“💕She said she won the world at a carnival💕”

಄ ⋆ BACKGROUND

to bring to light why i wrote this, while reading an otherwise enjoyable fanfiction, i encountered a line in which Heian-era sukuna was addressed by "ryomen" as though it were his given name, and this had been a repeated trend i've seen in Jujutsu Kaisen sukuna fanfiction. this tiny detail—which objectively should not have occupied my thoughts for as long as it did—sent me down an unfortunate rabbit hole regarding naming conventions in Japanese media, translation practices, and the tendency for English-speaking fandom to reconstruct unfamiliar linguistic systems into something more recognizable. names are rarely "just names," even within simplistic language systems. across different cultures, they carry distinct systems, conventions, and social functions that determine not only what a person is called, but why they are called that in the first place. English-speaking fan communities frequently interpret foreign naming systems through familiar Western frameworks.

಄ ⋆ SIGNIFICANCE

i believe it is well known that fanfiction often rewards emotional accuracy over linguistic accuracy (not saying disparagingly). however, repeated reinterpretations of foreign naming systems can gradually become accepted as "common knowledge" within fandom. examining why this occurs reveals less about individual writers and more about how language shapes the way audiences understand unfamiliar cultures.

಄ ⋆ CHAPTER 1. WHAT DOES A NAME DO?

to start, i must quote unnecessarily, "i think therefore i am." this does not mean anything, i just really wanted to use it because it's funny. before discussing why fandom repeatedly misinterprets foreign names, we first have to answer a surprisingly difficult question. what exactly is a name? a name, linguistically, is a term used for identification by an external observer and it can identify a class, a category of things, a single thing (people, places, objects) either uniquely, or within a given context. the entity identified by a name is called its referent. a naming convention is a set of agreed, stipulated, or generally accepted standards, norms, social norms, or criteria for naming things. it is important to note that names have rules. at first glance, a name looks like a label. a chair is a "chair," a table is called a "table," it's a very simple concept. but people are not objects, human names do not just classify, they distinguish. when i say "dog," i've identified a category; when i say "hachiko," i've identified one specific individual. so therefore, names are referential rather than descriptive. their primary purpose is to let which person is being talked about, not what kind of person they are. that's why names can be completely arbitrary, because it's simply a pointer. names also don't just identify people. they also encode relationships, telling you by who calls you what something about your relationship hence, the difference of someone calling you Jonathan, John, Johnny, Dad, Mr. Sherlock, Big John. They are all referring to the same person but every choice communicates something different; familiarity, hierarchy, affection, respect, distance, and intimacy. and i'm sure a bunch of other things. English-speakers often unconsciously assume that [First Name, denoting who they are] [Middle Name, denoting a specifier] [Last Name, denoting from where they came] is the default and universal human format. it isn't obviously, different cultures answer completely different questions. some emphasize family, ancestry, then some emphasize birthplace or achievements. some religion, some ranks. that's why some cultures have patronymics, some don't have surnames, some have courtesy names, some names change throughout their life.

಄ ⋆ CHAPTER 2. NAMES HAVE JOBS, NOT ALL JOBS ARE NAMES

there are several different categories in which names fall in (sources i'm using are very broad, but i'll link them below), that are often unused, unheard, or underutilized in the English language. having established that names are social tools rather than arbitrary labels, we now encounter another problem: English frequently treats every identifier attached to a person as though it were simply "their name." linguistically, however, many of these identifiers perform entirely different functions. They may indicate family lineage, social status, profession, achievement, respect, or reputation rather than personal identity itself. the most important question isn't "what is this called?" when talking about names, but instead "what job is this word doing?" so consider the sentence, "Professor Smith spoke to John." both "Professor" and "John" identify the same individual in different contexts, but they do not perform the same linguistic function.one indicates institutional status, while the other functions as a personal identifier. so? words attached to people aren't interchangeable.

⋆ personal identifiers a given name is a name that identifies the individual within their family or community, it's typically a name assigned to an individual at birth or later in life. in English, this is often the first name. it primarily serves toto distinguish them from other members of the same family. examples are John, Satoru (悟), Yor, Leon. a family name (surname) is a name that identifies a person's family lineage and is shared among relatives. depending on the culture, it may appear before or after the given name (while stylistic choices are of course welcomed, standard practices adopt the original culture's naming order). examples are Gojo (五条), Smith, Liu (劉). a middle name is an additional personal name placed between the given and family name. its purpose varies widely between cultures and may commemorate relatives, saints, or simply provide another identifier. examples include John Fitzgerald Kennedy, Leon Scott Kennedy. a patronymic is a name derived from one's father (or sometimes a male ancestor). it indicates parentage rather than functioning as a hereditary surname. the female version, a matronymic, is derived from one's mother rather than father. it is less common globally but exists in several naming traditions. examples: Ivan Ivanonich ("son of Ivan"). a clan name identifies membership in a larger kinship group rather than an immediate family. multiple unrelated households may share the same clan. examples are Gojo (術師家) and the Uchiha (うちは一族).

⋆ social identifiers a title is a name that denotes rank, occupation, office, or status rather than identity. titles answer the question of "what are you?" rather than "who are you?" examples include: King, Doctor, Professor, Lord, Captain. an honorific is a word or title or grammatical form that conveys respect, familiarity, or social hierarchy between speakers. unlike titles, honorifics describe the relationship between people rather than the identity of the individual. examples include: in Japanese, -san (used to convey respect used between any age), -sama (used for individuals with a higher rank than oneself, -kun (used to refer to people of junior status or men in general), in English, Mr., Mrs., Sir, in Indonesian kak, mas, mbak. a house name denotes the membership in a noble or dynastic house. example: House Stark, House Windsor. a courtesy name is an additional name adopted upon reaching adulthood or entering society. It is often used by peers instead of the person's birth name. this is historically common in Chinese naming traditions. example is Confucius' (Kongzi) courtesy name Zhongni (仲尼). a temple name is a name bestowed after death upon monarchs in several East Asian traditions and is primarily used in historical or religious contexts. a posthumous name is a name granted after death and often reflects the person's achievements or character. unlike a birth name, it was never used by the individual during life. a regnal name is a name adopted when someone ascends to a throne or other high office. example: Pope Francis, Queen Elizabeth II. a religious name/dharma name is a name adopted upon entering a religious order or undergoing initiation. Ii often symbolizes spiritual rebirth or new identity.

⋆ descriptive identifiers an epithet is a descriptive word or phrase attached to a person's name that highlights a characteristic, reputation, or distinguishing feature. unlike a given name, an epithet describes rather than identifies. examples: Alexander the Great, Ivan the Terrible, Richard the Lionheart, Ryōmen ("two-faced") Sukuna. a sobriquet is an informal descriptive nickname earned through reputation, personality, or achievement. unlike a legal name, it develops through public use. a byname is an additional identifier attached to distinguish someone from others with the same personal name. it often describes appearance, occupation, birthplace, or family. many historical epithets function as bynames.

⋆ chosen identifiers a nickname is an informal alternative used by friends, family, or acquaintances. nicknames often shorten, modify, or replace a person's given name. examples: Jonathan → Jon, Katherine → Kate. meanwhile an alias is an assumed name used instead of one's legal identity, often for privacy, disguise, or professional reasons. an art name is a name adopted by artists, scholars, or writers as part of their creative identity. this is a also called a pseudonym or moniker. examples are Su Shi also known as Dongpo Jushi, Takashi Murakami, KAWS. a pen name (nom de plume) is a pseudonym adopted by an author for publication. a stage name is a professional identity used by performers instead of their legal name. a username identifies an individual within a digital environment. unlike legal names, usernames are chosen, platform-specific, and need not correspond to real-world identity.

notice that every category above identifies a person in some capacity, yet none performs exactly the same job. English often collapses these distinctions under the broad concept of a "name," whereas many other naming systems preserve functional differences between personal names, titles, honorifics, and descriptive epithets. while all of these may appear beside a person's identity, they are not interchangeable. some identify the individual, some identify their family, some describe their reputation, and others communicate social relationships. referring to all of them simply as "names" obscures the distinct roles they perform within their respective cultures. if these distinctions are so common across cultures, why do English-speaking readers so frequently flatten them into a single naming system?

಄ ⋆ CHAPTER 3. WHY ENGLISH SPEAKERS MISREAD FOREIGN NAMES

having established that names perform different social functions across cultures, we arrive at another question: if these distinctions exist, why are they so frequently overlooked in English-speaking fandom? the answer is surprisingly mundane. it is not usually a failure of research (though it's the second most common reason), nor a lack of intelligence. rather, it is a consequence of how humans process unfamiliar information. the first reason is that our brains simply do this because of pattern recognition or schema activation, something i spend much time on in thinking. we as humans are extraordinarily good at categorization. we don't read every unfamiliar thing from scratch—we compare it to something we already know. linguists call these mental shortcuts schemas but for this, i simply call it 'already knowing enough' (larping). when English speakers encounter "Ryomen Sukuna," our brains don't consciously ask what naming convention is being used. they see two capitalized words and immediately retrieve the closest familiar template. a lot of what contributes to the reason of why people mistake foreign names so badly, especially names with their own alphabet, and especially with vastly different scripts, is due to once transliterated into the Latin alphabet, these names become visually familiar to English-speaking audiences. they appear to follow the same structure as English names—two capitalized words separated by a space—despite often operating according to entirely different cultural conventions. this visual familiarity encourages readers to unconsciously apply English naming expectations where they may not belong. humans also do chunking. you don't read Tanjiro as T-a-n-j-i-r-o, but Tan-Ji-Ro. you don't read my username as kayuekou but it gets mentally segmented as kay-ue-kou. or if you come from a more East Asian linguistic background, ka-yue-kou. and this isn't ...nearly all your fault. after being immersed in English naming conventions, ie. Jane Doe, Peter Parker John B. Smith, our brains automatically shove Ryomen Sukuna, Kuroki Tomoko, Kamado Tanjiro into the same system. Ryomen Sukuna is chunked into Ryomen (first name) - Sukuna (last name).

಄ ⋆ CHAPTER 4. EVERYTHING GETS ENGLISH'D

so now, having established why English-speaking readers naturally reinterpret unfamiliar naming systems, it becomes apparent that this phenomenon extends far beyond Japanese media, my original grievance. whenever a naming system differs significantly from English conventions, readers often simplify, reorganize, or reinterpret it into something more immediately recognizable. in practice, what does this look like?

first, mistaking family names as first names because of the Eastern name order (family name first, given name second), obviously this is most commonly seen in East Asian names. my examples will primarily derive from Japanese, mostly due to its almost uniquely similar structure to English when transliterated. this is often seen in Japanese fan media, which i found most prominent in fanfiction made pre-2021, such as mistaking Gojo for Satoru's given name. specifically in Japanese, starting from the Meiji Restoration in 1868, the Western name order was primarily used among the Japanese nobility when identifying themselves to non-Asians with their romanized names. as a result, in popular Western publications, the order became increasingly used for Japanese names the following decades (Shinzo Abe, Osamu Dazai, Satoru Gojo). however! in 2020, the Government of Japan reverted the Westernized name order back to the Eastern name order in official documents, and has recommended that the same format be used amongst general Japanese public; they also requested Western publications to change this. this is a big reason why Japanese becomes quite confusing when you dip your foot in and understand what the Eastern naming order looks like, because sometimes you don't know if they're using the Western or Eastern order. unlike the Chinese and the Koreans who have never used Western name order (Chinese leader Xi Jinping not being referred to as Jinping Xi, Moon Jae-in is not Jae-in Moon).

second, names getting split strangely. i recently saw in a fanfiction (that i've put on hold simply because of this) that the author named the fanon interpretation of the Gojo twins as Sato and Toru. this is most likely because they assume those are natural halves of "Satoru." Except Japanese morphology doesn't work that way. likewise, my name has been mistakenly used quite a lot, my nickname from my moniker kayuekou sometimes become kay because "Kay" already exists in English. but this is especially frustrating once you understand that the kanji system, derived from hanzi, uses a logographical system. meaning, the Japanese writing for a name, almost always has a set meaning. "五条悟" or Gojo Satoru is split into "Gojo" or "五条" meaning 五 five, 条 an article or clauses, and 悟 meaningly enlightenment or to understand. the second you strip away Satoru and become Sato, that has become a completely. new name. in some dictionaries, maybe Sato as 悟 could happen, and i've checked myself on jisho that there is a given name called Sato with that exact kanji, but now it's a matter of logic and accuracy. Sato is almost alway used as a surname; Sato as 葛巻, Sato as 郡, Sato as 慧. there are rules to what a kanji can or cannot do in a name, but i will not deep dive into that in this essay.

third, in Russian, and a classic example, Ivan Ivanovich Petrov is often frequently read by English-speakers as Ivan, Middle name Ivanoich, Last name Petrov when the "middle name" is actually just telling you whose son he is. fourth, a fascinating one because it almost flips the problem, are Thai names. Thai people commonly have long legal names (due to surnames needing to be legally unique, therefore combining many words and subsequently creating incredibly long surnames) and short nicknames, sometimes ones that don't have any relation to their legal name. many foreigners sometimes assume the nickname isn't their "real" name, when culturally, it's often the primary everyday identifier.

although each example arises from a different language, the underlying mechanism remains remarkably consistent. readers encounter an unfamiliar naming system, identify superficial similarities to English, and unconsciously reorganize it according to English expectations. the details differ; the cognitive process does not. a worthwhile minor topic to touch is things that English speaking writers accidentally normalize. such as the tendency of first-name basis immediately, honorific inconsistencies, modern Western flirting in Eastern historical settings, school culture assumptions, legal names vs epithets. i would touch the topic but i'm no fiddler.

಄ ⋆ CHAPTER 5. NOT EVERYTHING IS A GIVEN (NAME)

by this point, we have established three things. firstly, names are not merely arbitrary labels, but social tools that identify individuals within a cultural system. secondly, not every identifier attached to a person performs the same function. lastly, English-speaking readers naturally interpret unfamiliar naming systems through frameworks they already recognize. we now arrive at one of the most common consequences of this process: assuming that every identifier attached to a person is a given name. not every word attached to a person is attempting to answer the same question. like we discussed in the previous chapters, a given name answers, "who are you?" a family name answers, "which family do you belong to?" a patronymic answers, "whose child are you?" a title answers, "what is your rank, occupation, or position?" an honorific answers, "how should I address you?" an epithet answers, "what are you known for?" these may all appear beside one another when referring to a single person, yet they are not interchangeable. they perform different linguistic and social functions despite identifying the same referent. epithets are probably the clearest example of this distinction. an epithet is not another personal name, but a descriptive identifier attached to an individual because of a notable characteristic, achievement, reputation, or physical trait. history is full of them. Alexander the Great, Richard the Lionheart, Ivan the Terrible, Erik the Red, and William the Conqueror are all remembered through epithets. English speakers immediately recognize that "the Great" is not Alexander's surname, nor is "Lionheart" Richard's given name. these descriptors tell us something about the individual rather than functioning as the individual's personal identity. the interesting part is that this intuition often disappears when the epithet originates from another language. once romanized into the Latin alphabet, foreign epithets lose many of the visual and cultural cues that distinguish them from ordinary names. rather than seeing a descriptive title, English-speaking readers often see another capitalized word occupying the same position as a conventional first name. without consciously realizing it, the epithet is reassigned a new job. it is no longer interpreted as a description, but as a personal identifier. this distinction matters because misunderstanding an identifier is not simply a matter of pronunciation or terminology. it changes the role that identifier plays within the naming system itself. an epithet interpreted as a given name no longer functions as a description; it becomes an identity. a title mistaken for a surname no longer indicates social position; it becomes ancestry. in other words, the word has not changed—but the job we assign to it has. so anyway. this brings us to another important question. if these distinctions are meaningful, why do official translations, subtitles, and fan translations so rarely communicate them? more importantly, are translators responsible for preserving these naming systems, or are readers simply encountering the unavoidable limitations of translation itself?

಄ ⋆ CHAPTER 6. TRANSLATION FUELS THESE MISTAKES

so now that we've established that identifiers perform different linguistic functions and that English-speaking readers naturally interpret unfamiliar naming systems through familiar frameworks, another question inevitably follows: if these distinctions are important, why do translations so rarely preserve them? the answer is not that translators are careless. rather, translation itself is an exercise in compromise. contrary to popular belief, translation is not simply the process of replacing one word with another. every translator must constantly decide what should be preserved. should priority be given to literal meaning, readability, cultural context, historical accuracy, emotional impact, or natural dialogue? more often than not, preserving one inevitably sacrifices another. names are particularly difficult because they rarely carry meaning in isolation. instead, they exist within larger cultural systems that are often invisible to those who already understand them. a Japanese reader generally does not require a footnote explaining the function of an honorific, the order of family and given names, or whether an identifier is an epithet rather than a personal name. these conventions are already understood. an English-speaking audience, however, approaches the same text without that shared cultural framework. romanization further complicates this process. when Japanese is written in its native scripts, it is immediately recognizable as a different writing system. readers instinctively understand that they are encountering another language. once those same names are transliterated into the Latin alphabet, however, they become visually familiar. two capitalized words separated by a space resemble countless English names, despite following entirely different cultural conventions. the alphabet remains familiar even when the language does not. this creates what i consider one of romanization's greatest paradoxes: it increases accessibility while simultaneously creating an illusion of familiarity. readers correctly recognize the letters, but unconsciously assume they also recognize the system behind them. translation, therefore, often preserves the words while inevitably losing parts of the framework that gives those words meaning. again, this is not unique to Japanese. consider honorifics such as -san, -kun, or -sama. many English translations omit them entirely because there is rarely a natural English equivalent that carries identical social nuance. likewise, patronymics in Russian are frequently interpreted as middle names, while Chinese family names are often mistaken for given names simply because the translated text cannot pause to explain an entirely different naming convention every time a character is introduced. doing so would be impractical. imagine a subtitle interrupting every conversation with a linguistic lecture explaining why a particular identifier is functioning as an epithet rather than a personal name. accurate? perhaps. readable? absolutely not. translation, after all, is intended to communicate a story—not to teach an entire course in comparative linguistics. this is where fandom enters the equation. readers naturally fill in the missing pieces using the only framework they possess: their own. one fanfiction assigns an English role to an unfamiliar identifier. another writer adopts the same convention. a hundred readers encounter it repeatedly. eventually, what began as an unconscious interpretation slowly transforms into accepted fanon. the reinterpretation is no longer questioned because, through repetition, it begins to feel canonical. translation does not create these misunderstandings on its own. it merely provides the conditions under which they become possible. the actual reinterpretation occurs in the minds of readers, where unfamiliar linguistic systems are quietly reorganized into something that feels comfortably familiar.

಄ ⋆ CHAPTER 7. CASE STUDY

which leads to a minor footnote, and the inciting example on why i made this post. one of my favorite little linguistic quirks in JJK is that "Ryomen Sukuna" isn't really a given name in the way a lot of English-speaking fans read it. the historical figure that inspired Jujutsu Kaisen's Sukuna is traditionally known as Ryōmen Sukuna. the term Ryōmen (両面) literally means "two-faced" or "two-sided," referring to the figure's unusual appearance. rather than functioning as an ordinary personal name, it is widely understood as a descriptive epithet attached to Sukuna. as discussed in chapter 2, epithets perform a fundamentally different function from given names. they describe rather than identify. however, once romanized into the Latin alphabet, "Ryōmen Sukuna" visually resembles a conventional English first name–surname pairing. the epithet is therefore reassigned a familiar role: first name. this interpretation is further reinforced through repetition. once a sufficient number of fanworks address Sukuna as "Ryomen," subsequent writers encounter the convention repeatedly and naturally assume it reflects canon. over time, the reinterpretation becomes self-perpetuating, not because readers consciously reject the original naming system, but because the English framework has already become normalized within the community. modern AUs present a somewhat different situation. since these settings intentionally remove characters from their historical and cultural contexts, writers are free to assign entirely new naming conventions if they wish. someone may choose to reinterpret "Ryomen" as a legal first name simply because it functions conveniently within the world of their story (but still, when you take into account kanji, and you should, it becomes messy). fanfiction is, after all, transformative by nature. admittedly, none of this prevents me from visibly twitching every time Heian-era Uraume solemnly addresses Sukuna as "Ryomen" with the energy of someone calling Alexander the Great "Great." that, however, is a personal problem rather than a linguistic one. not everyone is a nitpicker. ultimately, the question is not whether fanfiction is "allowed" to call Sukuna "Ryomen." fanfiction has never depended upon strict historical or linguistic accuracy. rather, this example demonstrates how easily unfamiliar naming systems become reorganized according to the expectations of another language. what appears to be a single naming choice is, in reality, the product of translation, cognition, and community convention acting together.

಄ ⋆ CHAPTER 8: WHAT CAN YOU DO?

if this essay has accomplished anything, i hope it has not convinced you that your fanfiction is "wrong." rather, i hope it has convinced you that naming conventions are often far more culturally complex than they first appear. the purpose of this essay has never been to argue that every writer should become a historian, a linguist, or a professional translator before opening Google Docs. fanfiction is transformative by design. writers are free to alter names, settings, relationships, and entire worlds if doing so serves the story they wish to tell. the distinction lies in intentionality. there is a meaningful difference between deliberately changing a naming convention because it better suits your story and unconsciously changing it because you assumed it worked like English. the former is a creative decision. the latter is simply a assumption. fortunately, assumptions are surprisingly easy to challenge. when writing characters from another culture—particularly historical settings—it is often worth asking a few simple questions before assigning an unfamiliar identifier a familiar role. is this actually the person's given name? could this instead be a title, epithet, clan name, patronymic, courtesy name, or honorific? am I following a convention because the source material suggests it, or because other fanfiction does? if i removed my English expectations, would i still interpret this name the same way? the answer, of course, may still be "I'm going to write it this way anyway." and that is perfectly acceptable. the goal is not perfect authenticity. absolute historical accuracy has never been the defining characteristic of fanfiction, nor should it be. creative writing thrives on reinterpretation. what matters is understanding what you are reinterpreting. once you recognize that names are cultural systems rather than isolated words, small details begin to reveal themselves everywhere. family names stop looking like first names. patronymics stop looking like middle names. epithets stop looking like legal names. romanized words stop feeling automatically familiar simply because they share the same alphabet. most importantly, you become aware of your own assumptions. language is remarkably good at making itself invisible. we rarely notice the frameworks through which we interpret the world until we encounter one that functions differently. by then, our brains have often already attempted to reorganize the unfamiliar into something comfortably recognizable. that tendency is not a personal failing. it is simply how humans make sense of the world. the challenge—and, perhaps, the fun—is learning to recognize when our own language is quietly filling in gaps that another culture never intended to leave. and if nothing else, perhaps the next time you encounter an unfamiliar name in a piece of media, you'll pause for just a moment before asking the question that inspired this entire essay: "is that actually their name... or have i simply given it an English job?" oh and start using dictionaries.

಄ ⋆ CONCLUSION / TL;DR

this essay began because one (1) line in one (1) fanfiction annoyed me far more than any reasonable person should probably admit. human beings are exceptionally good at recognizing patterns, therefore English speaking consumers and writers interprets foreign naming systems through a framework they're already familiar with. the result is not usually malice, laziness, or ignorance—it is simply the remarkably human tendency to organize unfamiliar things into familiar categories. this essay therefore is not an argument for linguistic perfection, nor is it a declaration that fanfiction must adhere to strict historical authenticity. rather, it is an invitation to become more conscious of the assumptions we bring into the media we consume and create. understanding that names have different jobs, that translation cannot preserve every cultural nuance, and that fandom often reinforces its own conventions allows us to appreciate foreign naming systems on their own terms. and if, after reading all of this, you still decide to call Heian-era Sukuna "Ryomen" anyway... well, i cannot stop you. i can, however, quietly sigh, open another tab, and begin drafting the sequel to this essay.

಄ ⋆ BIBLIOGRAPHY (IT"S JUST WIKIPEDIA)

English honorifics (Wikipedia) given names (Wikipedia) honorifics (Wikipedia) Japanese honorifics (Wikipedia) names (Wikipedia) personal names (Wikipedia) surnames (Wikipedia)

◟ ㅤ© kayuekou, 2026 𖥻 do not copy, reconstruct, or upload on other platforms nor feed my works into generative AI.

note ꩜ hi edit. it’s 1am i forgot to link my sources. i’ll add it to the bibliography in like a couple hours after i sleep. sorry everyone. oh and also, deleted the second paragraph of my background because apparently it got duplicated

His bright blue eyes snapped open to see you pouting at him, hands over your already very sore breasts that he had painfully squeezed against his side. "Oh" he frowned, understanding. "It's that week, isn't it?"

You nodded slowly, letting Satoru manoeuvre you on your back so he could rest on his elbow next to you. When you first found out he was tracking your cycle you did call him a freak, but to be honest, it was worth it with how gentle he was with you now.

"Is it really bad?" he asked, tracing soft lines over your collarbone with his free hand. His touch was feather light, his hand apologising to your tender skin.

"It hurts" you exhaled, letting your head sink into the pillow with a long sigh. "They feel heavy"

"Heavy?" Satoru echoed, very obviously looking down to your chest. Naturally, you pinched him. "Ow! What was that for?"

"I'm in pain and you want to check if they're bigger?!" you growled, ready to throw a pillow right on his stupid white hair.

"No no no, you know I think they’re perfect” Satoru apologised immediately, peppering kisses all over your face. "It was for science only"

"Sure" you rolled your eyes, but you couldn't keep the angry act for long, not with your boyfriend's puppy dog eyes so close to your face.

"I mean it, I only want to help" he said, sitting up. And you did believe him – your boyfriend had been trying his best since he figured out how difficult pms was for you.

Last month, he even bought you a personalised hot water bottle with both your initials on it. Baby blue, of course.

You weren't sure who else would be confusing their hot water bottle for yours anyway, but its the gesture that counts.

"Come here baby, I'll help you up" he called to you with wide open arms, but as soon as he started to pull you up, you groaned again. "Is it that bad?" he grimaced, seeing your hands go back to holding onto your sore breasts.

Unfortunately, it was.

"It's ok" you tried to deflect, feeling bad for how worried he seemed. "You don't have to worry about m–"

"None of that" Satoru pouted. "Does that help?" he nodded to your hands, clearly some sort of plan starting to form in that head of his.

"Kind of" you replied, massaging yourself. "Should probably put on a bra" you sighed.

"In bed?!" Satoru shook his messy white hair side to side. "It's unfair" he completed solemnly. And you agreed with him.

But then he opened up his mouth again, with that tone he employed when he was going to suggest something... unusual.

"Why don't you...let me help?"

That made you stop halfway, turning up to look at him. "What do you mean?"

"Just… come here" he said, extending those pale fingers to you. You had one raised eyebrow, but let him do what he had intended – and soon his large palms were closing around your breasts.

"Pervert" you deadpanned.

"You said it helped!" he argued.

You took a moment, considering. You were very used to your boyfriend touching you everywhere, of course, but you had never seen him look so commited about it. It was almost endearing, in a kind of, um, odd way.

"So, what, you'll just be my personal bra today?" you teased.

"If you want me to" he nodded.

"Aren't your arms getting tired?" you narrowed your eyes at him.

"Baby, this is what I train for" he replied smugly.

You let out a little laugh, enjoying your boyfriend's silly plan and how serious he was about it. "You can't possibly keep this up" you joked.

"Wanna bet?"

You shouldn't have said yes. But of course you did.

The rest of the day was spent with Satoru glued to you – more so than usual. "You're enjoying this" you poked him as he stood with his chin on top of your head and his hands right where he promised they'd be, watching you make your morning coffee.

"You wound me, princess" he pretended to sigh. "This is for your own good"

Sure it was.

Later you sat down to watch TV, and Satoru placed you right on his lap, before his hands returned to your chest. "You're ridiculous" you laughed, his chin heavy on your shoulder this time and your back to his chest.

"Is it helping?" he asked.

In truth, it was. He was warm and soft and much more comfortable than a real bra; and walking around like you had been cursed into attachment was lifting your mood as much as it was annoying you too.

His eccentric ways were just one of the things you loved about your boyfriend, after all.

Of course, this all got a bit too ridiculous when you announced you were going to shower, and got followed by the white haired giant all the way into the bathroom. "You can't be serious" you looked up at him.

"I only want to hel–Ow! Ok, I'll be outside"

You laughed, seeing his pout as he closed the door behind him. It was adorable how devoted he was to this stupid plan – and you also couldn't deny you missed his loving touch as soon as he had let go of you.

Maybe he could help you shower too. He only wanted you to feel better, right?

"Satoru" you called, not even surprised when the door opened before you had even finished saying his name.

"Need me?" he grinned from ear to ear.

You would have pinched him again if he wasn't so damn adorable.

my boobs feel like they're about to explode and this is what came of it I don't know what else to say

permatags @madamechrissy @mercipourleveninx @septembermoonchild @plaguecxlt @nanamitiddiechomper @kekeanna266 @amazedfor @dogggggggblog-kaye @literallyadarling @dawnsoblivion @chewiebee @iquitfindingausername @valberryboos @pwd54gr54 @raendarkfaerie @bbfawns @itimisu @sapph22 @bornafairy @sukunahs @hatchus2 @sukubusss @pawwwginaaa @b-bitter

he doesn’t utter a single word once you snuggle up to his chest. you’ve taught him how to cuddle during the first time you asked him to hold you. sukuna was awkward with showing any type of affection back then.

he still very much is.

“hug, please,” you remind him.

the cold-hearted man scoffs, though listens to your polite request. all four of his arms imprison you against his chest, your small body nearly disappearing behind his limbs.

that’s what you like most about those cuddles you share together; how you fit so perfectly in his strong arms. it’s much more comforting than you thought it’d be.

a pair of hands rests on your waist, the other pair on your hips. sukuna glances down at you and immediately notices that smile on your lips. even after all this time, he still can’t fathom why you’re so carefree around a monster like him.

and that inability to understand you and your love for him is accompanied by an urge to push you away.

“you got your hug, now get up,” sukuna interrupts the silence.

his voice is cold and devoid of emotion—he uses that voice when he talks to other people. not with you, “i have better things to attend to.”

it hurts when he talks to you like that. like you’re not the person he secretly cherishes most. though, you remind yourself of sukuna’s own words. the ones you heard him say a while ago.

‘love is meaningless’, he said.

you remember. and yet you kept hoping that he’d change his mind about that statement. you hoped and eventually saw exactly that: your presence and your affectionate gestures mellowed his heart of steel.

but all that effort seems to go down the drain every time sukuna pushes you away.

you know it’s because he’s unfamiliar with the feelings of love. he may not say it nor show it, but you know that sukuna’s afraid of hurting you. so, he creates a gap between you two every now and then.

you know and yet you’re patient.

“oh, ‘kay,” you nod in understanding. you pull away from his embrace and get up from the bed. your bottom lip trembles.

sukuna is not gullible. he’s anything but oblivious. especially if it’s about how you feel and act. he notices every single change in your mood; whether you mask it or not.

you walk to the sliding doors—ready to open them and step out into the hallway. your eyes are a bit watery, but you quickly blink the tears away and take a deep breath in. you reach for the door.

“. . . come back here, woman.”

sukuna’s booming voice makes you stop. you glance at his form over your shoulder. he’s leaning against the headboard of the bed, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed.

is he. . . upset?

“why? you said you had better things to attend to.” you answer with a shrug. you try your best to not make it seem like his earlier words had effected you.

you turn your head towards the word with a huff, “go on, then.”

sukuna narrows his eyes. he sucks at communicating what he actually desires—what he actually wants. right now that want is for you to stay. even though that completely contradicts his previous words.

he doesn’t know what to do. when you’re with him, he pushes you away out of guilt. when you’re away, he wants you back with him.

love is complicated.

“you. . .” sukuna grunts in frustration. all those feelings for you inside of his heart are playing with his rational thoughts. he doesn’t like seeing you upset. he wants the usual you back, “tsk. fine then.”

silence, followed by the creaking of the bed frame. seems like sukuna’s getting up to do whatever ‘business’ he needed to attend. at least, that’s what you thought.

you slide the door open and set a foot outside of the chambers. before the other can follow, you’re suddenly lifted up in the air by a strong pair of hands. your vision turns upside down as your body is effortlessly hoisted onto a shoulder.

“woah!” you gasp and feel the blood go to your head.

your eyes are fixed on the broad back you’re facing. you kick your legs in protest, but only get a smack to your ass in response.

you whine at that, “ngh, put me down!”

“watch it, doll,” sukuna hisses at your fierce demand, a warning to fix your tone. he puts you back down on the soft mattress. he’s surprisingly gentle when he settles you in place—not throwing you on the bed or anything similar, “should’ve listened when i told you the first time.”

your eyes meet sukuna’s and you notice how much they’ve softened. that alone makes the lump in your throat disappear. your love for him isn’t one sided—you’ve always kept that in the back of your mind—yet your thoughts made you overlook the little things he does for you.

his actions speak louder than his words. that’s the kind of man he is. sukuna’s trying to open up more, though that process is slow. you’re fine with that.

especially when there’s that faint pout on his lips as he stares at you. his eyebrows are still furrowed, his crimson eyes sharp yet warm.

“oooh… you want me back in bed this bad?” you tease once you get the opportunity.

the man in front of you clicks his tongue and grabs your cheeks with one hand, turning your head up to face him.

sukuna’s eyes are focused on yours. the eye contact is intimidating, but you’re hypnotised. you physically can’t look away.

he leans in and bites your bottom lip with his sharp canines, “shut up.”

that raspy whisper alone confirms your assumption. you giggle at his attempt of refuting your point. you’re used to all those intimidating words and actions he pulls to get you to stop your teasing.

those empty threats—it’s becoming rather cute with how hard he tries to deny everything. he fails nearly every time, however.

“come,” sukuna lays back against the pillows after placing a quick and sloppy kiss against your lips. he pulls your body against his and presses your head against his chest, right where his heart is beating, “continue with your.. ‘cuddling’ thing.”

he put your ear right above his heart, because he remembers listening to his heartbeat calms you down. you told him that a while back. sukuna doesn’t understand why you like it, but his fingers massage your scalp either way.

that’s also something that brings you comfort.

you’re surprised by how much he knows about you, but appreciate it anyway. he remembers both the big and small things about you.

‘and that’s how he probably shows his love,’ you conclude silently.

his touch is light, you could push him off if you wanted to. for a moment, he waits for it. watching you watch him.

you could feel your heart beating in your throat, doing your best to swallow it down. be subtle. your eyes flit to his lips and back to his eyes again. it was quick, impulsive. it may have gone unnoticed if not for the proximity.

before you get so much as a single word out — before you get to see the little hearts in the soft gleaming gold of his violet eyes. before you get a good look at him, the soft of his lips press to your own. pillowy and so inviting.

the questions on the edge of your tongue fleeing, each disappearing in a different direction to a far away place you can't find yourself concerned with right now.

birds fleeing at a sudden disturbance, but you cannot. perfectly pleased being in his embrace, against the hard brick and binding of the building behind your back.

his mouth moves languid against yours, slow. almost torturously so.

taking up your space as he tilts your head back a little further in an attempt to reach more of you.

he's all you smell. all you taste, all that you feel. eyes shut tight, grasping at his arms through the sleeves of his shirt.

greedily, he swallows your breath, stealing the air from your lungs and leaving behind the taste of him on your tongue. fresh like citrus and chilled floral tea, fresh like a cool breeze and the rays of sun filtering in on slow quiet summer mornings.

it's dizzying. accredit to the the lack of air, and perhaps to him too. suguru could have that effect.

your knees buckle, body slumping against the cool wall. there's a blissful buzz in your head, your heart tender; melting to dollops of warm soft caramel.

the weight of your body is suddenly too much to carry, your knees feel hallow. finally giving in as your pliant body slides down the wall.

suguru follows, lowering his body with yours, refusing to break the kiss just yet. your butt meets the ground and his knees too. hunched over, leaning into you, with both of his knees on the hard ground; sugurus drinking you in.

desperately, as if stoping would hurt him.

he thinks it really might.

the material of his shirt is held right in you fist in an attempt to ground yourself. it feels as though you're melting right into him.

pulling away, you have to be the one to break the kiss first — although, calling it a 'kiss' doesn't suffice. you gulp down fresh air in big breathes filling your empty lungs and working overtime to quell your hearts erratic beating.

he watches you, with fondness blending into the pretty mauve of his eyes. lips glossed now and parted to do the same. deep breathes.

you look a mess, the most beautiful he's ever seen; lips slightly swollen and a deep glowing rouge painting your nose, the apples of your cheeks, the tips of your ears.

suguru waits only a moment, his own face tinted in the same deep blush, and he leans in again. pressing quick light kisses to your soft reddened lips. one after the other after the other after the other, ambushing you in a sweet, loving assault of too many too quick little pecks.

you're eyes go wide and a glint all to bright shines in his, continuing the attack until a laugh bubbles up your throat at his antics; silly and playful. your laugh saccharine.

tucked away together in a quiet corner, sheltered from the bustling street by the wall.

suguru pulls away slow, reluctant. just enough to see you properly again. he looks so proud of himself.

big, warm hands that cradle your jaw still, thumbs on either side tracing over the delicate skin there in little abstract absentminded shapes.

he's resting his forehead against yours now wondering if you could feel the quickness of his heartbeat. if you could see past the boyish grin and all his subtlety to the part when he bares his whole chest to you.

tender and alive and entirely yours.

You whine a little in protest even though the reference makes your lips tick. "But you guys made me so comfortable already..."

And they truly have.

The bath had been waiting for you before you'd even thought to ask for one. Actually, the idea was planted in Satoru and Suguru's heads the moment you texted that you were dead-tired and grimy to the group chat from the back of Ijichi's car. You had been the only one to head out on a mission today, Satoru spending the day teaching and training the first years and Suguru mirroring him with the third years— Satoru had weaseled his way into a full hands-on day with his students, claiming he needed somewhat of a break, and Suguru spent most of his time teaching rather than hunting curses anymore, anyways.

(You and Satoru have been on the offensive with the higher-ups for years to nail down this arrangement for Suguru. Sure, Suguru still took on the occasional mission when everyone else was stretched thin by their own duties, but for his mental health’s sake, it was best that he stuck to guiding and nurturing the current generation.

You never want to see him as hollowly depressed as he was after everything that went down when he was a student.)

When you'd finally wandered into your shared house with knotted shoulders and your thumbs aggravatedly digging out the soreness from your temples, both your boyfriends snatched you up at the genkan and herded you like wildly insistent border collies to the master bedroom's ensuite, which had been transformed into a luxury spa during your twenty minute commute.

Towels were folded up in their warmer, candles swaying happily, the massive tub brimming with fragrant bathing oils and mineral salts— literally the whole nines. All the tiny things you'd long forgotten mentioning you preferred for a long soak were present, that information lovingly archived inside two impossibly attentive minds.

Before you could burst into happy tears at the lengths they went to for you, Suguru helped peel away your clothes before passing you off to Satoru, who offered both hands the moment you stepped toward the siren call of the water on sore legs, smoothly bowing as though escorting you into a ballroom instead of a bathtub.

Between them, lowering yourself into the steaming water (which was the fucking perfect temperature, holy hell) was less like climbing into a bath— another chore to hustle through before bed when you were already so worn-thin— and more like mindlessly handing yourself over for what they both dubbed your 'princess treatment.'

Suguru's smile is a ray of gentle light coloring his words, "Are we supposed to apologize for being good boyfriends?"

"Yeah. And you have to live with the consequences," you sigh, slumping further back into Satoru. The water rocks with you.

"You hear that?" Satoru says to Suguru over your head. You feel his chin nestle into your crown, arms loosely coiling at your waist. "She's blaming and threatening us."

"This is what happens when we go out of our way and draw us all a nice bath, huh," Suguru kisses his teeth, theatrically disappointed in you and what his and Satoru's efforts have come to. "Shame. I guess we won't be doing this ever again."

That finally gets your eyes to crack, blinking past the steam shrouding your slivered vision. Suguru watches the both of you with a sleepy beam curling the corners of his mouth, midnight lashes dampened and beading at their tips from the humidity. In spite of his long hair being wound up in a picture-perfect bun straight from Pinterest— his thorough wash-day took place yesterday and he's in no hurry to rewash his hair all over again— the baby hairs coiling at his nape and hairline are helplessly frizzy, fallen victim to the moisture in the air.

Suguru's gorgeous, a fallen angel meant to tempt you into the salacious temptations of the forbidden— much like the equally stunning blue-eyed beauty cuddled up to your behind, fluffed up white hair as refreshing as winter's first snowfall and his innate charming smile ten times more devastating than the cursed techniques sown into his very DNA.

"Hey," you protest, somewhat impressed by how he's twisted this situation to his benefit. "I didn't say all of that…"

A big warm palm finds a home on your shoulder, the callouses at the base of Satoru's fingers dragging a satisfyingly scratchy path over your skin. "I didn't agree to that either. Who's gonna appreciate all our hard work and dedication to pampering her if not, well, our princess?" Satoru wonders aloud, each richly pronounced syllable traveling in a velvety rolling rumble through his chest to your back.

Suguru cocks a brow, though he soaks up the reminder with a smoothly executed drag of the wooden bath tray closer to the corner of the tub's edge. Fancy crystalized bottles rattle, winking rainbow prisms across the walls; the oceanic waves of Satoru's irises, the deep earthiness of Suguru's.

You see them in everything, the two men coloring the world you traverse in a gallery forever curated in their likeness, to the point that you couldn't name a single thing on this planet without your lovers tinting your glasses.

Sometimes, you wonder whether the sky was always that boundless, cotton-candy blue, whether the nature crawling dense coils up Tokyo Jujutsu High's mountain campus had always carried such comforting shades of chocolate-brown, or if loving them has simply trained your eyes to always pay homage to Satoru and Suguru. Whatever the case, you're ridiculously smitten.

"Appreciation isn't the point, Satoru," lightly sniffs Suguru.

You wish you could see the stupid grin smeared across Satoru's countenance as he counters, jokingly, "It absolutely is."

"It really isn't," Suguru deadpans, looking to you as if to say get a load of this guy. You giggle.

"I don't know about you, babe, but I wanna be praised for my generous deeds," Satoru announces. "It hits like a line of coke after a long day."

Suguru slowly nods his assent. "That is true… though in your case, I'd say that cake is more your style than coke of all things."

"Snoooore," you loudly mime, deadpanning.

Satoru's laughter sears through your skin, beating a hearty rhythm between your shoulder blades. Suguru fans his fingers over his mouth as he joins in on Satoru's chuckling, amusement blossoming in the air. "Alright, alright. The deluxe princess treatment package is on its way now, promise," Suguru sing-songs with a little flap of his hand, finally easing up now that he's found a way back on track. "Satoru, you'll wash her hair and I'll do her body?"

"For sure," he chirps.

Ah, how nice it feels to lounge around like prized, celebrated royalty without a care in the world while your boys work a plan to pamper you.

All it takes is a simple curl of Suguru's black-painted finger for Satoru to obediently thrust his hand past your head, palm paralleling the ceiling as Suguru pops the glass stopper of a bottle and drizzles a generous heaping of shampoo into his hand's cup.

Satoru loops his arms around your front and works the shampoo between deft palms before your eyes, vanilla and camellia blossoms wafting up to your face, which you dip towards the comforting smell with a hum. It's Suguru's favorite shampoo— you're always surprised when he shares some of it and his conditioner with you, given how he treats it like the holy grail that he alone was blessed and entrusted with.

(Even funnier how he flat out refuses to let Satoru get his hands on it. Not that the white-haired sorcerer cares all that much anyhow; he uses a 3-in-1 shampoo and calls splashing tap water on his face a 'proper face wash.' You'd think a man so prideful about his vanity would splurge on products to properly care for himself and his Adonis body— the same way he buys from luxury clothing brands on the daily— instead of winging it like a head-in-the-clouds college fratboy, but alas…

You've gotta give it to him though: his genetics are killer. Curse Satoru and the goddamned perfectly pretty Gojo bloodline. It's not fair for the rest of you 'simpletons' who actually have to put in the work to groom and maintain yourself in order to look even half as unfairly attractive as he does on a random Thursday morning. The universe shamelessly plays favorites, and Satoru is its dazzling golden child.)

"Tilt your head back for me," he murmurs, long fingers immediately finding your hair— already sufficiently wet— the second you obey.

Humming an absent tune that lulls you into closing your eyes once more, Satoru gathers up all your hair, his usual boundless energy replaced by surprising patience. You can envision the way he's likely got his tongue peeking slightly between his teeth as he smooths the shampoo down your head, working up a rich, pearly lather from your crown to your ends with painstaking care exactly as Suguru once taught him.

Nobody from Jujutsu Tech— not Shoko, not Ijichi, not even any of the students— would expect such gentleness from the strongest sorcerer alive. The same man that tears into curses with calculated, almost joyous violence and blows them apart with a well-placed Red and a dry “oopsies,” is unbelievably tender in his task of shampooing the outer layer of your hair before diving to your roots, firm yet gentle. Reverent, really.

His nails glide along your scalp in purposefully light scrapes that send shivers down your spine. A contented sigh escapes you before you can stop it. "Satoruuuu…" You subconsciously roll the r in the same purring cadence that Suguru speaks his name in.

"Yooo, chill," Satoru splutters behind you, sounding alarmed by who knows what.

Suguru fills in the blank with a suggestive smile and thinning of his eyes: "Moan my name next, baby. I'm feeling left out."

Ah. Curious, you shuffle your hips back further into the cradle of Satoru's pelvis, glad to feel a distinct lack of engorged arousal insistently pestering your back; he's as flaccid as the day he was born. Your foot goes splashing water Suguru's way next. He catches your ankle beneath the surface and chuckles sunnily beneath the playful heat of your half-hearted glare.

"You're such a hater," he chastises.

"Excuse me for trying to enjoy my bath and the princess treatment you both promised me while you two horndogs try to make something out of nothing," you say dryly, though the pretense of sarcasm is rendered null by the next (accidentally) suggestive noise that floats its way past your lips when Satoru tugs a strand of shampooed hair just shy of too roughly.

"I didn't mean to do that, sorry!" Satoru jumps to apologize, presuming you'll give him shit for it and kick him out. But the joint snickers that both men promptly share over your head informs you that they're not exactly remorseful; and they're not even trying to play it sly.

"There's gonna be floggers and pillories in my online shopping cart by the end of the night if you two keep it up," you warn even though you're chuckling yourself. "That, or a sounding rod for you to share."

"Yes, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am," Satoru and Suguru innocently chorus.

Devils, the two of them.

But you're not any better, for you praise them in the sweetest purr possible, "Thank you. Good boys," and you all too joyfully reap the color budding across their already bath-flushed cheeks, tipping your head back against Satoru's shoulder to see his properly.

Suguru and Satoru: 1.

You: also 1.

You'll break that tie soon.

Fingers still wrapped in a delicate snag around your ankle, thumb sweeping over the protruding bone, Suguru one-handedly pumps a decent dollop of body wash into his palm, making a fist and dragging his fingers through it to warm it up a tad. "Lift your leg a little higher for me, sweetheart," he instructs, voice no louder than twinkling rain shimmering in silvery ribbons from the sky.

Conscious yet uncaring of the fact that you're already flashing him your most private parts (both your boyfriends have literally seen it all in every sexual and non-sexual scenario possible), you do just that, trusting that Satoru's solidity will keep you from sliding forward on your ass and submerging your face. Your hip flexor and quadricep tighten in a show of undemandingly easy dexterity— the movement of the latter has Suguru's eyes flicking down to watch as though you're his favorite film made human.

He scrunches his legs up in order to fit into the 'v' your own make. Shifting his grip to the back of your calf, he paints your skin in fragrant body wash from your foot, kneecap, to the crease connecting hip to thigh, coating you thoroughly and treating you to an impromptu massage along the way, thumbs kneading tenderly into muscle.

You're practically purring once he's done with your left leg. Suguru eases it back into the steaming bathwater and rinses you off with sweeping strokes of his broad hand until the jasmine-scented suds melt into the surface. Then, without breaking the tranquil rhythm you'd both settled into, he gathers your right leg in his grasp and starts anew from your foot upward, every motion as meticulous as the last.

You don't startle an inch when Satoru picks his task up again whilst Suguru works his soothing magic up your shin. Circles that bloom sweetness through your body are drawn into your scalp with the pads of Satoru's fingertips, thumbs gliding behind your ears before sweeping upward along your crown, coaxing the rich lather deeper through your roots.

His fingertips dance across your hair in broad, enthusiastic circles, working the shampoo in with enough vigor to make your head tip slightly. It's embarrassingly effective in making you lose track of where one minute ends and another begins. The little remaining tension loosens from your body like water through a sieve.

"Oh my godddd," you moan, blissful, completely swept up in their pampering that comes without a price. You melt between Satoru and Suguru without thinking, trusting the secure cradle of their bodies as completely as breathing itself. "This is exactly what I needed. This is heaven."

"You deserve only good things, especially tonight," Suguru murmurs affectionately, gently dunking your right leg and rinsing that one off, too.

"All the time, really," Satoru agrees. He leaves your hair once he's sure each strand is thoroughly lathered up. "Seeing you turn into a cute little puddle is the best bonus I could ask for. Just let us take care of you, yeah?"

He returns to you with a wooden rinse pitcher that Suguru hands to him. He cups warm bathwater into it, stray droplets sprinkling across the bath's surface when he pulls the pitcher free with an audible gulp of water. Anticipating what follows, you tip your head back and stay still as Satoru pours the first cascade of water over your head to cleanse you of the fragrant foam, his free hand shielding your forehead to keep it from spilling over your face.

"You wanna know a neat trick I thought of?" Satoru asks, voice overflowing with prideful excitement. You and Suguru rumble low noises from your throats at the same time, encouraging. "If Blue allows me to pull buildings apart at minimum output by drawing everything towards the impossibility, then it makes sense that if I put the tiiiiniest possible output into Blue—" you feel a tempered spike of cursed energy that makes the dampened hair at your nape prick to attention, "—the field of attraction is weak enough that I can siphon water from hair."

Before the dirtied water can rejoin the pooling bathwater lapping over you all, it peels from your hair like a clean, satisfying strip of tape as though the laws of nature, too, submit to the wonder that is Gojo Satoru.

You feel each saturated lock of hair lighten by degrees more than you see it. Suspended at your sides where you can spy it from the corner of yout eye, the extracted water gathers into a lazily revolving sphere no larger than a melon, pale with diluted shampoo that swirls in pearlescent ribbons beneath the bathroom's amber light. You can tell that Satoru's flicked his fingers behind you when it all goes gliding into a bucket by the tub— he probably thought to put it there in advance, you realize— with a muffled sploosh. Suguru whistles, impressed.

"There!" Satoru chirps, grin crystal-clear in his voice as though he'd unveiled the world's greatest scientific breakthrough instead of an absurdly overengineered bath hack using one of the greatest cursed techniques in history. "No gross rinse water in the tub."

"That was cool, Toru," you gush.

Suguru's laugh slips free in a quiet puff. "Good idea, baby."

The dual praise has Satoru radiating like an overjoyed sun behind you. "Right? Right?" He boasts with no modesty whatsover, chest jutting proudly against your back.

"You'll have to do that for my hair sometime, too," Suguru sighs longingly, tilting his head with a charmed look on his face. He's so cute. "I could use one of my curses, but Blue'll save me so much time. My hair's getting even longer than it already is, if you can imagine."

"Please never cut it," you and Satoru pipe up in genuine agony.

Suguru titters, enchanting brown eyes creasing in a blinding smile, brighter somehow for it. "Relax, you two. I won't. Aside from trimming split ends— knock on wood." He raps the wooden bath tray with his knuckles.

The exchange coaxes an involuntary smile of your own, the stretch of your lips so overly fond that your cheeks ache. It is so wonderfully, unmistakably the three of you— Suguru's easy indulgement forever balanced alongside Satoru's irrepressible enthusiasm and your habit of matching them both exactly where they stand.

Suguru re-lathers his hands to work on your abdomen, muscles fluttering in delicate butterly wings behind the bountiful garden of your skin at the ticklish feeling of his slickened touch; Satoru ladles another pitcherful over your head and repeats the process of gathering and discarding every soapy drop with Blue. Suguru glides soap up the valley between your perked breasts and beneath them as well, even massaging your tits without a lick of sexual intent; Satoru gives you one last rinse before passing curious fingers through your hair until the strands slide cleanly through his hands, gently teasing apart the few stubborn knots left over. The bathwater gently rocks against your ribs whenever they both shift, focused on their individual tasks but nonetheless in tune with one another.

By the time Suguru finishes off your front by washing your collarbones and shoulders and Satoru's just teased apart the few stubborn knots left over in your hair, your hair hangs sleek and impossibly clean, you're feeling squeaky clean from head to toe, and the bathwater around your bodies remains as clear as when you'd first slipped into it, aside from the body wash that's sluiced off of you.

You feel as though they’d somehow washed away not only the day's sweat and oils, but every bothersome thought that had settled there alongside them. You could seriously fall asleep any second without realizing you'd slipped into unconsciousness.

"Look at us working together in sync," Satoru lilts, signaling for the conditioner over your shoulder. Suguru hands it off from the bath tray without missing a beat. "The G.G. Salon is taking off."

"G.G.?" You ask, faint laughter already bubbling through your nose before he even elaborates. You're anticipating something so stupid that it's somehow funny.

"Get gucked," Satoru supplies, only to shriek a soprano's pitch and jackknife his leg through the water when Suguru aggressively pinches Satoru's big toe. "Yeesh, can't a guy joke around here? I meant the Gojo-Geto salon."

Suguru smiles serenely.

They make quick— but not rushed— work of the rest of your treatment. Suguru reaches between yours and Satoru's bodies to bathe your back while Satoru conditions the ends of your hair with the creamy fixture.

Clearing your hair of conditioner after it soaks in is easy as it was for Satoru with the shampoo. He splashes water along your back to finish off Suguru's work, and Suguru leans in to nuzzle a brief kiss against your forehead, lips lingering for only a second before he settles back against the tub's rim again, the picture of handsome relaxation. A moment later, Satoru cranes his head to smooch the side of your neck as if unwilling to be left out, then ducks past you to peck Suguru's mouth.

No words are needed in the wakeful peace that draws a curtain over you; you, Satoru, and Suguru seemingly come to a silent agreement to soak in the jasmine-fermented bath a while longer, all of yours eyes closed in bone-deep gratification. Heat loosens muscles and peels the firm grip of old aches and pains stemming from battles old and new, determined to ease your bodies that've been carved out from years and years of sorcerery. You only clamber out when the bathwater is cool enough to be drained, yours and Satoru's and Suguru's fingers and toes pruny from the extended soak.

The tired little shiver that quakes you when the air hits your damp skin is noticed immediately by Suguru, who quietly directs Satoru to empty the bucket of dirtied water down the tub before turning to you with towels straight from the tower warmer. He wraps one loosely around your hair and gently squeezes away the excess water.

His sweetened cooing of how cute you are when you're all sleepy and doted-on makes you duck your head into his touch if only to hide your face from the loving searchlights of his eyes. You allow Suguru to similarly wrap your body up in a second towel and you gleefully burrow into the fluffy comfort of it.

Satoru zips to your side in literal seconds with two more towels bunched under his arm, blue eyes alight and completely comfortable in his nudity. "My turn," he announces.

"Didn't you have plenty of turns in the bath?" Suguru amusedly points out in a lowered tone. "She's already dried off, anyways."

Satoru pokes his pretty pink lips out in a pout, sulky as a cat denied its dinner. "I want another."

"You always want another," you hum, eyes half-closed and about ready to conk out on the tile of all places. A plane could crash outside and you wouldn't even be fazed, your mind too up in the clouds and doped up on the princess treatment your boyfriends gave you to care.

“Well, I like taking care of you both,” Satoru admits with some sheepishness, scratching his shorn-short nape that you're sure is soon to be warmed pink as you and Suguru look at him with hearts for eyes. "Can't blame a guy for being in love, yeah?"

You really can't; not when you're just as stupidly infatuated with them both. Especially when, adorably, he surprises you both by turning to Suguru and toweling him off with great attention, making your dark-haired partner flush an even ruddier red than the hot water gave his body. For all of Satoru's impossible strength and impossible speed, his hands fuss with deliberate care as they work the plush fabric around Suguru's waist, folding one edge neatly over the other before tucking it securely against his hip. Then Satoru guides a stray bang that fell loose from his bun behind his ear, fingers lingering sweetly.

Suguru blinks once, twice, as though momentarily caught off guard by the simple gesture. "... Thank you, Satoruuu,” he purrs warmly.

The words are accompanied by a smile so soft it melts years off of Suguru's face, leaving behind only the boy who'd once looked at you and Satoru with that same impossible tenderness after late-night konbini store runs and shared umbrellas beneath summer rain as you all ran back to campus after shared misions— long, long before that accursed village sent him into a year-long spiral. Affection settles visibly into every elegant line of him, warming his browned eyes until they resemble polished amber.

Color rushes into Satoru's ears as he's blasted with the full superlunary rays of Suguru's love, almost shying away from his exuberant beam. "Don't mention it," he mutters, already smiling despite himself as he finally slings his own towel around his hips.

A laugh escapes you before you can stop it, sleepy and airy, and both pairs of eyes snap toward you with such immediate fondness. Your heart gives such a smitten start that it damn near ping-pongs off your ribs.

And then you open your unfiltered mouth, "You're both so cute. You two act like you guys haven't explored each other's holes for literal years."

Their expressions slacken into ones of pained amusement immediately. "Sweets, I love you so so sooo bad, but do you ever think before you reduce years of heartfelt intimacy to digging out each other's asses?" Satoru snorts.

"Please don't say it like that," Suguru bemoans, propping one hand on his towel-wrapped hip while the other drives a thumb into his creased forehead. Even so, he's openly snickering, even moreso when he slaps Satoru's chest. "Are you under the impression that you're any better?"

Satoru touches his heart with theatrical offense. "I've never said anything outrageous as her."

"You literally just did?" Suguru points out, exasperatedly tickled.

You attempt to muster a joke to chip in with, but a yawn stretches your jaw instead, eyes watering as exhaustion overtakes any dignity you might have had left.

"Awww," Satoru breathes out an impossibly stricken coo. "She's gonna fall asleep standing up like a horse."

"I was thinking the same thing," Suguru murmurs, tilting his head at you.

"I am awake and alert and alive," you mumble automatically.

Clearly, neither of them believes you for even half a second. Suguru chuckles beneath his breath before stepping forward, large hand finding the small of your back through the towel. "Looks like the delirium's getting to you, huh, angel? You've had a long day."

Satoru immediately appears at your other side. "For sure. Let's go get dressed and go to bed." Without ceremony, he bends his knees and scoops you into his arms bridal-style as though you weigh nothing at all. You let out the weakest little noise of surprise imaginable before instinctively curling against his warm chest, your cheek finding the familiar place beneath his collarbone.

"I c-can…" Your own yawn slashes the sentence in half, making Satoru throw his head back laughing as he turns towards the bathroom's entrance, "… walk."

"Oh, sweetheart," Suguru rumbles out a laugh.

"I can,” you grumble.

"You just lost consciousness mid-sentence."

"Mmmf," you say intelligently.

Suguru reaches over to straighten the towel atop your head one final time, brushing his knuckles fondly across your temple. "So spoiled," he whispers.

You hum contentedly, already halfway to sleep. "Your fault."

"Our fault," Satoru corrects, carrying you toward the door with Suguru walking beside him, shoulder brushing his every few steps. Then, as an aside to Suguru, "To be fair, we kinda made her expect this."

"I think I deserve princess treatment everyday," you exhaustedly pipe up, words dragging as you gradually drift off.

Satoru and Suguru exchange looks over your lolling head. So cute.