angelface

19, minors dni!! and I’ll still see it, until i die you’re the loss of my life.

[sugurusombereyes]

“plus, after all of this time i should be a pretty crier”

“don’t talk to strangers or you might fall in love”

RULES/INTRO!! - first member to join getos cult.. taygracie 4life/julien bakers favourite ╰┈➤ i ♡ kakeru naruse - evermore enthusiast (esp tolerate it!!) ★ ୨⎯ deep end felix preacher ⎯୧ ★

• unread messages!

[sugurusombereyes]

A WORK MISHAP, choso kamo x reader blurb

disclaimer: not proof read - hints of suggestive content

he was smooth.

"he's the best of the best, oh look I used alliteration! not sure if you know what that means, my level is just unmatched-"

"can he do it or not satoru?" utahime spat out at the young man, her impatience growing stronger and thicker as gojo stalled her waiting for the confirmation that he was dead.

"look-"

"no you look. i ask you for one thing, ONE. for him to be gone, now can you just fucking spit out already. did he do the job."

satorus breath hitched, his body doing this uncomfortable jitter that made utahime cringe in embarrassment.

"well we don't know for sure-" utihame scoffed and walked away, muttering curses under her breathe. "but there's a thick chance he did! cmon don't be mad." gojo pleaded, trailing behind the angry woman as she huffed in frustration.

gojo was right about one thing. you can never know with choso.

"can you just say something, anything please" the boy looked up at me, desperate for any inch of expression on my stone cold front. he had failed again, and that's not what i was even mad about. the pungent stench of the crimson liquid that dripped from chosos body plagued the room, making my stomach feel funny while wiping the gashes under his eyebrow.

it wasn't the blood that sickened me.

it was the thought that i could of almost lost him again. those words pressed against my flaky flips, oozing at the centre, dying to slip out.

his gaze burnt holes in my now soaked t-shirt, the new wounds shining the light that he said i warmed him with whenever things would go wrong like this. "is the gash bleeding on your stomach or should I just get utahime to fix it." i muttered while bandaging the wound on the apple of his cheek, a smile that made butterflies sprint around my stomach while i tried to keep my sarcastic persona.

"i promise-"

"promise what? please god just tell me what you're promising because i know for a fact it's not that this won't happen again, because you know it will and I'm sick of it choso."

the bloody tissue slid across the floor, splattering the walls of the small medical room they had in the building. my frustration left a trail of sorrow as i walked away, my heart wouldn't stop aching in fear of something worse happening the next time.

"i understand-" he pleaded, grunted softly while trying to follow me across the room.

"-you understand?"

i chuckled sarcastically, tears burning the green irises he couldn't bare to look at. "you lie choso, all the fucking time. you said this time would be different, look where we are now." i croaked out, hot tears streaming down my face; the saltiness tickling my plump lips which were quivering in worry.

"do you even care about us? about me?"

i stared at him intensely, his gaze avoiding mine in shame. "cmon baby you know i do, i love you more than life itself." he whispered, slowly walking towards me; my back facing him as i cried softly into my hands.

he remembers the first time they met. her honey brown hair that she would claim was blonde in summer, (it never lightened but he always convinced her it did) and her sarcastic retorts to everything and anything he would say. she'd like to remember it as they hated eachother at first, but whenever he would tell the story of how they met to friends, choso would always admit he was in awe of everything she would do. "i wanted to be good like her" he would tell people, smiling to himself during the story.

"she's the closest to the sun I'll ever get."

his hand trailed across my waist, fingertips dragging up toward my soft exposed skin; gripping my waist i turned around slowly, head drooped down as my tears fell on the cold ground. "cmon baby, i'm sorry." his shaky breath wavered as his coarse fingertips guided my face to look up at him, choso's hazelnut eyes sinking into mine. i shook my head softly, wiping my hand across the falling tears, he didn't understand how heavy my chest felt whenever he would return back from a mission. how my heart would physically sink into the sharp bones scattered in my body and pierce it through while he would wince in pain from his supposed "work mishap".

"i'm tired choso." i whisper softly, voice cracking slightly at end. "i know baby, i know." he said carassssing my cheek, brushing damp hair out of my eyes. "let me make it up to you." your breath hitched as his hands trailed down your body, course fingertips pressing into the sides of my waist as he drank up my appearance.

i wanted to fight the thought because it felt evil but was it wrong to think he looked good all bloody? the noises he made while i would brush his raw skin.

was it so bad that i kind of liked it?

[summer-oil-inactive]

suguru is too well-mannered for his own good.

when you walk into his living room, a lidded paper cup in hand, he’s seated on the couch. right in front of the coffee table, his fingers tapping the keys of his laptop, a series of clicks filling the open air.

he’s just as beautiful as always. light shines in from the veranda, through parted curtains, licking along the contours of his face; illuminating his face lines, soft crows’ feet by his eyes. he’s got his hair tied up into a messy bun, raven locks and silver strands, only slightly grayed, some of them tickling the back of his neck. behind a pair of reading glasses, his eyes narrow in concentration.

you can see his age, like this — but also not at all. he looks younger than ever, with the sun as his gown.

suddenly, he raises his head, meeting your adoring gaze with his own. two pools of amber, always warm, like they were made to reflect sunlight, made to pull you in. his lips curling up into a fond smile.

but your gaze strays down to his hands.

big, steady hands. hands that always find their way to the dips of your waist, or your shoulders, or the top of your head. reaching out to pinch your cheek, to soothe your headaches after long lectures, to mend and mold any lump of clay you place into his waiting hands — guide it into whatever shape he pleases, with those skilled fingers.

when you think of suguru, you think of pottery. you think of something beautiful, and there he is.

and he’s holding a cup.

as you step farther into his line of vision, hungry for a proper look at him, you can’t help but notice it. painted a deep, dark green, his favorite, but the shape is all wrong — uneven, not nearly polished enough, rough around the edges. when he puts it back down on the table, it wobbles.

(you visibly cringe.)

”hi, sweetie.”

that deep, honeyed voice tugs you back into reality, your gaze pulled up like a puppet on a string. suguru is patient, just taking you in, waiting for a response. there’s never any rush, when it comes to him. 

a shy smile blooms on your lips. 

”hi,” you echo, stepping closer yet; raising a hand, the one carrying the paper cup, swaying it lightly side to side. ”i got you a latte.”

”oh?” he lets out a soft noise, something like a coo, eyes blooming with fondness. ”chai?”

”mhm.”

his smile only grows. you watch him lean back, absently crossing his arms, thick muscles hidden under the turtleneck he’s sporting. when you take a step closer, eager to hand it to him, he stops you. 

”why don’t you give it a taste for me?” he asks, giving you a sweet tilt of his head. eyes soft and amused.

you blink.

after a moment, you raise the cup to your lips; taking a tentative sip of the brew. it’s hot on your tongue, a dash of pleasant spices, but mellow and sweet. just the way he likes it. you sigh out in bliss.

he only chuckles. ”how is it?”

”tasty,” you hum, licking your lips. holding it out for him to take. ”not too sweet, don’t worry.”

suguru accepts the cup with a smile, his thumb lingering on your hand for a moment, caressing the skin in a soothing motion. his voice a low, tender murmur. ”thank you, honey.”

(a warm feeling sprouts in your chest.)

”i’ll get you a cup next time i pass by a café,” he continues, taking a tentative sip of his own. he visibly perks up at the taste. ”what would you like?”

”you don’t have to!” you’re quick to assure him, blinking sheepishly. but, of course, he won’t have it.

”i want to,” he chuckles. ”you’ll make me very happy if you let me.”

…

there’s no use protesting, when it comes to things like this. when he gets like this. telling suguru not to take care of you is like asking the sun not to shine.

so you let out a sigh.

”i… want a caramel frappe, please…”

another little chuckle. his voice is soft, as always, like a coo is resting on the tip of his tongue. ”understood.”

suguru watches you, silently, for just a moment or two. you’re meeting his gaze with a shy pair of eyes, always a little flustered by his attention, his care. his sweet little baby bird, coming over just to give him something to drink. straight out of class. 

(you must be in need of some pampering.)

he pats his lap. ”come here,” he croons, parting his legs to give you space to take up. ”keep me company while i work. i want to hear about your day, sweetie.”

you blink, again. looking down at his lap, then back up at him, at the light catching onto the silver of his half-rim frames. he gives you a patient, closed-eyed smile — waiting for you to take your rightful place.

and you do.

his thighs feel solid, beneath you, his big arms curling around your waist as you crawl into his lap. one hand goes to rest on your hip, the other on your lower back, cradling you close, secure in his embrace. you wrap your arms around his neck, legs draped over his thighs, leaning into his touch; inhaling the scent of sandalwood and tea leaves.

”… it was pretty boring.”

”oh, i’m sure you can do better than that.” he grins, brushing his thumb over the fabric of your jeans, an absentminded gesture. ”any interesting lectures?”

”uhhh…” 

as you take the time to think, recollecting your long and tiring day, suguru leans forward — reaching for the cup. the ugly one. pulling it closer, putting the ceramic to his lips, to finish whatever he was drinking before you came in. green tea, you assume. the sip he takes resounds in your ear, your eyes sticking to his fingers as he places it back on the wooden table with a clink — it wobbles again. 

you give it a look of silent contempt.

… a look suguru seems to notice. because his keen, warm eyes trail down to where yours are still resting, and then back up at your little frown. he raises a brow, but he’s still smiling, an amused curl of his lips.

 ”… what?”

a moment passes. you consider staying silent, but the nagging curiosity gets the better of you. avoiding his gaze, still glancing down at the cup in question, absently clearing your throat.

”you still… use that one?” you ask, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. thinking that it should be stashed away in some forgotten cupboard, not out in the open — but maybe your boyfriend is just too polite to do something like that. 

suguru only blinks. ”why wouldn’t i?”

…

you give him a look.

he returns it with a look of his own; silent, coaxing, that one questioning raise of his brow. he pairs it with a gentle squeeze to your hip, knowing it’ll make you relent. and he’s right.

”it’s…” you part your lips, searching for the right word, frowning down at the little ceramic bundle of joy. with its bumpy texture, that awkward-looking handle, the uneven bottom layer. ”so ugly, suguru.”

”ugly?” he echoes, a spark of amusement in his amber eyes. but he sounds a little discontent, almost protective. ”now, now. beauty is in the eye of the beholder, my love.”

his deep voice buzzes in your ear, as he reaches out again, cradling the cup with one large hand. gazing down at it with a look you can’t quite place — so sweet it makes you shiver. out of the corner of your eye, you notice him giving you a pointed look. 

”… and i happen to think this cup is very charming.”

you can’t help but pout, shying away from his gaze. gnawing at your bottom lip, crossing your arms and resting your cheek near the crook of his neck, muttering under your breath. ”what’s charming about a cup that can barely stand…?”

”you made it,” he answers, simply, no hesitation in his voice. ”with your own hands and fingers. and you gave it to me.”

ever so gently, he grips your jaw; his pointer and middle finger tilting your chin to meet his gaze, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip. 

”… don’t you think there’s an awful lot of charm in that?”

(warm. his eyes look warm enough to fall into.)

a sigh slips past your lips. he gives you a soft tilt of his head, and you part your lips in pliant response. sulking. ”the ones you’ve made for me are so much better, though…”

you think of all the bowls, all the cups, the plates he’s given you — the same ones you use every single day, sitting tall and proud on your shelves, made entirely by him. in all kinds of elegant patterns, your initials carved at the bottom of every single one. he always gives you the ones he’s most proud of, after he’s finished with his classes.

… in comparison, yours is just…

”we don’t make art for needless comparison,” he shushes you, ever so fondly. ”there’s no end to that. we make it because it’s fun. my pieces aren’t better or lesser than yours just because i happen to be more experienced.”

…

when you don’t respond, suguru shifts — cradling you close, lifting the cup up to catch the light of the evening sun. it cascades down the ceramic, a mellow orange glow gliding across the green expanse. he watches it with barely concealed adoration.

”… this is my favorite one, you know. in my entire collection.” a joyous little hum buzzes in his throat. ”i’ve never made a cup i liked as much as this.”

you watch his expression change, eyes flickering with something soft and subtle, crinkled at the edges. his voice is nothing but sincere — coated in that sturdy, reliable tilt, like nothing he says could possibly be a lie. even if he tried, you doubt he could fake this kind of delight. putting the cup back down, as gentle as he can, as if it’s a cherished possession. he only looks more delighted when it wobbles a bit.

without thinking, the words slip past your lips.

”… i’ll make you another one.”

suguru’s gaze flicks down to meet yours. all bright and determined, your cheek squished against his shoulder, enough to make him want to coo. he reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

”oh…? joining us in the studio again?”

”joining you,” you’re quick to correct, letting out a quiet huff. ”i… don’t want your students to make fun of me.”

a raspy chuckle leaves his lips. ”they won’t,” he assures you, a hint of pride in his voice. ”they’re much too well-behaved.”

”well-behaved around you, maybe,” you mutter, with a roll of your eyes. nuzzling against his jaw, frowning softly. ”… you’re coddling them.”

”i coddle you,” he purrs, with an affectionate squeeze to your hip. ”i don’t see you complaining, do i?”

”… that’s different.” 

the tiny pout on your lips makes him laugh. but he indulges you, always, all too eager to let you have your way. ”of course it is,” he coos, deep and teasing. ”how could i ever suggest otherwise?”

you fail to stifle a smile. feeling his skin against yours, his fingers rubbing absentminded patterns into your back, that soothing voice rumbling in your ear. when he leans down, to pick up the paper cup, you’re filled with a sense of purpose. you’ll just have to make a better cup next time — one that doesn’t wobble, with an smoother texture, perfectly symmetrical. one he can show off to his students and coworkers, the same way you do with all the pottery he’s given you.

suguru deserves nothing but the best, after all.

… what you don’t realize is that it won’t matter either way. even if you give him a better option, he’ll undoubtedly continue to use the cup he has now — with a sheepish little smile, and a sorry, honey. it seems i’ve gotten attached.

(… you suppose it’s the thought that counts.)

[sugurusombereyes]

i actually can’t this is like absolute perfection I had to pause like 10 million times while reading oh my gosh 🥹🥹

[hoshigray]

DON'T FUCKINGT ALK TO ME, DAWG WHAT THE FUCKING FUUUUCK!?!¡¡?,¿¿,?!?

[sugurusombereyes]

four am fluff with satoru blurb

“what are you doing?”

“oh.”

gojo eyes widened as he cleared his throat, “now why are you awake?” his colgone wafted through the air along with the smell of burnt bread that tickled the inside of your nose; his nervous smile trying to cover up the fact that he had completely destroyed the kitchen.

you rub the tired off your eyes and shook it onto the creaky wooden floorboards that you had complained to gojo that you needed to change to carpet.

(he’d then kiss your forehead and tell you how many memories you had with the floorboards and convince you to keep them)

(the only memorable moment when the power shut off and he’d come up with the idea to find each other in the pitch black darkness by the sounds of creaking floorboards. he then fell into you and held your body tight as your stomach knotted from laughter)

“toru’ it’s four am.” you deadpan, walking towards his tall figure as he let out a chuckle. the counter tops were all dusted in flower as well as his bare chest, the egg carton was half empty as well as the milk carton.

cute he thought, staring at your sleepy figure that was now wrapped around his waist.

“i know baby, go back to sleep.” he hummed, his muscles relaxing at your touch.

(he’d always tease you and tell you that you radiate a certain type of light that would always be able to get through his infinity)

moments like these always reminded satoru why he kept on going, the privilege to breathe the same air that you did and exist in a universe where you were alive was all he needed.

separated or together he would forever be grateful that he had the knowledge that you existed.

(he’d count your breathing pattern before he would fall asleep to make sure you were feeling okay)

“can’t fall asleep without you.” you yawn, nuzzling your face into his back as your eyes fluttered to fight the wave of exhaustion.

satoru had sworn that his heart melted in his chest, dripping down his ribcage and painted the bones the crimson colour that would match the blush which would plaster his face once you would mutter a sleepy ‘i love you.’

he would never admit the amount of work that he used to put in for you both to make accidental eye contact before you started dated. the amount of times he had asked shoko her favourite scent because he knew it was yours too.

(he’d then mix the essential oil into his lotion so you’d notice)

the amount of times he had daydreamed about you and him together ever since he accidentally spilled coffee on your grey sweatshirt that you told him you had tons of.

(you didn’t have another since you’d bought it the day before, but his blue eyes made you realise that maybe you should’ve bought it in another shade)

“can you try to cook when we wake up.” you yawn as your eyes fight to stay open, “right now may not be the best time.” satoru chuckles in response, slowly detaching your arms from his waist and turning around to face you.

“you’re going to complain about me not cleaning up the mess when we wake up y’know?” he smiles softly, cupping your cheeks in his hands as you tiredly smile. “let’s cross that bridge when it comes.” you say sleepily, nuzzling your face in his hand as he let out a chuckle.

satoru lifted you up in his arms as you wrapped your legs around his waist, burying your face in the crook of his neck as he let out a soft sigh of content. “i don’t wanna hear you yelling at me.” he says quietly as he walks to your bedroom.

“m’kay toru.” you yawn and let your head collapse back into his shoulder.

moments like these made satoru want to stay inside forever, tangled up together as the beating pattern of your hearts would sync up.

(he knew that wasn’t possible but he felt like the impossible was possible when looking into the eyes that made his house a home)

[sugurusombereyes]

hi guys sorry for being inactive I’ve just been swamped with life right now 😭😭 trust me I’m working on the asks and should have one or two out by the weekend! thank you for all your support and make sure to eat/drink water!! have the night/day!!! 🫶🫶🫶

[summer-oil-inactive]

it’s downright pouring outside.

suguru rests on the living room couch, cooped up in a bundle of soft blankets, watching as droplets ricochet against the window. heavy, sharp, like the rain is trying to break into your apartment — a steady pitter patter that makes him feel at ease.

it’s cozy, he thinks. being indoors, safe and warm and dry, while the outside world is blanketed by gray. wearing baggy clothes, a pair of reading glasses, his hair tied up into a loose bun. turning the pages of the new novel you gave him, slender fingers ghosting against the paper. 

he thinks of you, and finds himself frowning.

suguru got home just before storm clouds gathered in the sky — but as far as he knows, you’re still outside. he’s memorized your comings and goings, what time you usually return home, the paths you tend to favour. as any attentive roommate should.

so he’s a little worried. usually, you’d be home by now. and you still haven’t replied to his messages.

tentatively, he reaches for the warm cup of tea on the coffee table, bringing the ceramic to his lips. sipping from the green, honeyed brew, letting the scent soothe his growing nerves. he shouldn’t be too high-maintenance; you’re a perfectly capable adult. if he nags at you all the time, you’ll just be weirded out. and the last thing he wants is to scare you away.

so it’s fine. you’re fine, he’s sure. there’s no need for him to freak out over your whereabouts. he needs to maintain his cool, calm exterior.

— suddenly, the click of a lock being turned.

suguru’s head whips towards the front door. after a brief moment, he stumbles to his feet, untangling himself from the heap of blankets he’s burrowed into — gently setting the cup back on the table, fixing his hair, making sure he’s presentable — before making his way towards the hall.

and there you are. clumsily dragging the door open, stumbling inside, keys jingling as you step over the threshold; absolutely soaked. just as he feared.

”hey…”

you meet his gaze. panting softly, cheeks a little flushed, wet locks of hair sticking to your forehead and neck — disheveled. letting out a sheepish little laugh — gosh, why do you have to be so cute? — leaning down to pull your shoes off. you’re wearing a thin, white shirt. it’s entirely drenched. 

suguru looks away. a heat sticking to his cheeks.

”hey,” you greet, a little out of breath. tossing your shoes away, tugging absently at your shirt. ”god. i feel like a drowned rat.”

at that, he lets a little chuckle slip. shaking his head, taking a step back — careful not to let his gaze stray towards the soaked fabric of your clothing. ”why didn’t you call me? i would have picked you up.”

”well, i thought about it,” you hum, walking right past him, ”but i figured you’d still be at work.”

suguru frowns, ever so slightly, discontentment in his eyes. ”… they let me go early today. but you should have texted me, either way. what if you get sick?”

”i’ll be fineeee,” you slip on a grin, turning back to face him. ”just need a quick shower. don’t worry, okay?”

he narrows his eyes, playfully, enjoying the way your eyes crinkle in response. then he exhales, hands on his hips. feigning exasperation. 

”… fine, fine. need me to go get you a clean shirt?”

”ah. well...” you let out a wince, earning a tilt of his head. ”i haven’t done my laundry, in like… a week.”

a moment passes. suguru’s lips curl up, an exasperated sigh slipping from his lips. he gazes at you, ever so fondly, raising a brow. ”i asked you if you needed me to wash anything for you.”

”i know, but…” a breathy sigh, as you scratch at the back of your neck. ”i don’t want you to pull all my weight. we both live here.”

there’s a pretty little pout on your lips, now. it makes suguru want to smooth over the sensitive skin with his thumb, soothe it away. but he only clears his throat. 

”i don’t mind,” he answers, truthfully. ”i like doing laundry. you know that.”

”… still.”

his smile only grows, at your quiet mumble, something soft blooming in his eyes. he takes a step forward, scooting closer to you. ”we’ll see about laundry later. in the meantime… want to wear one of my shirts?”

the words have left his lips before he can think them through — maybe a little too eager. silently, he curses himself for being so forward. but you raise your head, meeting his amber eyes, blinking so sheepishly that he thinks he’d give you just about anything you ask for.

”… is that okay?” 

”more than okay,” he reassures you, a smile on his face. ”i’ll get you something comfy.”

you quiet down, for a moment. still pulling at the collar of your shirt, making sure the thin fabric doesn’t stick to your soaked skin, shifting from foot to foot.

”… alright,” you exhale. ”that’d be great, then.”

a hum buzzes in his throat. suguru walks past you, towards the hallway leading up to his room, ruffling your wet hair in passing. his heavy palm on your head, a perfect fit. smiling to himself.

”got it. one second, okay?” 

behind him, you nod, but he can’t see it — walking into his room, rummaging through his closet, trying not to lose his mind at the idea of you wearing one of his oversized shirts. maybe a pair of sweatpants, maybe a tank top… he gulps at the thought. heartbeat accelerating, gradually, a jittery feeling in his throat.

he settles on a big, comfortable hoodie. bundling it up in his arms, before making his way back to where you’re still standing, still soaked, shivering a little. 

”here,” he hums, passing the bundle of soft fabric into your awaiting arms. you nuzzle into the pile, already looking comforted; it warms his heart. he hopes you like the cologne he picked out, earthy and deep. a hint of cinnamon. ”now go take your shower, hm?”

”mm. thank you,” you smile, cheeks still damp, a little flushed. ”you’re too nice to me.”

suguru resists the urge to frown. resists the urge to tell you that there’s no such thing, that you deserve every last drop of kindness he can wring out of his cramped-up heart. he knows he shouldn’t be too forward, but you’re making it difficult. you always make it so difficult.

(or maybe he’s just a weak, weak man.)

”oh, please,” he gives you a playful little roll of his eyes, sighing fondly. ”this is the bare minimum. we don’t want you catching a cold, do we?”

”we don’t,” you grin. ”i have a feeling you’d just end up making me soup all day.”

a chuckle flows from out his lips. he hopes it doesn’t come out as shaky as his heart feels, just at the thought — the idea of taking care of you like that. being allowed to tend to you, being trusted by you in that way. ”well, i need to make sure i don’t get rusty. what kind of chef would i be if i did, hm?”

there it is, again. the crinkle of your eyes, that upturn of your lips, all things he finds himself constantly seeking out — suguru exhales, somewhat in bliss. he might need to quit cigarettes for good, soon. it wouldn’t do for him to have more than one vice.

while you take your shower, your roommate lounges on the couch. or at least, he tries to — though his feet inevitably take him to your tiny kitchen, to the water cooker, to the cabinet with all his expensive tea bags. he picks out a nice, strong ginger tea. something to help boost your immune system. silently, drowsily, he pours water into a ceramic cup, stirs the slowly brewing tea with a honey-clad teaspoon. raindrops cascade against the window, and the faraway sound of thunder reaches his ears.

it’s cold outside, but warm and cozy in here — in the home you’ve made for yourselves.

he’s really, really glad that he followed satoru’s advice. that he put out that advert, that the first person who reached out ended up being you. he’s happy to share a living space with you, these cozy leftover afternoons. he’s happy to have someone to brew tea for.

(what more could a man like him ask for?)

”um, suguru?”

he stiffens. ever so slightly, ears perking up at the sound of your voice, that mellow little lilt — broken out of his syrupy stupor. after a moment, he turns around.

and his breath hitches in the back of his throat.

you’re standing there, right at the threshold separating the kitchen from the living room, hair a little damp from the shower — and you’re wearing his hoodie. it cascades down your frame, the hem of it ending right above your knees, sleeves rolled up to reveal your hands. that hoodie is baggy even on him, but you’re just drowning in the fabric. his heart feels like it’s about to burst.

suguru blinks. once, then twice, pupils blown wide.

— he lets out a shaky sigh.

”jesus…”

a series of blinks. you tilt your head, like a confused puppy, glancing up at him with that doe-eyed look. fuck, he wants to bundle you up in his arms. he wants you to fall asleep on his chest, wants to keep you there forever. god, who thinks stuff like that?

(he needs to get a grip — and fast. he can already feel his ears growing hotter.)

”it looks… kind of ridiculous, doesn’t it?” you let out a sheepish chuckle, clouded with what he thinks must be shyness. cute. ”this isn’t really my size.”

suguru lets out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head, raven locks swaying with the movement. ”i can see that. looks good on you, though.”

”… does it?” you let your arms fall slack, for a moment, the softened fabric swallowing your hands. he can’t even see the tips of your fingers. oh, how his heart aches. it’s squeezing so tightly he fears his chest might cave in.

a nod. suguru clears his throat, turning around again, clinking the teaspoon against the rim of your cup. stirring idly. ”is it comfortable?”

”mhm!”

— and he smiles. ”good.”

silently, you step closer, taking your rightful place beside him. leaning your elbows against the counter, watching his movements, the flick of his long fingers. one of his rings catches on the ceramic, a quiet clang.

”here,” he hums, pushing the cup towards you. when you look up, his eyes are crinkled at the edges, warm and sweet, a melting pair of honeycombs. ”drink up.”

a moment passes.

”… you really are too sweet for your own good, you know that?” 

suguru grins. his heart blossoms a little more; petals sticking between the ridges of his ribs. it manifests as a delighted little chuckle, flowing out his throat.

”don’t thank me yet — there’s sushi for you in the fridge, too. they let us bring the leftovers home again.”

”really? i can have some?”

suguru raises a brow. smiling, all the while. ”would i be offering otherwise?”

(you can have anything, he wants to say. i doubt i could say no. i’m a little weak, when it comes to you.

such embarrassing words.)

a heavy sigh escapes you, laced with relief. taking hold of the cup, raising it to your lips, sipping slowly. ”god, you’re the best. i’m starving.”

”haha… better eat, then, yeah?”

nod, nod. you give him another one of those grins, awfully pleased, putting your cup down and taking a step back. suguru can’t help but turn his head, to catch a glimpse of you — how cozy you look, waddling around in that big hoodie. hair a little tousled, humming softly to yourself, tapping the tips of your fingers against the handle of the fridge. it mashes well with the endless pitter patter against the window.

a purr of thunder echoes in the distance. hyacinths line the windowsill, the crinkle of a plastic container being rustled rings out across the room, and suguru feels at peace. he watches, listens, observes. wallowing in the feeling. 

domesticity. 

with a breathy, blissed-out exhale, he closes his eyes. smiling sweetly, barely contained. wishing on every single droplet that you’ll stick around a little longer than your lease allows.

”here,” you grin, stepping into his line of vision. handing him a plate full of sushi, all his favorite pieces. ”you eat up, too.”

suguru smiles.

(that’s a bridge he’ll worry about crossing another day. for now — this is more than enough.)

[sugurusombereyes]

my favourite geto writer never failing me to be more delusional after reading their works 😐😐😐🙏🙏🙏 this is so cute ☹️☹️

[ex1acy-deactivated20251004]

WHO DECIDED TO GATEKEEP THIS.

[sugurusombereyes]

im actually dead oh my god

[sugurusombereyes]

can you do hockey!player geto x reader au plss ???

hi hi yes but sorry if this is not what you expected since i know nothing about hockey 🙏🙏‼️

hockeyplayer!geto who first noticed you laughing on the stands when he slipped on his ass after someone hit his leg with a hockey stick.

(it felt like a light tap on his leg but he was too busy staring at you that he practically fell for you)

hockeyplayer!geto who ‘accidentally’ pushes gojo over while he’s asking for your number because he wanted it.

hockeyplayer!geto who apologises for gojos behaviour and then smoothly places a piece of paper with his number in it in your hand as he walks away.

hockeyplayer!geto who gets scolded by his coach for having too many piercings, but then blames you for getting his most recent since you had talked about wanting an eyebrow piercing.

hockeyplayer!geto who would purposely get detentions to make you laugh after you made that face after getting your test result back.

(he would also purposely do it because he found you cute when you would scold him for getting in trouble again)

hockeyplayer!geto who would keep on asking you out after you had no explanation why you rejected him at first. you then told him that he was like everyone else and you didn’t want to get hurt.

(he’d then show you that he deleted all contacts from girls from his phone when you first started talking to prove to you that he wanted you and you only)

hockeyplayer!geto who took you to a bookstore cafe on the first date as he knew you didn’t like traditional dates.

hockeyplayer!geto who annotated a copy of your favourite book and gave it to you as a ‘thank you’ for giving him a chance.

(he wrote about how the main character that you can’t stop talking about reminds him of you. no words in the english dictionary could be put together to explain how beautiful you were to suguru)

hockeyplayer!geto who constantly checks up on you when even the tone of your texts change.

hockeyplayer!geto who would sew your name into his jersey because apparently your initials weren’t enough.

[sugurusombereyes]

hi guys thank u sm for the requests!! i am working on all of them rn so keep on sending them in if you have anything you wanna readddd 🫶🫶 also don’t be shy bcs when i say i have no ideas rn I HAVE NONE 🙅‍♀️🙏 bye ily 🤍‼️

[gracieabrams]

Lucky week :’)

Thank you for listening to the album thank you thank you thank you thank you

[sugurusombereyes]

guys don’t be shy to request anything in my ask box 🙏🙏 i literally have no ideas rn and need to work on my part two to the last blurb.. ‼️

[sugurusombereyes]

breakfast with suguru

the smell of burnt maple syrup and something savoury wafted through your apartment; jogging towards your body and filled your nostrils as you travelled towards the smell.

“sugu?” you croaked out, your feet dragging themselves towards the tall figure looming around your kitchen. the counter tops beyond him were dusted in flour and empty egg cartons. what the hell was he doing?

“hi my love.” sugurus raven hair was tied into a messy bun, the rest of his hair cascading down his broad shoulders. he laid out a plate of waffles and bacon on the side, the little squares overflowing with maple syrup just how you like.

(even though he thought it was too sickly he was forced to eat it by you)

“i made us breakfast, sorta.” his breathily laugh sending the sweet syrup to your heart, melting it entirely while leaving your pulse beating in his breathing pattern. you let out a soft sigh, not a sigh of exhaustion but of content. the small act of geto making breakfast had evoked the feeling you had been fine with not having.

you settled for sufficiency all your life, happiness was being sufficient in your eyes as the same as love was butterflies and the spark you would spot in his eyes when you first starting going out. but geto had just fed you peace and serenity.

each square in the waffles he hated were coated in the harmonious hums of his heart once aligned with yours. the melted butter he used to fry the bacon full of the serene richness which sent those butterflies in your stomach to sleep; but your apitetie roaring to consume the affection suguru grew for you.

your arms found it’s way to getos bare torso, your head aligning with his chest; the beating of his heart slowly your breathing rate down. “you okay baby?” he hummed softly into your hair, kissing the top of your head gently as you squeezed a big tighter. suguru snaked an arm around your waist, his free hand rubbing your back into soft circles.

“we can go back to bed if you want.” you shaked your head no into his chest, his husky voice sending a pang to your heart. “ts’ okay if you’re not hungry, thought you loved waffles.”

(the kind of pang that would make you want to hold him tight and not let go until your hands had moulded your embrace onto his skin)

“i love you.” you whispered into his chest, your voice soothing the scars that he had sworn were closed but still felt like they were raw to the touch. “i love you tremendously angel.” his words felt like they were engraved in the lines of your palm, seeping into the cracks and coursing through your bloodstream. suguru softly rubbed the back of your nape with his thumb; his free hand playfully squeezing your waist as you took in his graceful presence.

“how bout’ we sit and eat your disgustingly sweet waffles yeah?“ he muttered into your shoulder, pulling back from the hug and holding your cheek with his other hand. “okay.” you mumbled, nuzzling your face into his soft skin.

“and then you’ll clean the kitchen while i watch right?” you beam at him while he drops his head.

“damn i thought you would’ve forgotten about that and been focused on the five star meal in front of your face.” he says playfully as you softly laugh.

he was going to propose that night.

[sugurusombereyes]

hi guys sorry for not being active on posting 🙏🙏

what would you guys want to see on the next post for a blurb?

genreeee

hurt/comfort

fluff

angst

Voting ended onJun 24, 2024

[gracieabrams]

i wrote Close To You seven years ago and we made a demo that i posted 20 seconds of and you somehow cared about it enough for us to revisit the song seven years later. Close To You was not initially a part of TSOU — it’s from a different time entirely, we had finished the whole record top to bottom, but i heard you loud and clear. consider this one a bonus track pre-deluxe?? with everyone getting their vinyls this week, i got impatient and wanted you all to have it early. or seven years late, actually. CLOSE TO YOU OUT EVERYWHERE THIS FRIDAY AND ONLY 17 DAYS UNTIL THE SECRET OF US 😭💛💛💛💛💛💛💛

http://GracieAbrams.lnk.to/TheSecretofUs

[sugurusombereyes]

my fav girl 🥹🥹🥹

[summer-oil-inactive]

i want you closer, closer even still ; suguru geto

synopsis; in the midst of a rainshower, you run into your mysterious classmate.

word count; 6.1k

contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader, implied no curses au, fluffy summer vibes, forced proximity (my beloved <3), pining, very shoujo manga coded, vague allusions to sugu having a troubled background, (kind of same w reader), switching povs, gojo slander, stsg implications if you squint (my brand), he’s a sweet sweet boy and i love him :((

a/n; teen sugu reminds me a lot of the kind upperclassman type of otome game li… with secret emotional baggage that makes his route really hard to complete….. anyway i dedicate this fic to hit mobage jujutsu kaisen: phantom parade PLEASE bring sugu home to me please please please ple

geto looks beautiful in the rain. 

it’s an embarrassing first thought to have, as he rounds the corner and comes into view. a black head of hair, making you stop in your tracks, breathe in a gulp of humid air.

you can’t help it, though.

it’s raining. droplets ricochet against the sidewalk in an endless cadence, the sky above you blanketed by gray clouds; enveloping your city in a summery shadow, the scent of hot concrete and blossoming hydrangeas. everything smells of a blistering summer, youth in a bottle cap. tasty on your tongue.

those very same hydrangeas surround him, on all sides, framing his figure like a painting come to life. splotches of colour, flecks of purple and pink and blue, clashing with the gray sky and the black umbrella in his hand. he looks a little disheveled; hair a little frizzy, bangs sticking to his skin. a peaceful expression on his face. 

you see recognition flash in his eyes, when they meet yours, a tiny spark in the amber hue. 

you take that as your cue to move closer. 

he waits for you, always so patient, smiling as you look both ways before crossing the street — shoes hitting the concrete in a steady thud, thud, thud. a splash from the puddle you step in.

you’re in a good mood. veins flooding with sugar and buzzing with joy, raindrops sticking to your skin and the plastic bag in your hand, absently humming along to a song playing through your headphones. your clothes are soaked, but you’re smiling; swinging the bag of treats as you walk. bags of chips, colourful lollipops, bottles of ramune, clinking together for every step you take. enough to last you a couple weeks. 

in your good mood, you ended up stocking up on your classmates’ favorites — bouncing on the balls of your feet at the thought of giving them away, seeing their satisfied little expressions. you even got something for gojo. he’ll have to fight for it, obviously, but you look forward to seeing his face light up when he takes a bite of the soft mochi.

you like giving them things. it’s fun. it makes you feel like a normal high school kid. 

right now, nothing can dampen your spirits. the entire world smells of rain, and hydrangeas, and apple blossoms from the backyards behind you. a scent that creeps into your bloodstream, sneaks into your breath. 

a smile grows on your lips — blooming even brighter when you step into your classmate’s orbit.

”hey!” you chirp, raising a hand up in greeting.

”hey,” geto echoes, voice honeyed and smooth, bringing a hand up to wipe at his forehead. wet from the humid air. ”out on a walk?”

you smile, lifting your plastic bag up slightly to get his attention. raindrops stick to the plastic, to the tips of your fingers. you clasp it tightly. ”just went to get some snacks. you?”

”i wanted to get some fresh air,” he smiles. eyeing you up and down. ”did you forget your umbrella?” 

silently, he takes in your appearance. your breathing is a tiny bit laboured, and the flimsy, oversized hoodie you’re wearing is sticking to your skin. it’s all that protects you from the steady downpour; no umbrella to be seen. you look small, tilting your head upwards, meeting his gaze. he feels the beginnings of a smile play at his lips.

seeing the rain cascade down your skin, he can’t help but be exasperated. all you do is blink, seemingly unbothered, as if you aren’t straight on the road to catching a cold. you can be a little scatterbrained. 

maybe that’s why he can’t help but dote on you.

(that’s what satoru calls it, at least. suguru thinks it’s just called being nice — not like satoru would know anything about that.)

”oh. no, i didn’t forget.” you scratch at the back of your neck. ”just didn’t know it was going to rain.”

the sudden downpour gave you no time to prepare, heavy and abrupt — clouds obscuring the glowing sun in what felt like no more than a second. like someone high above flicked the light switch of the world. all you could do was pull your hood up, try to walk under whatever apple tree you came across. it didn’t help much, though. 

you shift your weight from one foot to another, soles weighed down, dripping with dew. sort of sheepish.

geto chuckles, raspy and soft. a little teasing. ”didn’t you see the weather report?”

”well, it… just slipped my mind, i guess.”

silently, you avert your gaze. now you remember — yaga-sensei did mention that, didn’t he? you heard him say it. but you just forgot.

geto is laughing at you, a little, from within his eyes; at least that’s the impression you get. so you continue, eager to defend your honour. 

”it’s fine, though,” you assure him, smiling brightly. a sunny grin. ”i like the rain!”

geto raises an unimpressed brow, but the expression fades away just as swiftly — giving way to something softer. ”you’re heading back to the dorms, right?” he asks, continuing once you give him a slight nod. ”then we can share.”

you blink. one moment passes, then two. but geto only smiles, shifting his umbrella a little, hoping you’ll get the hint. silently beckoning you over. 

you feel oddly flustered.

in truth, you and him aren’t particularly close. he’s nice to you, sure, but geto is nice to everyone. you’d like to call him a friend, but what do you actually know about him? not much. 

suguru geto is a bit of an enigma. a little mysterious. he’s polite, well-mannered, and he seems like the most normal of your classmates — but the bar is in hell, because you know for a fact geto isn’t normal either. no normal guy deliberately chooses to keep his bangs like that. 

there’s a gap, there. a kind of inconsistency. he’s hard to approach, but he puts you at ease. pulls you in and scares you off. with a soft voice and kind smile, keen eyes and a heavy palm on your head. sometimes he brings you snacks when you study in the library, or helps you with homework. kind of like a dependable senpai. someone to lean on.

but then there’s that gap. 

the real geto, who you’ve only seen glimpses of, only ever in gojo’s vicinity, is boyish and bright — he laughs and pouts and takes up space. he glows brighter than the sun. but the geto you’re seeing, right now, is more like the moon. wearing a polite, patient smile. standing up straight.

waiting for you to join him under his umbrella.

(he’s kind. but is he doing it because wants to, or because he feels obliged to?)

”… oh.” a pause. ”ah — no, it’s fine!” you take a step back, quick to reassure him. ”i can walk there without it! i’m already soaked, anyway.”

geto observes you. for a moment, something in his expression flickers; a crease between his brows.

then he shakes his head. still wearing a comforting smile, the same one he always slips on when he’s around you. ”still. we don’t want you catching a cold,” he persists, sounding something like a nagging mother. ”you’ll miss the exam next week.”

and with that, your shoulders drop. 

right — the exam. the one you haven’t been studying for in the slightest, completely distracted by the feeling of summer in the air. the one you can’t fail, under any circumstances, because yaga-sensei can and will force you into taking summer classes for it. that exam. 

a wistful sigh leaves your lips. ”god, i wish.”

geto chuckles — a little deeper than usual. it makes your heart flutter. then he’s beckoning you over, again, with a slight shake of his head. 

”c’mon. there’s enough room for two.”

he gives you that same familiar smile, and you’re forced to admit that you might be slightly weak to it. something about the way his lips tug upwards, the light crinkle of his eyes. a certain glint in them that tells you he’s not budging on the issue. 

you’re still a little hesitant. but…

(this is a chance, isn’t it? a chance to bridge that gap between you.)

silently, shyly, you join him under his umbrella. shielding you from the still falling rain.

pitter patter, pitter patter. you don’t know where the rain ends and your own heartbeat begins. he’s so close — your shoulders nearly brushing together. it makes your nerves bubble up, in rhythm with the droplets bouncing off the cover up above. you feel stiff. the tiny, miniscule gap between you feels like a sweltering stove, radiating a heat that warns you to stay away. as if his touch could burn you. like this, you can even smell him; fresh laundry, an earthy cologne. the slightest hint of caffeine and tobacco. you blame it on shoko — the whole dormitory smells of cigarettes, thanks to her. 

it’s comforting, though. his scent. blending together with the aroma of rain, wet earth, blooming flowers. with his fragrance smoothing over all your senses, the closeness between you a constant reminder of the situation you’re in, you can’t bring yourself to look at him. 

so with a quick murmur of thanks, you begin to walk, in tandem.

geto can’t help but steal a glance at you, out of the corner of his eye. you look a little meek, a little flustered. he hopes the narrow distance between you isn’t making you feel too uncomfortable. 

just to be sure, he angles his body away from yours. ever so slightly, one subtle step away, to make the gap a little wider. then, as discreetly as he can manage, he tilts the umbrella in your direction — not wanting the seemingly never-ending drops of rain to graze your skin. he can feel them, now, soaking through the material of his shirt, hitting his shoulder. but he doesn’t mind. 

you don’t seem to notice, and geto is relieved. he’s pretty sure you’d protest — and as enjoyable as another friendly squabble would be, he’d prefer to avoid it for now.

you’re nice. accommodating, he thinks, in a subtle kind of way. always showing up with trinkets after your little outings, offering to get everyone a drink on your way to the vending machines. you’re friendly with the other two; always nagging at shoko to stop smoking, even when she just rolls her eyes and calls you a goody two shoes. recently, you’ve even started to be patient with satoru, even when he tries to get a rise out of you. it wasn’t like that at the start of the year. geto wonders what changed. 

he’s a little interested in you. just a little. you’re sweeter than the other two, easier to worry over. he saw you trip over your own shoelaces last week. you’re a little clumsy, a bit of a ditz — airheaded. maybe that’s why he can’t help but feel protective of you. satoru brushes everything off with a cheeky grin, and shoko is self-sustaining, but you’re often in need of a helping hand. the last time he tried that with the other two, they wouldn’t stop calling him mother geto until he smacked them over the head with gojo’s shounen jump issue. 

it makes him feel out of place — when he doesn’t have anything to tend to. itchy, a feeling of dread crawling up his throat. peace and quiet feels suffocating, when he isn’t in total control over it.

so, in his own way, small as it may be, geto enjoys taking care of you. grabbing you a carton of strawberry milk, or warding satoru away when he’s annoying you a little too much. he likes the smile you grace him with when he does. it’s pretty. 

that’s all geto really knows about you. that, and that there’s a tenderness to you that’s hard to fake. it’s not much to go on.

so this is the perfect opportunity to learn more. 

(a heartfelt connection. something he’s always, always craved. something that maybe he can finally have, with satoru, and shoko, and you — 

if you’re willing, that is.)

”hey,” he starts, breaking the rainfilled silence. keeping his umbrella steady, leading you both away from a big puddle in the middle of the sidewalk. ”can i ask you something?”

you raise your head to look at him. blinking owlishly, at the sudden question, nerves beginning to rise again. he sounds kind of serious. did you do something? paranoia gnaws anxiously at the ridges of your ribs, but all you can do is swallow empty air and stammer out a meek reply.

”… uh, sure!”

geto glances over at you, his eyes meeting yours. that gaze of his is kind of heavy — the deep colour of his eyes coaxing you closer, luring you in. honey and amber, splotches of cedar and flecks of gold.

they’re pretty.

”this might be kind of a weird question,” he begins, reaching a hand up to adjust his bun, sneaking a finger under the black hair tie. voice light; to put you at ease. ”but i’m just curious.” 

he looks ahead, at the street before you, only meeting your stare once you give him a slight tilt of your head. then he parts his lips.

”why did you come here?”

you blink. 

silently, confusion painting the interior of your iris, you stare at him. waiting for a clarification that doesn’t come, before giving him a hesitant answer. ”… to get snacks?”

geto has the audacity to laugh, after such a vague question. the sound is light and breathy, melting together with the pitter patter of the rain, and for some reason it strikes you as sincere. ”not like that,” he grins. ”i mean, why did you come to the school in the first place?”

ah. 

that’s a different question. harder to answer. he must notice your hesitance, the puzzlement in your features, because he’s quick to elaborate. hiding a smile behind his fist, disguised as a cough.

(you’re sort of cute when you’re confused.)

”i mean — it’s an odd choice, isn’t it? far off the map, barely any students....” you nod along, and he continues. ”i don’t know about your background. but moving away from home must be kind of tough, right?” when he glances in your direction, you notice a sparkle of genuine curiosity in his eyes. ”so i was curious about your reason. if you feel comfortable telling me, i mean.”

a hum. it buzzes in your throat, absentminded, as you stare into space. brows furrowed. 

geto gives you time, as much time as you need, always willing to wait. for a minute or so, the only sounds that fill the space around you are the pitter patter of raindrops hitting the plastic cover of umbrella, and the sound of your shoes meeting puddles on the street. silently, you ponder the question. thinking of your answer.

geto has a point. you’ve been curious, too — about how your classmates ended up in such an eccentric little school, so detached from the rest of the world. a quirky private school in the middle of nowhere. you must all be a little eccentric yourselves. that’s probably why you feel so safe with them — you get the sense that you’re all lacking something. something that would ward normal kids away from such an unorthodox choice.

you could say you were just going with the flow. a relative of yours used to work with yaga-sensei, and heard about his position at a newly reinstated private school — heard that he was looking for students to fill the roster. 

so you accepted.

(if it was really that simple, geto would already have his answer.)

what drew you in, more than anything, was the promise of something new. a strange, small school, far away from home; from the people you know, the town you know, the life that you’ve lived. far away from the person you are, the person you was, the person you’ve always been.

an escape. that’s all it was. 

a way out.

he’s still waiting for your answer, even now, trying to read your thoughts off your face. eyes trailing over every contour. very briefly, you consider dodging the question — but his silent, steady presence squeezes a little honesty out of you. 

you want to give him a genuine answer.

”… i guess,” you begin, weighing the words on your tongue. they feel stale, a little awkward, but not dishonest. ”i wanted to stop being me for a bit.” 

the words are unexpected, surprising even to your own ears — like your mouth and your mind weren’t quite cooperating, one ahead of the other, one not weighing in on the honest choice. they catch geto off guard. 

he looks at you, silently, attempts to dissect your expression; but he doesn’t succeed. 

for a second, something flashes in his eyes. a glimmer that you just barely catch, that you can still sense behind his eyelids when they flutter shut. you’re not sure what to call it. recognition, maybe, or something like empathy. a sense of acknowledgement. it’s gone when he opens his eyes. 

he doesn’t look at you when he answers.

”… i get that.”

there’s a depth to his words that you’re afraid to uncover. you feel their weight, all the same, glancing up at him, studying his expression, the humid drops of dew that stick to his lashes. and you feel a tug. faint, non-existent, the string between your pinkies —

a growing connection. 

(it makes you feel oddly bare.)

all you can give him is a chuckle, a little breathless. ”do you?” you ask, grinning weakly. ”it’s a little melodramatic.”

geto only smiles. silent, comfort personified. there’s no judgement in his eyes, none whatsoever — because he knows exactly what you mean.

fleeing from the past. 

it’s a kind of murder, he thinks. a rebirth.

maybe the two of you are similar. similar in the sense that he recognizes the shadow in your eyes, the one he sometimes sees in mirrors; familiar in the sense that you both suffer from that same sickening awareness. 

(maybe you want the same thing he wants, what he’s always wanted — 

control.)

it’s a realization that creeps up on you, the both of you, slow and steady. a sense of kinship. it envelops you, cradles you close, in the same way molten clouds cover the summer sky.

geto isn’t lying, you can tell. he does get it. you know, just from that tilt of his voice, the way his eyelashes flutter, his absent shifting from one foot to another. and it soothes your worries.

everything is silent, for a bit. you look down at the asphalt, at your own reflection in a puddle, and geto gazes at the bushes of hydrangeas to his right. you feel safe, right next to him, under his umbrella. and he feels content to have you there. your shoulders brush together, for a moment, and it sends a jolt through your heartbeat.

geto inhales a breath.

”by the way —” 

”— have you studied for the exam?”

you both still. blurting out the words at the same time, turning to look at each other; sheepishly blinking in the other’s direction.

then he barks out a laugh.

”sorry,” he hums, a sleek smile on his lips. bright and sheepish. ”what was that? the exam?”

”ah — yeah,” you feel heat settle on the back of your neck, crawling up your ears. ”have you, um, studied for it at all?”

geto moves the umbrella from one arm to the other, smoothly directing you to stand on his right instead of his left. guiding you with his hand on your lower back, ghosting the fabric of your clothing. he stretches his free arm, a little stiff.

”yeah,” he exhales. ”not a lot, though.”

”really?” you blink up at him, trying not to blush at how easily he maneuvered you. stupid, stupid heartbeat. ”you strike me as the honour student type…”

geto scoffs. it leaves his lips before he can tug it back. ”satoru said the same thing.”

a breath spills from your lips, almost a chuckle. you’re not sure how to feel about being compared to gojo, of all people, but you’ll let it slide this once. ”well, you just kinda have that vibe.”

now he’s huffing, tethering on the edge of something childish, and your smile grows. you’re seeing him make a lot of new expressions today. 

”why, though?” comes a sigh. he must be playing it up, a little — you almost get fooled into thinking he’s pouting. ”is it the hair? i don’t even wear glasses anymore...”

”well —” you pause. ”hold on, you used to wear glasses?”

all you get is an absent hum. he doesn’t notice your wide, shellshocked eyes. ”when i was younger. i got rid of them a couple years back.”

“oh…” you try to imagine it, for a second. he’d look frighteningly good in them. just barely, you manage to keep yourself from saying it out loud. ”i think it’s more just your general personality. like, you’re responsible and polite… or something.”

and geto chuckles; the intersection between a teasing smile and a soft grin. it’s just a little bit ethereal, painted over with the humid summer air. he turns towards you.

”and that makes me an honour student?” 

”… okay, maybe not.” you bring a hand up to your hair, fixing it absently. deflating a little. ”you just strike me as intelligent, i guess.”

geto smiles, again, as always. the chuckle that escapes him is faint and fond, and awfully soft, dripping down his lips. ”well, thank you.” 

his eyes are warm, burning into yours. all you can do is glance away. you still don’t really understand this sensation — why he’s suddenly so easy to talk to. why he feels like something other than just a classmate, when he looks at you like that. 

then again, geto has always been a natural at putting people at ease. maybe that’s why you can’t help but warm up to him, compliantly, the way a child dutifully follows the first butterfly they ever see — it’s a little too pretty to resist. 

you want to slip deeper into his world, you realize. you don’t want this moment to end so soon.

”you guys really get along, huh?” you change the subject, speaking slowly, savouring every syllable. there isn’t any rush to get the words out all at once, when you’re with him. 

geto blinks, tilting his head. 

”hm?”

“you and gojo, i mean.”

a glimmer passes through his eyes, as your query sinks in. ”ah. yeah.” his gaze strays upwards, and a contemplative look settles into his face. he knows what you’re after, what you’re really asking; why are the two of you so close? why do you put up with his antics? 

what do you see in him? 

he thinks it’s a fair question. it’s not like he hasn’t asked himself the very same thing, before — satoru can be annoying. ignorant, too, and terribly rude. a little prick. when he stole his curry bun yesterday, geto wanted to kill him. spoiled little brat.

(then again, he’s…)

”he’s… well.” geto exhales, a little breathless. tasting the words on his tongue. ”you know how he is — but he’s not a bad guy.” 

and it’s true. he really isn’t. satoru is a lot of things; rude and spoiled, cocky and bratty, an expert at ticking everyone off. but there’s a kind of charm, there. an innocence that geto admires. 

satoru is childish — because he is a child. a child who knows a lot of things that children shouldn’t know. a child who doesn’t know the most basic of things. satoru doesn’t know how to make friends. he doesn’t know how to ask for help, doesn’t know how to give it. he doesn’t know what cotton candy tastes like, because he’s never tried it before. 

his childhood couldn't have been very warm. it definitely wasn’t normal. 

is that why he puts up with him, then? out of pity? of course not. the bare thought of it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. he’d never look down on satoru, like that — he knows he’d hate him for it. if anything, geto thinks that maybe the two of them are close because he doesn’t give him any special treatment. even if satoru wasn’t treated with warmth or love, he was certainly coddled. spoiled. it’s evident, in the way that he acts.

but satoru isn’t a god, and he shouldn’t act like one. 

one punch, right across the face; knocking the white-haired boy off his feet. that’s where their friendship began. there were stars in satoru’s eyes, geto thinks, when he looked up at him from the ground, sunglasses fallen off from the impact. eyes entirely on display, catching the light of the sun, gleaming with a certain bewilderment. almost amazement. like he didn’t know he could be hit, didn’t know it was possible. the sun shone down on him, illuminating the vague bruising on his cheek, and geto wondered if that was the first punch he had ever taken.

it certainly wasn’t a first for him, when satoru lunged at him next —

it was a little juvenile. more than a little deranged. geto isn’t one to throw fists, in the first place — he’s out of practice. the punch he fed satoru might’ve been a little too forceful. he couldn’t help but feel bad, for putting a bruise on that irritatingly pretty face of his. 

but it still ended with satoru’s arm around his shoulder, a buzzing voice by his ear, proclaiming them as friends. cheery and bright.

geto couldn’t help but echo the statement.

(satoru is a lot of things. 

most of all, he’s really hard to hate.)

geto’s answer brings a smile to your face. ”yeah,” you hum, soft voice breaking him out of his reverie. ”he isn’t.”

he looks at you. silently, a question of his own brewing in his irises — and with you so close, close enough to touch, smiling at him like he’s an old friend… geto can’t help but indulge in his own curiosity. 

he tries to appear nonchalant, stealing a glance at you out of the corner of his eye. ”seems like the two of you are getting along better, too.” 

”me and gojo?” you blink, surprised. a little flustered. huffing out an amused breath, trying to brush off the bare thought. ”no way.”

geto laughs — it’s a deep sound, a full one. somehow very earnest. you wonder if that’s how his laugh always sounds, whenever gojo’s involved. ”oh, come on. you don’t hate him that much.” a teasing glint blooms in his eyes, as he scrutinizes you. ”or am i wrong?”

you pause. faltering, a little, gaze falling down to the pavement — then to the sky — then to him. and then back to the pavement. 

”… i mean…” you attempt to squeeze the words out from within your chest, but you can’t help but feel hesitant. as if gojo could jump out of the bushes at any moment, ready to tease you if you say anything that paints him in an even moderately decent light. ”i don’t… hate him. but he’s still annoying.” a pout slips onto your lips. “he has it out for me, you know.”

geto laughs, again. you note that you’re fond of the sound. ”isn’t that because he likes you, though? he just doesn’t know how to show it. it’s like pulling pigtails.”

”don’t even joke about that,” you scoff, shooting him a scowl. “and that wouldn’t make it any better, even if it was true.”

a fond smile. ”yeah, you’re right.” he opts to dial down on the teasing, shifting into a more sincere tone. ”you do seem more friendly now, though. before it felt like you really hated his guts.”

a hum buzzes in your throat. brows furrowing, as you mull on what to answer with. unsure how you really feel. it’s not like you’re suddenly super close, or anything — but you have gotten friendlier. just by a smidge, but still. you’ve gotten better at putting up with him and his antics, at finding comfort in how open he can be.

after a tiny pause, you speak up. 

”… i still don’t really understand him.” you gnaw at the skin of your bottom lip, trapping it between your teeth. “but i think i might be starting to.” 

you’re a little embarrassed over the words that fall from your lips, barely above a whisper. 

”… he’s not the worst.”

geto smiles, but you don’t see it — gaze still lingering on the droplets that bounce off the pavement. ”i’m glad,” he hums, earnest. ”that guy needs more friends.”

something about his tone of voice urges you to look at him. that smile of his is bright, gleaming in the rain, in the midst of the flowers all around you. a little teasing, a little boyish, but somehow very sincere. you didn’t think you’d get to see it up close.

and you can’t help but chuckle. the raven-haired boy glances over at you, confusion in his eyes.

noticing it, you breathe out a quiet chuckle. ”sorry, it’s just —” a teasing grin smooths over your lips. ”you guys bicker a lot, and you act like he annoys you… but you really care for him, don’t you?”

this time, geto almost stops in his tracks. his eyes widen, slightly, and you’re not sure why he seems surprised — when he always sounds so fond saying satoru’s name, talking about him like they understand each other fully. maybe he didn’t notice it until now. 

a moment passes, before he collects himself, clearing his throat and averting his gaze. awfully good at keeping his composure. 

(though he fails to fully conceal the flustered look on his face.)

”i wouldn’t go that far,” he mumbles, but it only makes you chuckle again. his lips curl up slightly, at the sound; despite his embarrassment. ”someone’s gotta look out for that idiot.”

”right. of course.”

geto gives you a displeased little look. you bite back a laugh. feeling at ease, by his side — you get the sense that you can trust him, that you could tell him absolutely anything, and he still wouldn't use it against you. it’s a relief.

standing there, under geto’s umbrella, in the shadow of summer, rain obscuring the world — you reach a definitive conclusion.

you want to get to know him. want to see inside his heart, hear more of his thoughts. if you could only step over that gap between you, wriggle your way into his world — 

you think you’d be happy.

so, as you walk side by side, narrowly avoiding puddles and breathing in the humid summer air, you try to coax them out of him. little thoughts, bits and pieces of the suguru geto you yearn to meet.

(unbeknownst to you, he’s doing the same.)

you continue to talk. about miniscule things, meaningless things, a comfortable sensation of trust simmering in the air between you. and before you know it, you’ve stepped onto the school grounds, stopping right in front of the dormitory.

”here we are,” geto hums, folding the umbrella and tucking it between his arm and torso. you turn to look him in the eye, taking an absent step away.

”thanks, geto,” you can’t help but smile. ”for letting me walk with you.”

”don’t mention it.” he brushes you off with ease, quick to drag the door open; waiting for you to step inside before following suit. always so accommodating. 

for a second, he hesitates. a glimmer of uncertainty, in his eyes, that you miss — stretching out your tired limbs with a shallow groan, enjoying the warm and dry air on your skin. 

finally, geto takes the leap.

when he parts his lips, his voice comes out soothing. natural and breathy, floral patterns blooming on his tongue; as silky as jasmine petals. ”you can call me suguru, you know.” he lets the silence linger, for a moment. ”if you want to.”

you turn to look at him, eyes widening, at the sudden offer, and he can’t get a good read on the emotion reflected in them. you seem caught off guard, but he can’t tell if it’s a good or bad thing.

after a moment or two, you fumble for a response. 

”oh. um — okay? i will, then.” you shake your head, as if brushing off the hesitance you feel, mustering the courage to imitate his offer. ”in that case, you can call me by my first name, too.” 

a brief pause. 

”… if you want to.”

geto smiles. it’s laced with relief, hard to notice, impossible to miss. instead of answering with an affirmation, he takes a more teasing approach — unable to resist the temptation.

so he says your name. your first name, dragging the syllables out on his tongue, as if tasting it. trying to get used to the way the letters bend as they come out of his mouth. despite the teasing lilt it carries, the sound is oddly earnest; he pronounces it clearly, like he’s trying to call you to his side. you almost feel compelled to take a step towards him. 

geto looks you in the eye, as he calls you by your given name, for the very first time — and you can’t help but grow flustered.

”… suguru,” you echo, for whatever reason. you think your brain may be slightly fried. but it feels right, to say it. suguru. 

(what a pretty name.)

suguru smiles at you. you think it’s just a little wider than usual, a little more sincere. almost giddy, if you squint. in the open air, the intimate atmosphere simmers.

finally, you clear your throat, glancing in the direction of your dorm room. a silent que for him to follow.

and he does. leaving the umbrella by the hall, before walking you to your door. his steady, soothing presence sticking to your skin. you’re just about to place your fingers on the doorknob, when a pang of realization hits you — stopping you in your tracks.

”oh — right!”

swiftly, you turn on your heel, facing suguru again. he gazes down at you, bemusement in his eyes. watching as you rummage through the plastic bag hanging off your arm. finally, you find what you were looking for; holding it out towards him. 

”here,” you give him a warm smile. ”as thanks.”

suguru accepts it, compliantly, allowing you to slip a pack of gum into his palm. he recognizes the brand, one he favours over others. it helps him, on days he can’t find his appetite. 

did you see him chewing it at some point, he wonders? when, though? 

maybe you’re always paying attention to the people around you. the way they like their coffee, their favoured flavour of gum. it may be a small kindness, an absentminded one, but suguru thinks that makes it all the more meaningful. a kindness that seeps out of you, that draws him in. 

he wants to know more, about you. he really does.

but for now, this is enough. a walk back to your dorm, your shared home, talking and growing closer than before. 

it’s a small step, but in the right direction. 

the pack of gum stirs a mellow, tender feeling in his chest. all he can do is give you a smile, and a thank you that you’re quick to brush off. then you say your goodbyes, and you close the door behind you — flopping down on your bed with a muffled squeal. a giddy kind of excitement swimming in your veins. because finally, finally, you feel like the gap between you has been dented.

you know what his real laugh sounds like. that the tips of his ears turn pink when he’s embarrassed. you know that he used to wear glasses, that you’re a little more similar than either of you could have assumed.

you know that you’re fond of him. fond of a boy with black hair, who smells of summer and rain and chewing gum. fond of a boy you’ve only scratched the surface of.

on the other side of the door, suguru walks back to his room. with a pep in his step, one that satoru notices — because of course he does — appearing from around the corner with a shit-eating grin.

“oh? what were you doing over there, suguru?”

suguru ignores him. popping a piece of the gum you gave him into his mouth, a flavour of apricot melting on his tongue — he sinks his teeth into it, slowly, feeling his lips curl up into a smile.

it tastes of summer and youth. a memory that both of you will savour, for many years to come.

[sugurusombereyes]

🥹🥹🥹

[sugurusombereyes]

nightmares, geto blurb

“can i come in?”

suguru stands naked in front of you, well not naked but you could practically see the smudges in the brushstrokes that painted him whole. he had tried to hide that side from you, the places of him that weren’t flawless to the eye but would shatter to pieces if you touched them.

“yeah of course.” you say carefully, letting the invisible light he carried with him pour into your dark dorm. the warmth and brightness he carried spilling out onto your floorboards that would creak with the times you circled your room confused with the thought of how you felt about geto.

you softly closed the door as he walked in, taking his pillow from his hands and throwing it onto your bed. this was a common occurrence for you. geto would show up at your door with his pillow and eye bags progressively getting worse as his nightmares went on. you wanted to wrap him up in all the warmth he had radiated on to you and cover him in the comfort of silence just being silence instead of the absence of rikas heartbeat.

“c’mere.” you softly murmur as you lay on your bed, motioning for geto come and lay next to you. it was hard to not pretend that you couldn’t notice getos deterioration, the same eyes that you once believed could light up a pitch black room had dimmed out. carrying less of the anger he held and more of a heroic grief that was too painful to even think of. you couldn’t not pester him, inviting him to outings or to silent walks that would say so much more than he would. you couldn’t pretend that you hadn’t memorised his outline, the lines in his palm and the creases that would show up whenever he would smile.

that smile.

“wanna talk about it?” he shakes his head no, moving his body closer to yours and resting his head on your chest. you hoped that he couldn’t hear your heart going at hundred miles per second or the hitch in your breathing pattern that matched his whenever you were together. (he noticed the skips in your heartbeat and thought of how the sound of the rhythm was worth holding on a little more for)

but what geto didn’t know was that you would stay up and count his breathing pattern. he didn’t know that you would grow daises in your lungs if he had told you that they were his favourite flower. he didn’t know that you would do anything that would make him feel okay again, because you didn’t know how to feel okay without him. but he was scared. he was scared that if he let you in he wouldn’t stop pouring, turning into an ocean of his memories and waves of the weird feeling that he disguised as being sick. but you wanted him to engulf you like the waves did once to you when you were young, you wanted him to soak you in the crimson liquid that he felt seeped from close wounds whenever someone would ask him how he was doing.

“why aren’t you tired of me yet?” he asked confused.

“how could i ever be tired of you?” you replied with the same amount of confusion, but this type wrapped around his cold bones and brushed a thumb over them; assuring them that you weren’t going anywhere.