bambooadventure



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    “I’m here to ask for your help!” Satoru proclaims with a grin.

    “My help with what?”

    “You know – pregnancy. Getting knocked up. Baby-making. The birds and the bees, do I have to say it in any other way too?” He made a face, nose scrunching up before looking at Suguru with overly big eyes, all fake innocence and sweetness and specifically, on purpose and asking, “Suguru, do you wanna make a baby with me?”

    Damn.

    His head kinda blue-screened at that for a second.

    [Repost]

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    09 Feb 2026

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    "Where do we start?"

    Suguru leans towards Satoru like a planet in orbit, a hypnotic draw, "Us. Let's start with us."

     

    Or: Suguru’s roommate and his girlfriend won’t stop fucking when he’s trying to study, so he takes refuge at his best friend Yuki’s place. But his plans of productivity are dashed by one Gojo Satoru—Yuki’s pretty roommate with soft white hair and a blue lollipop the same shade as his eyes.

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    09 Feb 2026

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    Gojo found Geto right where Shoko said he would be. “Do you want me to sit here in silent misery with you, or do you want a distraction?” he said to Geto’s back.

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    09 Feb 2026

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    There is no clear moment, not really, but there is one that sticks out in his mind, when he knew with a sickening sort of thud inside him, a punch to the jaw in an anything goes bare-fist fight, no chance to hide his weak spots in the aftermath.

    “No.” Suguru says, enunciating carefully, as though his lack of diction is the issue.

    “But Suguru,” Satoru whines, heavy on the last syllable, and Suguru can feel Shoko shift beside him.

    “Why do you say his name like that?” She snips before Satoru can continue with his impassioned plea or Suguru can try to intercede, cut him off. “Just say it normal, be normal.” She kicks out and misses Satoru, standing at the edge of the bed, and hits Suguru, who grunts in response. “Oops.”

    Suguru waves it off.

    “When is he ever normal?” He asks, rolling his eyes at her. Shoko snorts out a laugh, her leg resting over Suguru’s shin, a comforting warmth.

    “So true.” Shoko responds, flicking open her phone.

    “I’m literally right here.” Satoru practically shouts, tossing his sunglasses haphazardly onto Suguru’s bedside table, “terrible friendship, terrible friends,” and Suguru closes his eyes because he knows what is coming next, “Suguru,” Satoru whines again.

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    08 Feb 2026

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    That night Suguru sits on the floor in front of one of the biggest canvases he’s ever worked on. There’s a half empty bottle of red wine at his elbow, a paintbrush held delicately as he paints veins into Satoru’s hands. They’re poised in front of his face, dragging against skin and hovering right before they can sink into the white washes of his hair. Suguru had started the painting as soon as he had walked into his home, dumping the art supplies on tarp and dragging the massive canvas out from under his bed.

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    07 Feb 2026