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babysharkie · 9 months

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Made up fic title game! I'll choose an AC/DC song title:

Back in Black

💌 ! Ask Game ! 💌 send me a prompt about your fave and I'll write a little snippet of it 🌟

pairing: itachi uchiha x reader, mentions of sasori x reader genre: angst warnings: none word count: 1.2k

The visit isn't exactly a serendipitous one. The last person you ever expected to see grace your heavily protected cabin in the middle of the dark mountain forests was your childhood friend, Itachi Uchiha.

He stands there in his Akatsuki robes and straw hat that shielded him from the cruel storm beating down on him, an unreadable expression on his face.

At first glance it looks as if he had barely changed in the years that it had been since you last saw him. Upon further inspection, however, you notice the subtle signs of maturity. His face is thinner, more masculine. The sleep lines around his eyes you used to trace under the light of the full moon once upon a time are deeper and he shows obvious signs of fatigue. But the most surprising thing about him is the very faintest hint of hope on his face.

Neither of you spoke a word; you just stood there and took in each other's appearance. He looks you over as well and notice you looked relatively normal, given your circumstances. A bit shorter than last time, perhaps, but still very much yourself.

Eventually the frigid wind prompts you to motion for him to come inside, albeit reluctantly, and after preparing a hot cup of tea for him and putting away the food he brought you, you sit in tense silence while avoiding eye contact.

So many thoughts were going through your head, but the main concern that stood out was the whereabouts of your dear friend. If someone else had been sent to visit you on the days that were specifically reserved for Sasori, then something was wrong. After all, he hated to keep people waiting. Maybe he could have been stuck on a mission that required him to be away for some time or been injured. Back in black, he called it. When he had to hide his beautiful face and donned his puppet disguise to carry out his missions.

A voice in your head laughs and your heart sinks. You already know the answer. Don't you, witch?

As Itachi sits across from you, he takes note of the tension in your body. The paleness of your face. Even if he didn’t know you so well, the unnaturally straight way you sit and the vice grip you have on your mug would have been a dead giveaway of the anxieties you were feeling.

You hadn't heard him call your name the first time, the sound barely above a whisper. Only when he spoke a little louder did you look in his direction.

"You look well."

You only frown at that, giving him a single nod before taking a long sip of your drink with your gaze on the ring that decorates his finger.

He sighs and puts his cup down, the air around you both growing noticeably thicker from the conversation you knew was coming. In his own moment of selfishness, he wanted to talk about what happened between the two of you. That expression of grief and vexation across your face only made him want to come clean, if only to give you the closure you deserved.

"(Y/N)–"

Your gaze is icy despite your eyes' unique fiery amber, and for the first time in a long time he feels uneasy. In those moments under your scrutiny, he feels like the small boy he'd been when you met on the training field, not the notorious killer he'd become.

"Why are you here, Uchiha?"

Right. The task at hand.

"There has been a change of arrangements," he says. At the lift of her brow, he decides to elaborate. "Sasori will not be coming here."

"You say that as if I didn’t already figure that out," you say coolly, taking a sip of your drink and ignoring the hammering of your heart. "I've been able to evade unexpected visitors since the Akatsuki confined me here. I would say I'm doing an excellent job so far, save for you."

The tone in your voice effectively silences him. He expected the venom laced in your words, as he deserves every bit of it. He didn't deserve your warm, sweet whispers of love and affection anymore. He made certain of that and was very thorough about severing all of the bonds that held him to the village, including you.

And yet it didn’t make your hatred any easier.

"I suppose you're right."

The air is strained after the short exchange. There were many unsaid words in between you that were just begging to be brought up, but neither of you knew how to deal with it. Mikoto's words to you. The massacre -- his and yours. Your chakra, corrupted and dark, piercing Itachi's heart that night. Your first unfortunate reunion that resulted in your current predicament.

You wouldn't know where to start.

Your eyes finally meet and the memories from that fateful night in Konoha replay in your head on a constant loop, each one a dagger to your heart. The sight of mangled corpses, the sounds of Sasuke’s screams, the feeling of Itachi’s lips on yours for the last time before the voice in your head screamed -- it was too much.

The silence becomes unbearable after a while. You excuse yourself to go to the kitchen and put your cup in the sink, using the momentary isolation to put your hand over your heart and will it to stop its insanely fast beating in your chest.

As soon as you're out of sight, Itachi sighs quietly. What he did to you left obvious lasting scars, -- more mental than physical -- but he never stuck around long enough to see the result of what he had done. And by the time you came across each other again, there were no words to be said. Only the spilling of blood.

He also knows that you have no memory of the particular night that you lost control – when it was decided by Pein and Madara that you would be bound to this place. Being kept busy with missions from the Akatsuki was enough to take his mind off it, but it was something that always haunted him alongside many other things. It would have been easier if you knew everything, but he was never so lucky. Knowing you were kept away and safe was all that mattered.

"Dammit," you hiss, the emotion you were trying so hard to conceal spilling out of you in the form of tears.

Where is Sasori? Why is he gone? Why is Itachi here instead of Pein to tell her? How did what you did to Itachi not kill him that night? When are you getting out of this prison? There were too many questions, and not a single answer for any of them.

He's dead, you stupid bitch. Dead. Like they all will be. Like they should be. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead.

You feel the corrupted chakra flowing to your hands and quietly rush to your room without a word to Itachi, the wet cough coming from him ugly and taunting.

Going to your closet and reaching for the box sitting at the top rack, you set the box on your bed and open it to reveal a cloak resembling Itachi’s.

The difference between his and the one in front of you is the tattered and shredded fabric that was stained in dried blood.

#yes bestie!!#gimme some angst #❤️❤️❤️#Itachi x reader #itachi x y/n #thank you for this gift 🎁#i love it

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babysharkie · 9 months

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Here something that I have asked myself a few now times than I'd like to admit, so.... If Kakuzu were to eat someone out, would it be a tongue or threads? 🧐

as much as it breaks my heart, Kakuzu is innately selfish. He’s not a pussy eating connoisseur who would give you a middle part with his tongue to devour his meal like Kisame, or Mr put-your-ass-on-my-face-breathing-is-for-the-weak-lets-test-my-immortality Hidan. or even Sir Obito who had never known the taste of pussy but quickly became a devotee, on his knees with his mouth open like your pussy is the communion— Uchiha.

Kakuzu is not a pussy eater. but on the rare chance he would, he’d make you beg for him to stop.

Kakuzu does not like working for his meal, he’d lay on his back and beckon you over with a tired grunt, letting you settle on his face. “I said sit, not hover”, he’d grumble, glaring at you as if you’ve inconvenienced him by forcing him to hook his arms over your thighs, flexing his biceps to keep you steady when you attempt to wriggle over his mouth. He huffs tiredly, forcing you still. You can sense the lack of enthusiasm for being in this position. So you attempt to shift, murmuring a sad protest to free yourself from his blatant glare until you feel the threads slither from his arms and coil around your waist— locking you into place.

“don’t move”.

you try to listen, honestly— but the way his tongue strokes your pussy, hot and wet and incredibly rough, sends you into a frenzy. with your mouth open and gasps spilling, you squeeze your thighs against his iron grip, shuddering as his lips suckle on your achy clit and his grumbles vibrate upon your pussy lips. he’s so mean even with his tongue buried in your cunt, pushing in and out in hard thrusts, swishing the hot muscle over your squishy walls, feeling them spasm upon his tongue the familiar flutter you do over his cock.

you squirm, breathless, heated and utterly defenseless. Kakuzu’s name falls with your moans, bucking your hips into his tongue when he flattens it to rub harshly over your labia. Lewd, slick sounds trickle into his mouth, shining his lips and jaw the more pressure he exerts, cruelly squeezing your thighs when you buck your clit on his nose. He doesn’t care about your sensitivity or anything else you huff above him. he prods, pinches and nips your clit with his teeth and lips. Making you yelp and whine when the pleasure spikes into pain. It’s addictive, painfully addictive, especially when his chin juts into your hole while his lips suckle on your hooded bud.

Kakuzu doesn’t slurp on your pussy, he’s not the type to lap hungrily on your folds or dribble spit all over your thighs as if he were an animal starved for his meal (cough, the men mentioned above).

He growls obscenities into your cunt. Curses you for enjoying yourself, slaps your ass and kneads his rough hands on the fat that jiggles over his face. He grunts and bites your thighs when you jerk too roughly on top of him. Kakuzu shames you for every lick and lewd stroke he brushes on your pussy. “Dirty, fuckin’, girl”, he smacks his lips from the taste of your slick, hissing “jus’ makin’ a mess on me. disgusting”.

Yet his biceps flex when you attempt to push off, his lips wrap around your clit and suck meanly when you whine for him to stop. His threads slither out of his mouth to work alongside his tongue, pressing and stroking and fucking into your cunt with harsh glides that make your eyes roll and his jaw glisten. You feel full, your silky walls stretch and pulse around his mouth threads as if they were four, five tongues fucking you. Thrusting, pumping, rubbing in your pussy.

“Stop! Stop- enough, I-I”, you feel your belly tightening. Twisting your fingers in his hair, approaching a climax you know he’d punish you for despite the way he forcibly drives you towards it with his mouth.

His arm-threads squeeze on your waist, threatening you non-verbally, but your breath catches all the same. “I can’t”, you whine, humping his face in a desperate attempt to relieve the ache that flutters in your belly, your body chasing the release your mewls try to prevent. “Kuzu”, you cry, writhing with your hands gripping his hair the way you know he hates (loves).

He answers with a growl, a throaty sound that has you sighing another sound that’s close to his favourite nickname when it rumbles on your clit. His low grunts and murmurs to stay still disappear into the wetness of your cunt as the tight rings of your pussy clamp on his tongue. too sensitised, too wet, too—

“Fuck no”.

With a swift jerk and a low cry, your orgasm surges, splashing on his lap and cock, his threads still squelching in your cunt as they fuck you through your release. Kakuzu grips you tight by the hips, watching you come undone with his dark hair wild and falling past his shoulders, mouth tilted in a half smirk, half snarl, his neck and jaw wet with the same dribbles that now stain his cock. His threads keep you steady as you come down from the high, more of them coiled around your waist and thighs to have you hovering above his body as he sits upright with you.

“I told you”, he grunts, his glare half-lidded and heated with lust rather than hate. “I told you not to squirt on my fuckin’ face”.

You sigh, a dreamy, well-fucked out sigh with a lazy smile slanted on your face, “an’ I told you to stop”. You slump into his chest, admiring the sheen on his dark skin, “can we go again?”

“Fuck no”.

Daddy Kakuzu just isn’t a pussy eating connoisseur :(

#nsfw #wait...WAIT A SECOND #hold up! this is fire #KAKUZU EATS LIKE A KING

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babysharkie · 9 months

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mdni 18+ content

don’t mind me, just thinking about kisame as your older brother’s best friend who is accidentally your first kiss. you didn’t mean for him to be but it was a party, bottles were being spun, and your brother boo’d the whole time. you both laughed about it and that was that.

kisame as your older brother’s best friend who accidentally receives a text that was not meant for him. you immediately tell him “wrong number oh my god” and apologize for telling him that your bed is broken and asking if you can try his. kisame finds himself laughing at your ridiculous pick up line and tells you that there’s no way you’ll pull with that to which you respond with “tell that to my date Friday night” and suddenly kisame isn’t laughing anymore. very randomly the next day your brother tells you you’re not allowed to date until you’re married while kisame cackles from the kitchen and you call kisame a tattle tale rat and all is right in the world.

kisame as your older brother’s best friend who accidentally walks in on you changing. and, okay, you weren’t naked. just indecent. kisame’s seen you in a bathing suit and hardly batted an eye but catching you lifting your sweatshirt half way up and seeing your uncovered back and the underside of your breasts has him choking on his saliva. you let out a petrified noise and slam your door shut over the sounds of him coughing and apologizing. no one else is home, he’d let himself in to grab a charger he’d left behind, and is about halfway down the stairs when a pillow hits him on the back of his head. you’re calling him names and swearing and chasing him around with another pillow, and he’s dodging you and telling you he didn’t see anything until you’re both laughing and out of breath. things go back to normal. kind of. only now kisame knows what certain parts of you look like. but you don’t bring it back up and neither does he.

kisame as your older brother’s best friend who accidentally kisses you, again. only this time it really was an accident, he’d hadn’t seen you in a couple weeks and the family gathering he invited himself to had drinks and games and he’s letting loose, relaxing in a way he can’t in his own home. you’re not even supposed to be there, sometime about a girls trip he tries not to think about, but you show up anyway with a big smile and a hard jab to his side with your elbow. he catches you in a side hug and goes to plant a very brotherly kiss to the top of your head, because he’s kisame and he’s like a brother to you, images of the under side of your breasts be damned, only to miss completely and clumsily catch the side of your mouth. you’d titled your head up towards him at the wrong or maybe right moment and he pulls away blinking. you’re staring at him in shock before laughing and asking him how much he’s had to drink. he doesn’t answer and removes himself, not before ruffling your hair to re-establish the friendly line drawn between you. he tries and fails to not think about it for the rest of the night and things are … weird.

kisame as your older brother’s best friend who accidentally sees you on a date. he’s picking up takeout and stares unabashedly at you and some guy who’d look great with a broken jaw. before he can really process what he’s seeing and the burning twist in his gut he’s texting your brother who responds with a “yeah i know it’s some prick she knew in school” and kisame leaves, agitated and no longer hungry. he sees you a couple days later and asks about it before he can think better of it and you roll your eyes and tell him it was a one time thing, you were giving the guy a chance, but the whole thing was a bust. kisame ignores the elation he feels in his chest and the weight that slides off his shoulders and happily accepts part of the apple you’re cutting up. things are normal but not and kisame is too preoccupied with the way you delicately bite into the fruit to notice.

kisame as your older brother’s best friend who accidentally tells some he’s your boyfriend. only he didn’t say it, the old lady implied it and kisame just didn’t think to answer. you had just signed a lease on a tiny studio apartment and he was helping you move boxes from the street while your brother and mom returned the moving truck. he’d been bringing up the last box when the tiniest old lady he’s ever seen gives him a crinkled smile and tells him what a good boyfriend he was and about how lucky you were to have a gentleman like him around. all he can do is nod and pointedly ignore how warm the assumption makes him feel as he continues up the stairs. he opens his mouth to tell you what happened, no doubt you’ll make a joke about it and hopefully rid him of the buzzing in his ears, only you’ve replaced the shirt you were wearing with a tank top while you unpacked dishes. there’s a curious bead of sweat trailing down the middle of your back, a back kisame has memorized since he stumbled upon you in your bedroom, and he can’t find it in himself to mention it. it’s then he realizes that things are not normal anymore, not by a long shot.

kisame as your older brother’s best friend who accidentally thinks about you while he’s … taking care of himself. he’d waken up uncomfortable and hard and didn’t have to be at work until later so he takes it slow. let’s his mind wander only to hiss when he thinks of you, peeling off that sweater completely. he thinks of what that bead of sweat would taste like and how far it fell down your back. he thinks about your mouth around the apple slice, about your mouth against his. twice he’s been there, twice he’s felt it, and it’s enough to make him finish with a groan, only to sink into his sheets as the guilt takes over. he slings an arm over his face and sighs, accepting this as his new reality.

kisame as your older brother’s best friend who purposefully begins to put himself between you and anyone he thinks shouldn’t be next to you. you don’t notice because it’s kisame and he’s always been there and life goes on.

kisame as your older brother’s best friend who purposefully switches up nicknames just to watch the surprise flit across your face. girlie turns to darlin’ and he grins around the toothpick in his mouth when you fumble the red solo cup in your hands, beer spilling into the sink while you both clean up after another family party.

kisame as your older brother’s best friend who purposefully presses his leg against yours under the table. kisame as your older brother’s best friend who purposefully adds a layer of suggestion to your usual banter that has you blinking as if to make sure you heard him correctly. kisame as your older brother’s best friend who purposefully slings an arm around the back of your chair, to make himself comfortable he’s a big guy, and flashes anyone who looks at you a grin with way too many teeth.

kisame as your older brother’s best friend who purposefully is trying to make you see him as someone other than just your older brother’s best friend. kisame as your older brother’s best friend who purposefully becomes the only guy in your life outside of your family. kisame as your older brother’s best friend who purposefully toys with you just outside of your brother’s gaze until you snap and you’re both kissing in the kitchen. he’s got you trapped against the pantry door, the same one his height’s recorded on right next to yours in faded marker, and his mouth is hot against your lips, your jaw, your neck.

kisame as your older brother’s best friend who purposefully gets you alone when he can. he’s grinding into you from behind in the guest bathroom at thanksgiving, muttering filth into your ear as he toys with your sweater, ignoring your hushed whisper that you two probably shouldn’t be doing this, and holding back a groan at the whimpers you let out. he’s got you crowded against the wall of your family’s garage, hand shoved up your ugly Christmas sweater to ply with those breasts he can’t stop dreaming about and trailing fire down your neck. you’ve got a leg hooked over his waist, rubbing your sweet cunt over his covered cock, still telling him that this has to stop. he chuckles against your jaw and tells you that he’s waited way too long to stop now. and you’re shoving him off only to turn around and undo your belt, your tight jeans pooling at your ankles. kisame snarls into your hair when he sees you weren’t wearing anything underneath and slips his cock from his pants, leaking and throbbing and so sensitive he thinks he might cum before even getting all the way inside you. you arch your back and muffle your whimpers with the back of your hand, eyes closing as kisame teases your entrance. he’s about to press into you, willing himself to get it together, only to fly off of you when he hears your brother just outside the garage door. you both recover just as he enters, throwing you a snarky remark and grabbing a couple beers from the fridge. you and kisame exchange a look as you follow him out, plans to continue as soon as possible written clearly on both your faces 💙

#hes so cute!!#ive always had this scenario in my head and youve brought it to life!#awwwww kisame would be super protective i love it so much

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babysharkie · 9 months

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his voice was a little hollow as he analysed the damage he made to your pretty face, dissatisfaction seething the longer he stared at you, “that’s all you fuckin’ wanted, yeah? to get me to hurt you, fuck you”, anger soared once again, “manipulative lil’ bitch”.

You nodded absently, wincing when his grip moved to your jaw again, squeezing on the sensitive skin meanly, “love you”.

Kisame laughed, shaking you with a loud, grief-stricken sound that didn’t sound at all like his usual laugh. “Oh”, he barked, “you love me now, huh? thought you didn’t like weak men, isn’t that what you said? huh? Isn’t it?!” he struck you again, agony pulsing with his hand as he bellowed, voice nearly cracking now that he was unable to hide the very real insecurities you prickled up his spine, shaking you out of your blissful daze, “you said so yourself! I'm not a man cause I’m weak─ I lost the fight, right? and you say you love me?!”

“Always”, you sighed, opening your eyes and focusing on the darkness that began to lift from him, anguish momentarily melting as you whisper, “I love you, Kisa”, forcing yourself to ignore the blur of his silhouette to focus on the rest of him, clarity returning as you breathed deeply, “even if you do hit like a bitch”.

...

“Colour?”

As soon as you uttered green, he struck you again, catching you off guard after that brief silence allowed you to clear some of the murky vision that obscured your senses. The stinging choking out tears harder from the heated friction on your marked skin.

“Kis-ahh─”

“Shut up!” he knocked you back down on the bed, hauling up your legs and tearing through your dress, wiping that smile off your face as you scrambled to cradle your throbbing head. “Wanna be treated like a slut?” He ignored your vague protests to slow down by forcing your legs apart─ wild, rage-filled eyes taking in your dewy-eyed expression with sadistic glee, stripping off his shirt. “No? Why no?” Kisame pushed down his sweats, boxers following, exposing his hefty cock leaking with thick spurts of pre-cum. “Isn’t this what you wanted? Kisame, please, gimmie your dick─ put your balls on my face, I wan’ it so bad”, he mocked with a wide grin, fisting his shaft up and down in teasing pumps over your flustered expression, smearing his pre on your pussy lips─ watching as you tried to blink away the spots in your sight as he laughed.

“Just’a desperate lil’ cockslut, aren’t you?” He kneeled on the bed with your legs spread, hooking his arms under your thighs and tugging you into his pelvis, “You were begging for this earlier─ or are you too drunk to remember?” He laughed, a firm slap striking your cheek again, jerking your focus back, “Did I hit you too hard, darlin’? Does your wlittle head hwurt to stay awake?”

! full fic !

#read the warnings. kisame is a little rough #kisame is a bit rough and mean but i still love him #mma kisame is making me feel some kind of way ❤️

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babysharkie · 9 months

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yall I'm sick between my legs thinking about a predator x prey au with Kisame.

Like I can imagine him taunting you with his booming laugh. Rain pelting on your heads, his clothes torn, muscles bulging after the intense fight you've both had. You're on the verge of defeat, tears mixing with the blood trickling down your temple and blurring your vision of his wicked sharp tooth grin. Your body aflame, fear drowning the intensity of his heated stare as he peers down at you wickedly.

"Cmon, tough girl", he chuckles, crouching down to a squat, half his face casted in shadow. "Scream for me".

You throw your weapon at him, scrambling in the dirt as you push yourself to run before the boom. Knowing the smoke and explosion did nothing but hide your silhouette as you break into a run.

His laughter crackles through the storm, a deafening sound that follows the smacking heels of your feet.

"I like a good chase", he shouts, "Just don't make it too easy for me, yea darlin?"

#YES YES YES #MORE!!#i am feral for predator kisame

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babysharkie · 9 months

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🌸 FLOWER SHOP AU 🌸

you work in a tattoo shop. itachi owns a flower shop. these two things don’t typically coincide but there’s art in everything and sometimes comfort comes from the unknown.

itachi x reader strangers to lovers, mention of tattooing & needles, mutual pining, slow burn and soft moments, inside jokes, this is purely to comfort and give happy feelings 🌸

part one | part two | part three | part four

#i need more #itachi is such a beautiful man #thank you for this gift #itachi x you #itachi fanart #this fic is so soft and cute and wholesome i want to ugly cry i love it

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babysharkie · 9 months

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Rich boy Gojou angst to fluff smut where you guys have been hooking up for a while and one night it almost feels like love and rich boy can't take it anymore and says he wants more 🥲

y’all holding this rich boy gojo over my head :,)

tags: afab! reader, unprotected sex, creampie, porn with plot for once would you look at that

gojo is pretty sure he’s in love with you. he doesn’t have a lot to base it off of, but he thinks this is the feeling if he can put a label on it. and at first, it was just thrilling to chase after you, but soon, it became a dull ache of longing, and now, it’s painful every second he’s not yours.

and you’re so cruel, one second kissing him back like you need him to breathe, letting him slide your clothes off and undressing him too, letting him feel you around him as you breathe out his name like a prayer. he collapses onto his bed, body limp by your side, sweaty and still working through the aftershocks of euphoria, and he thinks maybe, just maybe, you’ll stay for once, and he’ll wake up to you wrapped in his arms like you are when he falls asleep.

but morning comes, and gojo is left with the heavy, gut sinking realization that you’re not here. even the small traces of you are gone. like the scent of your perfume, overpowered by the lingering smell of sex, a reminder that it’s all he’ll ever get from you. the small dips of the sheets from where your body laid are gone too, you’ve smoothed them out before you’ve taken your leave, and it’s almost like you were never there in the first place. the only trace of evidence left of you is the slight swell of his lips, and the scratches on his back, and gojo curls up under his sheets and tries to remember every detail of the night before.

how you moaned his name, how your fingertips danced over the slopes of his muscles, how your walls clamped around him and made his breath choke, how his head felt on your beating chest as he collapsed over your body. there, in those few moments that he grants himself to break, to miss your touch and wonder what about him could seem so repulsive you can’t find just one morning worth staying, he feels the cruelness of reality sink in that he’s only that much more attached to you—and you’ve not changed your mind about him even a little.

and it’s that realization that makes him so much needier today, kissing you like you’ll disappear, hands shaking as they roam over every inch of your skin, breath erratic as he sinks into you and feels your warmth surround him. you squeeze around his stiffened cock, and he chokes on a cry of your name, rutting his hips into you desperately, trying to cling to any feeling of intimacy he can find as he thrusts sloppily into your cunt.

“fuck, satoru,” you gasp, hands finding his hair and tugging at the strands as he slams into you, his swollen tip kissing the spot that makes you see stars, “satoru i’m..” you trail off, eyes closing and mouth agape as he pounds into you, and gojo stares at how pretty you look like this, so overtaken by pleasure.

but he also wonders how pretty you look when you wake up in the morning, when you laugh as you do small, mundane things, when you get excited over something you love, when your eyes soften as they land on him. he doesn’t quite know, but he does have a feeling it’ll make his heart clench if he ever caught sight.

“you close?” he groans, and there’s a soft whine that bubbles from his throat as you angle your hips up, meeting his thrust and making him sink deeper, and he buries his head into your neck to get as close to you as he can. “fuck, i’m—i’m so close,” he chokes.

your nails are digging into his skin, voice mewling his name as his cock drags against your walls, and when his thumb rubs circles on your swollen clit, you dig into his skin a little deeper, and he prays the marks will last a bit longer this time—just so he can hold onto pieces of you a bit more when you’re gone.

“g-gonna cum,” he babbles, “cum with me. please cum with me,” he pants, voice needy and lust hazed as he speaks into your ear, and he doesn’t know if his eyes are watering from the pleasure that runs down his spine, or from the gentleness of your fingers as they card through his hair.

gojo would stave off his high longer if he could, he’d feel the dull ache between his legs for much longer if it meant he’d get to cage your body against his mattress and cradle you in his arms for a few extra moments. a bed as large as his is bound to feel lonely if it’s occupied alone, and he wishes he could find solace in your arms under the sheets.

“you feel so good, toru,” you moan, and he thinks it’s just plain mean you use that nickname, only gracing his ears with the soft tune of your voice singing it when he’s fucking you like this.

“f-fuck,” he rasps, “‘m gonna…’m gonna cum.” and soon, he’s choking on a string of curses as his cock twitches and empties his load into you, thick spurts of cum painting your walls white as he ruts his hips and works himself through his orgasm, and up to your impending one.

his thumb rubs over your clit a few more times, and then he’s feeling the squeeze of your walls spasming around him as you cum, body arching off the mattress as you lean up and pull him into a searing kiss. he drinks in the sounds of your cries, and he wonders if your lips kiss anyone else’s like this, if your walls spasm around anyone else’s cock as they are, if there’s someone else you think staying in the mornings are worth it for.

you both finish with a few choked moans, and his body plops on top of yours. you rub over his sweaty back in slow circles as you both collect your breaths.

he breaks the silence first.

“fallen in love with me yet?” he hums, poking your ribs and making you scowl. you shove his hand away, and he smiles into your neck.

“how do you still have the energy?” you groan quietly. gojo thinks your voice is prettier like this, when it’s breathless and gentle and almost a quiet whisper. it feels like the only person you ever speak to is him when you sound like that.

“you didn’t answer my question,” he insists. “i can keep a secret. you can admit it, it’s okay,” he teases lightly. he wonders how you’d react if you knew it’s more of a plead rather than a joke.

“no,” you roll your eyes. “i value my sanity.” he tries not to let his heart drop too much, tries to convince himself it’s just a part of the banter you share. gojo has never not gotten what he’s wanted, and he’s never not been the one being wanted either.

he wonders why on earth he’d have to fall in love with the one person he can’t have, the one person that doesn’t want to have him.

“i think you’re secretly obsessed with me, hm?”

you snort, pulling the soft sheets of his bed over your bodies as he lays limp on you, pressing more weight when you try to push him off.

“absolutely not, now get off,” you grumble, gently swatting at his shoulder as he clutches onto you tighter, grinning when you huff.

“i’m comfortable this way,” he shrugs.

“your mattress probably costs more than our tuition, i’m sure you’ll be just as comfortable,” you deadpan, and he chuckles, lifting his head and flashing you a grin. you stare into his eyes for a second, and he almost thinks he sees yours soften for a moment—but it’s fleeting, and you look away before he can be too sure. he feels his heart hammer a little with hope, and before he can stop himself, he’s blurting out words he knows he shouldn’t.

he knows he shouldn’t tread this path, but here he is.

“is that why you spend the night? cause you like my mattress?” he quirks a brow, and you sigh exasperatedly, pursing your lips as he slumps back on top of your body. you roll your eyes and brush a few stray strands of hair from his forehead. and once more, there’s a small bit of hope that resonates through his bones at the gesture.

maybe, just perhaps, there’s a small chance you feel the same way.

“might as well make good use of your riches while i’m here,” you quip, and he pouts up at you, fake hurt sketched across his face.

“well, breakfast is good here too,” he mumbles, “you could always stick around for that.”

it’s silent. and for a moment, he regrets opening his mouth. it was probably better to stick with the back and forth teasing, and you’ll probably insist you both go to sleep after this. gojo stares up at you, trying to find any falter of your composure, any cracks in your resolve—but he finds he can’t read you in this moment.

“i wouldn’t want to intrude,” you say slowly. “i’m sure your family—”

“it’d just be the two of us,” he says softly, and you exhale, gently pushing him off to lay next to you, turning your body to look him in the eyes. his arms itch to wrap around your figure.

“gojo,” you sigh.

“satoru,” he corrects, but you pinch your nose in irritation, and he feels small, eyes drifting to stare down at the space in the sheets between your bodies.

“gojo. we can’t keep doing this if you’re going to keep trying to make something out of it,” you spit, and gojo wonders if you can hear his heart crack in his chest, if you can sense the slight sting of his eyes, if you can make out the faint wobble of his lips.

“is that so bad?” he tries to chuckle, face faltering when you look at him unimpressed. “am i so bad?” he asks finally, voice quiet, and this time, you can make out the hurt clearly.

gojo satoru doesn’t get his heart broken. he does the heartbreaking and he’s the one who walks away unscathed. but right now, he feels pretty fucking heartbroken as you stare at him like this is nothing to you.

“you know this will never work—”

“why not?” he finally breaks, voice rising an octave as he stares at you in bewilderment. “why not? you don’t even fucking know that—”

“please don’t yell at me,” you say quietly. he pauses, staring at you for a moment, blinking once, then twice, before he chuckles lowly—but there’s really no humor as the sound vibrates from his chest.

“can you just…can i just know why?” he asks quietly. “i just…i just need to know why,” he mumbles.

“because you can’t have a relationship if you don’t feel something,” you frown, and he props himself onto his elbows, lips curling into a scowl as he stares at you in disbelief.

how could you not see he does feel something.

gojo knows you by heart. he knows your schedule, he knows what spots on campus you love most, he knows your favorite coffee order, he knows your nose crinkles when you read something you don’t understand, he knows you tap your pen on the table when you’re bored, he knows you tend to slap the table gently when you’re laughing hard, he knows you hate when it’s too windy out, he knows you lick your lips when you’re thinking deeply—he knows so, so much more, and he doesn’t understand how else he can show you just how much he feels.

because he does. he feels so much, and he feels like he’ll never be the same if you don’t feel it right back.

“i feel something,” he whispers. “i feel a lot.”

you stare at gojo, eyes dancing on the edge of either disbelief or denial—or maybe both, he’s not too sure. but he knows you’re trying to find truth in his words.

“you just feel frustrated. because i’m not head over heels for you like everyone else—”

“this isn’t about winning you like some damn prize,” he argues, frustration leaking into his voice. you raise a brow, squinting at him like he’s crazy.

“name one thing you feel about me—”

“i feel like everything’s going to be okay when you laugh,” he cuts you off, “and i feel like i’m on top of the world when you call me satoru, and i feel like i’m doing something right when you smile at me, and i feel like i love you when we fall asleep together,” he says all at once. “that’s how i feel about you,” he says firmly.

you stare at him for a moment, take in his words, drink in the sight of his messy hair and defeated face, watch as he fiddles with his fingers and looks so vulnerable for once, and you decide maybe gojo satoru is capable of a lot more than you thought. he’s human—a really obnoxious, frustrating, and very flawed one at that—but deep down, he’s just a guy, and he’s trying his best.

for you.

“that’s…that’s a lot more than one,” you mumble, unsure what else to say.

“there’s a lot more,” he adds quietly, and you stare down at your lap.

and you could keep trying to shield yourself from someone like him, someone who’s been spoiled since before he could walk, someone who’s never been told no, someone who’s never been forgotten. but you could also just give him a chance, find out what he likes and what he dreams about, find out what his favorite movie is and what music he listens to, find out the stupid habits he has and what his biggest fears are.

you could look past gojo and take a glimpse at satoru—just like he’s always been asking you to do, all this time.

“oh yeah?” you ask gently, scooting closer. he hesitantly lays back down, shuffling closer until you’re both laying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, arms brushing against each other.

“yeah,” he murmurs.

“well, are you gonna tell me them?”

“that depends,” he glances at you from the corner of his eyes, “are you gonna give me a chance to?”

“maybe i’ll hear about the rest over breakfast,” you offer softly, grabbing his hand and brushing your thumb over his knuckles. satoru squeezes your hand as if to silently say thank you.

“i make pretty good breakfast,” he says with a goofy little grin, and he couldn’t hide the excitement in his voice if he tried. you giggle quietly, shifting to lay your head on his chest, and his arm curls around your body instantly. he notices how perfectly you fit against him, and you notice how fast his heart is beating.

“can’t wait,” you yawn, and the last thing you feel before drifting off to sleep is the gentle press of satoru’s lips on your forehead, and a quiet me either that he mumbles into the skin.

this was supposed to be a short drabble but it’s 2.5k words but it’s okay nakdkakjd

#awww man this is so cute...#legit almost cried #i love how this is written

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