just found out im 5'1 perfect height to sniff knees
you've heard of "he would not fucking say that" now get ready for "he would not be that comfortable with his own sexuality"
my roommate broke up with her boyfriend why did he kick ME off his netflix?? are the sins of the roommate truly visited upon the other roommate??
dare i say, divorce lawyer!higuruma who becomes infatuated by you, a client, who hires him to divorce her husband— nanami kento. dare i??
the first time you see higuruma, it’s across a polished mahogany table that smells faintly of lemon cleaner and old paper.
the office is too quiet; so quiet, in fact, that it makes you hyperaware of your own breathing, the subtle rustle of fabric when you shift in your chair, the distant hum of traffic filtered through sealed windows.
he sits there in his dark suit, sleeves crisp and precisely cuffed, his tie knotted with geometric perfection, hands folded on the table before him like a man about to pass judgment rather than ask questions. hiromi higuruma isn’t smiling. you get the sense he rarely does, you don’t expect him to, but you do wonder what he would look like if he did.
his eyes are sharp, dissecting you the way a surgeon studies an incision site before making the first cut. there’s something in the set of his mouth that suggests he’s already forming conclusions about you, filing them away in that orderly mind of his.
you tell him your name, your voice steadier than you expected. you tell him you want a divorce from nanami kento, your husband of 5 years.
his expression remains perfectly neutral as he writes something down, the scratch of his pen steady and controlled, each letter formed with deliberate precision. when he finally looks up, his gaze meets yours without any change. “and why?” he asks, his voice even and measured. there’s no judgment in it, no curiosity beyond what the case requires.
why do you want to divorce nanami?
because loving nanami feels like loving something immovable, something solid and dependable that will never surprise you again. because you are exhausted in ways that sleep cannot fix, tired of reaching across a table and finding nothing but polite conversation where passion used to live. because somewhere along the way, marriage transformed into routine and routine hardened into silence, and now you cannot remember the last time you laughed together, really laughed, the kind that leaves you breathless and tear-eyed. because you still love him, god, you do, but it feels like drowning in warm water, too gentle to fight against, too suffocating to survive in much longer.
you don’t say any of that, instead, very carefully, you say, “we grew apart.”
higuruma watches you for a long moment, and in that silence you feel the weight of his attention like a physical thing. he notices the tremor in your fingers where they rest on the arm of the chair. he notices the way your eyes glass over but don’t spill, how you’re fighting to maintain composure. he notices, too, the way you don’t wear your ring anymore, though there’s a faint indentation on your skin where it used to sit, a ghost of commitment that hasn’t quite faded.
“does he know?” he asks quietly. “that you’re considering this?”
you shake your head, unable to use words.
he nods once, makes another note, and continues with the next question. he is professional, indeed, very detached. the way a good lawyer should be.
nanami finds out a week later.
he doesn’t shout when the papers arrive. that would be easier somehow, cleaner, something you could point to as justification. he doesn’t accuse you of anything, doesn’t beg, not at first anyway.
he just stands there in the living room of the house you picked together three years ago, the one with the windows you both fell in love with and the kitchen you planned to renovate someday, his tie loosened from work, his glasses slipping slightly down his nose the way they always do when he’s tired. he stares at the file like it’s written in a language he doesn’t understand, like if he reads it enough times the words might rearrange themselves into something less devastating.
“you already hired a lawyer,” he says quietly, and it’s not a question.
you can’t look at him. you focus instead on the slight crack in the corner of the window frame, the one he’s been meaning to fix for months.
“is there someone else?” he asks after a long pause.
the question is calm, too calm, uttered with the controlled composure that comes from years of practice keeping emotions in check. and it makes something inside you fracture, because you recognize that control, you’ve always recognized it, it’s the very thing that’s been slowly suffocating you. you hated it about him the most.
“no,” you whisper, and your voice breaks on the word. “there isn’t.”
that part, at least, is true.
. . . but there is something else, something you can’t quite name, something that begins to grow in the spaces between meetings with higuruma.
because the more time you spend with him, discussing assets and timelines and the cold logistics of dismantling a life you built with someone you still love, the more you notice things about him.
the way he listens without interrupting, letting your words settle before responding. the way his voice drops slightly when you look overwhelmed, softening around the edges without losing its professional quality. the way he pours you tea during consultations like it’s the most natural thing in the world and attending to your comfort is simply part of his responsibility.
he doesn’t flirt with you. he never oversteps, never says anything that could be construed as unprofessional. his behavior is impeccable, precisely what you’d expect from someone with his reputation.
but sometimes, when you’re speaking, you catch him staring. not at your body, not at your lips, but at your face, at your eyes, and when you pause, confused, he looks away immediately, returning to his notes with perfect composure that you’ve come to hate on anyone.
“you’re still in love with him,” he says one evening, late in a consultation that’s run past office hours. you’ve just admitted that nanami asked you to reconsider, that he’s been making efforts to change, to see you, to bridge the distance you’ve been feeling for a while.
you laugh weakly, surprised by the observation. “that’s not very helpful legal advice, higuruma-san.”
“i’m not speaking as your lawyer,” he replies, and the less guarded appearance of his voice surprises you.
silence settles between you, thick and charged.
“i can request a different attorney,” he adds after a moment, his tone shifting back toward formality. “if you believe my involvement has become… compromised in any way.”
your heart stutters in your chest. you understand what he’s saying, what he’s asking without quite asking.
“has it?” you ask softly and your voice sounds strange to your own ears. it almost feels like watching yourself from the sidelines.
for the first time since you met him, higuruma hesitates. you watch him war with himself, watch the conflict play out across features usually so controlled and the sight is almost startling in its humanity.
“yes,” he says finally, the word hanging heavy between you.
you mutter something about proceeding with him and he nods, regret flashing in his eyes.
. . . and nanami doesn’t make the process easy, despite the papers moving forward.
he begins coming home earlier than usual, leaving work at reasonable hours for the first time in years. he cooks your favorite meals, the ones he learned to make early in your marriage when you were both still figuring out how to share a kitchen. he fixes small things around the house you hadn’t even realized were broken, the squeaky hinge on the bathroom cabinet, the loose drawer pull in the kitchen, the light that’s been flickering in the hallway for months.
he doesn’t plead on his knees or make grand romantic gestures; that’s not who he is, and you both know it. instead he stands tall and composed, going about these small acts of service with quiet determination, but there’s desperation in the tightness of his jaw, in the way his eyes follow you around rooms. like he longs to say something but he doesn’t know what.
“tell me what i did,” he says one night, finding you in the kitchen long after dinner. his voice is low, rougher than usual. “tell me what to fix, and i’ll fix it. i’ll do anything.”
you want to scream at him that he didn’t do anything wrong, that’s the problem. he’s steady and reliable and safe, and you have felt yourself slowly shrinking inside that safety, like a plant kept in shade too long, still alive but pale, reaching toward light it can’t quite find. there’s no villain in this story, no clear antagonist, and somehow that makes it worse.
“i don’t feel seen,” you finally admit, the words escaping before you can stop them.
nanami’s expression crumbles, an unexpected crack in that carefully maintained composure. “i see you. you’re my wife,” he says, and he sounds genuinely confused, genuinely hurt. you feel bad for him, for hurting him, but you can’t bring yourself to stop.
“you look at me,” you correct, and now the tears are slipping free, hot and humiliating. “but you don’t see me. not anymore. not the way you used to.”
he steps forward, hands hovering at your waist like he’s afraid you’ll curl into yourself if he touches you too firmly. you can feel the warmth of his hands almost touching you and it feels like too much.
“i love you,” he says, “i have always loved you. i will always love you.”
the absolute worst part is that you believe him completely, staring firmly onto the place on his shirt where his heart is supposed to be as you let him hold you close and cradle the back of your head like he’s always done when you needed him. it’s a shame that he has to do it in these circumstances.
higuruma shouldn’t meet you outside the office.
he knows that. you know that. every professional instinct, every ethical guideline, every rational thought screams that this is a terrible idea.
but when you call him late one night, voice shaking after another devastating conversation with nanami, he comes anyway.
you meet at a quiet bar on the edge of the city, somewhere neither of you is likely to be recognized. dim lights reflect off glassware arranged behind the counter, casting shadows across his face that make him look older, wearier, more human than you’ve ever seen him. he sits close to you, closer than appropriate, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his body, but he doesn’t touch you.
you talk and he talks, you drink and he drinks. you don’t relax and he doesn’t either.
“this is unethical,” he murmurs after a bit. you can hear the self-recrimination in his voice.
“then leave,” you whisper. “no one’s stopping you.”
you don’t know who leans in first. maybe it’s mutual, a collision of loneliness and want and tension that’s been building for months, years, lifetimes.
his hand cups your jaw with surprising gentleness, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth like he’s testing whether you’re real, whether this is actually happening. when he kisses you, it’s restrained hunger finally snapping loose, years of discipline crumbling in a single moment. there’s something desperate in the way his mouth moves against yours, something that speaks of wanting things he’s never allowed himself to want.
it feels different from nanami’s kisses. nanami kisses like a promise, like a vow renewed each time. higuruma kisses like a confession, like he’s telling you secrets with his mouth that he could never put into words.
you pull away first, breath unsteady, heart pounding so hard you can feel it in your throat. everything just feels wrong.
“i’m still married,” it comes out like an apology when you say it, the shame of your realisation flooding you.
“you’re my lawyer.” or you were. or something. the lines have blurred beyond recognition.
“i know.” he rests his forehead against yours, and you can feel him breathing, can feel the effort it takes for him to maintain control. when he speaks again, his voice drops even lower. “and i have thought about you in ways that are inexcusable. in ways that violate every professional boundary i’ve ever maintained.”
your pulse roars in your ears. “then excuse yourself,” you challenge, though your fingers are gripping his jacket like you might fall without something to hold onto.
he laughs, low and humorless, a sound without any real amusement in it. “if i were a better man,” he says quietly. “if i were the man i’m supposed to be.”
you pull away and let go of his jacket as if burned. that evening you can barely look nanami in the eye and shame still courses through you when you throw your clothes into the washing machine and wash yourself until your skin is irritated, unable to clean away the dirty feeling.
the divorce proceedings become complicated after that.
higuruma requests to formally transfer your case to a colleague, citing a conflict of interest. the transition is seamless on paper, handled with the same precision he brings to everything.
nanami notices the change immediately.
“why the switch?” he asks during mediation, his eyes narrowing slightly.
“conflict of interest,” higuruma answers smoothly, not meeting anyone’s gaze directly.
nanami’s eyes flick between you and him, and you watch suspicion dawn slowly across his features. nanami is perceptive, always has been. it’s one of the things you loved about him once, the way he noticed small details, the way he could read you without words. now that perceptiveness feels like a threat.
later, outside the building, he corners you gently. he’s never rough with you, never cruel, even now. but he’s firm, insistent, his hand catching your elbow to stop your retreat.
“did he touch you?” he asks. the question is quiet, almost gentle, but it cuts through you like a blade.
you don’t answer. you can’t.
nanami exhales sharply. you watch pain flash across his face, raw and immediate before he manages to contain it. “i’m still fighting for you,” he says, his voice cracking uncharacteristically. “i haven’t stopped fighting. i won’t stop. but i need to know, are you already gone?”
you don’t know the answer to that question.
because with nanami, you have history stretching back years. you have comfort and familiarity and a love that feels like an anchor, heavy and secure and impossible to escape. with higuruma, you have intensity, sharp edges, the terrifying possibility of being understood in ways you didn’t even know you needed. one offers safety. the other offers revelation.
that night, nanami doesn’t sleep in the bedroom. he sits on the couch instead, lights off, staring into the darkness with the same expression he wore when he first read those divorce papers. you watch him from the hallway, hidden in shadow, and your heart aches with a pain that feels physical.
higuruma stops contacting you after the case transfer.
outside of necessary legal updates forwarded through his colleague, you hear nothing from him. he draws a line, firm and final, and retreats behind it completely.
you miss him immediately, but the realization shames you.
you miss the way he challenged you, the way he never accepted your easy answers without pushing deeper. you miss the way he looked at you like you were something rare and breakable and dangerous all at once. you miss the tension between you, the heat that existed in every room you shared, the knowledge that something unspoken was building between you.
but when you look at nanami, still cooking your favorite meals, still fixing things around the house, still trying so hard to reach you, guilt floods your veins like poison. he doesn’t deserve this. he never deserved any of this. you don’t deserve any of this.
weeks pass. the days blur together in a haze of paperwork and meetings with the new lawyer and conversations with nanami that circle the same territory without ever reaching resolution.
the papers finalize. the house is to be sold, the assets divided, the life you built together dismantled piece by piece.
and on the last day, when you both sign the final documents in the mediator’s office, nanami’s hand trembles just slightly as he sets down the pen. you notice because you’re watching him, because you’ve always watched him, because some habits don’t die even when everything else does.
“if you walk out that door,” he says quietly, not looking at you, his gaze fixed on some point in the middle distance, “i won’t stop you.”
it’s not a threat. it’s not manipulation, not some last-ditch attempt to guilt you into staying. it’s resignation, pure and simple, the surrender of someone who has fought and fought and finally accepted that fighting isn’t enough.
you feel the weight of every shared morning, every quiet night, every soft kiss pressed to your forehead when you were half asleep. you feel the memory of safety, of belonging, of coming home to someone who knew you completely.
and you feel the echo of higuruma’s mouth against yours, the spark, the danger, the way he said he wasn’t a better man but looked at you like you might make him want to be one anyway.
you stand there in that sterile office, suspended between past and possibility, between the love you’ve known and the love you might still find.
nanami finally looks up at you, and his eyes are raw, exposed, all the carefully constructed composure stripped away. love is still there, painfully, impossibly alive inside them despite everything.
“do you still love me?” he asks.
your answer catches in your throat, trapped somewhere between truth and fear and the impossibility of the question itself.
because the truth is, you do love him. you love him in ways that will probably never fade, love him like scar tissue, love him like muscle memory.
and you don’t know if that’s enough anymore. you don’t know if love alone can bridge the distance that’s grown between you, if it can fill the silences, if it can make you feel seen instead of simply looked at. you don’t know if the kind of love that anchors you can also set you free, or if anchors are meant to hold you in place forever.
outside, beyond the closed door, the world is waiting. somewhere in it, hiromi higuruma is living his careful, controlled life, probably regretting every moment of weakness he showed you, probably rebuilding the walls you helped him tear down.
and here, in this room, nanami is waiting for your answer, still loving you, still hoping, still fighting even as he says he won’t fight anymore.
you open your mouth to speak.
for a long moment, even you don’t know what’s going to come out.
[ an. this could have been a long one shot full of angst but i don’t have time or energy so im feeding this bullshit to you guys i hope you dont hate it ]
screaming??? the cinema, the word play, the pacing, the YEARNING???? pika may you live a thousand years.
ever since i was a little girl i knew i liked problematic tropes
everyone who likes more problematic shit than me is an icky freak and everyone who likes less problematic shit than me is a prude. i alone am enlightened.
you cast dev patel (sunflower baby dove who says good morning <3) for heathcliff wuthering heights cuz he's the only handsome brown actor you know. i cast ranveer singh (batshit old dog. rat bastard.) for heathcliff cuz he's ranveer singh and i know more than you.
introducing a character whose one goal in life was to die fulfilled, happy, and especially surrounded by people that loved him, and then making him immortal and ageless and writing him based on the bodhisattva (someone who is capable of reaching nirvana, but doesn't, due to compassion for those that are suffering), and dooming him to become something that will perpetually be reborn and reincarnated again and again just to help others in need - even though that's all that he's done and tried to do - is genuinely one of vilest and cruelest things gege has done 😭 there's no afterlife for yuuji, his friends will wait at the airport forever until they realize he's not coming, that they're never going to see him again.
is anyone Czech here? Czech? Hello?? Need a Czech person for 5 mins here I got a question.
they cracking on the regular huh?
smoking behind the supermarket with you - higuruma x reader
what do you do when your smoke buddy (who’s half your age) suddenly invites you over for ***? ask my lawyer, he’s living through it
2.1 k words, one-shot | tooth-rotting fluff + smut , yearning for the middle aged gentleman | more stories this way >
The biggest problem Tokyo currently faces is the lack of respect towards its smokers. A decade ago it was Higuruma’s legal right to smoke his Dunhill Reds inside a crowded mall, put it out on a preschooler’s head and high-five the policeman on his way to get another pack.
Nowadays he has to hide behind a supermarket, sharing half a cardboard box to sit on with you.
“You whine too much.” You tell him. You’re not very polite.
“I suppose I do.” He cracks a tiny smile. He appreciates it.
It just so happens that your shift at the supermarket ends right when Higuruma’s done with the workday too. As far as smoke buddies go, you’re not too bad.
“But today, I’ll let you whine as much as you want, Higuruma-san.” Your cute, teasing smile makes his hands shake slightly as he pulls out his pocket ashtray. A gift from you. It bewilders his coworkers to see a man pushing 40 using a bejeweled Kuromi ashtray. “It’s not everyday that you win a case.”
“I didn’t think we’d win this one.” He grins back, the crow's feet around his eyes tightening. “All thanks to my team, really.”
“C’mon, give yourself some credit. You saved a man’s life.”
(Higuruma pulls his earlobe at that, a sure-shot tell that he’s embarrassed. He doesn’t know he does that.)
“You should have fun today, Higuruma-san.”
It’s good for his heart, Higuruma thinks. Having a friend outside of work. Someone, despite the wicked age gap, who he can talk about movies with on tired, blue-purple evenings. Admire the sun setting through mixed nicotine smog, clashing flavours, sounds of distant city traffic. He hands you his blazer to drape over your miniskirt when the nightly chill seeps in.
A friend. Just a friend. He knows to be content.
“My roommates are out tonight.” You’ve got your face turned away, wiping your sweaty palm on Higuruma’s blazer. “Maybe… maybe you’d like to come for some ramen? To celebrate your win.”
Crows, watching down from the telephone lines overhead, flee in a panic at the loud bark of spluttering coughs from the man.
Higuruma’s first thought is that the lung cancer finally got him. His second is simply–What?
It doesn’t make any sense, does it? Why would a young lady want boring old salarymen like him? Shouldn’t you want a bike-riding guitar-smashing badboy at this age? Higuruma’s more of the type to delight in perfectly peeled oranges in winters under a warm kotatsu.
Besides, as you’ve established for the past few months you’ve smoked together, you’re friends. Friends.
Red-faced and wide-eyed, the timid man just stares at you.
“Ramen’s all I can cook, so don’t expect anything more.”
“I…” He’s not sure what to say. Weird, since it’s usually so easy to talk to you. “I can cook rice.”
“Rice and ramen for dinner then?”
“If that’s what you’d like.”
Holy shit. Hoooly shit. Higuruma’s sweating bullets under his shirt. You told him to wait till you’re done clocking out, so he sits alone behind the supermarket, watching the crows return back to the telephone wire with judgemental eyes. What did I get myself into? How?
The cigarette burns itself down to the filter, the smell of uncut nicotine still lingering in his mouth. The thought pops in his head to buy a toothbrush.
Toothbrush, chicken skewers, eggs, tofu, scallion, bread and beer. Walking through the shop aisle, he goes through a mental grocery list. Regardless of what happens afterwards, he wants to at least feed you a good dinner. Condoms? It makes him pause. What if he’s just misunderstanding you? What if you genuinely just want to have ramen together, and he’s a creepy old man?
He walks away from the condom aisle– and reverses back again. Why not? He’s an adult, he can buy all the condoms if he wants, and it’d have nothing to do with you. Just as women buy makeup for themselves, he decided to buy condoms for himself. Not everything he does is for you, dammit.
A 10-piece packet of condoms and lube drops into his supermarket basket. The self check-out machine beeps.
You’re waiting for him outside at your smoke spot.
“I got some meat to add to our ramen. It’s good for your health.” He smiles.
A second passes as you peer at his haul.
“You bought condoms, didn’t you?” The smile drops immediately. Ah, may the lords forgive, but it’s so fun to play with Higuruma.
“No!” He’s caught red-handed. You raise a brow, to which he relents immediately. “It’s for myself!”
You can’t help cackling at his distress. He joins in too, absent-mindedly tugging his ear, and suddenly the newfound tension between you two evaporates, the ease of friendship taking its usual place. Friends who are on the way to ramen and chill, but friends regardless.
He holds the plastic bag in one hand, your hand in another, walking to your apartment. It’s the very first time he’s done it. Your hair smells like his Reds in the wind.
“Your hands are cold because you don’t eat enough proteins. That’s why you feel dizzy sometimes, you have no energy.” He preaches.
“I think it’s because I’m nervous.” You admit, still smiling. “My place is real messy.”
“Mine isn’t. Because I have the energy to clean it, because I eat enough protein.”
“Oh, you’re a comedian now?”
Higuruma laughs, and suddenly the ghost of Casanova possesses him to bring the back of your hand to lips and kiss it. “I’m a comedian for you.”
“Cheeseball.” You grunt it out but he catches your blushing cheeks anyway.
“Whoa, it’s actually good!” You angrily slurp up the bowl of slop that Higuruma served you. Dumping both ramen and rice to cook together, along with all the food in his bag– you really didn’t think it’d be any good. The cold beer washes it down perfectly.
“Back in my days, they had Home Economics classes in school, where you had to learn to cook.” Higuruma, clearing the debris around your floor table to get some place to sit, explains. It fills his heart to see you eating well. “Sew, bake, first aid, stuff like that.”
Higuruma showers up first after the meal, coming out smelling of strawberries and cookies. You go next, and when you return washed, you find that your living room’s been dutifully cleaned up. The old man of your dreams is in the kitchen washing dishes.
“You really shouldn’t, you know?” You take a bowl from him, wiping it dry before stacking it with the others.
“Just helping out.” He smiles. “I’m grateful to have you in my life, you know? Don’t look away, please– just smoking with you after work does me good. I– I’m grateful to be your friend.”
The TV plays incoherently in the background of your quiet, cold, peaceful apartment.
“I’m grateful to be your friend too.”
It seems to happen instinctively that you lean towards him, and he leans down slightly. You can feel his gentle lips land on yours. He’s smiling.
“You brushed?” The lines around his eyes and cheeks pop up again with how happy he looks when you pull back.
“Twice.” He takes the kitchen gloves off to hold you around the waist, pulls you to him for another kiss, and another, and another till he seems to melt in your mouth.
Mid-kiss, it occurs to him that he left the tap running. He reaches behind you to turn it off, all while you’re trying to drag his shirt up. The ridiculousness of it all – tangling arms while the TV suddenly blares an old love song, you both laugh so hard there’s tears in your eyes.
Grinning, he pulls his shirt off and whoa–
“Why are you so hot, Higuruma-san?” You whine in apparent annoyance. It’s true, well-built muscles stacked under a comforting layer of softness, arms that lift heavy on the weekends, muffin top over his waistband. A trail of hair under his navel that leads down to something promising.
“You whine too much.” He pinches your waist. “My turn.”
Alarm sirens scream in his head when you take your hoodie off. His smoke buddy, his ‘just a friend’, is devastatingly hot.
When he hesitates, you pull his hand over your bra yourself, which seems to break him out of his reverie.
Lying in each other’s arms, warm, he moans into your mouth as he softly grinds himself onto your thigh. He’s a bit more experienced, you can tell by the way he touches you down there, a finger drawing up your slick to play with your clit.
“You’re dripping into my palm.” There’s a fogheaded wonder in his tone. “I want to be inside you so much.”
“I don’t know if you do.” But when you look at him, his eyes are clear. Whining again, unable to make you understand. “I want to be close to you. Closer.”
I want to be more than just friends.
“Condoms.” You remind him, and Higuruma walks across your apartment fully erect in his boxers to go fetch. You help him put it on, but not before mocking his choice of ‘refreshing mint’ for the flavour.
“Is this because I only smoke mints? Very funny, old man.”
“It’s more because– Oh, my–” you lean down for a taste, licking him base to tip. “-because I didn’t have my glasses.”
He pulls you in for a kiss, sucking your tongue into his mouth to taste. “It’s really minty.”
“Right?” You reply as he lays you down on your back, thighs splayed open. “I was surprised.”
You moan as a finger slips in, more to ascertain how much you can take than for pleasure. “Been a while?” He grins down at you. “Me too.”
It’s a sight to behold, you writhing under his ministrations, clawing at his shoulders and arms for more, a bit more, a bit closer. To have him deeper into you. Hold me, he wants to say, given to lurching emotions that don’t listen to reason. Hold me and keep me within you.
You gasp at the feel of his hard tip prodding at your slit. Your sweet, pathetic old man, painfully begging for permission. Couldn’t wait more to be as close as possible. What relief you bring to his weary heart.
In answer, you wrap your heels around his hips.
Like the first drag of a cigarette after months of quitting, it’s immediate– serotonin flooding your brain as he pushes in, splitting you apart to make space for him inside you. Homecoming, finally.
“Does it hurt? Is that okay?” Higuruma whispers, face buried in your neck. Fuck, he can smell his Reds imprinted into your skin and it drives him insane.
“You feel good.” A slow thrust, it sends both of you reeling. “You feel really good.”
And because Higuruma, at his core, can’t let go of arguments, he smiles, “Do you do this with all your friends?”
What a man, making you plead your case at a one night stand. Like you two won’t be smoking behind the supermarket again tomorrow evening. Only from now on, you’d sit a bit closer to each other.
It’s not a secret how you feel towards him, it’s not like he doesn’t know. You play along with his teasing, his lazing fucking. Drawing the sweet moment out as long as possible.
“Of course, I make all my friends cum inside me. Even the girls, we manage somehow.”
Higuruma giggles, kissing you all over your face. “It’s just sex to you, isn’t it? I bet you won’t even call me back after.”
“I’ll block your number too, for good measure.”
“Then I’ll sue you. Alienation of affection, that’s a real thing. You’ll have to see me in court everyday, for years.”
He picks up pace suddenly, a hand creeping down to rub circles around your clit. It’s like you can read his mind– he’s not gonna last long, and he really wants to get you off first.
“Fuck, I don’t mind. Ah, nghhh, fuck– but Higuruma-san, do you think that’s possible? Can a Dunhill smoker and a Marlboro smoker really be more than friends?”
“The constitution forbids it.” The lawman suckles on a nipple, the final stretch of what might do you in. “But I’d go against the law for you.”
He knows he’s succeeded in making you finish when he can feel you contracting around his dick, so tight it makes him choke. Just a win after win, today.
His age is starting to show, he needs a good break of doing nothing but lying in your bed afterwards. Hairfall and only one good cum a day, two if he’s prayed– that’s what a lifetime of stress and nicotine addiction does to you.
He envies your young blood, up and about so soon. He’d kinda wanted to cuddle, but it’s okay, he supposes.
Instead he finds you offering him a cigarette. He forces himself to sit up against the wall, blankets pulled around the two of you, your head on his shoulder. The Kuromi ashtray waits nearby. The stars look so pretty outside your bedroom window, flickering through the haze of your mixed fumes.
He can’t wait to smoke with you again tomorrow.
a/n: higuruma hiromi i waited years for my husband. he's got an honest, hardworking size of about 5.6 inches or 14.2 cm, and he's a shower unless he's in an ice bath. i'm sorry but i won't let him hang orc dong. please reimagine the entire sex scene with a comfortable cock.
also, what? a higuruma fic without him eating pussy? fear not, for i covered that years ago here <3
please read the og smoking behind the supermarket with you manga it makes me froth at my mouth seeing tamayo tease that old man
godhandlerMar 2Anonymous asked:Hi! If u will excuse me, I’m so sorry to hear that @/fushibunni has been stealing your friends’ fan art. I love that art and it really is a shame that they’re blatantly refusing to give credit where it is due. At first I thought it was just simple mistake, but they’ve either been deleting or hiding comments asking about it, so now it’s easy for me to assume this was maliciously done :/They’ve also turned off anonymous asks. And called me a weirdo bitch when I called them out, lol.Pls pls pls keep calling them out!!! Spread the word, I don’t want this person (@/fushibunni) to be potentially praised for work they didn’t even create in the first place.Ty for ur time! <3i don't want to get into unnecessary fandom drama, but i know this artist personally yk? just bc they're not active very much doesn't mean it's okay to just take their art. i have nothing against @fushibunni using their art, i just want them to credit (@fckmanji), that's all.#mana talks1
godhandlerMar 2art by (@fckmanji on twt)@fushibunni stop stealing my friend's art and refusing to credit them what the hell bro?? imagine stealing a porno pic ffs #jujutsu kaisen#jjk higuruma#art14
godhandlerRebloggedMar 2yuutaguroMar 1Followrecoloring some old drawings,,,i love thempseudowhoMar 2I viscerally need to be her.#art2881,010
godhandlerRebloggedMar 2yuutaguroMar 2Followearth to bro hello????pseudowhoMar 2Same girl.godhandlerMar 2i love the softness in ALL of yuutaguro's art <3#art52742
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godhandlerFeb 28smoking behind the supermarket with you - higuruma x readerwhat do you do when your smoke buddy (who’s half your age) suddenly invites you over for ***? ask my lawyer, he’s living through it2.1 k words, one-shot | tooth-rotting fluff + smut , yearning for the middle aged gentleman | more stories this way > The biggest problem Tokyo currently faces is the lack of respect towards its smokers. A decade ago it was Higuruma’s legal right to smoke his Dunhill Reds inside a crowded mall, put it out on a preschooler’s head and high-five the policeman on his way to get another pack. Nowadays he has to hide behind a supermarket, sharing half a cardboard box to sit on with you. “You whine too much.” You tell him. You’re not very polite. “I suppose I do.” He cracks a tiny smile. He appreciates it. It just so happens that your shift at the supermarket ends right when Higuruma’s done with the workday too. As far as smoke buddies go, you’re not too bad. “But today, I’ll let you whine as much as you want, Higuruma-san.” Your cute, teasing smile makes his hands shake slightly as he pulls out his pocket ashtray. A gift from you. It bewilders his coworkers to see a man pushing 40 using a bejeweled Kuromi ashtray. “It’s not everyday that you win a case.” “I didn’t think we’d win this one.” He grins back, the crow's feet around his eyes tightening. “All thanks to my team, really.”“C’mon, give yourself some credit. You saved a man’s life.” (Higuruma pulls his earlobe at that, a sure-shot tell that he’s embarrassed. He doesn’t know he does that.) “You should have fun today, Higuruma-san.” It’s good for his heart, Higuruma thinks. Having a friend outside of work. Someone, despite the wicked age gap, who he can talk about movies with on tired, blue-purple evenings. Admire the sun setting through mixed nicotine smog, clashing flavours, sounds of distant city traffic. He hands you his blazer to drape over your miniskirt when the nightly chill seeps in.A friend. Just a friend. He knows to be content. “My roommates are out tonight.” You’ve got your face turned away, wiping your sweaty palm on Higuruma’s blazer. “Maybe… maybe you’d like to come for some ramen? To celebrate your win.” Crows, watching down from the telephone lines overhead, flee in a panic at the loud bark of spluttering coughs from the man. Higuruma’s first thought is that the lung cancer finally got him. His second is simply–What?It doesn’t make any sense, does it? Why would a young lady want boring old salarymen like him? Shouldn’t you want a bike-riding guitar-smashing badboy at this age? Higuruma’s more of the type to delight in perfectly peeled oranges in winters under a warm kotatsu. Besides, as you’ve established for the past few months you’ve smoked together, you’re friends. Friends. Red-faced and wide-eyed, the timid man just stares at you. “Ramen’s all I can cook, so don’t expect anything more.” “I…” He’s not sure what to say. Weird, since it’s usually so easy to talk to you. “I can cook rice.” “Rice and ramen for dinner then?” “If that’s what you’d like.” Holy shit. Hoooly shit. Higuruma’s sweating bullets under his shirt. You told him to wait till you’re done clocking out, so he sits alone behind the supermarket, watching the crows return back to the telephone wire with judgemental eyes. What did I get myself into? How? The cigarette burns itself down to the filter, the smell of uncut nicotine still lingering in his mouth. The thought pops in his head to buy a toothbrush. Toothbrush, chicken skewers, eggs, tofu, scallion, bread and beer. Walking through the shop aisle, he goes through a mental grocery list. Regardless of what happens afterwards, he wants to at least feed you a good dinner. Condoms? It makes him pause. What if he’s just misunderstanding you? What if you genuinely just want to have ramen together, and he’s a creepy old man?He walks away from the condom aisle– and reverses back again. Why not? He’s an adult, he can buy all the condoms if he wants, and it’d have nothing to do with you. Just as women buy makeup for themselves, he decided to buy condoms for himself. Not everything he does is for you, dammit. A 10-piece packet of condoms and lube drops into his supermarket basket. The self check-out machine beeps. You’re waiting for him outside at your smoke spot. “I got some meat to add to our ramen. It’s good for your health.” He smiles.A second passes as you peer at his haul. “You bought condoms, didn’t you?” The smile drops immediately. Ah, may the lords forgive, but it’s so fun to play with Higuruma. “No!” He’s caught red-handed. You raise a brow, to which he relents immediately. “It’s for myself!” You can’t help cackling at his distress. He joins in too, absent-mindedly tugging his ear, and suddenly the newfound tension between you two evaporates, the ease of friendship taking its usual place. Friends who are on the way to ramen and chill, but friends regardless. He holds the plastic bag in one hand, your hand in another, walking to your apartment. It’s the very first time he’s done it. Your hair smells like his Reds in the wind. “Your hands are cold because you don’t eat enough proteins. That’s why you feel dizzy sometimes, you have no energy.” He preaches. “I think it’s because I’m nervous.” You admit, still smiling. “My place is real messy.”“Mine isn’t. Because I have the energy to clean it, because I eat enough protein.” “Oh, you’re a comedian now?” Higuruma laughs, and suddenly the ghost of Casanova possesses him to bring the back of your hand to lips and kiss it. “I’m a comedian for you.” “Cheeseball.” You grunt it out but he catches your blushing cheeks anyway. “Whoa, it’s actually good!” You angrily slurp up the bowl of slop that Higuruma served you. Dumping both ramen and rice to cook together, along with all the food in his bag– you really didn’t think it’d be any good. The cold beer washes it down perfectly. “Back in my days, they had Home Economics classes in school, where you had to learn to cook.” Higuruma, clearing the debris around your floor table to get some place to sit, explains. It fills his heart to see you eating well. “Sew, bake, first aid, stuff like that.” Higuruma showers up first after the meal, coming out smelling of strawberries and cookies. You go next, and when you return washed, you find that your living room’s been dutifully cleaned up. The old man of your dreams is in the kitchen washing dishes. “You really shouldn’t, Higuruma-san.” You take a bowl from him, wiping it dry before stacking it with the others. “Just helping out.” He smiles. “I’m grateful to have you in my life, you know? Don’t look away, please– just smoking with you after work does me good. I– I’m grateful to be your friend.”The TV plays incoherently in the background of your quiet, cold, peaceful apartment.“I’m grateful to be your friend too.” It seems to happen instinctively that you lean towards him, and he leans down slightly. You can feel his gentle lips land on yours. He’s smiling. “You brushed?” The lines around his eyes and cheeks pop up again with how happy he looks when you pull back.“Twice.” He takes the kitchen gloves off to hold you around the waist, pulls you to him for another kiss, and another, and another till he seems to melt in your mouth. Mid-kiss, it occurs to him that he left the tap running. He reaches behind you to turn it off, all while you’re trying to drag his shirt up. The ridiculousness of it all – tangling arms while the TV suddenly blares an old love song, you both laugh so hard there’s tears in your eyes. Grinning, he pulls his shirt off and whoa–“Whoa?” “Why are you so hot, Higuruma-san?” You whine in apparent annoyance. It’s true, well-built muscles stacked under a comforting layer of softness, arms that lift heavy on the weekends, muffin top over his waistband. A trail of hair under his navel that leads down to something promising. “You whine too much.” He pinches your waist. “My turn.” Alarm sirens scream in his head when you take your hoodie off. His smoke buddy, his ‘just a friend’, is devastatingly hot. When he hesitates, you pull his hand over your bra yourself, which seems to break him out of his reverie. “Bed?” “Please.”Lying in each other’s arms, warm, he moans into your mouth as he softly grinds himself onto your thigh. He’s a bit more experienced, you can tell by the way he touches you down there, a finger drawing up your slick to play with your clit. “You’re dripping into my palm.” There’s a fogheaded wonder in his tone. “I want to be inside you so much.” “I know–” “I don’t know if you do.” But when you look at him, his eyes are clear. Whining again, unable to make you understand. “I want to be close to you. Closer.” I want to be more than just friends. “Condoms.” You remind him, and Higuruma walks across your apartment fully erect in his boxers to go fetch. You help him put it on, but not before mocking his choice of ‘refreshing mint’ for the flavour. “Is this because I only smoke mints? Very funny, old man.”“It’s more because– Oh, my–” you lean down for a taste, licking him base to tip. “-because I didn’t have my glasses.” He pulls you in for a kiss, sucking your tongue into his mouth to taste. “It’s really minty.” “Right?” You reply as he lays you down on your back, thighs splayed open. “I was surprised.” You moan as a finger slips in, more to ascertain how much you can take than for pleasure. “Been a while?” He grins down at you. “Me too.” It’s a sight to behold, you writhing under his ministrations, clawing at his shoulders and arms for more, a bit more, a bit closer. To have him deeper into you. Hold me, he wants to say, given to lurching emotions that don’t listen to reason. Hold me and keep me within you. You gasp at the feel of his hard tip prodding at your slit. Your sweet, pathetic old man, painfully begging for permission. Couldn’t wait more to be as close as possible. What relief you bring to his weary heart. In answer, you wrap your heels around his hips. Like the first drag of a cigarette after months of quitting, it’s immediate– serotonin flooding your brain as he pushes in, splitting you apart to make space for him inside you. Homecoming, finally. “Does it hurt? Is that okay?” Higuruma whispers, face buried in your neck. Fuck, he can smell his Reds imprinted into your skin and it's driving him insane. “You feel good.” A slow thrust, it sends both of you reeling. “You feel really good.” And because Higuruma, at his core, can’t let go of arguments, he smiles, “Do you do this with all your friends?” What a man, making you plead your case at a one night stand. Like you two won’t be smoking behind the supermarket again tomorrow evening. Only from now on, you’d sit a bit closer to each other. It’s not a secret how you feel towards him, it’s not like he doesn’t know. You play along with his teasing, his lazing fucking. Drawing the sweet moment out as long as possible.“Of course, I make all my friends cum inside me. Even the girls, we manage somehow.” Higuruma giggles, kissing you all over your face. “It’s just sex to you, isn’t it? I bet you won’t even call me back after.”“I’ll block your number too, for good measure.” “Then I’ll sue you. Alienation of affection, that’s a real thing. You’ll have to see me in court everyday, for years.” He picks up pace suddenly, a hand creeping down to rub circles around your clit. It’s like you can read his mind– he’s not gonna last long, and he really wants to get you off first. “Fuck, I don’t mind. Ah, nghhh, fuck– but Higuruma-san, do you think that’s possible? Can a Dunhill smoker and a Marlboro smoker really be more than friends?” “The constitution forbids it.” The lawman suckles on a nipple, the final stretch of what might do you in. “But I’d go against the law for you.” He knows he’s succeeded in making you finish when he can feel you contracting around his dick, so tight it makes him choke. Just a win after win, today. His age is starting to show, he needs a good break of doing nothing but lying in your bed afterwards. Hairfall and only one good cum a day, two if he’s prayed– that’s what a lifetime of stress and nicotine addiction does to you. He envies your young blood, up and about so soon. He’d kinda wanted to cuddle, but it’s okay, he supposes. Instead he finds you offering him a cigarette. He forces himself to sit up against the wall, blankets pulled around the two of you, your head on his shoulder. The Kuromi ashtray waits nearby. The stars look so pretty outside your bedroom window, flickering through the haze of your mixed fumes. He can’t wait to smoke with you again tomorrow.a/n: higuruma hiromi i waited years for my husband. he's got an honest, hardworking size of about 5.6 inches or 14.2 cm, and he's a shower unless he's in an ice bath. i'm sorry but i won't let him hang orc dong. please reimagine the entire sex scene with a comfortable cock. also, what? a higuruma fic without him eating pussy? fear not, for i covered that years ago here <3please read the og smoking behind the supermarket with you manga it makes me froth at my mouth seeing tamayo tease that old man masterlist#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jjk x reader#jjk x y/n#jjk x you#higuruma#higuruma smut#higuruma hiromi#hiromi higuruma#higuruma x reader#higuruma x you#jjk higuruma#higuruma hiromi x reader#jjk hiromi#jujutsu higuruma#jjk smut#hiromi x reader#hiromi higuruma x reader#hiromi higuruma x you#higuruma hiromi x you#jjk x yn#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk anime#smoking behind the supermarket with you… See all2532470
godhandlerFeb 27HIGURUMAAAAAAA ARF ARF BARK AAOUUUUUUUU#HIGURUMAAAAAAA4
godhandlerReblogged hinamieFeb 21idiotwithbackpainFeb 19Follow#art1111465
godhandlerReblogged fab2twerk4uFeb 18godhandlerJan 1, 2025Followjjk headcanons based on nothingkenjaku managed the beatles for a while and introduced yoko ono to john lennonsukuna gets tummy aches a lot he had a minor tummy ache the entirety of gojo vs sukuna megumi cleans the bottoms of his shoes with a used toothbrush. yuuji has never even heard of cleaning shoe bottomschoso stans jungkook, has a cutesy photocard of him doing the pouty lips and bambi eyesgojo cant handle spicy food he prefers his spices to be sugar salt pepper and miso like the man he isuraume would be the worst driver on the planet but stubbornly refuses to learn from anyone except sukuna but he also kinda suckskenjaku is delighted with boba he’d try out every single boba on the menu. has mixed opinions on vaping he likes the blueberry baja blast flavours but hates that they look so lame compared to cigarettessukuna’s second mouth is scared of pop rocks gakuganji was named in the panama papers scandal gojo is a girl group fan he was heartbroken when GFriend disbanded cult leader geto suguru invested heavily in foreign exchange markets, offshore mining and heavy industries while most of gojo’s are in real estate, telecom and tax-deductible charitiessukuna was about 52 (with strong af rct skincare) in the heian era when he died/turned into the cursed fingers. uraume was 10ish and sukuna 28ish when he took them inkenjaku had severe beef with che guevara. it got personal. it got nasty. kenny worked overtime to get him shot61598
godhandlerFeb 17which jjk couple do you think is most likely to go raw the earliest (no protection at all) (like nada)hakari - kirara22.6%gojo - geto25.7%gojo - sukuna21.7%utahime - gojo3.1%kenjaku - sukuna6%yuji - megumi2.9%choso - yuki6.4%me - your mom11.5%Final result from 747 votes#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#satosugo#sukugo#gojo x utahime#kenjaku#itafushi#chosoyuki#gojo satoru#geto suguru#sukuna#jjk utahime#itadori yuuji#megumi fushiguro#choso#yuki tsukumo10129
godhandlerRebloggedJan 28estrixartJan 26Followstay still#jujutsu kaisen#jjk fanart#art31801,353
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godhandlerRebloggedJan 26piercemyblueskyJan 23Followperfect preparation #jujutsu kaisen#art#jjk fanart33741,588
godhandlerRebloggedJan 26jitwogoJan 19Followa quick one before i finish my sukugo wip (hopefully 💔...)#art#jujutsu kaisen#jjk fanart62651,246
godhandlerRebloggedJan 24gotharchaeologisttJan 20Follow#back to my roots#noritoshi kamo#jujutsu kaisen223176
godhandlerReblogged annadanteJan 20orangejuuuiceJan 19FollowKenjaku/KaorigodhandlerJan 20how r people so talented#art13391,552
godhandlerJan 17sukuna trapped inside a hormonal teen watching him pull his dick out to the twitter femboy who looks suspiciously like his pretty best friend for the 3rd time today#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#itafushi#fushiita#fushiguro megumi#itadori yuuji#kugisaki nobara#nobara kugisaki#sukuna#desiblr#indian cinema#bollywood#dhurandhar47133
godhandlerJan 17sukuna trapped inside a hormonal teen watching him pulling his dick out to the twitter femboy who looks suspiciously like his pretty best friend for the 3rd time today#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#itafushi#fushiita#fushiguro megumi#itadori yuuji#kugisaki nobara#nobara kugisaki#sukuna#desiblr#indian cinema#bollywood#dhurandhar133
godhandlerJan 17i KNOW for a fact that I have desi readers following me who presumably also watched pushpa. i can't be the only one who saw the insane sexual tension between the fugly male leads right? SO THEN WHY HAS THIS NATION OF 1.4 BILLION PEOPLE WRITTEN ONLY 5 TOTAL FICS ABOUT THEM FUCKING UNHINGED STYLE?#they'll bite the other's dicks off so they can have the bigger one#pushpa's jamming a gun down this throat and threatening to blow if sekhawat doesnt strip right tf now#sekhwat tweaks out as pushpa (dressed as goddess kali) makes him top (its horrific blasphemy)#i watched this entire shitty movie purely with the eyes of a fujoshi#pushpa#pushpaclub#pushpa and sekhawat#allu arjun#hot malay… See all2
godhandlerJan 17cig id from pic: shoko smokes the mevius originals (previously mild sevens). it tastes almost menthol-y but not quite there, very smooth drag. won't make a virgin cough. it barely has any nicotine. we used to smoke these as a precursor to quitting. it retails around 4k yen or like 20 dollars per pack of 10, so 2 dollars per cig- on the more high-brand, expensive side. clearly shoko's well paid. for the interest of any fic writer. <3#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#jjk shoko#shoko ieiri#cigarette#jjk s328
godhandlerReblogged hxhhasmysoulJan 16ahhrenataAug 25, 2025Follow45243,896
godhandlerRebloggedJan 15hazaatoJan 12FollowThe trend based on the new opening where jjk are classical paintings. Link to twitter postSukuna as 'saturn devouring his son'4153849
godhandlerRebloggedJan 13rollercoasterwordsDec 8, 2025Followmy tumblr mutuals will take characters from media that is not very good & construct such rich & intricate inner worlds for them in their posts that i will go wow that sounds so compelling let me go check this out….& then the canon character will be like. relatively boring with very little interiority. but that’s okay because sometimes the real character is the one my tumblr mutuals hallucinated along the way….godhandlerJan 13me with noritoshi kamo <3 #i stand by my man11,09320,995
godhandlerJan 12since starting this blog ive had eight (8) breakups and relapsed on cigarettes a total of (14) times. naturally my fanfics are fire.#jjk#mana talks#nagata kabi19
godhandlerJan 5on your mama’s soul, you know that your co-worker inumaki is eating your damn flowers. you just can’t prove it yet. “leave that boy alone, will you?” your boss at the flower shop laughs it off. “go on, mind the register. still got 20 minutes until closing.” gojo might be daft, but you’re not. you can feel your sherlock cells tingling - toge inumaki is chowing down on the cherry blossoms when you’re not looking. devouring the daisies when you’re out for your smoke break. snacking on the sunflowers when you're busy misting the greenhouse. your friends always said that you’re bad at picking up clues, but not this time. this time you’re a bloodhound on inumaki’s evil trail. why does he always stutter and go red to his ears whenever you try to talk to him? he’s scared that you’re onto him. why does he always hang around you at work? because he’s trying to keep you from spilling his secrets to your boss.why does he always have a mask on? because he’s chewing flowers underneath—that’s why! why does he disappear to the toilet every hour? to eat. more. flowers. from your seat at the till, you squint to see what inumaki’s doing all the way at the back. sure, it looks like inumaki is trimming the pine bonsai, but what is he really up to? “you sound like a flat-earther." gojo just shakes his head. “god, i hope you’re better at accounting than detective work.” ego slightly injured that he’s not taking you seriously, you present the strongest evidence you have: “i go check the toilet every time he’s done in there.” you ignore your boss’s disgusted face, instead hammering the point home with a clap after each word. “there’s. always. flowers. in there.” but gojo just shrugs and gets to arranging a bouquet to take home to the husband. he’s compromised, you realise. in your mind you throw the cigar down and stomp on it, striking a melancholy pose after. it’s very difficult when your moriarty is a master manipulator—all that business being cute as hell with his adorable lavender eyes. that’s how he brings in good business for gojo, high school girls lining up after classes to hit on him. he always sends them away with a sweet smile and just shakes his head when he sees you staring. not like you care or anything. he’s devious in other ways too, always doing things to make people think that he is so not a flower-eating freak. small gestures like taking over the opening shift for you, knowing that you hate it. bringing you flan to share after lunch. this one time he held up an entire rack of flower pots, six feet high, when you accidentally knocked it over. see? who knew he was athletic like that? talk about having skeletons in his closet. it’s been on your mind day and night—the very thought that inumaki could be at the flower shop right now, doing his dirty business unstopped, vexes you terribly. “there! he’s chewing under his mask right now! go catch him!” you suddenly cry out, unknown to inumaki, who’s quietly mumbling along to kendrick on his earbuds. “gojo–sensei!” “can’t move.” your boss retorts without missing a beat. “have this condition called ‘i-think-you’re-full-of-crap.’”“you know what?” you pull yourself to your full height. this must be what alexander felt when he crossed the rubicon. “fine. i’ll save our flowers myself.” you march over to the villain, determined to end his evil plans once and for all. those flowers that you spent months growing did not deserve to become inumaki’s poop. he almost jumps out of his skin when you yell his full government name.gojo puts his feet up at the cash register. he wasn’t going to miss this. “i know what you’re up to, toge.” he goes rose-red, barely having taken his earbuds out with shaky hands when you point a finger at his face. “take your mask off and spit the damn flowers out.”he stutters on the first syllable of your name.“oh, yeah, you’re caught red-handed. i know everything.” inumaki looks absolutely terrified, his jaw tight and sweaty, and it looks like he’s about to have a heart attack. jesus. and suddenly you hear the first words he’s ever said to you. or around you. very quiet, unsteady—a voice not used to speaking. but you hear it. “... everything?”“uh-huh. that’s sick of you, toge.” he visibly blanches. “so weird. you’ve got to stop it.” for a second, it looks like he’s fighting back the urge to vomit. then he just drops his head and nods. “see, gojo-sensei? i was right! i bet you’ve got flowers in your mouth right now, don’t you?” inumaki painfully nods again, spitting out a few slimy petals of carnations and tulips. bit odd, you don’t keep carnations, but maybe he bit them off a street plant. wait. your keen inductive logic is telling you that if this guy’s eating shit off random trees, it might be more than deliberate coworker sabotage. add this to his almost-mutism... maybe it's a medical condition, now that you think of it, like pica or ocd, that he’s struggling with. shit, did you just out a struggling, sick, chlorophyll-addicted poor sod in his place of employment? you call him one last time as he's pathetically limping away. “uh, hey, toge, you can—you can eat the cheap ones if you want. we have so many marigolds they’re starting to rot, you can eat them once in a while. if you want." “eat?” comes a whisper-question. “yeah, you shouldn’t quit cold turkey. wean off slowly.” you kinda pride yourself on your apparently limitless knowledge. just a win after win today. “you can eat the marigolds till then.” with each word you speak, it gradually descends on you that he’s just as baffled as you are. which makes no sense. “... you are eating flowers, aren’t you, toge?” toge inumaki closes his eyes for a good ten seconds and inhales. on one hand, he can feel his pulse running again, on the other, he’s asking himself if he really chose this idiot to love. you’re still staring at him with your cute dumbass face when he opens his eyes and he knows that yes, he did. because everything that you are accusing him of makes sense with just one word– “hanahaki.” he points at himself and then at the flowers on the ground. “hanahaki? you’ve found your soulmate and they don’t love you? god, i’m so sorry!” you scrunch your eyebrows, a lonely brain cell working overtime to connect the dots. “who?”inumaki, stomach hurting again, decides that this is all the humiliation he can take in one dose. he’s about to run away when–“you, you fucking idiot!” gojo screeches from across the flower shop, climbing over the till on all fours. “god hold me back, toge inumaki has a crush on you!” your first reaction is that this a very elaborate prank. inumaki’s the kind of guy who’s liked by so many other girls that you didn’t even allow yourself the foolishness of imagining you have a chance. any second now, both boys are going to go– “sike! you thought, bitch.” but it doesn’t come. instead, inumaki drops to a squat and buries his face under his arms. the tips of his ears are so red it hurts to watch. holy shit. toge inumaki has a crush on you. … how do you respond to someone having a crush on you? “oh. my. god.” gojo’s straight up standing on the till now, unimaginably frustrated that his romcom leads are this incompetent. “toge, do you want to go out with her?” the boy nods, still hidden under his arms. “you, idiot, you want to go out with him?” you think of all red flowers– poppies, carnations, roses, and dahlias– and you wonder if you’re redder than them when you nod too. “then, congrats, kids, you’re going out with each other!” gojo’s almost frothing at his mouth. “now get out!” toge inumaki has no clue how this all happened. one moment he was clipping the pine, and the other he’s walking hand in nervous hand with the coworker he’s been pining over for so long. it’s like his heart’s going to burst from the stress and happiness. he tries to ignore the constant texts from gojo telling him how he’s got to clean his puked up flowers tomorrow. he's got far more exciting things to focus on right now. neither of you know what to do, so you settle on ice cream and exchange minecraft ids to play together after you go home. when you ask him what flavour he wants to eat he looks straight at you and picks rose.more stories this way >happy new year!! may this year be full of blessings for everyone!! let's all work hard and achieve a lot of happiness this year!!#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#jjk fluff#jjk x reader#jjk inumaki#inumaki toge#inumaki x reader#inumaki x you#satoru gojo#jjk gojo#gojo satoru#jjk satoru#hanahaki#flower shop au616167
