring this up… but it seems as though every time I accompany you on your hunting missions, you always seem to end up getting hurt far more than when you worked alone…”

You hated where this was going but did not bother protesting, you know trying to get ahead of him is a losing battle, “Is… Is it me? Have I done something to cause this? Am I perhaps lacking in providing you protection? Please…” his words were soft as he pleaded, amber eyes meeting you with a hint of desperation. “Please tell me… I must know what led up to this point. I don’t want to realize things when it’s much too late.”

Stupidity pounced on you as Zhongli expressed his dissatisfaction. This is awful. You felt the guilt seep through your veins when your precious lover was unloading so much of his scorn all for a reason so stupid.

But then again, your dignity was always a notch lower than your love in a list of priorities. You can only hope the man doesn’t hurl his giant meteor at you once you do tell him the reason.

“Don’t… be mad,” you started and immediately grimaced at his pointed stare. Right. Never patronize a worried lover. With your good arm, you pulled him by the waist, looking up at him with a small grin, “It’s not that deep. I promise you. Though, yes, to an extent, my subpar performance has something to do with you.”

Your grip around his waist tightened when you felt him bristle at your words, almost close to pulling away. You quickly fished him out of his misery as you continued, “Forgive my crudeness… but you have been a distraction for me when you join me on my missions…”

“Pardon?”

“Your…” you coughed a little as a light blush dusted your cheeks, “You… uh, how do I put this delicately… you present a rather delectable view on certain angles when you fight.”

Yet another blanket of silence enveloped the both of you, but you broke out a sweat as Zhongli slowly processed your words. The frown on his face suddenly deepened and it was only now or never before he hurls the meteor at you and kills you for good.

Zhongli jolted as your hand brushed against his fine ass and gave the supple area a little squeeze. You bargained for an ounce of mercy with that charming grin of yours.

The former archon sighed with a loaded indignation. He wonders sometimes how on earth can you be a bounty hunter with that kind of reckless attitude. “You… you are impossible.” He murmurs with the intention to chide you but even you can hear the embarrassment in his tone.

“Aw c’mon! It’s not too bad!” You cackled as the atmosphere between you cleared. You gave him one last wink before going in for another squeeze, prompting him to smack your wounded shoulder out of instinct, making you keel over, pressing your head against his stomach.

“Ah! My apologies, are you—?”

“Yep. All good. I deserve it.” You managed through a pained groan.

And you took one last chance at life and gave yet another squeeze.

“Yep. All good. I deserve it.” You managed through a pained groan.

And you took one last chance at life and gave yet another squeeze.

Whether or not you passed out from the pain or Zhongli’s meteor, you’ll never know. This was your punishment after all. One you would gladly take head on.

“Yep. All good. I deserve it,” you managed with a pained groan.

And you took one last chance at life and gave yet another squeeze.

Whether or not you passed out from the pain or Zhongli’s meteor, you’ll never know.

#fun fact; og title of this is cake #my fave zhongzhong scenario #thank u morax anon #u have no idea how much ily and ur ideas #keep em coming #genshin impact x male reader #genshin impact x gn reader #zhongli x male reader #zhongli x gender neutral reader #zhongli x gn reader #zhongli x reader #jhuzen’s stupid scenarios #jhuzen’s stupid one shots

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215-luv · 2 years

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“oh, honey.” your fave coos, eyeing you with so much longing as worry begins to fill him when he sees your teary eyes. he cups your cheeks on both of his hands, pulling you close to his face that leaves your noses touching. a sniffles comes out from you and he swears he feels his heart dropping down to his stomach. he feels so bad, terribly bad, feeling as if he’s at fault for not taking care of you better that he could no longer hold himself back when he lets his arms circle around your figure to pull you close to him. “i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.” he murmurs against the top of your head as if he’s at fault. he continues to gently rub his hand against your back, giving you lingering kisses on the side of your head. “i’m sorry honey. don’t you worry. i’m here. i’m right here. i’ll fight your fears away.”

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bones-of-a-rabbit · 1 year

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Sun loves ur laugh, especially when it’s an all-out, loud cackling snort-laugh, it’s like happiness incarnate. instant dopamine hit. he rlly do love it

#bones of a rabbit art #doodles #sketches #spaceship au #space au #space ai sun #fnaf space au #fnaf sun x y/n #fnaf sun x reader #bones of a rabbit au #Babbit au #soft n fluff #silly fluff #heart eyes moment #he daydreams abt u whenever ur not around sorry it’s just a fact #he LOVES going thru his fave memory files of u on his downtime #his favorite passtime #hopscotch on stars

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bakubunny · 28 days

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more food 4 thought: you thought you were quiet in bed, full stop. you really did.

then you met kirishima.

#this could apply to any of ur faves honestly #sorry for all the shitposting im done now #im just anxious #and it’s gonna be a long fucking week #x reader #shitpost #kirishima eijirou #aged up characters

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pleasured-ambrosia · 2 years

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Ur fave buying you a body pillow to cuddle while they’re away, only to get so jealous of it that they fuck you while you cling to it for dear life.

#ur fave #mimi thirsts #ur fave x reader #x reader #x you #BNHA x reader #AoT x reader #demon slayer x reader

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tvgals · 10 months

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he has the most illegal tint in japan so when he fucks you in the backseat of his car, no one will actually know what he’s doing — even though the car is rocking and if you get close enough, you can hear your moans and his grunts.

“righ’ thereeeee!” you squeal out, arching your back and clawing at his. “i know baby. better be lucky i got this tint or your pretty pussy ‘nd tits ‘nd face would be alllll exposed for them to see..”

toji (just for karma 🙄), geto, gojo, ichigo, eren, zeke, ban, meliodas, miguel, spider noir, illumi, leorio, plus ur faves 😜

#myatalks🫡#black reader #blkshoyo #im black #i love being black #ilovemyfollowers #ilysm <3 #anime #being black #writing is my therapy #jjk headcanons #sds x reader #atsv x reader #bleach x reader #hxh x you #ur faves x you

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xfancyuu · 1 year

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~ cause i can feel a real connection, a supernatural attraction. [aemond targaryen]

PART III (want it more and more) 18+, smut.

as promised, here is the third and last part! the first part & second of this series contains a westerosi wedding & a valyrian wedding, this fic will contain SMUT, it is reader's first time and she's extremely nervous and slightly clueless. reader is afab with she/her pronouns if requested i will write non-binary characters! i'd also love some feedback for this! i'd love some pointers on what you liked/didn't like about it! this is my first time writing smut so like be kind, i'm on the ace spectrum and i'm a virgin so everything i know is from reading erotica and roleplaying smut as hilariosity lmao. i should have mentioned before now this fic was inspired by bts' blood sweat and tears, the korean lyrics sound so much better than the english lyrics look.

this fic contains: bolton!reader (now targaryen), wedding consummation, mentions of aemond's assault (bc that's what it was), the word maidenhead, readers hella nervous bc she hasn't had in-depth knowledge about what would happen, reader's clueless about oral sex and aemond goes down on her lmao, two losers in love. girl on top (i read somewhere it's probably the best way to be in control during sex and i have control issues lmao), as doja once said: big noses i won't elaborate, this isn't the sexy kind of smut it's the awkward first time kind. times are rough for girlies in westeros and it's kinda reflected in the way reader thinks/talks about children. [2,582 words]

THIS CONTAINS SMUT BUT THE PURPOSE OF THE STORY IS MORE ABOUT THEM BEING REPRESSED! PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS EXPECTING SOLELY EROTICA!

The proximity between both yourself and Aemond was strange, you knew you'd have to be intimate at one point, but it hadn't crossed your mind that being on a bed in only your underclothes would leave you so insecure. Had Aemond not wanted to touch you? His previous words contradicted your thoughts, even if they lived within your mind.

It was silent, not the comfortable silence you were so often used to when spending time with Aemond and his sister. The kind which made your skin crawl, the kind which made you feel hyper-analysed, the kind which you didn't know how to break without shattering the illusion of yourself. The illusion that you were perfectly content and wanted nothing more than to just exist within the same space as him.

You had thought about Helaena's children, how they were beautiful and so precious. But did you want children of your own so soon? Your body was not an incubator for children, being a daughter you were constantly told your only purpose in life was to bring children into the world and watch them thrive. No other option had presented itself. Your brother's wives had taken this in their stride, providing heirs and the like, but you were beyond worried that would be your only use. Your only contribution to society. Aemond was a second son — did he truly need heirs? Were children considered a commodity and not a necessity? You had wished your worries would be alleviated. They had not with your refusal to talk about children and their possible needs. Would you be a horrible mother who put your own needs before theirs? Would you be bitter like your own mother? You had no intention of finding out so soon.

Would you lose your identity after marriage? You had been so lively and bubbly, you didn't want your spark to dim simply because you were bound to Aemond forever. Or however long forever truly lasts.

"Do you want children?" Your question was mumbled, as though you didn't want to say the words aloud. Your demeanour was never this timid, especially not with Aemond.

"I hadn't given it much thought, Aegon is the one who needed to provide heirs, Rhaenyra already has children, as a second son it's not my immediate priority. It shouldn't be yours, either." The sincerity in which Aemond had spoke had calmed you significantly. Perhaps he too struggled with the duty of being the perfect child who could do no wrong too.

"My parents want more grandchildren, though I still feel as though the world is unexplored, and I have so much to learn about... Children feel as though it would be a life sentence to unhappiness." You had never truly spoken the words aloud, unhappiness and despair would most likely follow the children you brought into the world.

"Then perhaps we should wait, for children that is, there are pleasures in producing children, but there are many methods which a child could be prevented." This was news to you, had Aemond felt the desire you held for him? How badly you had wanted him but refrained because it was so unladylike?

"You should show me." Your reply would have shocked Aemond if he did not know you well enough to know your adventurous streak and wanting to know everything. "Mother told me I should just let you lie on top of me and wait for you to get off, I do not quite know what she meant, but it didn't sound... Pleasurable for either party involved."

"If your mother believes that is the height of passion and romance, I truly feel sorry for her." Your laughter could be heard through the room, though he did have a point. Your mother was so much younger than your father and lacked experience in many ways, you didn't doubt her bitterness came from her life being taken from her so young and being expected to make your father happy.

"I think the only emotions she knows how to feel is bitterness and hatred, perhaps pettiness too, she says I get that off her. How I can hold a grudge for moons over slight offences. But I do think she prefers me over my brothers. One does not share a bed with his wife, instead he shares with his friend, the other she calls dim witted at any opportunity, one she wants to send to the wall and my younger brother isn't a priority, I doubt she even knows his name. I think she gave up around the time her second was born to be, as she calls, a disappointment we never got better for her, I think. She can at least stay in a room with me for hours on end."

Aemond's expression is that of shock. To your vulnerability or to the way you laid your soul bare to him, you did not know. Aemond's mind was but a mystery to you, a mystery you wished to understand. You considered yourself like Lady Sunderland, a girl investigator who solved mysteries all around the world. Your favourite had to be the one which took place in the North, a story of deception, lies and corrupt dealings. Yet it had all been fictional but if you were to be someone, you wished to be like her.

"Father doesn't pay any mind to her feelings either, nor does he notice how we feel — or rather, he doesn't care to. I think I'm his favourite too, is that unfair to say? I fear that I'm a product of them both and wouldn't want to inflict those traits onto my own children." The insecurities you had kept within you came out like a flood. You supposed you were lucky to have such involved parents, but their constant interference and being obsessive with the way they treated you had left you feeling somewhat resentful that your childhood was so contained to what they saw fit and not what you had wanted to do.

Laying yourself so open and honest had an adverse reaction within Aemond. While you were so willing to bare your soul to him, he could simply not do the same. He could not share his trauma with you, but you had accepted it. Welcomed it even.

"Children are not a necessity at this very moment, Y/N."

"But they will be expected, I have seen the way you look at Helaena's children and I cannot deny I enjoy spending time with them and by the time mother was my age she'd already had two of my brothers — my good sisters were married and had children by the age of seven and ten, and it feels as though I am behind in life despite not being old enough to truly be behind."

"Do you wish you had their lives? To be as miserable as most of those women? Your mother is bitter, she only knows hatred and pettiness. The majority of the surrounding women are not happy themselves, you said so yourself. Would you choose to be unhappy and ahead in life or happy and, as you so put it, behind." Aemond's words of reasoning had somewhat snapped you out of your current state. "You are in constant comparison with others, and it is not healthy for yourself or those surrounding you, my love."

"It is hard not to when those surrounding me seem so put together, and I'm one moment from falling apart."

"If it eases you, I too do not wish for children so early into our marriage, I wish to have you alone for some time."

"And what would you like to do, alone with me?"

Instead of answering you directly, Aemond's weight had shifted on the bed and ever, so suddenly he was above you. You did not know what had possessed you to kiss your husband with such ferocity — perhaps it was the need and desire for him. Two long years of courtship with underlying tension and the inability to relieve it. Not knowing how to relieve it. You had once put a pillow beneath yourself as to stop the sensation, but could never bring yourself to finish as thoughts of Aemond had entered your mind. You had considered it shameful and avoided the man at every possibility before you inevitably had to speak once more. You had wondered if Aemond had done the same thing — thought of you in such sinful ways.

The way you had gazed at him was almost as though you were a lovesick girl. In young adolescence, you had always dreamed of having your own prince to save you from the mundane world. If the world was mundane with Aemond within it, you would not have had it any other way. The way he looked at you, the way he so intently listened, the way he had almost feared your rejection, his anger, his jealousy, his envious nature, you had wanted it more than anything. You didn't need to pretend with Aemond, you could be yourself unapologetically, and he would simply smile.

The kiss initiated by had gone from a peck to something more in such little time. His hands had wandered down your body as if knowing the right places to touch. How he held such a gentle touch within him, you did not know. You were rough, hands tousling through his hair. He was so composed while you were losing yourself to the pleasure you had felt. Would he consider you disgusting? The feelings you had felt at the moment felt nothing but pure.

The kissing had gone from your mouth to your neck as Aemond planted kisses upon you. Once or twice you felt his teeth against your skin, but you could not complain about it. However, as he moved further down your body you had spoken, "This feels nice but what are you actually doing?"

"Do you trust me?" Aemond had answered your question with his own as he continued to move down your body, his teeth nipping your skin after the question you had asked. That one you deemed as intentional.

"Yes, but I would like you to tell me what you're doing." The sensations had gone down to your intimate area, it was almost throbbing with excitement. Perhaps the starvation of touch had caused it, or something else. "It feels quite strange."

"I promise you it won't hurt."

"Stop evading my question." Perhaps it was the frustration from lack of intimacy which was making you feel this way.

He hadn't answered, choosing to ignore you completely, lifting your underclothes to the point they had rested on your stomach. You knew what was about to happen. He was about to consummate your marriage. You were simply not prepared, but simply laid there, as your mother told you to, but the painful sensation did not come, instead you had felt his tongue.

It had felt quite nice, though you weren't sure the purpose of the ordeal. Until you felt a sensation almost identical but completely different to the night you had put the pillow between your thighs.

The throbbing didn't cease as Aemond had continued licking at the spot which had you craving release from whatever hold it had on you. You hadn't realised you were grinding against him as he continued, though you did feel something entering you. It hadn't felt unpleasant nor unwelcome, just strange.

He had continued, adding another two fingers, but you hadn't entirely noticed, hell-bent on getting the release you so desperately deserved after two years of repression. You had felt it release. It was otherworldly, had others known such pleasure and were keeping it a secret? It was almost as if you had left your body only to be brought crashing down by Aemond still between your legs while they shook.

"When you had mentioned there being pleasure, I did not expect this." Your panting was evident as Aemond pulled himself away from between your legs, "Is there a way I can make you feel as though I just felt?"

"Does my dear wife wish to please me? Your current state says otherwise." Once again, he was hovering over you, though he had initiated the kiss. You had tasted yourself upon him and while it was a distinct taste you could not put a word to it.

You had pulled away rather quickly and though Aemond had not showed it upon his face, he was rather disappointed with you doing so. "Why are you teasing me right now?" It was your turn to take control, not doing so would be against your character. "Why would I not wish to please you? Your pleasure matters much more to me than my own." You were on top of him now, and you knew he could easily fight you off but chose not to.

The underclothes you were wearing had been removed by yourself as you sat within Aemond's lap, "Tell me how I should please you now... Or I'll never give you the option again."

"You think yourself in control?" Aemond had you within his grip and wasn't about to let you go, "Yet you do not even know how to pleasure me, how would you go about that, without guidance?"

"I'm very intuitive, and I sense you're just as sensitive there as I am." To prove your point, you had begun grinding on him, "Oh look, I was right."

It was a slow descent, and suddenly you were no longer a maiden. Your maidenhead had finally been broken, but that hadn't meant you could move freely. It had hurt but not as intensely as you had originally thought, with Aemond kissing you, distracting you from the pain you must have felt.

It was awkward at first, moving up and down on him, you were awfully uncomfortable wishing for the ordeal to end faster than you would speak aloud. Your only thoughts were on Aemond's pleasure, not releasing you were feeling the same as before as Aemond had played with that spot which brought you pleasure before.

It hadn't taken long for you to both reach your peak, unnaturally fast, though if Aemond was as untouched as you had been, you knew it was inevitable. Though he had come inside you, it hadn't worried you too much. It was a problem for another day and a future you.

You had all but collapsed on top of Aemond as he had whispered reassurances in your ear that the two of you would be fine.

How does one act after engaging in such acts of intense passion? You had no clue, what does one say? You doubted you could even form a coherent sentence after such a moment.

"I'm happy my first time was with somebody who truly cares for me." You were the first to break the silence. "Thank you for being so gentle and caring."

"You do not need to thank me, it had brought me as much pleasure as it did you." He would not speak of his own first experience. He hadn't considered it traumatic at the time, but he truly wished his brother wasn't as promiscuous as he was, who tried to lead him down the same path.

"I mean it, many men would not be as gentle or as kind as you were."

"Sleep, Y/N, you might want to save your energy for the morning, I may not be as kind nor gentle." It had caused you to laugh as sleep had lured you into the world you so often spent your time. You hadn't felt him kiss your head as you leaned into him.

Softness was not something Aemond was familiar with, but for you barely conscious, he could make an exception.

thank u for reading this fic! again feedback would be appreciated but u don't need to give it, this is the last instalment so thank you for following me on my journey! i suspect the next fic i write will involve my queen vhagar bc how could i leave her out of this? cross posted on ao3 under the name hedonism! this fic was reformatted on 7th april 2023

#aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen smut #aemond smut #hotd x reader #hotd imagine #asoiaf x reader #asoiaf imagine #lady sunderland is inspired by nancy drew bc it's my fave point + click game series so yeah she's ur idol

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 9 months

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i’ll go see you again tomorrow (spring is coming to an end) ; sashisu

[ part i - spring ; satoru gojo ]

synopsis; a snippet of the spring you share with a certain satoru gojo, who seems intent on making your high school life as difficult as possible.

word count; 5.9k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, enemies to friends but the ’enemy’ part is kinda one-sided, wholesome n sweet overall, no curses au, gojo doesn’t know how to make friends and thinks lighthearted bullying constitutes as a bonding activity, reader doesn’t like gojo at first but dw they see the light eventually

a/n; the shoujo manga vibes are v heavy w/ this part i think. high school gojo was born to shoujo but forced to shounen </3

satoru gojo is annoying.

blunt as it may seem, it’s a conclusion you reach fairly quickly. when you first met him, you weren’t sure what to think, what to feel — a deliberate choice, on his part. looking back on it now, that’s the conclusion you come to.

he wanted to appear unreadable. purposefully hiding his personality and mannerisms, to gain the upper hand. observing all of you, dissecting you inside his mind, while revealing nothing about himself apart from his name. it’s a kind of power, a safety measure.

not like it lasted very long, though.

evidently, holding back isn’t exactly gojo’s forte. after only a day or two, he began to show his true colours, having gotten more accustomed to the new environment and classmates — and with the revelation of his genuine personality, your unease around him festered even more.

where do you even begin to describe him? he’s childish, for one. and cocky. loud, arrogant. selfish and flamboyant. just generally an asshole. you could go on and on; none of the traits are particularly flattering, and you know he couldn’t care less.

gojo is annoying, plain and simple. almost constantly trying to pick a fight with someone, uninterested in manners or even common courtesy. he says what he feels, regardless of how other people take it.

to put it simply, he has no regard for the people around him. his self-interest is limitless.

gojo does have a certain presence, though. a kind of charisma, or what you think could become charisma, if he’d just get off that high horse already. he won’t, though — you know he won’t. he revels in it, in looking down on everything and everyone, annoyingly boisterous and irritatingly tall.

most frustrating of all, however, is that his unbridled confidence isn’t exactly unwarranted.

as much as it pains you to say it, gojo is maybe just a little bit incredible. a natural-born genius, even. he’s intelligent, and observant, and awfully pretty, with those blue eyes and that snowy hair.

and he has no issue in getting what he wants. none whatsoever.

there’s something admirable about it, in a twisted way — it’s almost like he doesn’t even need to try. he’s good at anything, if he just gives it a single chance. evidently, he’s never once given a chance to the prospect of being a decent guy, then.

effortlessly perfect, in the most imperfect of ways. that’s probably how you’d describe him.

annoying is still the most fitting word, though, undoubtedly. or maybe obnoxious. he’s got this spoiled rich kid vibe that irks you, gets under your skin. you doubt he’s ever had to empathize with anyone else in his entire life.

really, you don’t understand how geto can put up with him.

gojo said something to him, during your first week of school. what, you aren’t sure — probably some rude, untoward comment, something taunting. shoko told you about it, but you don’t know the details.

what you do know is that they fought about it, physically. and that ever since then, they’ve been on a first-name basis, attached at the hip. it’s not often you see one of the two without the other. evidently, the fight brought them closer. you think they must be at least a little bit insane, but maybe that’s to be expected of kids who’d choose some weird boarding school in the middle of nowhere over a more orthodox choice.

(not like you’re one to talk, though.)

geto is a little better than his best friend, at least. he’s polite, and relaxed, and easy to talk to, only ever annoying when gojo’s around. you don’t know how he manages to put up with him so well, but you get the sense that he’s the only one who really understands gojo. the only one who even tries to.

you haven’t even attempted to do so, yourself. fondness wasn’t something you held for him, from the very beginning, but every interaction between the two of you only serves to make him more and more insufferable in your eyes.

gojo is annoying to basically everyone, always teasing and taunting, looking down from that high horse of his. and you’re certainly no exception — if anything, he’s even worse with you.

you know he looks down on you, from behind those tacky sunglasses. you’re not as self-assured as your classmates, and you think he must have sensed it, the moment he laid eyes on you. that you’re a little meek, a bit of a doormat, easy to push around and get a rise out of. maybe he also noticed your apprehension towards him, your apparent unease.

you’re easy prey, to put it simply.

so as soon as introductions were over, gojo immediately began to push at your buttons. grinning in that cocky fashion, not bothering to hide what he thought of you in the slightest. the first words that came out of his mouth when he spoke to you were rude ones, but you can’t quite recall them, muddled together with every other unneeded comment that he’s thrown your way since.

his behavior hasn’t gotten better, even in the slightest. gojo is always teasing you, annoying you, trying to figure out what makes you tick. almost like he’s solving an equation — the equation being you, the limit of your patience.

evidently, he’s developed a fondness for getting under your skin; it’s your own fault, really, for giving him what he wants. a scoff, a roll of your eyes, an earnest fuck right off. if you were more like shoko or geto, then maybe he’d leave you alone — if you could just brush him off, ignore him, not give him the time of day. deny him one of those reactions he loves so much.

but you’re not shoko. and you’re not geto, either. you’re you, and you’ve always been particularly bad at hiding what you feel.

it’s not like you hate him, or anything. you really have tried to get along with him. but it’s impossible, at the end of the day. gojo is just too good at being annoying.

and, more than anything, he’s far too out of reach. you can state his negative traits without a hitch, as well as his begrudgingly positive ones, but all of them are surface level when you get down to it. in truth, you don’t understand satoru gojo at all.

and that suits you just fine.

you’re just gonna have to live with it. live with him, his presence in your life, disrupting what should have been your peaceful high school years. your new start.

it sucks, but you’ve already resigned yourself to it. having to deal with him every day is annoying, yes, but what can you do? at least you get along well enough with shoko and geto. at this point, you’ve decided to treat gojo like an annoying little toddler, or an irritating pest. someone to put up with, not take seriously.

for a pest, he’s awfully good at making you angry, though. you can never seem to maintain your composure, when he’s around. it’s not always a bad thing — the banter can be funny, sometimes. just a tiny bit. doesn’t make it any less infuriating, though.

and in the state you’re currently in, you doubt you could handle it without popping a blood vessel or two.

a heavy sigh flows from your parted lips, as you examine your blurry reflection in the mirror. fatigue clings to your skin like a layer of sweat, and your mind is muddled, stuffed with anxious thoughts you’d rather not be having.

you feel thoroughly exhausted, completely spent. and the day’s barely begun. you didn’t get a wink of sleep last night, unable to slip into sleep’s embrace without being awoken by an abrupt nightmare.

and it’s painfully evident. in your face, your posture. in the paleness of your skin, only making your vague eyebags more noticeable, and in the way you can’t help but drag your legs slightly as you walk. in your disheveled hair, in every sigh and grumble you let slip as you try to blink the exhaustion away. you just feel so tired, both physically and mentally.

it could be worse, though. you don’t have any classes today, at the very least. it would’ve been an actual nightmare, in the state you’re currently in; having to stay up, take notes and listen to yaga drone on and on. you like your teacher, you really do, but sometimes his lectures can be just a little bit tedious.

the only reason you even bother to leave your dorm at all, in such a restless state, is so you can grab some breakfast. if you’re lucky, maybe it’ll make you feel a little less like a walking train wreck.

with that thought in mind, you make your way to the dormitory’s shared kitchen, enjoying the sight of the cherry blossoms through the windows you pass.

you’ll manage, somehow. your morning couldn’t possibly get any worse, after all.

when you enter the space, you’re relieved to find it completely devoid of people. no shoko, no geto, or even gojo. running into the first two wouldn’t be the end of the world, but it still wouldn’t be ideal. you don’t really want anyone seeing you like this — tired, meek, somewhat vulnerable.

least of all gojo. you shiver at the bare thought.

with laboured, groggy movements, you move around the kitchen, getting cups and plates and turning on the coffee machine. the sizzling of the pan creates a soothing melody, pleasant to your ears, as you quickly make a lazy breakfast to wolf down.

when it’s finished, you waste no time in taking a seat by one of the tables; eager to enjoy the peace and quiet, at last.

but, as always, the world seems to have it out for you specifically.

”oh? well, look who it is. and here i thought you had left, too.”

you stiffen. ever so slightly, barely noticeable, but still enough that you physically feel the dread envelop every single cell of your body. the voice that echoes across the open space is a chipper one. one you recognize. one you were desperately hoping not to hear today.

inwardly wincing, all you can do is continue to idly sip from your cup of coffee, silently going through all five stages of grief before accepting your unfortunate predicament.

that’s just your luck, isn’t it?

resigned to the sight you know you’ll see when you raise your head, you do just that — and, lo and behold, there he is.

gojo looks the same as always. grinning brightly, wearing those ugly sunglasses, making his way across the room like he owns it. a trait you can’t help but admire, envy, as he plops down next to you like it’s nothing. unconcerned about you or your concept of personal space.

”whatcha up to?” he chirps, in a sugar sweet tone, layered over with a boyish kind of excitement. there’s that teasing tilt of his, too, the one that always accompanies his voice when he’s speaking to you.

usually, hearing him speak in such an irritating fashion would’ve put you off. maybe you would’ve given him an apprehensive look, or tried to sound unbothered when answering his inquiry — that usually only makes him more intent on annoying you, but you just never seem to learn.

in your current state, though, you can’t muster up anything of the sort. you’re too tired, too anxious. you just want to sleep.

and yet, despite your best wishes, here he is; satoru gojo, in all his glory, ruining your hopes of what could have been a peaceful breakfast. you can’t even bring yourself to get mad. today, you just don’t have the energy to deal with him at all.

when you glance his way, your eyes meet, for a second — not like you can actually see them, from behind his sunglasses, but you know they’re there. menacing and uncanny. bright and excited.

you allow your gaze to linger at him for a brief moment, before trailing back to your plate. ”morning,” is all you manage to mutter, before taking a tentative bite of your sandwich.

gojo blinks.

he immediately notes that your voice sounds meek. even more so than usual. and it’s a little confusing — he expected you to give him a scoff, or even just a timid huff. but no such luck. you’re just sitting there, quiet, curling into yourself.

so, after a moment’s consideration, gojo opts to look at you. to really look at you, studying your face, the way your fingers move to curl around the ceramic handle of your cup. he’s always been observant, but it doesn’t take a genius to see that you’re tired.

you look out of it, plain and simple. eyes unfocused as you stare into space. gojo is silent for no more than a mere moment, contemplating his next course of action. he’s never seen you like this, before.

did something happen?

— well, it doesn’t matter. not his problem.

”you look like a zombie,” he grins, teasingly, showing off the white of his teeth.

despite the oddity of your behavior, he can’t hold it back — despite his own intuition, telling him to let you be. he can’t help it. you’re just too fun to tease.

suguru or shoko just raise their eyebrows at him, or stare him down like a misbehaving dog — but you always have a good reaction to give. something to entertain him when he’s bored, or something to distract him when his mind is too full of noise.

so he can’t help but tease you, a little. hoping it’ll soothe the restlessness in his chest.

— but for once, what gojo expects isn’t what he gets.

he expects you to glare at him, or tell him to leave you alone, or even just sigh in exasperation. either one would be fine. it’s just mindless enjoyment, to him, a little fun to lighten up his day.

especially now, when suguru is away on some day trip he wasn’t privy to. traitor, is all he can think. and shoko is nowhere to be seen, either. probably off smoking in some random alleyway, listening to one of her weird indie bands.

the whole dorm is so eerily quiet.

(gojo would never admit it, not in a thousand years, but maybe it’d be just a little bit lonely without any of you around.)

for a while, he assumed he’d have to spend the whole day alone. but then he entered the kitchen, and lo and behold; there you were, his saving grace. his dear old irritable little classmate.

a great relief overtook him, when he set his sights on you. oh, thank god — he thought he was going to die of boredom. but with you at school, too, his day is saved. now he can push your buttons to his heart’s content, bask in your playful banter until suguru gets back.

— only this time, you don’t react at all.

you don’t give him what he expects, don’t indulge his little antics, in the way he’s grown so accustomed to. all you do is continue to eat your breakfast, and drink your coffee, in silence. intent on gulping it all down quickly, so you can leave.

gojo’s words aren’t even irritating to you, right now. barely even a hassle. you honestly can’t be bothered with him at all; he can say what he wants, you don’t care. even mustering up the energy to get annoyed feels like too much for your sleep-deprived brain.

gojo waits, for just a couple moments more. hoping for a delayed reaction, a witty counter, a snarky comment. anything.

but it never comes.

finally, he starts to sulk. ever so slightly, slumping against the leather seat behind him, quieting down with a low huff. furrowing his brows as his lips curl down into a soft pout.

god — just what is your problem? what is with you, today? it’s no fun if you don’t play along.

gojo can’t help but grumble a little, under his breath. you’re usually so responsive, so easy to rile up. so what’s wrong? why are you just sitting there?

whatever. he doesn’t care. not even a little bit. so what if you’re not talking to him? like he cares enough to be bothered by it. gojo has better things to do, bigger fish to fry. he wasn’t even that excited, when he saw you. the thought of bantering with you didn’t lift his spirits, even in the slightest. not one bit.

(he hadn’t realized he’d begun to look forward to your interactions so much.)

but, really — come on. would it take so much effort to just say something? to just respond to his friendly little quip? you can’t possibly be that tired.

or what, did you get insecure, or something? because he called you a zombie? no way. you’re not that sensitive. right? or is that it? what a hassle.

you know he’s just messing with you. so why are you acting so….

(sad, gojo wants to think, but he buries the thought before it has a chance to reach his frontal cortex. he doesn’t want to empathize with you. that’d just be too troublesome.)

nonetheless, a strange frustration bubbles up in his chest. at your lack of reaction, the weak glint in your eyes. he just doesn’t understand why — and that frustrates him even more.

why can’t you just bite back, like always?

it’s fun when you do.

the silence lingers on, stretching out as you gulp down your food while gojo keeps on sulking. he’s still just sitting beside you, waiting for something to happen. he briefly considers getting up and leaving, or saying something annoying to hopefully spur you on —

but you stand up before he can convince himself to go through with either option.

having finished your breakfast, your legs carry you to the sink. finally, you can head back to your room. gojo’s being weirdly quiet, you can’t help but notice; it’s kind of hard not to, with how loud he usually is.

but you pay no mind to it, methodically washing your dishes in silence. deciding not to dwell on it. it’s a rare opportunity, after all, one you’d be foolish not to enjoy it while it lasts. you don’t bother saying goodbye to him, either, as he sits there. still deep in thought and grumbling curses under his breath.

he watches you as you leave, gaze trailing after your form until you’re completely out of sight.

then he lays down, flat on his back, with a frustrated huff. trying desperately to brush away the memory of your dim eyes, the slight frown on your lips. the dark circles under your eyes, that he tried not to notice because they made him feel so weirdly uncomfortable. the meek look you gave him.

gojo sighs.

(he feels just a tiny, tiny bit bad.)

when you wake up from your slumber, you immediately note that your body feels lighter.

no nightmares came to haunt you, this time. you practically collapsed once your head hit the pillow, finally giving you some peace of mind, and some well needed rest. maybe having breakfast really did help.

with a groan, you lazily stretch out your limbs, gaze falling on the clock on your wall. you’ve only been asleep for about two hours, or so, but it’s more than you got last night.

what to do, what to do. you still have the whole day ahead of you. another nap wouldn’t hurt, but you don’t want to waste your precious free time by just rotting in bed. maybe you can take a walk around the schoolyard? the cherry blossoms have started to unfurl, and it’s a beautiful sight — perfect to enjoy on a day like this, framed by the blue of the sky.

it’s a pleasing mental image. enough to have you changing into some light and comfortable clothes, intent on seeing the idea through, before you reach a hand out to push the door open.

as you do so, something is knocked over.

a soft little thud, accompanied by the sensation of collision between the door and something else. that’s all you hear, all you feel.

with a low curiosity simmering in your eyes, you exit the room, eagerly peeking around for a look at the mysterious something.

as you do so, your gaze falls on something pink.

it’s tiny, awfully out of place as it lays on the floor. crouching down to examine it further, you recognize it immediately; a small carton of strawberry milk, with a plastic straw plastered on its side. one of the items sold in the schoolyard’s vending machines.

you drink it fairly often, every time you need a small pick-me-up. the sweet taste always succeeds in soothing your spirits.

and it was sitting right outside your door.

you stare at it in contemplation, holding it in your hand as the gears turn silently in your head. that’s weird. did someone drop it? no, that’s dumb — who’d drop it right outside your door and then not pick it up?

did someone leave it for you, then? because they know you like it? that could be it, maybe, but who would —

….

your mind stills.

the idea is odd, to say the very least. so odd that a part of you doesn’t even want to entertain it. but despite your inherent denial, it’s the most reasonable conclusion to arrive at. after all, neither shoko nor geto are there — and that just leaves one possible culprit.

why would he do something like that, though? he doesn’t like you, you know that. so there’s no way — right?

… then again, you have seen him drink it. both of you seem to like it, contrary to your classmates; shoko doesn’t like sweet things in general, and geto doesn’t go for strawberry milk if he can choose something else. honestly, it might be the only thing you and gojo have in common, the one thing that binds you two together. a single carton of strawberry milk. it’s almost comical.

(you wonder why he did it, if it’s really true. you wonder if he noticed that you were feeling under the weather, and figured it’d make you happy.

you wonder if it’d be foolish of you to believe that it’s true, if only because you like the idea.)

your feet move on their own, before your mind has a chance to question the decision. where could he be, you wonder? in the kitchen? in his dorm?

just as the question enters your subconscious, a flash of white crosses your vision. as you absently glance out the window, you see it; white, soft hair, like a fluffy cloud in the midst of all the pink petals fluttering about.

you stop, and then begin walking once more. with more decision.

gojo is sitting right outside the dormitory, on a wooden bench, legs swinging as he gazes up at the sky. his hair sways slightly with the breeze, soft strands moving and caressing his skin.

the air is filled with pink petals, gracefully descending down to the ground, together with a trail of bubbles. gojo is blowing them, haphazardly, following their movement with his keen eyes. they glimmer in the sunlight, reflecting all shades of the rainbow.

the sight is just a little bit breathtaking.

the ground crunches beneath your feet, when you take a step forward — and gojo turns towards you. you stiffen like a deer in headlights. it was almost on impulse that you walked over to him, but now that you’re face to face, it’s a little nerve-racking.

still, it’s far too late to back out now. there’s not much to do except join him. so that’s exactly what you eventually do, albeit a little hesitantly.

attempting to ignore his continuous stare, burning into the side of your head, you plop down beside him. an uncomfortable silence lingers in the air around you both, as he waits for you to say something.

mustering up the courage to do so is tough, though. the decisiveness you felt when you decided to go see him has faded, now only the ghost of a sensation — you’re somewhat nervous to verbalize what was on your mind when you made the decision.

but eventually, you force yourself to speak. hoping you won’t come to regret it.

”… hey, gojo?” you start, softly, not looking at him. gaze glued on the cherry trees. but you know his eyes are still on you; you can feel them, and their weight.

the carton of strawberry milk is in your right hand, and you raise it up, faintly. to get his attention. then you look over at him, not quite managing to give him a smile, but you try your best to look somewhat appreciative.

”thanks.”

a confused blink. gojo looks down the strawberry milk, and then back at you. eyelashes fluttering.

a moment passes. then he turns his head away, swiftly. his hair is tousled by the movement, a couple pink petals stuck between the soft strands. you can’t see his face anymore.

”i don’t know what you mean,” he huffs, with a voice you’ve never heard from him. he sounds almost embarrassed.

upon closer inspection, you think the tips of his ears may be just slightly red. a smile finds its way onto your lips, unbeknownst to you — like this, he’s actually kind of cute. denying your implication, when it’s so obvious.

some part of you was still a little unsure, but gojo’s embarrassment basically confirms it.

(maybe he’s not as bad as you thought.)

cherry blossoms flutter in the wind, dancing joyously, without a care in the world. a spring breeze ruffles gojo’s hair, as he sits beside you, having begun to blow bubbles again. not saying a word, and looking straight ahead. but can’t help but stare at him, a little.

you find yourself thinking that he looks right at home, among the petals. they’re fleeting, hard to get a grasp on. pretty, and so out of reach, despite being so close.

you could reach over and touch him right now, if you wanted to. you could reach for his sunglasses, lift them off his face, and finally see those eyes he’s so intent on hiding. you could see him, see straight into his soul, and find out who he really is.

you won’t, though. some boundaries aren’t meant to be so callously crossed.

instead, you puncture the pink carton in your hand with the plastic straw, and take a tentative sip. the sweet taste soothes you almost immediately; you can’t help but sigh, softly, relaxing a little further. it’s absolutely perfect, for this kind of weather. the sight before you, cherry petals and shining bubbles. a boy you don’t like, but definitely don’t hate, either.

you both look up, following the bubbles with your eyes as they float up into the sky. as they get smaller and smaller, farther and farther out of reach. neither of you say a word, but the silence is comforting. light.

gojo is the first one to break it, surprisingly, in a voice so small you barely hear it.

”you don’t look like a zombie.”

a second passes. the statement catches you off guard, and you’re left blinking in confusion, trying to decipher it.

unable to resist the temptation, you decide to look over at him. with his eyes conveniently hidden behind his sunglasses, you can’t get a good read on his expression; he’s regained his composure, then.

it takes a couple seconds for his words to sink in — but once they do, all pieces seem to fall into place.

is that why he got you the drink?

you just can’t help it. you laugh, lightly, and this time it’s gojo who’s left confused.

”did —” you wheeze, softly, voice thoroughly amused. almost fond. you try to bite back the laughter, but it’s tough. ”did you think i was bothered by that, or something?”

gojo looks at you, for a brief moment. a little stunned. the sight only makes your smile grow even further, as you meet his gaze, eyes crinkled. you really aren’t trying to tease him — it’s just so funny to you. so endearing.

from the angle you’re viewing him through, as you lean back against the bench, you catch a glimmer of his eyes at last. they’re awfully pretty. blue and bright, full of life. when you look closer, you can see tiny, white splotches of colour in them.

they look like the blue sky.

you called them menacing, before, uncanny, but now you don’t think that’s quite true. they’re awfully soft, in the sunlight. especially when viewed like this, right after catching him slightly off guard. it’s a rare moment, terribly precious.

gojo doesn’t let it linger, though — the moment only lasts for a second or two.

then he scoffs, abruptly, turning away yet again. you swear that he’s pouting, a little, even if he’s trying to sound annoyed and nothing more.

”obviously not,” he huffs, sounding irritated as he rests his jaw on the heel of his palm. ”but with how sensitive you are, i wouldn’t be surprised.”

usually, a comment like that would irk you, and you’d bite back. but now it just makes you giggle, lightheartedly. the tips of his ears turn red, again, at the sound.

yeah. he’s really not so bad, after all.

for a while, you don’t say anything else, afraid of ruining the tender atmosphere. you feel closer to gojo than you ever have before, and you wonder if maybe this is the gojo that geto sees; childish, but well meaning. arrogant and cocky, but oddly innocent. selfish — but not really. you may have been slightly off, with that one.

the strawberry milk on your tongue tastes sweet, sweeter than usual.

”hey,” you break the silence, surprising even yourself. the words fall from your lips like soft little breaths, rolling off your tongue like marbles pouring out of a glass bottle. ”i don’t dislike you, you know?”

it’s an impulsive admission. saying it out loud doesn’t feel wrong, though. maybe a little humiliating, sure, but not wrong. they’re honest words, after all.

you suspect gojo may be looking at you, out of the corner of his eye, but you’re not sure. after all, you’re not looking at him, either — that’d feel a little too embarrassing.

he doesn’t quite know how to respond. you’re being strangely unpredictable, today, and it makes him feel a little unsure of himself. your tone is so soft. almost friendly. he only ever hears it when you’re talking to shoko, or geto.

not learning his lesson, gojo opts to tease you, as always. he can’t let the silence linger for too long. it’s a halfhearted attempt, though — more of a vaguely amused huff than anything.

”what, got a crush on me or somethin’?”

this time, you don’t scoff, or roll your eyes, or give him an earnest fuck right off. you just chuckle, in a way that almost borders on fond. you’re not one to tease, contrary to the boy on your left, but your words are teasing even still. ”i have better taste than that.”

gojo should be irked, should grumble and shoot something back, but you don’t give him the chance to.

”i just… you know,” you mumble, tasting the words on your tongue. ”i still think you’re annoying. and childish.” gojo huffs, and your lips curl up. ”but i really don’t dislike you.”

you take a sip of the strawberry milk, before continuing, hoping it’ll make the words easier to say. ”and it’s not like i know you, anyway. so i’m sorry for making a bunch of assumptions.”

a pause. for a split second, you quiet down, a little embarrassed. ”… that’s all i wanted to say,” you exhale, gaze glued to your lap.

as always, you can’t tell what gojo’s thinking. out of the corner of your eye, you try to catch a glimpse of his face, but you have a nagging suspicion that it wouldn’t tell you anything anyway. his eyes are hidden by those sunglasses, after all, acting as a wall between him and the rest of the world. so you don’t know if the words reach him, if they mean anything at all.

but you hope they do. even as you brush cherry petals and non-existent dust from your lap, and get up to leave.

gojo just sits there, for a second, deep in contemplation.

he tries to bury a certain thought, before it has a chance to reach his frontal cortex, before he has to accept that it exists — only this time, he doesn’t succeed.

the words die before they reach his tongue, but he hears them, in his head. and begrudgingly has to accept their existence, after all.

(i don’t really dislike you, either.)

what actually ends up leaving the confines of his throat is merely a scoff, so faint he doubts you even hear it. ”whatever,” he mutters, hoping it’ll come across as cool and unbothered.

the gruff sound strikes you as just slightly flustered. one last smile reaches your face, before you head back inside. gojo stays behind, on the bench, lost in thought.

you toss the now-empty carton into a trash can, dismissing the stray thought of keeping it as a memento of the interaction. that’d just be creepy. you are happy, though. you feel as if you’ve reached something, the start of an eventual conclusion. something worth cherishing.

you still don’t understand satoru gojo. you get the impression that you just grew a little bit closer to him, though.

there are layers to him, more than what meets the eye. hidden behind those sunglasses of his. you can only imagine what the world might look like, from his perspective. what you look like, reflected in his eyes.

you feel a little ashamed, for thinking you had him all figured out. a spoiled, self-centered rich kid, with no functional empathic abilities — it might be partially true, but you’ll have to reevaluate the statement, to see how well it holds up.

the lacking empathic abilities, especially. you still don’t think his emotional intelligence is anything to gawk at, but you may have been underestimating it, a little bit. it’s there, despite everything. in those eyes, in that carton of strawberry milk.

you think there’s a certain maturity, there, in spite of his childishness. or perhaps the latter is no more than a product of the former, a way for damaged children to dress their wounds. the way he carries himself and the way he speaks both seem a bit forced. like he’s used to performing, used to moving in a way that demands attention.

all eyes on him, at all times. you think that sounds just a tad exhausting.

as you return to the safety of your room, you still can’t help but ponder. there’s so much you don’t know. despite the moment you shared, and the connection you think may be growing between you, he’s still so out of reach.

(almost lonely, in a way.)

you wonder what he’s like when he’s alone, when there’s no one around to perform for. what is an actor without their audience?

you don’t understand satoru gojo, not really. not at all, not in the slightest.

but you think you’d maybe like to.

part 0

#i wrote this part a pretty long time ago so tbh i dont think my writing is. v good. but hopefully itll get better by the end LMAO #i love hs gojo soo much hes so cute. so shoujo manga ml. n hes so fun to write in a no curses au #i just feel like gojo is such a gift giver. physically cant apologize but throws ur fave bag of chips at ur head n acts like it wasnt him #hes so silly <33 #next part will b geto’s!!! but itll prob take a while bc my geto bias needs it to be Flawless #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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