whalesforhands - Tumblr blog

whalesforhands · 27 days ago

Text

what’s yours is mine (14/?)

previous masterlist next

pairing: geto suguru x reader x gojo satoru

You don’t know a lot of things, and you readily admit that. What you do know, is that the friends you’ve made aren’t something you will ever regret. Until your physical body weakens and becomes nothing, you’re more than happy to give your all until you wither away.

What’s yours can be theirs, too. They’re your friends, after-all. (Omegaverse AU)

“Wanna come with?”

Hesitance. A feeling you’re familiar with—but why? It’s an offer to be with your friend, a quite literal hand reaching out and giving you an opportunity so that you wouldn’t have to make such a hard decision on your lonesome.

So why does this feel so ambiguous, feel like a joke? It felt mocking, felt wrong, as if you couldn’t put a finger on it—

Until you realize, at your reflection staring back at you from those shining blue eyes and the memory of seeing Gojo Satoru’s name upon the projector screen at your graduation… That you realize that it was doubt holding you back.

(Ah.)

“I don’t think you and I,” A flicker of your eyes to your report card, at the grades staring back at you as your gaze forces itself back onto him. “Are in the same score bracket, Satoru.”

Because it’s true. You don’t need to dream, don’t need to imagine it; not when you know his crumpled Certificate of Achievement sat within his schoolbag, partially torn under the shearing duress it was subjected to.

Because, if you were to compare yourself, were to have a way to describe just how different Gojo Satoru was from you—it’d be akin to the grass staring up at the sun, how those blades could grow as tall as it wanted, as it possibly could.

But they would never quite reach the sky.

“Ya still care about that?” He flicks your forehead, sharp pain spreading across your skin as you yelp and hurriedly press your fingers against it to lessen the after-blow.

Ow.

“Suguru and Shoko are going.” He dismisses your concern, dismisses you. Even presses his own fingers on top of your own as you see him flash that toothy grin, what once was the missing gap in his gums now fit pearly whites.

“And ya know how often Shoko cheats, anyway. Not like it matters how bad you are at studying.” His hand tosses your hair back, thoroughly enjoying playing with it as you sit and simmer in his words; Compared to him, anybody would be considered inferior. Compared to him, anybody else would be beneath him.

But it doesn’t exactly make you feel better.

“Why?” Just because you don’t know, just because you don’t understand why this opportunity is landing itself right in your lap.

Because it doesn’t make sense, not when Gojo Satoru shines brighter than you ever think you will. Ever can.

And all you get in reply, all you get in return for these confusing, muddy feelings is… A grin.

“Cause you’re special.”

——

Being special would be nice. Being special would make you exceptional, above the average that you had gotten so used to, so placated with. So was it wrong for you to believe in his words? Was it wrong for you to want to place faith within them?

Because even if you think Satoru said that just to convince you, a part of it tugs at your heartstrings a little, makes your face a little hot in embarrassment.

(The Gojo Satoru thinks that you’re special.)

“Mama.” Your chopsticks stop in place, your eyes following the smoke trails from your miso soup before they stop upon your mother at the dinner table.

“Hm?”

Today’s dinner was light, easy on the stomach. Easy for it to go down, yet you’re at a standstill as you find it hard to even swallow your own saliva.

“Would it be okay if…” A breath in, and a slow blink of your eyes. “I went to school in Tokyo?”

She freezes. Only momentarily, only for a second before she recollects herself, finds her thoughts once more.

“That’s—Quite far.” Maybe too far for her liking, you guess. A train ride that would take hours, a place that you would be unfamiliar with and not to mention…

The expenses.

You never really considered it something to be ashamed of, never thought less of your Mama because of the way you grew up. But, at the age of 15; soon 16, you’re fairly aware of your financial standing.

It’s better now, but you just can’t seem to break the habit of reaching for discounted items regardless of their exterior, can’t seem to shake off putting indulgent items back onto shelves before you reach the checkout counter.

“Their dorms are free.” A glance downwards at your still untouched dinner—fish that you managed to snag for half-price at the supermarket during their daily 7:00 PM sale. “And so is their cafeteria food.”

“I—“ A deep breath inward, her fingers only momentarily grazing the faded scar upon her neck. You know she’s hesitant, know that she’s always told you about how you shouldn’t grow up so fast, know that she might even rejec—

“I’ll allow it.”

(Huh?)

“You…” A clack of her chopsticks down as they settle atop her own bowl of soup. “You’re grown up now, right?” That makes all the difference now, you realize.

“I honestly… Expected this.” Another smile, softer, gentler. Yet, it didn’t quite reach the way her eyes looked, didn’t quite feel the same as her usual expressions.

“It must’ve been hard on you when you were younger, since I wasn’t able to give you everything—“

“No.” You disagree. You wholeheartedly disagree. “Everything was fine because you were here with me, Mama.”

You could never ask for more. Never even begin to think otherwise. No matter how expensive the treats you got from Satoru, no matter how many times Kimiko-san or Geto-mama became your temporary caretakers during emergencies—

You would never ask for a different life.

“Thank… You, sweetheart.” Choked, like the words had to claw their way up her throat to be spoken. You glance up, and her eyes are glassy; but no tears fall. There was still control even now, where she refuses to let you see these moments of weakness. Where she refuses to let you see the parts of her that she had so sorely hidden.

She reaches out, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear with a hand that still trembles from years of labour that she never let you witness. “But please,”

It's so quiet, so soft.

“Do come visit, okay?”

——

“All ya need is a recommendation from a recognized Jujutsu Sorcerer.” A hum as he messes with the bracelet on your hand playing with the strands and mindlessly staring at your table.

“It’s not that hard~” He hums, letting go and leaning back as he flops onto your now unrolled futon. “Want me to forge it for ya?”

Kimiko-san, he must mean. If there was any Jujutsu Sorcerer that you knew, it was her that you go for. That’s why you’re here now, following a now much more elderly Takahashi-san about. Still as tall as ever, still exactly as you remembered.

(And as fancy-looking as ever.)

“Do wait inside the Young Master’s room first, (name)-sama. And call for me if there is any trouble.”

(Even as polite as ever.)

Gojo Satoru’s room… When was the last time you came here, actually? You don’t really visit unless there was a reason to, never really had a reason to want to come.

It was stuffy, to be in such a place. Big, wide corridors and pristine floors. Polished decorations without even a speck of dust, and bonsai trees so green you wonder if they painted them.

Quite claustrophobic, to say the least.

But it’s still rude to intrude when there’s no pressing matter. Rude to come when you have nothing in particular to say or do.

(So you really do wonder why he comes over so often. Maybe he likes it? Maybe he doesn’t like his house either? You still recall the days he rejects your rejection to hang out.

He still does them.)

The first thing you notice is how the floors have lost the quirky Digimon carpets, how the walls were no longer covered in his extensive collection of said series’ cards.

But you’re… Actually in look for a book. A game console. Something to keep you preoccupied whilst there was no one to entertain you, something to pass the time as you waited to be called on.

(Because they have Jujutsu stuff to do, you think. So cool.)

And the poster—behind the wall. Maybe you never really noticed, or maybe it was something new. Maybe it was because his vast closet was left ajar, maybe it was because you were just too bored out of your mind.

“Su-Suguru—?” You nearly thought it was, had it not been for the way your eyes trailed downwards only to find the skimpy bikini that she donned, the plunge-line of her bikini top so deep you truly wonder if she was covering anything as she posed with the beach behind her.

That was definitely not Geto Suguru. You feel ashamed of yourself for even thinking that as you slap at your own cheek in shame. Her hair wasn’t as shiny, her eyes weren’t as pretty—and she just didn’t compare.

(Because your Suguru is way prettier than her.)

And you should’ve left it at that, honestly. Should have just nodded at the fact that your friend also happened to a teenage boy, and that teenagers have their needs. Whether they were pretty… Or not.

“Saya-tan! I heard your last meet-and-greet was packed with more of the younger audience than you expected! How did you find that?”

“Oh my, I was so embarrassed… I didn’t know I was so popular with them.”

“Well, teenagers will be teenagers when they see a pretty face like yours, Saya-tan! Even I’m quite a smitten fan of you!”

The problem was that… There was more than one. More than a poster, more than just decorative pieces. A couple of crinkly gravure magazines spotted from the corner of your eye that you’re sure you have flipped through out of curiosity when you found them lying around Suguru’s room once.

But even as you sat on your knees and started reading them once more, it feels a little more… Wrong? Yet, it does feel a little cathartic to find out that even Gojo Satoru wasn’t immune to the charms of pretty girls.

Satoru doesn’t like twintails all that much, after all.

Dark hair, purple eyes… More of a sultry type of vibe?

Ohhhh. You quite like Issue #47, Alpha Genda Soju and Her Summer Charms! One of the models featured even has the same eyes as Saya-tan. Not as pretty, though.

They do say even ero-magazines are a form of love, too. Should you get some?

Some… If not most of these models are a bit uncanny. Almost too familiar, yet unable to put a finger on why. Was it the hair? The face? It almost seems like—

“You.” Not even spared the chance to get to finish flipping through, don’t get to finish your thought before hands go over your eyes from behind, the voice low, and surprisingly put-together despite effectively blinding you and your very sight. “How much did ya see?”

Ah.

“I helped organize them.” Even when blinded, your hands carefully close the magazine you were reading, so carefully putting it aside, before your finger pointed towards the small piles formed in front of you. “By model.”

“Hm.” And he finally lets go, as your eyes slowly blink open, just in time to see him push the magazines away and settle in front of you, the loud crinkle of plastic startling you only ever so slightly.

“Anyone ever told ya you shouldn’t look through a guy’s stash?” He pouts this time, using his height to tower; even when sitting down, even when relaxed.

(Like it was instilled into him.)

However, with you, there’s that odd proximity of closeness again. One that settles when he leans forwards, grabs your hands and stares into your eyes. Foreheads just mere inches away from each other as he hovered near you, close, but a distance in-between.

“Sorry.”

So you close it. That distance that separated the both of you, the one that he seemingly didn’t dare to encroach as you pull him downwards, to have your foreheads be touching.

You whisper it as your eyes close, as—

—he exhales. Like he didn’t know he was holding his breath. His hands stay on yours. Warm. Unrelenting.

“You better be.” His voice is softer than it should be. It doesn’t carry the usual arrogance, didn't have the usual haughtiness.

(Yet, you feel like you've wronged him severely.)

“It’s okay, Satoru.” You even pat at his back, your eyes opening as you smile up at him. “It means you’re healthy.”

“You’re really weird, ya know?”

(“I have a type too.”

“The weather girl or something? Saba?” A scratch of his head and a thoughtless look in his eye. “Ain’t she already married?”

“Saya-tan.” You pout, hands on your hips and very, very offended. “And marriage means she’s happy and healthy!”

“Yeah, yeah.” A scoff paired with a chuckle before his fingers settle atop your forehead, playfully brushing away strands of your hair— before giving you a quick flick. “That’s what ya get for messin’ with my stuff.”

Ow.)

——

Kimiko-san must be somewhere, right? There’s no way she disappeared so quickly... But you do remember the times when you would whisper her name under your breath during the late evenings Mama wasn't home yet— Only for her to suddenly appear by your side.

“Ya gotta wait longer. Last I heard, some old ass grandpa summoned ‘er or something.” He yawns, patting the empty spot beside him upon his bed.

“Just lie down and pay attention to me already.” As needy as ever, you suppose.

“I need the bathroom, though.”

“Just use mine?” Paired with a scrunched up nose and narrowed eyes as he stares at you with a look of confusion. “It’s right next to the closet you were in.”

“…no, thank you.” You’ve an idea just what teenagers do when alone with magazines of such an erotic nature. Have an idea in your mind that you would rather not project onto your dear friend so that you could save his cute image.

Especially when their collection is as extensive as his.

“Why are ya lookin’ at me like that?”

“Girl.” A familiar voice— Elegant, mature and much too forward as you get stopped in your tracks, right in front of that familiar, now much more expensive-looking shoji door.

“You’re here again.” That demanding tone carried an upbringing too far off from your own, too different from what you know.

You remember her.

“Hello…” You even bow— Despite you being sure she can’t even see you as you watch her silhouette appear once more. In a flurry as it dances in the dim light, her faceless figure now making itself known to you.

“State your purpose.” How nostalgic. How familiar.

“I’m looking for Satoru’s room…”

A click of her tongue. “Not that.”

Ah.

“I’m looking for Kimiko-san so that I can get a recommendation for Jujutsu… School.” Or something like that. Satoru has never been the best at being specific, never been the best at explaining when you need him to.

(Because you simply trust him too much.)

“A recommendation? You weren’t even scouted?” You hear shuffling, hear something akin to a scoff before she releases a sigh. "I heard you were an Omega, right?"

"Mhm." It's the first time you've been outed so quickly. You didn't even know that she knew, but to be fair, if you were a generationally well-off clan; you’d think getting classified information of other people would be a breeze, too. “People can’t tell, though.”

“Hm.”

Silence. You think you can even hear the wind whistling outside as you straightened your back, tried to stand as politely as you could. You’re not about to disrespect your elders with horrendous posture.

And you can feel her gaze this time. Scrutinizing, watching. It never left you, not even for a second. Like she was taking her time, like she was drinking in your very self.

Like she couldn’t put a finger on what she wanted.

“Just take this.” You barely even have time to react when she finally breaks the silence, a scroll suddenly appearing out of thin air as it drops into your unprepared hands.

“Kimi— No, the servant girl’s recommendation will not top this. Use it.”

“Thank— Thank you?”

“You should be grateful. Ufufu.” You think she must definitely be related to Satoru in some way, especially when you hear a fan snapping open as she fans at herself.

“Now go.”

Well… That’s settled. Quite unexpectedly, at that.

“Thank you, again.” It’s your parting words to her as you hold it securely in your hands, turning foot and walking away, sparing her a final glance. Though her silhouette only flickers, only ever shows enough to see the shadow that lingers in the dim light, poised and perfectly elegant.

You're glad that it seems that she’s been taking good care of herself, though.

(“Where’d you get that?” Gojo Satoru is leaning over your shoulder as he glances at the scroll, tied to elegantly, sealed so neatly.

“The pretty lady behind the door gave it to me.” Your hands even emulate a fanning position, obscuring your face and doing your best to look as poised as she did.

Even if you only saw her shadow.

You see something flicker in his eyes, a gleam of recognition before he looks away— Clearly disinterested now that he had his answer.

“Sounds creepy.”)

——

“If you stare at it any longer, you’ll hurt your eyes.” A hand on his cheek, a smile and eyes that watched you with intent amusement. Geto Suguru thinks you’re actually on the verge of giving yourself eye strain the longer you stared at the still unopened letter.

“But… I’m nervous, Suguru.” Is it a rejection? An acceptance? Did they put you on a waiting list? What if it was just an apology because they didn’t accept applications anymore? But Satoru did tell you that their window for these never close, but what if he got that wrong? But Satoru’s never been wrong—

A tap on your shoulder.

“You’re overthinking it.”

Ah. Right. Right… You shouldn’t spiral over just a letter. Shouldn’t lose yourself over possibilities that weren’t confirmations yet.

“Do you want me to open it for you?” Because will hearing the result being read out loud in your friend’s soft, soothing voice help ease the burden? Or would it make the crash all the more painful?

“Suguru.” You look at him with earnest honesty, a glimmer in the corner of your eye formed from the sheer anxiety of the situation. “I think I’m gonna throw up.”

“Please don’t.” A pat of your head. “And believe in yourself more.”

Or so he says. But Geto Suguru wasn’t an average person, wasn’t an ordinary human. He was smart, hardworking beyond belief. He was courage and bravery that you could never dream of becoming. He was quiet, yet not shy. Calculating, yet not cold. He was measured, put-together in ways that people admired, that reassured them.

Because, if you were to compare yourself, were to have a way to describe just how different Geto Suguru was from you—it’d be akin to the sea looking up at the moon, how the tide could rise as far as it can, how it can crash as violently as it wanted against the shores.

But the moon will never feel the ocean’s pull.

Because being special would be nice. Being special would put you on the same playing field as them. So was it wrong for you to think that they wouldn’t get it? Was it wrong for you to think that maybe—

You would never be able to compare?

“If you don’t believe in yourself,” His hand places itself over yours, gently squeezing, gently coaxing. “At least believe in me.”

And it’s not fair how easily he can say things like that. How he can look at you like that. It feels like he sees through you, is taking a glance right into your very core.

And you do. You do believe in him more than anything. Because Geto Suguru was the kind of person people follow into the dark blindly, the kind of person that people know will lead them to the other side.

But that’s the problem, isn’t it?

You don’t want to be led. Don’t want to be someone who always follows just because. Something bittersweet stains your words, claws at your throat. “That’s easy for you to say.”

His brows rise a little, head tilted to the side. But he doesn’t interrupt.

“You’re… you,” you continue. “You’re good at everything. You’re already enough.” Because if you were like him, you’d be applying to a school on your own accord, you wouldn’t be here, needing his support and encouragement.

Because you’d already be enough then.

Suguru doesn’t let go. Doesn’t flinch. He just waits patiently. Composed. Calm. He shifts his grip slightly, intertwining your fingers in his, making sure that they were laced together tightly. “But I already like you.”

Even if you were less than, even if you were nothing special. Even when he echos back words that you’re all too familiar with.

So maybe it’s the embarrassment, maybe it’s the adrenaline of having someone like him look at you with such tenderness in his eyes that made you finally tear open that sweat-riddled letter. You see words that sound too fancy, a stamp far too intricate. It’s wordy, it’s anxiety-inducing, but—

You got in.

——

You realize you don’t have a lot of clothes, especially when the old suitcase your Mama gave you was only a quarter-way filled by the time your closet was empty.

“Your closet’s kinda boring.” Ieiri Shoko uses your pillow as an arm rest as she props it up, watching you with intrigue as she surveys the now emptiness that was your closet.

“Is it?” You never really thought about it that way, never really considered yourself to be the fashionable type. But you do quite like watching Saya-chan wear pretty stuff and seeing Shoko’s own coords for the day. They're nice, and you've half a mind to try some of them out yourself... Had they not been so severely out of your price range.

“What happens when you get too hot or cold something?”

You blink. “I lend Suguru’s clothes.” Like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Now it’s her turn to look confused. Bothered, even. Her nose scrunches and her eyes narrow, a look of stark and utter bewilderment on her face. “Doesn’t Gojo have the better quality stuff? Why not just take those?”

“But… They’re expensive.” And guilt will not permit you to even land a singular drop of juice upon them. What if you can’t get it out? What if it stayed there forever and you just dropped its value by ¥10,000?

“And also, Suguru’s laundry detergent smells…” You can’t put a finger on it. “Really comforting?” You grew up with it, after all.

She blinks. “That shirt you’re wearing,” A finger pointed towards the plain white article you donned with familiarity, wore with comfort. Evidenced by the slightly worn collar from years of use and the very, very slight fraying at the hem.

(It’s really good quality.)

“He gave you that, right?”

“Mhm. It’s really comfy.” And has lasted you a good 5 years so far, ever since

“Oh, Satoru. You left your shirt behind at my house.” Your face is blank, voice even as you take another bite of the creamy parfait.

(Thank you to whichever academic god up there that let you do semi-well on that recent test.)

He looks at you— But only for a moment before humming, not even batting an eye. Dismissive, daydreaming and probably didn’t hear what you just said. You can only blink as you watch him take another impossibly large bite of your shared treat.

“Keep it, won’t cha? Use it as pajamas or something, like ya do with Suguru’s stuff.”

So it shouldn’t have been expensive if he parted ways with it so easily, right? And you’re not exactly too keen on giving it back, anyway…

“That’s at least ¥100,000, by the way.” It’s blunt, as if the number that she just uttered out wasn’t an exorbitant amount. As if it wasn’t that big of a deal.

(Rich people… Are simply too different for you to get.)

“So just take his stuff too,” A sigh as she stretches her arms out, making herself comfortable on your floors as she yawns once more. “He’ll just buy another one if he actually really liked it.”

(So he gave his to you… Because he hated it…? Rich people really are too different for you to understand.)

“That’s such a waste…” Now you feel bad for this shirt. Feel bad that its worth was based entirely on how much Satoru actually liked wearing it as you lift the hem and stare at it. “I’ll make sure to treasure you in his place…”

“That’s… Not what I meant, but okay.” Whatever makes you happy, she supposes.

She stretches again, her limbs splaying out against the softness of your futon, slowly lulling her to sleep as the silence stretches with her. But you know her eyes are half-lidded, half-awake to watch you meander, watch you think slowly in the comfortable quiet between the both of you.

Shoko's always been like that. She doesn't radiate like Gojo, and she doesn’t pull people in like Suguru. But she’s there. Always there, waiting in the quietude that surrounds.

She’s the stars, maybe. Always visible, always quiet. Something nobody notices until they’re out of options. They don’t light the way, not really. But they remind you you’re not alone in the dark.

Maybe that’s why you’ve always found her presence strangely grounding. Because she never demands attention, never tries too hard. She exists to a tune of her own, endlessly, reliably.

“Don’t sleep for too long, Shoko.”

“Mm…”

(“We should go shopping sometime, by the way...” You can’t believe that that hasn’t occurred yet, for as long as you have been friends with her.

“Maybe when I save up more money? Clothes can be expensive too, Shoko.” You know that. Saya-chan showed off her coordinates and how much they were on a special program featuring her once.

“Maybe. Or we could just bring Gojo along.”

“Why would he know anything about girl’s clothes?”)

——

Tokyo. The capital of the country, the bustling center of it all. People walked at paces faster than you could keep up with, their eyes barely even locked on nowhere in particular before they have to pick up another important business call on their phones. You're not even sure if half of them are real.

(You hope they're watching the road at the very least. Safety first, after all.)

What a fast-paced city. Far too fast that even your blinks feel like they're still trying to catch up.

You think you’re lost. You pretty sure you are, when you've walked past the same salaryman smoking in a corner for the third time now, and the same vending machine that had been coaxing you to try its Ultra Premium Deluxe one-of-a-kind chocolate milk that wasn't sold anywhere else.

You think they're both starting to judge you.

“Getting lost is for weaklings.” There’s a carefree smile on his face as Shinkansen train ticket that he had bought sat on your palm, fluttering lightly with the cool air of Suguru’s room.

“Satoru. Don’t talk like that.” Geto Suguru has to scold him once more, chide him on his word choice again.

“Who even cares? Not my fault the shitty admissions team or whatever couldn’t let us all in at the same time.”

“She’s only getting admittance a couple days after. It shouldn’t be that long a wait.”

You definitely think you’re lost as you stand by the walkway, your luggage beside you as you take out your cellphone… That you realized was already dead.

Ah. You’re done for. Completely, utterly done for as you stare at the crowds and crowds of people all about, swarming past you like ants to sugar. They're walking far too fast for you to even stop one of them to ask for directions. Maybe you should head for a police station? Where even is the closest one? You think you took the correct exit out, but you also think—

A tug at your sleeve.

He doesn’t say anything— Nothing at all. Just simply stares up at you as he clings to your clothes, blinking his big, blue eyes at you as your eyes first catch the sight of black, spiky hair.

The second thing you notice, was the energy that he emanated. A sight you've long committed to memory as it floats off of him in waves, gently swaying in the wind.

(A sorcerer. Or at least, a future one in the making.)

“Um…” Who is this kid, anyway? His hair’s all messed up, clothes slightly wrinkled and there was a spot of dried drool by the corner of his pudgy cheek— As if he just woke up only recently.

(But he looks strangely... Familiar.)

“Are you lost too?” It’s the only question you could even think of asking in your current situation, bending at the knees as you come down to his level, to his very small height as he reaches out a smaller hand to grab at a strand of your hair.

(He looks too young to be out and about all on his own.)

“Mm.” How forward. How... Brave. You don't think you had the courage he had when you were younger. "Where are your parents?" You wince slightly when he tugs a little too hard, only for him to release his grip soon after, patting at your face... As if in apology.

(What a cute kid.)

Maybe you should go to a police station now. Being lost yourself is bad enough, but being lost and accompanied by somebody who can't even count to 10 is far too much of a responsibility for you to bear. It has to be nearby, right? Surely they would station close enough for people like you. Suguru also mentioned something about calling him if—

You're still trying to think of a solid plan when a rough, impatient, unmistakably older, and impossibly nostalgic voice cuts through the crowd.

It’s clearer than you would expect, more hoarse than you would ever think. It makes you perk up in surprise, makes you wonder if—

“Oi, what did I say about running around, you brat?”

previous masterlist next

#jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satosugu x reader #gojo x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader

90 notes · View notes

whalesforhands · 1 month ago

Text

make these moments last forever

“Is it even on?” Your hand gently pushes at the lenses of the camera, so unceremoniously shoved in your face as sheepishness seeps in. “Please don’t tell me you took that much of a closeup of my face…”

“Relax,” Another click, another flash that has your eyes squeezing shut in efforts to protect themselves from the barrage of photos Ieiri Shoko could not stop herself from taking. “You look pretty.”

(As if you would believe her.)

“I hope you at least delete the ugly ones, Shoko…” You pout just as another flash goes off, your face hot with embarrassment at being turned into her muse of interest for the day.

It’s not everyday Ieiri Shoko finds the old camera she thought she had lost when she had first moved into the dorms, hidden under the all the other junk that she had sworn to you that she would clean up— Eventually.

But it’s fine now. Those things can wait, can’t they? The school days are slow, long and far too boring, so why can’t they just wait and stay as they are?

“Like I said,” She hums as she flicks through picture after picture, some blurry, some clear. There’s light flittering about you in some as the setting sun behind you acts as your backdrop in this sunset classroom.

It’s too good.

“You look pretty.”

(“If I’m so pretty, you’d let me see the pictures already…!”

“I’m getting them printed out.” She thinks for a moment with a thoughtful, careless smile. “Later, that is.”

“Shoko…!”)

——

“Fuck that mission…” There’s a thud when a bag throws itself onto the ground, shoes unceremoniously kicked off and landing before the classroom door.

“I’m so tireddddd!”

You don’t hear it, don’t bother to reply. Not when you’re already passed out on the floor, using Suguru’s haphazardly thrown schoolbag as your pillow as you curl in on yourself, the wooden boards of your classroom never feeling so comfortable.

“Oiii— Don’t fall asleep yet!” It comes out as a whining complaint, especially when his blazer is quickly undone as it flutters down to cover your snoozing form, the only one out of the 3 of you to be untouched by dust and dirt, the only one who stayed relatively clean as grime starts to settle on skin.

“Satoru, be quiet.” Geto Suguru is crouched down, exhausted beyond belief as he barely even catches his breath. “My body feels like it’s about to give out…”

And the snowy-haired classmate finally falls onto his knees, the shakiness now far more evident now that the veil of pretense had lifted, victory apparent on his smug face. “Haha… Ya finally admit defeat, Suguru?! I win the endurance battle!”

“Shut up already…”

It was a hard mission, after all.

“Senpais! You’re already back so quickly?” Light footsteps, quick on their feet and far too excited, the sliding door screaming on his hinges as it gets pulled open far too fast. “This calls for a celebratory picture!”

Haibara Yu likes celebrating. A selfie the first time Ieiri-senpai lent him the camera, a blurry picture of Nanami the next.

“He’s been using everything as an excuse to take photos whilst you were all gone.”

“Memories are the best, Nanami!” A happy grin and a light pat of the blond’s shoulder. “Ya gotta lighten up a little more to truly experience ‘em!”

“No, thank you.” A grimace and a complaint as Nanami Kento watches just how out of commission everyone was. “Haibara, I don’t think we shou—“

“Job well done, everyone! Cheeeeese!” A flash, and there’s his smiling face in the foreground, eyes scrunched into crescents that displayed the brightness of sunshine. Yet, even with such a bright image, situated behind him were the tired bodies of his upperclassmen, too exhausted to even twitch a finger after the last mission.

(“Ehhh? Nanami, ya gotta move in closer! This picture’s only got your shoulder and half your face in it!”

“Stop taking photos of me.”)

——

You’re barely even awake, toothbrush hanging from your mouth and hair a tangled mess when your body barely even registers the sound of the familiar camera clicks.

“…?” You can barely even make a sound in your current state, let alone be able to tell who had stopped you so suddenly on your way to the shared sink to rinse your mouth.

“Oho~ This one came out pretty cute as well!” You feel a warm hand pressing against your forehead, as if he was patting your head in thanks— That’s what you think so in your sleepy state, anyway.

You feel your hair being pushed back, strands parted with lithe fingers that drag down your cheek before it taps at the toothpaste foam gathering at the corner of your lip.

"But y'er too sleepy to even know, huh?"

"Hmmngh?" It comes out as quiet and as confused as you are, an odd way of rebutting the haughty tone of this person's voice; and the blur of white that starts to come into your visage as you slowly blink.

"I'm gonna upcharge this one to Shoko." You think he's showing you something when the tender hand against your cheek moves downwards, grasping onto your shoulder and pulling you in close as you hear the now familiar, soft beeps of the old camera.

“This one I’m gonna see how much Suguru would buy it for~” Your head is now against his shoulder, just silently nodding along to his whims, to his heartbeat that drawled you along to a lullaby you can’t help but listen to.

“Ya think I should keep this one for myself? My~ Never thought that you’d ask!” And there’s another flash that you can barely notice, through your sleep-riddled haze and the warmth of the person holding you in his arms.

“Off to the bathroom we go!”

(“Satoru…?” You blink up at him when you finally rinse your face, tired eyes looking up only to see him leaning against the doorframe, far too happy with flitting through pictures upon that camera.

“Aren’t you supposed to be waking Suguru up…?”)

——

“Yaga-sensei, you’re really lacking in this, huh?”

“Oh my. Your camera must be tough to handle.”

“Maybe it’s his age.”

“Shut your damn mouths! Don’t be rude to elders!”

“Ehhhh~? Utahime’s lecturin’ us!”

“Cheeeeeseee!”

“Haibara, the camera’s not even ready.”

And you can only hope your poor homeroom teacher figures it out soon, for yourself, for him— and for the photo album that you all couldn’t help but want to fill.

(“Yaga-sensei, have you tried pressing the big button on top…?”

“Technology nowadays. Hmph.”

“This was from your generation—probably.”)

“All of you…” Masamichi Yaga’s voice booms, resounding throughout the classroom as he crosses his arms, feet firmly planted into the soft, cotton slippers he usually dawned on his days off as he stood towering behind all of you, his stare transfixed upon the gadget before all of you.

“BE SILENT!”

A flash.

Flinches, twitches, jumps of fear as surprise etches itself onto everyone’s faces, the heated irritated glowing red upon your teacher’s face as the camera finally took a class photo.

(“Yaga-sennnn! Look what ya did!”

“My yearly class photos with the girls…!”

“It’s got its own… Charm.”

“I like it! It’s like a fun shot!”

“We wouldn’t be in a classroom if we wanted that.”)

masterlist

#dyf au #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satosugu x reader #geto suguru x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader

147 notes · View notes