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cumironi · 1 month ago

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THEM AND THE NICKNAMES : GOJO SATORU, GETO SUGURU

sum. your boyfriends love to call you with a bunch of weird and loving nickname, especially gojo.

warning. established relationship x satosugu, fluff, crack, petname(s), nickname(s).

having two boyfriends who love calling you by nicknames is an experience on its own, especially when their approaches are completely different. geto is sweet, affectionate, and always mindful of making you feel adored, while gojo takes it as a personal challenge to come up with the most ridiculous, over-the-top, and sometimes downright embarrassing nicknames possible. it's like living in two different realities—one where you're cherished like a goddess, and another where you're being trolled by your own boyfriend.

geto’s nicknames for you are always gentle, warm, and filled with love. he calls you “darling” in that smooth, honeyed voice of his, as if the word itself was made for you. sometimes, when he’s feeling extra affectionate, he’ll go for something softer, like “sweetheart” or “my love,” murmured against your hair while he pulls you into a slow hug. in moments when he’s teasing, he’ll lean close with a smirk and call you “pretty girl” or “princess,” making your heart flutter before he kisses the top of your hand like an old-fashioned gentleman. it’s all so romantic, so tender—it makes you feel like you’re in the middle of a slow-burning love story. even when he’s joking, there’s always love in the way he speaks to you, as if every nickname is a small love letter whispered just for you.

then, there’s gojo. gojo does not believe in subtlety. he does not believe in ordinary nicknames or anything that sounds remotely normal. no, he takes it as a personal mission to make you either laugh, groan, or want to strangle him. “sugar muffin deluxe,” he announces dramatically as he throws an arm around you in public, completely unbothered by the strange looks people give. “the love of my life, the peanut butter to my jelly, the one who tolerates my nonsense.” and he says it so proudly, like he’s just declared the most romantic thing in existence. but it doesn’t stop there—oh no, he has a never-ending arsenal of nicknames. sometimes it’s “my little gremlin” when you’re grumpy, or “snack-sized menace” when you argue back. in moments when he wants to make you cringe, he’ll lean in close and whisper, “hey there, my juicy dumpling,” just to watch you shove him away in horror.

but the worst—absolutely the worst—is when he decides to call you something new in front of everyone. one time, while walking through the streets of shibuya, he suddenly shouted, “oi, snugglebug supreme! wait for me!” the heads of at least five strangers turned, and you wanted the ground to swallow you whole. geto, ever the composed one, only sighed and said, “satoru, must you always be so loud?” but there was amusement in his tone, like he had long accepted this part of gojo’s personality. gojo, on the other hand, only grinned, completely unfazed. “what? she is my snugglebug supreme,” he said, draping himself over you dramatically, ignoring the way you smacked his arm.

but despite their differences, both of them love you in their own ways. geto’s nicknames remind you of how deeply he cherishes you, of how much warmth he holds in his heart for you. gojo’s, though ridiculous, remind you that you are adored, that you are the center of his world in the loudest, most extravagant way possible. and at the end of the day, no matter how much you roll your eyes or groan in embarrassment, you wouldn’t change a thing about them.

you yawn as you step into the kitchen, the oversized fabric of geto’s shirt swallowing your frame, the sleeves hanging past your elbows as you lazily rub your eyes. it’s one of those rare, perfect weekends—no work, no missions, no stress. just the three of you in the comfort of home, basking in the peace of an afternoon where time doesn’t matter. the scent of something sweet lingers in the air, mixing with the faint bitterness of chocolate, and as you glance up, you find gojo leaning against the counter, one hand lazily popping a piece of chocolate into his mouth while geto stands at the stove, focused on whatever he’s making.

gojo’s gaze flickers to you the second you walk in, and that familiar, mischievous grin stretches across his lips. before you can even react, his long arms reach out, snagging you by the neck in a loose, lazy headlock, his chin resting against your temple as he hums in amusement. “hi, my little bird,” he coos, his voice playful, affectionate, and just a little smug as he ruffles your hair with his free hand.

you groan, half-heartedly shoving at his arm. “don’t call me that.”

“why not?” he pouts, though there’s pure amusement in his tone. “you’re tiny, you wander around the house aimlessly, and you always look like you just woke up. just like a little bird.”

geto chuckles from the stove, stirring something in a pan. “he’s not entirely wrong,” he muses, glancing at you with that soft, fond smile of his. unlike gojo, his teasing is always gentler, laced with warmth instead of pure mischief. “you did walk in here looking half-asleep.”

“that’s because i just woke up,” you grumble, trying to wiggle out of gojo’s grip, but he only tightens his hold slightly, rocking you from side to side like you’re some kind of stuffed toy.

in an effortless movement, he lifts you off the ground with one arm, your feet hanging a few inches above the kitchen floor. he grins down at you, his hands effortlessly supporting your weight, and for a moment, you can’t help but be a bit impressed by his sheer strength. your body is easily maneuvered into a comfortable position, with your head resting against his chest, and he proceeds to walk towards the living room, his steps as smooth and graceful as a dancer’s.

he carries you through the house with ease, all the while gently rocking you from side to side like a mother would a baby. his voice is just as gentle as his touch, and you can practically hear the warmth and affection in his tone. “you’re so cute when you just woke up,” gojo muses, leaning close to murmur against your ear with an audible smirk. “little bit groggy, all disheveled and sleepy. and the oversized shirt you’re wearing... adorable.”

he nuzzles his face into your hair, his breath warm against your temple, and you can feel his smile against your skin. “you’re the perfect little bundle of adorableness, you know that?”

...it’s both embarrassing and comforting at the same time, to be carried like this. the warmth of his chest is soothing, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding you. the way he sways softly with each step, his movements smooth and calculated, is like a soothing lullaby. but you can’t deny the flush that rises to your cheeks, the butterflies that flutter in your stomach every time his hand tightens its grip around you.

in his arms, you both feel both vulnerable and protected at once. his hold on you is firm, secure in his arms while he lay you down to the couch along with himself that make him he lets out a quiet hum. “is that so?” you ask, still groggy and sleepy. he pulls you closer, maneuvering you until your head rests comfortably against his chest. his body is warm, firm beneath you, and he wraps his arms around you with an almost possessive gesture.

he chuckles at your question, a hint of smugness in his tone. “oh, absolutely,” he says, running his fingers through your hair, his touch gentle, affectionate. “you’re like a little sleepy doll.”

he continues to pet your hair rhythmically, his fingers sifting through the strands in a soothing motion. he leans in closer, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck and inhaling deeply like he’s savoring your scent. his grip tightens slightly around your waist, and he murmurs against your skin, his voice low and affectionate.

“you’re so small,” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin. “so delicate. i could hold you like this forever and never get tired.” he shifts slightly, angling your body closer to his so that you fit perfectly against him. his arms wrap tighter around you, his chest rising and falling with each slow breath. he tilts his head down, pressing his lips to the top of your head in a gentle, almost reverent kiss. “and this shirt,” he says, his voice soft and amused. “it’s practically swallowing you alive. do you even know whose it is?”

you let out a soft hum, barely lifting your head as you murmur, “it’s suguru’s,” your voice drowsy, muffled against gojo’s chest. you try to push yourself up, pressing your palms against the firm muscle beneath you, but the moment you attempt to move, his arms tighten around your waist like a steel trap.

“mm-mm,” he hums, low and lazy, his grip unyielding. his long fingers splay across your back, holding you in place with ease, as if he has no intention of ever letting you go. you groan, your forehead dropping against his shoulder in exasperation.

“satoru,” you sigh, trying again to wiggle free, but it’s useless. he only pulls you closer, effortlessly maneuvering you until you’re completely flush against him, your legs tangled with his as his lips brush against your temple in a smug kiss.

“why are you trying to escape, little bird?” he teases, his voice dripping with amusement. one of his hands slides up, threading through your hair again, his fingers scratching lightly against your scalp in a way that almost makes you melt despite your annoyance. “you’re so warm and cozy, like a little heater. why would i let go?”

“because i want to get up,” you mumble, pushing weakly against his chest.

he laughs, a deep, amused sound that resonates through his chest. he presses his face into your hair, inhaling deeply like he’s trying to imprint your scent into his lungs. “oh, but you’re so perfect like this,” he teases. “all soft and warm, pressed up against me. why would i ever let you go?” his fingers dance lazily along your spine, tracing slow, gentle circles.

“besides,” he adds, his tone turning more serious, “we don’t have anything important to do today, do we?” he presses another kiss to your temple, his lips lingering against your skin. “you’re so much cozier here,” he argues, his hand moving up to gently cradle the back of your head. “warm, soft... perfect for cuddles.”

you groan, squirming against gojo’s hold as you push yourself up from the couch, using every ounce of strength you have. his arms are strong—too strong—but you manage to lift yourself just enough to peek over the back of the couch, your eyes locking onto geto, who is still standing in the kitchen, calmly plating food like he isn’t witnessing a full-on struggle.

your fingers grip the head of the couch tightly, your knuckles turning white as you strain to keep yourself upright, putting as much distance as possible between you and gojo’s suffocating embrace. “suguru,” you call out, your voice a mix of frustration and desperation. you whine dramatically, dragging out his name before adding, “help me.”

geto barely glances up, his expression unreadable except for the slight twitch at the corner of his lips. he’s amused—you know he is—but he says nothing, simply continuing his task like your plea for help isn’t falling on deaf ears.

before you can try again, gojo moves, fast and effortless, his hands wrapping around your wrists in a firm but playful grip. “oh, no, you don’t,” he murmurs, and before you can react, he pulls—hard.

you yelp, your body losing all resistance as he drags you right back into his arms, pressing you against him once more. the sudden movement has you shrieking, a high-pitched sound of protest that only makes him laugh.

“gotcha,” he hums, his breath warm against your temple as he tucks you securely against his chest again. “nice try, little bird, but you’re not going anywhere.”

you thrash weakly, but it’s no use. his arms tighten around you like a vice, his fingers tracing slow, taunting circles against your spine.

“suguru,” you whine again, trying to turn your head towards the kitchen. this time, geto does look up, exhaling softly before shaking his head. “satoru,” he calls, voice calm but with a clear warning. “don’t suffocate her.”

gojo grins, unabashed. “but she’s so comfy to cuddle,” he protests, nuzzling his face into your neck and inhaling deeply. “and look how cute she is, squirming around like that.”

he tightens his grip, pulling you even tighter against his chest. you can feel the rumble of his gentle laughter through your body. “besides, she’s not really complaining. she’s just being dramatic.” gojo leans in, his lips pressing a light kiss to your temple. “aren’t you, little bird?” he teases, giving you a little squeeze.

it takes you a moment—several moments, actually—to finally break free from gojo’s relentless hold. he makes it as difficult as possible, arms tightening every time you try to wiggle away, his teasing laughter vibrating through his chest as he murmurs sweet, taunting little things about how you belong right there, tucked against him forever.

but after an exhausting amount of struggling, shifting, and sheer determination, you finally manage to slip out of his grasp. the second you’re free, you don’t waste a second—you bolt.

a breathless laugh escapes you as you dart toward the kitchen, your feet light against the floor as you make a beeline for geto. he barely has time to react before you crash into him, wrapping your arms securely around his waist and pressing yourself against his back.

“suguru, save me,” you breathe between chuckles, peeking out from behind him with a mischievous glint in your eyes.

geto lets out a small, knowing sigh, his body instinctively leaning into your touch as his free hand drops down to rest over yours, gently clasping your fingers. “you finally escaped, huh?” he murmurs, amusement lacing his tone.

before you can answer, you hear the all-too-familiar sound of socked feet padding toward you. you glance up just in time to see gojo rounding the corner, his expression a mix of playful frustration and faux betrayal.

“really?” he drawls, stopping just a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest as he cocks his head at you. “you’re just gonna run? after all that cuddling? after all that warmth we shared?”

you grin, tightening your grip on geto and using him as a shield. “you left me no choice,” you say dramatically, peeking at gojo from behind geto’s shoulder.

geto chuckles, shaking his head as he lifts a hand to ruffle your hair. “satoru, let her breathe,” he muses, his tone teasing but with a clear undertone of amusement.

gojo huffs, his lips twitching as if he’s holding back a smile. “she doesn’t need to breathe,” he counters. “she needs to come back here.”

you shake your head immediately, clinging to geto even tighter. “no way.”

gojo pouts playfully, his bottom lip jutting out in an exaggerated frown. “but i’m cold nowww,” he whines, taking a few exaggerated steps closer, his arms still crossed over his chest. “and you were so warm...”

geto chuckles softly at the exchange, his hand warm and steady on your head. “satoru, don’t be so needy,” he chides, his tone gentle but firm.

gojo’s frown deepens, and he takes another step closer, his fingers twitching as if he’s barely restraining himself from reaching out and grabbing you.

you ignore gojo’s exaggerated whining, tuning him out completely as your eyes drift toward the counter where geto is working. your attention shifts instantly, and your expression brightens as you catch sight of what he’s making.

“oh,” you breathe, eyes glistening with delight. “you made cookies.”

not just any cookies—strawberry cookies. soft pink dough, delicately shaped, with tiny crumbles of dried strawberries scattered on top like little specks of sweetness. they look perfect, straight out of a bakery display, and the sight alone makes your stomach grumble.

geto hums in acknowledgment, his hand slipping from the top of your head to drape comfortably over your shoulder, pulling you in just enough that your bodies are flush together. with his other hand, he carefully sprinkles more dried strawberries over the cookie dough, working with practiced ease.

“you said you wanted some strawberry cookies, my love,” he murmurs, his voice smooth and gentle, like warm honey. he doesn’t even need to glance at you; his focus remains on the dough, but there’s a quiet fondness in the way he speaks.

you blink, momentarily caught off guard. then, realization dawns on you—you did say that. you remember mentioning it absentmindedly on the way home from work yesterday, sighing about how good strawberry cookies sounded, how you hadn’t had them in a while. it was just a passing comment, something small and fleeting, not something you expected anyone to actually remember.

but geto did.

your chest feels warm, an unmistakable swell of love rising in you as you tilt your head up to look at him. his expression remains calm, focused, but there’s an undeniable softness there, the kind that only appears when he’s with you.

that’s the thing about geto—he remembers everything. even the smallest, most trivial things. if it matters to you, it matters to him. and he’ll always find a way to make it come true, no matter how simple or insignificant it might seem.

a smile tugs at your lips, gentle and affectionate. “you’re too good to me, sugu,” you murmur, shifting slightly so you can press a small kiss to his shoulder in silent gratitude.

geto’s eyes crinkle at the corners, a hint of a pleased smirk tugging at the edge of his lips. he’s proud, you can tell, and rightfully so—he’s always been the reliable one, the thoughtful one, the one who remembers the little things. it’s as if he has an entire mental archive dedicated solely to you—your likes, dislikes, dreams, and desires tucked neatly away in his mind.

he finishes sprinkling the dried berries over the cookies, his hand moving with a graceful efficiency that comes from years of practice. once he's satisfied, he carefully places the tray in the oven, setting a timer before turning to face you fully.

he leans back against the kitchen counter, his arms folding comfortably across his chest as he looks at you with a soft, knowing smile. the sunlight filtering into the room hits his skin just right, casting a warm glow that highlights the sharp contours of his face.

geto’s eyes linger on you for a moment, taking you in with quiet reverence, as if he’s committing every little detail of your expression to memory. he always looks at you like that—like you’re the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

before you could even muster a response, gojo’s hands suddenly cup your face, his long fingers spreading across your cheeks, his grip firm but not forceful. you barely have time to react before he attacks—pressing loud, exaggerated kisses all over your face with relentless enthusiasm.

“my little mochi puff! my sugarplum dumpling! my sweet, squishy love bun!” he coos between kisses, his voice high-pitched and dramatic. each ridiculous nickname is punctuated by another smothering peck, his lips landing on your forehead, your nose, your cheeks—anywhere he can reach.

you burst into laughter, your body shaking with giggles as you try to squirm away. “satoru—!” you try to protest, but your words are lost between your breathless laughter and his nonstop affection. your hands push at his chest, weakly attempting to escape, but he’s holding your face so firmly in place, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles against your skin even as he showers you in relentless kisses.

“my tiny, precious baby bean! my little dumpling cloud! my fluffiest marshmallow!” he continues dramatically, his voice full of exaggerated adoration as if he’s declaring his love to the entire universe.

geto, still leaning against the counter, watches with an amused smirk, his arms crossed over his chest. “you’re gonna suffocate her, satoru.”

“go out in the best way possible,” gojo replies instantly before blowing an obnoxiously loud raspberry against your cheek, making you yelp.

“i swear to—” you try again, but another flood of kisses silences you.

you can barely breathe between your laughter, your face burning both from embarrassment and the sheer overwhelming affection. “satoru, let me go, you menace!” you wail, half-heartedly slapping at his arms, but he only grins wider, completely unbothered.

“never! my little pudding pop, my baby chick, my—”

you shriek when he presses an especially dramatic kiss to your jaw, and in your desperation, you reach out blindly—grabbing onto geto’s shirt, seeking rescue, tighten your arms around his waist.

geto hums, finally taking pity on you, and with a smooth motion, he reaches out and tugs you away from gojo’s grasp, pulling you firmly against his chest. “alright, alright, let her breathe,” he chides, his voice warm with amusement as he shields you from gojo’s relentless attack.

gojo finally relents, pulling back with a dramatic sigh and an exaggerated pout on his lips. “you’re no fun, sugu,” he complains, his hands dropping from your face to cross over his chest. “i was just showing my love and appreciation for our little mochi puff.”

geto rolls his eyes, one arm circling around your waist to keep you firmly against him. “you were smothering her, satoru,” he replies, his voice level but with a hint of warning. “let the poor girl breathe for once.”

gojo huffs, his pout deepening as he gives geto a sideways glance. “but i have so many adorable nicknames for her,” he whines, his tone almost petulant.

geto snorts, his arm tightening around you as he pulls you a little closer. “you can call her all your ridiculous nicknames later,” he replies. “after you let her breathe and let her function without being completely overwhelmed by your clinginess.”

gojo grumbles, and you can practically see the wheels in his head spinning as he contemplates arguing further. you just chuckle, glancing up at gojo but saying nothing, your arms still wrapped securely around geto as you rest your head against his chest. the warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat—it’s all too comfortable to let go of just yet.

gojo rolls his eyes, huffing dramatically. “you both suck,” he grumbles, crossing his arms before turning on his heel. “i’m taking a shower,” he announces, his voice carrying that signature dramatic flair, as if he’s deeply wounded by your choice to cling to geto instead of indulging him.

without another word, he disappears down the hallway towards the bedroom, muttering something under his breath that you’re sure is just more complaints about how unfairly he’s being treated. you shake your head, a small, amused smile tugging at your lips before tilting your head up, resting your chin on geto’s chest as you peer up at him.

geto chuckles quietly at gojo’s exit, shaking his head in fond exasperation. he looks down at you, his eyes softening as he meets your gaze. “you know, one of these days, he’s gonna sulk so much he actually disappears,” he murmurs in a low voice, the corner of his lips twitching slightly.

his hand moves from your waist, gliding up your side until he’s gently cupping your cheek. his thumb brushes across your skin in a tender, almost absentminded gesture, yet the tenderness in his touch is unmistakable.

geto leans back against the counter, adjusting his stance so your body slots more comfortably against his. you can tell he’s enjoying having you in his arms, his fingers continuing to trace light patterns along your skin, his touch both soothing and possessive.

“how are you feeling?” he asks, his voice low and quiet, just for you. his eyes search your face, studying your expression, looking for any signs of discomfort or exhaustion. he’s always been protective of you, especially when gojo gets a bit too... enthusiastic.

he’s always been the calm to gojo’s chaos. the stability to his fire. like a grounding force, always there, always steady, always ready to catch you when you fall. “you holding up alright?” he murmurs, his voice a soft whisper between you two. “not overwhelmed by his nonsense yet?”

you chuckle, nodding your head with a small pout. “mm-hmm,” you hum, pretending to be oh-so-exhausted from gojo’s antics. “so overwhelmed,” you add, voice laced with fake weariness.

geto snorts, his fingers continuing to trace slow, soothing patterns along your back. but there’s a knowing glint in his eyes, the tiniest smirk tugging at his lips. because he knows you—knows exactly what you’re doing.

you nuzzle into his chest for extra effect, milking his protectiveness for all it’s worth. and geto? well, he plays right into it. his arms tighten around you just a little more, his chin resting lightly atop your head as he hums.

geto lets out a low, amused huff, and you can practically feel the eyeroll in it. he’s caught on to your little act, obviously—but he goes along with it anyway because he knows exactly how much you crave his attention and protection. his fingers dance up your spine, a touch that’s both gentle and possessive. “poor thing,” he murmurs, his voice a soft rumble against your ear. “let me guess, you’re absolutely drained after satoru’s...overwhelming affection?”

you continue to pout, nodding your head without another word, your eyes wide and pleading as you look up at him—puppy eyes in full effect.

geto hums, exhaling softly through his nose, and you catch the briefest flicker of amusement in his gaze. he knows exactly what you're doing, sees right through your act, but he doesn’t call you out on it. instead, he indulges you, the way he always does.

“poor thing,” he murmurs, his fingers skimming lightly over your waist, his touch slow, deliberate. “so exhausted from satoru’s endless energy... how terrible.”

before you can respond, he leans down, and suddenly, soft warmth presses against your skin—his lips ghosting over your forehead in a delicate kiss.

where gojo had been chaotic and eager, peppering your face with exaggerated, messy kisses, geto is the complete opposite. his touch is unhurried, like he’s savoring every second, every little reaction you give him. his lips trail down to your temple, brushing feather-light against your skin before moving lower, pressing a lingering kiss to your cheek.

“my pretty girl,” he murmurs, barely pulling away before pressing another kiss—this time, to the other cheek. “my sweetheart.”

his voice is a gentle lull, warmth curling through your chest with every whispered endearment. his kisses are slow, deliberate, placed with care, like he’s mapping out every inch of your face. he brushes his lips over the tip of your nose, down to your jaw, then back up again, lingering at your temple as his arms tighten around you.

“my love,” he breathes, the words melting against your skin, filled with nothing but devotion.

then another kiss, softer this time, right at the corner of your lips. “my darling,” he whispers, his voice thick with affection. “my sweet little thing.”

his lips move again, grazing just beneath your ear. “my baby,” he hums, his voice almost teasing as he presses another kiss to your jaw. “my angel.”

your fingers clutch at the fabric of his shirt, your body relaxing completely against him as you let out a soft, content sigh. your pout is long gone now, replaced by something quieter, something warmer.

“you like this, don’t you?” geto teases, his voice low, affectionate.

you hum softly in response, not bothering to deny it, your lips curving into a small smile as you nuzzle closer into him. his scent, his warmth, the way he holds you—it’s enough to make you forget about everything else.

geto chuckles, pressing one final, lingering kiss to the top of your head before resting his chin there. “satoru’s gonna be so jealous,” he muses, his tone light, amused. “but that’s not my problem, is it?”

and you can’t help but laugh, your arms tightening around him, fully content in the safety of his embrace.

geto holds you against him, his chin resting on top of your head. you can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, the rhythmic thump of his heartbeat against your ear. the atmosphere is calm now, the playful energy from gojo’s antics replaced by a more soothing, comfortable silence.

geto’s hand continues to trail lightly along your back, his touch both affectionate and possessive. his words are soft, murmured against your hair as he speaks.

“my little attention seeker,” he chuckles, the words tinged with affectionate teasing. you huff, playfully swatting his arm as you glare up at him. “i am not an attention seeker,” you grumble, even though you both know the truth. you’re absolutely an attention seeker—at least when it comes to your boyfriends. but admitting it? never.

geto only chuckles, the sound low and rich, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he watches you pout. his hand moves gently, brushing your hair back from your forehead with the same effortless care he always handles you with. then, without a word, he leans down, his lips pressing firmly against your forehead in a lingering, tender kiss.

he stays like that for a moment, his warmth seeping into your skin, before finally pulling back just enough to murmur against you, “god, i love you.”

his voice is so quiet, so full of something deep and unshakable, that your chest tightens. your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, holding onto him a little tighter, because how could you not? how could you not cling to someone who loves you so openly, so effortlessly?

you don’t respond right away, just bury your face against his chest, your heart pounding a little harder. but geto doesn’t need you to say anything—he already knows.

geto chuckles again, the sound reverberating through his chest, rumbling against your ears. he understands your silence, understands the way your body language speaks for you. you don’t need to say the words out loud for him to know how much you love him, too.

he continues to stroke your hair, the gesture calming, soothing. his other hand drops to your hip, his grip firm, possessive, like he’s trying to keep you grounded, keep you close.

“you’re adorable,” he murmurs, his voice a soft rumble in his chest. “my adorable little attention seeker.”

as geto continues to caress your hair, his fingers gentle but firm, he begins to hum softly under his breath. the tune is one you recognize instantly—a song he always hums when he’s feeling particularly affectionate, his voice low and gentle and soothing.

he begins to sway gently, his movements almost instinctive, like he can’t help but want to hold you close, to keep you safe. his arms wrap tighter around you, pulling you flush against his chest as he continues to hum, his body a solid, steady presence for you to lean into.

you can feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, the steady rhythm almost hypnotic. he continues to sway back and forth, his movements slow and deliberate. you can feel the solidity of his body, the way his muscles shift as his arms continue to hold you tight.

his hum is low, soft, his voice barely above a murmur as he continues to rock you gently. there’s a certain tenderness in his grip, the way he holds you so close, like you’re something precious, something to be protected, loved... worshipped.

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