──── ❝ 𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐍’𝐓 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 ! . . . starring 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 and you egging 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 on to lose his cool over an overly suspicious video camera :: fluff + crack :: cursing :: teen!satoru, teen!reader and teen!suguru implied ::
“you’re joking,” suguru grumbles.
“i’m not joe king,” oh, you little shit, “i’m your baby. your darling. your sweetheart. your insert sappy ass nickname, my dearest.” a pause, before you tilt the camera for a better angle— eyebrows furrowed in that little pinch in the same way they always do when you’re utterly locked in on executing your. . mostly (99.9%) nefarious deeds.
“babe,” you pry again, looking down at your free hand for leverage before very thoughtfully deciding to headbutt him again. “tell me i’m annoying. c’mon.” a poke in his sides. a tap on his forehead.
and yet— here suguru lies half asleep at ass ’o clock on what he believes to be his doomsday, questioning his caffeine-fuelled existence and his ever so dilapidated will to live.
(what a drama queen. he loves you too much.)
“c’mooon, ’guru,” and, he supposes, a blonde freak with beautecious blue orbs™ as well. “do a cute lil’ pose for us. aigoo or some shit.”
“aegyo,” you correct satoru, your tone utterly dignified as you adjust the various and unnecessarily placed knobs even though you do acknowledge his parts in your evil schemes for suguru. “say it properly or don’t.”
satoru rolls his eyes, much, much too exaggeratedly for someone who couldn’t spell ‘ginormous’ on an essay yaga had put you all through after a mission.
(you still have a piece of his dignity tucked away in your pocket, for emergency situations.)
“well, damn. it ain’t that deep for someone who—”
“can you guys stop?” suguru mumbled into his pillow, and satoru and you exchange an equally feral glance. united in. . pieces, it seems. pieces of suguru’s excruciatingly steady demeanour. “no, like, seriously. keep that away. could be a cursed object for all i know.”
the that in question is a rickety old video camera, which satoru had unceremoniously fished out during your clean up of the haunted store room. honestly, you couldn’t give any lesser fucks about wanting to do anything with the wheezing machine initially— but when the white haired gremlin had suggested to annoy a certain someone with it, the idea had been. . tempting, for sure.
(terrifyingly tempting.)
and so, here you are, with a digital casket centuries older than you tucked in your palms like a pitchfork— an instrument, really, of seeing how long it takes for your suguru to finally break.
“budge up, mr. optimistic,” satoru takes a look at the large expanse of empty space beside suguru, before flopping down riiight on top of the other boy. “even i give yaga that much credibility to inform us about a cursed object on campus. and a haunted camera no less.”
“maybe yaga doesn’t know, either,” suguru huffs, but his hands come up to hold satoru, anyway— they always do, as if having a mind of their own. “or maybe he expected that we’d be smart enough not to meddle with things.”
satoru lets out a scandalized gasp, ceasing his obnoxious nuzzling into the crook of suguru’s neck for a moment to spare him a mortified glance. “yaga? expect us to be smart? yaga? you’ve gone bananas.”
“anyway, what’s it gonna do? put a scary filter on your face or something?” you hum along, stifling a yawn— feeling the soft, afternoon sun graze your cheeks. how strange. just a minute ago, you were bursting with hyperactivity, and now. . .
eh.
probably the weather. the heat makes you want to peel your skin off, anyway.
“it ain’t gonna take a filter for that,” satoru says intellectually, but not before stifling a groan while suguru graces his shoulder with a bite. “—ow. i’m telling you, we need to muzzle him.”
“says the banshee high on sugar.”
you listen to them bicker, circling the area between your brows with your thumb— you free hand still fidgeting with the camera, feeling an odd, sticky sort of invisible substance lodge itself between your fingertips.
“i have perfectly polished vocals, thank you very much,” satoru raises a brow, “it’s not my fault you think the digimon theme needs to be hummed with whistle notes.”
you open your mouth to add in how the last time satoru attempted a whistle note sounded like a very bad imitation of a dying balloon, but something stops you. tiny little pinpricks of something stagnant pierce into you from every way imaginable, and your thoughts cease altogether— your brain filling with a low, steady ring.
fuck.
fuck.
“guys,” you splutter out, the words rattling against your teeth and making your head pound. “guys, i think. . think there’s . .—”
— thud.
the camera falls from your hands, but it doesn’t shatter. instead, an overwhelming stench of forgotten wrath and lingering sorrow fills the air of suguru’s dorm.
“. . . shit,” satoru says, after a moment of silence passes. “shit. shit, suguru, the camera was—”
“— cursed,” suguru finishes, already picking up your passed out body on the bed and heading towards the infirmary. “we need shoko. now.” tense lines form around his face, ones that you’ve never seen before— not that you’re awake, anyway.
turns out, yaga had forgotten about warning you three about the unsealed cursed object in the store room. and even though you woke up a few minutes later with nothing to your name but a migraine gone too bad— let’s just say, satoru and you never pushed suguru enough to break ever again. the two hour silent treatment had been bad enough.
(it had been two days, but suguru loves you two too much.)
oh, fuck no. you do not want to get me started about satoru walking in on you and suguru making out. nuh uh.
. . ugh, fiiiine. since i have taken a liking to you, i shall indulge you. just a little bit though, so don’t get too ahead of yourself, now.
right, where was i? satoru’s an overgrown magnet when it comes to affection, alright. suuure, he’ll let you two have some ‘space’, as you call it, but otherwise— he’s living inside both of your skins. quite literally, because suguru had to smack the top of his head once because this man had rubbed his shoulder raw from his obnoxious nuzzling.
i mean, can you really blame him, though? he’s got two living gods on the go. and he’d had plenty of practice with his pillow way before, so why not just kiss the shit out of each other the moment your eyes meet?
suguru and you understood the assignment pretty well, alright. excelled at it, even.
(you just omitted the variable named satoru.)
because he’s gasping out the mightiest gasp that’s ever gasped. might have summoned a hurricane or two with that fatal air current break, too. and the lights. shit, the lights— you let out a small gasp when they go off, and suguru lets out an exasperated sigh which is drowned out by satoru’s scandalized breaths.
“t—. . treachery!” he bellows, pointing a mortified finger at you two whilst the chinese takeout bags slide down the wall with a sorrowful grace of their own. “what the fuck are you guys doing, huh?”
(a pause.)
“imagine being blind with six eyes,” you mutter, and suguru huffs out a laugh— kissing the corner of your mouth. you’re certain that he did it on purpose, because the yet another gasp satoru heaves out is enough to give rise to atlantis.
“you— how dare you— and without me? i go to bring dinner for all of us because of your sleeping asses, and then i come back home to find you two— you two—”
suguru blinks with the innocence of a newborn fawn. “we two what, satoru?”
“you. . you— you two!—” but satoru looks simply divine right now. the flush at the back of his neck blossoms on his cheeks as well, little strawberry jitters being painted oh so prettily on his unblemished skin— you’ve never seen something so tragically beautiful. he falters the slightest bit, trying (and failing) to swallow the lump in his throat.
“go on,” you hum, doing a show by shimmying your warm weight atop suguru’s— and he all but breaks.
“you two did the do!” he bursts out, and theeere’s the pout which fills suguru and you with inevitable glee— “with— without me! and i haven’t any of my morning kiss. or afternoon kiss. or brunch kiss. or— you guys are plotting something, i know you it, you’re—”
but as quick satoru was to ramble his brains out, he’s just as quick to shut up, too— or that might just be because of your lips against his cheek, and suguru’s on the other.
oh, he thinks, i’m dying.
and he’s aaaall but putty in your hands— all blissed out smiles and blank minds, even whilst suguru and you huff out breathy little laughs which fill up the short circuits throughout tokyo and satoru’s kithacked brain.
yeah, nothing, just suguru waking up all of a sudden for the nth time this night.
he swears you two do it on purpose.
(which you do, no shit.)
oh, but you can act aaall innocent you want, but the tiny quirk of your lip is a little too dragged out to be just because of the sleep— and satoru’s disastrously mortifying snore isn’t doing much well, either.
“brats,” he mutters under his breath, sleep filled fingertips moving aside the absolute glaciers you two have for feet off his stomach.
“. . oh, suguru,” satoru mumbles sleepily, or tries to— it comes off more as a walmart version of ariana’s high note instead— but you’re careful enough to elbow him in the ribs to pass on the signal, “—fucking piece of— oh, i mean. su—. . suguruuu.”
“what,” suguru deadpans.
“why’d you slide them dawgs off your—”
“why’d you move our feet away?” you take charge immediately, making sure to put on a yawn— juuuust the right amount of sleepy bewilderedness laced around the edges of your voice, “you’re . . warm, ya know?”
(a pause.)
and satoru and you can only gaze in scandalized silence as suguru’s broad muscles streeeetch— for him to roll over onto his side, the back of his stupidly pretty head facing you two.
“. . hey,” satoru sits up, not a speck of sleep in his body whatsoever, “what’d you do that for, huh? you tryna start a fight, because i can—”
“c’moooon,” your hands trace an (you hope) exaggerated graceful line over his spine, watching with unbridled glee when his body does that shiver again, “we just wanna be warm with you.”
silence.
“. . .”
“. . . absolutely blasphemous, is he disowning us or wh—”
“c’mere, you two,” suguru grumbles, ignoring the obnoxious giggles you two let out when his warm hands guide your feet onto his stomach once again. “—and stop being such nuisances. goodness knows i can do with a quiet nap for once.”
satoru’s eyes once again flash with nothing but unfiltered malice, and you already know what's going to happen.
“and that, my fellow passengers, was just the trailer. now buckle up your seatbelts and sit back down, because our next destination is suguru’s giant ass—”
spending the last night of the year on a nearby beach with satoru and suguru seems like someone’s idea of a date ( spoiler alert -> you’re someone. ) gn!reader. fluff. crack. i miss them. TTTTT
“oookay, mamas. have we got everything?”
“yes,” suguru echoes, for what feels like the two thousand and twenty fifth this hour. “don’t nag.” well, you can’t exactly blame him— satoru is extra annoying when he’s having the zoomies. although, whether it’s the from new year excitement or the cold, you can’t tell.
“wasn’t that your job?” you mutter, wincing a little when the heavens cry out before you above the city you three left behind. you can only imagine what it’d be like back in jujutsu high— bass boosted fireworks and cheap lasagna wasn’t exactly what you’d call a good omen for a new year.
“don’t sass me, sweetheart, i’ve had enough of this god forsaken year,” suguru brushes away the dirt that clings to his sleeve, watching satoru’s attempt at calling midnight mermaid babes, or what the youtube video said. “what the fuck is this guy doing?”
(yeah, you need to restrict his online access.)
“c’mon, loosen up a lil’,” you nudge his arm, eyes settling on his moonlit face. suguru looks pretty like this, and you let yourself watch. let yourself consume.
just this once.
“is it the gummy bears talking?” a hum leaves his lips, melting into somewhere at the back of your stomach— trapping the words that threaten to come out. “i told him not to the get the alcohol ones.”
“doesn’t matter,” you laugh, head dipping back to see the stars raining down on you, one comet at a time.
the air feels. . easy. like the lump lodged into your throat never existed. like your hands don’t tremble the way they always do, each time they breathe in too close. like your eyes don’t catch the way they look back at you over their shoulders.
every.
single.
time.
“woah there,” you blink, feeling suguru’s hands steady you— so, so warm against your shoulders that they make the sun on the other side writhe with shame. “careful. you’re pretty out of it.”
“i’m not,” a huff escapes your throat before you can put a leash on it, but suguru doesn’t mind. of course he doesn’t. not when you look his sweet death wrapped in flickering stardust and distant firework screams— eyes melting into his own, and breath dripping honey like liquor. not a temptation, no.
you’re a promise wrapped in chinese takeout papers.
“ ’course you’re not,” suguru stares.
you stare back.
you don’t say anything when he takes a step forward. when one of his hands finds your own, fingers threading through yours like the most precious tapestry to ever exist. when the other cradles your jaw, thumb brushing softly against your lips, gaze sitting you down on an altar high enough to make the god green with envy.
“suguru,” you whisper.
“shh,” is all he says.
your eyes flutter close, and you feel the softest brush of his mouth against yours.
then—
“oh my god,” comes a scandalized shriek, and all of a sudden— you’re ripped apart from suguru like a moth just knowing that the flame will burn, “how dare y— i leave for one moment and this is what you guys do?”
suguru's fingertips press into his temple, and you’re very much aware of a vein flickering. “satoru.”
“what?” satoru says, pressing you deeper into his chest, as if to emphasize the mortification that you two just subjected him to. “what were you doing?”
“we were kissing,” suguru deadpans.
satoru, on instinct, wriggles his eyebrows. “without me?”
(a pause.)
“satoru, i solemnly swear that i will shove that lollipop so far up your ass that—” you grumble against satoru’s chest, trying to escape his fatal grip— but it only makes your voice more muffled in the process, burst out laughs filling the warm, snowy air and a reluctant tsk from suguru to join.
“oh, man,” satoru wheezes, before pulling you back to take a look at you. really look at you.
because right now?
you’re the prettiest tragedy he’s ever seen.
“cute little thing, aren’t cha,” he coos, and you scrunch your nose from the faux babytalk. “i think that it’s about to be midnight soon, though, so don’t frown so much unless ya want permanent wrinkles for the rest of the year.”
“you’re the one to talk,” suguru flicks satoru’s forehead, the faintest hint of a smirk lighting up the corner of his lips.
“says the guy with a bubble butt.”
“what.”
“that’s why you wear balloon pants, don’t you?” satoru rolls his eyes, “to hide that massive ca—”
“i’m going to report you for harrasment.”
“you love me too much,” satoru grins, but you know it’s true. suguru does love him too much. and so do you. your sickeningly sweet boy carrying a piece of the sky in his eyes, trapping you both in the orbit he runs on. but that’s okay. you’d wait a million light years if it means that he’ll come by to your planet again.
“it’s happening,” suguru nods, quickly checking the time on his watch. “in five seconds.”
“four,” says satoru.
“three.”
“two,” you murmur.
“one,” and your arms have already pulled them close, bones crushing onto one another and rasping out little laughs. they stiffen against you for a second, but it doesn’t last long— nothing ever does, when they’re near.
(that doesn’t mean that you won’t try to hold on.)
“happy new years,” you hear suguru whisper and an arm tightens around you.
someone kisses your forehead, you can’t tell who— it doesn’t matter, though, really, when all you hear is their steady heartbeats thundering against your own.
stsg x gn!reader. hurt/comfort, crack and fluff towards the end. satoru calls reader ‘girl’ but it’s in the sass gn way, iykwim LOL. yet another thirty minute product of my plagued mind. not proofread, please don’t jump me.
the door barely makes a sound behind you.
just a hushed little click! that rots at the back of your mind far longer than it should. but you can’t help it, eh? can’t help but take monotonous rings as punishment. a disapproving click of a stranger’s tongue, dragged out through narrowed eyes and hurled your way.
you don’t bother to wipe away the blood.
(not this time.)
no, not blood. sweat. it’s only sweat. silly little mind of yours, screaming alarm bells into your ears the moment something wet slithers against your skin.
but the blood was still there. your blood. even though you’d washed a layer of yourself away while trying to remove it entirely.
(you can never escape yourself, can you?)
your eyes follow the dim light of the living room— a bulb which stands guard over the ghosts. a faint glow kisses your surroundings, giving jagged corners softer edges. you wonder if they could turn you into something you weren’t, too. something that you could never be.
the soiled duffle hits the ground, but your hands don’t listen when you urge them to pick it up. they hold onto the nearby wall instead, trying to ground you whilst the aftertaste of guilt fills your tongue.
guilt for what? guilt for whom?
guilt for you.
you, you, you.
(guilt is you.)
a shaky sigh escapes the back of your throat, and you force yourself to take a step forward. just one. just a little more, and then you can rest. then you can—
— . . watch.
well, how could you not? they look so pretty. pretty when they sleep, pretty when they breathe. pretty when they’re so unfathomably yours.
satoru’s breaths are soft against suguru’s forearm— eyebrows still having the little pinch that somehow always, always appears when he’s asleep. lips parted ever so slightly, like an unfinished confession of something he’d never admit. but that’s okay, whispered whims weren’t his strongest virtue.
the wind tousles suguru’s hair, and you let it— just this once, though, in case it gets cocky. his cheek rests against the crown of satoru’s hair, mouth pressed against his skin— a halo of his own, one that he’d create a second time. but that’s okay, shadows of something already done weren’t his strongest virtue.
they look like an apology the world owes you.
even though your breaths rattle silently against your teeth, something in the air changes. satoru’s brows furrow even more, before his eyes flutter open— bleary but present, glowing softly in the dim bedroom. suguru follows suite— satoru’s skin leaving a faint mark on his cheek, his hands rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“you’re back,” he rasps, and your chest aches at the sleep stitched into his soothing syllables.
“i am,” you say, after a beat passes. “how’d you wake up? i didn’t even make a sound.”
“. . . girl,” satoru hums, his sass drowning in the middle of somewhere when it gets punctuated by a yawn, “we’re sorcerers, ya know. cursed energy and shit.”
you huff, although it lacks any real bite. damn, with the amount of thoughts running your mind a mile an hour, your energy must’ve been all over the place. “whatever.” sweat, only sweat. you wipe it at the hem of your uniform. “havin’ a good sleep?”
“no,” suguru stifles a weary sigh as he rubs at the sleep marks littering his face, “mr. clingy here can’t sleep without a pre paid human furnace premium subscription, apparently.”
“stop. my insurance doesn’t cover emotional damage,” satoru wriggles his eyebrows, and you laugh. “whaaat? can’t a man nap with his wife in peace while the other wife is on a mission?”
“a mission that they could’ve let off, too,” suguru eyes your obstancy with barely concealed contempt, and you shift to your feet like a kicked puppy.
“whatever, man.” you rub at your forehead, the ache after the smiles blooming onto your cheeks.
“yeah, sure, whatever man your wife,” satoru grumbles, shifting on the mattress whilst his hand darts out to gently— always gently— manoeuvre your body between him and suguru, “we got a real fratboy in our midst, ’guru.”
suguru’s arms close around you both, and you breathe him in— eyes fluttering against his chest. “well, as long as you don’t call satoru out for being basic.”
satoru lets out a scandalized gasp, although it’s considerably softened by how tired and tender he feels. “excuse you. your wig could never compare to my beautecious blonde locks.”
“who the hell said anything about being blonde?”
“you implied it. oh my god, i never thought you’d be such a blundering bozo. we need to cancel him this instant, honey,” satoru’s faux solemn voice finds your nape, and you stifle a laugh.
“i don’t know, satoru,” you murmur, pressing your lips against his jaw— not moving, just staying. “maybe you are a little bas—”
“treachery,” moans satoru, and suguru snorts beside you. “and to think i’d be blonde shamed by my own wives—”
“you’re the wife,” suguru pokes his cheeks at his theatrics.
“that doesn’t change things.”
and maybe, they don’t. because in space somewhere in the middle of the sun and the moon’s kiss— lies an endless field of blue anemones, where you three slumber sweetly and silently, with your died out laughter and whispered lovesongs to accompany you.
you don’t bother to wipe away the blood.
(this time, you let them stain satoru and suguru of you.)
yes, that knee surgery does sound awful, jessica, but i know just the thing that’ll cheer you up. no, not vodka, you greedy chipmunk— i’m talking ’bout letting satoru and suguru’s voices melt into your own when the saccharine slivers of sunlight barely kiss the clouds of night away.
(. . except, that them clouds have disappeared a long, looong time ago. sucks to feel like you’re dead when you’re really just sleeping, doesn’t it?)
or maybe you are dead. that’s what the glaring foghorn resonating in your head suggests— going on and on and on to pole dance infront of your raspy death bell.
“. . satoru,” you grumble, turning over to your side and instantly regretting it— feeling the heavenly lights from above slap your face awake. so much for sun kissed skin. “wake up.”
satoru snores right back at you with as much dignity as he could muster, pale lashes fluttering against his skin— cheeks squished against the pillows, only dampening out some of the bass boosted cries of his fuck-knows-why misery.
(who the fuck snores on autotune?)
“look who’s up,” chides an obnoxiously gentle voice, and you shield your face so it doesn’t double team with the sun to drown you in light. “still sleepy, baby?”
“you’re up early,” you murmur, and suguru raises a brow.
“it’s half past one.”
“still early,” satoru snores in agreement, and you (try to) rub the remnants of sleep away from your gaze. “whatcha doin’?”
“making lunch,” suguru hums, letting your footsteps trail behind him. “or, breakfast. in your case.”
“breakfast in everyone’s case,” you say, scrunching your nose and letting the misty morning (treacherous afternoon) haze settle over you like a sticky, second skin. “who has waffles for lunch, huh?”
“. . well, i didn’t want you to have something very heavy when it’s this la—”
“just say that you didn’t feel like making too many things at once, suguru,” you nearly jump when warm arms engulf you from behind, lingering yawns and all, “we won’t tell anyone.”
“of course you won’t tell,” suguru says with a sniffy sort of voice, one that makes you suppress a laugh because he simply sounds so scandalized. “you’d be too busy snoring at them, won’t you?”
“oh, c’mon,” snarls satoru, “i don’t snore, okay? this propaganda of yours is not going to work unless you provide me with a solid video proof.”
“we did, but you’re the one who keeps deleti—”
“alright, what’s for breakfast?” he drowns your voice with his own. it’s mortifyingly dragged out at the edges, like a middle aged man with a gambling addiction— his hand coming up to slap suguru’s butt like an exaggerated voice effect. “not waffles again. don’t you know how to make something else?”
a pause.
(the slap’s still echoing.)
“i’m afraid i don’t,” comes suguru’s icy voice, body still as a statue.
“although, i wouldn’t mind if you taught me how to make something else,” although not completely still, because the iron grip with which he holds satoru’s wrist makes it all too clear that he has no further intentions of being still right now. “i’d be delighted, even.”
satoru whimpers.
★ taglist. @satorus-princess / @mimuju / @besidesjustmyamour / @naf3211 / @jelxqa / @helloxkittylo / @nimbusonik / @sugurusladyknightt / @maybemethebeloved / @mikaari0 / comment here to get added.
synopsis. you know you shouldn’t go back to them. but then again, when the chill of the sprite against your cheek burns a little too loud, you can’t help but run every time.
contents. satoru gojo x reader x suguru geto. angst. hurt/comfort.
✦ drabbles
CURSE ME A LITTLE AT THE END.
synopsis. the world doesn’t deserve the sun. not even you and satoru.
contents. satoru gojo x gn!reader x suguru geto. angst.
THESE STARS WON’T STAY FOR LONG, BUT WE COULD.
synopsis. when the shadows begin to wane and the stars begin to stay instead, satoru, suguru and you take your time to look back at the canvas you’ve left behind.
contents. satoru gojo x gn!reader x suguru geto. hurt/comfort.
☆ mini drabbles
⋆ guitarist!suguru eyeing nerd!satoru and you ⋆ satoru walking in on you and suguru making out ⋆ nerd!satoru, you and your new god (guitarist!suguru) ⋆ satoru and you warming your toes on suguru’s butt ⋆ misty mornings with certain knuckleheads ⋆ a getaway on new year’s night ⋆ rival spy!satoru and your little shenanigans just have to be interrupted (spoiler: it’s detective!suguru) ⋆
@d3cay1ngst4tic on tumblr. do not copy or post any of my works.
