~ShAdOwKaT564~

it amuses you how someone who thrives on three hours of sleep—thanks to his six eyes—can completely abandon his usual rhythm when he’s with the two of you, indulging in this rest.

suguru lifts his head, and your eyes meet. something ineffable passes between you, a lifetime condensed into a single look. and the way he looks at the two of you! so plainly adoring, smitten, utterly enthralled, as if sunlight exists solely to illuminate you—leaves you physically weak. your heart melts into a warm, viscous puddle of honey for both your boys, and you can only assume your expression mirrors the love-struck wonder in his.

your hand reaches over toru , and suguru threads his fingers through yours. he leans in, so close that a stray lock of hair tickles your nose, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead before dipping lower to plant his lips on satoru’s temple.

oh, what a blessing it is to start your mornings with the ones you love.

satoru stirs then, a soft groan and an elbow nudging your side as he rotates onto his back, utterly unbothered by the world. both of you glance down, amusement blooming as he stretches luxuriously, long limbs entangling with yours and suguru’s.

“we should get up,” you yawn, valiantly attempting the role of responsible adult despite having no intention of moving. suguru scoots closer, resting his forehead against yours.

“five more minutes.”

(if that means you’re switching roles, you can safely assume his five minutes will stretch to thirty. possibly an hour.)

it doesn’t nag you to rest. it doesn’t make you succumb to the exhaustion. it just follows you everywhere you go, tiptoeing over your shadows and linking its fingertip to your own— a barely there touch, like a forgotten whisper in the sterile air— but present, nonetheless.

and maybe it’s caught up to you. you’ve been sitting at the edge of the bed for too long, after all. you shouldn’t have stopped, you know— that way, it wouldn’t have been able to meet your feet instead of just dark spaces that your body housed.

(but does it really matter when the never ending hum beneath your skin shall never cease, the tiredness far or near?)

your palm kisses the bridge of your nose— having a mind of its own, as if soothing you from the stench of guilt that always coats your words, no matter what you do. guilt, guilt, guilt. such a loyal dog with a broken muzzle. a wagging tail and yet— such sharp teeth. you can never train it— you know better than to tame a stray, after all.

a sigh leaves you, and you let yourself fall back against the mattress— your lower lip beginning to tremble. how strange that your body tries to comfort you in ways that you despise the most.

then again— beggars can’t be choosers, and you chose to be something that you never be. chose to be this. . . this blank space that’s somehow so full, so, so full of emptiness— twisting yourself into dead words and hiding beneath your own hands. you chose to—

“— baby?”

(a pause.)

you don’t bother removing your hands from your face. don’t dare to. you just pray to yourself, and hope. oh, how you hope— even when the world has torn itself apart because of your hands.

“. . . hey,” satoru tries, again, standing at the doorway to your shared bedroom. the edges around his voice soften from before, and you hate it. you hate that he has to use a blunt knife around you just so you won’t feel the pain. you hate it, you—

“what’s wrong?” says suguru, and you nearly sob into your hands right then and there. stupid, stupid, stupid. how stupid do you have to be to let the sun set just because you don’t burnt? you’re so—

“i’m tired,” you rasp out, words scrambling over one another in the haze of trying to speak out something that isn’t an incoherent mess of your brain. “i’m— . . fuck, i’m tired.”

silence ensues.

and then, it changes into something much more quiet.

“. . . oh, darling,” suguru’s hands don’t pry yours away from your face even as you sniffle. instead, he lets them wrap around your trembling body— pulling you up into his hold. how warm. warm, warm, warm. but not the kind of warm that your tears are, as they spill out in uneven rivulets against your cheeks— no, they don’t burn your bones. “c’mere.”

“it’s okay,” you feel satoru’s words engrave themselves onto your nape, ever so grounding against the storm wrecking your soul. “we’re here now. we’re here.”

you cry into suguru’s shoulder, the gasps wrenched out of your throat shaky and erratic, like an unfinished song that you considered yourself unworthy of listening.

but that’s okay, because the weariness slowly starts to loosen its grip from your wrist. it doesn’t free you from its jaws just yet— although, as suguru’s hums and satoru’s whispers fill your eternally exhausted mind, its teeth begin to ache in the same way you do.

and so, it takes a step back. just barely, but it does.

“we’re here,” satoru’s lips brush against the crook of your neck, and you let them. “we’re here.”

“You're awake!” he looks so relieved, his hand immediately reaching up to touch your forehead and cheeks, checking your temperature “Be gentle with her.” another familiar voice says from your left “Sugu?” your voice is so weak that they both wince “What happened?” your question makes Satoru tense, he helps you sit upright and guides a bottle of water to your lips.

“Someone roofied you last night.” Suguru says after you take a few sips, gauging your reaction. You frown, barely able to remember anything other than the iced tea you ordered when you got to the bar and loud bass-boosted music.

“We tried to take you to the hospital but you begged us not to.” Satoru starts fidgeting with strands of your hair, looking so concerned “You were crying so much,” Suguru nods “We didn't want to leave you alone in case you got sick or had worse symptoms so we brought you here. I promise we didn't do anything to you.” you reach up and brush your knuckle across Satoru’s wrist “I didn't even consider that, I trust you both.” some of the tension eases from his shoulders.

Suguru sits up, his hair falling over his shoulder “The guy already got arrested, there was a video camera that caught everything. You don't have to worry about him, and we'll stick closer to you next time, or we don't even have to go to bars anymore if you don't feel safe.” he's more composed than Satoru, but there's still an underlying jittery nervousness simmering under his skin.

You just lean your head against his chest “It's okay Sugu, you both always keep me safe.” he combs his fingers through your hair, untangling some knots “We were really scared.” he says gently “You wouldn't let go of me for almost an hour. I'm pretty sure Satoru would've passed out from stress if you hadn't let us sleep together last night.” you tilt you head to look at your other friend who nods “It's true, at first you kept saying you'd sleep on the couch, something about not wanting to intrude.” he swallows hard, tears shimmering lightly “But you kept throwing up and crying so much, I didn't want you out of my sight.” he curls his hand around the crook of your arm “I've never seen you so weak like that.” it must have been bad if it was enough to rattle him this much. Satoru was usually the one to baby you when you'd get the flu, his immune system was rock solid so between your two friends he'd be the one to take care of you.

So considering he'd seen you in a similar condition you wouldn't have expected this reaction.

“Plus Suguru beat the shit out of the guy before the cops got there so I was all worked up over that too.” he presses his head against your arm. You gasp. Sweet, calm and levelheaded Suguru got in a fight?

Sure enough, when you grab his hands, his knuckles are split and bruised “Jesus Christ Sugu! Why'd you do that?” he shrugs, still trying to stay nonchalant “He deserved it, and nobody pressed charges against me so it's fine.” you tut at him “You got hurt, it's not fine.” Satoru props his chin up on your shoulder “She's right, you never snap like that. It took two guys to pull you off him.” you gasp. Suguru was the equivalent of a buff Buddha, always the peacekeeper and voice of reason. Such a drastic difference in behavior was genuinely shocking.

“Like you wouldn't have done the same?” Satoru shrugs “I would've, but you got to him first.” hearing them talk so casually about fighting someone just because you got roofied was making you more than a little emotional. You sniffle, overwhelmed, and they both wrap you in a hug “I'm sorry angel, we didn't mean to scare you.” Suguru says, nudging his face into the crook of your neck “You didn't scare me. You'd never scare me.” his grip tightens around your waist “I just feel really lucky that I had you both there. I don't even want to think about what would have happened if you hadn't been with me.” you can feel his jaw clench, clearly still harboring some leftover rage.

This wasn’t abnormal, you’d always been closer to them than average, sleepovers and gossip sessions part of your weekly routine by now. All three of you had been glued at the hip since you were children.

Suguru and Satoru had already been friends for a few years when you waddled towards them with a bag of brownies your mom had baked. You didn’t think twice before plopping yourself directly in Suguru’s lap and stuffed a crumbling brownie in his hand “Fwends now!” you were missing your two front teeth but your smile was contagious. They were both older than you, Suguru by a year and Satoru by two years so it was pure fate that you ended up in the same class in pre-school.

Most of the children avoided the duo, their families urging them to stay away from the two boys because they came from wealthy and reputable backgrounds while most of the other children were lower-class. That meant nothing to you though, your only concern being that they were alone and didn’t have sweets.

After that it was a perfect mesh. Pouting and stomping their tiny feet if their parents so much as considered putting them in a more well-renowned school and potentially separating them from you. By the time you were sixteen, their families had fully accepted you as part of it, going so far as to pay for your tuition to enroll in the same elite college as them when the time came for it. Jujutsu Academy, a massive and flashy campus with dorms, wonderful meals and incredibly supportive teachers. All three of you blossomed in the environment, Satoru finding a passion for martial arts and joining two school clubs for muay thai and kickboxing which filled out his lanky form into a rippling mass of muscle, Suguru found similar interest in Tai Chi as well as the school newspaper where he’s already received several very lucrative job offers to write for huge companies after he graduates and you’re happily bouncing around between as many clubs, activities and gatherings that you could fit into your schedule so you could find your calling.

You weren’t too stressed about it though, Satoru planned on taking over his families company and was fully prepared to hire you on as his personal secretary, so if you couldn’t find something you loved then you had a very solid fall-back plan, which Satoru often pouted and threw little fits over you referring to it as a backup plan rather than enthusiastically accepting his offer.

With them both curled around you, making sure you’re safe and comfortable, you’ve never felt more at home. Sometimes it would make odd feelings flare in your chest, feelings stronger than friendship, but that was out of the question. Suguru and Satoru had started dating in their late teens, shortly before graduating high school.

At first you were panicked, swallowing back that itchy, irrational turmoil when they told you. The fear that you’d be excluded, that they’d be more focused on their blossoming relationship than on your friendship ate away at you. You felt so guilty over your insecurity that you had avoided them for two weeks, which led to Satoru cornering you in the school library with tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Is it because I like guys?” his hands on your arms, forcing you to face him instead of scurrying away again “What? No!” you grab his hand “Of course not!” he shudders and drops into your embrace “Then why are you ignoring us?” his voice cracks so pitifully that it makes your chest ache. You both sink to the ground, arms wrapped around each other “I’m sorry Toru. I was just being stupid.” he presses his cheek against yours, wetting it with his tears “I thought you guys might not want me around, since you’re dating and all. I got insecure I think.” he lets out a choked sob and clutches you tighter “We’ll always want you around, nothing could change that.” Suguru joins you, waiting just around the corner to see how you would respond to Satoru.

He crouches next to you both “Us dating won’t affect our friendship.” Suguru brushes his hand across your hair and you lean into his touch “I’m sorry.” tears pool in your eyes as you realize how mean your actions had been “I just wanted to put space between us because I made assumptions. I should have talked to you first.” you whisper, ashamed.

The bond between you three only deepens, no secrets, no issues with communication, no problems whatsoever. Your friendship with them was the most stable thing in your life.

Suguru nudges you, bringing you back to the moment “What’s on your mind?” you rest your head against his “I was thinking about when Satoru thought I was a homophobe.” they both laugh “I remember that. Didn’t I end up buying you both mochi because neither of you would stop crying?” you nod, grinning “Yeah, Toru ate so much he got sick.” Suguru chuckles, reaching over you to lace his fingers with Satoru’s “That’s right, he refused to eat anything with red beans in it for months afterwards.” you all fall into a comfortable silence, reminiscing about your early years.

Eventually you settle back in bed, both of them cuddled up on either side of you. Suguru stroking his thumb over your knuckles and Satoru scraping his fingers lightly across your scalp. You hum at the sensation, your eyes sliding closed with a peaceful smile.

Satoru shifts and stills “You ever think about how we're all basically dating.” your eyes snap open and you jerk to face him, his own eyes wide as if he didn’t realize he said that out loud “Satoru!” Suguru hisses “Don’t say that, you’ll freak her out!” he yanks on his boyfriend's hand “Basically dating?” you finally chime in, heart pounding “What do you mean?” Satoru faces you painfully slow “Cause… Like…” he fidgets, his gaze flickering from you to Suguru who’s glaring at him “We’re all touchy, we cuddle, we spend all our free time together, we help you buy clothes and pick out outfits, we both know all your favorite foods…” he trails off again, locking eyes with Suguru who has the bridge of his nose pinched between his fingers, clearly stressed “And we both love you and you love us.” you prop yourself up on your elbows “Sure, but you’re both gay.” Suguru drops his hand, both of them staring at you gaping “We aren’t gay?” Satoru says, almost like it's a question.

“Huh?” you look between them “I’ve spent the night enough times to know what you guys do in the shower together, if that isn’t gay then I don’t know what is.” Suguru’s cheeks turn pink while Satoru chokes back a laugh “Neither of us are gay, we’re both bi.” it’s your turn to stare at them with an open mouth “Oh.” the only comfort in the past few years when those not so friendly feelings cropped up was the fact that they were gay and wouldn’t be attracted to you, so it made it easier to brush it off.

“Wait, have you thought we were gay this whole time?” you shamefully nod, there hadn’t really been a conversation about their sexuality, not that you really needed or wanted clarification, simply accepting that your two best friends were dating. Satoru covers his mouth, wheezing “That makes so much more sense now.” Suguru huffs, slumping back against his pillows “No kidding!” Satoru wipes tears of laughter away from his cheek “What makes sense?” you feel let out of a very obvious joke.

“We’ve been hitting on you for half our friendship dummy, we eventually gave up because we thought you weren’t interested and decided to accept it and date each other without you.” Satoru pats your head and you just blink up at him “Date,” they can almost hear the gears turning in your head “without me.” if you thought about it any harder steam would come out of your ears.

Satoru snorts “Idiot, we both wanted to date you and you date both of us.” something twists inside your chest, an overwhelming amount of different emotions, but even in your confusion you latch on to one stupid word “Wanted?” Suguru sits up “Still want.” he clarifies, his hand hovering over yours, unsure if you’d want affection after having all this unloaded on you all at once.

“Still want.” you repeat, swallowing tightly. They stay silent, giving you space to process however you need to.

“So you want to date me,” you point at Satoru, who nods “And you want to date me,” you point at Suguru, also nodding at you “But you also want to date each other and I date you both.” you point again, tracing an invisible line between them and you. Satoru’s smile drops, looking very serious as he gauges your reaction “It’s fine if you don’t want to, nothing would change between us if you don’t want it to. We’re both happy with whatever you’re willing to give us, platonic or not.” you lean against the headboard.

You hesitate, picking at your cuticles “It would just be us?” Satoru tilts his head, looking confused “Yes, just us three. We don’t want anyone else and we wouldn’t be willing to share you with anyone else.” Suguru responds for him, you feel the tension ease in your shoulders “And it would be like…” you trail off, suddenly feeling very shy "Committed? Like a real relationship?” its Suguru’s turn to look confused “What else would it be? Neither of us would find anything of value in a hookup or friends with benefits.” you shake your head, your cheeks warming “No, I mean,” you’re struggling to word your thoughts, your nailbeds picked raw “Are you asking if it would be public?” Satoru rests his hand over yours, stalling your anxious action.

They both knew you so well it hurts. You nod, not wanting to make eyes contact “Only if you want it to be. Relationships like this can be difficult to navigate in social situations, it can make a lot of people uncomfortable and you’d have to adjust to negative reactions.” Suguru reaches out to brush his fingertips against your cheek, flattening his palm when you lean into his touch “But we’d be by your side like always. Our relationship would be whatever you’re comfortable with.” you chew your lip, unsure how to respond.

Of course you’d considered it, late at night when you’re curled up alone in your own dorm, your bed feeling much too large and cold without them next to you, the thought of having them both to yourself would slip in and you'd shake it away just as quickly as it came.

Satoru’s thumb tugs your lip from between your teeth, you hadn’t even noticed you bit hard enough to draw blood “Easy there petal, don’t think so hard. Take you time, it’s a lot of information all at once.” they both guide you both back down, shifting you onto your side so Satoru can curl around you as a big spoon and Suguru can tangle his legs with yours, facing you “We can just stay like this if you want. Keep it like it’s always been.” you search his eyes, so dark brown that they’re almost black, reminding you of the rich chocolate cake you had shared with them a few years ago.

“This feels good.” you whisper, Satoru tightens his grip on your waist “It always feels best with both of you.” Suguru tucks his arm under your head “Then let us be with you like this, just with a different label.” he looks at you so earnestly that your hands tremble as you rest them against his chest, feeling how fast his heart is pounding “Boyfriend?” you swear you can feel his heart skip a beat before speeding up even more, a pretty pink flush spreading from his collarbone up to his face “I think he likes that.” Satoru whispers in your ear, making you shiver “If you’re willing.” Suguru says gently, laying his hand over Satoru’s that rests on your waist.

“It would be like this?” you ask and Satoru nuzzles his face against your cheek “Preferably with some kissing now and then, but that’s up to you.” your face warms against his “Yes, it would be like this. No pressure for anything other than this.” Suguru lightly smacks Satoru’s shoulder who giggles against your cheek.

“I guess,” you feel Satoru go completely still behind you “I’d be okay with that.” he lets out such a deep breath you’re surprised he didn’t combust “Oh thank god,” he whimpers, shoving his face in the crook of your neck “I think I would’ve blown myself up if you said no.” Suguru just sighs and rolls his eyes “My boyfriends are also each other's boyfriends.” you giggle, making Suguru melt “I like you calling us that.” he admits, scooting down to tuck his head under your chin. Satoru snuggles closer “I’m gonna marry you both one day.” he mumbles, catching you and Suguru off guard. Before either of you can respond he’s already snoring.

Taglist 💞: @mikorinstan @bestwomanalive @linaaeatsfamilies @fayeriee

then, there’s gojo. gojo does not believe in subtlety. he does not believe in ordinary nicknames or anything that sounds remotely normal. no, he takes it as a personal mission to make you either laugh, groan, or want to strangle him. “sugar muffin deluxe,” he announces dramatically as he throws an arm around you in public, completely unbothered by the strange looks people give. “the love of my life, the peanut butter to my jelly, the one who tolerates my nonsense.” and he says it so proudly, like he’s just declared the most romantic thing in existence. but it doesn’t stop there—oh no, he has a never-ending arsenal of nicknames. sometimes it’s “my little gremlin” when you’re grumpy, or “snack-sized menace” when you argue back. in moments when he wants to make you cringe, he’ll lean in close and whisper, “hey there, my juicy dumpling,” just to watch you shove him away in horror.

but the worst—absolutely the worst—is when he decides to call you something new in front of everyone. one time, while walking through the streets of shibuya, he suddenly shouted, “oi, snugglebug supreme! wait for me!” the heads of at least five strangers turned, and you wanted the ground to swallow you whole. geto, ever the composed one, only sighed and said, “satoru, must you always be so loud?” but there was amusement in his tone, like he had long accepted this part of gojo’s personality. gojo, on the other hand, only grinned, completely unfazed. “what? she is my snugglebug supreme,” he said, draping himself over you dramatically, ignoring the way you smacked his arm.

but despite their differences, both of them love you in their own ways. geto’s nicknames remind you of how deeply he cherishes you, of how much warmth he holds in his heart for you. gojo’s, though ridiculous, remind you that you are adored, that you are the center of his world in the loudest, most extravagant way possible. and at the end of the day, no matter how much you roll your eyes or groan in embarrassment, you wouldn’t change a thing about them.

you yawn as you step into the kitchen, the oversized fabric of geto’s shirt swallowing your frame, the sleeves hanging past your elbows as you lazily rub your eyes. it’s one of those rare, perfect weekends—no work, no missions, no stress. just the three of you in the comfort of home, basking in the peace of an afternoon where time doesn’t matter. the scent of something sweet lingers in the air, mixing with the faint bitterness of chocolate, and as you glance up, you find gojo leaning against the counter, one hand lazily popping a piece of chocolate into his mouth while geto stands at the stove, focused on whatever he’s making.

gojo’s gaze flickers to you the second you walk in, and that familiar, mischievous grin stretches across his lips. before you can even react, his long arms reach out, snagging you by the neck in a loose, lazy headlock, his chin resting against your temple as he hums in amusement. “hi, my little bird,” he coos, his voice playful, affectionate, and just a little smug as he ruffles your hair with his free hand.

you groan, half-heartedly shoving at his arm. “don’t call me that.”

“why not?” he pouts, though there’s pure amusement in his tone. “you’re tiny, you wander around the house aimlessly, and you always look like you just woke up. just like a little bird.”

geto chuckles from the stove, stirring something in a pan. “he’s not entirely wrong,” he muses, glancing at you with that soft, fond smile of his. unlike gojo, his teasing is always gentler, laced with warmth instead of pure mischief. “you did walk in here looking half-asleep.”

“that’s because i just woke up,” you grumble, trying to wiggle out of gojo’s grip, but he only tightens his hold slightly, rocking you from side to side like you’re some kind of stuffed toy.

in an effortless movement, he lifts you off the ground with one arm, your feet hanging a few inches above the kitchen floor. he grins down at you, his hands effortlessly supporting your weight, and for a moment, you can’t help but be a bit impressed by his sheer strength. your body is easily maneuvered into a comfortable position, with your head resting against his chest, and he proceeds to walk towards the living room, his steps as smooth and graceful as a dancer’s.

he carries you through the house with ease, all the while gently rocking you from side to side like a mother would a baby. his voice is just as gentle as his touch, and you can practically hear the warmth and affection in his tone. “you’re so cute when you just woke up,” gojo muses, leaning close to murmur against your ear with an audible smirk. “little bit groggy, all disheveled and sleepy. and the oversized shirt you’re wearing... adorable.”

he nuzzles his face into your hair, his breath warm against your temple, and you can feel his smile against your skin. “you’re the perfect little bundle of adorableness, you know that?”

...it’s both embarrassing and comforting at the same time, to be carried like this. the warmth of his chest is soothing, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding you. the way he sways softly with each step, his movements smooth and calculated, is like a soothing lullaby. but you can’t deny the flush that rises to your cheeks, the butterflies that flutter in your stomach every time his hand tightens its grip around you.

in his arms, you both feel both vulnerable and protected at once. his hold on you is firm, secure in his arms while he lay you down to the couch along with himself that make him he lets out a quiet hum. “is that so?” you ask, still groggy and sleepy. he pulls you closer, maneuvering you until your head rests comfortably against his chest. his body is warm, firm beneath you, and he wraps his arms around you with an almost possessive gesture.

he chuckles at your question, a hint of smugness in his tone. “oh, absolutely,” he says, running his fingers through your hair, his touch gentle, affectionate. “you’re like a little sleepy doll.”

he continues to pet your hair rhythmically, his fingers sifting through the strands in a soothing motion. he leans in closer, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck and inhaling deeply like he’s savoring your scent. his grip tightens slightly around your waist, and he murmurs against your skin, his voice low and affectionate.

“you’re so small,” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin. “so delicate. i could hold you like this forever and never get tired.” he shifts slightly, angling your body closer to his so that you fit perfectly against him. his arms wrap tighter around you, his chest rising and falling with each slow breath. he tilts his head down, pressing his lips to the top of your head in a gentle, almost reverent kiss. “and this shirt,” he says, his voice soft and amused. “it’s practically swallowing you alive. do you even know whose it is?”

you let out a soft hum, barely lifting your head as you murmur, “it’s suguru’s,” your voice drowsy, muffled against gojo’s chest. you try to push yourself up, pressing your palms against the firm muscle beneath you, but the moment you attempt to move, his arms tighten around your waist like a steel trap.

“mm-mm,” he hums, low and lazy, his grip unyielding. his long fingers splay across your back, holding you in place with ease, as if he has no intention of ever letting you go. you groan, your forehead dropping against his shoulder in exasperation.

“satoru,” you sigh, trying again to wiggle free, but it’s useless. he only pulls you closer, effortlessly maneuvering you until you’re completely flush against him, your legs tangled with his as his lips brush against your temple in a smug kiss.

“why are you trying to escape, little bird?” he teases, his voice dripping with amusement. one of his hands slides up, threading through your hair again, his fingers scratching lightly against your scalp in a way that almost makes you melt despite your annoyance. “you’re so warm and cozy, like a little heater. why would i let go?”

“because i want to get up,” you mumble, pushing weakly against his chest.

he laughs, a deep, amused sound that resonates through his chest. he presses his face into your hair, inhaling deeply like he’s trying to imprint your scent into his lungs. “oh, but you’re so perfect like this,” he teases. “all soft and warm, pressed up against me. why would i ever let you go?” his fingers dance lazily along your spine, tracing slow, gentle circles.

“besides,” he adds, his tone turning more serious, “we don’t have anything important to do today, do we?” he presses another kiss to your temple, his lips lingering against your skin. “you’re so much cozier here,” he argues, his hand moving up to gently cradle the back of your head. “warm, soft... perfect for cuddles.”

you groan, squirming against gojo’s hold as you push yourself up from the couch, using every ounce of strength you have. his arms are strong—too strong—but you manage to lift yourself just enough to peek over the back of the couch, your eyes locking onto geto, who is still standing in the kitchen, calmly plating food like he isn’t witnessing a full-on struggle.

your fingers grip the head of the couch tightly, your knuckles turning white as you strain to keep yourself upright, putting as much distance as possible between you and gojo’s suffocating embrace. “suguru,” you call out, your voice a mix of frustration and desperation. you whine dramatically, dragging out his name before adding, “help me.”

geto barely glances up, his expression unreadable except for the slight twitch at the corner of his lips. he’s amused—you know he is—but he says nothing, simply continuing his task like your plea for help isn’t falling on deaf ears.

before you can try again, gojo moves, fast and effortless, his hands wrapping around your wrists in a firm but playful grip. “oh, no, you don’t,” he murmurs, and before you can react, he pulls—hard.

you yelp, your body losing all resistance as he drags you right back into his arms, pressing you against him once more. the sudden movement has you shrieking, a high-pitched sound of protest that only makes him laugh.

“gotcha,” he hums, his breath warm against your temple as he tucks you securely against his chest again. “nice try, little bird, but you’re not going anywhere.”

you thrash weakly, but it’s no use. his arms tighten around you like a vice, his fingers tracing slow, taunting circles against your spine.

“suguru,” you whine again, trying to turn your head towards the kitchen. this time, geto does look up, exhaling softly before shaking his head. “satoru,” he calls, voice calm but with a clear warning. “don’t suffocate her.”

gojo grins, unabashed. “but she’s so comfy to cuddle,” he protests, nuzzling his face into your neck and inhaling deeply. “and look how cute she is, squirming around like that.”

he tightens his grip, pulling you even tighter against his chest. you can feel the rumble of his gentle laughter through your body. “besides, she’s not really complaining. she’s just being dramatic.” gojo leans in, his lips pressing a light kiss to your temple. “aren’t you, little bird?” he teases, giving you a little squeeze.

it takes you a moment—several moments, actually—to finally break free from gojo’s relentless hold. he makes it as difficult as possible, arms tightening every time you try to wiggle away, his teasing laughter vibrating through his chest as he murmurs sweet, taunting little things about how you belong right there, tucked against him forever.

but after an exhausting amount of struggling, shifting, and sheer determination, you finally manage to slip out of his grasp. the second you’re free, you don’t waste a second—you bolt.

a breathless laugh escapes you as you dart toward the kitchen, your feet light against the floor as you make a beeline for geto. he barely has time to react before you crash into him, wrapping your arms securely around his waist and pressing yourself against his back.

“suguru, save me,” you breathe between chuckles, peeking out from behind him with a mischievous glint in your eyes.

geto lets out a small, knowing sigh, his body instinctively leaning into your touch as his free hand drops down to rest over yours, gently clasping your fingers. “you finally escaped, huh?” he murmurs, amusement lacing his tone.

before you can answer, you hear the all-too-familiar sound of socked feet padding toward you. you glance up just in time to see gojo rounding the corner, his expression a mix of playful frustration and faux betrayal.

“really?” he drawls, stopping just a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest as he cocks his head at you. “you’re just gonna run? after all that cuddling? after all that warmth we shared?”

you grin, tightening your grip on geto and using him as a shield. “you left me no choice,” you say dramatically, peeking at gojo from behind geto’s shoulder.

geto chuckles, shaking his head as he lifts a hand to ruffle your hair. “satoru, let her breathe,” he muses, his tone teasing but with a clear undertone of amusement.

gojo huffs, his lips twitching as if he’s holding back a smile. “she doesn’t need to breathe,” he counters. “she needs to come back here.”

you shake your head immediately, clinging to geto even tighter. “no way.”

gojo pouts playfully, his bottom lip jutting out in an exaggerated frown. “but i’m cold nowww,” he whines, taking a few exaggerated steps closer, his arms still crossed over his chest. “and you were so warm...”

geto chuckles softly at the exchange, his hand warm and steady on your head. “satoru, don’t be so needy,” he chides, his tone gentle but firm.

gojo’s frown deepens, and he takes another step closer, his fingers twitching as if he’s barely restraining himself from reaching out and grabbing you.

you ignore gojo’s exaggerated whining, tuning him out completely as your eyes drift toward the counter where geto is working. your attention shifts instantly, and your expression brightens as you catch sight of what he’s making.

“oh,” you breathe, eyes glistening with delight. “you made cookies.”

not just any cookies—strawberry cookies. soft pink dough, delicately shaped, with tiny crumbles of dried strawberries scattered on top like little specks of sweetness. they look perfect, straight out of a bakery display, and the sight alone makes your stomach grumble.

geto hums in acknowledgment, his hand slipping from the top of your head to drape comfortably over your shoulder, pulling you in just enough that your bodies are flush together. with his other hand, he carefully sprinkles more dried strawberries over the cookie dough, working with practiced ease.

“you said you wanted some strawberry cookies, my love,” he murmurs, his voice smooth and gentle, like warm honey. he doesn’t even need to glance at you; his focus remains on the dough, but there’s a quiet fondness in the way he speaks.

you blink, momentarily caught off guard. then, realization dawns on you—you did say that. you remember mentioning it absentmindedly on the way home from work yesterday, sighing about how good strawberry cookies sounded, how you hadn’t had them in a while. it was just a passing comment, something small and fleeting, not something you expected anyone to actually remember.

but geto did.

your chest feels warm, an unmistakable swell of love rising in you as you tilt your head up to look at him. his expression remains calm, focused, but there’s an undeniable softness there, the kind that only appears when he’s with you.

that’s the thing about geto—he remembers everything. even the smallest, most trivial things. if it matters to you, it matters to him. and he’ll always find a way to make it come true, no matter how simple or insignificant it might seem.

a smile tugs at your lips, gentle and affectionate. “you’re too good to me, sugu,” you murmur, shifting slightly so you can press a small kiss to his shoulder in silent gratitude.

geto’s eyes crinkle at the corners, a hint of a pleased smirk tugging at the edge of his lips. he’s proud, you can tell, and rightfully so—he’s always been the reliable one, the thoughtful one, the one who remembers the little things. it’s as if he has an entire mental archive dedicated solely to you—your likes, dislikes, dreams, and desires tucked neatly away in his mind.

he finishes sprinkling the dried berries over the cookies, his hand moving with a graceful efficiency that comes from years of practice. once he's satisfied, he carefully places the tray in the oven, setting a timer before turning to face you fully.

he leans back against the kitchen counter, his arms folding comfortably across his chest as he looks at you with a soft, knowing smile. the sunlight filtering into the room hits his skin just right, casting a warm glow that highlights the sharp contours of his face.

geto’s eyes linger on you for a moment, taking you in with quiet reverence, as if he’s committing every little detail of your expression to memory. he always looks at you like that—like you’re the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

before you could even muster a response, gojo’s hands suddenly cup your face, his long fingers spreading across your cheeks, his grip firm but not forceful. you barely have time to react before he attacks—pressing loud, exaggerated kisses all over your face with relentless enthusiasm.

“my little mochi puff! my sugarplum dumpling! my sweet, squishy love bun!” he coos between kisses, his voice high-pitched and dramatic. each ridiculous nickname is punctuated by another smothering peck, his lips landing on your forehead, your nose, your cheeks—anywhere he can reach.

you burst into laughter, your body shaking with giggles as you try to squirm away. “satoru—!” you try to protest, but your words are lost between your breathless laughter and his nonstop affection. your hands push at his chest, weakly attempting to escape, but he’s holding your face so firmly in place, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles against your skin even as he showers you in relentless kisses.

“my tiny, precious baby bean! my little dumpling cloud! my fluffiest marshmallow!” he continues dramatically, his voice full of exaggerated adoration as if he’s declaring his love to the entire universe.

geto, still leaning against the counter, watches with an amused smirk, his arms crossed over his chest. “you’re gonna suffocate her, satoru.”

“go out in the best way possible,” gojo replies instantly before blowing an obnoxiously loud raspberry against your cheek, making you yelp.

“i swear to—” you try again, but another flood of kisses silences you.

you can barely breathe between your laughter, your face burning both from embarrassment and the sheer overwhelming affection. “satoru, let me go, you menace!” you wail, half-heartedly slapping at his arms, but he only grins wider, completely unbothered.

“never! my little pudding pop, my baby chick, my—”

you shriek when he presses an especially dramatic kiss to your jaw, and in your desperation, you reach out blindly—grabbing onto geto’s shirt, seeking rescue, tighten your arms around his waist.

geto hums, finally taking pity on you, and with a smooth motion, he reaches out and tugs you away from gojo’s grasp, pulling you firmly against his chest. “alright, alright, let her breathe,” he chides, his voice warm with amusement as he shields you from gojo’s relentless attack.

gojo finally relents, pulling back with a dramatic sigh and an exaggerated pout on his lips. “you’re no fun, sugu,” he complains, his hands dropping from your face to cross over his chest. “i was just showing my love and appreciation for our little mochi puff.”

geto rolls his eyes, one arm circling around your waist to keep you firmly against him. “you were smothering her, satoru,” he replies, his voice level but with a hint of warning. “let the poor girl breathe for once.”

gojo huffs, his pout deepening as he gives geto a sideways glance. “but i have so many adorable nicknames for her,” he whines, his tone almost petulant.

geto snorts, his arm tightening around you as he pulls you a little closer. “you can call her all your ridiculous nicknames later,” he replies. “after you let her breathe and let her function without being completely overwhelmed by your clinginess.”

gojo grumbles, and you can practically see the wheels in his head spinning as he contemplates arguing further. you just chuckle, glancing up at gojo but saying nothing, your arms still wrapped securely around geto as you rest your head against his chest. the warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat—it’s all too comfortable to let go of just yet.

gojo rolls his eyes, huffing dramatically. “you both suck,” he grumbles, crossing his arms before turning on his heel. “i’m taking a shower,” he announces, his voice carrying that signature dramatic flair, as if he’s deeply wounded by your choice to cling to geto instead of indulging him.

without another word, he disappears down the hallway towards the bedroom, muttering something under his breath that you’re sure is just more complaints about how unfairly he’s being treated. you shake your head, a small, amused smile tugging at your lips before tilting your head up, resting your chin on geto’s chest as you peer up at him.

geto chuckles quietly at gojo’s exit, shaking his head in fond exasperation. he looks down at you, his eyes softening as he meets your gaze. “you know, one of these days, he’s gonna sulk so much he actually disappears,” he murmurs in a low voice, the corner of his lips twitching slightly.

his hand moves from your waist, gliding up your side until he’s gently cupping your cheek. his thumb brushes across your skin in a tender, almost absentminded gesture, yet the tenderness in his touch is unmistakable.

geto leans back against the counter, adjusting his stance so your body slots more comfortably against his. you can tell he’s enjoying having you in his arms, his fingers continuing to trace light patterns along your skin, his touch both soothing and possessive.

“how are you feeling?” he asks, his voice low and quiet, just for you. his eyes search your face, studying your expression, looking for any signs of discomfort or exhaustion. he’s always been protective of you, especially when gojo gets a bit too... enthusiastic.

he’s always been the calm to gojo’s chaos. the stability to his fire. like a grounding force, always there, always steady, always ready to catch you when you fall. “you holding up alright?” he murmurs, his voice a soft whisper between you two. “not overwhelmed by his nonsense yet?”

you chuckle, nodding your head with a small pout. “mm-hmm,” you hum, pretending to be oh-so-exhausted from gojo’s antics. “so overwhelmed,” you add, voice laced with fake weariness.

geto snorts, his fingers continuing to trace slow, soothing patterns along your back. but there’s a knowing glint in his eyes, the tiniest smirk tugging at his lips. because he knows you—knows exactly what you’re doing.

you nuzzle into his chest for extra effect, milking his protectiveness for all it’s worth. and geto? well, he plays right into it. his arms tighten around you just a little more, his chin resting lightly atop your head as he hums.

geto lets out a low, amused huff, and you can practically feel the eyeroll in it. he’s caught on to your little act, obviously—but he goes along with it anyway because he knows exactly how much you crave his attention and protection. his fingers dance up your spine, a touch that’s both gentle and possessive. “poor thing,” he murmurs, his voice a soft rumble against your ear. “let me guess, you’re absolutely drained after satoru’s...overwhelming affection?”

you continue to pout, nodding your head without another word, your eyes wide and pleading as you look up at him—puppy eyes in full effect.

geto hums, exhaling softly through his nose, and you catch the briefest flicker of amusement in his gaze. he knows exactly what you're doing, sees right through your act, but he doesn’t call you out on it. instead, he indulges you, the way he always does.

“poor thing,” he murmurs, his fingers skimming lightly over your waist, his touch slow, deliberate. “so exhausted from satoru’s endless energy... how terrible.”

before you can respond, he leans down, and suddenly, soft warmth presses against your skin—his lips ghosting over your forehead in a delicate kiss.

where gojo had been chaotic and eager, peppering your face with exaggerated, messy kisses, geto is the complete opposite. his touch is unhurried, like he’s savoring every second, every little reaction you give him. his lips trail down to your temple, brushing feather-light against your skin before moving lower, pressing a lingering kiss to your cheek.

“my pretty girl,” he murmurs, barely pulling away before pressing another kiss—this time, to the other cheek. “my sweetheart.”

his voice is a gentle lull, warmth curling through your chest with every whispered endearment. his kisses are slow, deliberate, placed with care, like he’s mapping out every inch of your face. he brushes his lips over the tip of your nose, down to your jaw, then back up again, lingering at your temple as his arms tighten around you.

“my love,” he breathes, the words melting against your skin, filled with nothing but devotion.

then another kiss, softer this time, right at the corner of your lips. “my darling,” he whispers, his voice thick with affection. “my sweet little thing.”

his lips move again, grazing just beneath your ear. “my baby,” he hums, his voice almost teasing as he presses another kiss to your jaw. “my angel.”

your fingers clutch at the fabric of his shirt, your body relaxing completely against him as you let out a soft, content sigh. your pout is long gone now, replaced by something quieter, something warmer.

“you like this, don’t you?” geto teases, his voice low, affectionate.

you hum softly in response, not bothering to deny it, your lips curving into a small smile as you nuzzle closer into him. his scent, his warmth, the way he holds you—it’s enough to make you forget about everything else.

geto chuckles, pressing one final, lingering kiss to the top of your head before resting his chin there. “satoru’s gonna be so jealous,” he muses, his tone light, amused. “but that’s not my problem, is it?”

and you can’t help but laugh, your arms tightening around him, fully content in the safety of his embrace.

geto holds you against him, his chin resting on top of your head. you can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, the rhythmic thump of his heartbeat against your ear. the atmosphere is calm now, the playful energy from gojo’s antics replaced by a more soothing, comfortable silence.

geto’s hand continues to trail lightly along your back, his touch both affectionate and possessive. his words are soft, murmured against your hair as he speaks.

“my little attention seeker,” he chuckles, the words tinged with affectionate teasing. you huff, playfully swatting his arm as you glare up at him. “i am not an attention seeker,” you grumble, even though you both know the truth. you’re absolutely an attention seeker—at least when it comes to your boyfriends. but admitting it? never.

geto only chuckles, the sound low and rich, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he watches you pout. his hand moves gently, brushing your hair back from your forehead with the same effortless care he always handles you with. then, without a word, he leans down, his lips pressing firmly against your forehead in a lingering, tender kiss.

he stays like that for a moment, his warmth seeping into your skin, before finally pulling back just enough to murmur against you, “god, i love you.”

his voice is so quiet, so full of something deep and unshakable, that your chest tightens. your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, holding onto him a little tighter, because how could you not? how could you not cling to someone who loves you so openly, so effortlessly?

you don’t respond right away, just bury your face against his chest, your heart pounding a little harder. but geto doesn’t need you to say anything—he already knows.

geto chuckles again, the sound reverberating through his chest, rumbling against your ears. he understands your silence, understands the way your body language speaks for you. you don’t need to say the words out loud for him to know how much you love him, too.

he continues to stroke your hair, the gesture calming, soothing. his other hand drops to your hip, his grip firm, possessive, like he’s trying to keep you grounded, keep you close.

“you’re adorable,” he murmurs, his voice a soft rumble in his chest. “my adorable little attention seeker.”

as geto continues to caress your hair, his fingers gentle but firm, he begins to hum softly under his breath. the tune is one you recognize instantly—a song he always hums when he’s feeling particularly affectionate, his voice low and gentle and soothing.

he begins to sway gently, his movements almost instinctive, like he can’t help but want to hold you close, to keep you safe. his arms wrap tighter around you, pulling you flush against his chest as he continues to hum, his body a solid, steady presence for you to lean into.

you can feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, the steady rhythm almost hypnotic. he continues to sway back and forth, his movements slow and deliberate. you can feel the solidity of his body, the way his muscles shift as his arms continue to hold you tight.

Gingerly, you helped yourself up to a sitting position on the white bed, and in an instant, Satoru was behind you to help you up. Despite the reflexive movement, his silence betrayed the worry in his actions, and his eyes, had he left them free from the confines of the dastardly blindfold. Well, you two were indeed alike in wanting to spare the other from your own turmoil.

Had you been any more lucid, or any less drugged to the nines on a cocktail of pain medicines to keep you from hissing at the assortment of cuts, perhaps you wouldn’t have questioned the tremor in Satoru’s hands. But you were none of those things, so the question slipped out as easily as the resolve to not burden him with your pain had done.

“Your hands are shaking.” Talk of being obvious.

“How are you feeling?” He asked instead of the answer you expected him to, foolishly, give you, “The doctors have been administering medicines in regular hours so I don’t think—”

“Satoru.” Your eyes bore into his, and you knew he was staring back from behind his blindfold, “Why are your hands shaking?”

“Does anything hurt?” All the syllables left him quietly, permeating around you to engulf you in a new wave of anxiety. Yet, you braved on with your stubborn question, “Satoru—”

“Answer me.” He snapped, or rather, said in a tone just shy of snapping, “Does. Anything. Hurt.”

You swallowed, and the dryness of your throat hurt, maybe you could say — ‘Yes, Toru, it hurts.’ And watch him soften for you once more, maybe he’d understand that and come hold you in his arms again. But then again, you were above the mortality of physical pains, you felt the phantom feelings instead, one you could not control or share or explain. So you’d settle for the feeling of being insane in your foreign-like body.

And maybe, just maybe, Satoru didn’t want that lie from you anymore. Every grain of suppressed excuse, every hidden lie you uttered had piled now, one that he was seeing on you. Six eyes, remember?

“No, it doesn’t—”

“Yet,” your lover gritted out, his seat on the feet of your bed abandoned, “Yet, I know that you’re in so much pain that I could call you by your name and you would burst into tears.”

White threads popped up where your nails dug into pristine sheets. Even with your nails cut — something about mandatory procedure, risk to body and self and medical bullshit — the pain you promised yourself you don’t feel anymore bloomed up zombified in the grave of your mind. The words cut, maybe even more so than the blades had, sliding over your skin. 

But he was right. He was right. Always right. How could Gojo Satoru ever be wrong?

The lie came easily to you too, honed over the years of hiding what you couldn’t explain to your friends, family, your lover, “That’s not—”

“Tell me I’m lying,” Your name was a mesh of harsh consonants and ringing vowels on his tongue. Usually a dulcet sound on him, today it was the battering storm weathering your patience and façade, “Tell me. I dare you.”

As you, and perhaps even Satoru, had anticipated, the sound of your name left him and your face crumpled. Gone was the brickwork of suppression and isolation. The nerve endings felt exposed now, shameful that you needed so much consolation for something so small. 

You turned away from him, away from his shielded eyes — now that you were glad that they were covered to dilute the reproach in them — to bury your blotchy face wet with tears in your bandaged palms to stifle the sounds of your sobs.

“No— shit, baby. Baby, no. I didn’t— I. Fuck.” Satoru choked out above you, horrified at the sight he had predicted with perfection. 

Gently, he tugged your face up, until you were staring into his eyes. Baby blues and gorgeous and so, so lovely. There was nothing in them except sheer love and concern. No ghostly reproach or hypothetical accusation that you were expecting. He thumbed your tears away from your clumped lashes, kissing your forehead just for you to tremble and limp into his arms. 

You needed to get a grip. This was stupid, you were being demanding and needy and stupid and pathetic and—

“Hey, hey, hey, sweetheart.” Satoru’s voice was lowered to the bubble in between you. The space that he could measure in units of fifteen kisses, from his eyes to your lips, he let his worry accumulate in that sacred corner of embrace, one that cocooned you.

“I was so scared.” He whispered, placing his arms around you to bundle you impossibly close to him.

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled out and he shushed that deprecation too, “‘S not your fault, baby.” The pads of his fingers caressed your hair, and he didn’t even care that they were coarse or dry or unwashed for weeks, “I told you, we’re a team, yeah? What’s bothering you, bothers me too.” 

When your hands trembled, he entwined his own with yours, careful not to jostle the bandages lest they make you uncomfortable, “When you didn’t pick up… I — I was so scared. Nothing worked, y’know? Not my Six Eyes, no one knew what had happened, and — and then. And then I went to your apartment…” He sucked in a sharp breath, like he was reliving the moment in a monstrous loop, “There was so much blood.”

You didn’t particularly remember the details, not when you had been painting what you thought would be your final piece, only for it to be nothing more than a run through of griefs and agony for those you had presumably left it behind. But Satoru did, he remembered it, by the looks of it, he hadn’t forgotten the details, the very minute gritty shades of the grimness you had left in the wake of your fleeting crimsons.

“You weren’t breathing — I. I was so scared, sweets — I can’t… I can’t imagine — I-I… I don’t — fuck. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I had been even a second late.” 

You curled up against him, your frame shaking with every unsteady breath and clogged sob. Satoru pressed you close to him, close and even closer that he might find a feasible way to become one with you, if that would keep you safe. His heartbeat rang out in rabid staccato, naked to your perception. If The Honoured One wasn’t afraid of baring his heart to you, why did you always shy away from the same?

One smooth finger tugged your chin up, making you look into his eyes, and from the midst of the bleary fog of tears, you blinked rapidly to accommodate his visage in your sight. 

“Why didn’t you call me?” He whispered, “Just — at least you should’ve told me, baby, whatever’s troubling you.” Satoru wiped your trickling tears, and the ones that had settled in the crevices of your eyelid corners, “You gotta talk to me, sweetness. Please.”

“You have — …you have bigger things to deal with than me – me being upset about inconsequential things—”

“Well, clearly it’s not inconsequential if it has you admitted to a hospital.” You could hear the rising tension in Satoru’s voice. Both of you felt as though you were fighting a road block that refused to budge. But you had to make him understand, you had to make him see what it was, what you were —

“Satoru — you’re… you’re underestimating my need for wanting comfort for things that are not even an issue—”

“Are you hearing yourself, right now?” He snapped, helpless to the bait you had unknowingly spread, “We’re humans. Humans needcomfort. That’s how we work!”

“Not to this degree!” You pressed back to his rebuttal, “I’ll be back to my happy self self soon” — it was a lie to your own damn ears, one so bad, Satoru had to roll his eyes, “I just need to spend some time alone and not bother anyone else—”

“Yes, and you fucking did.” He gestured towards your bandages, “You did spend your time alone and you did not bother anyone — and. And look — look where it fucking got you.” His voice sounded hoarse after all this strain but he was not done, “With enough cuts on your body that you nearly died and it took Shoko four fucking hours to reverse with her RCT!”

You flinched, blinking back the tears in your eyes and the bile in your throat. Where was the lie?

“Stop this, please.” Satoru knelt in front of you, taking your palms in his hands to press little featherlight kisses over them, tender as an apology for all the anguish, “Stop this, sweets. Please. Please let me help you.” He swallowed, and you felt the tremor in his hands once again, “Let me at least be there beside you, if not to help.”

He got up to pull you in his arms once again, but this time, it felt somehow more heavy, with the weight of every odd confession and silent worries taking up space, “There are limits to unhealthiness and codependency, sure — but you haven’t reached them, baby.” He kissed your forehead, “If anything, the unhealthiest thing about your behaviour is the inconsistency of you being able to accept my help — not just mine. Everyone’s. Shoko’s… your sister’s! She was so worried sick, practically inconsolable when I brought you in. Kento was with her to help her stop from spiralling.” That did make sense. They must’ve been out, otherwise she would’ve barged in the minute you woke up. “You accept our company at one point and then suddenly you withdraw with no warning or message as if we won’t notice, and you make decisions for us.”

He cupped your face to wipe the remnant of tears, “That’s not healthy, sweetheart.” Your hands fisted in his uniform as Satoru pressed the gentlest kiss to the corner of your lips, “You’ve got us, you know? Me, your sister, your family, your friends. I don’t know how exactly this feels, but I know people who have experienced this. The same people who care about you. You're not alone. It’s the same script that I’m repeating.” He sighed, “But it’s true. You don’t have to do this alone. Not until I exist, and you’re with me and I’m with you.” 

You curled up against him, face smushed into his chest, as he rubbed circles over your back rising and falling in unsteady breaths and dying sobs, “And the part where I leave you and you have to end up doing this alone?” He pressed one final kiss to your hair, “That’s never going to happen either, sweets, ‘cause I’m never leaving you, baby.”

A/N: ten days to my life changing exam and this is the tomfoolery shit I’m doing…

🏷️: @pleaseimastarv2 @realalpacorn @heliumshorns @fortunatelydistinguishedobject @maru-the-alien @oporotheca @stellarixe @lunarevia @lilithkleia @hoax-of-light @midnitebugging @cactusvolumes @getorade @antonellavanella @kldgo @claryeverlarkf @ribbonsiess

Dividers by: @/cursed-carmine @/bronzewasp

A wounded noise escaped him.

"That was one time."

Your eyes remained fixed on the page before you. The paper crackled softly as you adjusted it.

“You flirted with a grocery clerk."

“She sold me good bread.”

“She sold your Mii bread.” You rolled your eyes, though it wasn't lost on you that you were feeling a real annoyance in this matter.

The screen lit his face ghost-blue as he groaned dramatically. “No, no, no— she just said she needs space. What does that mean, baby?”

You turned the page.

"Then give her space."

"But what does it mean?"

“It means,” you said, “even my digital self finds you really annoying.”

He rolled over instantly, strong enough that the mattress dipped beneath his weight. White hair wild and cascading against your blue pillow.

And then, softer he asked. “But she still likes me, right?”

You stared down now over the edges of your paperwork. A man who could stare down curses without blinking. The strongest sorcerer alive looked genuinely troubled by the emotional wellbeing of a digital approximation of yourself. You could laugh in amusement right now.

“I don't know, Satoru,” you said. “She asked for space. Leave the poor girl alone.” And pay attention to me. The thought appeared uninvited, but you weren't the kind of person to say it out loud.

He hummed to himself, unconvinced, turning the console back toward himself. "I don't think she's actually mad."

“You literally just said she asked for space.”

“Yeah, but before that she gave my Mii cold medicine when he got sick.”

"What?" You blinked.

He shoved the screen in your direction.

There, rendered in cheerful little graphics, was a notification.

YOUR SWEETHEART TOOK CARE OF YOU WHEN YOU WERE FEELING DOWN.

A strange irritation unfurled inside you. It was immediate.

Because somewhere between exorcising curses, surviving near-death experiences, Satoru had apparently found a way to miss you inside a video game.

Even when you were sitting right next to him.

You frown, you couldn't believe the feelings you were generating right now.

"Satoru."

"What?"

"Nothing,” you frowned, as you lowered your gaze to the paperwork.

—

He sat upright so abruptly the mattress bounced beneath both of you. The sudden movement had also sent the scattered reports trembling across the blanket.

"Satoru,” you groaned.

"Our Miis had a baby."

You stared at him.

"Wow," you remarked. “Our Miis move fast. It's been twenty minutes."

"We have a son," he announces with almost genuine pride. The way he said it made it sound less like a video game update and more like he had just emerged from an actual delivery room.

You closed your eyes.

"Congratulations."

"No, look."

The mattress shifted beneath his weight as he crawled toward you. Before you could object, he had thrusted the console beneath your nose.

"Here."

A tiny digital child waved enthusiastically from the screen. White hair and bright blue eyes except it was tiny and round-faced.

The thing was a miniature version of him, as though someone had compressed Satoru into a pocket-sized creature and softened away any sharp features he had.

The creature waved again, and for one horrifying second, you thought it was actually kind of cute.

"Oh my god," he whispered. Completely enamoured. "Look at his little face."

"Satoru."

"What?"

"Turn it off already, Satoru." You gestured vaguely toward the paperwork littering the bed. "You've barely touched a single one of your reports."

He looked scandalised almost instantly. "Turn off our son, you say?"

"Our son isn't real."

The digital child chose that exact moment to blow a heart toward the screen. Tiny sparkles exploded around its head. A little chiming sound followed.

You had a heart after all, damn it.

The game had clearly understood emotional manipulation. And unfortunately for you, so did Satoru.

Satoru gasped. One hand flew to his chest. "He loves us."

"He is just code."

"That's an incredibly cruel thing to say about your child."

An amused sigh escaped you despite yourself as you dropped your head back against the headboard. Tired.

The pillow was cool where sunlight hadn't touched it. The cotton smelled faintly of detergent and the expensive shampoo Satoru insisted on using.

Your eyes drifted back toward the screen he held. Your eyes narrowed as the child was still waving.

"Oh my god, Satoru. Did you name him Gojo Junior," you rolled your eyes. "Remind me to never give you reign over our actual child's name."

His smile had gone strangely still, and there was a pause before he spoke up.

"Our actual child, you say." He repeated carefully.

Heat flooded your face instantly. "No, I meant—"

His grin widened. "That we're going to have actual children in the future?"

"No."

"And you have their names picked out already?"

"I said, child," you groaned again at your misstep. "I only meant—”

"I can settle on a single child," he says, and you think, genuinely. "One child is reasonable."

"I wasn't negotiating,” you groaned. “I didn't say anything. Leave me alone.”

"You most definitely did say it."

Your face immediately felt hot. Your boyfriend was now staring at you like you'd just handed him a marriage certificate and big fat ring with it.

"Satoru."

"Yes, sweetheart?" God, he could be so smug.

"Don't."

"Don't what?" His grin widened, his teeth shining as white as his hair.

"You know exactly what."

"I know that my lovely girlfriend accidentally admitted she's planning our future."

"I did not."

He sat up straighter then, suddenly deep in thought. “Huh.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Huh what now?"

"No, I'm just thinking."

"That's never good,” you say.

"Would they have your eyes?"

You blink twice. “Think your family would kill me if they don't have your eyes,” you say genuinely.

He considered this seriously. Then looked at you. "But yours are prettier."

You snorted. "They're plain."

"Prettier."

"They're not."

"They are too."

You frown, trying to look out the unassuming window. "Hopefully our child inherits my common sense."

"Rude,” he says, feeling scandalised yet again.

"It wasn't meant to be."

"It absolutely was."

The tiny digital child chose that exact moment to clap enthusiastically.

As though participating in the discussion. As if agreeing with you.

Your mouth twitched despite yourself.

"There it is,” Satoru said then.

You glanced back at him, softly now. "What now?"

"You’re smiling.” He pointed at your face, almost genuinely, with an almost childish satisfaction.

You think that's the ability Satoru had, to make things so light.

Yesterday, you had watched the blood stain his uniform. You had watched exhaustion strike black beneath his eyes. You had tried to listen to Shoko and the higher ups while you were pretending not to be afraid yourself. Pretending to be grown and brave.

Yet now he sat before you arguing over a digital child.

"You're smiling so much," he said. "You do love our child after all."

You rolled your eyes again, though this time in jest. Your affection barely hidden now.

his alarms went off as soon as he noticed you were about to get out of bed, he hadn't even finished opening his eyes properly and you were already about to leave? no! his hands quickly circled your waist, pulling you back against him, you fell onto the mattress with a gasp of surprise, feeling your boyfriend's arms tightening to prevent you from being able to pull away again.

“Idia? I have to go to class,” you reminded him trying to rid yourself of his grip once more. you weren't even supposed to be there, you weren't sure what the rules were about staying the night in the room of other students, but without a doubt it couldn't be anything good. especially if that student was your boyfriend… but Idia had an incredible way of manipulating you and well, how could you resist when he had your favorite snacks in his room and had the exact couch you'd mentioned you needed for your gaming sessions?

“five minutes. it's too bright outside, and there are too many NPCs that aren't worth your time.” you huffed when he pulled you close again, completely ignoring your words. however, it was enough to feel the way he buried his face in the curve of your neck to make you melt. Idia rarely allowed himself to be just as clingy as in those moments, he liked feeling you close, yet sometimes he was afraid of invading your personal space too much.

your mind was torn between being a responsible person and getting out of bed at that moment with the intention of returning to your own room and arriving on time for class… or staying a few more minutes, even the rest of the day, was there any way to justify a class absence due to your boyfriend's need for affection? probably not.

it wasn't until you felt Idia’s lips slide from your jaw to your cheek that you gave up. you let out a sound of frustration at your own lack of self-control and shifted under the covers so you could turn and look at his still sleepy face. “only five more minutes,” you warned before sinking into his arms again.

a wide smile spread across his face, revealing his sharp teeth, as he tightened his arms around you. and just as he had predicted: in the end it hadn't been only five minutes.