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A Date Like No Other- Basketball Player!Mingyu x Female!Reader (College AU)
Inspired by the famous tumblr post 😄 also I’m quite tempted to do a part 2 for this one if anyone is into that hehe
Word Count: 3600 | College AU, Basketball Player!Mingyu, Humor, Fluff | Warnings: drinking mentioned, one suggestive comment, one minor swear
He was the guy on campus everyone would have sold organs to go on a date with. The sports guy. The really tall guy. Handsome, plays on the school team, movie love interest guy.
You were the weird girl hardly anyone talked to, and you just liked him because he drew on your notes with you.
History was boring you- you’d already answered the questions and they read the pages out loud at a snail’s pace, sending your eyes diving into the pages lest you want to rip your hair out and coat your long thin institutional table in it. Saving that, you reached into your backpack and pulled out a green ultra fine marker, popping the cap. You reached over and doodled a frog sitting in his funny little amphibian hunch on one of the multitudinous papers strewn about the table before the guy sitting next to you glanced over, a huge smile spreading across his face before he suppressed laughter.
"I've been frogged!" That, of course, had him almost snorting in aborted amusement.
Wait...did that mean? "Oh, sorry, those were your notes, huh?" You asked in response, hand hitting your head lightly. "I got them mixed up, sorry for defacing your property. I can get you a new sheet if you were going to turn that in-"
"Nah," your neighbor, whose name was Mingyu if you remembered from roll call, held up a hand of both restraint and reassurance, "it's fine! I'm going to keep it. I love him. I think he needs a hat, though."
"Oh, I got it." This time, it was a brown marker you grabbed, quickly outlining and filling in a tiny cowboy hat for your creation. "There we go, how's that?"
This time, a full snort. "He looks handsome to me. What's his name?" Mingyu whispered as your professor drew a tad bit closer.
"Uh, Clint Eastwood?" You shrugged, having not exactly thought that far- in fact, not at all, the whole shindig starting at full zero thoughts, head empty.
"Well, I'll take him with me to every class I have," Mingyu replied, glancing fondly at the doodled frog before taking his pencil and drawing a fly between two pieces of bread, "and feed him, too."
At that, you exhaled a quietened laugh, smiling back as wide as he'd done.
"What? Wouldn't that be what a frog eats?"
You had to admit that it would be.
From that day on, you two added one or two things onto Clint Eastwood's page every class session. He had a top hat at the ready for dressing up, a little garden of flowers, a very badly drawn horse to ride, a soccer ball to play with, and a plate of the takeout Mingyu had just really wanted that day. You didn't even know what his major was. Maybe it was just sports. Could one go to school for simply basketball? Who knew? You guys didn't really talk, just drew and whispered and laughed about your froggy little world. Either way, to your simultaneous amusement and annoyance you found yourself really able to see the hype behind the legendary Kim Mingyu. For all the popularity, he was a good guy. And you know what, he was cute. But, like, heart cute. The face cute was just a bonus.
~
"Hey (y/n), do you ever go to any games? I've never seen you at one," Mingyu mused as you strode out of class, backpacks loose over your shoulders.
"Well," you paused, letting your expression be cut by a half-joking, half-serious wince, "no offense, but I'm not a huge sports person? So I haven't gone because I don't have anyone to go with and it hasn't seemed worth the money. Not because of the game, just because of how much they charge for the ticke-”
"Hey, don’t worry, I get it," he laughed, "well, my little sister could use someone to go with, and the ticket would be on me. I save on buying them for myself because, well, you know."
"You're too busy slamming dunks or whatever it is basketball players do," you supplied.
"Depends on your position," Mingyu just chucklef in response, pushing the big silvery-painted fire exit-esque handle of the history building's double doors open.
"Basketball has positions?" You burst out incredulously, squinting both in confusion and at the onslaught of sunlight assaulting your eyes as you emerged past the threshold.
Another laugh. "Come and find out."
~
The game was made more fun by knowing a player- it gave you something to care about as your eyes followed Mingyu's run along the smooth floors, the way he leapt to toss the ball to some guy just as tall or even taller than him. He really played with passion, passion and a clear sense of fun if his remarks on the court were any indication. His sister was pretty cool, too. She looked like a fashion model straight out of Seoul, but she was fun and sassy, not afraid to tease her big brother about the shot he missed when he ran up and greeted you at the sidelines or shoot a questioning look between you two as you told him to do it for Clint Eastwood, whom Mingyu replied was his good luck charm before shuffling back off on sneakers that squeaked against the floor.
Even though you didn't actually hang out with him the whole time, just at celebratory victory ice cream after, you came to history lecture the next session feeling closer to Mingyu, and he must have felt the same as he started talking to you instantly. You rarely initiated conversation, but always welcomed it.
He thanked you for coming to the game as if he hadn’t paid for it, then asked what your major was. You told him and bounced the question back. Turns out it was business, not sports. That history lecture was just GE you both had to get out of the way. The most interesting history lessons to you weren't generic national history or war maps, but all the odd sideline stuff like how some people believed huffing toilets might have helped them during the Black Plague.
"They what?" Mingyu asked, eyes widening and mouth agape as class commenced.
Maybe that was why people didn't really talk to you.
Such reflection was inaccurate, however, as you mindlessly doodled a ridiculous-looking bug-eyed dog on the now-shared note paper and Mingyu chuckled and gave it a collar, smiling when your glance upward met his eyes.
The moment you rose from your seat after lecture, notebook shoved back into your backpack and pencil case into one of the side water bottle holsters or whatever they were called, Mingyu started talking to you again, this time about how glad he was that he didn't join a fraternity like his teammate Johnny.
"Yeah, because see, this one guy just got so drunk he didn’t know where his car was and his girlfriend lost her nose ring, then another guy was sick and they threw him outside and he woke up in the cold locked out of the house, and the houses stink, too, like they smell so bad…”
"Yeah," you muttered, taking each of your bag straps in your hands this walk, palms sliding over the rough fabric, "dude, you couldn't pay me to live in one of those."
“…they’re practically taking after those Black Plague people!” He joked, bringing a smile to both your faces as he mimed taking a sniff, waving his hands in front of his nose and bursting into laughter.
“Except they should know better,” you added, shaking your head in amusement, “they need to get smart like you and I.”
He didn’t laugh, just nodded in approval. "Right? And everyone there has already hooked up with each other. I'm so tired of all that, too. That's not the kind of date I've been looking for, you know?”
In a sense, you did not know, being that none of your classmates had even hardly made conversation let alone a risqué pass, but you got it. Being as popular as Mingyu was, you’d seen how fellow students threw themselves at him sometimes. Had to get uncomfortable, especially if his facial expression at a few of them said anything. They weren’t usually very original, either, poor guy. He was just a clear end goal, and someone who loved his sister and his little drawings and celebrated with ice cream as often as cocktails and laughed at toilets didn’t deserve that. Mingyu wasn’t an ideal, he was a real person. Someone who just needed to have some damn fun for once.
“Sure. You need some- no, you deserve some- creativity. If it was up to me, I’d take you on a date like no other,” you joked, chuckling as your gaze rose back up to his eyes.
“You would?” At the sight of Mingyu’s eyes widening, you wondered if your phrasing had inadvertently crossed a line. Sure, you were totally willing, but- “Alright, just name a time.”
“Wait, really?” This time it was your turn to gape, one hand dropping off your backpack strap to fall to your side. Your heart picked up its pace. Never in a googolplex of years would you have thought Mr. It Boy K. Basketball would want a date with you. Being his friend was surprising enough.
“Yeah, of course. I think it’d be fun,” Mingyu beamed at you, “and I trust you. My sister likes you, too. If…if you really meant it, that is.” He added that last bit as his own gaze dropped and one hand reached up to rub the back of his neck.
Giggling shyly at his sudden sheepishness as well as the situation’s sheer absurdity, you tilted your head his way, smile melting back out of the shock. “Well, thanks, that actually…really means a lot. Get ready for an epic time, then!”
He cocked a brow, turning down between a row of potted trees toward the food court. “Have something in mind already?”
Actually, you did have something you always wanted to do if you could get someone else- it would look too weird to be the only one. Why not do it with Mingyu?
“Be afraid,” you nodded, smirking in satisfaction.
“Well then, how should I dress?”
“Just casual is fine,” you shrugged and teased, “we can’t all afford black tie, Mr. Business Major.”
“Fair enough,” he chuckled, still giving that wide smile you’d come to anticipate seeing, “Friday night?”
“Friday night,” you repeated.
~
“Get ready for Friday Night Showdown!”
“Um, (y/n), this is the grocery store.”
Your lips turned upward proudly as you rotated from a fist pump into a Vanna White pose before the mart. “I know.”
“Are we…” Mingyu paused, clearly searching for words. “Fighting in here or something?”
“We are not,” you replied cryptically, looking all the more satisfied as you passed between the automatic doors, Mingyu at your side.
“Am I doing your shopping?” He looked at you with still-raised eyebrows, though amusement colored his expression.
“That would be messed up!” You denied, shaking your head. “Though admittedly funny.”
“Don’t get any ideas for date two!”
Your heart flipped at Mingyu’s easy smile, how casually he said that…the way he flushed and looked away the moment the words left his mouth. He was already thinking of your next date? Hope he likes seafood, you internally joked.
“Yeah, no shopping tonight unless you wanted some snacks. Because tonight,” you skipped over all the central aisles of kitchen supplies, soap, and dry goods, making a beeline for the meat section… well, more specifically the fish counter, “is all about the face-off.”
In a split second you caught Mingyu’s eyes dart down once more past rows of cans, bottles, jars of just about every color you could ask for, dancing over their numerical markers as if to say farewell to actual shopping. Then, his gaze was back on you, your gestures, over your shoulder to the tank at the end of the fish counter. The tank full of lobsters with big claws and small patience. His eyes met yours again. He knew. You could see it.
You nodded. “Oh yeah. Pick your champion.”
He twisted his cap around backwards, revealing his face, those big, innocent brown eyes, once more. “Uh, quick question: how do you suggest I keep mine straight from the others?”
He was asking in earnest. That was another thing you liked about Mingyu: not only did he possess childlike wonder beyond what somebody in his age and station in life probably should, he was also a bad liar in the purest, kindest of senses. He really, truly, had never had a grocery store lobster beatdown date, and he couldn’t fake interest if he tried. So now he wanted tips, advice you could give him as if you had already had loads of grocery store lobster beatdown dates. All you could do was smile back at the tall basketball player and every small kindness he’d shown you thus far. The way he’d simply seen you.
“Good question. Don’t they have different colored wristbands?”
He arched a brow, clearly fighting a snicker. “Different what?”
Pantomiming a band with one hand grabbing the other, you stuttered. “You know, the… the claw restraints! The wristbands!”
“I don’t think they have wrists, (y/n),” Mingyu teased, reaching over and ruffling your hair.
Well, of course you realize this means war. “Alright, you are on,” was all you said, eyes narrowing.
He perked up at that. “What’s the bet?”
“Winner gets to pick the next activity,” you reply, sauntering a few steps closer to the lobster tank and pointing to one with a purple band over its claws that was clearly ready to throw- well, for lack of better terminology- hands, “and I choose this one.”
“Well, in that case,” Mingyu returned to your side, arm pressed against yours as he peered into the tank, “the logical choice would be to pick the one in red in front of yours. May the best crustacean win.”
And at that, his competitive stare melted back into that boyish look as he turned to you. “…did that sound cool?”
It almost came out as a snort, you burst out laughing so violently. “That was legendary,” was all you could wheeze out.
~
“Ha ha! I can’t believe it!” Mingyu grinned and bobbed up from his bent tank stare like an excited puppy, pumping the fist that wasn’t holding the mart beer can he’d bought as his lobster shoved yours away in victory.
The pair of crustaceans had been locked in claw-to-claw combat, tussling very slowly over nothing in particular but their proximal frustrations, and Mingyu’s had apparently vented harder, shoving yours back after some aggressive minutes. Mingyu had gotten into the fight, nudging you when something extra exciting happened and even providing commentary on sideline fights between sips.
First drawing a fly sandwich, then that. Truly, who'd've thunk?
“Neither can I," you mock-pouted, crossing your arms, "purple always wins."
"Says who?" Asked Mingyu, who leaned down closer to you, face mere inches from yours.
"Says me," you shrugged, feeling warmth spread across your face.
"Well, you know what?"
You could feel warmth of his breath ghosting faintly over your cheeks, your lips. "Wh- what?"
"As much as I enjoy a good bar," he leaned back a bit, clapping, "I did need something else. Something new. This was fun! Wanna go play basketball in the park? I bet we'll have the court to ourselves!"
There it was again. The reason everyone liked him. Movie love interest vibes, even beneath the oddly-tinted fluorescent lights of commerce. A smile like a boy on the body of a man. Probably not something they usually imagined to see over a lobster tank. Over hoops in the park, though? That tracked, even if it was a bit of a one-eighty from his breath fanning your face.
Beside any of that, he had won the right to choose.
"Sure," you smile, "let's keep your winning streak up."
And with a hand clasped around yours, that athletic strength was tugging you out the grocery store door to a rush of evening wind and the sound of mutual laughter.
~
Basketball really was that man’s passion. Just about the only thing about it you knew about the sport was what a slam dunk was, but what different shots scored different points? You wanted to throw a three-pointer, but what was a three-pointer?
You learned what it was, what an assist was, that elbowing was illegal or something like that because every game had a reason to send the players to sports jail like grown-up cops and robbers.
You got the ball in the basket twice with no help, and that was achievement enough. Mingyu had ran across the court to high-five you both times as if you’d just won him a game. When you messed up the angle of another throw, he got behind you and, trying your best to focus with his chest flush against your back, you tried again and sent the ball sailing without the betrayal of the previous throw’s dramatic arc.
“So can we give Clint Eastwood a basketball now too?” Mingyu asked out of the blue, dropping to the concrete at your side, legs crossing and knees brushing.
“What,” you chuckled, “do you have him with you or something?”
Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled a small white square out and unfolded it to reveal the piece of lined notebook paper with margins full of marker and pencil scratch, most notably your hatted frog friend. He kept those notes in his pocket?
With the one not holding Clint, he ran a hand through his short black hair. “I do like to have him with me,” he answered with a tentative smile.
You twisted slightly, feeling your spine pop from its prior exertion, and remembered his words from the basketball game as he’d visited your seat, making you laugh with a failed attempt at spinning the ball on his finger. “As a good luck charm?”
He shook his head. “I think we’ve added something almost every time we’ve been together. He’s like a log of all the memories we share.” With that, he scooched closer to your side, his jacket falling over the folds of your own clothes slightly. “And I like our memories, Frog Girl.”
What could you say to that? “Frog Girl?” You just giggled, eyes on his.
“That’s right,” Mingyu nodded, “I can’t believe I would never have talked to you if you hadn’t drawn a frog.”
“Ah, college,” you sighed, tilting your head, “the golden years, and yet it’s so easy to ignore everyone else.”
“Well, no longer,” Mingyu shot back, gaze honing in on…well, you weren’t sure, but you liked it, “I figured out what I want to do with my victory wish.”
You smiled at the phrase ‘victory wish’, a term that was just so him. “I thought that was this.” For emphasis, you waved a hand along the court, feeling the night breeze that much more on the skin of your palm.
“Nope,” he shook his head, smirking as his eyes fell back on yours, “I didn’t say I was using it then, I just asked if you wanted to come out here and you said yes."
Well, coat you in flour and call you a biscuit. "You evil genius, you." At that, you gave a grin and a shake of your own head, unable to resist feeling a bit impressed. Man plays games, he picks up some strategy. You'd have to remember that.
"I prefer to think of myself as a nice genius," Mingyu said, and then, switching tones completely, doing another one-eighty to one sweet enough to make your heart swell, he continued, "and about my wish: can I kiss you? I can't think of a better way to end Friday Night Showdown."
Deathly afraid of saying something stupid, you answered by shifting from your crossed legs, folding them to the side as you sat up, knee resting slightly on the edge of his leg as you pressed your lips to his. The slick of his sports jacket between your fingers felt cool as you gripped it to hold both yourself and Mingyu in place as he surged forward into you. For his speed, his eagerness, his kiss was surprisingly soft, not digging too deep but just firmly holding you, treasuring you as if the feeling of your lips was about to fade. Oh, buddy, I'm not going anywhere, you murmured in your head against the feeling of his ever-so-slightly chapped lips.
And as he pulled away, separation painfully slow, deliberate, Mingyu looked you dead in the eyes, blinked at the sudden return of hazy park streetlight, and said “Wow.”
You nodded. “Wow.” Can’t believe how well those lobsters worked, you wanted to say. "You're full of surprises, Mr. Basketball."
“Mr. Basketball,” he mused, gaze briefly drifting from yours, then back. “I wasn’t sure you were going to be that into me, being so funny and smart and artistic and stuff, but I just couldn’t help myself. And boy am I glad for that,” he grinned.
For that, all you could do was kiss him again.
No more hoops were shot that night, only words tossed out with new glee as you, now wrapped in Mingyu’s jacket, pointed out lesser-known constellations, like the Dutch giraffe one or the Poop Deck. After all, you had a reputation to keep up on that date, and everyone had already seen the Big Dipper.
in which you’re forced to share a bed with the husband you’re convinced hates you
warnings: there’s only one bed!!!! suggestive bc it’s gojo, they’re both a bit confused, pic from lving yamada kun at lv999
a/n: part of the gojo’s wife series (i recc you read the fic before this one to understand some things), also i’m posting this stuff on my phone now since i’m on vacay …meaning format will be extra ugly💀💀
——————————————————————————
“What exactly did you say to make the principal Gakuganji agree to us on a mission together?”
You think Gojo or rather your husband, doesn’t really understand how fast he actually walks. With the way he towers over every civilian in Japan and how much longer his strides are, you’re almost certain that his pacing is far from normal. It gets to the point where you’re jogging to keep up with him, a huff escaping your lips in exasperation.
“Don’t worry your pretty little head over that, ‘kay?” He gives you a lazy smile and with the blindfold wrapped around his head, you can’t exactly see the way he glances over at you–gradually shortening his steps for you to catch up.
You choose to ignore his comment about “your pretty little head” and instead sigh. “Sator–I mean ‘Toru,” you say carefully, gauging the way he gives a satisfied smile at your correction. After the moment you both had in the kitchen at a dangerously late hour, he insisted you call him a nickname.
He gave some recommendations: my hubby, my king, the strongest and most handsome husband. Naturally, you refused to call him those nicknames in public and even denied him the joy in private. So to avoid his needless whining, you compromised and decided on “‘Toru.” The way he brightened up that day made you feel giddy all over but you brushed it off with the fact that you were just glad he was actually talking to you.
“You didn’t do anything bad right?” You inquire, shooting him a glare.
“I think what I did was reasonable!” He chirps, reaching in a bag of candy to plop some in his mouth—the same bag he insisted on getting before you both went on the mission. You can’t help but feel a bit meek when his fingers inch towards your mouth and he gives a toothy grin, beckoning for you to open. You breathe out an annoyed huff, slightly parting your lips to let the sugary treat on your tongue.
He smiles, leaning forward to let his fingers linger in the plush of your lips. “Good girl.”
The way your breath hitches is visceral and you feel the pricks of embarrassment probe at your skin. Your eyes avert from his and you quicken your steps, trying your best to hide the fact that Gojo Satoru was having an effect on you. You miss the way his smile widens at your reaction.
You still avoid his gaze when he catches up. “You know I’m the one who cleans up after your mess whenever you piss the higher-ups right? It’s me who gets the scolding!”
“Scolding? Would you believe me if I told you stuff like that won’t happen again?”
You pause, analyzing how he flashed a coy grin. Immediately, your eyes narrow. “Gojo Satoru.”
“It’s ‘Toru to you,” he voices, chuckling at how your frown deepened. “Relax. I didn’t do anything that bad. Just did enough for them to stop annoying my wife.”
You choose not to linger on how easily the words “my wife” falls out of your lips but it’s hard when he went so far just for your wellbeing. Your mind drifts to his lips pressed against your forehead, instantly regretting it as you feel your neck growing warm. You shake your head, trying to dispel the thoughts from multiplying, earning a curious look from Gojo.
Before he can ask why you went quiet, you stop in your tracks, looking at him with an expression so cute he nearly feels himself fall over. You click your tongue. “‘Toru. You annoy me more than them.”
He whistles, looking at the sight of the abandoned hospital–the location where the S-grade assigned to the both of you curse lies hidden. “Harsh.”
-
The lady in the front trembles as she inputs the data for the two of you. Her eyes scan Gojo’s wide grin and your blank expression that seems even more menacing with the red splatters on your clothes. You blink, tilting your head. “It’s not my blood,” you try to reassure her but that only seems to worsen her fear.
“R-Right!” She squeaks. “One room for Mr. Gojo, correct?”
Gojo nods with a hum, taking the keycard from the lady’s trembling hands. He gestures for you to follow him, walking with so much bravado that any onlooker doesn’t even question the bloodied state of your uniform. “You should’ve been more careful,” he says. “You made a mess.”
“Not everyone has infinity you know?” You mumble, following him into the hotel suite. Your eyes scan the seemingly fancy interior and furniture, not paying much attention until your eyes lock onto an unmistakable sight.
“‘Toru. Why is there only one bed?”
His disinterested hum only serves to make you grow more baffled. He shrugs off his jacket, cracking his neck with a hum. “That’s odd. I could’ve sworn I said two beds. The lady must’ve messed up seeing you all bloodied up. Must’ve scared her real bad huh?”
You’re almost certain that this predicament has brought you more stress than any mission you’ve been sent. And you’re amazed–no bewildered, that Gojo’s not even batting an eye at this.
“Oh? Don’t tell me you’re getting all shy now that you’re sharing a bed with your husband.”
“We’ve never done that before!” You squeak out, dropping your bags on the floor.
That was partially his fault, he thinks. Even so, he keeps his mouth shut. “You have any extra clothes you can wear?”
Even in your frenzied state, you still process the question, blinking in recognition. “No…”
He shrugs. “Then you can wear my shirt,” he points to the white button-up. “Might be gross but it’s better than nothing right? Besides that makes us even now. I got to see you shirtless when—”
“‘Toru!”
He grins an easy-going smile. “Ya know if you’re not comfortable with sleeping on the same bed as me, I can always sleep on the couc–”
“No!” You say a bit too quickly, straightening yourself out when he raises a curious brow. “No I mean like, I don’t mind that much. Besides, I don’t want you to hurt your back on the couch…”
“That’s the only reason?” He smiles and it’s not hard to realize he’s teasing you.
You nod, resolute despite your sweating palms. “Yes.”
“Then…” he shrugs. “You can take a shower first. I’ll leave the shirt near the door. Promise I won’t look. Unless you want me to.”
You can only give another nod, shooting a glare at his shit-eating grin. You take off to the showers, clasping a hand over your mouth as you silently scream in embarrassment. The warm water makes your skin feel hotter to touch and you only try your hardest not to dwell on the details. It’s just a night on the same bed together. Nothing more, nothing less.
You wish you could have kept that confidence huddled in your blankets–watching your snow-haired husband crawl into bed. You try not to linger on his bare torso for too long to be considered healthy and have to physically restrain yourself from jumping when his hand grazes your thigh.
He’s not wearing his blindfold or shades, meaning you can really see how his eyes watch your every move in interest. He leans closer, making you bite a squeak down. “You’re hogging the blankets.”
“Huh? Oh yeah,” you laugh awkwardly, throwing the fabric off your body for him. Gojo Satoru doesn’t have a favorite art piece but you in his shirt might just take the spot. He licks his lips, seeing how you unbuttoned a few buttons near the collar for more room–how you avoided his gaze. Cute, he thinks.
He raises a brow when you lay on your side, covering yourself in the blankets until you’re a heap of fabric. His lips twitches into a smile when he sees the way you curl up into yourself. Then again, he chooses not to mention it when he feels himself growing drowsy.
You’re not sure how much time passes but you can hear Gojo’s gentle breathing fill the room. You bring a hand to your legs, trying to ease away the goosebumps forming on your skin. At first, you assumed they were from nerves but now, you’re almost certain it’s because the hotel’s blasting the AC. And oddly enough, Gojo seems completely unaffected, even able to sleep peacefully.
You sigh, turning to face him. You’ve always known your husband was an attractive man but it’s not fair for him to look so good even while sleeping. His lashes are long and you find yourself staring a bit too long at his lips. Again, your mind drift to the moment when he pressed those same lips to your forehead and instead of being filled with embarrassment, you’re filled with a feeling that squeezes at your heart.
Subconsciously, you’re reaching for his face, grazing a finger down his cheekbones to the corner of his lips. His skin is smooth against your touch and you’re almost jealous that his skin was perfect too. You continue to map your way to his jawline, mesmerized at the sight.
“Enjoying the view?” He mumbles, his eyes closed though a smile crosses his face. You’re about to retrace your hand away from his face but he’s quick to clasp one around your wrist. You nearly squeak when he leans closer to your palm, his eyes finally opening to peer into yours. “Eyeing me when I’m asleep? I didn’t know you were such a per—“
“I’m not!” You yelp, snatching your wrist away from you him with a flushed face.
He hums, propping himself on his elbow to watch you. “Hm? Now you getting all embarrassed on me after you felt me up?”
“I did not feel you up.”
He merely shrugs with a grin. “It’s all good. I think you’re pretty cute too.”
You didn’t know it was possible to be this flustered until you shared a bed with Gojo. “I only touched you because I was cold!”
That wasn’t entirely a lie either. When you felt Gojo’s face, his skin was warm under your touch and you wondered if the rest of him was like that. Naturally, you refrained from thinking even further or else you really wouldn’t sleep a wink.
To your surprise, you feel see him pat the spot besides him. Your lips fall apart as you continue to stare. He only shrugs with a lazy smirk. “What? A husband has to make sure his wife’s comfortable right?”
It’s hard to say no when you feel the cool air of the AC bite into your skin—your limbs trembling. You hold his gaze for a few seconds, sighing as you scootched closer to him. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling your frame closer until you’re against his torso.
You try not to dwell on the fact that you can feel how his muscles move against your shirt—or rather his shirt; how he nuzzled his face in your neck, breathing in your scent that this scene felt so naturally domestic.
You squirm in his embrace, shifting your hips around to find a more comfortable position. His arms immediately squeeze you tighter, making you squeak. “Stay still,” he says lowly against your ear.
“You’re holding me too tight,” you whine, wiggling your hips again. This time, his hand squeezes your hip.
“Yeah? Well if you don’t stop squirming, I’ll have another problem to deal with.”
“What—“ You say before the realization hits you and you’re left spluttering like an idiot. Your head turns to face him and you immediately regret it.
His blues bore into yours and you see how his lips twitch as if trying to hold back a laugh. “I—“ You start, turning away from him with your stomach doing flips. “Okay,” you squeak, clenching your eyes shut at your response.
He only grunts in response, spooning you with his chin atop of your head. Minutes pass and you relax in his arms. “‘Toru?”
“Hm?”
“Why are you being so nice to me right now? I thought you hated me?”
“What?” For the first time, he sounds awake. He leans up so you can see his hues peering down at you. You watch bemused as a tortured expression crosses his face for a second. “(Name), I don’t hate you. I never hated you.”
Your bewilderment grows. “But you…you never talked to me.”
He smooths a hand through his hair. “Can’t say I don’t have some regrets about that.”
It’s the same like last time, when the two of you were in the kitchen. He’s looking at you so tenderly that you can’t bring yourself to look away. “I care for you,” he continues, trying to pick his words thoughtfully. “Much more than I want to.”
He still peers down at you, so close that you almost think he’s about to lean in for a kiss. You observe him with a wide-eyed look, only letting out a little gasp when you feel his lips press against your forehead again—the feeling familiar to you. Gojo resumes his cuddling shortly after, squeezing your hip once more. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.
You widen your eyes, remaining silent. You’re at a list of words, momentarily left speechless. Even so, you reach down to press a hand over his on your hip, squeezing it lightly. “I know.”
Gojo thinks he sleeps the best when you’re besides him. You’re soft against him, fitting perfectly in between his arms. He thinks, there’s no way he was going to let this moment pass—and he was a man who kept true to his wishes. The next time he was going to sleep in his house, he was going to do it with you by his side.
BONUS:
“‘Toru…”
“What is it again?” He grumbles, though there’s no bite in his tone.
“Why couldn’t we just teleport home instead of going to a hotel?”
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The cats being Yin and Yang, the head and tail, Mt. Fuji and the magma beneath it, fire and ice. Love and grief. Daijin being starving and weak but when protecting Suzume, is strong. The cats turning their opposite color when they're at full power. Sadaijin as the mother and Daijin, the child.
It really parallels with the movies theme. The light may be lost but the memories remain. Strangers help, even if they don't know they're helping: Humans rally around a cute cat, making him newsworthy. A friendship is formed over an orange. A small act of kindness multiplies again and again
And in the same way: Adults want to but can't help a child looking for her mother. An aunt harbors resentment towards her ward. A chair man refuses help even when he's incapable of continuing on his own.
But that's not how humans work, is it? That's the movie's point. Suzume's aunt finds her and while she can't bring back her mother, she'll make her a wonderful bento every day and give as much of her love as she can. Tamaki did have some resentments, but they don't overshadow her love for Suzume. Souta accepts Suzume's help. Even though he asks her st most every turn to stay safe, he admires her will to do what's right.
I believe that Rei is dad-coded and Kazuki is mom-coded, not because Kazuki cooks and cleans and Rei rests at home, owns the house, and carries the missions, therefore "doing the work" (although that's part of it, too), but because of the difference in how they value each other and Miri.
I don't know how to explain but there's a quote from a book called "a dangerous silence" that i read several years ago, I don't remember the exact words but I never forgot the message. It was said from a brother to a sister in a conversation about their mother who died young and their complicated father, and went something like: "We [the kids] may have been her [the mom's] world, but she was his [the dad's] world."
Miri is Kazuki's world and Rei's world is Kazuki.
Like Kazuki took to Miri immediately while Rei came around to it after battling with his own childhood issues, issues with his father, his separation from whom he was only able to survive for so long because of Kazuki. The journey to Kazuki's healing began with Miri in the first episode, while Rei's journey to healing began with Kazuki, pre-canon.
Not to say that they don't both love Miri and each other fiercely, it's just a different dynamic with them both much like how it is with a mother and father. Also, initially and throughout the series, what gets Rei to come out of his shell is always Kazuki, even in the moments when it's for Miri. Rei notices when Kazuki feels down and tries, in his own way, to cheer him up. In episode 10 when they were on that last outing, Kazuki spends the entire episode on the verge of tears and Rei spent it worrying for him. It's only on the ferris wheel, when Kazuki makes him acknowledge it, that his lips tremble. I feel like there's also a factor of it being like Rei thinking that Kazuki is the better parent for Miri and therefore by prioritizing Kazuki, he is in fact prioritizing Miri.
And there's a thing where mothers can cope with the death of their spouses on their own while fathers cope by repartnering and that's because they need a life partner. That or they end up like most grumpy widowers we see on tv (obvi 100% accuracy guaranteed). And I have actually seen this in real time in both cases. The mother stays strong for the children, the dad is listless. (Of course not every case is the same, just from my experience and what studies show, but there's also Katniss' mom and whatever this isnt about them)
So, I believe that in the event of a death in the anime (extremely unlikely, but whatevs), Kazuki will be devastated, he will grieve, but he'll survive (not taking into consideration that this is the second time a loved one has died) if only for Miri's sake, he can be strong. And even if Miri didn't exist, he has the capability to carry on because even if he'd blame himself, he's good at ignoring his feelings and compartmentalizing. Rei though does not have that talent. He is self destructive and self depreciative. If Kazuki died, i have a feeling he would blame himself, and always think that he shouldve been the one that died, that Miri deserved the better father. Maybe he'd even punish himself by staying away from Miri, not letting himself be happy, etc. I believe that if Kazuki dies, after securing a home for Miri, Rei will actively try to die. That is until Kyu beats some sense into him but yeah.
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and i think… i think that’s what a father is - a blade that never stops cutting.
the new york times, ‘carlos sainz jr learned early to be the hunter, not the prey’ ++ e. schwab, the invisible life of addie larue // marla miniamo, ‘sea salt’ // hermann hesse, demian // frank bidart, ‘the third hour of the night’ // katherine angel, daddy issues // [x] // leah horlick, for your own good // hera lindsay bird, ‘mirror traps’ // mario puzo, the godfather // andrea gibson, ‘i sing the body electric, especially when the power’s out’ // [x] // [x] // deaf havana, ‘caro padre’ // [x] // [x] // [x] // [x] // rachel mckibbens, blud // [x] // [x] // ocean vuong, ‘someday ill love ocean vuong’ // molly brodak, ‘bee in jar’ // eleanor hsieh, ‘the last scene in the movie’ // andrea abi-karam, villainy // the national, ‘blank slate’ // rainer maria rilke in a letter to lou andreas-salomé // etel adnan, ‘untitled’ // [x] // [x] // [x] // myther, SPEAK FOR YOURSELF, OR SOMEONE ELSE WILL // [x] // [x] // rainer maria rilke, letters to benvenuta // richard siken, ‘little beast’ // erin slaughter, i will tell this story to the sun until you remember that you are the sun // [x] // sigmund freud, die traumdeutung // rachel mckibbens, blud // silas denver melvin - nov 4 2021 // desireé dallagiacomo, ‘origin story’ // james baldwin, ‘they can’t turn back’ // [x] // traci brimhall, come the slumberless to the land of nod // natalie diaz, ‘grief work’ // alain de botton, essays in love // [x] // richard siken, ‘the dislocated room’ // sylvie baumgartel, song of songs // ocean vuong, ‘dear peter.’
When I was in first grade, he took me shopping for new school clothes — which was huge because, as the youngest of six kids, I lived in hand-me-downs.
He bought me a little navy blue, polka dot dress with a Peter Pan collar and red alphabet buttons. But, on picture day, I lost one of the buttons on the playground. I had a total meltdown because my brother spent his own money to make sure I had this new dress and I ruined it. I was a mess, totally inconsolable.
My teacher was also the mom of one of my brother’s best friends. She told him, and he, my brother and the entire football team searched the playground after practice for my lost button. Which they actually found.
My brother sewed the button back on himself in the car all while trying to explain that he wouldn’t have been mad even if I did lose it.
It was just a button and a dress.
But I did have one of those little red alphabet buttons sewn into my wedding dress.
being an older sibling is like. you've never known a life without me. mom yelled at me and it taught her she never wanted to yell at you. I painted my room purple and grey and then you did too. we live in the same house but I haven't spoken to you in months. I don't know your favorite color. I saw it was going to rain so I picked you up from school on my way home so your books wouldn't get wet. i was so worried when you woke up sick when you were three. you don't remember being sick. mom and dad made their worst mistakes with me and I'm glad they didn't make them with you. I'm doing everything for the first time so you won't be in the dark. I don't know any of your friend's names anymore. I used to know them all. if something happens to mom and dad you won't have to worry because everything will fall to me. you don't like to be home alone but even if you don't see me just knowing I'm there makes you feel better. at least that's what mom told me. you still give me jars to open for you because you can't quite get them. I only see you during dinner. i'd never even think about missing one of your concerts. I stand at the counter when I eat and now you do, too. when offered a selection of books you picked the same one I did when i was your age. I'm terrified you compare yourself to me. I love you. I don't know if you like me. I want you to. mom says dinner's ready
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Try to have some respect the queen just DIED. It's not like she was evil or anything
And why should I do that for the head of a family that oversaw the British Empire's legendarily brutal concentration camps in colonialist Kenya during the 1952-1960 Mau Mau rebellion, has personally and repeatedly shielded credibly accused rapist Prince Andrew and tried to get the scandal to go away, personally paid Andrew's financial settlement while the family treated Meghan Markle terribly and gave her none of the same protection, exerted a huge amount of control over UK public finances without any transparency or disclosure (while also receiving huge amounts of that money), got to personally edit laws according to her likes and dislikes, enjoyed sweeping legal immunities that are described as a "threat to UK democracy," is the most visible figurehead of British colonialism even as her descendants put on a horribly tone-deaf Caribbean tour (twice in one year!) that was basically about unreconstructed imperial imagery of the kind that is poisoning Britain, while the entire country buys into the fantasy that she is an impartial, uninvolved, kindly and benevolent grandmotherly figure....?
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