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bcyhoods · 2 months

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WITH FIREWORKS! STEVE

synopsis : after a date at the carnival, steve gives you your first kiss! (prompt: “was that your first kiss?”)

word count : 1.6k

author’s note : repost from my old blog! i fixed her up a little bit, endured changing past to present tense just for you so….

“Those games were totally rigged,” Steve huffs as he prods at the small teddy bear clutched in his hands.

You’re situated on the hood of his car, smiley lips tinged blue thanks to the half-eaten cone of cotton candy in your hands. Steve stands in between your legs with a pout as his free hand rests beside your thigh, finger itching to graze your skin as it taps the metal of his car. The summer sun has just dipped below the horizon, but his face is illuminated by the multicolored lights of the fair behind you. Even with a sullen attitude, he just looks so pretty.

It was only your third official date — excluding the weekly, hour-long visits to Family Video, which Robin made sure to tease him for — and Steve figured it was time to rattle his feathers, so to speak. He wanted to impress you by showing off his athleticism, and carnival games provided an exemplary opportunity to do just that.

He envisioned your arms full and occupied by the array of giant prizes he won for you. You’d watch with an endearing grin on your face every time he beat a game. The night would end with your arms thrown around his shoulders and the perfect kiss that had you both swooning.

With fireworks in the background, obviously.

But luck had strayed far away from Steve Harrington’s side. Far, far away.

“Oh, they were, were they?”

“Definitely. ‘You can only throw it with an underhand,’” Steve mocks the game attendant with a husky voice — a terrible impression, really, but he knew it’d make you laugh. “That’s a made up rule. For sure. I’ve never heard that rule before. Ridiculous.”

The boy sighs defeatedly, letting you take the bear from his hand before running his fingers through his, now disheveled hair. The brown locks had endured the torment throughout the night as he increasingly became more and more stressed. And he didn’t want to admit he was embarrassed, it felt entirely dramatic and silly. But he was, and the way he avoided your gaze while his teeth worried his bottom lip was enough of a tell.

He laughs meekly at himself and squeezes the bridge of his nose. “Sorry, I was trying so hard to win one of those gigantic bears — too hard.”

You hum as your eyes scan over the stuffie. It was no bigger than the length of your hand. Its body was stiff and straight and a tuft of cotton spilled out from under its right arm due to a couple frayed stitches. The ribbon around its neck was barely being held together with a glob of hot glue.

“I like this one, it’s cute.” At his scoff, you double down, “I’m serious! It’s got a lot of charm to it. It’s perfect.”

You move your attention from the bear to Steve only to find that he’s already looking at you. His gaze is incredibly soft, smile lines decorating the corners of his lips as his tongue is coyly tucked into his cheek. His eyes are brimming with love, you think you might burst the longer they’re on you. He finally lets himself graze the skin of your thighs as a subtle thank you. The attention was all-consuming, it made it hard for you to focus. It was hard to do much of anything really, with him looking at you like that.

Quickly, you clear your throat and look up into the sky in abrupt thought. “I think I’m going to name him…Eve.”

“Eve? Eve the bear?”

“Mmhmm,” you affirm with the wave of the cotton candy, “Eve ‘The Bear’ Bearington.”

A huff resembling a short laugh leaves his mouth as he drops his chin down. Lowly, he mutters, “You’re unbelievable,” before looking up at you again with a doting grin. He moves to shake the bear’s hand gingerly, holding it between his thumb and his index, and bowing his head.

“Nice to meet you, Eve. You’re looking a little rough, bud. Bad hangover?”

You scoff and protectively pull Eve into your chest as if it were a child. The chuckle that reverberates through his chest encourages your heart to dither as heat rises to the tips of your ears. “That was very rude, Harrington,” you reply, feigning shock while trying to fight off the smile creeping onto your lips. It doesn’t work.

“What? No, Eve didn’t think it was rude. I’ve been there before, I’m sure he appreciates my empathy,” Steve argues, eyes momentarily flitting to the cotton candy that sat untouched in your hand for the past few minutes. As he nonchalantly stretches his hand out to pull a piece of the sweet, you move your arm out of his reach.

He glares at you with a tilt of his head. You raise your eyebrows to challenge him.

“Bullies don’t get sweets.”

A small gasp emanates from him before his lips are twisting into an impish lopsided smile. He tsk’s and takes a small step back. “Well, that’s too bad…because it just tastes so,” he looks away innocently, “…much,” he pauses.

”…Better!” He lunges forward earning a yelp from you as one arm wraps around your waist while the other moves to grab at the cotton candy. His fingers curl into your sides, eliciting a fit of laughs and giggles to fall clumsily from your sugar-coated tongue which makes it that much harder to fight against him.

Albeit, you don’t cease, pushing against his shoulder and still trying to stretch your arm as far away from him as possible. But it was no use as he slightly lifted you up off the car for just a moment to pull you flush against him. Your legs reflexively wrap around his hips and once you drop the bear, your unoccupied hand grips a handful of his polo for stability. The action had taken you by surprise, being too distracted to push him away when he ducks his head down to take a bite of the candy floss.

“Yup, just as I thought. Ten times better,” he preaches, letting it dissolve on his tongue to savor the flavor.

You’re sure you look a mess. Your eyes must be glazed over complimented by your lips still parted in shock. Your chest is rising and falling in a quick, inconsistent pattern as you try to collect yourself. Again, Steve has thrown your train of thought completely off course.

“You suck,” you manage to say. It was a lame attempt at an insult. But the words were practically dripping with adoration, all he could do was smile.

“Yeah?”

You nod meekly.

You’re certain he can feel your heart thumping wildly against your ribcage, certain that even through the background carnival noises and both your uneven breaths, he could hear it, as well.

And despite being so sure of your dumbfounded expression, Steve thought you looked so beautiful like this. In disarray, your sweater fell off your shoulders to hang loosely on your arms and your hand is holding his shirt so tightly like it was a lifeline. His eyes dart to your lips to trace over your cupid’s bow before glancing back up to find your eyes.

And you thought he looked just as pretty. His nearness was entirely disorienting. You could smell the saccharine hint of stolen cotton candy mingled with his ever-prized Calvin Klein cologne. His hair had fallen handsomely over his forehead. The moles and freckles scattered across his face are more fascinating than ever as you count them until you reach his lips. How soft and inviting they looked.

You’re so completely enamored, you don’t even register when he leans in, brushing his lips against your own in a feather-light kiss. Your breath hitches in your throat and before you can even bring yourself back down to earth, he begins to pull away.

“Sorry, I thought…”

He moves to step away from you, but your legs tighten around him to keep him in place as your fingers wrap around the wrist on your waist.

“No! I’m sorry, I…it was nice, it’s just I haven’t…I mean, I’ve never…” You swallow down a lump in your throat as you feel your eyes start to water.

The second you glance up to gauge his reaction, you regret it. You watch his eyes widen in realization and feel his grip on your waist go slack. Hiding your face behind clammy hands, you groan and drop your head to his shoulder. Your entire body felt like it was on fire and you wished the floor would open up and swallow you whole.

“Was that your first kiss?”

You nod timidly, dragging your hands down to your lap to wring out your fingers, your gaze immediately following. And Steve is not malicious, he’d never laugh at you, but you feel just a little mortified that you froze up.

“Hey,” he cooed, delicately cupping your cheek and lifting your head. “It’s okay. Don’t be embarrassed.” The words are hushed and soft, a sweet reassurance that causes your insides to melt.

“Was it…was it good?” he asks.

The question makes you giggle, “I dunno, I didn’t really get a chance to return the favor.”

He nods, the beginnings of a wide smile slowly making its way onto his blushing face. “Right…do you maybe, wanna try again?”

You mirror his expression before you’re the one leaning in this time, a kiss that he reciprocates feverishly. His lips slot against your own as his arm tightens around your waist once more. Your fingers dip into hair and he hums against you at the feeling before pulling away.

You giggle at the dazed look on his face and his kiss-bitten lips.

“How was that one?” he asks, eyes shamelessly journeying over your face.

“It was perfect.”

#the return of eve ‘the bear’ bearington!!#ᝰ cece’s scribbles #steve harrington #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x reader #steve stranger things #stranger things blurb #stranger things fluff #stranger things fic #stranger things #joe keery

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hwaitham · 8 months

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𝓻𝓮𝓭 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𓈒 ˖ ࣪ 𝜗𝜚 al haitham x sub!f!reader. nsfw — mdni. established relationship ﾉ period sex ﾉ daddy kink ﾉ sweetheart + princess + baby as petnames ﾉ lotsa praise n' haithie is vry doting :3 dis is a rewrite ﾉ repost from my old blog ! any interactions are super loved n' appreciated (∩ˊᵕˋ∩ ྀི)

you think the way al haitham touches you so tenderly and so cautiously—like your skin is as fragile as the petals of the padisarahs he picks for you, like you’re some prey animal with your innocent fawn eyes and twitchy bunny nose—is enough to make you weep.

and, oh, it is; and, yes, you realize you’re prone to tearful outbursts, but when he caresses you like this, with his thumb sowing slick hearts over your clit and his lips hot on the swell of your breast and his leaky cockhead webbed with red as it works your little cunt apart, when he slathers all his love for you—unadulterated, pure—over your spine, how can you expect yourself to not cry?

“crying already, sweetheart?” your lover's lips curve up into a soft smile when you choke on a sob as you nuzzle your cheek over his, a warm pool of crystalline pressing into his skin and drivelling down his jaw. he pulls away to coo at you sweetly, thumbing at the dew of your lashes as he watches on in awe of your emotional frailty. "delicate little thing, aren't you?"

he shuffles around on his forearms into a more comfortable position on top of you, elbows digging into the mattress as he cradles your face within his palms.

jaded cerulean gazes between your eyes, and then your lips, and then he’s kissing you slowly—exploring the concavities of your mouth with his tongue, stealing tiny mewls and the other pretty noises you make in an attempt to distract you from the painful contractions in your tummy.

and when he begins to stretch you open with his cockhead, easing his way in and moulding your puffy walls to his girth, the ache of your cramps dissipate into barely-there pinpricks, the pleasure candied by slow swirls of his hips into your g-spot and his thumb digging into your puffy nub. al haitham’s ministrations coax a sore sob from your throat, your ankles unlocking around his waist in favour of lightly tapping your toes against the bottom of his back because it feels like heaven.

“feels like heaven, hm?” he muses and cocks a brow, drinking up the dreamy glaze over your pupils and the sinful pout of your lips and the adorable twitch of your nose.

“uh huh, feels s’good, daddy,” your voice comes out a pitchy sigh as you cling to him, dainty fingers dipping into his clavicles and the arch of your back deepening when he continues to grind into your sensitive spots with care, lewd squelches of blood and slick making your entire body swell with heat. and you can’t help but be the slightest bit embarrassed by it all, by the mess you make over the towels he’s laid under you and the sticky red that clings to his pubes and the needy aches of your heart because you just yearn for him terribly, curving your body up into his and grappling lazily at the tufts of silver that curl just around the nape of his neck. “you take such g-good care of me…”

the cute sniffles and stuffiness of your voice as you hiccup over your words pull a guttural groan of a curse from him, his head tossed back and cock throbbing painfully as more webs of glistening blood drip and ooze and coat his length, materializing as a creamy ring around the base when it mixes with his pre.

as if to punctuate your words with actions, he leans down to kiss over the hot plane of your chest, running his tongue along a pert nipple, shushing your whimpers sweetly while he pushes his cock deep, deep, deep—all the way until his leaky tip is greeted by the soft sponge of your cervix.

“fuck—well, that’s my job, isn’t it? sweet girl like you deserves all the care in the world.”

honeyed words slip out of your right ear just as they enter your left, and you can all but helplessly tug him closer to your chest with limp limbs—clingy and desperate to feel every inch of his body against yours. he swallows your mewls with soft kisses as he fucks your womb and grinds into your clit, the mingled pleasure and pain coaxing drip after drip of thick red from each clamp of your pussy that seems to get increasingly tighter.

"a-awh, s'okay, 'm not going anywhere, baby." his voice is a gentle croon, sweet and encouraging and the edges to his words are the slightest bit teasing. it makes you whimper—realizing how lucky you are to be able to experience al haitham like this; soft and doting and deeply in love.

with his low groans against the hot shell of your ear, his palms wet over the small of your waist and his cock plunging into you as far as it can go, the bubble that grows in the pit of your tummy finally pops, and you cum—tiny, slurred mewls of daddydaddydaddy buried into his chest and your toes curled and, oh, al haitham thinks it��s so cute how your arms lock around his neck to hold him close, overstimulated as your hips jerk and body jostles helplessly with each rock of his hips, yet still hungry for more, more of him.

“daddy, p-please—” you choke on a whimper, horribly in love with your daddy and blissed out from your orgasm and all that—drunk on his cock taking up every inch of space in your twitchy cunt and dripping hot pre into your womb.

he continues to thrust into you languidly and rub stars and hearts, spell out his name over your clit, his fingers stained as red as the base of his cock. there is no urgency to his movements, no rush to wash over your slow tides of pleasure—he’ll drag it out for as long as he needs to, as he wants to; what’s losing a couple of hours of his workday in favour of tending to the owner of his glowing heart?

“s’okay, princess; daddy’s gonna take all the pain away.”

#𝓭𝓸𝓵𝓵𝓯𝓸𝓵𝓭𝓮𝓻 ⑅˚˖ ݁ ˓ ෆ #al haitham smut #al haitham x reader #alhaitham smut #alhaitham x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #alhaitham thirst #genshin thirsts #al-haitham smut #al-haitham x reader #tw period sex #tw daddy kink #haitham ❤︎

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shidouryusm · 6 months

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✿༝༚༝༚ Satoru: 1 You: 0 ✿༝༚༝༚

content -> fluffy fluff, banters, teasing and touching, making out, mentions of hickey at the end, implied sexual innuendo at the end.

w/c- 1.6k

a/n -> Happy birthday to my blue eyed goober, I love this lil shit till infinity. @pastelle-rabbit to answer your ask more thoroughly hehehehe. And to every Gojo fucker, hope y'all enjoy this once again extremely self indulgent piece with me and let's celebrate our pookie's birthday. Gojover? hell nah what's that

dividers by @/cafekitsune

“Babyyy, I’m hereee. Stop looking at your phone”, you hear Satoru’s whines muffled in your sweater. Your arms wrap around his neck as you hold the phone above his head, which in fact you were using to post for his birthday.

“Just a min, ‘toru.” you murmur softly, using one of your hands to thread through his cloud like hair. Your nails gently graze his scalp, starting from his undercut, as they smoothe over the prickly skin, reaching to the tufts of white candy floss that sits atop, repeating the circling motion again and again. Satoru hums satisfyingly at the feeling of your hands combing through them, comfortable enough to shut up momentarily and nuzzling himself further into your chest. You smile at his clinginess, dipping down to press a light peck on the top of his head.

Your nostrils fills with the sweet scent of shampoo, the fragnance carrying undertones of candy and molten marshmallow. You wonder where he even gets these and how much do they cost?

His hands envelopes your back as you half lay on the couch with him plopping himself right on top of you, his tall frame settles between your legs while his head nests snugly on your chest. You tangle one of your leg around the back of his shin. A mess of limbs under the thin blanket that covers both your lower bodies.

Outside, the sun shlyly peeks from the greyish clouds that wrings out sudden downpours every now and then, forcing both of you to coop up inside the house.

Not that Satoru was complaining at all, until now, when you shifted your attention from your grown ass boyfriend to your phone. He scoffs mockingly at you, still immersed deep in your phone. What even is there in that godforsaken phone? His blue eyes maliciously eyes that rectangular device. He lays on your chest, silently devising plans on having you all to himself, till the cogs of his brain click.

He shifts, raising himself slightly under the pretext of “just getting comfortable” so that his face now nestles the crook of your neck. Warm breaths tickles the skin under your ear to which you squirm a little,

“Toru-” you warn. From your peripheral vision you see him curled up over you, pulling the warmth of your body towards him. His face painted with an expression of serenity as if the only thing in his mind is to be bask in your silent embrace.

“Hmmm? What did I do?” faux innocent laced his words. You roll your eyes, one of your head still tangled between his locks. He waits for a while, letting you fall into a fake sense of security before his hands that were wrapped around your lower back start their journey to explore the expanse of your back. His touch is soft, leaving an electrifying sensation through your thin sweater. Almost ticklish and tantalising. One of his hands reach below, long fingers playing with the hem of your sweater, daring to slip underneath it.

You try your best to not give into whatever mischief his brain has cooked up. Even though, you know, you should have given him the attention, considering it’s his birthday.

But, since he had to be a menace, two can play the game, right?

Your attention has now fully shifted to your phone, the cat reel that was playing became ten times more interesting to watch. You even decided to up a notch, removing your hand from his hair to grab the phone with both hands.

“So, this is how it’s gonna be?” you hear him challengingly mutter, the removal of your hands acting as a declaration of silent war between you two. You dared not to look at him, although you were certain that his face is curled up in his trademarked smirk, plotting to win.

But if he’s Gojo Satoru, you are Gojo Satoru’s girlfriend. No way in hell you are backing out from this little game you both started literally out of nowhere.

“Gonna be what, ‘Toru? What did I do?,” you parrot his words back at him, feigning innocence while still peering at your phone. Your jaw muscle twitches, a smile threatening to break out.

Satoru quirks an eyebrow, amused by your witty banter. One of the many things that made him fall head over heels for you – your ability to match his energy at any given moment.

Little challenges sparking up between you guys often, keeping the ultimate fire of passion alive.

“Well, if you say so then,” Satoru breathes, his hands now fully getting into work, as they roam around your body. his other hand trails down to your hips, studying the way his palm bumps over the dips and curves.

The hand that was fiddling with the hem has slipped inside, resting over the waistline of your sweatpants. You feel your heart race as his blunt nails scrape over your skin ghostily, hooking one finger under to pull the elastic. He snickers against your skin before releasing the fabric, letting it snap against your skin.

You let out a small gasp at his ministrations. From the corner of your eyes you can make out this insufferable prick grinning at you, still resting his face on your neck.

“Low blow, ‘toru.” you narrow your eyes, determined to still not make any eye contact as you whisper under your breath, which apparently he caught on.

You hear him hum, “hmmmm? should have known before removing your hand, baby,” his satirical voice vibrates through as you scoff.

“Should have kept your hands to yourself in the first place.”

“Shouldn’t have ignored me in the first place. Y’know it’s impossible for me to not touch you, why demand such a thing?” with that, he lets his fingertips place fluttering touches all over your skin, without the obstruction of your sweater. You hiss, trying to squirm away from his cold fingertips but this sturdy, 6 foot giant had you locked under his hold, causing you to fail horribly.

“You’re cold! Get your hands off me.” you grumble. Satoru pretends to not hear anything, continuing to draw random lines with his fingers all over your lower back and sides. At times, fully planting his palm on your back, the frigidness making you gasp and falter.

“More the reason for me to touch you. You’re hot, baby.” he quips, to which you fall silent. How does he have the answer to everything you say?

“I’m not gonna leave my phone nor will I react now. You’re gonna lose the challenge”, you huff to which he shrugs his shoulder,

“Nah, I’d win.” Satoru says coolly, resuming his exploration with his hands.

You fall back to your phone, finding it difficult to concentrate on whatever is playing on the phone with the way Satoru’s hands glides over your skin. The pads of his fingers skim through your stomach. Even though they are cold, the lingering touch leaves wamr blaze in its wake. Your heart races sporadically as you anticipate where his hands might move next.

Although, your face says otherwise, making the most sour expression possible as you stare daggers into your phone. Satoru has always noticed every minuscule details and changes in your body, so this definitely didn’t go under his radar.

He decides it’s time to dial it up a bit. Afterall, he’s the birthday boy.

With his left hand which was already underneath your sweater, he continued tracing over your skin, while his right hand snaked up to the neckline of your sweater right where his face is currently planted to tug it down, exposing more of your skin in front of him. The veil of cold from the weather outside causes goosebumps to flesh out in your skin, catching Satoru’s eyes as he admires them with his piercing gaze before his mouth puckers in a “o”, cool air slid over your skin from his mouth.

“T-toru, stop it.” your resolves crumbles like your voice.

“Are you denying the birthday boy, baby? Don’t hurt me like that.” He whispers against your skin, a mocking bent in his tone as he feigns sadness. You debate whether to succumb to his touches or strangle him.

You breathe through your mouth, attempting to gain composure which you are notoriously failing to do. Satoru’s lips presses against your skin, his lips etched with a grin as he places countless pecks throughout the crevice of your neck and shoulder.

“So fucking pretty, still can’t believe you’re like all mine. Why were you ignoring me, baby. Need you always so fucking much.” Satoru’s gravelly voice vibrates through your skin, the tingles straight shooting down your spine. His hand has now gripped your side like a vice, fingers indenting deep into the skin.

He groans against your shoulder as he press a kiss there, finding his way back to your neck again, millions of kisses littering your skin. He reaches under your ear, his teeth nipping lightly at the lobe.

Meanwhile, his hands push your body up, towards him, grinding his lower body against yours.

A soft whimper dares to escape your lips before you suppress it. Hands turning a little wobbly, and you hate how heat courses through your veins as Satoru turns your whole being into a mushy puddle against himself.

“Give up, darling.” Satoru whispers in your ear, before his mouth catches hold of your skin. His teeth scrapes the skin, sucking it fervently, while his back pushes you flush against him, letting you feel all the ridges and contour of his skin. His heart rhymes with your, palpitating with galloping beats. A soft whine escapes Satoru's throat at this steamy turn of events.

This had to be the last straw that broke the camel’s back as your phone slides from your hand, falling somewhere on the floor. Your head tips back and a breathy moan ricochets the room as Satoru duly runs his tongue over the hickey that prickled a little.

You hear Satoru’s simpering resonating around the room as he pulls you up, now seated on the couch with you straddling his lap

“See, told you I’d win.” his hand caresses the newly formed mark that will definitely take a concealer or turtleneck to hide.

“You prick. Fuck you. You did that on purpose.”

“Tell me where it says I can’t do that.” he muses, shutting you up once again. Your lips jut in a pout as you stare at him.

His eyes are so blue, glossing with the reflection of the rain pouring outside. His forehead veiled with your most favourite part of his body – those fluffy tufts of hair and his lips curl into a toothy smile. The eyes brimming with love and admiration for you.

Even as he weaseled his way out with an upper hand, you don't feel any of it. Rather, you drink in the way he looks so haphazard. So messy. So homely.

Your hands reach to cup his face, feeling the physicality of his beauty before you lean down to press a kiss.

“The least I can do for you birthday is to let you win, I guess. Happy Birthday, sexy.” you murmur against his lips, taking them between your own.

He returns the kiss with the same vigour, his hands are now out of the sweater, holding your back for support, whilst pulling you close to him.

The flavour of your strawberry balm etches itself in Satoru’s mind and he never wishes to stop from relishing the taste of your soft lips. A calm havoc wreck his insides as he thanks whatever lies above for granting him the biggest gift of his life – you.

You break apart from him, his eyes deepening their shade of blue and his face carrying a lingering expression of passion. His chest heaves from deep breaths as you stare at him with confusion. He motions his eyes downwards, making you realise what’s the issue.

“Mind helping me out?”

a/n -> God I'd commit felonies to experience this especially with a 6'feet, white haired, blue eyed, freakishly handsome and annoying blockhead.

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topoet · 1 year

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April Flowers and Leaf Buds

A set of photos taken Monday, April 24 of burgeoning perennials in my back garden. Lilac leaves wisteria leaf buds Virgins’ Bower & garden mums Poppy Candy Tufts about to bloom Hollyhocks Rhubarb & Forget-Me-Not Petasites flower & leaf Hey! You can give me $$$ to defray blog fees & buy plantssweet, eh? paypal.me/TOpoet

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#candy tufts #entertainment #forget-me-not #garden #hollyhocks #lilacs #Ontario #petasites #photographs #poppies #rhubarb #spring flowers #TOpoet.ca #Toronto #Virgins&039; Bower #wisteria

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 6 months

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you are somebody that i want to keep ; satoru gojo

synopsis; you aren't sure what you have with satoru gojo, but you know that it’s good.

word count; 6.7k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, colleagues to friends to something unlabelled, you love each other though!!, fluff, hurt/comfort, very very soft, reader falls first but gojo falls harder, both of u are afraid of intimacy lol, a lil angsty if u squint, satoru gojo cherishing u for ~7k words straight <33

a/n; basically just a collection of moments between you and gojo throughout the years <33 (a significant amount of time has passed between each part!!) hes an emotionally repressed loser but i love him and he is smitten w u.

in the soft luminescence of daybreak, your kitchen looks something like a dream.

tainted with a hazy sunshine, simmering with warm colours and pleasant scents, it almost seems to sparkle in the peripheral of your vision. brimming with that feeling of home, a home you’ve broken your bones building, desperate to shape it into something safe — and you think you’ve done a pretty good job.

it’s soothing, comforting, all of these sensations. bleeding into each other like smudges of paint on a canvas; hyacinths blooming by the windowsill, espresso-flavored steam wafting up to the roof, soft meows stemming from the cats by your feet. absolute bliss.

indulging in a peace yet to be shattered by the strain of the working world, you rub the sleep from beneath your weary eyes. blinking and yawning like a drowsy child.

beyond the translucent glass of your windows, glimmering with the light of a sun soon to rise, the world is painted pink and indigo — save for that one hint of gold, a streak of honey slathered across the surface of the sky. fluffy clouds drift through the chilly air, melting in the wake of a new day, and you think they look a little like tufts of cotton candy. soft enough to sink your teeth into, if only the glass wasn’t in the way. keeping the cold out.

it’s a new day. a pleasant morning, sitting comfortably on the brink of dawn, before the city has a chance to rouse from its slumber.

a kind of solitude you so rarely get to bask in.

a false solitude, really. because, for once, there’s another human being in your home — one you don’t know nearly as well as you’d like, for him to be fast asleep on your couch, cheek smushed against the leather. snoring softly.

satoru gojo.

like this, he looks very… human. vulnerable. hair just slightly tousled, from tossing and turning on your not-so-comfortable couch, blindfold only covering one of his eyes and close to slipping off entirely. his expression has melted into one of something vaguely resembling relaxation, as close to unguarded as you assume he can physically get.

even in his sleep, he looks a little stiff. not entirely at peace; like a stray cat sleeping under the hood of a car.

(you’re curious. fascinated, maybe, by the loneliness that clings to the strongest person in the universe. by the paradoxical innocence of his grin.)

honestly, everything from last night is kind of a blur. you remember accompanying the strongest sorcerer on a mission, one long enough to leave you completely and utterly spent, fatigue nestled deep into your bones. remember gojo getting a sudden migraine, so earth-shattering that you thought he was going to keel over and throw up in the middle of the street.

then you remember bringing him back home with you. very hesitantly, only after he begrudgingly accepted the fact that he didn’t have much of a choice. because you were fucking exhausted, and so was he, and your apartment happened to be conveniently close. you remember him practically passing out on your couch, still somehow managing to crack a bad joke you can’t recall, while you went to collapse into the comfort of your bed.

and now you’re here. dyed in half-transparent sunbeams, caffeine bubbling in your veins, gazing at your sleeping coworker from your spot by the kitchen table. waiting for the world to open its weary eyes.

it’s still early. some part of you expects him to sleep a while longer, but you can’t say you’re particularly surprised when gojo begins to stir.

a splotch of sunshine splatters across your living room window, staining the floorboards, falling over the contours of his pretty face. in the light, he looks positively holy; white lashes, pale skin, plump lips. like a goddess.

when he opens his eyes, it’s even worse. a single iris cracked open, pooling with unbridled brilliance. eyes so blue they seem to cut through the stillness of the air.

(— and the world wakes up.)

a little groan slips from his lips, barely audible. with groggy movements, he brings a hand up to his face, obscuring the grating light of the sun flitting in. you think you can almost see the gears of his mind turn, as he takes notice of his surroundings, remembering what transpired just hours before.

faster than you thought, he regains some semblance of composure. huffing under his breath, as he forces himself into a sitting position.

it feels a little wrong, to see the closest thing this world has to a god act so human. be so human. morning-fatigued, just like you, wearing droopy eyelids and a soft, sleepy pout. a little disheveled. groggy with lost dreams.

when his gaze meets yours, you can’t control the breath that hitches pitifully in the back of your throat. a meek skip of your heartbeat, like you just saw something you shouldn’t have. oops.

gojo cracks a grin.

“.. watchin’ me sleep?” he calls out, cheeky. paired with a drowsy yawn. composed, unbothered, but there’s something almost performative about it, something you’re sure you’d miss if he wasn’t still in the process of collecting himself.

“good morning,” is all you offer him. ignoring his teasing remark. he doesn’t push it, to your surprise. “sleep well?”

a hum. absentminded, jovial. one of his large hands goes to adjust his blindfold, the other to fluff up his hair. kicking off the blanket you just barely had the energy to throw over him last night. your fluffiest one, warm enough to protect him from the chill gnawing at the windows. hopefully.

“like a log,” he quips, stretching idly, muscles straining under his baggy uniform. they must be sore, after that mission. or maybe he’s above such things.

choosing not to comment on his obvious lie, you put your lips against the ceramic of your cup. sipping from the bitter brew, a tinge of hazelnut on your tongue. letting him gather his bearings without you scrutinizing him. a little favor, one liar to another.

“thanks for letting me crash,” he grins, lazy. toothy. stumbling to his feet with a low groan, gaze flitting around the room — looking for the exit. “i’ll get outta your hair,” he mutters, and you raise a brow.

“not staying for breakfast?”

gojo stills. your question rings out, bouncing off the walls of the kitchen, into the living room.

his smile twitches, ever so slightly, in what you think must be surprise. then it’s back to normal; like putting on a mask, not allowing a sliver of weakness to slip through the cracks. he exhales a raspy chuckle, a sound that flows through the air and crawls down your spine.

”generous, aren’t you?” he hums, voice rich with amusement. dappling sunlight licks at the white locks of his hair.

you shrug. “i wouldn’t mind the company.”

the words climb up the walls of your throat, a little reckless, eager to catch a glimpse of the miracle before you. satoru gojo, framed by the simplicity of your home — somewhat hard to let go of. sunkissed skin, restless hands. a little out of tune. shifting from foot to foot, eager to get away.

(a little like a frightened fawn, you amuse yourself by thinking. he’s really more like the fox who scared it.)

you think he must be bit uncomfortable. forced to spend the night in a coworker’s apartment, one he doesn't even know that well, one he probably doesn’t have any intention of getting to know. still trying to politely excuse himself. persistent, stubborn.

maybe he didn’t expect this. maybe he was convinced he could sneak away, before you had a chance to wake up. maybe he thought you’d be all too eager to let him leave, and never speak of this again. maybe he’s not used to being wanted.

“ha… i’m flattered, believe me, but —“

“what do you usually eat?” you ask. cutting him off, gently, tapping your fingertips against the edge of the table. “for breakfast, i mean. i’ll whip something up.”

a chuckle slips from his lips. you can’t put your finger on it, but something about it bothers you. “really, there’s —“

“if you’re worried about inconveniencing me, don’t be.” you pause, unsure of what to say. but the words end up spilling out of your throat, oddly honest. ”it’s been a while since i had the chance to make breakfast for someone else.”

it’s strange, really, how intent you are on seeing this through. how much effort you’re putting into making him stay. you barely even know him. actually, you don’t know him at all — all you know is that his smile makes you happy and his strength makes you envious. that you aren’t afraid of him, even though you probably should be.

something about him just feels safe.

“i’m pretty good at making pancakes,” you hum, a small smile playing at your lips. polite, jovial. pale light flits in through the window and slips into its curve. ”do you want some? before we go to work.”

(something in his fingers twitch, when you say that tiny word; pancakes. a little tell. you just barely catch it, before it sputters out. before he reels it back in.)

a moment passes. slow, drawn out, a rubber band bound to snap.

gojo stands there, a very subtle contemplation etched into his features. behind him, your cats begin to scratch at the couch, but you don’t scold them. just waiting for something to happen. beyond the glass of your windows, the sun unfurls in the sky, stretching its arms to envelop the world.

he grins, suddenly. soft light reflecting off the white of his teeth. cocky, composed. not quite performative, a little more natural.

“well, if you insist.”

he strolls over to your side, just a tiny bit sluggish, lazy steps and comically long limbs. he must still be tired. but he takes a seat, right across from you, plopping down on the chair with an effortless air of confidence. lighthearted, leaning his elbows on the table, crossing his legs under it. comfortable. settling into his role.

you’re pleasantly surprised.

“how would you like them?” you ask, and you think some of your excitement may have spilled out with the question. if it did, gojo doesn’t comment on it. ”your pancakes.”

“with chocolate chips, please!” he shoots you a sweet smile. “and whipped cream on top.”

so demanding. for some reason, it makes the corners of your lips quirk up. kinda like a bratty younger brother.

“got it.”

the smell of dark chocolate hangs heavy in the air as you get to work, shuffling around the open space. all while gojo waits, patiently, tapping his foot under the table and staring out the window. leaning his jaw on the heel of his palm. listening to the humming of nightingales on the branches of the apple tree down on the ground, and the buzz of your old radio.

the kitchen fills with motion, sounds, smells. life. splotches of sunlight, crinkled cartons of orange juice. the clinking of plates. two tired adults, seated at the same table, indulging in a fleeting peace and the promise of something new. something almost concrete.

a small, precious moment. enough to make your fascination shift into something you know must be fondness. or close to it.

gojo grins at you, mouth full of pancakes, eagerly telling you about something the kids did last week. wolfing them down, chocolate smeared over his bottom lip. you laugh, and suddenly the world feels a little safer than it should. a little more intact.

you wonder what it means. where it’s going to lead. this feeling of something wonderful beginning, something you couldn’t stop if you wanted to.

a budding connection.

the city lays blanketed beneath a layer of thick snow. blurry pale dots dancing in the wind, obscuring the sky, frost engulfing every building in a bone chilling hug.

with a slight shiver, you dig your hands into the comfort of your pockets, seeking the fleeting warmth you find. admiring the frozen landscape before you, the hustle and bustle of people going about their day. the saffron light of the lamp posts, the glittering snow by your feet, the skeletal apricot trees and their bare branches. this monochrome city you find yourself in.

gojo exhales. strolling cheerily down the street, in tandem with you, a frosty breath to your left that scatters and melts into the open air. it smells minty.

today, he’s wearing black shades — like he usually is when you meet outside of work. it’s kind of nice. when you angle your face a certain way, you can almost see the blue pooling in his eyes, the white of his eyelashes.

he’s beautiful. he always has been. but like this, you think his beauty is simply unfair, highlighted by the winter wonderland you find yourselves in. mesmerizing, the red flush of his cheeks, how he hums along to some jolly tune playing from a little corner store further down the street. all bundled up, in a stylish overcoat and a nice scarf, untouched by the snowflakes fluttering about.

protected by his infinity, always. the silly god you call a friend.

he looks content, despite the cold that keeps nipping at your bare skin, smiling widely. blabbing on about the movie you’re about to watch, how he saw it back in high school but never thought it’d get a remake. how his friend thought it sucked but that friend always had bad taste so his opinion is irrelevant. how he has faith that you’ll like it.

(cute.)

distracted by the pretty man so close by, close enough to touch, you don’t look ahead. maybe just a little bit entranced. which would be fine, if you didn’t happen to be walking on the right side of the street —

crashing straight into a lamp post.

”owch!”

it’s sudden. and it’s a harsh collision, enough to leave your nose stinging, an ache that makes you whine. cursing under your breath as you take a couple steps back, hands reaching for the part of your face that took the brunt of the hit.

and gosh, is this embarrassing. you dance on the edge of death for a living, and here you are — whining over walking into a fucking lamp post. because you were too enamored by the beauty of your own coworker to pay attention to your surroundings.

a coworker who is currently looking at you, silently. having failed to warn you in time, stuck in his own memories, caught up in his in-depth, spoiler-filled review of a movie he’s been waiting to watch all week.

for a moment, all he does is blink. long eyelashes fluttering, like a dove flapping its wings.

then he starts laughing.

scratch that — gojo is downright cackling, thoroughly amused by your clumsy mishap, like he just saw the funniest thing in the world. laughter ringing out into the cold air, white breaths to compliment the red of your burning ears.

asshole.

with a harsh furrow of your brows, you attempt to look angry; but before long, your lips are curling up. infected by his joy. a soft punch to his shoulder is all you manage, biting back a little puff of laughter. you’re embarrassed.

(so embarrassed you don’t even notice how he puts his infinity down.)

”don’t laugh, you piece of shit!” you hiss, grinning even still, flushing and trying to ignore the curious glances you get from passersby. ”it really hurt!”

but gojo doesn’t stop. doesn’t even attempt to. you think he just grew even more amused, if anything, practically bending over from how hard he’s laughing — clutching his stomach.

”sorry, sorry — ’m just…” he tries to speak, taking deep breaths in between bursts of giggles. ”how the hell — how’d you —”

he stops trying. laughing, again.

and it’s a genuine laugh. a little wolfish, spilling out from his pretty parted lips, showing off his sharp teeth. from the very bottom of his gut, clear and bright, deep and infectious. melodic. shades close to slipping off the bridge of his nose, eyes tearing up behind them. trying to collect himself, muffled giggles turning to soft vapour in the cold air. dimples visible on his rosy cheeks.

and suddenly you can't think, can't speak, can only look at him and wonder how a human can be so very beautiful. how it’s metaphysically possible. like a crushed cluster of stars was given human form, a body of celestial light.

he looks so young, like this. a millenia younger, no weight on those broad shoulders, no immovable wall to separate you both. he looks like one of the guys you used to hang out with in middle school, running through corridors and play fighting and holding back shared laughter in the library. before the bite of the world left a mark in your skin.

he looks like himself. like someone pulled the mask off, and all that’s left is the human. none of the godhood he was saddled with at birth.

while you’re busy staring, gojo finally finds his composure again. wiping at his glassy eyes, a chuckle slipping out here and there. distracted by the breathtaking sight, you begin to forget the sting of your collision — until you feel something warm trickle down your chilled skin.

searching for it with the pads of your fingers, you feel a trail of wetness beneath your nose. and when you bring them down, to get a look, all you see is red.

”ah.”

gojo moves closer. maybe just a little alarmed, by the blood dripping from your nose, staining the white of the snow beneath your feet. a chilling contrast, one you’re frighteningly used to. it’s almost comforting. blood on your skin, that sting of pain clogging up your nose, enough for you to get lost in. colours melting together, memories rising to the surface —

when suddenly, something touches your cheek.

one large hand goes to keep your jaw in place, gentle. smooth leather, sneaking under your chin, lifting your face up ever so slightly. warmth trickles from his fingertips through the fabric, and you can smell a hint of his perfume. strawberries and vanilla.

gojo looks at you fondly. wiping the blood from your nose, smudging his expensive gloves. from this angle, you can see his eyes, a blue shimmer in an evening painted white and gray — the sole flicker of colour in this monochrome city. they’re crinkled at the edges.

he looks awfully amused.

(you stay still, not breathing, like any slight motion could have him pulling away.)

”careful,” he croons. so low you barely hear it, almost a purr. the word has a soft underbelly, something you don’t need to dissect to feel.

a sentiment that seems to simmer in the air around you, drifting past the little corner store, a dog tied to a lamp post, your reddened cheeks. past the blue of his eyes, a peripheral that stretches to cover the city before you. words too heavy to speak aloud.

stay safe for me, silly.

then he’s letting go. sudden, the bite of the air replacing his hand. it lingers on your skin, like a memory, like the ghost of a memory. but it’s there. strawberries and vanilla, leather and warmth. something kind. warm.

and it stays there, even as gojo takes a step forward, no longer facing you. walking confidently, the wind bending around his tall stature. long legs and large steps, leaving an imprint in the snow for you to follow. a northern star.

he turns his head, and grins. hair tousled by the breeze, white locks glittering with snowflakes. ”you coming? it’s starting soon.”

a moment passes.

”or do you need me to call shoko?”

you puff out a breathy laugh, at that, stumbling forward. reaching up to wipe more of the blood sticking to your skin. sniffling, but smiling, teeth peeking out between your lips.

”yeah, yeah,” a roll of your eyes. ”’m right behind you.”

gojo’s eyes crinkle, disappearing behind his shades when he straightens his back and raises his head. moving forward, while you follow; his back turned to you, snowy hair melting into the white all around you. like something out of a painting.

with a pep in step, you catch up to him. eager to hear more of his voice, his memories. still basking in the warmth of his hand on your jaw.

a touch from the untouchable.

gojo’s lying on your couch.

he usually is, to be fair, so it shouldn’t be surprising. kicking his legs up, watching tv — or sleeping, snoring loudly, like the couch belongs to him. like your home belongs to him. like he pays rent, and doesn’t just laze around and devour all the sweets in your kitchen cabinets.

(he’s there so often that you’re starting to wonder if you should give him a copy of your keys, or something. but you have a feeling that’d be just a smidge too intimate for him to ever accept.)

this time, however, gojo is doing neither of those things.

he’s on your couch, but he isn’t manspreading, or draping himself over the leather with a lazy grin. he doesn’t have that air of effortless confidence. and it’s palpable, in the air, the open space, enough that you can feel it. an itch on your skin, a lump in your throat. you could practically feel it as soon as you walked through the door.

he isn’t wearing his blindfold, or his shades. he isn’t even smiling. and gojo is always, always smiling.

you think he might be having a rough day.

even the cats are noticing that something’s off. jumping up in his lap, trying to comfort him, brushing against his legs. purring, when he cradles them close — always so gentle with them. hands petting down their backs, softly, the same hands he uses to rip out the throats of curses and curse users alike.

then they mewl and run away. and for once you wish they wouldn’t, wish they could keep clinging to him like they always do. just to make him feel better. right now, in the state he’s in, you wouldn’t even mind gojo’s usual smug declarations of how does it feel to know they like their papa best?

you can’t help but feel unsure of yourself. gojo isn’t doing anything, and he isn’t saying anything. he’s just lying there, on his back, eyes closed. letting the darkness of the room engulf him. drowning in his own thoughts.

he must know that you’re there. he must have heard you come in. but he isn’t saying anything, and you wonder if that means he wants you to leave him alone.

you’re reminded of that one morning. when he woke up on your couch, and looked more human than you’d ever seen him. how you wanted to avert your eyes, how wrong it felt to see a god rouse from its slumber.

(but you know better now.)

hesitantly, you begin to inch closer, step by step. quiet, floorboards barely creaking beneath your weight. tentative, as you settle down on the couch. brushing against the infinity between you.

gojo’s eyes flicker open. like an old tape beginning to play. they still shine with that same brilliance, they always do, but now you think they look just a little dull. a little red.

a moment passes. agonizingly slow.

before you can properly think it through, you’ve done it. almost on instinct, jumping the gun before he has the chance to cover everything up with jokes and laughter. opening your arms; a silent invitation.

gojo only stares.

his gaze moves down to your outstretched arms, and then up to your face. your pursed lips, nervous eyes, worried crease between your brows. one second passes. two, five. you stop counting.

for a moment, you’re almost certain that he’s about to get up and leave. that he’ll flash you a smile that doesn't reach his eyes, walk out the door and then never return. like you flew too close to the sun, just another icarus too mesmerized by the glow of his grin to notice your melting wings. like you stepped over the fragile line that separates his bones from yours, his heartbeat from your greedy hands.

— but then he sluggishly gets into a sitting position, and doesn't look at you.

when gojo collapses into your embrace, you’re so surprised that you almost forget how to breathe. almost forget your own name, forget whose home you’re in, why your arms are wrapped around a pale man. all you can think of is how warm he feels, how he’s like a weighted blanket against you. how he trusts you enough to come so very close.

cheek pressed against your chest, arms loose around your waist. no infinity, no barriers. just a single touch shared between two damaged human beings.

a brief inhale gives you the composure that you need. air flowing into your lungs, your brain, as you settle into a comfortable position. no words leave your lips; you just continue to hold him, one hand on his back, testing the waters. letting him hear the echo of your heartbeat. unsure, the both of you, but something about this feels right. close to right. almost there.

gojo is stiff. when you strain your ears, you hear a sharp intake of breath, and a full body shiver courses through him. a tremble of his spine. like he’s itching to run, like he doesn’t quite know where to put his hands. so painfully unused to a proper embrace.

(a little like a frightened fawn.)

a tender something unfurls within your chest, and you feel almost devoured by the fondness rooting itself into your beating heart. delicate, as you begin to brush away his tousled bangs, leaning close. pressing a kiss to his forehead, glistening with sweat. letting your lips linger on his skin.

he’s pale, shining in the bleak moonlight cast from the translucent curtains of your living room windows. pale like a ghost. and there are dark crescents beneath his dull eyes.

nightmares, you surmise. they haunt him too, don’t they? of course they do.

eyes brimming with emotion, you gaze at him; quiet as a mouse, closing his eyes. leaning into your touch, ever so slightly, breathing out a sigh tinged with pure exhaustion. and a certain realization washes over you, akin to a tidal wave, sudden and inevitable. so obvious it’s funny.

you’re not a god at all, are you?

a coo slips from your lips. barely a sound, more like a soothing breath. warm against his cold skin.

you’re just like everyone else. just as fragile.

one of your thumbs goes to smooth over the puffy skin beneath his eyes. so, so gentle. like one wrong touch could have him crumbling into little grains of stardust, spilling out over the worn leather of your couch.

there are so many things you wish you could say to him. so many things you’ll never be able to say, because you’re afraid that if you give him too much it’ll scare him off. like love could burn him if it were to leak out too fervently. like it’s burned him before.

so you don’t say anything. but you think it, you repeat it inside your mind like a prayer, and some part of you thinks that’s enough. i’ve got you — a whisper that you don't dare to voice.

one gojo still manages to hear, somehow, if the way he tugs you closer and snuggles into your neck is anything to go by. a shaky exhale brushing against your collarbone.

(if you feel something wet touch the skin of your shoulder, you don’t mention it.)

you simply hold him, and don’t even think the thought of letting go. even though it takes him hours just to fall asleep, hours you spend anxiously wondering if he’ll change his mind and pull away. but he doesn't leave, even though his body may want him to, and that's enough, and you don’t let go. not even once. he stays cradled to your chest the same way you’d hold a tiny puppy, something fragile. something you need to handle with care.

and when his heartbeat finally mellows out, when you hear little barely audible snores flow from his lips, you finally begin to relax. melting into the couch beneath you, watching him get the rest he deserves. praying that any nightmares of his will be given to you instead.

sleep comes, eventually, to the both of you. tangled up on the couch, him on top of you, comforted by the flutter of each other’s heartbeat. by the warmth of another human being. safe in each other’s arms.

(the next morning, through hazy sunshine and the clinking of coffee cups, he teasingly tells you that just satoru is fine.)

it’s barely daybreak when satoru wakes you up.

a rude awakening, to say the least. he pulls out all the stops, intent on not letting you sleep even a second longer; poking at your cheek, pinching them when that doesn’t work. tickling you, blowing cold air into your ear, flopping down on top of you like a big dog. anything to rouse you from your deep slumber.

and he just will not give it up. no matter how hard you try to ignore him, no matter how many times you swat him away with your duvet pillow or turn to bury your face into the sheets. that’s how satoru always is, how he’s always been, how he hopefully always will be — an absolute pain. one you wouldn’t trade for anything else in the world.

so, when he starts whining for you to just wake up already, voice tinged with a sadness that tugs at your heartstrings, you find yourself opening your tired eyes. all while he murmurs on and on about something unintelligible, still trying to bribe you.

”i’ll make you coffee, okay? just get up. c’moooon.”

”… what time is it, satoru?” is all you mutter, voice leaving your lips in a raspy, disgruntled fashion. stirring a little at the promise of coffee.

he cracks a grin. ”don’t worry about it! just come with me.”

despite your grumpy attitude, and the ungodly hour at which satoru shakes you awake, you find yourself letting him scoop you up and set you down on the kitchen counter. placing a hot cup of coffee in your hands, made just the way you like it, before grinning mischievously in a way that has you feeling ill at ease.

and ten minutes later, you find yourself on top of a hill. overlooking the woods, and a big lake below you, no city lights visible no matter where you turn — god knows where he’s taken you, but it’s pretty.

breathtaking, even. all frost and wildlife and peace, sweet solitude, tiny flowers blooming on the patches of grass around you. a murder of crows takes flight in the distance, scattering into the indigo of the sky.

gojo grins, boyish and bright, excited breaths turning into vapour as he speaks. awfully proud of himself.

”i can’t take you on vacation, but —”

he drags you with him, arm looped around your own, plopping down on the ground. not before taking off his jacket, to cover the ground beneath you. grass tickles the skin of your palms, as you comfortably spread your legs, making sure to sit as close to him as possible.

and your heart softens a little.

because he’s mentioned it, before; how it’d be nice to go on a road trip, someday, just the two of you. all around the world, wherever the wind takes you. basking in that feeling of freedom. it’s no more than a fever dream, though, with how busy satoru is, the responsibilities you both shoulder.

so this’ll have to do. that’s probably what he’s thinking.

”the sun’ll rise soon. it’ll be pretty, i promise,” he beams, so close that you feel his warm breath on your skin. that you can see the dimples on his cheeks, his barely visible freckles.

”oh, so that’s why you woke me up so early.”

his smile widens. ”nice, right? i wanted to surprise you. d’you like it?”

a smile blooms on your lips, in tandem with his, honeyed and content. indulgent. gojo looks at it, and immediately knows your answer.

”yeah. it’s really pretty out here,” you face forward, taking a deep breath, fresh morning air entering your lungs. cool and crisp, stirring your sleepy mind. ”kinda nostalgic.”

satoru hums, and follows your lead. looking ahead, admiring the beauty of an empty world.

the big lake looks like a mirror, from here, glittering in the peripheral of your vision. the sun licks at the frozen sky, not quite breaking through, not entirely ready to rise — but it paints everything a rusty gold and you can almost feel spring shining through, taste it on your tongue, that promise of something better, something more concrete. a warmth you don’t have to question.

a warmth that’ll stay with you for a long time to come.

it takes about ten seconds for the man by your side to start speaking, again, shattering the peaceful silence. but you don’t mind. his voice is nice, a mellow melody to your morning-fatigued brain.

side by side, you wait for the sun to rise. sharing hushed whispers and laughter, like two kids having a sleepover. like nothing exists but the space that cocoons you, wraps you up in a nostalgia so palpable the entire world feels like a fond memory.

(it makes you feel a millenia younger.)

satoru giggles like a child, telling you about something shoko said, or something megumi did, and you don’t miss a single word that spills from his glossy lips. hanging on to every word he’s willing to give to you.

he looks so unbothered, like this. eyes crinkling, humming some tune you don’t recognize, like a little nightingale ready to take flight into the skies.

you part your lips, admiring his features. every patch of skin you can see. words making themselves manifest, hungry to see inside his brain, to know more about him. a fascination that’s never quite left you — though now you think it may be better described as love. ”hey, satoru?”

at the sound of his name, he turns to you. the weight of his eyes feels so light, like this. those blessed eyes staring into yours. he tilts his head, a smile playing at his lips. ”mm?”

”if you could go anywhere you wanted, where would you be right now?”

satoru blinks.

he looks at you, a mild surprise flitting through the lines of his face, as he takes you in. measures the weight of your words.

then he smiles, again. lopsided, almost a smirk, rich with amusement. a hum buzzes in his throat, like a butterfly itching to break out.

”.. you teasing me?”

a huff fills the air. ”it’s a genuine question!” you insist, moving your leg to nudge his own. ”c’mon. anywhere in the world. i’m just curious.”

another hum. he narrows his eyes, playfully, biting at the inside of his cheek to hold back a chuckle when that makes you grumble. pouting softly, tilting your head. he’s amused, you can tell.

but he closes his eyes, lashes fluttering, glimmering with morning dew. and you can tell he’s taking you seriously. tasting the question on his tongue.

something shines in his eyes, when he opens them again; crinkling at the corners, soft lines of crows’ feet. you can almost see that burst of aquamarine, breaking through the black glass of his shades. like the laws of physics can’t contain it. and he smiles, as always, a smile so beautiful you wish you could live on the curve of his lips. flimsy, no teeth peeking out, no dimples to admire. but sweet. slathered with honey, as sincere as can be.

his voice comes out a little raspy, tainted with a tinge of fatigue, a smokey residue that sticks to the walls of his throat. but it's genuine, like he just woke up, like he's too sleepy to be dishonest. like every word he says can be no more or less than the absolute truth.

and when he turns to face you, tilting his head enough for you to see that shade of blue you love so dearly, his eyes shine with an honestly so palpable you feel like you’re being devoured.

satoru parts his lips.

”right next to you.”

a moment passes. silent, endless, no sound to be heard but the beating of your own heart.

at last, the sun breaks through that layer of frost, peeking up from the boundary of the world — and the morning begins to thaw. streaks of sunlight cascade down the contours of his handsome face, painting him a mellow gold, and it’s almost enough to distract you from the warmth of his hand finding yours.

for a moment, satoru looks unsure. smile shifting in the light, into something slightly stiff, and you know that means he's nervous. silent, as he wets his glossy lips. pink tongue tasting strawberry chapstick.

then he’s leaning forward.

it’s chaste, the kiss he plants on your forehead, soft as the flutter of a butterfly’s wings. but it lingers, even after he’s pulled back — a warmth on your skin. a silent declaration.

he doesn't have to say anything. when you look up at him you can see the red flush of his ears, and when you strain your ears you can hear all those unspoken whispers. the sentiment neither of you will ever have to say out loud, because you know. it’s there. and it means everything.

and you know that for as long as you live, you’ll both have this. one single thread of normalcy, in your unorthodox existences, one single glimmer of something almost entirely good. something that heals, something that isn’t a blessing and a curse all in one. something soft to the touch.

there’s no need to find the right words for it. there never was.

”kinda looks like melted ice cream.”

the words pull you out of your stupor. satoru’s looking at the sky, and you follow his gaze, watching the sunrise in tandem with him.

it’s beautiful. soft clouds melting into pinks and oranges, dappling sunbeams lapping at the trees, a saffron shade washing over the empty world in front of you. a world that may not be so empty, after all, because you hear crows in the distance, and someone’s fishing by the lake, and you think you spot a squirrel in the tree closest to you.

and you have someone, right next to you, right by your side. someone who won’t ever leave.

sometimes, loving satoru gojo feels a little like strolling on the edge of a cliff. like one wrong step could have you tumbling down, a mess of broken bones and unspoken words. but if you do stumble and fall — you know he’ll be waiting at the bottom of the precipice. arms outstretched, wearing that same innocent grin, ready to hoist you both back up.

so you know it’ll be fine.

swallowing down a bout of fresh laughter, like a flower unfurling in your chest, petals brushing against your ribcage, you give in. opting to bask in the moment, in his presence.

”yeah,” you puff out a chuckle, head slumping against satoru’s shoulder. he makes a little noise of approval, and your grin grows. ”it does.”

he doesn’t say anything. smiling, wordlessly, admiring the way the sun kisses up your collarbone. lighting up your face. and you bask in his warmth, how right it feels to be tucked into his side. how safe he feels, even now. how safe you make him feel.

you look at the man to your left, and he looks back at you, and that wonderful unnamed something unfurls inside your chest again. and, without having to speak it aloud, you know it will continue to do so.

many, many years later, he’ll still be satoru, and you’ll still be you. the distance between you will be what it always was; breachable.

and that will be enough.

#someone sedate me i giggled while writing this. im so in love w this stupid weasel #this is rly just my attempt at writing a more canon-aligned gojo and the kinda-sorta relationship i could see him having in canon #i firmly believe that he’d feel most at peace w a love that sits somewhere right between platonic n romantic !!#”me n the bestie <3” (selfie of u wearing matching rings)#its the kinda love that u dont need to label bc its just There. its just love !! a love that comes easy #im happy w how this particular gojo turned out i think!! :'3 hes my lil baby #in other news hes so bambi coded ☹️ i need to nurse him back to health #listen to capable of love by pinkpantheress btw its so gojo to me #jjk x reader #jjk #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #jjk fluff #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk x gender neutral reader #gojo fluff #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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tojigasm · 1 year

Text

Roots

Authors note: love this one very much and have fallen in love with truckdriver!toji, all thanks to @tojipie <33 I hope you all enjoy!

Warnings: 18+ nsfw, smut, creampie, pet names, smoking, toji vapes, angst, fluff

"And that's how i'm gonna go about–" he pauses to ruffle his hair before meeting your eyes in a warm smile. "You're so pretty," he strokes his thumb over your chin softly.

Smiling, you pull his E-cig out of his lap.

"Why, thankyou." You simmer, hiding the piece between your thighs.

"Hey," Toji laughs, reaching to grab the e-cig back into his lap.

"Lemme finish this one, m'kay?" He sucks his teeth before his plush lips pull back into a sheepish smile.

You deadpan, "I'm not amused." You grab the vape and fall back into the couch. "Besides," you lick a stripe up your lollipop, "thought you wanted to quit."

Silver eyes drop to your thighs, tracing your hiked up shorts that've risen up some, revealing the pink lace of your panties.

"I did." He answers blankly, eyes still trained to your soft legs.

"Excuse me?"

"Do," he corrects himself and quickly looks up to meet your eyes, "I do."

You both watch one another for a moment, eyes narrowing and brows furrowing.

Clicking your cheek, you nod, "m'kay," you shrug lightly, plush lips kissing the sticky candy.

"Fuck do you mean 'm'kay'?" Toji takes a puff of the e-cig and a cloud of mint pillows from his lips, "c'mon, kid. Don't be a hard ass." He groans, dropping his head to the back of the couch.

Rolling your eyes, you crawl over to plop yourself into his lap, thighs on either side of his own.

Soft fingers thread and pull at the thick tufts of raven at the base of his neck, twirling the thick strands of hair around your digits as he shifts beneath you.

The hot bulge of his cock is thick and runs along the button of your clit through your panties and shorts.

Toji inhales sharply, a sift hiss falling from his lips as both hands run up either one of your thighs to cup the flesh of your ass.

"Gotta get back on the road again soon," he sighs, tilting your hand to lick a stripe up your lollipop before dropping his hand down to your hip.

You understand. Life is not something Toji finds easily. You've never known him to grow roots or to seed himself deep into one place and make memories before moving on. He's been this way.

"Gonna take me with you this time?" There's a light hope to your voice, optimistic though you already know the answer will be a definite 'no.'

Toji takes another hit, blowing the smoke to the side of you.

Whisky streams of cloud trickle through his hair before thinning out into the air.

The window is open, and a soft light speckles the tile floor. Trickling in past the tree that sits right next to the outside wall of the living room. The tree that you've asked toji to cut many a time. The tree you climb to watch his truck round the curve of your street. The tree whose roots have reached out of the ground, thick and covered in moss. The tree whose leaves grow and die and never trim. The tree Toji refuses to cut down.

"Kid," Toji's voice breaks you out of your trance.

You hum.

He doesn't say anything, eyeing you some before continuing.

"I just," he pinches the bridge of his nose, "you know how i feel about you out on the road. Can't keep an eye on you sometimes, y'know? Just don't like it."

Shifting your hips some, you nod solemnly, taking the cherry sucker into your mouth again.

"Hey," Toji tilts your chin, pulling the loli from your lips with a sharp 'pop' before taking it into his own mouth. "M'not punishing you," he drops the sucker onto the coffee table.

"Hey," he calls gently, "look at me."

Fresh tears threaten to dress your lashes and slip over your soft cheeks. You nod hesitantly.

Toji notices the tears. Even if he hadn't, He knows you well enough.

He clicks his tongue and sighs before shuffling down the couch by his hips some taking you to his chest.

"Honey," he strokes a hand up your back, and you whimper, "just want ya' to be okay. Okay?"

You nod against his shoulder, whispering a soft 'okay' before he's cupping both of your cheeks and bringing you into a soft kiss.

The bulk of his thighs spread beneath you and forces your cunt to rub against the bulge of his cock.

Hissing, Toji's hands work fast to help push your shorts off and out of the way to pull your panties to the side.

Rough fingers circle your clit softly and massage up and down your slicked folds. His digits press and run along your velvet walls, curling and circling as you mewl.

"Let me take care of you."

—

You hang to him in a sopping mess, arms chilled and tears bubbling over your cheeks as he fills you, stretching you open.

"Fuck," you sob, whining when Toji's hands knead into the plush of your ass. "You're so big," you gasp and Toji groans, "feel so full, oh my god."

Toji fucking moans — hips rutting up at your sobs before he's grouping you in his arms to flip the two of you over.

You lie on your back as he mounts you. Thick and built thighs on either side of your plush ones and heavy balls pressed up against you soaked folds.

You shiver at the angle, girthy length pulling up and down against your gummy walls.

The angle deepens the heat of your orgasm as it ripples through you. Soft legs tremble, and your breath catches in your throat in a shrieked whine.

"There you go," toji preens, kissing your forehead as he continues to thrust deeper into you. A vulgar 'pap, pap, pap' echoes throughout the room.

"God," he groans into your shoulder, biceps pulsing and black tufts of hair stuck to his cheeks and temples.

"Feels so good, daddy!" You sob, arms tremble around his neck, they slip to hold at his thick arms. "Can't—" You cry as pressure builds in your heat.

"Yes, you can." Toji nods, hips grinding into you and balls heavy against your cunt. "C'mon, kid." He pumps into you a couple more times, bulky thighs trembling against your soft ones.

"Shit, m'gonna cum," he warns before he's filling you with a guttural groan, "oh fuck, shit, shit." He hisses, pumping himself deeper into your heat.

The two of you rest for a moment before he's pulling himself from your cunt to fall onto the couch beside you, gathering you in his lap as he does so.

You pant into the soft of his chest, shivering at his warmth.

"Know I'll be back soon," he mumbles through heavied pants. "Sooner than you can say dash."

"Dash," you mumble tearfully, curling into yourself.

Toji pinches your side, sighing when you shy away from him.

Toji's set to leave early in the morning. You know the house will smell of coffee and toast, and you'll find imprints of his work boots over the carpet you vacuumed only a few days ago and he'll leave a wad of cash for you on the counter — he's never explained that part. You often find yourself curating ideas of what his intent may be; guilt, just a gift, maybe just a 'thank you.' Each one doesn't align with him.

"C'mon, let's get some food in ya'." Toji strokes a hand down your back, gently bringing you back to your wet cheeks and shakey limbs.

You nod, sitting up to let him pull up his boxers before making his way to the kitchen.

Sounds from stove and sink fill the room. You can't find yourself to leave the couch, eyes stuck on that willowing tree, and it's leafs and its roots that break away the soft mossy ground and crawl, dragging themselves while all at the same time forgetting what they're attached to.

"C'mere, hon." Toji calls to you.

You take a moment.

"M'coming."

#toji fushiguro #toji #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #fushiguro toji #jjk fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk toji #fushiguro toji x reader #toji smut #toji fushiguro smut #toji fluff

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dabisbratz · 1 year

Text

LIPLOCKED — yuuji itadori+megumi fushiguro x male reader

w.c: 2.2k

cw: nsfw, vanilla! short, first kiss, fingering, rimming, polyamory, praise, cliffhanger (kinda) ending, slow n steady, brief mention of horror movie elements, ambiguous genitalia, virgin reader, bottom!reader, all characters depicted as 18+

a/n: i was writing this mid-paragraph when i realized we reached 2k!!! imagining that many ppl in same room, staring at me, is so terrifying… but i’m glad it’s you guys!! thank you so much!! it means the world to me.

Three boys step into the crisp, winter air with miscellaneous bags draped over their strong arms. Railings are decorated with a thin, frozen chrysalis, where you catch a small glimpse of yourself in passing. Not too bad— nothing compared to your boyfriends, though. With their pretty faces and pretty eyes… Pretty lips and pretty hair. It’s gnawing at you.

Wafts of chilly air against your poorly concealed skin keeps you alert, a tremor racking down your spine as your boyfriends—Yuuji and Megumi—walk before you. There’s something on your mind, lilliputian embers of shame etched into the details as you watch them walk, confident strides that guide their movement. Megumi’s dark hair bounces with stride, his pale hands stuffed into the pockets of his black sweatpants and chin buried beneath the collar of his matching zip-up. Should’ve worn a coat.

Your teeth chatter, loud as they click against each other— but neither seem to notice. Maybe it’s the growing distance as you trail behind, chewing at the insides of your cheeks. You scan their bodies from behind, try to imagine the muscles of their backs rippling while they walk— how the tendons in Megumi’s hands flex and bend as he curls them into fists. The broadness of Yuuji’s shoulders, how his strong legs bend with each step. The cotton-candy tufts of hair that look soft and smooth… the way dark hair curls up at each end.

You’re approaching Yuuji’s home, in the heart of Sendai city, where the trees adjust themselves and prepare for spring's welcome. There’s a high blush at the apples of their cheeks, peachy and pink, that decorates their boyish faces. Your eyes linger to their lips, shiny and moisturized, as they move to speak. You want to press your lips against them so badly, kiss them, but…

You don’t know how.

There’s a worry to your lips, plump and pouty as you clasp your cold hands to your chest. The tremble isn’t just from the cold, there’s a shiver dancing down your spine as you imagine their lips on yours, warm and inviting and wet. Heat tugs at your skin, and despite the cold air being pushed past your body, you’re warmer than ever.

Yuuji invites you inside with a smile, already shuffling to kick off his shoes before he’s even through the door. A small smile pulls at your lips, admiration blooming in your eyes as Megumi walks through with a solemn nod, and invites himself in.

Have they kissed before? Eachother, at that? Your eyes follow Yuuji’s movements, the way he jumps onto Megumi’s shoulders and grins when the man suggests a future trip to a hot spring. They’re impossibly close, Yuuji’s lips ghosting over Megumi’s flushed cheeks with barely half an inch to separate them.

A frustrated whine exudes from your throat as you stand in the doorway, body stuck between hot and cold as the wind blows against your back— but your front ignites with heat.

What do you say? Hey, Yuuji! Just wanted to know if you’ve made-out with anyone before! Hey, Megumi, wanna lock lips? Hey—

“Hey, honey? You okay?” Oh, Yuuji. His voice is kind, still a pretty chirp that remains syrupy sweet as he waves his large, scarred hand above your face. “Your eyes look… Funny. C’mon, don’t stand in the cold.”

You stare back dumbly, eyes glassy as he pulls you forward and shuts the door behind you. Megumi’s seated on the couch now, remote in hand as he flicks through his choice of horror movies. His cheek envelops his palm in lukewarm warmth just before he lifts his head, sniffling as he soaks in copious amounts of air through his nose. The muscles of his cheek tense, having been squashed against his palm for a despicable amount of time. But it seems he’s caught your gaze, the tiniest fragment of a smile gracing his lips. He’s inviting you to sit.

How long have you been standing around?

Sit you do, unzipping your coat and folding it into a neat square as Megumi makes room for his boyfriends. you hadn’t noticed it before, it’s much warmer in Itadori’s home. Warm, tinted with yellow and full of something that makes you feel sleepy. Comfy. Vulnerable.

You want to tell them.

Yuuji settles next to you, so you’re between them. You feel your body sinking into the faux leather by the minute, a hazy edge dancing along your eyelids as you make yourself comfortable, comfy enough to fully relax. Their warmth is so inviting, holds you close like a childhood blanket, feels soft against your skin. You can’t help but rub your eyes, nodding your head despite the oh, so exhilarating display of fake blood and guts projecting on Yuuji’s flatscreen TV. Guess being a sorcerer really does get you somewhere.

“Are you sleepy?” Megumi asks, tearing his gaze away from the particularly teamy cutscenes of two characters—who look oddly perfect, might you add— shedding their clothes as they make-out. Would that… Be the same for the three of you?

“No, not that…”You’re quick to shake your head, pushing yourself up by your palms. They dig into the respective thighs of your boyfriends, punched sounds escaping their mouths as you sit up— much more alert now. They quirk their brows in unison.

You need to tell them.

“I don’t…. get…it?” The words tumble from your mouth, uncoordinated and enveloped in confusion. There’s a beat of silence as you gesture to the TV, watching the camera pan down milky thighs. It’s like a metaphorical record stops, scratches dead-center as your boyfriends whip their heads around to fully look at you. Your eyebrows are furrowed, gaze stuck on the embroidery of Yuuji’s pink letterman jacket. You’d rather look there as opposed to their faces, sure their handsome features are compacted into disgust.

“You don’t get ‘it’?” Yuuji echoes, an amused lilt in his voice as he nudges Megumi with a leather-clad elbow from behind you. The raven-haired male grumbles, blinking at you with an unreadable expression. “Like, sex, you mean—?”

“Or kissing?” Megumi cuts in, eyebrows pinched as his hands make fists against his sweatpants.

“Here,” You must be dreaming, you’re sure of it, because Yuuji’s hand is on your face— your cheek, and your vision is distorted by his handsome form. He’s close, too close, and his body heat permeates off his skin like a broken heater. Too hot. “Let us teach you.”

You nearly jump out of your skin, a tiny sound parting your lips as Megumi’s lips press against your cheek, soft and sweet and gentle. Zero hesitance behind it, almost as if he’s been thinking about it as much as you have. You deem it impossible, you’ve spent many sleepless nights imagining their lips on yours, how perfect they’d fit, how syrupy their tongues would taste… how the muscle would feel. Your stomach churns.

You let out a breathy sigh before your brain can catch up to your heart, the thrum loud in your ears as Itadori swivels you around to face him. You may as well be on Megumi’s lap, draped on his thighs as Yuuji inches forward to close the space between you.

“So we’re your first?” He says, pink hair bouncing as he leans down to focus his gaze on your lips. His tongue briefly darts along his own, wet and bubblegum pink. It’s like your senses have been put on overdrive, every touch is sensitive and lingering. Megumi’s fingers trailing up your arm, Yuuji’s hands resting at your waist. The sound of their breathing, quiet and hitched… The ambiance of the t.v., full of suspension and anticipation, much like your racing mind.

Swallowing down the lump in your throat, you nod.

Yuuji’s pupils blow wide, cinnamon eyes glistening as he blinks down at you. His laugh is breathless and rushed, like he’d been holding it in, and Megumi seems to share whatever similar thought is racing through the man’s head. Like clockwork, you feel their lips at the corners of your mouth, pillowy and feathery as a warm hand ghosts over your neck and holds you in place. It’s a grounding feeling, the warmth of pale palms against your throat.

You can’t help but hold onto the wrist anyway, fingernails barely scratching the surface of skin. Megumi’s hand, you’ve deduced, runs slightly colder than Yuuji’s. Rougher, too.

But his kiss isn’t any less soft, quite the contrary. It grows softer by the second, and you feel like putty in their hands as they begin to take turns pressing gentle pecks against your lips, slow and steady. Megumi tastes like salted caramel, a contradictory flavor that dances on your tongue and leaves the moment it arrives. Yuuji tastes like fresh bubblegum at the center of a lollipop, with sugar that lingers in every crevice of your mouth.

You can’t help yourself, stuck on the new feeling of a kiss, as you cup their cheeks and pull yourself in deeper, messily raking your tongue over teeth and gums. It’s messy, a trail of spit connecting your lips every so often… but it feels good. What were you so nervous about?

As if it’s now your turn to get down the mechanics, Yuuji is quick to lean over and press a chaste kiss against Megumi’s plush lips, full of half-taken breaths and quiet groans.

“‘Gumi..” You breathe, loud and shaky as your eyes flutter open and your heart stutters in your chest. The butterflies in your stomach have soon left, swallowed by heat and electricity that makes your thighs involuntarily spread. “Yuu..”

“Shit.” Shit. Megumi makes an effort to shield his face in his bicep, which glows a bright shade of red and blazes with heat. It’s your expression— eyes glazed over and expectant—that has him so worked up, the way your eyebrows sinch and your mouth falls open, desperate for air. Desperate for him. Yuuji, shameless as ever, has his hands under your shirt, inching his fingers upward to play with the sensitive bud of your nipple, coaxing a few more sounds out of you. It was just supposed to be a kiss, but..

“I can teach you more stuff,” He breathes, eyes fixated on the imprint of his hands underneath your shirt. He should rip it to shreds. “We can, if you want. I’d say I’m a pretty good teacher!”

He watches a smile form on your lips, a bit dazed and delayed. If he could, he’d look right into your brain, see what’s got that pretty head of yours turning into mush. But he can’t, so he instead settles for lightly punching your nipples between his fingers, rolling the bud until you’re arching further into his hands and nearly off Megumi’s lap.

“Hm?”

“Yeah,” You rasp. “Please, please.”

The boy’s grin grows, stretching wide across his face as Megumi leans down to envelop you in another kiss. Hot and wet, his tongue glides over your own as Itadori makes busy tucking the hem of your shirt under your armpits. He watches your body writhe, squirming under his gaze and pervading heat while you buck your hips into the air. It’s clear you’re not even aware of the action, the way you’ve lost yourself in Megumi’s lips and have yet to come back to the surface. If a simple kiss gets you this worked up then…

“Yuuji!” You moan, loud enough to frighten yourself. Your legs are hiked up onto his shoulders, spread embarrassingly wide as he spears you open on his tongue. Itadori licks a fat stripe down your perineum, lets his spit pool and slide down your ass until he’s circling the cute, puckered ring of muscle that consistently winks back at him. “You said you’d… teach me.”

“Shh, sh. See? I’m teaching you..” His voice is muffled between your thighs, and barely coherent as his tongue slips past your rim. “Look, can you see?”

“Mm-mm, s’too deep inside—!” You squeal, gripping Megumi’s forearm for support. Realistically, you know if you really wanted to watch his tongue disappear inside you all you’d have to do is sit up on your elbows, maybe even ask Megumi for help. But you’re not thinking realistically, if you’re even thinking at all. His eyes are murky and dark, emerald turned clover, as his hand grips the base of your sensitive, twitching cock. Your body can't help but convulse, trembling in Megumi’s arms as he holds you still.

You can feel his erection on your back, right where your spine curves to meet your neck, and an overwhelming part of you wants to turn around and emulate the movements of his fist pumping your own.

“Need you to do something for us..” Megumi says, eyes lazy and eyelids heavy as he looks down at your twisting face. “First official part of your lesson.”

And then you feel fingers. Yuuji’s working you open, slipping in a long, wet finger that you can’t stop your hole from fluttering around.. It’s too much. You’d only gotten your first kiss like… what, thirty minutes ago?

“M’gonna—”

“Go ahead, keep goin’, You can’t tell which half of that sentence is for you, but it doesn’t really matter. Your thighs tighten, toes curling as you moan into your dark haired boyfriend’s arm. You’re close, so close, about to reach the peak that you’ve only ever been able to dream about, and—

“Look at Yuuji, pretty,” It’s commanded straight into your right ear, dances around in your empty brain until your gaze snaps downward, and umber eyes meet yours. “Watch his tongue go in n’ out. Be a good boy for him, let us teach you.”

You’re cumming.

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fushigurro · 1 month

Text

𝘼𝙑𝙊𝙄𝘿𝘼𝙉𝘾𝙀 / 𝘼𝘾𝘾𝙀𝙋𝙏𝘼𝙉𝘾𝙀.

𝗦𝗔𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗨 𝗚𝗢𝗝𝗢 𝗫 𝗔𝗙𝗔𝗕!𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥. ⌇ 18+ only, mdni / oral (reader receiving) / no power dynamics / a bit of cross-dressing (on gojo's end, but nothing too serious) / food + eating mentions / brief cigarette smoking / a friends to lovers type beat / 1.7k words

“I dunno... I think blue is more my color.”

“No... I like the pink.”

“Really? More than the blue?”

“Not necessarily. I like any color.”

You pull the lollipop from between your red-stained lips, and he considers your perspective.

A mini-skirt of light pink hangs low on Satoru’s hips as he twists them girlishly in the mirror on the bedroom door, checking from every angle, watching as the fabric sways with the motion. The t-shirt he wears with it hugs his torso and rides up from the bottom to rest just above his navel.

For a while you eyed the way the pink garment was juxtaposed against the coarse tuft of white leading down the center, framed by the prominent v-line that likewise disappeared behind the elastic hem. He was sculpted in some sort of heavenly image, you were sure, so of course he wore the trappings of a feminine adolescent with grace, just as any other thing he could think to put on.

But then your eyes move up to study his face, capturing the discerning but leisurely look that crosses it, relatively unbothered by the actual outcome of blue vs. pink, the two colors of the same skirt you’d both purchased for yourselves in a childish frenzy. You, on your belly on the bed, are surrounded by candy wrappers and shopping bags, and wearing the respective blue.

A cigarette hangs from between his lips, turning to ash but breathed in only once. Another distraction, an experimental vice requested at the cash register on a whim as you both stood there side-by-side—excited, gluttonous children.

There are dates on the calendar in which there's a certain sadness in his eyes, corrupting the crystal blues with the murk of remembered pain. He doesn't speak it, denies any bad feeling with a sugar-coated grin and a pointed playful jab, but you are no fool. He is not impervious to the human condition, nor are you oblivious to the signs of its wear and tear.

Bringing it to the light would likely cause his inner animal—the animal he tries to protect with avoidance—to skitter, causing a rift or lure towards dissociation until he returns with a forced smile. So, for once, you decide that maybe indulging the avoidance might be a method that yields interesting results.

It was all juvenile in nature, littered with the essence of instant gratification and riding the high of impulsivity. But truly, it was tame compared to what other adults your age might’ve done to drive bad thoughts away, trapped in the chokehold of dangerous vices.

You’d simply urged him to stores, swiping cards and collecting excess, nursing caffeinated drinks, adding to the sugar rush by dropping armfuls of candy boxes into shopping carts. Satoru had even taken a liking to a stuffed white creature with eyes like his own—some sort of popular character adjacent to Hello Kitty, you think. It now sits near you on the bed.

He sighs and deflates, sauntering towards the bedside table where he takes a sip from the soda can there. You rise from where you’d been laying, sitting up on the edge of the mattress and leaning back on your hands as Satoru plops down next to you, matching your posture and jostling ash from the tip of the neglected cigarette. The exciting buzz of the day is starting to wear off, quiet settling between you.

You pull the stick of tobacco from his mouth and remove the candy from your own, slipping the ball of sweetness between his willing lips to create a peculiar flavor. He sucks on it while you switch to inhaling smoke, coughing with a frown and then reaching across him to drop the cigarette in the soda can. Another failed distraction, 19 sticks in a box that’ll go unlit.

He grins in amusement, skirt draped over muscled thighs. He steals a glance at yours.

“You could always try getting drunk,” you say, exhaling smoke and breaking the silence.

“No way—you know I don't like it.”

It was a last-ditch effort, a grasping at straws. “I know. I don't like it either.”

Silence falls again. There are so many things you know about each other, but so many things you don’t, primarily of the intimate variety. Satoru thinks he might like to learn them.

But first, he has to try and dismiss. Unnerve. Avoid.

His smile droops a little, six-eyes studying you with interest, voice dropping. He’s closer now.

“Why do you always help me? I could kill you in an instant,” he states casually, finally acknowledging your motives behind the entire fun-filled day, though making a point to reaffirm your weakness compared to his strength.

What a severe choice of words to be paired with a teasing grin, but they aren’t incorrect. He’s nature’s favorite freak. Yours, too.

You meet his gaze, unwavering, stealing the lollipop from him. “’Could’ and ‘would’ are two different things."

He challenges you. “You don’t think I would?”

“In the pink skirt?” Your eyes flit around in thought. “Hmm… no. But maybe the blue.” You smile cheekily, mouth red like his own, and he exhales a chuckle. Beating him at his own game.

“I wouldn’t.”

Satoru’s breath mingles with your own, close enough to breeze against your skin that glows in the fading sunlight from the window. Everything is bare feet, mini skirts, and orange sunset, with a heaping spoonful of sugar and feelings rising to the surface. Childlike milieu. Leaning in for a kiss feels like the only viable option.

You’ve never tasted his lips before, and you know they don’t naturally emulate cigarettes, but that’s how they are to you now. It’s a similar thing from his perspective; however, it doesn’t deter either of you from spreading the flavor between you with slow, languid licks that also share a hint of strawberry lollipop, the paper stick pinched between your fingers, momentarily forgotten.

There’s a hand on your thigh as breathing patterns start to change, bodies wanting to melt together the longer you lap at each other’s mouths. But it isn’t hurried, the sugar crash making it a little drunken; or maybe the satisfaction of finally merging just puts the two of you at ease.

Satoru pulls back, tipsy from spit and indulgence, but seeking more of you now that he’s discovered the perfect medicine. The tips of his fingers inch higher up the inside of your thigh, and you pop the sucker back onto your tongue to suppress a moan.

“Let me try something else?” he asks with heavy lids, eyeing your pretty lips and pleading for this final distraction. But it’s not really a distraction anymore.

You’re staring at his lips too, nodding and humming around the candy in your mouth.

Satoru’s knees meet the carpet in front of you, palms spreading your thighs apart so that he can see the panties you’re wearing beneath your skirt. It shouldn’t feel like home for him here when he’s never even visited before, but it does, on both your end and his.

When his fingers clutch the waistband to strip away the fabric, you raise and shift your hips closer to the edge of the bed to offer assistance. Then the underwear has been rolled down your thighs and discarded on the floor, revealing you to him in full, Satoru marveling at the new sight and thumbing through the slit with the watering mouth of a starved animal.

He gets a little high off the smell of your cunt, your slick a narcotic on his tongue when he dips into it. He laves and smears until he’s covered in the sticky shine, lost in the service of another as it serves him in kind; placates him, fills the space where ache and self-importance used to encumber his chest.

The attention he presses to your clit rivals the attention you’d given his battered soul, paying you back, accepting love by letting it flow in, circulate, and flow back out. Appreciation, reciprocation, acceptance. He writes it with a wet muscle on every crevice of your delicate flesh.

Those burdened baby blues from earlier have become glazed with lust and love, peering up at you with adoration and accented by perfectly flushed cheeks. Your thighs are the heated walls of a century-old church during a southern summer, and it’s his favorite season. He’ll gladly work up a sweat with his prayer, his offering, his worship; he loves the purpose. Cum on his tongue and show him that God is listening, won’t you?

He wants to forever wear your pleasure as a gloss on his lips, let it override the taste of sugarcane and artificial flavor, the remnants of tobacco and nicotine, the weight of sorrow and melancholy.

Gift him with your orgasm, let it heal his wounds. Cleanse him, baptize him, save him.

He savors every second of his slow devotion, as do you, head falling back and throat singing his praises with moans of favorable timbre. Satoru’s eyes roll into his skull when your fingers slip between silky white strands and tug, shooting pleasure-pain straight down to his aching cock. He figures you’re close because your heels dig into his back and you grind your pussy along his chin, so the devotee keeps offering your cunt strawberry kisses until you fall apart.

He drinks down every last drop of essence that falls upon his tongue as your thighs encase him, a coil of ecstasy releasing in your gut. Your orgasm is sweeter than any candy he’s ever tasted, stronger than any bad memory that’s ever dared to haunt him. He’s even forgotten what had him feeling so somber today in the first place.

Lost friends. Lost ways. Things that hurt but are soothed by your companionship.

Satoru rises from his place of worship and seals the divine deal with a kiss, hardly taking the notion to breathe in between. Steadfast, you welcome him like you always do, making space in your heart and body for a man who didn’t think he required any love.

He is human too—living, breathing flesh that flourishes when provided with the proper nourishment. He may have a proclivity for convincing the world otherwise, but in his heart he knows it’s a deflection, an avoidance.

But he does not have to flee from pain, not anymore, because you will be there to strip it away from him. Not with candies and other pleasures of the flesh, but with the love and acceptance of a person who nobody ever thought needed it.

#satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #my writing.#re: satoru gojo

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jewellery-box · 6 months

Text

Woman's dress

1825–30, American

Silk brocaded satin, net trim, and glazed linen lining

Dark brown satin bodice with all over sprays of roses, candy tuft and other small flowers brocaded with polychrome silks, short waisted, with wide flaring neck, hooked down center back, long straight undersleeves with short full puffed oversleeves, boned and lined with white linen; narrow ruching of stiffened sheer cotton at edge of sleeves. Tag saying, Mrs. Inches.

MFA Boston

#romantic era #1830s #pre-victorian #19th century #fashion history #historical fashion

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hornyhornyhimbos · 11 months

Text

Happy By The Poolside

pairing: steve harrington x afab!reader

summary: while they wait for the annual pool party to start, steve knows exactly how to keep his lover happy by the poolside ☼♡

word count: 1,477

warnings: MINORS DNI (18+ CONTENT) oral f!receiving, fingering f!receiving, semi-public sex (sex by the pool), nicknames (baby, sweetheart), edancy appearance because i said so, allusions to steve jerkin it in the bathroom, no pronouns or reader descriptors used other than reader wearing a bikini, color coded speaker tags!

genre: fluffy, established relationship smut ♡

extra notes: did y'all really think i'd let fourth of july go by without slutty 'i <3 swimming' steve?

beta read by: @lcvingprentjss (love u sm)

masterlist | location smut prompts | ask box

it was hot. it was oh so hot. but it wasn't the 80° heat that had you feeling that way. no, what had you feeling that way was a certain brunette boy in big sunglasses and loose-hanging shorts.

you all but stared as steve emerged from the pool, blue swim trunks settled low on his waist, accentuating the trail of hair on his lower belly and the dips of his adonis belt. you practically drooled as he shook out his wet hair, beads of water flying about and landing in various spots on the concrete and your chaise.

he reached for the towel that he'd tossed at the end of the chair, a few loose droplets of of water falling onto your feet as he did so. you'd been happy right where you were, enjoying a magazine as the sun rays beat down on your body, fingers crossed that you'd have a tan after this, not a nasty case of sunburn. steve had been pouting half the morning, trying to get you in the pool with him, but you hadn't budged, saying you were happy by the poolside, waiting until the rest of your friends had arrived for the pool party.

still, even an hour after you'd sat down on the chaise, he wasn't letting up. "baby," he said, somehow managing to make the term sound conspiratorial, "are you sure you don't want to join me?"

you shook your head, putting this month's edition of cosmo to the side and taking off your sunglasses to meet his gaze. "everyone should be here soon. then you'll have plenty of time with me in the pool. it's not like dustin would ever let me miss the annual chicken fight."

he chuckled at your statement, but took your hand in both of his and gave you that look, the one he always gave you when he was determined to get you to do whatever he wanted. "come on, baby. please?" his bottom lip puckered out like a child in a candy store. "just for a few minutes?"

"nope," you answered, putting your sunglasses back on as the sun moved further overhead. "i only have so much time today to start on my tan. besides, they'll be here any minute."

in protest, steve pulled you up from the chair and tugged you toward the pool. "come on, at least dip your toes in."

you supposed you couldn't argue with his compromise. he walked around to the steps, slowly submerging himself in the pool once again, while you sank onto the concrete, dipping your feet into the contrastingly cool water. you chuckled as steve went limber, letting the small waves of water carry him through the pool. "you're missing out," he stated, like it was an absolute fact.

"i'm perfectly fine right here, my little fish," you teased. you kicked your feet softly in the water, watching as tiny ripples floated to join the bigger ones that carried steve. from this new angle, the sun was hidden behind his neighbors' trees, prompting you to place your sunglasses to the side and get a better look at steve: the once dark blue shorts now a beautiful cerulean, just a tad darker than the water he floated on, his normal wavy tufts now a sea of dark curls, the way his skin practically sparkled in the sliver of sunlight that wasn't hidden behind his neighbors' sugar maples. you watched as beads of water slid down his stomach, dragging along every crevice and line of his abs. you'd be lying if you said the sight didn't have you turned on.

steve must've noticed the way you'd been staring, forcing himself upright again and wading through the water toward you. unbeknownst to you, that little red bikini you had on was doing a number on him, his inner monologue and thoughts being driven by his little head at this point. he made his way over to you, placing a delicate kiss on your leg, looking up at you through water-matted eyelashes. "baby," he said, his tone teasing this time.

"hmm?" you hummed in response, afraid your voice would betray you if you said anything more.

his eyes flicked between your eyes and the place where your thighs squeezed together. you needed him, and you both knew it. "you okay?"

you managed to nod, the friction between your legs not at all aiding the want that had taken over your body. "i'm good," you said sheepishly, a blush creeping up your skin.

"are you sure? because," he paused, placing his giant palm on your knee and pulling your legs apart. he smirked at the wet spot he'd unknowingly created on your bathing suit. "you seem like you could use some help over here," he finished, his hand making its way up to your thigh.

the logical part of your brain managed to take over for a moment. "steve, people will be here any minute," you protested, despite the irrationally horny side of your brain that was currently fistfighting the logical side.

"then i'd better be quick," he said, his hands inching toward your bikini bottoms.

he left a space of availability in the air for any more protests you might have. after all, even though you were in a very established relationship, consent was always key. but you made no more argumentative comments, only approving moans and the occasional, "please," as he pulled your bathing suit down.

his lips met your clit with soft licks at first, giving you time to respond with just how hard and fast you needed it. your hands met his hair, tangling in the wet curls as you pulled him closer to you, letting out a soft moan as he suckled your bud.

he pulled your bikini bottoms all the way off, setting them aside on the concrete before meeting your pussy once again. your legs wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him closer to you again. his damp hair settled on the sides of your thighs, sending a shiver up your spine.

his tongue worked itself in heavenly figure eights around your core, while one of his hands met your entrance. he toyed at your hole with his fingertip, waiting for some kind of approval to continue.

you gave him exactly that, letting out a whine that sounded like an attempt to say, "please, stevie," but was nearly incoherent. he slipped one finger inside you, the sensation absolutely intoxicating.

he left a series of open-mouthed kisses on your clit, his digit continuing to bury itself inside you. he moaned at the taste, and the vibration had you inching closer to your release. your fingers curled into his hair while your toes curled into his back as his finger reached that sweet spot deep inside you.

the logical part of your brain took over once more as you spared a quick glance at your watch. "steve, they're gonna be here any second," you said through moans, hands pulling so hard at his hair that you were surprised you hadn't ripped it out yet.

"patience, baby, patience," he reminded you, immediately diving back into your cunt. his finger was accompanied by a second, his thrusts only becoming faster and deeper with every flex of the digits. your eyes had started to roll back and your toes had started to curl even harder. you were close, oh so close, and you both knew it.

the familiar rumble of eddie's truck trumpeted from what sounded like a few houses down. "steeeeve," you let out, ever so close to your orgasm.

his fingers drove impossibly deeper into your cunt, his mouth only parting from you to say, "cum for me, sweetheart."

as if on cue, your orgasm rippled throughout your body, pain and pleasure taking over all of your senses. a moan escaped your lips at the last possible second as the truck turned off outside the fence.

steve left one last open-mouthed kiss on your core before rushing to pull your bottoms back on. "you let them in while i go, uh, fix something in the bathroom."

you giggled, watching as steve padded toward the back door. surprisingly, you managed to compose yourself between the fifteen feet that lied between the pool and the gate, a smile making its way onto your lips as you let your friends in. "hey, guys," you greeted, moving to let the trio in.

mike entered first, while eddie and nancy stepped in behind him, eddie's arm tossed around his girl's shoulders. "you okay?" nancy asked, seemingly having noticed your wobbly legs.

"i'm fine," you answered. "just stood up a little too fast. got a little lightheaded."

steve chuckled as he closed the glass door behind him, making his way inside the house and heading toward the bathroom. if you thought that was lightheaded, just you wait until the after party…

-> taglist: @dungeons-are-too-cold @rupsmorge @writer-in-theory @esoltis280 @liberhoe @wifeyreid @serenity-lattes-reads

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