[p1llkiss]

18+

sometimes, when you’re on top (which satoru loves, because he gets to be lazy) he’ll do finger guns at you. full on pew pew, while you’re riding him.

"look at you go, yeehaw! my little cowgi-"

"stop talking."

he does not stop. he starts to make horse noises instead. he neighs. you vow to break up with him on the spot. but he flips you under him halfway through and makes you forget.

and god help you if you make an embarrassing noise. he will repeat it back to you- but so exaggerated. high pitched and mocking, giggling through it all.

"did you just go ‘mngh- ahh!?' do it again, do it again- c’mon-"

you tell him you hate him. he kisses the tip of your nose in response.

"you loveeeee me. my little dolphin, ee-ee-ee!"

and the worst part? he refuses to stop. he'll keep the bit going way after. you'll be in the shower trying to scrub the shame off, and he’ll lean on the doorframe, towel around his hips, "ahhh~ toru, so big~!" then cackle like a gremlin while you throw the shampoo bottle at him.

he'll do it in front of nanami, too. just to watch his soul leave his body. you'll call him on speaker to ask if he wants anything from the store- "yeah, get more milk, we used it all last night. you know, when you were all- ‘ah, ah, ahhh!" and nanami just… sighs. loudly. contemplates calling hr even though there is no hr.

sometimes he doesn’t even do the voice. he’ll just look at you across a restaurant table and mouth your moans back at you. the smirk is unbearable, annoying- and so him. he knows you know exactly what he’s referencing, and he lives for that split second of terror on your face before you kick him hard under the table.

you swear he’s the only man alive who could ruin the mood and make it ten times better.

[p1llkiss]

you crochet a teddy for your century and a half old boyfriend

you’d been working on it for days. soft yarn mixed with clumsy knots, crochet hook slipping through your fingers as you sit cross legged on the wooden floor, tongue peeking from between your lips in concentration. sometimes choso would hover in the doorway-silent. dark eyes fixated on your busy hands.

you’d feel his quiet, heavy presence. it's hard not to- the air always shifts when he’s near. you'd glance up with a small gasp, half laughing, half scolding. "no peeking! it's a surprise!"

he’d stay there anyway, head tilting just slightly as if memorizing how your fingers move. you’d pad over, kiss his forehead, shoo him away. he’d go, but always backward, walking out with those dark eyes locked on you until the last possible second.

when you finally give it to him- a tiny, black bear with mismatched button eyes and a crooked ribbon bow, he doesn’t move for a heartbeat. just stands there, broad shoulders stiff.

he takes it from your hands like it’s made from sugar- both palms out, cradling it like a shrine offering. he studies it, eyes wide and unblinking, lashes fluttering low when he brushes his thumb over the bear’s stubby ear.

"…what is it?" he asks, tone soft but rumbling, like a hush of thunder far away. there’s no mockery. he genuinely wants to understand, this odd little human ritual. you can’t help but giggle, your cheeks warm as you explain, "it’s for you. i made him for you. so you’re not lonely when i’m not around."

the word lonely flickers something deep in him. he swallows, throat bobbing, eyes darting from the bear to your face, back and forth, back and forth, like he’s looking for a lie and can’t find one.

"for me." he echoes, so small for such a big thing. his voice is older than this room, older than the soft yarn in his hands, older than the ache in his chest that only you seem to fill without even trying.

when you nod, he nearly bows over you. all that heavy warmth folding down so gently, arms wrapping you and the bear both to his broad chest. "thank you," he murmurs, but it’s not enough- so he says it again, softer, closer to your skin, "thank you. i’ll take care of him."

you think that’ll be the end of it. just a little bear. but choso’s never known how to do halfway.

so you find it everywhere. tucked at the corner of his futon, perched by the window to ‘watch the rain’, cradled in one big hand when he thinks you’re asleep. once you catch him cupping it close to his lips, murmuring words too quiet for you to hear.

you tease him, "choso, he’s not real, you know that right?" and he looks at you with that same solemn, moon pale gaze. "he’s real enough," he says, as if that’s that. "you made him."

sometimes you watch him brush the bear’s fur with careful fingers, smoothing the stitches you clumsily tugged tight with the pad of his thumb. he hums to it, in a low, soft tone- almost a lullaby.

and when you drift near, he reaches out for you without looking. his big palm delicately curling around your wrist, pulling you down beside him so you can help. "he needs a scarf. it’s cold." as if the tiny bear could ever shiver. but you nod, and promise to make him one in pink.

and sometimes you wake up in the pale hush of dawn to find choso crouched beside your dresser, the bear propped carefully on his knee while he murmurs to it like it’s a confessional. "she sleeps so peacefully. you keep watch, alright? you protect her when i can’t." his thumb brushes the bear’s nose. then his button eyes...he looks so serious it almost makes your eyes sting.

you, and him, and a tiny bear that means he’ll never be alone again.

and when you slip under the fluffy blanket beside him, when his big arms curl around you and the bear both, you swear you feel him exhale all the centuries he’s carried alone.

[p1llkiss]

you're going to ibiza for a girls holiday. gojo is NOT okay.

satoru thinks heartbreak should be illegal. specifically, this heartbreak- the one where his girlfriend is about to board a flight to ibiza with shoko and the rest of her friends while he stays home to rot like yesterday’s milk.

you’re attempting to cram your sunglasses into an already overstuffed carry on when he flops onto your bed behind you with the grace of a man who’s just been shot. he doesn’t just flop, he bounces twice, then rolls over dramatically until his face is buried in your blanket.

"whyyyyy are you doing this to meeeeee," he mumbles, voice muffled in your pillow. "what did i do. name one war crime i committed to deserve this." you flick him on the forehead. he doesn’t even flinch, just cracks one icy blue eye open to watch you wrestle with your zipper.

"stop being so dramatic," you say, fighting a smile. "it's a weekend, satoru. three days."

"three days is seventy two hours," he corrects you, flinging an arm out for maximum tragedy. "do you know how many minutes that is? do you know how many times we'll need to facetime just so i can stay alive?"

at this point in your relationship, he's long past pretending not to be clingy. right now, his hair’s a mess, his shirt is half untucked from where he’s been crawling around your floor in protest, and you’d bet good money that if you tried to actually drag your suitcase out the door, he’d just cling to the handle and let himself be wheeled along like luggage extension.

outside, shoko honks the car horn. three short threatening beeps. she's been ready for twenty minutes.

"satoru!" she yells through the window. "get off her!"

he ignores her completely- too busy rolling onto his stomach so he can grab you around the hips, chin digging into your thigh like he’s anchoring you to the floor.

"you're gonna meet some european dj with a man bun then you’re gonna come back saying stuff like ‘babe, the ocean changed me.’ and then i'll have to join a monastery." he whines dramatically.

you snort, patting his head like a sulky cat. "you'd get kicked out of a monastery in two minutes."

outside, shoko honks again. you glance at your phone- four unread texts from her that say i'm leaving you here if he tries to climb in my trunk.

when you finally manage to zip your bag and drag it toward the door, he scrambles after you on his knees. before you can even slip your shoes on, he’s wrapped himself entirely around your legs from behind, arms locked like a vice around your thighs, cheek smushed against your lower back.

"satoru-" you try, exasperated. you tug forward an inch. he drags with you like a six foot weighted blanket, feet sliding across the floorboards.

"try leaving now," he says, voice muffled, clinging tighter. "try it. see what happens. i'm part of the outfit now."

"are you done?"

"never."

eventually, you have to bribe him off with three kisses, a promise to text him when you land, and the threat of shoko physically dragging him out of the doorway by the hair.

when you finally manage to peel him off you long enough to escape to the door, he stumbles after you in his socks, hair sticking up everywhere. he dramatically plants himself in the hallway like a guard dog who failed obedience school.

"i'm gonna spam you," he threatens, pointing a finger at you like you’ve committed a crime. "you're gonna regret this. i'm gonna send you so many sad selfies you’ll have to turn your phone off. you did this to yourself."

"can't wait," you laugh, leaning in to kiss him just to shut him up.

and when you land in ibiza, your phone connects to the airport wi-fi before the wheels even finish taxiing, and immediately you’re hit with a barrage of notifications that make shoko side eye you over her sunglasses.

38 unread messages
9 missed calls
4 instagram stories tagged with your handle

you open them in order of damage control. the first story is a dramatic black and white close up of gojo’s face, half buried in your pillow, captioned, when your reason for living leaves you for a european man bun 🕊️💔

the next is even worse. he’s lying on your side of his bed, dramatically clutching the shirt you forgot to pack. the caption reads, i put on her perfume to remember what happiness smelled like.

you snort so hard you nearly drop your phone on the moving walkway. shoko just flicks your arm. "i'm confiscating your phone if you laugh at him again. he's training you to enable this."

you ignore her. the third story is the worst. gojo in full grayscale filter, standing in your apartment wearing your fuzzy pink slippers. marvins room playing in the background.

he zooms in on the slippers with the caption, stepping into her role since she stepped out of my life.

you cover your face with one hand. "he's so stupid. should i just block him?"

shoko hums, pulling her suitcase along. "no. let him suffer. it's free entertainment."

you try to pocket your phone. a mistake. another ping. he's texted you forty more times since you opened the app.

toru: have you landed???
toru: did you get kidnapped by ibiza pirates???
toru: i’m outside the airport
toru: JK but i would be if nanami didn’t physically tackle me
toru: you know what
toru: i’m buying a ticket right now
toru: you think i won’t?
toru: you think i won’t show up in a speedo and ruin a girls trip???
toru: i would look so good in a speedo
toru: send feet pics
toru: ok JK but for real call me when you see this
toru: ૮(˶ㅠ︿ㅠ)ა
toru: that’s the face i’m making rn

you can practically see him pacing around your apartment, wearing your slippers and sniffing your hoodie like a love struck puppy with abandonment issues.

you facetime him while you wait for your bags. it rings once. once. he picks up like he’s been standing there, phone in hand, ready to pounce.

"BABY!" he's way too loud- the echo of your empty apartment behind him, your pillow in his arms like a hostage. "did you land? are you safe? are the ibiza men uglier than me?"

you roll your eyes. "yes, yes, and yes."

he gasps. "you didn’t even look yet. you can’t know that for sure-"

"i know," you say sweetly. "nobody’s prettier than you, toru."

he beams like you just handed him the winning lottery ticket. "ughhh. say it again." shoko rips the phone out of your damn hand.

"satoru. shut up. she’ll text you later." she hangs up before he can protest, then tosses your phone back at you like it’s infected.

sure enough, by the time you’re in the hotel lobby, his stories have doubled. one's a video of him sitting at nanami's desk wearing sunglasses inside, captioned the sun doesn’t shine when she’s gone. another is just his hand dramatically pressed against the window with thinking about her.

when you finally text him that you miss him too, he replies in half a second.

toru: I KNEW IT
toru: you love me more
toru: i’m making a powerpoint about it
toru: sending u slides later
toru: enjoy ur trip baby 🩷🩷🩷

three days later, you come home with salt in your hair and a mild sunburn on the bridge of your nose, dragging your suitcase through arrivals while shoko threatens to abandon you at baggage claim if you don’t buy her a coffee first. you’re halfway through customs when your phone lights up again.

toru: where are you😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

you don’t even bother replying, because the moment you clear the sliding doors into the arrivals hall, you spot him instantly. there’s no not spotting him. he’s tall enough to block out the overhead sign, standing dead center with his sunglasses on.

but he’s not alone. flanking him like two deeply uncomfortable bodyguards are yuji and megumi, each gripping one corner of the same massive piece of torn cardboard scrawled in permanent marker.

'WELCOME HOME BABY (no ibiza djs allowed)'

there's even a sad doodle of a little crying stick figure labeled 'me' with a huge speech bubble that says 'DON’T LEAVE AGAIN.'

yuji’s beaming at every passerby like this is the highlight of his week. megumi is staring at the floor like he wants it to open up and swallow him entirely. and you? you stop in your tracks. shoko wheezes behind you, chokes on her iced coffee, and mutters, "no way. no. he's your problem now," before speed walking off to the taxi stand.

satoru spots you immediately. like a guard dog with perfect senses and no shame. he nearly drops the sign in his rush to get to you, barking an order over his shoulder- "hold it up straight, yuji- megumi, c’mon-" slipping through the sea of families and luggage carts until he’s practically skidding to a stop in front of you.

"you’re here,"!he breathes, like you didn’t just spend the whole weekend texting him hourly updates and proof of life selfies.

you try-try-to keep a straight face. "what's with the sign?"

yuji yells, "it was his idea!" at the same time megumi mutters, "can we go home?"

gojo pouts like you kicked a puppy. "you abandoned me. it's my legal right to embarrass you at least once." then he throws his arms around you so hard he nearly knocks you backward over your suitcase- picks you up a few inches off the grimy airport floor like you’re a carry on bag he plans to personally smuggle home.

he's warm, expensive aftershave and the faint cling of your own shampoo from his mourning routine.

"i missed you so much." he says into your hair. "i was so brave while you were gone. so strong. so stoic."

"you spammed me fifty memes about dying alone," you mumble into his jacket.

"stoic," he corrects, and when he sets you down, he cups your face like he needs to confirm you’re real. thumb brushing the sunburn on your nose, grin so wide it’s blinding.

"you're never leaving again," he says, so sweet you almost don’t notice the tiny edge underneath. "next trip? i'm coming too. i'll pack my speedo."

you flick his forehead. he pretends it hurts as you both giggle.

behind him, yuji's still dutifully holding the sign high for everyone to see and megumi's giving you a deeply apologetic look.

and as gojo drags your suitcase toward the exit for you, cardboard sign tucked proudly under yuji's arm now like a trophy, you catch a glimpse of what he scribbled on the back.

'IBIZA MEN, IF YOU’RE READING THIS: STAY AWAY FROM MY GIRLFRIEND.- LOVE, HER BOYFRIEND. 6’3. LIMITLESS CURSE ENERGY.'

[p1llkiss]

the first note appears on your fridge.

"don't forget to eat today. or i'll cry. seriously. i'm very sensitive." it's signed with a doodle of satoru's sunglasses and a dramatic stick figure with tears.

you roll your eyes, toss it in the junk drawer, and forget about it.

but then you find another one. this time it’s on your bathroom mirror.

"you look hot today. but also brush your teeth please." there’s a tiny cartoon of you with... vampire fangs?

you groan internally, "gojo…"

it escalates fast.

within days, you’re finding sticky notes in increasingly stupid places. inside your cereal box "good morning, cereal thief 🥣^_^" on your shampoo bottle "your hair smells really good, but i promise i'm not a weirdo about it", on the ceiling above your bed "dream of me or else >:("

you confront him the next time he pops by unannounced, which is basically every day.

"why," you demand, shoving a handful of neon sticky squares at his face, "are you turning my apartment into a scrapbook?"

he feigns innocence, pushing his sunglasses up dramatically. "aw! you found them all? you’re so diligent. hot."

"i'm serious!" you sputter. "one of these was inside my shoe. shoe."

"hah- oh yeah, that one said, ‘don't step on my heart.’ cute, right?"

you threaten to throw him out. he refuses to stop.

but you start saving them.

you tell yourself it’s just because they’re funny, who wouldn’t keep a note that says "drink water or you’ll shrivel up like a sad raisin💧" next to a crude drawing of a raisin with your face?

but some start to get weirdly sweet.

"hope today’s nice for you, even if i'm not there to annoy you." or, "if you’re sad, open the freezer." (inside your freezer was a note that said, "there, now your sadness is frozen.")

then one night, you find the motherlode.

you drop your phone behind your tv stand and when you drag it out, there’s a single sticky note stuck to the back of the screen. different handwriting. rushed, messier than usual.

"if you ever get bored, piece them together."

you spend the whole next day on your floor, surrounded by neon scraps of satoru's idiocy. it's like building a conspiracy board. arrows, tape, strings of doodles.

it hits you- numbers hidden in the corner of some notes, a doodle that matches another, words that line up when you overlap them.

hours later, your living room looks like a detective’s office and you’re staring at a single final message, pieced together from a dozen random half jokes.

"hey dummy. i love you. don't throw this one out, okay?"

you sit there for a minute, cheeks burning, surrounded by all his stupid doodles, and for once, you can’t even find it in yourself to be mad about the mess.

you hear your door unlock (he made himself a spare key), he pokes his head in, grinning.

"so?" he calls out. "did you figure out my puzzle, sherlock?"

you launch a sticky note at his face. he catches it in his mouth.

"you’re an idiot," you say, heart hammering in your chest.

he crosses the room in two strides, scoops you up like you weigh nothing, and spins you around until you squeal.

"yeah," he almost purrs, burying his face in your neck, "but i'm your idiot, huh?"

on your wall, the final note stays up for good.

even satoru doesn’t dare peel that one down.

[p1llkiss]

"say it."

gojo was looming behind you, his huge hands bracketing your shoulders as you stood in front of your bathroom mirror, cornered like a startled animal.

"i’m not doing this," you muttered, eyes darting away from your reflection.

"yes you are," he singsonged. "c’mon. just once. i’ll take aaaanything. even a ‘my hair looks nice today.’ i'm desperate."

you squirmed. "gojo-"

"satoru,” he corrected, resting his chin on your head. "use my government name when you’re being emotionally evasive."

you stifled a chuckle and shook your head. "this is ridiculous."

"what’s ridiculous is the hot, smart and funny person i’m dating calling herself mid this morning."

"i never said i was mid!"

"you implied it." he gasped dramatically. "which is worse. it's character defamation, and frankly, i won’t stand for it."

you laughed again despite yourself and covered your face.

"i'm being serious," he said, suddenly softer. he slid his arms around your waist from behind and leaned down so his face was level with yours in the mirror. "i’m not letting you leave this bathroom until you say something nice about yourself."

"why are you like this?" you mumbled quietly into your hands, then peeked at your reflection. your face was flushed, eyes shy. his stupid, perfect face hovered just beside yours- lazily handsome, annoyingly angelic.

he wiggled his eyebrows. "go on," he urged "say it. say: ‘i’m hot.'"

you bit your lip. "stop."

he leaned in dramatically, eyes refusing to blink. "say it."

"no!"

"say it or i’ll start listing the things i love about you. out loud. and i'll get so detailed it’ll make you cry."

your lips twitched, almost a smile.

he narrowed his eyes. "i will bring up the mole on your thigh that’s shaped like a little heart. i’ll describe your under-eye bags like a romantic poet I'll-"

"satoru-"

"'my beloved’s eye shadows, dark as the moonless night, curve beneath lashes like silken wings-'"

you choked on giggles, "STOP."

"say it, or i’ll make a haiku."

"satoru, i swear-"

he grinned. "so cute when you pout. your face is perfect, shut up. say you’re hot or die." you were laughing now, full-on, head falling back against his chest.

"fine! FINE," you gave in, giggling, covering your face again. "i'm-"

he nudged your hands down gently. "uh-uh. no hiding."

you took a breath, cheeks pink. then, a quiet, almost faint, "…i'm hot."

he gasped, "YOU SAID IT." you would've thought he won the lottery.

you groaned, covering your face again. "this is so embarras-"

"hot and humble!" he shouted, spinning you around and lifting you off your feet. "my dream girl!"

"satoru, put me down!"

"not until you say it again!"

you squealed, laughing and squirming in his arms. "I’M HOT, I’M HOT, PUT ME DOWN-"

he did. right onto the counter, where he stood between your legs, pushed your hair back with the most soft care, and kissed your forehead with a grin so bright it nearly made your chest ache.

"you are," he said quietly, nuzzling his head into your neck now. "you really are."

you blinked at him. all the laughter settled into something warm and mushy in your chest.

"i know you don’t always see it," he said, tone still light but gaze a little more serious. "but i do. every day."

you looked down.

he lifted your chin gently.

"and i’ll keep reminding you. as many times as it takes."

you blinked fast, suddenly misty-eyed. he tilted his head, smile returning.

"now say you’ve got a fat ass."