#mine.jjk

[aiiku]

hung up.

fushiguro megumi x gn reader

word count ~1k

synopsis letting go of the past is hard when the present is so lonely.

tags a little fluff, a little angst, reminiscing a relationship, regrets, one mention of itadori being a bad friend™.

notes prompt: memory. this turned out to be 888 words which is the angel number for karma and i feel like that should mean something to this fic. who knows what, though? enjoy (:

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the past should stay where it was left, but megumi's got a nasty habit of holding his shirts in his hands and scouring the corners of his mind for any pictures of you wearing this piece. it's hard to leave the past behind when it's woven into the fabric of everything he has: the peaches sitting in his fridge even though he's always found their skin too fuzzy; the way he drops certain letters because the words only sound right when he says it like you would; the brown stain on the collar of this very shirt that neither of you really bothered to get out.

they say you shouldn't forget the past, but he doesn't think that means he should do his best to remember every single detail of it. he's never been all that good at listening to other people when he doesn't want to.

they say you shouldn't forget the past, unless you want history to repeat itself. and megumi wants beyond all the hope left in the world that history repeats itself, but he can't bring himself to empty his mind in the process when he stares down at the mark on his clothes.

soy sauce. vegetable dumplings. too much on too little a spoon, but you made it work for most of the journey up to his mouth. it was sweet on his tongue, sticky on his neck when you spilled it inches away from him.

"you're gonna love it," he remembers you promising.

back then, he didn't have the voice to say the things he really wanted to, so instead of admitting, "yeah, probably. i love whatever you make," he had said, "we'll see."

and instead of telling you how grateful he is that you made anything for him — that you had stayed up to do this for no reason, for him, for someone who really wasn't worth the lost hours of sleep no matter how much you'd argue otherwise — all he left you with was an, "it's good. thanks."

he remembers the way you'd fretted over him right after. one finger scooped up the liquid, fighting over the gulp of his throat before you'd popped it into your mouth. like it didn't matter that he was battle-sweaty and grimy.

you'd smiled up at him, then, sweeter than the sauce marinating the grooves of his tongue and at the tip of it were the words, "you missed a spot," because he wanted to feel your hands on his body once more.

instead, he had cleared his throat, muttered another pathetic, 'thanks,' and turned to wash his face.

no amount of water could rid him of your touch and his hands clench when he thinks about how much he'd flushed back then.

cold water. cheeks too hot. you had offered to help, but you'd stood by his side instead when you saw his face. a smirk on your face. tapping the counter.

"are you blushing?" he ignored you.

"did you like that?" you nudged his hip. he continued to ignore you.

"want me to drop some more on you and do that again?"

he shook his hand off in your direction because that was so much easier than saying, "yes. yes. yes."

you squeaked when the water splashed onto your face, high-pitched like a mouse. cuter, but just as annoying. when he turned to wipe his hands on the towel, you wrapped your arms around his waist, pushed your face between his shoulder blades, and dried yourself on his clothes.

then, he had sat down at the table and finished his meal, and you had sat down right next to him until he was done eating. he hadn't washed the dishes that night because you were getting tired. instead, he left them on the table and took you to bed.

and he'd wanted to slip in right beside you because you wouldn't let go of him — clinging to him like he's the collar and you're the stain — but he had needed to shower, so he left you there.

his shirt went in the hamper. he can't remember what happened after.

he tosses it back into his cupboard and moves onto the next thing.

megumi's birthday is just before christmas.

itadori is a bad friend.

putting those two facts together leads to one very simple conclusion in the form of a t-shirt with santa claus and the words 'i do it for the ho's' plastered across it.

it was a gag gift — "a little something because your real present hasn't come yet. sorry, bro!" — and he remembers asking itadori if he'd kept the receipt for it because there was no way he was ever going to wear this. not even if he needed to get his hands dirty.

but you had thought it was hilarious.

and because you had thought it was hilarious, he had never done anything with the receipt. he'd worn it more times than he'd ever imagined he would, but only in your presence. all because it would make you smile and giggle and ask, "am i a ho? am i at least your favourite one, megumi?" every time you saw him in it.

it hits the bottom of his cupboard, he moves onto the next thing—

and he wonders if these vague memories are all he'll have left of you.

#megumi x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader #jjk x reader #jjk angst #megumi angst #mine #mine.jjk

[touyaz]

jjk (long)

>> click here for shorter reads (word count over 2.5k)

last updated 22 nov 2022

each fic contains detailed warnings on the post itself — please read them before proceeding! your media consumption is your own responsibility.

more jjk content under #mine.jjk

> FUSHIGURO MEGUMI

to tell the truth | 3k

content contains fem reader, fingering, unprotected sex, vaginal sex.

Your study session with Megumi takes a turn when you make a fascinating discovery about your dear boyfriend.

> INUMAKI TOGE

let us love each other until the end | 11.2k

content contains gn reader, jjk spoilers, sfw, non-sexual nudity, (emotional) hurt/comfort, codependency.

You don’t know how to help him any more than you already are. Maybe if you were someone else, like Panda or Okkotsu or even Maki — they’d know what to do. They would know exactly how to help Inumaki recover and heal, but they’re not here. It’s just you and him and your ‘mind the step’ before you enter the market. You hope it’s enough.

You hope you’re enough, but he won’t ever say.

#mine #mine.jjk #tl

[touyaz]

inumaki + maki + okkotsu x gn reader

WARNINGS maki fucks inumaki, who fucks you and it's recorded and sent to okkotsu <3 so, recording/ sex tape, anal penetration (inumaki), very brief breathplay/choking (maki and inumaki), orgasm denial, (bratty) subs inumaki and reader, dom maki, maki's strap is called her cock, no pronouns for reader.

MINORS, AGELESS, AND BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. 18+ ONLY.

there's this bitter ache that fills yuuta's chest when his phone lights up with an unread text. he finally has some time to wind down after back-to-back missions and gruelling fights, but the wounds littering his body have nothing on the hurt that throbs in his heart when he finally opens the message.

it's a video.

the thumbnail is a blurry shot of toge's back, reddened and arched, and the dullness that once filled yuuta ebbs into a certain longing that pushes him to hit play. it's noisy all at once, but yuuta's alone here, continents away from the three of you, with no noisy neighbours that will voice complaints at him turning the volume up some more.

he can make out every little whimper that crackles through the speakers this way. he catches the wet slurps as toge laps at your sex messily, the groan that teeters into a whine when maki tugs on his hair, the ruffle of sheets when you writhe from the loss of pleasure.

"i told them we'd wait until you got back," maki says, slipping her hand around toge's neck, pulling him up and away. yuuta's cock twitches at that, and he doesn't know whose position he'd rather be in right now: doling out the punishments, or being held close to another person. he palms over his growing bulge slowly, mindlessly, as maki continues, "but these two... always so impatient, aren't you?" she ends with a squeeze and yuuta's eyes glaze over when he sees her fingers dig into the sides of toge's throat, when he hears toge's breath hitch and strain and all maki does is chuckle.

there's too much movement after that, here and there. hands grope and grab in an unfocused shuffle, there's the sound of a cut-off moan and yuuta's belt unbuckling, boxers being pushed down and the slap of skin on skin. he wants to be there so badly, he thinks. on top, below, in between, wherever you'll have him. even if he's off to the side, a lonely, desperate bystander to your love, he just wants to be there in person. he doesn't want to watch maki squeeze lube all over her cock, he wants to be the one soaking it with his spit; he wants to breathe the sex and sweat that rolls off of you as toge fingers your hole; he needs more than the grainy arch of your back when toge pushes his length into you, he needs more than the dull lighting that doesn't do your spit-slick, shiny sex any justice.

it'll do for now, he supposes, brushing over his own length in steady strokes. he's hot and heavy in his own hand, precum dripping and making lewd paps sound off each time he twists his wrist. his palm is warm. his fist is tight. it's good enough, but it's leagues away from the way toge wraps around him like a vice. it's nothing compared to the sloppy flicks and licks and suction of maki's mouth, but he's miles away and his hand is all he has.

over the wet schlick of toge pumping into you, he can make out your needy pleas, your quiet, "ah, more, more, so good," and he wishes he was there to hear you cry in his ears. he'd give you more, if you asked him so prettily, if you sobbed his name and dug your hands into his shoulders like you're doing to toge right now.

the camera pans down toge's back and he can make out faint red lines that run down the length of it. his own scratches twinge at the sight. maki rests her cock on toge's ass, slapping it along the curve so the obscene smack flits through the speakers and echoes in his mind. even in the dim lighting, he can see it's dripping in lube, and when maki presses the tip to toge's rim, yuuta's filled with the startling reminder of how empty and alone he is.

toge stops pumping into you, so yuuta stops thrusting into his own hand. your whine fills the stretch of silence as maki sinks into him, and yuuta wishes he could be there to muffle your brattiness with his own cock.

maki kisses her teeth when she's buried to the hilt, hips flush against the backs of toge's quivering thighs.

"look at them," she says, and yuuta can imagine the smirk tugging at her lips, the faux disappointed shake of her head. "all they need is some attention. give them some—" she rears her hips back and the camera jolts when she shoves all the way back in "—cock, and then they'll listen, isn't that right?"

toge groans but it's overshadowed by your sob of maki's name. "we're— we're sorry. we are."

"oh, are you? really?"

even toge joins in, dropping his head to your chest and nodding against your clammy skin.

"you don't look sorry," maki points out, and her hand doesn't waver when she slaps the side of your thigh, the loud clap reverberating through the speakers. a moan escapes yuuta at the sight of your skin rippling, of your legs tightening around toge's waist, and it catches in his throat when maki repeats the action on toge's ass. "you look like you're enjoying yourself."

you shake your head, and yuuta doesn't know whether he wants to wipe away the crystals in your eyes or watch them fall further.

"i'm sorry, i'm sorry," you whimper, and then your eyes open and you stare right at the lens, right at yuuta, as you say, "miss you so much, yuu— yuuta. wish you were here. want you here with us."

he curses beneath his breath just as your eyes roll back and maki gives a particularly sharp snap of her hips. toge lets out a pitchy hum in agreement, and yuuta works over his cock in time with maki's thrusts, squeezing the head so precum beads at the top for him to smear along the length. the sight of you staring at him, eyes glassy and half-lidded, calling for him between gasps and mewls is enough to get him to the brink of climax already.

"yuu— yuuta," you hiccup, and he feels his abs tighten, the coil in him winding tautly, his palm burning the length of his cock with too-quick strokes. "want you— want you filling me up, please. please. miss your cock, miss you so much."

he's so, so close now, and toge groaning something akin to yuuta's name only drags him nearer to the edge.

it's maki asking if you want to cum that lights the chain of reaction because you're helpless and needy and craving the release that spins at your fingertips, just out of reach.

you're too loud and so, so greedy as you cry, "yeah, wanna cum. wanna— so badly. please? please, i wanna cum. let us, let us cum please. i'm gonna—"

miles away and yuuta can taste the desperation that oozes out of you, that wells in the bend of your back and lingers in the crescents your nails leave on toge's shoulder. and if he was there he'd make you cum right now. he'd push into you and grind down on your sex and watch you fall apart on his cock, relishing the way you slur his name between whimpers.

but he's not there, and maki is so much crueller than he is as she pulls out of toge and drags him away from you, too.

yuuta cums.

he can't hold it back, eyes wide despite the heavy daze that an orgasm brings, too focused on the clouds in your irises, the tears that spring up as you bawl over the loss. your lips waver and you're looking right at the camera, right at him, as you stutter, "n-no, no, please, yuuta please, i'm so close, let me cum. let us cum— wanna cum."

his release comes in spurts, hot and slippery bursts that soak through his shirt, but he's paying more attention to the way toge is whining alongside you, desperately jerking his hips and humping the empty air between you in search of his fading climax. a part of yuuta feels bad that he reached his end when the two of you were robbed of yours. another part revels in the satisfaction, it grins beside maki and watches you and toge writhe hopelessly for a long-gone euphoria.

"yuuta," he hears you call him, voice stumbling over the syllables as you pout up at him. "want you back," you sniffle, eyebrows creasing when your eyes drift to the pleased look on maki's face. "maki's so mean, want you here instead."

maki doesn't seem to take the comment to heart, snickering lightly as she says, "you two should've waited like we said. maybe you'll listen next time, hm?"

you narrow your eyes at her half-heartedly. toge slumps onto your chest once more, turning sideways to peer at the camera.

"tuna mayo," he says, and yuuta isn't so sure of what that means until he joins you in glaring at maki.

she clicks her teeth at your behaviour. "don't give me attitude, or i won't let either of you cum even when yuuta gets back."

you both whine at that, and maki keeps the camera centred on the two of you as you speak to him over one another. he catches 'tuna tuna' and 'salmon' between your 'yuuta, we're sorry' and 'promise it won't happen,' and he laughs when he hears maki mumble about how greedy the two of you are.

the video ends shortly after with each of you saying good bye and telling yuuta how much you miss him. and, though that bone-deep yearning in him hasn't completely dissipated, he feels more at peace knowing he isn't the only one feeling incomplete right now.

#man what normal person gets this worked up over the 2nd year polyship on a Wednesday evening :/ #i love them i want them this was supposed to be short but kind of spiralled yw <3 #do i use proper tags on this....... #jjk smut #inumaki smut #maki smut #okkotsu smut #yuuta smut #inumaki toge smut #zenin maki smut #okkotsu yuuta smut #mine #mine.jjk

[touyaz]

love makes us mortal.

pairing sukuna x fem reader

word count 1,664

notes (questionably) soft sukuna for @killerdabi

WARNINGS true form sukuna, so monsterfucking, oral (f rec), fingering, size kink (kind of), brief anal play (no penetration), reader has body hair. reader has no pronouns.

MINORS, AGELESS & BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. 18+ ONLY.

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"Tapping out so soon, little lamb?" Sukuna teases, allowing you a moment of respite.

He settles you on the firm plane of his abdomen where the heat of something wicked, something wondrous, licks at your lower back, eager for another taste of you. You try to catch your breath, but his kindness doesn't last long. His stomach tenses and you feel the muscles beneath you shift, lines growing taut as he pushes your hips down, grinding your aching body against his hardened one.

"Wait," you gasp, digging your nails into the tattoos across his chest. "Wait, please. I can't."

"Oh?" He raises a brow, head tilting slightly to the right as he appraises you. "I’ve yet to touch you properly, and you’re already falling asleep on me?"

Your eyes narrow in a glare, fleeting and half-hearted at best with how you slump onto him right after.

He chuckles, low and earthy, and you feel it rumble through your own body. As two hands rub circles over your hip bones, another strokes over the top of your head, sharp nails turning soft as a feather as they glide over your scalp. His last hand runs down the ridges of your spine in gentle motions, sure to leave faint lines behind as a reminder of his affection.

"Here I thought you were prepared to go all night for me," he sighs, warming the top of your head with his soft exhale. His hand trails down the side of your face, fingertips brushing your chin as he tilts your head to his own. "You'll give me one more, won't you?"

A part of you wants to say no. It wants to stay just like this and fall asleep in his arms; it wants to fade away to the sounds of his quiet humming and his nails grazing along your skin.

A bigger part of you can't stop itself from focusing on his lower hands — the ones that are snaking their way down from your waist, over the curve of your ass, and to your thighs that still ache at the slightest movement. You can't deny the desire that still simmers inside you, that comes to boil when his hand returns to your slick sex, that darkens your eyes when you catch sight of his dastardly canines.

"There we are," he coos, using his upper two hands to lift you up by your shoulders. The muscles in your thighs twitch and you hold back a wince, too delighted by his sweet approval to worry over the strain. "There's my sweet pet. Always so good for me, aren’t you?"

His eyes roam over your bare body, adoring the way you quiver in his hold as he guides you backwards. "Easy now," he murmurs once you're hovering over where he wants you most. "I'll be gentle, my love, I swear."

The flash of a smirk and past experiences have you casting doubt on his words already. Anticipation flutters in your core the longer he keeps you suspended, mere inches above a part of him so unheard of, so monstrous and dizzying; unholy it may be, the end of the night will have you singing hymns and bowing for more.

He's scorching at first touch. A heated sigh ignites the wetness clinging to your folds until your entire body is set alight by a single stroke.

Your throne, he had declared it to be, the first time he bared himself for you. Your thighs burn as he holds you above your rightful seat, unable to move away when that slick muscle swipes along your sex; it's obscene and lewd, the wet schlick that follows each lap of his tongue, the way his more-human side delights in the depravity of his darker counterpart.

You fall forwards onto him, and he keeps your lower body raised with that unrivalled strength corded in his tendons, ingrained into every inch of his staunch body. Nails like knives prick his chest, drawing blood and throaty groans from him as they bury themselves in his flesh. He doesn't care for the crimson tainting his skin, too enamoured by the sheen coating the hair on your sex, by the sweat and the sweetness that drips into his waiting mouth.

"Oh, god," you sob, dropping your head just as he spreads your thighs apart some more. "Ah, ah, please— too much. Slow, slow down."

You’re so vulnerable.

Through half-lidded eyes, you can see exactly how exposed you are: the veins on his hands are prominent as he holds you above him, pushing your legs further so that devilish tongue of his has more space to wander, to consume. Thick, stringy lines of spit hang between the lips on his stomach and your sodden folds; your inner thighs are glazed and gleaming with his saliva as he noisily licks and nips his way from one leg to the other.

He shushes you quietly, smiling as your breath hitches in your throat when he finally drops you with a muted thud.

"Be patient, won't you?" he murmurs. "Let me take care of you."

You're shaking your head rapidly, vibrating atop him as his tongue unravels and slides along the length of your slit. Two hands grip your behind and, just as you feel them spread your cheeks, the wet muscle follows along messily. If it wasn't for his tight hold, you'd recoil away, but he keeps you still, unmoving as he slurps your trickling cum and circles your rim.

"I can feel your heart racing," he chuckles, withdrawing his tongue and replacing it with a finger. He laps all over you without reprieve — going so far as to slither between your flushed bodies, savouring the sweat and cum that dampens your pubic hair before making his way back to your folds. And he pokes at your puckered entrance, swirling the abundance of slick and spit that pours out of you so wet clicks sound in the pauses between your cries. You don’t know what to focus on: the prodding of his finger, the sweep of his tongue, the scrape of his teeth. "It excites you that much — when I touch you here?” The slightest pressure has you freezing on top of him. Your fingers drill into the thick of his shoulders, the swell of them strong as bark, and just as rough, too. He’s yet to push any further, content with simply teasing around the hole, drawing circle after circle. “Another time, perhaps,” he utters just before his hand retreats to the curve of your ass, groping the supple flesh.

The coil in your stomach winds tighter as the seconds pass. It twines to the point of a pinch, needle-sharp — painful, almost, if it wasn’t allayed by warm hands and a murmured praise.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” he asks. His hands brush along your sides, guiding your body in-sync with the swivel and smack of the tongue that protrudes from his stomach. “Let me see you fall apart, let me feel it. Cum for me, pretty thing. Let go, hm?Let it all go for me.”

His mouth works on your sex with an untamed fervour: his teeth, edged and devilish, graze your pulsing clit, applying the slightest force in the form of a bite, and it has you gushing on him; his tastebuds bathe in the steady stream of your essence, inching deeper into your sex with an avid greed for more. Your pussy stretches around him, his tongue flexing with a power that reminds you of how otherworldly the man beneath you is. All you can do is bend to his will. You’re a puppet beneath its master’s control — only ever reacting to his demands, contorting your body to the arc of his palms, helpless to the way he shapes the slant of his tongue on your silken walls.

You near your breaking point when he flicks his tongue over your clit, lapping with a renewed vigour as his fingers sink into you. He curls and sucks and squeezes too many different parts of you, and he doesn’t stop. He curls and sucks and squeezes until you fall apart with a cry of his name, teeth cutting into his shoulder, thighs twitching and tensing around his body. He curls and sucks and squeezes as you tremble in his arms, soaking his sun-kissed skin in a smeary cream.

“There we are,” he cheers. If your eyes weren’t screwed shut, you’d wither beneath his radiant grin. “Don’t hold back, little morsel, I want to taste all of you. Give it all to me.”

You’re deaf to the melody of your debasement. The wet crook of his fingers as they slip out of you is silenced by your tinny, half-choked whine. The drawn-out slurp of his tongue is lewd, only made more obscene when it’s followed by a grateful smack of his lips.

“Too— Too much,” you sob, saliva trickling down the corner of your mouth. It mixes with the blood that seeps from his shoulder, canines puncturing too deep. He won’t let that go without comment, a wolf-like nip from his precious little lamb — he might even forgo healing it, let it scar and memorialise his weakness for you. “No more. Please, no more, I can’t—”

“Shh, no more,” he promises, resting one hand on the back of your head. He calms you down easily, tongue sliding back into his mouth as his hands soothe you with a slow massage. He’s hot as a bonfire beneath you, tamed and welcome like a fireplace that warms your very core. “There, there. Be still, my beating heart.”

Your voice sounds between staggered breaths, quiet, hoarse from the strain. “Never again. That was so... I don’t think I’ll ever walk again.”

He smiles, bearing the pain of your wince as he shifts you upwards, enough so for him to press a kiss to the crown of your head.

“Worry not, my love,” he murmurs. “No such place exists where I won’t carry you to.”

#cursed.archive #jjk smut #sukuna smut #ryoumen sukuna smut #ryomen sukuna smut #jjk x reader #sukuna x reader #ryoumen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #jjk scenarios #sukuna scenarios #tw monsterfucking #mine #mine.jjk #monster stuff

[touyaz]

let us love each other until the end.

pairing inumaki toge x gn reader

word count 11,219

notes for @kodzucafe’s ‘a safe place’ collab. this is incredibly late, but thank you so very much for letting me join! read the other entries +here :) i made a little spotify playlist for this fic, so if you’d like some background music, click +here! @bunnys-babies​ @cursedarchiveblog @http-404-error-unknown

TAGS JJK SPOILERS! (this is my own spin on what happens to inumaki after shibuya arc, but there are major spoilers with regards to that arc, inumaki, and events that happen after that arc), non-sexual nudity, aged-up characters (it’s entirely sfw, but i have specified that the characters are graduates, so they’re 21+ in my mind), (emotional) hurt/comfort, angst that is resolved, codependency because they are both Going Through It (reader has a raging saviour and inferiority complex. inumaki is a mess because of spoiler reasons) but they heal! somewhat! friends to lovers.

minors (under 18), ageless, and blank blogs are fine to interact with this fic, but please don’t follow me or you will be blocked.

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Morning arrives softly with the first rays of sunlight spilling through open curtains, soaking your room in its honeyed warmth. Everything in its reach — yesterday’s clothes sprawled across the tv stand, the half-empty bottles atop them, the man lying just a side table’s width away from you — is swathed in its Midas touch, drowsing in gold, waiting patiently for a kinder hand to break the spell.

A breeze drifts through the window as you rub your eyes awake. It's a tad too mean for the moment, softened by the chirpy trills that accompany it, the faint beat of wings as birds soar past. You see Inumaki scratch his cheek before turning around, nestling further beneath his blanket.

A few more minutes of rest won’t hurt him, you decide, walking to the bathroom rather than to his side.

There’s only one more roll of toilet paper left and his mouthwash has just a few drops in it. You add both to this week’s shopping list as you brush your teeth, grimacing at the dark circles beneath your eyes. The water is too cold on your face, but it serves as a decent wake-up call, taking the last few dredges of sleep down the drain with it. Before you leave, you pop open the toothpaste, squeeze a dollop onto Inumaki's brush, and leave it to balance on the brush holder like you always do. By the time you return, he's turned around again and a pout curls at his lips.

“Hey, are you awake?” you ask, gently shaking him by his shoulder. There’s a smear of drool sticking to the lines around his lip that you bite a smile back at, wiping away with the sleeve of your top.

He groans, sinking his head into his pillow and brushing away your hand.

“Come on,” you whine, sneaking your hand under his arm to graze his side. He shifts under your touch, grumbling a complaint, but he doesn’t move until you start tickling him awake. You’re stunned silent when his laughter rings out and, though it’s brief to you, it’s long enough in his mind, for his lips to curl grimly — too far downwards, compensation for indulging in happiness.

(You wish he would stop doing that. You wish he would let himself have a moment — take a moment — to embrace the small joys in life.)

"We need to go out today." He shakes his head, just as he did last week, and the week before that, and the week before that. "We're gonna run out of toilet roll otherwise."

You narrowly catch his voice as he lies on his stomach instead, what you're sure is a complaint muffled against white linen.

(His laughter plays in your mind some more. You take what you can. He hasn’t been very giving, but it's understandable; life hasn't been very generous, either. It's taken one too many pieces this time.)

With a gentle pat to his shoulder, you move away. Yesterday's clothes are picked up and folded away, then you busy yourself with taking out new ones to change into. He's quicker today by a whole fourteen seconds. Just like last week, and the week before that, and the week before that, Inumaki pushes himself up, sends you a sleepy glare, and stumbles over to the bathroom.

The toilet flushes a minute later, the tap runs for the briefest moment, and then he's outside again less than ten seconds later. You know he's going to play with the spring door stop before the metallic ring even echoes. Just like last week, and the week before that, and the week before that.

Today's outfit is plain and simple much like all the other clothes in your wardrobe. And the tune of today is—

"Twinkle Twinkle Little Star?" The harsh sound ripples into nothing as he stops, and he hums around the toothbrush to confirm your guess just as you pull your trousers up. "I'm getting better at this."

He says nothing in reply, but you hear his padded steps as he walks back into the bathroom. The sounds of him spitting toothpaste out and the water running follow before the bathroom door closes and he waits by the exit to your little makeshift sanctuary.

"Kelp?"

"One sec, almost—" you grapple with the collar of your top before you manage to poke your head through and pull the hem down neatly "—done!"

He walks over and settles onto your bed just as you fold away your night clothes and hold out what you'd picked for him.

"Is this okay?"

You don't really know why you still ask considering his answer has never changed. Just like last week, and the week before that, and the week before that, he shrugs his shoulders and shimmies the collar up to just below his eye level. You help him the rest of the way, easing his arms through the sleeves before pulling the top up and off of him. You help him put a fresh shirt on then take a step back, giving him space to stand and push the hem of his night shorts down.

He leans on you with one hand, but he never looks at you when he does. It hurts more than you'd like to admit, but you try to understand.

It's infinitely more painful for him.

(Knowing that truth and coming to terms with it are two different steps. You're helping him when you could easily leave him behind, but you're selfish. You think your armour could be whiter if he only let you polish it a little. He deserves someone with more altruistic intentions, someone like—)

Your hands rest on his ribcage and if he's ever been irked by how tightly you hold him, he's kept it to himself well. You just want him to know you'll always be there for him. Through thick and thin, you'll be his safety net even if it comes at the cost of your own downfall.

He kicks away the shorts and, when he's ready, he squeezes your shoulder gently. You ease your hands off of him, nervous like he might topple over if you move too fast, but he doesn't. He hasn't in a while, but you can never be too careful. He's gotten better at holding himself steady but he still trembles when he walks back. He still holds his arm out as if you won't be there to catch him if he falls.

Sitting on the bed once more, it's easier for him to lift his feet up and slide them into the legs of the joggers. The motions repeat as he leans on you, faces away, and loses himself in his own mind. There isn't much else you can do besides pull the pants up and let him know you're done.

Plain black socks are next. Then he slips into his shoes as you grab his jacket. He likes putting that on himself, so you search for his mask (under the pillow like it always is) instead. When he's finally ready — jacket zipped, hood up, mask on — he waits by the door as you grab your own jacket and wallet to take your leave.

The lift is slow to come up and even slower in taking you both down. Inumaki doesn't say much as he leans against the back panels, so you don't either until you reach the hostel's exit.

"It's cold," you grumble as soon as you step out. Rubbing your hands together does little to keep them warm, but you keep them clenched by your side. Inumaki nods to your statement, stepping away to let some people into the building before coming to your side.

There's a convenience store right next to your temporary home that you visit first. It's fairly empty given the early hour, just the harsh crackle of a news report being told over the radio that fills the silence. Something about a build-up of traffic because of roadworks — you figure if it was anything critical, the shopkeeper wouldn't be calmly tending to the displays at the front till. He greets you quietly as you enter and you reply, heading to the back of the store for the chilled food. He never says what's on his mind, but his eyes do wander between the two of you too often for you to miss. You wonder if he’ll ever voice his thoughts, or if you'll be long gone before he finds the courage. It's nice that he doesn't ask, though. You think Inumaki appreciates the quietude; it lets him stew in denial for a little while longer.

"I'll have the lemon one," you say to Inumaki as you pass by him. He's scanning the other drinks, picking a pink one up to read the ingredients before he puts it back and continues debating.

You stop by the packaged meals instead and choose something that has a little bit of everything in it. There's a heaping of plain rice and vegetables that look a little stale, but are otherwise fine. Colourful, if not tasty, so you're thankful it’s at least appealing at first glance. There's a triangle packet of onigiri just below and — if you'd calculated this month's expenditure correctly last night — you have a bit of money to splurge on one for Inumaki today. He could use a pick-me-up every once in a while. You grab two packets. 

"Is this okay?" you ask him, showing him the meal you've bought and he nods, holding up your own bottle for confirmation too. "Alright, good, let's go."

With the food all paid for, you head back into the hostel to eat. It's quiet downstairs with the outside hustle and bustle muffled behind the closed door. There's a mother and her child eating in one corner, an old man reading the newspaper in another, and the kid waves at you when you walk past them to a free table.

Sometimes you think about how you could get used to this. The man sighs as he flips the page and then sips from the glass beside him. The child sticks his tongue out at you and his mother scolds him quietly when milk dribbles down his chin. You could get used to opening the boxed meal for him as he puts his bottle between his thighs to twist the lid off by himself. It feels normal — or, what normal should feel like since it's nothing like your old norm. It feels safe, maybe a little boring, but a life where traffic is the most of your problems isn't the worst imaginable one.

Inumaki pulls down his mask to eat, and you're reminded of why this normalcy is short-lived. 

+

Unknown: How are you?

Me: we’re good! need to go to the store for some things. how are you? 

Unknown: I’m fine. What do you need? I can get it for you.

Me: ah, don’t worry! we can manage! thank you though

Unknown: Okay. Please let me know if you need anything.

Me: will do :)

+

The journey to the closest supermarket is longer than you’d like but it’s easy; there aren’t huge crowds that you could get lost in, no cyclists that prefer back-alleys to the convenience of main roads. You talk with Inumaki a bit, asking him if he dreamt of anything last night (he hadn’t), if he wants to buy anything that you haven’t thought of already (he doesn’t), if there are any new shows out that he wants to watch (there aren’t).

The rest of the walk is quiet after that.

(You wish he’d speak to you like he did before. You’re trying. You’re trying your best. Can’t he see that? You know he has it bad — it’s hard to miss, it’s even harder to forget because it’s the reason you’re miles away from the only family you’ve ever known, it’s the reason you get texts from a man you’ve never met every single day, and the reason you spend your nights sneaking out for money instead of sleeping. You know that he does, but what more can you do, and why won’t he tell you? You’re trying, so why won’t he?

You don’t know how to help him any more than you already are. Maybe if you were someone else, like Panda or Okkotsu or even Maki — they’d know what to do. They would know exactly how to help Inumaki recover and heal, but they’re not here. It’s just you and him and your ‘mind the step’ before you enter the market. You hope it’s enough.

You hope you’re enough, but he won’t ever say.)

You push the shopping cart around and he sticks to your side, holding onto the handrail for balance. The time spent here is shorter than the journey is worth, but you’re in no place to make changes to the routine. You pick up the toiletries first, his mouthwash, toilet roll, a refill on shampoo, before going down the store aisle by aisle.

A sale in protein bars catches your eyes, and you take up more time deciding whether you’re in the mood for chocolate or red berry than you should have. Red berry, you settle on, just as you hear someone fall to the ground, the sound of a trolley rolling and a box clattering follow. Your heart drops to your feet as you turn, and you’re rushing to Inumaki before your feet can even catch up.

There’s a woman in the aisle a little further down and she rushes forward at the commotion too, stopping next to her daughter. You’re helping Inumaki up when she asks, “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, my friend just— slipped?” Inumaki nods, brows furrowed, staring resolutely at the ground. He brushes off your arms once he’s up, walking to the trolley by himself. “We’re okay, thank you.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, picking up her child and rocking her slightly. Her eyes follow Inumaki as he walks away, and the moment her eyes wander down, she tenses. “Oh, is he— um, sorry, he’s, uh—”

“He’s fine,” you cut her off. “Thanks again.” 

She nods, not knowing what else to say, and you turn around to join Inumaki.

“Are you okay? What happened?” He shakes his head, about to push the trolley forward when you hold onto it so it doesn’t budge. “Come on, can you just— can you not be difficult about this for once?”

He turns his face away when you try to look at him. A frown lines his face as he resolutely avoids you.

“Seriously, Inumaki? You know I’m just trying to help you, but I can’t do that if you’re gonna be childish and ignore me.”

You wait a moment, but his eyes are glued to the price tags on some boxes. If you could see it, you’d guess he’s clenching his jaw. Any other day and you might have reminded him that that’s bad for his teeth. Today, though, you’re tired. Your heart is sinking and your shoulders are aching and you know you aren’t built to carry these responsibilities — not alone, at least — but here you are, with no idea of how long you need to stay strong for, no idea as to what will happen when your body finally gives up.

“Fine,” you sigh. “God. I’m sorry I can’t fix this— I can’t change any of this shit, but I’m trying my best, you know? I’m trying for you, but you just— you keep—” A strangled huff leaves you before you shake your head. “Whatever. Ignore me. I don’t care, I just— I can’t do this anymore.”

You hate how your voice cracks near the end. You hate that you can feel tears burning at your lash line. You hate how he only looks your way when you’re turning away from him.

You pick up the Red Berry protein box that fell in your earlier haste. You put the chocolate box in your trolley, instead, and drag it with you to the self-checkout area. You pay, you leave, you walk home in complete silence.

(Unlike last week, and the week before that, and the week before that, you don’t ask Inumaki if he wants to hold one of the bags.

What’s one more weight when you’re already under?)

+

When you reach the hostel, the bags are dropped onto the tv stand with little care. You fall flat on your bed, barely listening as Inumaki pads over to his own side. You hear the squeak of his bed frame as he sits down and clears his throat.

All that talking must have gotten to him, you think bitterly.

He coughs after a moment, too.

(Maybe you should have picked up medicine, or at least some soothing sweets. The weather has been awful lately.)

“Salmon cod roe?”

Oh. He was trying to get your attention. 

(Maybe he should have asked for them.)

You turn onto your side, back towards him. He doesn’t try again after that.

+

Unknown: Do you need dinner?

Me: no, we’re good!

Unknown: Okay. Sleep well.

Me: you too!

+

Your neck is stiff when you wake up the next day. Rubbing over the crick brings both pain and relief; you’re not sure which feeling you deserve. Inumaki looks like he’s still asleep, so you trudge over to the tv stand as quietly as you can. Your hands are slow in going through the bag, making as little noise as possible if only to have some time to yourself, so you can pretend you’re alone in the room, and that’s your mouthwash, not his, because there’s no one but you here. Bed sheets ruffle as he turns over and your bubble bursts.

You store away the dry snacks in the cupboard before carrying the toiletries in your arms to put those away too. You close the door and go through your everyday routine: using the toilet, brushing your teeth, washing your face and wondering when the dark circles beneath your eyes will begin to fade away.

Inumaki is sitting up when you re-enter the bedroom space. Luck must be on your side today. He’s rubbing his eyes, looking your way, but you feign indifference, heading to the cupboard to pick out your clothes instead. He sighs, but doesn’t say anything as he passes by you, closing the bathroom door behind himself quietly.

(The door is never locked no matter which one of you is on the other side of it. You can’t remember the last time you heard it click. You wonder what that even means for the two of you. Maybe it means absolutely nothing in the grand scheme of things; maybe it means that there’s still hope for the people on either side of it.)

You change your clothes. He doesn’t come out to play a tune.

(You wonder if his eyes are open. You can’t hear him crying. Maybe he’s staring down at his new mouthwash instead.)

When he does make a reappearance, he loiters by the entrance in wait.

There’s an awkward silence, neither of you moving, both of you holding your breaths, until, “Kelp?”

“I’m done,” you reply. He walks forward and, just like yesterday, sits on your bed. You don’t ask if he’s fine with the clothes — there never was a point, was there?

(He takes a second too long to start taking his shirt off. You wonder if there’s meaning in that, too.)

You help him get changed and it’s as quiet as it always is. The silence is growing on you now, and you’re not sure whether you like that or not. How can you feel so alone when Inumaki’s hand is right there on your shoulder?

(When he leans on you today, his eyes are on you. Why is it that he only looks at you when you don’t want him to?)

The short walk to the convenience store is quiet.

(Traffic is fine today. You pick up the same meal as yesterday. No extra onigiri. Grape juice for you, lemon for him.)

The shorter walk to the downstairs eating area is only louder because there’s another lady here today on a call. Bar the ‘thank you for the food’ and the click of chopsticks, your meal is eaten in complete silence.

+

Unknown: How are you?

Me: all good! nothing to do today :)

Me: how are you?

Unknown: Good, too. Stay safe.

Me: of course! you too

+

It feels strange getting messages from someone you've never met before. You don't even know how he got ahold of your number — maybe it was Shouko-sensei or Ijichi-san — but that doesn't matter too much in the grand scheme of things. The world is strange and unfair and dastardly, but there's kindness in the blunt ‘How are you?’ you wake up to every day. There's a warmth and a compassion that you wish the world would overflow with. You can only hope to see that day. Nothing in life is guaranteed besides death.

(That's a lie, but it's comforting to your mortal soul. It would be a peaceful thought if you were any more naïve.

There are some that defy that natural order of life; most days you’re envious of their power, their insurmountable ability to violate the very laws of existence that keep you sane, human. But you wonder how they can live with all that melancholy. What did they give up for that life? What regrets have they carried in their hearts all this time? What lengths would they go to to take it all back — because in the end they must want that? How can anyone bear the pain of the world for that long?

Today you're glad you're not one of them. Weakness is ignorance and ignorance is bliss. You think you understand their sadness.

Maybe the only thing guaranteed in life is the desolation it’s rampant with.)

The conversations you have are always short. You’re sure he’s curious. He’s been messaging for months, every single day, without fail. He definitely has more important questions running in his mind, yet he never voices them. You’re grateful for the space. You don’t know if you could answer anything more.

Maybe you should tell Inumaki. He’s the only one that can answer the more important questions. You wonder if he’s getting the texts, too.

(He most likely is getting them. The reason you get them, too, is probably because he never answers them.)

You push those thoughts out of your mind, focusing on the task at hand. After hanging up your towel on the rack, you leave the bathroom and find Inumaki lying in bed with his arm thrown over his eyes. He doesn’t make you wait for long — how kind of him — pushing himself up to stand and walking to you without another word.

He sits on the lip of the bathtub and you undress him, shirt first, then his socks and sweatpants. Once he’s down to his boxers, you help him over the edge of the ceramic until he’s standing in front of the small stool.

As you’re picking up his clothes from the floor, he clears his throat, rocking back and forth on his feet. If it were any other day, you’d tell him to be careful or he’ll slip.

You’re folding the clothes over your arm, just about to leave, when he says, “Salmon cod roe.”

Normally, he waits for you to leave in silence before undressing fully and cleaning himself.

You pause by the door, looking back at him with furrowed brows. “What?”

He fiddles with the waistband of his boxers, gazing off to the side where the sink is. His voice is quiet beneath the whirr of the bathroom fan, but you catch his words all the same. Soft, secretive. “Thank you.”

The crease on your forehead lessens with his hopeful look. Wide, bright eyes, a dusky mauve in the dull light but they glint like amethyst when he rubs his nape and worries over his lip, waiting for your response.

Acknowledgement is what you’ve been aching for for so long.

Now that it’s here, now that his words of gratitude hang in the taut air between you, they feel so inconsequential. You still feel inconsequential. If the earth was syphoned of all its water, his thanks is a teardrop on barren land.

It’s something, you could argue. But is it too little, too late?

You still feel empty — there’s this hunger still clawing at your ribcage, scratching, scratching, scratching through flesh and bones slowly, so, so slowly, until you’re left hollow and bleeding, lacerated.

Are there still parts of the planet being twisted and drained, or is he ready to weep for your wounds?

Your heart sinks a little further in its cavity.

“Yeah,” you mumble, turning away from him.

He doesn’t call for you again. Amethyst doesn’t shine quite so prettily in the shadow of your frown.

His dirty clothes join yours at the foot of your bed to be taken down later. You idle around in the meantime, flicking through the few messages on your phone, finishing off the sudoku puzzle you started in the morning. It isn’t longer after that when his voice rings out, summoning you.

When you reenter the bathroom, he’s covered in suds, hand modestly on his lap, hunched over and shivering. He’s not staring at the ground in avoidance like usual, like you thought he would be. He offers a smile when you look at him, and you can’t find it in you to return the gesture.

You focus on what you came to do instead, picking up his boxers from where he had kicked them on the far side of the tub. Then, you grab the bottle of shampoo and squeeze a dollop onto your palm. He doesn’t say much, dropping his head so you can spread the product through his hair. His eyes fall closed and it’s quiet. Peaceful, almost, if it weren’t for the awkward synergy looming over you, the one that keeps you from speaking to him like you normally would.

When you reach for the showerhead, he makes a noise of disapproval.

“What?”

He shakes his head. “Bonito flakes.”

“Did I miss a spot?” Your brows crease as you look over him. You’re sure you’ve lathered him in enough shampoo since he’s covered in bubbles.

He shakes his head again and it makes the foam drip down his forehead. As soon as you wipe the soap away, he grabs onto your wrist. You keep your eyes on him. He drags your hand up, weaving your fingers through his wet strands and slowly pressing down in circles.

You sigh. He smiles.

It grows wider when you move without his help, his own hand dropping to cover himself again, so he can fully savour the way you massage his scalp.

“You’re annoying,” you grumble.

He closes his eyes, humming and nodding his head in agreement. As you scratch over him gently, he tilts his head to direct you silently; he drops his head forward, so you drag your nails down the back of his neck, working through the tresses that have grown from being left alone for so long.

(Cutting his hair won’t make everything return to normal. You know that. That doesn’t stop you from hoping otherwise, though.

Would he even let you cut it?

Maybe he’s grown comfortable with split-ends and disaster. Maybe that’s all he thinks is left of himself.)

His head droops to the right and you push some curls behind his ear.

(He looks nice with long hair, but you really want to cut it.)

You sit on the lip of the tub as you continue. It’s cold beneath you, but it’s not awful. It’s refreshing. Inumaki opens his eyes to look at you and suddenly you feel too hot. He’s about to speak when foam drops from your wrist, smacking him right on his face. He flinches and hisses as it falls into his eye just as you panic and pull away from him.

“Oh, shit,” you wince, fumbling with the tap and picking up the showerhead to clean your hands first. “Why’d you do that?”

“Mentaiko,” he whines childishly, pout forming on his face. You cup your hand and pour water into it to wash his eye carefully.

“Don’t talk now,” you groan, trying to wipe the bubbly water away from his lips, too. He hums something that vaguely sounds like ‘Ikura’, his brows furrowing until you press on the crease and it softens. You pull back and turn the tap off, grimacing when he opens his eyes. “Sorry.”

The white of his eye suffuses with a startling red, glassy and glaring. It’s a stark contrast to the  purple of his irises. Crystals fall from his lashes and he closes the irritated eye in a strained wink. “Sorry.”

“Salmon,” he mumbles, mouth pulling into a half-hearted smile to try and ease your worries. 

“Close your eyes, I’ll wash it all out.”

He listens, and this time he doesn’t stop you when you start washing the shampoo out of his hair. It isn’t long until it’s all rinsed out, and you pass him the showerhead so he can work on the rest of his body as you reach for the bottle of conditioner. You turn the tap off when he’s done, and get to spreading the product through his hair.

The room goes still once you’re done. The sounds of your breathing, of water dripping, and the fan whirring fill the silence.

It feels less heavy than before, somehow.

(Why does change only ever come after pain?)

You tap on the edge of the tub mindlessly, watching as the sudsy drops chase each other down the curved inside. From the corner of your eye, you can see Inumaki fidget. You figure it’s just from the cold until he says, “Salmon cod roe.”

He pinches his index and thumb together, pressing them to the little space between his brows before plucking them forwards. Then his hand flattens, fingers tucked beside one another as he moves it forward further, like a karate-chop, only softer, much more kinder.

You know what that gesture means. It’s one of the first words you had learned all those years back, when he was just Inumaki Toge: fellow first-year student at Tokyo Jujutsu College. You thought he might have forgotten sign language, preferring to still be vocal, to not completely alienate himself out of society. But here he is: Inumaki Toge: battle-worn and a fraction of who he’s destined to be, slumped, swathed in shampoo, and shivering as he signs, ‘Sorry’.

“It’s fine—”

“Bonito flakes.” His hand slaps the wet skin of his thigh and you jump back from the volume of his words. The red in his eyes blares like a fire alarm and it’s all you can focus on as he huffs beneath his breath. He repeats the action once more. It’s sharper this time, too precise. Fingers to forehead, palm through the cold air as he stares right at you.

You don’t know why tears well up in your eyes then, but it burns all the same. Drops fall just as his shoulders do, his hand shaking as he signs the word once more. It’s calmer this time. His eyes soften around the corners, water springs at the line of his eyelashes, and when his palm sweeps through the air at the end of the action, it falls to your cheek. He brushes away your tears with a touch so gentle. It makes you sob, it makes you sniff too grossly for such an intimate moment; it makes your breath hitch in your throat when he follows it up by whispering, “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” you murmur, tilting your head down and wiping away your cheeks with the back of your hand. A humourless laugh escapes you. It’s broken. Bitter. Biting at the raw flesh of your throat on its way out. “I don’t know why I’m crying, I just—” If you looked up, you’d see his lips curl into a wry smile, but it’s easier to talk to the floor. “We should talk when you’re not… you know, naked.”

He lets out a breathless laugh, and then his hand comes into your view. Pinky outstretched, he shakes it, playfully bending the finger. You look up at him then, just as he says, “Tuna mayo?”

You sigh. He nudges your hand until you loop your pinky around his. Your heart feels a little lighter.  “Promise.”

He smiles and the violet quartz of his eyes has never looked more scintillating.

(His hairstyle’s beginning to grow on you, and you’ve always been more adept at using cursed tools than scissors.)

+

Inumaki: where are youuuuuuuuu

Inumaki: hellooooo

Inumaki: ur read receipts r on

Inumaki: u PROMISED

Inumaki: >:(

Inumaki: kasjdh

Inumaki: can u hear this

Inumaki: ksadgdkasjhdlashd

Inumaki: it’s the sound of me falling

Inumaki: help me </3

Me: stop it

Inumaki: come up

Me: i’ll come up later

Inumaki: when

Me: when you’re asleep :)

Inumaki: >:|

Inumaki: brb finding stairs to fall down

+

He’s right outside the lift when you come up. You wonder how long he’s been standing there — dressed down in his night clothes, hand on his hip, glaring at the doors before they’ve even opened.

“How many people have you scared so far?” you ask as he steps aside.

He huffs. Then, he holds up two fingers. You bite back a laugh but he digs his elbow into your side regardless, only satisfied when you squeak out an apology.

The tension is quick to settle over the two of you as soon as you cross the entrance to your room. You want to busy yourself with opening the meals you just bought, but Inumaki is quick to grapple with the bags. He knows you won’t fight against him if it might lead to him falling back and hurting himself. You grumble about how he’s taking advantage of your kindness and he’s quick to respond with a sneaky wink, a chummy grin, and a too-proud, “Salmon.”

He sits in front of you on your bed, legs crossed, food getting cold the longer he leaves it untouched. It’s unnerving, and you think that’s exactly why he’s doing it. He’s letting the silence fester so you can burst, just like you did the other day, so you can answer all the questions in his mind without him having to voice them. It’s too much pressure. You don’t even know where to begin — when did all these feelings start rotting inside you? When did your insecurities suddenly become so much worse than him losing—

He’s the first to move, sliding his phone across the short distance between you. It’s open on the notes application. You wonder when he wrote this all.

[The girl knocked something off the shelf and I tried catching it but you know… I slipped. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. It was just embarrassing because I thought I was getting better, but I still can’t get used to doing anything without you and I feel so… :/

I didn’t mean to make you angry. Or sad. I’m sorry. I just want everything to go back to normal again.]

He picks at his food as you read his words again and again.

“I shouldn’t have kept asking you,” you say. Your eyes fall back down to the device, to that emoticon with the slanted lips that somehow conveys exactly what he’d been feeling and yet barely scratches the surface. You bite your lips before they can mirror the downward curl. “I get it. I just… I guess I keep hovering over you because you feel so far away. Like— Like, even though it’s just been you and me, it feels more like you—” you hold up one finger and, a few seconds later, hold up another on your other hand, much further away from the first “— and me. Like we’re together, but we aren’t really. And I just… I can’t lose you, too.”

He nods, gesturing for his phone and you pass it along. You push around some of the steaming vegetables before taking a bite, waiting for him to finish swiping his thumb across the screen.

[I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you away so much, I just don’t want you to spend your whole life taking care of me. I don’t wanna burden you anymore.]

He gives you to the phone and you only read the first little paragraph before you look up at him and flick his knee. His sharp ‘Mentaiko!’ is an overreaction, as is the way he massages his leg, but you hope it did hurt him a little.

“You’re not a burden,” you state. The roles have reversed and now he’s the one pointedly ignoring your gaze, staring down at his hand instead. “Seriously.” You pause, hesitating for only a second, before you reach out for him, resting your hand on the back of his. You give a short squeeze, something tentative and hopeful. He turns his hand over and his palm is warm beneath yours, fingertips ghosting along the soft, sensitive skin of your inner wrist. He holds you like that; for a moment, you both simply watch as his thumb skirts the length of your pinky, as he drifts to your knuckle, as he follows the curved outline of your hand down to your wrist before repeating it all over again. He’s softer each time, light as a petal’s caress when he grazes the fine hairs on your hand. He’s focused. You continue, “I’ve never thought that about you.” The smallest stutter in his path tells you that he’s listening. “We’re friends, you’d never be a burden, okay?”

He nods. You pick up his phone with your free hand. You try to ignore the way your stomach flutters all of a sudden when he lifts your hand and laces his fingers with his own.

[And I’m sorry I didn’t think about how much everything affected you too. I kept thinking about myself and being selfish but you still took care of me even though I was being a dick. I feel like I’ve said sorry so many times but I don’t know what else to say. I’m sorry I didn’t see how bad this was getting for you. I want to take care of you too. I know it’s late but… please?]

You clear your throat, worrying over your bottom lip as you consider his words. “It’s fine—”

“Bonito flakes,” he interrupts, squeezing your hand. He’s looking at you now, eyes narrowed, lips pursed with frustration.

You laugh beneath your breath at how intense he looks, and his lip wavers, gaze dropping to your twined hands once more. You give him a gentler squeeze. The corner of his mouth lifts up.

“What I meant,” you emphasise, “was it’s fine now. Yeah, that was shitty of you, but—” his thumb strokes over the back of yours, circling the ridge of your knuckle so carefully, a breeze through a windchime sort of a touch, it nearly makes you forget what you were about to say “—but I also didn’t tell you anything. I could’ve come to you, but I didn’t because—” You laugh a little bitterly, scrunching your nose when you realise the weight of your next words. The irony. “Because you were already dealing with so much and I didn’t want to, you know… burden you.” He drops your hand just so he can flick your knee. There’s mischief lighting up in his eye — maybe too much for such a serious conversation, but you like it.

“Bonito flakes,” he says, emphasising every single syllable so the sarcasm sinks into you. You like the smirk on his face even through the mockery that drips from its edges.

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. We’re both as bad as each other.” He shakes his head, a little fondly, a lot in disappointment at how hopeless you both are. “I am sorry I didn’t tell you. Probably could’ve avoided this mess then, huh?” He huffs a laugh at that.

There’s a moment of silence, then. Of relief. You don’t know what to say now that the air is cleared. Your situation isn’t perfect all of a sudden, that much is obvious, but you feel less tense. As if the struggles that had been piling onto your shoulders have been spread out: you’re not any lighter because they haven’t diminished — your world is still turned inside out, you’ve lost things and people and parts of yourself you don’t think you’ll ever get back, you’re still on the run from people whose loyalties and intentions aren’t in your favour — but you know now that you’re not the only one shouldering those burdens. He’ll be there for you. With you.

He’s being there for you now as he cups your face, as he brushes his thumb beneath your eye, smiling breezily as you berate yourself for getting emotional.

“Stop making me cry,” you joke, closing your eyes so they don’t fall as easily.

He pinches your cheek lightly. “Sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too.”

He waits a moment, passing time by skimming his thumb across the apple of your cheek. It’s quiet again. The silences don’t feel as stifling as they did last week, and the week before that, and the week before that.

(His fingers sink into your cheek more. You miss the way he leans closer, the way his eyes drop to your lips before they catch the salty shine. You only open your eyes when he’s moved back and his thumb presses against the corner of your lip, wiping the teardrops away.)

“Mustard leaf?”

You nod, rubbing your nose and sniffling too loudly, but he smiles all the same. “I’m fine.”

He shakes his head, pointing between himself and you. “Mustard leaf?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, leaning into his warm hand. “We’re okay.”

And you are. For this moment, at least, you feel okay. The grass beneath you might not be the greenest, but it’s growing. It’s warm between your fingers and it tickles the palms of your hands as soft as the sway of a butterfly’s wings, a fluttering wisp of a touch that sends the hope you’ve been yearning for thrumming through your veins.

For tonight, at least, you’ll let yourself enjoy the serenity. You’ll picture blue skies above you, not a cloud in sight. It’s you and the sunshine, too hot on your skin, too sweltering, until Inumaki roots himself beside you to provide shade — because he’ll do that now. He’ll take care of you, too.

(He keeps true to his word. When you finish eating and grow tired, he listens to you ramble until your words slur together — he doesn’t have the heart to tell you how little sense you’re making; when you finish talking and fall half-asleep, he lets you rest your head on his shoulder and hums you the rest of the way there, voice sweet and lilting. When you’re tuckered out and all tucked in, he leaves a gentle kiss on your forehead and promises to be so much better for you.)

+

Unknown: How are you?

Me: good! nothing to do today either :’)

Me: yourself?

Unknown: I’m fine, thank you. Stay safe.

Me: you too!

+

None of your guesses for today’s tune are correct. Inumaki’s smirk grows each time you name another song only for him to shoot you down with a drawn-out, “Bonito flakes.” The way he enunciates every syllable is a blow to your ego; it reeks of smugness despite the way his words are slurred because of his toothbrush.

When you hound him for an answer right after, you’re met with a shrug of his shoulders and a smile that irks your nerves too much for such an early hour.

“Have fun changing by yourself,” you grumble as he pretends to zip up his lips, too. He laughs in response. This time, he lets his chuckles ring out. The seals around his mouth dimple as he grins at you, holding your hand and reeling you back to him when you try to walk away.

It’s that same hand he drags to the collar of his shirt, making your fingers curl around the loose neckline of it. He stares at you, and if you notice the way his eyes droop until they’re half-lidded, if you notice the way his smile shrinks so he can nibble on his bottom lip, you say nothing about it.

(There’s meaning in everything he does.)

“Tell me what the song was.”

You don’t know why your voice comes out so hushed, just that it does. Any louder and it would spoil the tranquillity that has settled around you.

The curtains are open again. Sunlight pours through and haloes the curves of his body; it streaks the dip of his waist, the rise of his shoulders, and the messy tips of his too-long hair in a delicate, ethereal amber. He doesn’t need wings to look like an angel.

You wonder when you started to look at him in this dizzying light. When did you look at him and notice the dust of stubble on his chin? When did the defined line of his jaw become a part of him that steals your attention?

He shakes his head and the sunshine moves with him like it bends to his will. It’s possible, you think. Maybe he could tell the sun to bow down to him, and it would.

(Maybe he’s another of those awe-inspiring, rule-breaking anomalies in this universe.)

You’ve never seen a solar eclipse, but you think this is as close as anyone has ever been to experiencing one.

(He’s a celestial body, and this universe cannot contain all that he is; no matter how much of his surface is cratered, he will always be too big for this room. 

Maybe none of those too-powerful, too-lonely souls handed over the fragments. The universe has greedy teeth for hands and it doesn’t take pieces away, it only leaves crumbs behind.)

You are the earth, and he, your moon; and shadows aren’t so bad when they’re his, when they’re blanketing you in his darkness.

But then he tilts his head.

It casts a narrow, golden line across your face; a partial eclipse made as sunshine travels almost 150 million kilometres through uninterrupted air, through the glazed windows of your temporary home, and past the tattered curtains he keeps forgetting to close — all for you. He tilts his head, and you squint at the light that crosses your eye.

(He tilts his head, and it’s a wordless tell that he doesn’t want you finding any comfort in the dark. Not anymore. He’ll hold a candlelight to your face and he’ll keep it there until the wax has melted down his arm, and then he’ll look at you with the light in his eyes and hope it’s good enough for you.

He hopes you understand.)

(Maybe you’re thinking too much into it. But then he lets go of your hand to graze where the gold rays touch you, and he smiles.)

You pull his shirt off and he lets you. Your hands hover over the waistband of his trousers and he gives a subtle nod. You push them down. Goosebumps litter his skin and his hand flexes on your shoulder, but he doesn’t move it.

He leans on you as he kicks the fallen clothes away, and he’s looking right at you as he does so — unlike last week, and the week before that, and the week before that. Your heart doesn’t ache, but each slow blink of his is another tug on its strings.

You think you understand.

He doesn’t tell you what song he was playing. He doesn’t tell you he was making it up as he went along.

(He doesn’t radiate his own light and he isn’t bursting through the walls and there will always be space for you by his side.)

+

Unknown: Do you need lunch?

Me: we just ate, but thank you!

Unknown: Okay. Stay safe.

Me: of course, you too!

+

When Inumaki looks at you like this, you feel like an absolute idiot. Regret rushes into your system, and you’re already conjuring ways to retract everything you’ve said thus far. There are half syllables and broken words that leave you as you stammer out, “Wait, uh, I don’t mean— I mean, obviously with everything, and the, the thing—”

He’s so dramatic — with his mouth agape, his eyes too white, too wide, for such a trivial confession.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you gripe, folding your arms across your chest. “It’s not that serious.”

You don’t think it’s possible for his mouth to drop any further, but he proves you wrong in the very next second. The slow, disappointed head shake that follows is what has you shifting in your seat, tightening your hold on yourself for extra comfort.

“Bonito flakes.”

“It’s not.”

“Bonito flakes.”

“This is stupid.”

“Salmon,” he says, grinning and pointing at you. You glare at him, batting his hand away just before you stretch your legs out in front of you.

He huffs when your foot knocks into his side, scowling at the ‘oops,’ that giggles out of you right after. He’s quick to join you, left side snug beside your right so you both fit on the single bed. His phone is in his hand, and you follow the quick swipes of his thumb as he starts typing.

[I can't believe I'm friends with someone who hasn’t watched Spirited Away.]

“It’s not that serious,” you defend. “And I’ve been busy! I can’t just blast away curses like you, I actually have to spend time training, you know?”

[Loser—]

His phone slips from his hand when you nudge him, and he lets out a yelp when it hits his chin. He glares at the smug grin on your face, ignoring your pointed ‘deserved,’ in favour of kicking your legs aside and picking his phone back up.

You don’t watch as he goes through the motions of loading the movie, instead shifting more comfortably, a little closer to his side. If he doesn’t like it, he doesn’t make any move to shuffle away from you.

(You miss the way his thumb freezes over the on-screen keyboard.)

Inumaki raises his arm, holding his phone above the both of you so you can both see the screen.

“Mustard lead?”

“I’m good,” you say, assuming that he’s asking if you’re comfortable enough before he clicks play. “You’re gonna hold it up the whole time, yeah?”

His thumb hovers over the triangle button, but then he decides to lower his arm, swiping back to the notes app and hiding the screen from you.

When he makes the grand reveal, you immediately groan, covering your face as you feel heat rise to your cheeks.

[No, I’ll swap to my other one halfway through. Oh wait…]

You don’t know what to say to that, but he snickers as you stumble your way through, “Oh my god, I didn’t— You know what I meant. Give me the phone.”

He hands it over, still chuckling as you grumble an ‘I hate you,’ beneath your breath. You open up the movie once more, holding the device above your heads like he had before.

“Ready?” you ask, and this time he stirs closer, tilting his head to yours so the gentle flicks of his hair brush against your neck. You’re glad you never brought up cutting his hair. Like delicate brush strokes on the canvas of your skin, the ends tickle you as he cosies up to your side.

He doesn’t say anything, so you don’t either.

He’s so close, though. You can feel the firm line of his body silhouetting your own, where his hipbone sinks into yours, where his shoulder presses against your own, where the length of his arm seemingly disappears. Suddenly, you feel so aware of every inch of him. Too aware, too focused. You’re taking too long to start the movie, you’re sure, but he says nothing, so you say nothing, cherishing the heat that he weaves deep into your muscles when his thigh presses to your own, too.

He presses the button and the video starts. It’s a haze to you — blue and pink streaks across the screen, the sound of an engine revving crackles through the speaker — because all you can focus on is the hint of detergent that lingers in his long sleeve top, and the blend of lemon soap and coconut shampoo that wisps its way across the short, practically non-existent distance between you both.

You think he can read your mind because a moment later he nudges you with his shoulder. He’s already looking at you. His face is a little blurry up close, noses mere inches away from grazing one another, but you can still make out the smattering of freckles that litter the apples of his cheeks, the flush that dusts the tips of his ears, the smallest dip of his cupid’s bow. You’re staring at his lips — and there’s no way he doesn’t notice, no way for him to miss your eyes lowering because he’s so close to you — 

(He misses it. He mirrors it.)

 — but he doesn’t say anything, so you don’t either.

+

Unknown: How are you?

Me: we’re good, heading to bed! how are you?

Unknown: good. Let me know if you need anything.

Me: sure. good night!

+

Your funds don't roll in as steadily as they used to. It’s hard to find (and keep) a stable, well-paying job when you’re on the lam. There are the odd coins you find on the ground and pocket, and advertisements on flyaway papers with work offers that fall through more often than not.

Your wallet isn't empty, though, so you keep your complaints to yourself. Inumaki never asks how you get the money — even though you're sure he has his guesses — and you never tell him. Neither of you think he'd be able to handle it if you said it outright.

You still have money saved from the month that’s just passed. It’s probably enough to last you a few more days if you stick to your frugal regime, but you know that won’t stop your friend from coming soon with a renewal.

Your jacket does little to stop the battering of cold air that surges every other minute, but you pull it around yourself tighter. Your fingers are numb in your pockets and you can’t stop bouncing your leg in hopes of that warming you up as you wait. The wind is loud, angry and howling, but you’ve listened to more painful screams, had them ripped from your own throat too many times for it to make you wince. It’s the trickle of rain that you loathe at this moment, making the cold cling to your body like a second skin, seeping through layers of clothes as if they’re paper thin.

The light above you flickers and you count the seconds between each one to keep your sanity. It isn’t much longer — only thirteen plus seven plus eleven seconds — that the shadows move and the patter of rain on concrete is accompanied by footsteps.

“Long time no see,” he calls out.

“It’s been a while, huh?” You grin, bouncing off the wall to meet Panda in a hug. He’s sopping wet from vaulting across rooftops to meet you here, but that doesn’t stop you from holding onto him as tightly as you can.

“How have you been?” he asks. When you separate from the embrace, you go back to your little shelter by the roof’s entrance.

“Same old,” you shrug. “I think I’m getting used to this kind of life now.”

“Careful with that.” It’s a joke, but the chuckle you both share is soaked in bitterness. “How’s Toge?”

“Better, I think,” you say. Panda nods along with you, solemnly. “He’s talking more, making jokes, too, so he’s— he’s getting there. What about you?”

“Not bad.” He lets out a deep sigh, handing you the bag that’s hanging off his wrist — the reason he makes this monthly trek to wherever you are. “There isn’t as much in there as usual. Guess who I ran into.”

“You’re doing too much for us, anyway.” You roll your eyes. “Who?”

“Itadori.” He grins. “Cost me a match.”

You perk up immediately. You haven’t heard from any of the other graduates in a while. Not knowing which sorcerers are on your side has pushed everyone to minimal interaction.

“He’s okay?”

Panda nods. “Fushiguro as well. Those two…” He trails off, shaking his head fondly. He tells you what they’ve told him about their plans, what they’re going to do next, and the games. It’s a lot to digest considering how disconnected you and Inumaki have been from Jujutsu society. 

You’ve spent so much time running away every time a sorcerer comes near you, avoiding everything you’ve ever known in hopes of healing. Just the thought of confronting it, of falling back into old routines where you train and fight and exorcise, makes your head pound. You’ll miss the old man in the convenience store and his lemon burst drink in the morning. You’ll miss the petal soft pillows of the hostel you’ve been staying in. You try not to think about it too much, but the sand in the glass is running out and you’ll have to face the world — your world, your real and cruel and unjust world — again soon.

Panda stays for a while and you talk. He tells you about the new scars on Itadori’s face. You tell him you watched films with Inumaki until 4 in the morning. He’s just as surprised that you’ve never watched Spirited Away. It feels normal. It makes you wish he didn’t have to leave to go somewhere safer, but he does.

And then you’re alone. The rain only worsens, falling in heaps that are too loud, too wet. You head back inside only to freeze one foot in.

“I thought you were sleeping.”

Inumaki looks so small with his arm wrapped around his body, forehead dropped to the points of his legs. Raindrops cling to your lashes and his body is a blur, as if you’re looking at him through an unfocused camera lens, but you know it’s him even without seeing him. No one else would be sitting on the floor so late at night.

He sits up and his hair falls back, the curtains drop to make a grand reveal. That bleary expression of his reminds you of a ghost. Tired eyes, chapped lips, he looks half dead yet innocent. Child-like, still, with drool crusting at the edge of his mouth, with his knees knocking together as he looks up at you.

Your clothes are sticking to your body, they’re uncomfortable, and you should change out of them as soon as you can to avoid getting ill. You take a seat next to him, instead.

“If you were awake, you could’ve come out,” you say. The ground is cold and unforgiving beneath you. You can hear the water soak into your bones, feel its chill run through your veins. “He misses you.” Inumaki doesn’t reply. He just lets his head fall back against the wall. You fill the silence, then. You tell him about Itadori. You tell him about the games and their master plan and you focus on everyone but yourselves to avoid that dreaded conversation for a little longer.

It works until he looks at you and you see the red in his eyes. You see the crystals line his lashes and the lens grows more unfocused as they reflect in your own eyes.

“I don’t know what to do,” you whisper. His eyes droop. He looks past you, at the still-open door. The wind rolls in in vicious waves, ice at your sides as it hits you, and the rain makes puddles at the doorway. You can’t regret saying it when it’s the truth, when it’s all you have to say. “I don’t want to go back.”

He nods.

“I want to stay like this a little longer.”

He nods again.

“Just the two of us.”

He looks at you, but you’re looking down now.

Staring at your hands as they curl around the ends of your jacket, you miss the once-over he gives you. You watch as the dark fabric creases with your ever-tightening grip; you miss the way he bites his lip, the conflict unravelling in his eyes.

“I don’t want more people to die, Toge.”

Your voice cracks. It’s broken. Choked. There’s a cry caught in you that never comes out but you can feel it. You’re too aware of how it’s stuck in your larynx, half-in, half-out, unmoving and chafing. Gravel fills your throat, tearing through your vocal cords string by string. The taste of martyrdom is rotten in your mouth. You swallow rocks and drink self-sacrifice, ignoring the way it burns through your flesh on the way down.

Your eyes are shut too tightly, nails digging into your palms despite the layers, and you don’t see Inumaki move until he’s touching you. His hand brushes over yours, so much warmer than your own, and he pulls it up and away.

He’s too careful, filling the empty spaces between your fingers with his. He’s too gentle, curling his fingers so the tips soak up the drops that linger there. He’s too quiet, raising your hand to his face, and all you can do is stare down at your lap and let him.

His lips are dry on the back of your hand. Tentative. When he kisses you there, the dull smack of his lips overpowers the torrential rain. The small huff of air he breathes out is enough to warm your entire hand, and the way he squeezes right after sends that heat through the rest of you.

He rests your hand on your thigh and nods his head to it, making you watch as he drags his finger along your skin, slowly but surely working through the syllables to tell you, “We’ll be okay.”

“Promise?”

The rain doesn’t sound as harsh now. Maybe it’s dying down, maybe you’re just too focused on the curve of his lips as he smiles then, lifting his hand to your face to wipe away the water on your face. His hand is soothing to the touch, soft as a dandelion wisp as he grazes the tender lines beneath your eyes.

You don’t know where to look. His eyes are blazing as he follows his own movements, his lips parted, timid. You watch the slow bob of his throat as he swallows, and then he looks right at you.

At that moment, the rain stops. The wind is silent. The barest hint of mint fans across your lips.

At the next, the meagre distance between you is crossed and his lips slot against yours.

They’re damp from him licking over them, rough on the surface from sleep and nibbling, but it’s comforting. Awkward and hesitant, but nice. Easy. There aren’t any fireworks crackling and popping against the sides of your stomach; there are no stars bursting behind your eyelids and sending you into a tizzy, but the downpour returns and the door swings wildly on its hinges.

It doesn’t last very long either.

His nose bumps against yours when he tilts his head and presses forward the slightest bit, and his mouth loosens from its pucker to focus on the swell of your bottom lip, giving it a kiss, a squeeze, and then another. The quietest click sounds when he pulls away from you. Mint lingers on your lips. You don’t feel so cold anymore.

“Promise,” he whispers. His eyes are still closed. He leans his forehead on yours and you can feel each of his eyelashes caress your cheek. It’s as soft as grass, as the butterfly’s wings. It’s hope.

You close your eyes again. “You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“Salmon,” he says. I don’t, you hear. I haven’t.

The tip of his nose nudges yours playfully before he pulls away, a dainty lilt in his lips.

“Mustard leaf?”

“I guess.” You sigh. “What do we do now?”

He shrugs, resting his head on your shoulder despite the water that drips down you. You should look for answers when your mind isn’t so sleep-addled, but you don’t know how you’ll fall asleep when your head is full of question marks and blank spaces.

You pull out your phone to check the time, and the screen is bright, showing a too-early time in all white. Just beneath that is a text message.

Unknown: Good night.

Inumaki makes a curious noise when you go to reply.

“Oh, it’s your dad.”

He leans away from you all of a sudden and you turn to him. His furrowed brows voice all the questions he has running through his mind.

“He’s been texting me, like, every day,” you tell him. “Just asking how we are and stuff. Does he not, you know, text you?”

Inumaki purses his lips, nodding his head.

“Do you reply?”

He scrunches his nose. You thought as much.

There’s a moment where neither of you say anything. He’s thinking. You’re thinking. The cursor on your phone blinks beside the unsent text.

“He always asks if we need anything, you know?” you mention. “I think he just wants to see you. Especially if you’re not even replying to him.” Inumaki worries over his bottom lip. “What if we… went to him?”

There’s another lull in the conversation. You watch him. He looks at his hand and then vaguely at the empty space where the other one should be.

When he’s ready, he faces you once more. And then he nods.

You hold your pinky out for him. “Together,” you say.

He loops his finger around yours. “Together.”

“Good. You’re stuck with me now.” He exaggerates a grimace. “Too late to take it back.” He rolls his eyes and you stifle a yawn with your hand. You reply to the message and then turn your phone off. “Come on, we should sleep.”

It’s not an ideal plan — if you can even call that. It’s a half-thought. One of the first ideas that popped into your mind that you voiced and have now decided is good enough to follow. Maybe you’ll regret it in the morning. Maybe Inumaki will.

You think you’ll go through with it either way because nothing is guaranteed in life besides desolation and you might regret it if you change your mind. You don’t want to drown under guilt and what-ifs anymore. Your shoulders already hurt. So you’ll pack up your bags and maybe you’ll tell the convenience store owner the story of how Inumaki lost his arm, or maybe you’ll leave this place without a trace, just as you had with the last, but you won’t regret whatever choice you make because Inumaki will be right by your side. Because if there’s one other thing guaranteed in life — in your life, the only one that you hope you’ll ever have — it’s that you can trust that Inumaki will keep his promise and stay by your side.

Me: Can we meet you?

#inumaki x reader #jjk x reader #inumaki toge x reader #inumaki fluff #jjk fluff #toge x reader #toge inumaki x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #inumaki x you #jjk x you #jjk scenarios #inumaki scenarios #inumaki angst #jjk angst #mine #mine.jjk #bathing as an act of intimacy #leave the lights on

[touyaz]

pink in the night.

pairing fushiguro touji x fem reader

word count 1,579

notes big thank you to @kemakoshume for beta-reading this mess! <3 @http-404-error-unknown

WARNINGS fingering, dubcon somnophilia (consensual in my head, but it's not explicitly given here). reader has no pronouns.

MINORS, AGELESS & BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. 18+ ONLY.

+

You're not sure how long it's been since Touji bid you good night. The very passage of time has melded into one roundabout series: closing your eyes, lying on your side, praying you fall asleep, and then opening your eyes when your plea inevitably falls on deaf ears.

Your right side has gone numb from all the weight on it. From your attempts at staying stock-still in hopes that that will make sleep come to you more easily somehow. It doesn't — hasn't for the past half hour if you were to make a guess. You fall on your back with a heavy sigh. Is it too childish to count sheep?

"Quit moving," Touji grumbles, eyes still closed as he breathes evenly. "Shaking the whole bed."

"I can't sleep," you whine quietly, shifting back onto your numb arm so you can look at him.

He looks peaceful. Hard lines softened and squished against the memory foam pillow beneath his cheek, lips parted a little vulnerably to break that stoic mask of his; it's a startling contrast to the man he'll become when the sun rises.

He doesn't flinch anymore when you trace over the scar on his lip. Instead, he sighs. "I can see that."

"So help me." There's silence for a moment before you tack on, "Please? I'll make it up to you, promise."

He huffs.

"Turn around."

You do as he says and it's not a moment later that you feel his chest against your back, firm muscles and an all-encompassing warmth surrounding you. His breath fans across your neck, tickling the skin as he brushes chapped lips over you in a gentle kiss. "You're a piece of work, you know?"

You hum in agreement, closing your eyes and basking in his embrace. It's nice. The weight of his arm feels good around you, and the way his hand splays across your stomach to hold your body against his burns through your clothes, heating you up in all the best ways. It's amazing, if not a little scary — how comfortable you can be around someone so dangerous, how just being in his arms makes you forget about all your worries.

Most of them, anyway.

You stay like that for a few minutes, trying your best to just sink into his hold and drift off to sleep, but it's no use.

You sigh and call his name and he huffs like he was already expecting you to still be awake.

"Real piece of work."

"It's not my fault," you groan, yawning into your hand. It's almost laughable how your body is more than ready to fall asleep, but your mind is running a mile a minute, thinking of nothing and everything and all that rests between.

"Yeah, yeah," he utters. "Open your mouth."

Once again, you do as he says without question, just hope at the tip of your tongue that this plan of his will work. There's nothing special about the way his hand floats up your body. Two fingers slip past the seam of your lips to coat themselves in your spit. Your mouth feels a little dry, and the moment is a bit awkward since he's half asleep and still sluggish, but you make do. Saliva pools in your mouth and you lap at his fingertips until he pulls them out. His other arm weasels its way beneath your body, fingers hooking into your pajama trousers and underwear to pull them away, so his wet ones can slide in without hassle.

His fingers are coarse to the touch after a lifetime of labour, but they're heavenly on your body. It adds a certain roughness, makes every action feel a little more powerful and firm than the last, and he's nothing if not blessed with his hands and body.

He rubs slow circles over your clit, keeping your hips still with his other arm when you start squirming because of his motions. You can't help but whimper at the loss when his fingers dip down a bit to wade in your arousal, but your eyes roll back as soon as he returns. His wrist must be cramping in the tight confines, but he makes it work, fingers rolling over the bud a little more easily with your slick coating them.

"Come on, sweetheart," he drawls, voice husky with sleep. Each murmured syllable is low and rich; dark chocolate words rolling off his tongue steady like molasses, heady like the haze clouding your mind. His nose grazes along the crook of your neck to plant another dry kiss there. "Cum for me, yeah? You can do it. Nice and slow for me."

Just like he says, the build-up is nice and slow. Each circle drawn around your clit is another drop of ambrosia in the pit of your arousal, and it feels so good — so, so good — when he shifts his fingers a little to the right to press from a new angle and stars burst behind your eyelids. A broken whine escapes you as he fixates on that sensitive spot, breath tightening with a mewled ah, there, there, there and it isn't much longer that your release washes over you in calm, lulling waves; it's more akin to pouring warm honey than tides crashing at the shore, the slow, budding feeling of drowsiness making you focus solely on his fingers as he eases you down from your high.

Your mind feels light as a feather now, eyes staying closed as you gradually catch your breath. Your body an anchor, sinking into the clutches of sleep that you'd been aching the entire night for.

You try to call Touji, murmur a quick Love you, or even a thank you — you're not even sure which one to settle on, too tired to express your gratitude; your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, and you're not sure if the words come out slurred, if at all. You'll thank him properly in the morning if he's still here.

"You sleeping?" he asks, and you hum tiredly, shifting back into his warmth when he pulls his hand from your trousers. "Mm, fuck, wait."

You hum again, and he presses his hips closer so you can feel the firmness of his length through your clothes.

"Got me all—" he pauses to muffle a yawn into your shoulder before continuing "—all worked up."

Another hum. You feel him move around a little, hear the ruffle of bed sheets and his clothes before you feel his cock, a little heavier, a lot hotter poking against your lower back. You can't bring yourself to move when he pushes your trousers down, too. They don't go all the way, just far enough so that he can nudge his cock in between your thighs.

"Fuck," he groans when you squeeze your legs around him. Your body feels like lead, heavy and unmoving, and he's graphite, dragging his hips back and forth to enjoy the friction of your body around his cock. "So fucking good."

Your arousal trickles out of you as he pushes his length along your entrance, wetting the flushed skin of his cock before he lifts your leg atop his to create some space. His movements are lethargic, his mind wanting to slumber, his body craving your tight warmth, and he can't satisfy the former without obeying the latter.

He's not sure if you're even still awake, but you do let out a low groan when he pushes his cock into your sex. It's tight — you'll probably wake up to the consequence of little prep and be less than pleased, but he's too busy relishing the clench and heat around his length to care for that.

He savours the yearning hold of your walls when he pulls back slowly, and enjoys the quiet pap of his balls on the curve of your ass when he pushes back in. He's using up the final dredges of his stamina. There's another thrust, then he stays inside and rolls his hips against you, once, twice, just to see if you tighten around him. Then he thrusts again — or, he tries to. He's just so tired, though, and his movements feel lifeless, like he's nudging you with the tip of his cock and your body barely responds to his half-hearted efforts.

It isn't long before he's weakly spurting his cum into you. He's almost glad that you're too tired to comment — or too busy sleeping, he's still not sure — because he knows you would have made some snarky remark about him not lasting long. He can't bring himself to care about it when his cock softens inside you and the energy in his body completely depletes. He feels like a shell of a man yet he's never been fuller, left satiated but hollow from the fatigue. He hisses when you shift a little, your leg falling off of his, making you tighter around his length.

Maybe in the morning he'll treat you a little better: when the sun rises, he'll have you falling apart on his cock — twice, if you're not too sore, if you ask sweetly and thank him for doing this for you. Or maybe he'll realise he shouldn't have ever put your wants ahead of his own; he'll slip out of your warmth and wonder when staying the night even became the norm for him. For now, though, he presses a final kiss to your shoulder and falls asleep to the thought of getting used to this.

#cursed.archive #jjk x reader #jjk smut #touji x reader #toji x reader #fushiguro toji x reader #fushiguro touji x reader #toji smut #touji smut #fushiguro toji smut #fushiguro touji smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #tw dubcon #tw somnophilia #mine #mine.jjk

[aiiku]

roll away.

gojou satoru x gn reader

word count 407

synopsis you do the ‘roll away from your bf whilst you’re cuddling’ trend.

tags pure fluff, established relationship, slice of life.

notes gojou let me crawl inside of you satoru, my beloved <3

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you turn away from him and he's immediately wrapping his arms around you again, voice sweetened and soft as he asks, "why'd you move away? i was cuddling with you."

you can practically hear his frown. you can taste the childish pout that you know is on his face, and you have to bite back a laugh before you answer, "sorry, i just needed some space."

and he scoffs, tightening his arms around you, burrowing his face in the crook of your neck so there's not a lick of personal space between you. so you can feel all of him, hot and heavy and overwhelming as he throws his leg over yours for good measure, too. "yeah? how's this? this enough space for you, baby?"

and you're sure he knows you're only teasing now, but you continue with the facade anyway. "stop, i just needed to breathe a bit, you know?"

"breathe," he echoes, like that word is the most offensive and funniest thing he's ever heard. "you can breathe. i'm letting you breathe. you can breathe on me — in me, too, i don't care. so turn around. now."

(it's not much of an instruction when he's already moving his hands to your waist, rolling you back over to face him.)

and then he brings himself infinitely close to you; his nose grazes yours, his lashes fan across your cheeks, and you can't see past the endless blue of his eyes which is exactly what he wants.

"see?" he whispers, but you can't focus on anything but the flecks of grey shining in his eyes. (how nice to find a flaw.) "you can breathe just fine around me."

(you let him have this moment. you won't mention how easily taking your breath away comes to him.)

his breath is a gentle caress, minty on the tip of your tongue, warm across your lips, and you close your eyes because he's only human. of course he will have flaws; of course he will cross any distance for you.

so you smile instead. so you tell him that he's right (he already knows). so you breathe him in for as long as this moment will let you, because you don't know how long it will be before you're able to do it again, and that distance is something only he is able to cross.

#the punchline is that he makes me breathless #this was supposed to be all cute and then i got deep for no reason at the end rip #gojou x reader #gojo x reader #mine #mine.jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader

[touyaz]

gojou satoru x gn reader | dark drabble

WARNINGS dark/ yandere gojou, toxic ex husband.

MINORS, AGELESS & BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. 18+ ONLY.

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thinking about ex husband gojou........ you're no longer together, but that doesn't mean you're /separated/ from him. not when he acts as if being your shadow is his sole duty, not when he waits outside your door for you to get home from work, even though he's yet to return his copy of your keys.

the two of you are like parallel lines, he says, drinking straight out of the milk carton so when you have cereal the next morning, the taste of him lingers on your lips. and just like parallel lines, you're destined to stay beside one another, never touching, just striving for infinity. it's a never-ending venture of the other being there, but not quite. just out of reach. a ghost at your fingertips.

the two of you are like parallel lines, he says, /for now/. because the only man in the universe who has the power to make parallel lines perpendicular happens to be the only man in the universe you find yourself wanting. even when you know better. /especially/ when you know better.

it doesn't matter that he comes over without calling in advance and decides to spend the night in your bed. (nothing has to happen unless you want it to, he says. his hands wander a little, his breath wisps over places it shouldn't, but nothing happens because you /don't/ want it to. you don't. your dreams are bittersweet that night.)

nor does it matter when he drops in unannounced as you try to straighten out your life and aim for infinity once more — when you're discovering if he truly is the only man for you, or if there's a way you can rewrite your fate in the body of another.

none of that matters when he can undo your progress with a flick of his wrist. he's been blessed with his convergence — that innate, unstoppable power of his that keeps the two of you together, that makes sure the lines of your life stay laced with his until, eventually, they become one. intertwined; inseparable.

some days he wants to be with you, standing proudly at your side, hand-in-hand like you're the missing puzzle piece he's found after searching for so long; most days he wants to crawl inside you and settle deep in your marrow. let him fester in the cavity of your body until you're nothing without him. let him be the only thing you're ever reliant on. he doesn't want you slotted by his side for others to see and long for, he wants you running in his veins as the oxygen in his mind, as the blood raging through his blackened heart. it's a mutual dependency, a shared destruction. he won't ever let you fall without him. you can't tell if that's a blessing or a curse.

#sliightly toxic ex husband gjou who becomes even more overbearing when kids are brought into the mix #that is a hc for another day tho #mutual ? consumption my beloved #097 / mortality of a martyr #tw dark content #lmk if i need to add more!! #mine #mine.jjk #yandere gojo x reader #yandere gojou x reader

[touyaz]

How do you think Naoya and Sukuna differ as mafia bosses?

*yandere mafia bosses

not sure if these are super yandere-y but im imagining this happens after you've been kidnapped and the stockholm has set in <3

naoya + sukuna x gn reader

WARNINGS dark content, yandere, v brief smut/ dubcon, mention of branding at the very end, implied kidnapping + stockholm syndrome

MINORS, AGELESS & BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. 18+ ONLY.

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naoya is newer to being a boss and he overcompensates for his lack of experience by being extra cruel and harsh. to his enemies. to his underlings. to you. he's a real take no shit kinda guy. likes having order; has a clearly established heirarchy where he, alone, reigns supreme at the top. is shit at controlling his emotions and lashes out a lot when things out of his control don't go his way, or when his subordinates fuck up and he has to clean their messes. only gets angry in the privacy of your room, so you have to clean up all the broken glass from his rampage. gets forceful with you, but it's mostly just manhandling and angry sex, he won't raise a hand against you unless it's coming down on your ass. likes seeing his handprints bruised into your body, on your thighs, on your wrists, around your neck. he's just very controlling. needs you next to him at all times, never out of his sight, never more than 3 steps behind him. kind of a little shit & he flaunts how big and powerful he's become in his meetings. the other leader of some unknown gang is begging for help, and naoya will just pat his thigh and smirk when you sit on his lap. tells the person to keep talking as he undoes his belt and slips his cock into you. naoya says he'll only show the man mercy if you manage to cum in under 2 mins all by yourself.

in comparison, sukuna is a lot more chill. still powerful. still scary as fuck, but he indulges in having fun more than naoya. it's all just entertainment to him. is unpredictable and will start fights just for the hell of it — unsurprisingly, he'll always come out on top. similar to naoya, he doesn't take shit from anyone. expects people to clean up their own messes, and if they don't then they're out. he'll give them a chance/ maybe help them out, but he likes seeing people prove themselves to him. likes seeing the fight in people. likes when they bend over backwards to prove how they're a great asset for him, as if he actually needs anyone besides himself and you. where naoya likes establishing his dominance over you, not letting you step a toe out a line, sukuna is relatively more calm. he doesn't mind you acting out (as long as you know never to do it when you're in public) and he likes putting you in your place (beneath him). is heavy on praise when you do something he's proud of, whether that's suggesting an idea for their next move, or lying back and taking his cock without complaint.

the difference is sukuna makes you wear a necklace with his name on it, whereas naoya brands his name on the skin over your heart <3

#tw dark content #tw yandere #tw dubcon #tw noncon #tw branding #tw implied kidnapping #tw stockholm syndrome #anon #yandere jjk #yandere jjk x reader #yandere naoya #yandere naoya x reader #yandere sukuna #yandere sukuna x reader #mine #mine.jjk

[touyaz]

jjk men + oral preference

includes: yuuji, megumi, inumaki, sukuna and naoya

word count 1,178 (total)

notes i know i’m missing some main characters but idc i want these ones rn ♡

WARNINGS oral (m+f), reader’s gender is specified in the cw for each character.

MINORS, AGELESS & BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. 18+ ONLY.

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tiny bit of spit, deepthroating, fem reader for first paragraph, gn for second

✩ YUUJI is genuinely in love with both giving and receiving — one of his favourite positions is 69 for this reason, he lives for the simultaneous action. As much as he loves seeing you on your knees for him, he’ll always insist on going down on you first. And, really, you can’t say no when he’s already pulling your clothes off, pushing your thighs apart to slot himself between. He’s so enthusiastic and eager, groaning into your cunt between fervid licks, nibbling gently on your bud before latching and sucking so harshly. The contrast is overwhelming — the way he goes from ravishing your folds, spitting on your cunt and growling as he dives in, to placing soft, ticklish kisses to the sensitive skin of your thigh, gently blowing air over your dripping arousal to make you squirm.

When you’re on your knees for him, he’s throwing his head back, keeping a tight grip on the back of your head as he controls your pace. His balls are so heavy and sensitive, whenever your tongue slips out to lave over them, his thick thighs tense and he starts whimpering. He’s got a nasty habit of holding you still and just battering the back of your throat, but you can’t complain when he sounds so hot, growling and panting curses above you. He feels so bad when your voice is all chafed and raspy the next day, but will that stop him from doing it again? No.

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fingering, mention of multiple orgasms, fem reader

✩ MEGUMI prefers giving oral; he’s always a little nervous about the vulnerability that comes with having him at your mercy, so he prefers treating you to a good time instead. He always starts off slowly, teasingly brushing his nose along your thighs, peppering short kisses over your hips, before he gives long, languid licks over your slit. It’s all slow circles over your clit, barely-there, feather-light touches that have you arching up into his hands, before he slips a cold finger into your dripping hole; it’s such a startling contrast to his warm tongue that slides in right beside the digit, caressing your velvety walls as he pumps a second finger in. His hands are so pretty and dexterous, curling against your walls, tapping on your weak spots, until you’re putty in his palm, a wanton mess of garbles and sobs. His hair is even more unruly from you threading your fingers through it and tugging on the strands harshly, pulling him as close as possible as you rut against his face; he looks so hot after he’s made you cum — multiple times, always — the bottom of his face slick and shiny with your arousal, his cheeks flushed and his chest rising and falling in small puffs.

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mention of edging, fem reader for first paragraph, gn for second

✩ INUMAKI is a horny man at heart and prefers receiving a tad bit over giving. He absolutely adores making you fall apart on his tongue — especially considering how he can’t always tell you how much he loves you due to his technique, so he likes making up for it in other ways — and he’s so good at delivering, his mouth is literally heaven on earth, there’s not a day that goes by in which you aren’t thinking about his mouth. He’s a massive tease, constantly kitten-licking your cunt, flicking over your clit, never really giving you the attention you so desperately need, until you start whining and crying for him, pleading him to stop playing around.

When you’re on your knees for him, finally getting revenge on all the times he’s edged you, he hates the way the tables turn. He hates how you know all his weak spots: how you squeeze his cock just tight enough to bring him to the very edge of an orgasm before you loosen up; how you lap at the pre that dribbles from his slit and look up at him with wide, teary eyes that make him want to wreck you further; how you take him deep into your throat until your nose is nudging the fine hairs on his pelvis, before you pull off completely to litter kisses and nips to his sensitive thighs as his rising orgasm disintegrates at the loss. You can’t leave him high and dry, though, not when he’s panting and whimpering at the abandonment, mouth gaping open to let out a small, feeble “please.”

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slight degradation, a lot of cum, deepthroating, gn reader (slut is used)

✩ SUKUNA definitely prefers receiving. He’ll only ever go down on you if you taunt him, saying something about how an ancient like him probably wouldn’t even know what to do down there. Then he’s showing you exactly how skillful he is with his tongue alone, making you cum so many times it’s painful, and your legs are lost to numbness. He won’t ever tire of the sight of you on your knees for him, the perfect picture of obedience with your mouth wide open for him to shove his fat cock into, your tongue lolling out for him to cum all over. He’s so messy and lewd and nasty, coming bucketloads all over your face, smearing the streaks along your cheeks with his cock, before he slips himself back into your mouth for another round of abuse. He’s all dark chuckles and low growls, baring his canines in a twisted smirk, whenever he bullies the back of your throat into submission. And he cums so much, just copious amounts of cream that he expects you to choke down and swallow like the dirty slut you are; he’ll keep his cock buried in your mouth, admiring the way your throat bulges around his thick girth, as if you’re not gagging helplessly around him.

+

degradation, Master kink, ownership themes (??? it’s consensual, he’s just filthy), deepthroating, gn reader (whore is used)

✩ NAOYA wouldn’t go down on you even if you threatened him. He hammers into you that this is what you were made for: all you have to do is sit there and be his little cocksleeve, his filthy fucking cumdump, to use as he pleases, whenever he pleases. He’s absolutely ruthless, forcing your head to bob up and down his length, thrusting deep into you and holding you there until you’re digging your nails into his thick thighs, begging for a moment to breathe. Other times he’ll lean back and tell you to do your duty, watching lazily as you pull his cock out and stroke him to hardness. All the while, he’ll be mocking and taunting you — “Tch, the fuck are you doing? Use your fucking mouth, you’re so pathetic, can’t even suck a cock properly. What the fuck am I keeping you around for, hm?” — glaring down at you darkly no matter how well you try to please him — “Fucking— Take it deeper, deeper, you fucking whore.” He holds back from groaning, no matter how well you’re taking him, but deep grunts escape him when he nears his high, growling, “Fucking look at me, look at your Master,” and when you listen obediently, tilting your head to stare at him with those glistening eyes, he’s pushed over the edge, coming with a full-body shudder, spurting warm cum all over your face, marking you completely as his property. 

no joke when i cuff naoya, his preference changes to giving <3

#mine #mine.jjk

[touyaz]

zen’in naoya x gn reader | dark drabble

WARNINGS dark/ yandere naoya, toxic ex husband.

MINORS, AGELESS & BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. 18+ ONLY.

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today i would like to talk to you about toxic ex husband naoya who makes your life so unfathomably hellish once the divorce is all done and finalised. it's beyond humiliating how much he can interfere with your life when he's no longer a part of it.

it's embarrassing how you turn up for work days after the separation and are met with rejection because suddenly you're not a high enough grade to be going on such a dangerous mission. it's cruel how you're surrounded by reminders of him everywhere you go — the invasive way pigeons flock to you when you're sulking in a park, the way a shadow seems to loom over you as soon as you step outside of your home. you're not left with many choices when food is scarce and the chance of employment sinks even lower.

the zen'in influence runs deeper than you could ever imagine. you hate it. absolutely detest the way the only viable option is to turn to the cause of your misery.

but he's there to accept you when you come crawling back to him.

it's pathetic but maybe you're a little glad that he's so welcoming; that he's there with open arms and a smile too sharp-edged to be as pure as he makes himself out to be. you're thankful that he doesn't taunt you when you're at your lowest. in fact, he doesn't dwell on the time away bar a murmured, oh, my love, what's happened to you, hm? when you first sunk into his embrace, mourning the life you could have lived. it's like you never even left him, pretty ring wrapped around your finger not a moment later, clothes filling his cupboards and collecting dust like they'd been there all that time. as quick as you had left, you find yourself back in his arms, and it makes one simple fact startlingly clear: you cannot live without zen'in naoya.

#idk how to add it in all prettily but the divorce papers were fake he's never letting u leave his ass lmfaoo #kind of sexy of him to make us wholly dependent on him tbh. need that in my life rn 😩 #906 / a simulacrum of melancholy #tw dark content #tw yandere #had to get this out of my head so that i could continue w bussy slurpin nao #yandere naoya x reader #mine #mine.jjk #naoya x reader

[aiiku]

attentive.

itadori yuuji x gn reader

word count 324

synopsis itadori being bf material. that is all.

tags fluff, established relationship, food mention.

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thinking about how yuuji pays such close attention to everything you do 🥺🤍🤍 he's a lil dumb but his eyes are always on you and he's so good at remembering things you like/ do!!

loves the way you put a tiny heart over the j and i when you write his name. he loves the way you do the bunny loops when you tie your laces (he always, always, always, takes a knee so you can balance on his leg, or he'll offer to do them instead so you don't have to bend down). when he makes a promise with you, he interlocks his pinkie with yours and you do the little thumb kiss (and then he kisses you for real 'to actually seal the deal').

when you go out on dates together you make sure he’s eating well; then, he turns the tables on you — he's so embarrassing he'll try feeding you but he's got the prettiest smile so you can never say no to him </3 he adores the way you scrunch your nose and whine a little yuu :( when you want something to go your way (and he does everything in his power to make you happy again).

he loves the fact that you've named all the potted plants he bought you & he finds it so unbelievably domestic when you start watering them in front of him and telling him how you're taking care of them (he keeps referring to the plants as your practice children agdhfks).

he loves how you always take care of him in return, making sure his shirt isn't tucked into his trousers, making sure his tie is straight, checking that he's got everything he needs before he goes out somewhere, it just makes him feel so 🥰💘 i could go on but he's such an attentive lover & he absolutely loves finding out new things you do, no matter how small or mundane they may be :( 💗💗

#jjk x reader #itadori x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #itadori yuuji x reader #yuuji x reader #itadori yuji x reader #mine.jjk #mine

[touyaz]

Pls virgin Gojou who is lovesick is the only Gojou I will accept!!

- @ame-791

MINORS, AGELESS & BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. 18+ ONLY.

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he's so. so. ugh biting my fist at the thought of him being a little nervous and covering that up by burying his head in the crook of your neck, littering little kisses across your skin so he doesn't stumble over his words. he does what he can to make you moan and throw your head back, so you won't see his hands tremble as he pushes his boxers down. i'm sticking him in the 'cries during his first time' group because i think it would overwhelm him; the intimacy of missionary just... gets to him. he never thought he'd have an opportunity to have something like this — to share this special moment with someone he loves — but now that it's here, he doesn't want to let go. he doesn't want the seconds to tick away. he doesn't want you to leave him here, alone.

as soon as he's in you, he has to pause. he has to take a breath. he has to steady himself and get a hold of his rampant thoughts because he doesn't want this to be over too quickly. he thinks you feel so good — so warm, so tight, so heavenly around him. he'd give up all that he has — all that he is — to live in this moment with you forever. it feels unreal almost; he'd pinch himself to see if this was all just a figment of his imagination if he wasn't already in tune with the press of your body beneath his.

it's so obvious that he's out of his element here. gone is his usual extravagance and pretension, replaced by a show of his vulnerability, of his humanity. he handles you like you're at your tipping point — one wrong move and everything the two of you have built together will come crashing down. he's always been careful with you, but in this moment he touches you with a gentleness you never knew existed. he's quieter than he's ever been, asking is this okay? you sure? yet he's as considerate as ever when he says yeah? you like this? how's this, baby?

he's needy, but this feels different. when he murmurs you want this? you want me? he shines a light on a part of himself he'd never exposed to the world before. when he whispers a soft don't go. don't leave me, too. please, please don't— against your lips and you feel drops of his tears fall on the curve of your cheek, you swear you see a ring of heaven halo around his head, and it makes you wonder what you — what the world — has done to deserve someone as blessed as him.

#saw the words virgin. g.ojou and lovesick. got possessed. wrote this #ask #ame 🌷 #mine #mine.jjk #/gojousatoru

[touyaz]

in the light of day (that’s where we lay)

pairing itadori yuuji x fem reader

word count 1,122

notes let’s pretend sukuna doesn’t exist here <3

WARNINGS smut, fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie. no pronouns for reader.

MINORS, AGELESS & BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. 18+ ONLY.

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Honeyed light spills through the beige curtains hanging in front of the window, swathing you and your lover in its heated, golden glow; the feeling is gentle, enveloping the two of you in its loving warmth, but that doesn't deter you from souring as the beams of light pour forth, easily becoming blinding to your tired eyes. Even as you squeeze your eyes closed, you can feel the imprint of sunlight searing across your face, and it seems Yuuji shares your susceptibility as he groans, pulling the duvet over your heads to block the rays and return the world to its balance. 

You murmur your thanks, turning to face him, and with your eyes still closed, you press a kiss to his bare chest.

After a few moments of serenity, he huffs and, once again, it seems as though he shares your frustrations in not being able to return to sleep. When he asks if you're awake and you mumble in reply, he shuffles down the bed until he lays face to face with you. You're both still under the blanket — drowning in darkness, but thankfully tucked away from the scathing brightness outside — yet that doesn't stop Yuuji from tilting his head forwards and — after many, many, failed attempts — catching your lips in a slow, easy kiss. He drowns you in his love, his heat, sweet lips dancing with your own in a careful sway as he breathes life into you.

His hand is on your waist, caressing the sliver of skin that peeks where your shirt has ridden up, and his movements are so gradual, so feather-like, they would have you falling back asleep if only he hadn't taken the chance to push you flat on the bed.

He pulls away, face mere inches above yours, to murmur a raspy, "Good morning."

Your reply is muffled against his lips as you bring him in for another kiss — to be away from his warmth is a cold and hellish feeling — and it isn't long before the hand at your waist travels up to massage your breasts as he settles on his knees between your legs; his hips roll against your pelvis and you can feel his cock harden through the thin layers of your underwear.

His low groans against your lips and the way his fingers tease your nipples with soft brushes and gentle pinches have you careening up in his embrace, arousal pooling your panties as your desire blooms with each rock of his hips.

The air feels hot and heavy — more so than usual since you’re both still hidden away beneath the duvet — and, soon enough, Yuuji is unravelling the covers so you can breathe a little easier, peppering soft kisses along the column of your neck as you squint at the light saturating the room. He eases all your discomforts as he pushes down your underwear, then his own, and brings his hand down to tease your folds, running his fingers through the wetness to ready you.

One finger slips in, curling against your walls to elicit more whimpers, and then a second joins the fray, drawing out breathy sighs from your kiss-swollen lips. "Mm, you feel so warm, baby," he says, words slurred with fatigue. "That's it, pretty, hold still for me." His fingers pump into you lazily as he focuses on lavishing your neck with gentle pecks, the smack of his lips kissing your skin is barely audible as you call his name, quietly begging him for more. 

Without argument, he does as asked, pulling his fingers out of you to wrap around his own length; he pumps his cock a few times before angling the tip to your entrance, flushed and dripping despite the early hour, and the sight makes him all the more eager to push into you.

Despite his excitement, he takes it slow, letting you feel every inch as he sinks into you until his body is pressed firmly against yours. Then he’s pulling back and repeating the motion, each deep thrust punctuated with the sound of his skin slapping against yours. His pace is slow, steady — lazy, almost, in the way his hand doesn’t rush to circle your clit like it normally does, and he doesn’t say much aside from your name and sweet praises. "Feels so good, baby, want to make you fall apart… ah— ah, so pretty for me, so fucking pretty…"

When you pull him in for another kiss, he wraps one of your legs around his waist, and the angle lets him sink in deeper, further, so his tip caresses your sweet spots, making your warm sex tighten around him. With you moaning into the kiss — your breath hitching in your lungs as he grinds down against a particularly sensitive spot, and your silky walls clenching around his cock every time he buries himself down to the hilt — he feels his release inching closer; it’s no surprise when he breaks away from the kiss to bury his head in the crook of your neck, grunting a curse, a low fuck— I'm coming, I'm coming, as his cum spills into your cunt, much like the sunlight that streams into your room, casting a heavenly glow over your lover that makes him look more angelic than human. His skin shines in the golden rays, a warm tan that you yearn to lose yourself in, as honeyed eyes see nothing but you, you, you; your lover, yourself, becoming one beneath the morning light.

His hips stutter in their steady rocking, valuing quick, shallow thrusts so he can ride out the wave of his high, and he can feel the scant energy that blossomed within him slowly dissipate. It does little to stop him from sheathing himself completely in your sex, though, lifting a hand to finally rub your clit in firm circles until you’re squeezing his softening length as you reach your own climax. Despite his cock squirming from the overstimulation of you tightening around him, the hiccuped ah, ah, ah, that escapes him as you dig your nails into his golden, sweaty shoulder, he draws out your release until your legs stop quivering, dropping from their perch on his waist to fall flat against the bed. Then he eases himself out of you, settling beside you to wrap an arm around your waist.

Neither of you can bring yourselves to care about the uncomfortable, sticky feeling of cum drying on your clammy skin, nor do you care much for the sun and its mighty rays, as your eyes slowly close and you find yourself drifting off to sleep once more enveloped in nothing but your lover and his light.

#jjk x reader #yuuji x reader #yuji x reader #yuuji itadori x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #yuuji itadori smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #mine #mine.jjk #yuji itadori x reader #itadori x reader #yuji itadori smut #itadori yuuji x reader #itadori yuji x reader #itadori yuji smut #itadori yuuji smut

[touyaz]

my dreams have counted to a hundred today (some day, i'll trade them all for just the very one)

fushiguro touji x gn reader

WARNINGS blood, gun mention, zombie au, death, slight suicide ideation (implied)

MINORS, AGELESS & BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. 18+ ONLY.

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lone wolf touji is just trying to make ends meet when the world is turned upside down and the streets are cemeteries and the houses are tombstones and the bodies of the undead and now-dead are flowers left at the graves, but it's fine because he's used to that. he's used to the loss and the bloodshed and the screams that echo in his bones and the night terrors that have him clawing at his own skin and the loneliness that rots him from the inside out, but that doesn't make it easy to live through this. he's strong but not where it really matters. broken bones are nothing to him. he'll spit teeth and blood and grin crookedly with no shame but he cries in his sleep and his fingers always shake when they're not wrapped around the hilt of a dagger. it's easy to ignore when he never looks down at them. he shatters mirrors and licks the blood off his knuckles but he doesn't have the guts to do anything with the broken glass after that.

he doesn't look down until he does, and he regrets it because loneliness is all he's ever known, but you can't be lonely when you have someone chasing after your shadow. in a room with no windows, you sleep in the corner opposite him. he could kill you. he should leave you there. he listens to you sleep and hates how often you toss around because everything about you is too loud and he doesn't like the company. he doesn't kill you but he thinks about it when you wake up and ask him how he slept. he thinks about it again a week later because you're adamant you don't snore and you call the bags under his eyes unsightly and you tell him that you'll protect him as he takes a nap, but you still can't even hold the gun in your belt without clamming up and crying.

he hates you and he swears that any day now he's going to leave you for dead but it's been a month. or something like that. the end is the end and there is no end to that. he gives you his last drop of water. it only has a beginning. he freezes for a split second when you're too far behind him and he can't hear your voice anymore, but he swears it's because he heard something move and not because he thought you were gone and he was left all alone again. he wants to be alone. he doesn't want someone to wash away the blood from his face. he was born from the dirt. he doesn't like it when you give him the bigger slices of food. he's an open wound that gushes when it bleeds and he doesn't think he'll ever heal. he hates that you know just what to say when you see him cry and that is nothing to him and yet it is everything for him. he wants to die in the dirt, too. he doesn't want the strength to pick up the broken glass but there is no more broken glass when you're two steps behind him. he's forgotten what blood is like on his tongue and he can't remember what it sounds like when a bone splinters in half and he thinks you'd taste like misery and hope and the dirt he wants to be buried in.

#somewhere in here is a lovestory but it's 6am and I'm too tired to tell it #wintext #tw blood #tw death #idk what else but I'm cold good night #609 / the anatomy of melancholy #mine #mine.jjk #📌

[touyaz]

What is Gojou’ love language

And how is his cock

i've been hoarding this gem like an ancient dragon because i loved thinking about gojou and his love language :(( anw this bitch lengthy ;p

MINORS, AGELESS & BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. 18+ ONLY.

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i immediately wanted to say physical touch bc he has no concept of personal space, he loves constantly being in contact with his partner, a pinch to your hip, a flick to your forehead, his chin on your shoulder, a fleeting kiss to the back of your hand, literally anything and everything. but then i got sad thinking about how he always has his infinity on and, whilst he can control what he lets through that barrier, i think it might make him a lil sad that touching you/ being touched has to be a conscious effort? it doesn't feel as natural to him when he has to factor in things just to finally feel your skin on his (even if it's v easy for him to do so). but if he turns his infinity off completely, it leaves him feeling slightly vulnerable (for... jjk spoiler reasons that i won't say here. but he doesn't like turning it off, take my word for it).

then i thought maybe quality time (bc it was the only other language coming to me). and i think he'd like that, too! he'd love to spend time with his partner, from silly dates where you watch him splurge more cash than you have in your bank account on a few sweet treats, to quiet, late nights when no words need to be spoken to understand the other. but then i made myself sad again thinking about how he barely has time to spend with other people being the strongest and all. he /wants/ to be able to go on fun dates and grocery trips, but duty calls and........ he can't /not/ save lives and do his job just to take you out for dinner, no matter how badly he wants to pick you.

acts of service links quite well to quality time..... he's just not always there to provide for you as much as he'd like to. he tries! he really does! you find the groceries delivered to your place, so you don't have to go out; he'll do what he can so you're paired together for missions, so he can lighten your load and spend some time together. he'll wake you up so you can have breakfast together before he leaves for the day. it's just... difficult to maintain that when his schedule is so hectic. you're not the only person in the world that needs him :(

i think gift giving is probably the easiest for him, but he doesn't feel it's as meaningful for that reason. he can order you expensive clothes, buy you that appliance you've had your eye on for a while, give you a special-grade weapon to keep yourself safe with. but he's usually not the one handing them to you, they're ordered to your doorstep or left in a pretty giftbox for you to open when he's long gone. you'll wake up to your favourite desserts in the fridge (half-eaten because he loves you, but he also loves his sugar).

words of affirmations...... he's blunt in the sense that he'll give you tough love; he won't sugarcoat what he has to say to you. he won't ever hesitate to praise you when you need/ want it, but he will tease you a bit (a lot) beforehand. he's playful most of the time, but he does have his serious moments (far and few they may be...) and his words are always sincere and genuine. he loves giving you cheeky compliments and he never shies away from verbally expressing his affection (and... he can be very loud and dramatic when he does so). he's great at giving you encouragement; just the thought that the strongest sorceror has faith in you is uplifting enough, but the frequent reminders are always a plus. that being said, it's still difficult to always be around you to say them, and he thinks his words lack the real weight he wants them to carry when he has to text them to you instead of saying it to you :(

tldr; i have no idea what his love language is LMAO i'm leaning towards the first 3 though because, imo, they have the most significance to him. if you meant what love language do you think he likes receiving, as opposed to giving, then all of them. he's a whore, he wants everything.

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now for your second question. i keep giggling every time i see it, this really should've been split into two asks because the whiplash is just..... yeah <3 anyway. how /is/ his cock.

i'm no dickxpert, so bear with me here..... he's pretty tall so i'd assume he's like. larger than average. again, not a pro here so i'm guessing 6-8 inches?? topping 8 when he's hard? idk, i really am the worst person you could've asked. based on his hands (see +here), i'm gonna say v nice girth (not fat enough to like. make u a blackhole, but it won't feel like fucking a stick?? bro idk😭) also veiny but not like a scary amount. it's just in general a very pretty dick for a very pretty man. the better thing to think abt is his v sexy happy trail YUM! he's sensitive there <3 but anw. v nice dick AND he knows how to use it well since he's canonically good at everything. actually, i lied the better thing to think about is his hand/mouth combination but i'm not sharing my thoughts you can suffer <3

#compare the details in my two answers PLS LMAO i'm not the right person to ask askjdhkasjdh #thank u for sending this in tho it was fun to think abt !! sorry for taking so long to answer tho hhhhh #anon #mine #mine.jjk #/gojousatoru