Writing Challenge: Describe Everything With Only The Most Random Fucking Details.

WISH I COULD | love sick! gojo satoru + gn! reader | 1,995 words | fluff | mutual pining, hurt/comfort, very idiots in love trope-y

*:･ﾟ✧ summary: set around the time of the hidden inventory arc. gojo comforts reader after they've been injured on a mission, kisses it better. but he's a bit pathetically in love about it all. *:･ﾟ✧ warnings: mentions of canon - typical violence, minor injury

The damp air of the bathroom clings to your skin uncomfortably, making it hard to breathe. You lean on the sink, trying to steady your tired limbs. The buzzing noise from the LED and your laboured breathing becoming increasingly louder with each passing moment as the quiet feeling of unease spreads through your body. You take a swipe at the foggy mirror, trying to ground yourself and ward off the onslaught of panic that was sure to follow. Two bright red cuts - one between your eyebrows and one just below your right eye - mark your skin. They are quite shallow. Probably won’t leave a scar. But they sting just enough to make moving your face uncomfortable. And they will make for an annoying reminder of a night you’d rather forget for at least a few days. 

Your hairs stand up at the change in temperature upon leaving the steamy bathroom. But the feeling is almost refreshing. You stretch your body down on the bed, clinging to your towel. Really, you just hope you are tired enough to drift off. Usually, the familiarity of your dimly lit room would provide a sense of comfort and safety. Tonight you find the silence more disturbing than anything, your eyes drifting to dark corners and the high windows. But every time you try to close them, you see the same flashing images. Its disfigured face. Sharp claws swinging too close to your neck, almost making contact. You’re not even sure if the memory is real anymore, and not just amplified and made worse by your distressed brain. But it feels real enough.

So you lift yourself off the bed, rummaging through your piles of clothes for something comfortable and clean to put on. Despite your general uneasiness you walk through the halls a bit slower than you normally would, your arms folded across your chest, gripping the loose t-shirt. Just outside, the trees are swaying in the wind, branches colliding with the windows periodically, making your skin crawl a little bit more each time. You don’t really have a destination in mind. It is late. In fact, you aren’t really sure exactly how late it is, but there is always a chance someone else might be roaming about. Maybe in the kitchen. Or by the vending machines. 

You stop in front of a familiar door. It’s almost automatic, muscle memory. Your eyes trained on the door, you consider your options. He’s not exactly the most tactful of people, but you cannot stand the thought of spending another moment alone with your thoughts. You knock gently, praying he’s fast asleep but almost immediately the door cracks open.

“Uh, hey” Gojo was clearly caught off guard. Worn out sweater hanging off his broad shoulders, he looks cozy and you feel a stab of guilt for disturbing him. “What are you doing here anyway?” He chirps. You don’t want him to know about your near-failure of a mission. You just cannot bear his smug reaction and his smart-mouthed comments. 

“Don’t tell me that semi-first grade gave you trouble?” Satoru has always had a talent for sniffing out weaknesses and he wasn’t one to hesitate or show restraint in his delivery. “I’m almost disappointed, you know.”

“Is it that hard for you to show some basic human empathy every now and then?” That was harsh. But you were disappointed in yourself, too. It shouldn’t have been such a challenging mission, but you hesitated, you pulled back. You felt that paralysing sort of fear that was almost foreign at this point, that you know cannot allow yourself to feel out there all alone.

His body shouldn’t be drowned by such a rush of guilt for simply stating the truth, yet it is. He finds no anger in your eyes. The usual curious glint replaced with dull exhaustion. Then he feels worse. He scrambles to find the right words but they simply won’t come. After all, he has never been good at this, so why would you expect anything else? But when he sees you, you, trying to steady your trembling limbs, pulling at the wide sleeves of your shirt to find some sense of protection, he wishes he was better. He wishes he knew what to say and what to do. “What happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Gojo doesn’t ask about your injuries. He watches you intently, noticing every small movement of your face and every twitch of a muscle. You don’t notice how his eyes soften, how his face is tense with worry. 

“I just need some company, if that’s ok?” Need. It’s silly and maybe a bit selfish of him to be analysing your choice in words given the situation. But he can’t help the way his heart swells at the thought. You need his company. Need him. It’s not that he doesn’t usually feel needed. People need him every day. He’d argue they need him a bit too much sometimes. Well, what they need are his abilities, his strength, so they have no other choice. But you chose to come to him. The realisation makes him light-headed. His mind racing as he tries to regain his composure. 

Suddenly he is too aware of the silence hanging heavy between the two of you. He doesn't trust himself to speak, so he just opens the door wider, stepping out of the way. 

You brush past him, heading straight for his unmade bed. The room is doused in the mellow blue light radiating from the TV. Satoru kneels down to rummage through his disorganised drawer. There’s a familiar bright smile on his face as he turns to you, holding a few different DVDs. “I’ll be nice and let you choose the movie”. 

“I don’t mind. Just pick your favourite.”

He narrows his eyes and squeezes his cheeks between long, slender fingers. Arms wrapped around your knees, you follow his movements. You watch as he fumbles with the case, mumbling about the dwarves and the elves, and grey and white wizards. Sparkling, wide blue eyes hold your gaze, are you listening? It’s amusing, the exaggerated hand movements, the animated facial expressions. His overwhelming presence lulls you away from the fear and uncertainty that had so completely overtaken your every sense. 

Satoru doesn’t mean to ramble so much. But he’s so nervous and he cannot stop himself from explaining the plot of the film in great detail, making silly jokes that he knows won’t make you laugh. Suguru would tell him to shut up. Shoko would also tell him to shut up, but in a harsher, meaner way. But they’re not here to do that, and that’s exactly his problem. It’s not that the two of you don’t ever spend time alone, you do. You train together, eat lunch together, even go on longer missions together. Never like this though. You have never been so alone that he has to keep looking at you, can’t look away to still his dizzying thoughts or the blood rushing to his ears. It has never been so quiet that he could hear your rhythmic, shallow breaths, periodically interrupted by a huff in response to his nonsense. It’s so much more than he is equipped to deal with. “And then she takes off her helmet and sa-”

Of course he catches the pillow flying towards his face and snuggles it to his broad chest. He looks at you with pouty lips and wounded eyes. “Why do you always have to spoil every movie we watch?”

“Why do you always have to be mean?” He slumps his shoulders as he walks towards you.

The bed dips beneath his weight as he settles on it with outstretched legs and arms tucked beneath his head. You try to follow his lead but you’re too fidgety, suddenly overly aware of the heat radiating off his body. The way his chest rises and falls with each breath. The way his pretty eyelashes flutter. You realise then you have moved to your side, openly staring at him. You make no effort to stop yourself as the overdue exhaustion finally takes over. Your body feeling heavier with every passing moment, sinking deeper into the mattress. 

The movie is just background noise to Satoru’s struggle for self control. He tries so hard not to look, to focus on anything but the way your body curls at his side but he just cannot. So he turns to look at your face. You’re so beautiful. He always thinks you’re so beautiful. When you look at him with stern eyes, arms folded over your chest, challenging him. When your mouth is pressed in a tight line at something that annoyed you. When you laugh with your nose scrunched up, trying to hold back cute little snorts. And he always wants so desperately to be closer to you. 

Before his common sense can catch up with his body, he extends his hand, gently tracing the claw mark between your eyebrows. “Does it hurt?” Your watery eyes, heavy with exhaustion flutter open at the contact. “Just a little”. He hums in response as his hand moves to cup your face, his thumb inspecting the cut on your temple. The clean, soapy scent of his skin drowns your senses. He is so very close. And his hands are so tender, so reverent on your face. Blood rushes to your cheeks in embarrassment, and you hope he doesn’t feel your skin burning at his touch. 

Wet lips part just slightly as he meets your gaze. His chest tightens and aches with these feelings that he cannot even begin to understand. All he knows is that, in that moment, you are the whole world. The rest of it fades to black, it’s insignificant. You are gravity.

“Can I kiss it better?” He really should be embarrassed about how absolutely pathetic he is being. But he cannot find it in himself to snap out of it. He needs to be closer to you. Closer than this. He needs to show you what he could never say. Not only because he would be too much of a coward to, but because he doesn’t know if the words he needs to say exist. 

You can hear your heart pounding in your ears. But it is him that feels so raw and vulnerable, waiting for you pull away. To crash against you and not into you. 

You nod. It’s small and reluctant but it’s there. You feel as though you might never move again as he inches closer to you. His lips hover over your forehead and you can feel his warm breath on your face. Strands of his hair tickle your skin as his thumb draws circles on your cheekbone. He hesitates. 

He is crumbling at the sight of you. Eyes wide in anticipation, you feel so warm, so welcoming. And he tries to memorise every little detail. The way your soft skin feels underneath his hands, the smell of you slightly damp hair. The way your eyebrows knot just a tiny bit. The colour of your eyes. The way your eyelashes curl and move. He wants to remember it all. Just in case he never gets another chance to. 

Then he kisses your injured face. His lips so soft and warm. It’s such a careful, caring kiss but so incredibly intimate. Your whole body trembles at the sensation.  He kisses your temple too. And somehow he’s even closer. You can feel him with every particle of your being. You want to pull him into you, melt your body with his. You want him to consume you whole. But that’s not something you could ever say. So you smile into the crook of his neck, and you hope he knows that he makes everything better. 

Not another word is said between the two of you as you let yourself succumb to overwhelming fatigue. Satoru doesn’t sleep for a single moment that night. 

thank you for reading! interaction is very much appreciated! ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

@nathalunalune @utahimeow

i do not have the strength to block all the bots. welcome ladies make yourselves at home i guess. im a feminist

physics my love

snow [ gojo satoru x reader ]

✾ warnings: clingy gojo

✾ synopsis: your boyfriend is feeling sentimental, and wants you to stay a while longer. after all, how could one sleepover make up for a whole week's worth of you time?

✾ notes: i think he deserves a very big long hug i lovehim

❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

"alright, i'll be off now!" you tell your pouting boyfriend, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. he still refuses to let go of you, like a sad little child who's afraid of being separated from his only anchor. you cup his face in your hands. "satoru, you'll see me tomorrow, stop making that face."

he hums in response, closing his eyes and leaning into your touch.

you're warm, a much needed contrast to the cold, snowing december afternoon. the warmth fills the little void in gojo's heart; the one he never speaks of.

you fit so snugly in his arms, your fingers lace so easily with his, and his face fits so perfectly in the crook of your neck, that he wonders whether you were made for him, or he, for you. you're the piece of him he hopes he never has to live without.

his heart misses you terribly whenever you're not around.

"is something wrong, baby?" you ask, a bit worried by his behaviour. "you know i love you very much, 'toru."

pulling you into a gentle hug, he breathes in your scent. "i love you too, sweetheart. nothing's wrong, don't worry."

you open your mouth to argue, but he's already ushering you to the door. "text me when you're home, okay? drive safely!"

he opens the door, and the two of you come to a sudden halt in front of the 4 foot layer of snow outside. neither of you say anything for a moment.

then, a grin breaks out on your menace of a boyfriend's face.

"guess you're stuck with me for a while longer, angel." when he finally speaks, he sounds almost triumphant.

gojo knows he isn't supposed to be happy about being snowed in, but boy is he absolutely elated. in his defense, it'd been a long week, and he badly missed your warm embrace; the way your bodies seemed to fuse together, your fingers threaded delicately through his hair. one sleepover could not make up for a week's worth of cuddles.

to make matters worse, he was feeling emotional. sentimental, even. he felt like peppering kisses on every inch of your face; felt like loving you as if there was no tomorrow.

"not a bad way to spend what's remaining of the weekend." you muse, intertwining your fingers with his as you make your way back into his living room. settling down on the couch with you on his lap, he buries his face in your chest.

"do... you wanna tell me what's up? why were you acting like a little puppy just now?"

"was not," gojo mumbles.

"i'm listening," you gently push, stroking his soft, smooth hair. he sighs. whether in contentment or defeat, you're not sure.

"just missed you." he presses a chaste kiss to your neck. "warm,"

you laugh, and he feels like a lovesick high schooler all over again.

"should've told me to stay longer, 'toru." you flick his forehead lightly. "i missed you too, so much. i would've gladly said yes."

"well, you're here now." he looks up, and his beautiful cerulean eyes meet yours. a soft smile graces his handsome face.

"i am." you agree, leaning in so the tips of your noses are touching.

"i love you." he whispers.

"i love you too," you manage, before he closes the gap between the two of you, pulling you into a deep kiss.

taglist: @mykyoon @nishayuro @maxxs-world @nico707 @dreamsfo @shuxjodie

So HOURS AGO I sent a risky snap to the guy I’ve been crushing on (just a flirty little pic in response to him sending me a pic of his pants n being like ‘look at my butt’) and completely forgot about it cause it was HOURS ago and he not only just opened it but then REPLAYED it and responded.

Not to act like a silly little teenager but I’m screaming and too chicken to look at what he said

miya atsumu x gn!reader, suggestive

“what are ya thinkin’ about?”

“how soft your hair is,” you hum back in reply, carding your fingers through your lover’s hair. atsumu, fresh out of the shower and smelling of peaches, freezes in his spot between your legs — obviously guilty.

“ya like my hair?” he asks.

you ignore him.

“have you been using my conditioner, ‘tsumu?”

“…what’s mine is mine, and what’s yers is mine, babe.”

you suppress a laugh. “who said that?”

“it’s in our wedding vows.”

“we’re not married!”

atsumu turns, his arms finding their usual place around your waist while a familiar lazy grin pulls at his lips. “not married—yet.”

“silly goose.” you bring your hand up to flick at his forehead gently, suppressing yet another chuckle at how your lover scrunches up his handsome face. then you kiss away the crease between his brows, peck the tip of his nose, and finally press a big noisy smack to his lips — complete with an exaggerated “mwah!” that makes him giggle boyishly.

“what are you thinking about, then?” you ask when you pull back.

“hmmm.” a tiny pout pulls at his lips. you see the mischievous glint in his eyes — he’s pretending to think. “i’m thinkin’ ‘bout yer tits in my mouth.”

“miya atsumu!”

“oh, uh, please? yer tits in my mouth… please?”

“you’re terrible.”

“that wasn’t a no.”

you feel atsumu’s arms tighten around your middle, shoulders flexing under his thin cotton shirt, and your breath hitches when his thumbs slip under the hem your shirt to rub at the sensitive skin of your waist.

“…no, it wasn’t.”

Gojo " I wanna have a platoinc relationship with them , I wanna support them , I wanna be there for them , I wanna be their best friend, I wanna be the shoulder they would cry on, I want a spot in their heart , I won't allow for any one else in their heart , I will love them with all my being , I will hug them so tight daily, I wanna kiss them til they are melting, I wanna make sure they are safe with me , I wanna bite those cheeks , I want them to myself , I want me to be theirs and theirs only , I wanna them under me " satoru

WHO LOVES WHO ??? (1.5k)

— fushiguro megumi x reader

synopsis: don’t trust your thoughts after 10pm because now you’re convinced he doesn’t love you back

warnings: super fluffy, aged up, mentions of sex, megumi wees (in a toilet not sexually chill LOL), erm self insert… maybe ?

a/n: my first time writing megumi and if it’s ooc i don’t care lol i love the guy. inspired off that one girlfriends scene with joan n her boyf i’ve been watching a lot of girlfriends :)

fushiguro megumi doesn’t love you.

this is the conclusion you have come to, sitting fully clothed on the edge of your bath with your head in your hands.

after being together for three months, the words have yet to be uttered past his lips. aside from all the… more than friendly activities you’ve been doing; the sweet sex where he stuffs his head into your neck to hide his pitiful groans, how he softly kisses your ankle whilst gazing down into your eyes before he starts between your legs and the way he always crawls into your chest after he cleans you up… you’re not sure there’s been anything else to show he loves you back.

yes, you are in love with fushiguro megumi.

rubbing your fists against your tired eyes, you honestly found it hard to think of all the reasons why you didn’t love the man. the way with one scan over your body, he knows what you’re thinking or what you want. often disappearing in a room full of people to appear by your side to hand you a drink or sliding into a seat beside you to patiently help you with your assignments. his calculating intelligence, how he seemed to know everything or if he didn’t, after a minute he’d have worked it all out. able to explain something to you easily and only you… often ignoring if anybody else wanted help because he always had a second sense to if someone had bad intentions.

you love fushiguro megumi because he makes you feel like a good person. which you guess is an odd thing to say, but it’s true. you’ve often thought you weren’t always the nicest, occasionally impatient, sometimes stubborn. and although those traits are still in you, megumi makes you accept yourself. you know it’s due to the fact he’s seen the worst in people, met others that murder and lie to get what they want so relative to him you’re close to a goddess. the way he listens when you ramble about something petty, rant about somebody that’s been pissing you off, through your most annoying moments, megumi makes you feel loveable.

your thoughts slam to a halt as the man himself strolls into your bathroom. scratching at his dark locks and opening his mouth in a massive yawn. his top half is bare, a few scars from his work as a sorcerer littered about whilst his other half is in a pair of plaid navy pyjama bottoms. he eyes you, still fully clothed on the edge of the bath, for about three seconds. pretty thick eyelashes batting against his cheeks as he ponders over the reasons you’re sitting there. but it’s also four am and he doesn’t work well this early.

you try to give him a tiny smile, to not look as suspicious as you feel when he asks, “why’re you sitting there?”

coated in sleep and a little grunt, he then pads over to the toilet and pulls down his pyjama bottoms far enough to take his dick out. you don’t have time to admire his cute pale ass because fushiguro megumi is acting so very out of character.

“‘gumi!” you cover your eyes and face away from him, the tinkle against the porcelain sounding in the room. “don’t piss in-front of me!”

you try to rationalise it’s probably because he’s half asleep right now and honestly, it’s nothing you’ve never seen before. but since when have you both got to the point of being so bare with each other?

“hmm?” he mumbles, feeling his body lighten at the action. why are you so loud at four in the morning? “babe, when two people are in love, this isn’t a big deal.”

babe. two people. wait… love?

the strangest most strangled sound leaves your throat, as you whip your head to the back of the man you loved.

“megumi, what? who loves who?”

you just needed to be sure. he could be sleepwalking right now for all you know.

but he also definitely wasn’t with how he turned his head to stare you down like you just offended him. “i love you and you love me? why are you looking like that?”

then he turns back around to finish his business, about to do the classic shake before you ram yourself into his back, wrapping your arms around his waist and squeezing tightly. he places a hand flat on the wall before him to steady both of your bodies so he doesn’t go falling into the toilet.

“wait, let me clean up. we can cuddle in bed.”

but he’s not saying anything you care about, “‘gumi, you love me? since when?!” you squeal.

he scoffs, sleepy half-lidded eyes as he shakes and tucks himself back into his bottoms. “erm… since i met you? the first time we kissed? forever? why are you so shocked?”

he awkwardly shuffles to your bathroom sink, you still clinging to his back like a koala with a massive smile on your face like you’ve just won the lottery. it feels like you have.

you peep behind his back at the mirror before you both. megumi pumps soap onto his hands, lathering his slender fingers with the stuff and then hovering his hands under the tap to wash it off. you ignored all of that, staring at your lover's reflection as you feel your heart physically swell.

fushiguro megumi loves you back.

between that all, he glances up at you again, your cheeks high and your eyes bright like you just took a ginger shot, hyped up and ready to run a marathon.

“don’t you love me back?” the dark-haired man asks you, so quiet and tender you almost cooed aloud.

“of course i love you, i was just sitting there thinking you didn’t love me! you’ve never told me you have!”

megumi frowns, lips slightly pouted and staring at you through the mirror. his voice is a dull unimpressed monotone, “i don’t remember you ever telling me.”

now it’s your turn to pout, squeezing your arms around him in defiance but he doesn’t mind your touch. you’re making him all warm and toasty.

“well, i didn’t want to be the one to say it and be rejected. but if you said it i would have said it back.”

“babe,” he blanks and his face is telling you that you’re being silly but the impatient, almost rough rasp of the babe has you almost buckling your knees. “imagine i said it and you rejected me. i would have laid flat on the train tracks.”

“‘gumi!” you slap his arm playfully, kissing his bare bicep as his eyes twinkle at your laugh.

quickly he dries his hands on a random towel before spinning around to face you, his hands finding home on your waist.

and as fushiguro megumi stares down at you with his shiny albeit lethargic denim blue eyes, your smile grow bigger. so big he wasn’t aware a face could mimic the sun that had yet to rise outside. he should have been telling you he loves you daily if this is what he gets. a tiny chuckle breathes past his lips, your finger tracing up his spine making him feel a little drowsy.

“i love you. should’ve told you before,” megumi whispers almost apologetic, tipping your chin up to press a soft kiss to your lips. you can’t help but smile into that too with a pleasant hum and soon enough megumi is smiling too. a tiny one with makes your teeth clink together.

once you peck his cheek on your tiptoes, you wrap your arms around his neck. then his palms reach down to tap your ass, a signal to jump. as you do, your legs lock around his bare waist, “i love you too, ‘gumi. love when you call me babe too.”

the sight of the man still sleepy, muscles tensed to hold you up, you almost sigh lovingly. “really?” he mumbles, walking back into your bedroom and laying you down on your bed. “how about baby?” a kiss on your cheek. “honey?” you giggle as another lands on your jaw, “how about princess?” you’re now fully squealing at the tickle of his lips, especially as megumi, controlled by sleep lays all his body weight on top of you, only resting on his forearms to lay his attacks on you.

“yes, ‘gumi! yes!” and you feel the rumble of megumi’s laugh through his chest into yours. you throw the quilt over you both, now safe and warm with love.

once you both quiet down, megumi shuffles to get comfortable, tucking his head in the crook of your neck to go to sleep.

“love you ‘gumi.”

“love you too babe.”

part two: to pretend: to make as if; to put on an act.

@xiaosprettygf for you my darl

It had been two years.

Two years since the wedding, two years since you’d seen either Rina or Megumi. Two years since your heart shattered, and the box you put your shattered heart in had shattered, and the pieces all run through a Shattering Machine of the very best kind. Today, while you shuffled to your mailbox in your outdoor slippers, sipping on a travel mug of chamomile tea (although you weren’t planning on going anywhere), the rain pattered softly on the glass window panes. You felt happy. Happy is an interesting word. It was a mood, temporary, yes, but lately that happiness had crept up on your life and insisted on moving in. You had just started med school, not usually known for inspiring happiness, but you felt productive, proud of where you’d gotten yourself. You made a new friend, a peppy, excited girl named Aika. Her favorite color was yellow, and recently, after moving in with you, your apartment had brightened considerably. Music was always filling the then-depressing silence, a cream yellow speaker in the shape of a sleeping cat mumbling out soft cello or bursting with the latest pop. You went to get the mail for the both of you, reaching into the mailbox and pulling out the usual assortment of junk mail and advertisements. And a pastel green envelope, with perfectly printed handwriting that you knew oh so well. Your eyes prickle immediately, and you blink them away. You were strong. You were independent. Yet you knew who had written that envelope. You remembered the way Rina dotted her i’s and crossed her t’s and f’s. Running your finger over the slightly indented print, you breathed in deeply and tried to think of what to do. Returning to your apartment, you tucked the envelope into the junk drawer and tried to forget. This particular sunday afternoon, you had no plans. Putting on another one of Aika’s new pop playlists, you put on a bright yellow apron and started to make red velvet cupcakes, your’s and Aika’s favorite, in an attempt to distract yourself. When the cupcakes were in the oven, you sat down on the couch. Then, getting up, you went to the drawer, then before touching the handle, turned back to sit down, and a couple steps away from the couch, turned back again. 

“You’re pathetic,” came an amused voice from the doorway. Aika was standing there, in all her bucked hatted glory, eyebrows raised. “I’ve been here for two minutes watching you cosplay a tug-of-war rope.” She went to the drawer and pulled out the envelope, her eyes twinkling. Then she read the return address and frowned. “Oh.” Then, after a pause. “You want me to read it for you?” You nodded, and watched as she carefully slid a nail under the flap of the envelope. Her eyebrows knit, her face scrunching together more and more as her eyes moved down the letter. “Oh.” She said again, “Oh.”

“What is it Aika?”

“We, Megumi and Rina Fushiguro, humbly invite you, Y/N, to our baby shower!” Aika began monotonously, “this Saturday at 4, at our home. Please RSVP and you will receive the address in an email! Dinner and drinks provided, presents appreciated. We hope to see you there!” 

She looked up at you, gauging your reaction. Remember that shattering machine? It had come back, and it had just crushed those seemingly-unable-to-be-crushed-further pieces of your heart double time into microscopic dust. 

“Y/N/N,” Aika started, but you cut her off. 

“Don’t worry about me, I’m ok. It’s been years, I’m over it already,” you took a deep breath. “Really,” you added, seeing Aika’s unimpressed look. “I’ll get packing.”

If only you weren’t pretending.