#silly drabble to cope with the angst i'm cooking (happy ending at least BUT STILL)

[kitorin]

g.satoru - 1:19 am

"i can't believe you kissed him—"

it's the dead of night when gojo satoru's fuming, acting as a means of prevention to your long awaited (and well deserved) sleep.

you pull your shared blanket, covering the entirety of yourself. "shut up. not now."

satoru rips the blanket off you. "yes, now. don't try to run away from the consequences to your actions."

an effort to pull back the blanket becomes futile, as you decide not to bother. "you're overreacting."

"why him, why not me? majority of his face is forehead and he's built like a rugby ball. he doesn't even look like a man" he inhales sharply. "what about this face isn't perfect?" satoru gestures to it, hair still slightly damp from the late shower and blindfold nowhere to be seen. "this is basically cheating. why would you do this to me? shall i get rid of my bangs so i have a bigger forehead?"

"satoru, he's just a plushie." you pull the white softness of the cinnamoroll plush to your chest, fingers stroking it's fluff.

"lucky bastard..." a curse or two accompanies his words, as he wraps himself in the blanket, as far away from you as possible. "should've been me."

"satoru—"

"i bet my hair's softer."

"why don't you come here and prove that to me then?"

the blanket unfolds to reveal a pouting gojo satoru. "you even called it a he."

cinnamoroll settles on your bed's head rest, somehow balancing with his 'majority forehead face'. satoru shuffles closer to you, closing the distance between you two.

you shrug. "he's my son. my baby."

"i'm your baby."

"he's baby in the sense of an actual, cute baby. you're baby in the sense of an immature grown ass man."

he responds with an eye roll. "wow. okay. plushie's more important than me i see."

another shrug from you, biting down on your lip to swallow a snicker (it wasn't successful).

"love it's just a plushie—"

"i tried to tell you that initially." satoru faces you to pout, but it has no effect on this little squabble of yours, maybe only a giggle or two from you. "he's so cute, c'mon.

without much effort, satoru picks cinnamoroll up, staring, no, glaring at the poor dog. "you can't find someone cute after they stole your lover."

"he's my son. that would make him your son." the observation makes him stick his tongue out. "all i did was kiss him."

"me related to him? no thank you." satoru continues to inspect the plushie from the sky blue, plastic eyes to the swirly tail on its bottom. "i hate him."

"you look the same. white hair, blue eyes."

satoru scoffs, very pretentiously. "that shade of blue is so dull. mine's bright and shiny. therefore prettier."

you lean in closer, not to whisper to him but to the plush. "i guess you'll be fine with having satoru's good night kiss?"

his jaw drops—literally, betrayal scrawled on his features. "you wouldn't."

"learn to get along with our son then."

satoru huffs indignantly, but brings the plushie to his chest, hugging it tightly. "well he's nice to cuddle. and his big head doesn't look so bad anymore."

finally, you reclaim the blanket stolen from you. "we both know you love him as much as i do."

"ew, as if." but he knows very well you're correct.

[he ended up forgetting the goodnight kiss he was fuming about]

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