WHEREVER YOU WANNA GO, THAT’S FINE WITH ME — MEGUMI FUSHIGURO
cw mentioned/talks about death but not like… in a serious way 😭 this whole thing is very unserious and stupid it’s just a thought i couldn’t get out of my head, megumi being… megumi, f2l but what’s new, also inspired by some clip from a tv show i’ve seen on tt but idk the name of it, if you do pls let me know
you ask megumi you make one of those marriage pacts with you—that if neither of you are married by thirty-five, you two will get married to each other—and he just hums for a moment before asking, “do you think i’ll be better suited for marriage at thirty-five?”
“what? n—i don’t know? maybe? it just seems like an appropriate age to get married if you’re not already, that’s all,” you explain.
more humming. he blinks, “i don’t think i’ll be all that different at thirty-five.”
“well, that’s concerning,” you joke, “you’re supposed to change—grow a little bit as a person and all that, megumi. even you are capable of it.”
“i won’t want anything different out of a marriage at thirty-five than i would right now,” he corrects you, then turns to you, and with all seriousness demands, “so, state your stipulations. what do you want from me, let’s figure out of this is gonna work now.”
you scoff, and cross your arms. “what do i want from you? that’s not how a marriage works.”
“that’s how this friendship already works.”
you say, megumi does; he pushes it than he should have, you say to stop, and eventually he does, and the cycle continues. he’s always stubborn, and sacrificing himself beyond necessity, and you’re always pulling his ear for it.
“okay. fine,” you settle, straightening your posture, “i want a house. three bedrooms, so nobara and yuuji don’t have to bicker about sharing when they stay over.”
megumi considers it, then counters with, “four. gojo needs a bedroom, too. one floor, i don’t like stairs.”
“where the fuck are we going to find a one-level four-bedroom house? i don’t want to live in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere.”
“we’ll find one,” he shrugs, doesn’t flinch when he promises: “or i’ll have one made for us. next: vacations.”
“twice per year. somewhere tropical, and somewhere metropolitan.”
“i don’t like the beach.”
“then you don’t have to go on the beach.”
“you’re responsible for me if i burn.”
“i’m responsible for you either way, i’m your wife,” you taunt, “pets, next. i want dogs. two. maybe three. and a bunny.”
“no bunnies, they’re too much work.”
“but i want a bunny, megumi.”
“you won’t have time for a bunny,” he rolls his eyes, “and you’re gonna get pissed when it chews up the expensive couch you’re gonna make me buy, and takes a shit in the expensive fruit bowl you’re gonna con gojo out of. no bunnies.”
you pout and frown, but megumi doesn’t budge: “no bunnies.”
you sigh, “no bunnies, but i want the dogs.”
“i didn’t say no to the dogs. unless you want a golden, then i’m not raising that.”
“why not? we already have yuuji.”
“exactly, we already have yuuji.”
“fine. i want a king sized bed. the really big, oversized ones you get in america.”
“done. children?”
“you want children?”
megumi shrugs, but you swear there’s a dust of pink on his cheeks, “maybe. maybe not. if i did, no more than two.”
and suddenly you can’t help but feel heat in your own face, hot with the image of two tiny megumis running around.
“that’s fine with me. maybe kids, but no more than two,” you cough, “i want one of those heated driveways for the house.”
“i’ll have it built. i’ll clean and do laundry and take out the trash if you cook.”
“what about days i don’t cook?”
“then i’ll do that, too,” megumi nods, “anything else?”
“yes. if i die first, you can remarry, but you visit my grave at least twice a year, and bring peonies. and that picture of me from prom where i look really good.”
“no.”
you stop. you blink. “what do you mean ‘no?’ you wouldn’t visit my grave?—kinda cruel considering i birthed your up-to-two future children and raised your dogs.”
“i won’t remarry. and i don’t want you to if i die first,” he corrects you, again, “and there’s no dying first and leaving me behind, i’m going with you.”
he doesn’t leave room for debate in his declarations: won’t, don’t; not wouldn’t, shouldn’t, couldn’t—you have to pinch yourself to stop chasing the rabbit of temptation running through your mind.
“i don’t… think you get to decide that,” you chuckle.
“of course i do,” megumi grins, uncrosses his legs and leans over. he reaches a hand to the back of your head and pushes it forward until your foreheads meet gently; and as if the affection wasn’t shocking enough, he continues, “where you go, i go. that’s marriage, right?”
he widens his smile a bit, before letting you go, leaning back into his seat again with crossed arms like nothing happened, and you’re left staring, blinking, breathing shallowly like prey that narrowly escaped being caught.
you don’t speak, so megumi does, “i have one more thing.”
and slowly, you unthaw enough to let out a questioning hum. megumi tilts his head before telling you, “i want your last name.”
“what? you—you would change your name?” you stutter, “but fushiguro is so pretty! and it’s your mom’s name, so few people get their mother’s names.”
“yeah. this way, our up-to-two children get their mother’s names, too.”
“i—okay… yeah, i guess they do,” you gape, then pout, “wait, what if i wanted to be mrs. fushiguro?”
“tough luck,” he grins, “you get everything else.”
you get me, instead, is what’s left unsaid.
“okay, fine. sounds like a deal to me.”
“great. we can’t have a spring wedding because gojo and toji will sneeze obnoxiously loudly, and we can’t have a summer wedding because the anniversary will conflict with our tropical vacation, and nobara will kill us if it’s too close to her birthday,” he says, standing up from the couch to head to the kitchen, “so i’ll see you at the courthouse in september.”
you nod reflexively, sinking back into the couch with a satisfied smile. it’s a while before your brain processes his words, and when it finally does, you spring up in a fluster, “october? megumi, i said when when we’re thirty-five and if neither of us are already married! megumi? megumi fushiguro, come back here!”
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i will never stop writing bakugou as a shy, blushy loserboy, but. the idea of you being more inexperienced than him ??
you're carefully bandaging him up at the agency clinic, after he'd taken a nasty hit that left his shoulder scuffed up, and he's been in here with you more times than he can count, much too late at night, and maybe that's how you get into this conversation in the first place; weird stuff always gets said at this hour.
"no, i'm telling you," despite the vulnerability of what you're saying — despite the awful look that must be on his face — you're laughing. "never dated anyone, never been taken on a date, nothing."
and — he really must look truly terrible, with his mouth open and his lip curled over his teeth and his brows furrowed, because he can't hardly believe a fucking word you're saying. it pisses him off and he doesn't know why, just seems. a waste, for no one to have appreciated someone like you.
someone that he maybe thinks about too much, that is too nice and not funny to anyone but themselves but still laughs and hardworking and. so pretty that it annoys him.
his question comes out rough, harsh. "why the hell not?"
"i don't know," you shrug, eyes cutting to his before focusing back on patching him up. "i'm — probably too shy and weird, or something. and online dating is hard, y'know! some guys are really into the purity thing, like too into it, and some guys find out and won't touch me with a ten-foot pole, so," and then you shrug. like that's all there is to it.
and katsuki is just astounded to know this. not that he's ever done all that much himself, but all his bases have been covered, by now in his life, and he just really can't imagine anyone knowing you and not wanting to—
he realizes the irony of thinking this, like a punch to the gut. after knowing you for almost two years now and never so much as complimenting your stupid hair and the stupid way you wear it.
"well," katsuki grumbles, averting his eyes to the walls of the clinic, trying to seem more interested in your creepy, anatomy posters. "maybe he's comin'...or whatever."
"who's coming?"
"your guy, i don't know!" it's unfortunate that his shirt is off for this, because there's no way you aren't getting a perfect view of the flush that spreading down to his chest. "your dude, maybe he's...figuring it out."
"hmm, maybe. that's what my gran says, but who knows?" you shrug, oblivious — and suddenly your singleness makes a smidge more sense. "i've resigned myself to a touchless, loveless life for—"
"he's comin'!" katsuki barks and you startle at the outburst, eyes casting over his warm cheeks and then down his chest and back. finally, it fucking clicks for you, like he hasn't been finding excuse after excuse to see you every damn night for ages. "he's...checkin' his work schedule and then he's...gonna figure it out, alright?"
you brighten considerably, lip going between your teeth. "oh, yeah, yeah," and your smile is unstoppable, not hidden in the slightest as you turn to the steri-tray at your side, shyness bleeding into his own. "alright."
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