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guys i’ve looooved what our giyuu mini series has turned into (not so quiet company/shadow/stray). i feel like the story is everywhere though, since all of you guys have such different ideas. i want us all to work towards a common goal, like what exactly do we want to happen between them? what exactly do you guys wanna see, etc? i still haven’t written a kiss scene as well….👀👀👀
i WILL be making a new masterlist soon so easy for everyone to be caught up with no confusions❤️
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this might make some of you guys cry… i’m sorry in advance. also jjk manga spoilers!
gojo satoru x reader
𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐦
it’s so quiet in the house.
megumi is at the table, elbows on the wood, staring at the takeout container. you lean against the counter, arms crossed, watching him push rice around with his chopsticks.
“you’re not eating,” you say.
“i am.” he pushes the rice again.
you wait.
he sighs. “…gojo would’ve liked this place.”
the words come out casual. like they slipped. your stomach tightens but you nod slowly, “yeah.”
another pause. megumi opens his mouth again. “i remember gojo said—” he stops.
the rest of the sentence never comes out. it never does.
the room gets heavy after that. like the air suddenly weighs more. megumi stares at the table, you stare at the counter and neither of you bring him up again that night.
you both learned early that saying too much hurts, so you leave it unfinished like always.
life after his death was strange. like something important is missing from every room you walk into.
you and megumi were both just… trying to exist.
there was no guide for it, no instructions for how to move on when someone like gojo satoru disappears from your life.
megumi grows taller, that happens fast. one day he’s this quiet kid who barely looks at you when you talk, and the next he’s towering over you in the kitchen asking where the rice cooker is.
you end up becoming… something like his parent.
neither of you ever say it out loud but you’re the one making dinner. you’re the one asking if he ate, you’re the one reminding him to sleep.
sometimes you catch yourself sounding exactly like gojo and the thought makes your chest ache.
years pass like that, slowly, quietly. full of half sentences. sometimes megumi will say things like, “gojo would’ve laughed at that.” or “gojo said something about this once…”
and then he stops every time. like his throat closes before the words can finish.
you do the same thing all the time. “satoru would’ve liked—” you stop. because finishing it feels like admitting he isn’t here to see it.
time moves anyway. it doesn’t care if you’re ready.
it takes you years to date again. years.
when your friends first suggest it, you stare at them like they’re insane. date someone? how?
how do you sit across from someone at dinner when the only person you ever pictured sitting there had bright white hair and an annoying smile?
how do you move on from someone who filled every space in your life without trying?
but eventually… you try. slowly, carefully.
it’s almost like touching a bruise to see if it still hurts. you haven’t moved on, just forward.
and then one day you’re standing in front of a mirror in a wedding dress. the room is full of quiet noise. people talking, chairs moving, someone fixing flowers.
but you can’t hear any of it. because all you can think is one thing.
it would’ve been gojo satoru.
your hands start shaking, your eyes start burning. and before you can stop it, tears start falling.
you press your fingers to your mouth, trying not to ruin your makeup.
“hey.” megumi’s voice comes from the doorway.
you turn, he’s older now. taller, calmer. but his eyes still look the same.
he sees your face immediately, “…you’re crying already?”
you laugh weakly. “i’m not supposed to?”
he walks over and hands you a tissue. “…he would’ve made a big deal about this.”
you huff out a small laugh, “yeah.”
megumi looks at the floor for a second. then he mutters, “…he would’ve been annoying about it.”
another pause. you both know what he’s really saying.
he would’ve been here.
you nod quietly, “yeah. he would’ve.”
because once, a long time ago, you thought it would be him waiting at the end of that aisle. tall, smiling like he always did, teasing you for crying.
years pass again, life keeps growing.
the hospital room is warm. your hands are shaking. a nurse places the tiny baby in your arms and suddenly everything in the world gets very quiet.
you stare down at the small face. tiny fingers, tiny nose. a life you made.
your chest fills so fast it almost hurts. joy, shock and love all at once.
your partner squeezes your hand but your mind drifts somewhere else.
somewhere years back. because the first thought that hits you is simple.
it would’ve been gojo satoru’s hand you were holding.
your throat tightens, tears spill down the side of your face.
the nurse thinks you’re crying because you’re emotional and you are, just not in the way she thinks.
you whisper softly to the baby, “…hi.”
life becomes busy after that. toys everywhere, little footsteps in the hall, laughter, crying, bedtime stories.
and eventually the questions start.
one evening your kids are sitting beside you on the couch. a movie plays in the background but they’re more interested in you. “mom?”
you glance down, “yeah?”
“who was your first love?”
the question hits harder than you expect. you stare at them for a moment. your chest feels tight again.
after all these years… it still does that.
you smile softly. “…his name was gojo.”
your kid tilts their head, “gojo?”
“yeah.”
“what was he like?”
you laugh quietly. “loud.”
they giggle.
“really loud.”
you continue, “he talked too much. annoyed people constantly. thought he was the funniest person alive.”
“was he?”
“…sometimes.”
you feel your throat getting tight again. “but he was also… really kind.”
your kid listens carefully, “did you love him a lot?”
you nod, “yeah.”
“like dad?”
you pause, “…in a different way.”
your child looks thoughtful. then they ask the question you always knew would come. “is he still alive?”
the room feels very still. the tv keeps playing in the background. but you can’t hear it anymore because that question has lived in your chest for years. and you’ve never said the answer out loud. your fingers tighten slightly.
you look down at them, their small face, their curious eyes.
your voice comes out quieter than you expect, “…no.”
the word feels heavy, saying it makes it real again.
your kid frowns. “oh.”
you swallow, “he died a long time ago.”
there’s a small silence. then your kid says softly, “that’s sad.”
you nod. “…yeah.”
but then they lean against you, completely calm. like kids always are. “he sounds cool though.”
you laugh quietly and wipe at your eye, “…he was.”
later that night, when the house is quiet again, you sit by the window. the moonlight spills across the floor, you think about white hair, bright eyes, that stupid grin.
time has moved forward, life has grown around the loss. you built something new, something good. but there’s still a small place in your chest that belongs to him.
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based of this image of my fine ass husband right here
𝙢𝙖𝙮 𝙞 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪?
eren jaeger modern au x reader
you come home later than usual, the kind of tired that sits heavy in your bones and makes the apartment feel eerie.
the hallway light is off, which is weird because eren always leaves it on when he gets back before you—he says it’s so you don’t trip over his dumb boots, but you both know it’s just him being soft in his own way.
you kick off your shoes, drop your bag, and head toward the bedroom because all you want is to face plant into the mattress and maybe cry a little about how distant he’s been lately.
not fighting-distant. worse.
the kind where he looks at you like he’s already somewhere else, like he’s carrying something too heavy to share and it’s slowing him down.
the door’s cracked open. there’s a faint glow inside, warm and low, not the usual harsh ceiling light.
you push it open.
and there he is.
eren’s leaning back against the headboard, shirt completely unbuttoned, tie hanging loose around his neck like he started undressing and gave up halfway.
his hair’s messy, longer than it was last month, falling into his eyes. those eyes—sharp, intense, the color of sea glass after a storm—are half lidded, locked on you. his mouth is curved in that cocky little smirk he does when he knows he’s about to ruin you in the best way.
and between his teeth, glinting under the fairy lights he must’ve strung up while you were gone (because when the hell did eren jaeger learn about fairy lights?), is a condom packet.
blue foil. the words “may i love you?” printed in stupid curly font.
you stop dead in the doorway.
he doesn’t say anything at first. just tilts his head a little, letting the packet catch the light, and raises one brow like he’s daring you to laugh or scream or jump him. probably all three.
your face goes hot. “eren… what the fuck.”
he takes the packet out of his mouth with two fingers, slow, deliberate. “what?” his voice is low, rough from not speaking all day. “you said i don’t do romantic shit.”
“i said you don’t do cheesy shit,” you correct, but your voice is already shaking because he looks so unfairly good like this—collarbones sharp, stomach tight, tie dangling between his pecs like some pornographic schoolboy fantasy. “this is… this is next level corny, jaeger.”
he shrugs, but there’s something uncertain flickering behind his eyes.
“saw it at the convenience store. thought it was funny.” he pauses, looks down at the packet, then back at you. “then i thought… maybe it’s not funny. maybe it’s just true.”
your heart stumbles.
because eren doesn’t say things like that. not out loud. he shows it—by always walking on the outside of the sidewalk, by remembering how you take your coffee even when he’s half dead from work, by the way he kisses your forehead when he thinks you’re asleep like you’re something precious he’s scared to break.
but saying it? asking permission? that’s new.
he pats the bed beside him. “c’mere.”
you do, because you’re weak for him and he knows it. you crawl onto the mattress and he immediately pulls you into his lap, hands sliding under your shirt, warm and calloused. his mouth finds your neck, not kissing yet, just breathing you in like he’s been starving for it.
“been a dick lately,” he mutters against your skin. “know that.”
“yeah,” you whisper. “you have.”
he huffs a laugh that tickles. “not gonna make excuses. just… missed you. missed this.” his teeth graze your throat. “missed being inside you and not thinking about anything else.”
your breath catches. he pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes dark, serious now.
“so,” he says, holding up the packet between two fingers. “may i?”
you stare at him. at the boy who’d burn worlds for the people he loves, now sitting here asking permission like a nervous virgin, shirt open, fairy lights making his eyes glow soft.
you take the packet from him, rip it open with your teeth because turnabout is fair play. his pupils blow wide.
“yes,” you say, tossing the wrapper over your shoulder. “but only if you say the cheesy line out loud.”
he groans, drops his head back against the headboard. “you’re evil.”
“say it.”
he lifts his head, grabs your hips, flips you onto your back so fast the air leaves your lungs. he looms over you, hair hanging down, tie brushing your chest.
“may i love you?” he says, voice rough, eyes fierce, like it’s not just about sex, like it’s about everything.
you reach up, thread your fingers through his hair, pull him down until his forehead touches yours.
“you already do, dumbass,” you whisper. “now shut up and prove it.”
he kisses you like he’s trying to crawl inside your skin. clothes come off in frantic, clumsy pulls—your shirt snags on your elbow, his tie ends up tangled around your wrist somehow, and you’re both laughing into each other’s mouths, breathless and stupidly happy.
when he finally pushes inside you, slow and deep, he buries his face in your neck and says it again, muffled against your skin, like a prayer.
“love you… fuck, i love you.”
you wrap your legs around him, hold him as close as you can, and let him take you apart piece by piece until there’s nothing left but the two of you and the fairy lights and the stupid condom wrapper on the floor.
later, when you’re both wrecked and tangled in the sheets, he traces the marks he left on your collarbone with his thumb.
“next time,” he mumbles, sleepy and sated, “i’m getting the one that says ‘will you marry me? just to watch you lose your shit.”
you smack his chest. he laughs, pulls you closer.
you fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat, steady and strong, and think maybe cheesy isn’t so bad when it’s him.
i was lowk too lazy to write a full smut. also, i think we were really robbed of yellow eyed eren tbh
you’re face down on the couch in sae’s madrid apartment, groaning into a pillow that smells like his stupid expensive detergent, when he walks in.
you don’t even hear the door at first because you’re too busy dying dramatically about the email you just got—another deadline moved up, your boss being a bitch, the usual thursday nightmare. you’re muttering curses in three different languages when his shoes appear in your line of vision.
“get up.”
you flip the pillow off your face just enough to glare at him with one eye. “no. i live here now. bury me here.”
he’s still in his training kit, hair damp, cheeks a little flushed from the cold outside. he looks annoyingly good, as usual. he crouches down so you’re eye level, expression flat as ever.
“we leave in four hours.”
you blink. “leave for where? the kitchen? because i’m not cooking, you can starve.”
“maldives.”
you sit up so fast you almost headbutt him. “what?”
he pulls two tickets out of his jacket pocket and flicks them onto your lap like he’s tossing you junk mail. first class, malé departure tonight. your name is already printed next to his.
you stare at the tickets. then at him. then back at the tickets.
“sae. be serious.”
“i am.”
“you can’t just—maldives? like the actual maldives? overwater bungalow, turquoise water, instagram aesthetic maldives?”
he shrugs. “you kept sending me those reels last month. the ones with the stupid fish and the swings in the water. you said, and i quote, ‘i would sell my kidney to wake up there.’”
you did say that. you were crying over a video of a stingray because they’re faces are just so cute.
“so you… booked it?”
“yes.”
“without telling me?”
“surprises are supposed to be surprises.”
you’re still holding the tickets like they might disappear. “sae, i have work tomorrow. i have a 9 am call. i don’t even have a swimsuit here that isn’t from 2019.”
he stands up, already walking toward the bedroom. “i packed for you last night. your stuff’s in the black suitcase.”
you follow him on autopilot. sure enough, there’s a suitcase by the door you’ve never seen before, tag already on it, your passport in the front pocket like this is normal.
“you went through my underwear drawer?”
“you own too many cartoon patterns. i left the kuromi ones.”
you’re going to combust. “how long have you been planning this?”
“three weeks.”
“three weeks?! and you didn’t say anything?”
he glances back, one eyebrow raised. “you cry when you’re excited. i didn’t want to deal with it for three weeks.”
fair. but still.
you launch yourself at him, arms around his neck, legs kicking. he catches you without staggering, hands automatically going to your thighs like this is routine.
“you’re insane,” you mumble into his shoulder. “i love you so much i’m actually mad at you.”
“noted.” his voice is muffled in your hair. “shower. we leave soon.”
the flight is eleven hours and he doesn’t sleep the whole time, just watches three movies in a row and chibi maruko-chan and let’s you have his desert because it “ruins” his diet.
you wake up somewhere over the indian ocean with his hoodie over you like a blanket and his hand resting on your thigh, thumb moving in slow circles.
when you land in malé it’s already dark, but the air smells like salt and flowers and freedom. a private speedboat takes you to the resort—some insane place with glass floors and an infinity pool that drops straight into the ocean.
your villa is literally in the middle of the sea, stairs leading directly into the water.
you stand on the deck screaming quietly (because it’s 2 am and you don’t want to scare anyone) while sae leans against the railing, arms crossed, watching you like you’re a particularly entertaining documentary.
“this is disgusting,” you say, spinning in circles. “this is obscene. how much did this cost?”
“don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.”
you run and jump on him again. he lets you. he always lets you.
the next morning you wake up to sunlight on water so clear it looks photoshopped. sae’s side of the bed is empty, but you hear the shower running. you’re halfway through stealing his tshirt when he walks out, towel low on his hips, hair dripping.
“morning,” he says.
“morning, person who kidnapped me to paradise.”
you spend the day doing absolutely nothing. you swim until your fingers prune. you make him snorkel even though he complains the mask is “uncomfortable” and then spend twenty minutes floating while pointing out every fish like you’re david attenborough.
“that one’s a parrotfish,” you says, voice muffled by the snorkel. those national geographic days paying off.
“a what?”
later you’re on the deck swing, legs in the water, when he comes up behind you with two cocktails that are 90% fruit and 10% alcohol.
“drink.”
“trying to get me drunk, itoshi?”
“you’re louder when you’re tipsy. it’s funny.”
you kick water at him. he doesn’t even flinch.
night falls and the staff lights lanterns all around the villa. you’re sunburnt and happy, lying on the outdoor daybed staring at the stars when he sits down next to you, still in his black swim trunks, hair salty and messy.
you roll onto your side to look at him. “why’d you really do this?”
he doesn’t answer right away. just looks out at the water, the reflection of the moon broken into a million pieces.
“you were tired,” he says finally. “you stopped laughing. you always laugh.”
your chest feels too small for your heart.
“sae.”
“hm?”
“i’m laughing now.”
he turns his head. the lantern light catches the side of his face, makes his eyes look almost soft.
“good,” he says. then quieter, “don’t stop.”
you crawl into his lap, knees on either side of his hips, hands in his damp hair.
“thank you,” you whisper against his mouth.
he kisses you slow, lazy, tasting like pineapple and salt. one hand on your waist, the other sliding up your back.
“you’re annoying when you’re happy,” he mutters.
“you like it.”
“shut up.”
it’s enough.
(later, when you’re half asleep tangled in sheets that probably cost more than your rent, he says into your hair, voice so quiet you almost miss it—
“stay happy.”
you pretend you didn’t hear so he doesn’t get embarrassed.
but you hold him a little tighter and he lets you.)
So, here me out. I was reading that short story of how the Hashira mistakenly thought that the Master ordered them to make Giyu smile, you know the light novel one? What if, when Sanemi asks him out to lunch, Giyu remembers his Shadow saying something about how meals always bring people closer together, he tells Sanemi that he was about to have lunch and invites him to go with the two of them. In the end, because this is Giyu and Sanemi we're talking about, Sanemi gets even more annoyed because why would he want to feel like a third wheel? Sorry it's kinda long
i’m genuinely sooo sorry this took so long :( but here we gooooo (not so quiet company part 7??? i think)
you’re walking through the butterfly mansion grounds with giyuu after a long meeting. the sun feels warm on your face and a light breeze rustles the wisteria flowers nearby. you’re still buzzing a little from earlier, so you slip your hand into his again, fingers intertwining naturally. he doesn’t pull away. he never really does anymore. just lets your hands stay linked as you both head slowly toward the exit path.
“that meeting dragged on forever,” you say, swinging your joined hands gently between you. “i thought shinobu was never gonna stop talking about supplies and schedules. my stomach’s been growling for like an hour straight. i swear it was so loud during the second half.”
giyuu hums in quiet agreement. “we can eat soon.”
“good. i’m thinking something warm and filling. maybe noodles or that grilled fish you always go for. extra portions because i skipped breakfast this morning like an idiot.”
he’s about to reply when a loud, rough voice cuts through the peaceful air.
“oi, tomioka!”
sanemi shinazugawa storms over from the training area, arms crossed tight over his chest. his scars stand out under the bright sunlight and there’s still sweat on his forehead and neck from whatever intense workout he just finished.
giyuu stops walking. you feel his fingers tighten just a little around yours.
“yes, shinazugawa?” giyuu says in his usual flat tone.
sanemi jerks his head toward the village path. “i’m heading into town for lunch. you coming or what? figured even someone like you has to eat once in a while.”
you blink in surprise. sanemi actually inviting giyuu out? that’s rare enough to feel weird.
giyuu stays quiet for a moment. you remember what you told him a few weeks back — how sharing meals always seems to bring people closer together, even the grumpy ones who act like they don’t need anyone. you give his hand a soft, encouraging squeeze.
giyuu glances at you first, then looks back at sanemi. “i was already going to eat. you can join us.”
sanemi’s sharp eyes drop straight down to your joined hands, his whole face twists like he just bit into a lemon.
“us?” he repeats, voice dripping with annoyance.
you smile, trying to keep the mood easy. “yeah, come with us. the more the merrier, right? i promise i won’t talk your ear off… too much. i’ll try to behave.”
sanemi looks like he swallowed something extremely sour. “you serious right now, tomioka?”
you can already tell this lunch is going to be something.
the three of you end up at a small outdoor stall in the nearby village. simple wooden benches sit under a striped awning, steam rising from big pots of broth.
the smell of udon, grilled onions, and soy sauce fills the air and makes your stomach growl even louder. you slide onto the bench right next to giyuu.
sanemi drops down across from you both like someone dragged him there against his will.
you happily slurp some noodles, eyes closing for a second. “this is so good. way better than the plain rice we had yesterday. the broth has actual flavor. you guys should try the spicy version next time. it clears your sinuses right up.”
giyuu eats in his usual quiet way, blowing gently on each bite before taking small, careful mouthfuls. “it’s fine,” he says after a moment.
sanemi stabs at his own bowl with his chopsticks like the noodles personally insulted his entire family. “this is stupid.”
you tilt your head, still chewing. “what’s stupid?”
“this.” he waves his chopsticks between the three of you. “why the hell am i sitting here watching you two hold hands under the damn table like some sappy couple on a date?”
you weren’t even holding hands under the table before, but you reach over now and lace your fingers with giyuu’s just to be a little annoying. giyuu doesn’t react much on the outside, but you notice his ears turning slightly pink.
“it’s just lunch,” giyuu says calmly, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
“just lunch my ass,” sanemi mutters, glaring at his bowl. “i asked you to eat, not bring your damn shadow along so i could play third wheel.”
you grin around another mouthful of noodles. “hey, i’m the one who protects him from dogs. i’m basically essential at this point. can’t leave me behind.”
sanemi stares at you like you’ve grown a second head. “dogs? what the fuck are you on about now?”
“long story,” you say cheerfully. “point is, meals bring people closer together. that’s what i told giyuu once. so here we are. bonding time.”
giyuu nods like this makes complete sense. “yes.”
sanemi looks two seconds away from flipping the entire table over. “bonding? with you two? i’d rather eat alone in the middle of the woods with a pack of wild boars.”
you laugh softly. “boars are probably nicer company than you most days, to be fair.”
“watch it, kid.”
giyuu keeps eating steadily like none of this chaos is happening around him. “the food is good,” he says again, almost to himself.
sanemi groans loudly and drags a hand down his scarred face, “this is exactly why i don’t bother with you people. you’re both weird as hell.”
“we’re not that bad,” you reply, nudging giyuu’s knee with yours under the table. “right?”
giyuu thinks for a second. “we’re fine.”
sanemi stares at the two of you for a long moment, then mutters under his breath, “third wheel. great. just what i needed on my one day off.”
you can’t help it — you start giggling into your bowl. giyuu stays mostly quiet but you catch the tiniest little curve at the corner of his mouth again, the one he only gets when he’s secretly amused.
sanemi finishes his bowl in record time, practically slamming it down. he tosses some coins on the table and stands up abruptly.
“next time you want lunch, tomioka, do me a favor and come alone,” he grumbles.
“there will be a next time?” giyuu asks, almost surprised that sanemi would even say that.
“no.” sanemi storms off, his white hair practically bristling with irritation as he disappears down the path.
you watch him go, still smiling. “he seemed thrilled to spend time with us.”
giyuu takes another calm bite. “he’s always like that.”
“yeah, but now he really hates us.” you lean your head against giyuu’s shoulder for a second, sighing contentedly. “still worth it though.”
he doesn’t move away. just finishes the last of his food in peaceful silence.
after a while he speaks again, voice low. “you were right.”
“about what?”
“meals do bring people closer.”
you laugh softly. “even if it’s just closer to wanting to kill each other?”
giyuu hums in agreement. “yes.”
you stay sitting there a little longer, bowls empty, warm sun on your skin, giyuu’s hand still comfortably in yours.
sanemi might be pissed off somewhere, but you figure that’s just another normal day when you’re with giyuu.
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you know something’s off the second you walk in and it’s quiet. not normal quiet either, like… suspicious quiet.
you stand there for a second, hand still on the door, eyes scanning the room like you’re expecting him to pop out and scare you just because he thinks it’s sooo funny. nothing.
no commentary, no “you took forever,” no dramatic sigh like he’s been waiting for hours when it’s been five minutes.
you narrow your eyes a little. “…satoru?”
no answer. okay, weird.
you step in fully, closing the door behind you, your steps a little slower now. you peek into the kitchen first.
empty.
then the living area. and that’s when you see him. he’s slouched back on the couch, long legs stretched out, head tilted slightly to the side. his blindfold is pushed up just enough that you can see part of his face, and for once, there’s no stupid grin, no teasing expression.
and he’s out. completely.
you just stand there for a second.
“…no way,” you mutter under your breath.
you walk closer, a little cautious, like if you move too fast he’ll wake up and ruin the moment.
but he doesn’t move, not even a twitch.
you stop right next to the couch, staring down at him.
he actually looks… peaceful. which feels illegal, somehow.
you crouch down a little, squinting at his face.
“…you’re really asleep,” you whisper, like you don’t trust it.
nothing, no reaction.
you let out a soft breath, something between a laugh and disbelief. “this is crazy.”
you’ve seen him tired before. you’ve seen him say he’s gonna sleep.
but actually sleeping like this? knocked out, no attitude, no annoying comments?
never.
he never sleeps like this. not fully, not deeply.
usually it’s light, like he’s still half-aware of everything around him. like if you even breathe a little too loud, he’ll open one eye and make a comment.
but this? this is different.
you straighten up slowly, careful with your steps as you move around the couch.
your gaze drifts down—and that’s when you notice his phone. it’s in his hand, loose grip, like he was holding it and just… drifted off.
you hesitate for a second because you’re not trying to snoop, really.
it’s just… right there. “…just a quick look,” you mutter.
you gently pick it up, careful not to wake him. the screen brightens slightly and then you freeze.
it’s his wallpaper. a picture of you, megumi, nobara and yuji.
all of you squeezed together, way too close, half of it slightly blurry like someone moved at the last second.
yuji’s smiling wide, like always. nobara looks like she’s mid laugh, probably right after saying something. megumi’s there too, not smiling much but not exactly frowning either, just… there.
and you— you’re right in the middle, smiling without even realizing it.
you remember this, it wasn’t planned. yuji insisted on taking a picture, dragged everyone in, complained when megumi tried to leave, and gojo—
your eyes flick slightly to him.
he’s not even in the picture but he took it.
you look back at the screen.
“…you kept this?” you whisper, more to yourself than anything.
it’s not some polished photo, not something planned or serious. it’s not perfect, a little off-center.
you stare at it a little longer than you meant to. something about it makes your chest feel… full, like it’s too much and not enough at the same time.
you glance back down at him again.
he hasn’t moved, still completely out.
you crouch down properly this time, resting your arms lightly on the edge of the couch as you look at him.
you look back at the screen, thumb hovering like you might zoom in, like you might check how long it’s been his wallpaper.
“…you’re so annoying,” you murmur softly, but there’s no bite to it.
he shifts a little in his sleep, and you freeze immediately, holding your breath but he just exhales, settling again.
your eyes flick between him and the phone again.
“you care so much, it’s actually embarrassing,” you whisper.
no response, of course.
you stare at the picture again, and it hits you all over.
he chose this out of everything he could’ve put there. you swallow, your grip on the phone loosening slightly.
“…you really love them, huh?” you say quietly.
and you already know the answer. you set the phone back down gently on his chest, exactly where it was.
for a second, you just stand there again, looking at him. he looks… different like this.
“you don’t say it,” you mumble. “but you show it in weird ways.”
he doesn’t react. you tilt your head, studying his face.
“…and you’re bad at taking care of yourself,” you add under your breath.
still nothing.
you reach up without really thinking, adjusting his blindfold slightly so it sits more comfortably.
“you finally fall asleep and it’s like this,” you say softly. “no bed, no blanket. just knocked out.”
he shifts again, just slightly. then, barely audible—
“…m’not knocked out.”
you jump a little. “oh my—”
you look at him, his eyes are still closed.
you squint. “you’re awake?”
“…no,” he mutters.
you blink. “…you just talked.”
“sleep talking,” he says, voice rough with sleep.
you stare at him for a second, then let out a quiet laugh. “you’re so annoying, even unconscious.”
a faint smile tugs at his lips. “you were looking at my phone,” he mumbles.
you freeze. “…no i wasn’t.”
“liar.”
you narrow your eyes. “you’re not even awake, don’t start.”
he hums, like he’s barely there, but still listening.
you hesitate, then glance at the phone again.
“…your wallpaper,” you say.
he doesn’t respond right away.
then— “…yeah?”
you look back at him.
“…it’s cute,” you admit.
there’s a small pause. “…i know,” he murmurs.
you roll your eyes, but your lips twitch.“don’t ruin it.”
he lets out a soft breath, something like a quiet laugh.
“you like it?” he asks, voice still heavy with sleep.
you don’t answer immediately, fiddling with your thumbs. “…yeah,” you say finally. “i do.”
he nods a little, like that’s enough, like that’s all he needed.
“…satoru?” you say quietly, watching him for a second longer.
“hm?”
“…you should sleep more.”
he’s quiet for a second. then, barely—
“stay here, then.”
you blink. “…what?”
“if you’re here,” he mumbles, “i’ll sleep.”
you just stare at him blankly, he sounds so casual about it, like he didn’t just make your heart race a little.
you exhale softly, shaking your head a little. “…you’re ridiculous.”
no response this time. you wait,
nothing.
you lean in slightly. “…satoru?”
he’s out again. completely.
you sit there for a second, then let out a quiet laugh under your breath. “…of course.”
you shift, settling down beside the couch instead of walking away.
just for a bit, just until he wakes up.
your eyes drift back to the phone on his chest one more time.
the picture. all of you, smiling.
you look back at him, softer now.
“…you’re better than you act,” you murmur.
he doesn’t hear it but you know he would’ve understood.
