꒰ 爆豪勝己 ꒱ › katsuki loves the lotus position. mdni.
whipped! pro hero! bakugou x fem! reader. unprotected piv. clït stim. breäst play. body worship ? multiple örgasms implied ❤︎
katsuki’s never understood people who can exist alongside someone they love without constantly reaching for them. the distance, no matter how small, nags at him. he needs you to crawl into his ribcage, needs your heart to beat against his, needs your bodies pressed together until he can’t tell where he ends and you begin.
which is why he loves the lotus position. he loves having you in his lap like this. your legs wrapped around his waist, ankles locked behind his back. chest flush against his, faces so close he can feel your eyelashes flutter when you blink. feel every breath you take, feel your walls flutter greedily around his cock. feel every subtle shift of your muscles, every rapid beat of your heart against his sternum. every inch of him touching every inch of you, he’s truly at peace.
his crimson eyes are hazy as he gazes at you. he brushes his nose against yours. lingering there for a second before doing it again. and again. before closing the sliver of space between you. lips meeting yours in a kiss that’s more love than lust. there’s no rush, no urgency.
one of his hands, which had been resting firmly on the small of your back, traces a slow path upward, calloused fingers splayed wide between your shoulder blades. the other cups the back of your neck, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin just below your ear.
katsuki is never satisfied with just kissing you, with just rocking his hips against yours. he needs to merge with you, to absorb the air from your lungs the second it enters them, to bypass skin and bone and muscle until he’s curled up in the very center of your being.
but then he feels the subtle shift in your chest, the way your breath hitches ever slightly. he’s not an idiot. he knows you need to breathe. frustration rumbles in his chest as he — very reluctantly — breaks the kiss, pulling back just enough to create a sliver of space between your lips, but his forehead stays pressed firmly against yours. half-lidded gaze taking in the rise and fall of your chest and your glossy, kiss-bitten lips parting slightly as you gasp for the air he so selfishly stole from you. a muscle ticks in his jaw as he fights the urge to just kiss you breathless again
“still with me ?” he manages to grit out. you nod and he exhales a shaky breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. “good,” he murmurs “can’t have you tapping out on me yet”
his hands drift up your sides, brushing against the undersides of your breasts. you shiver, and he smiles against your skin smugly. he cups your tits, kneading them gently, thumbs circling your nipples until they’re pebbled and aching for more. he leans in, tracing an areola with his tongue before sucking gently. his hand continues its work on your other breast, thumb and forefinger rolling and pinching slowly.
he’s in his element. reveling in the taste of your skin on his tongue and the soft sounds you’re trying so hard to suppress. he wants to hear them, wants to pull them from your throat one by one until you’re screaming his name. his hips begin to grind in perfect sync with the rhythm of his mouth until you’re writhing against him desperately. “katsuki . . .”
“patience, baby,” he releases your nipple with a wet pop, blowing cool air on the damp skin, watching goosebumps rise on your skin. “got all night. wanna make you feel reaaal good.”
he looks up at you, crimson eyes flooded with need that mirrors your own. then he’s kissing you again, his tongue slipping into your mouth, greedily swallowing your moans as his fingers trace a path down your torso. his palm presses flat against your lower belly, right where you can feel the pressure of him inside you. he smirks as he dips into the hollow of your hips, then lower.
“mghh” you’re trembling as his fingers slide through your slick folds. gasping into his mouth, hips bucking involuntarily. he’s so close, but he’s not touching you where you need him most. “please ‘suki,” you whimper against his lips, the word torn from your throat. you need him just as much as he needs you.
“always so damn impatient” he pants but he finally rubs slow, sweet circles on your already swollen and sensitive clit. ministrations too much and not enough at the same time. you’re dripping all over him. filthy, lewd squelches filling the space between your gasps with every pass of his thumb over the bundle of nerves.
you clench down, a vice-like grip around his cock. his thumb presses harder, circles on your clit spinning a little faster. the lotus position leaves you no room to escape the overwhelming sensation. every desperate roll of your hips grinds your clit against his fingers, buries his cock even deeper, and forces you to feel the unyielding pressure of his tip brushing that sensitive spot inside you.
katsuki revels in it. in the mess you’re making just for him. in the way your slick coats his fingers, your inner thighs, the base of his cock still buried deep inside you. he loves the way your body reacts to him, the way your breath hitches, the way your walls clench down even harder around him every time he brushes against your sweet spot. he loves watching you fall apart, loves knowing he’s the one making you feel this way.
his eyes are fixed on you, pupils blown wide, swallowing the crimson of his irises. he’s memorizing every every subtle shift in your expression. he’s watching the way your eyelids flutter, struggling to stay open. the way your lips part. the bead of sweat tracing a path down your temple, following the curve of your jaw. he doesn’t miss a thing. it’s like he’s trying to burn this image of you directly onto the back of his eyelids.
you feel exposed in a way that has nothing to do with your nudity. heat crawls up your neck, burning your cheeks. you instinctively break eye contact and try to hide your face in the sweat-damp crook of his shoulder. and of course, he’s far from pleased
“nuh-uh,” he tuts, his free hand, the one not currently torturing your clit, comes up to tangle in your hair, gripping gently but firmly. he uses the leverage to pry you away from the curve of his neck, “don’t you dare hide from me.”
“well stop staring at me.” you mumble, squeezing your eyes shut.
“i’ll stare all i damn want to,” he scoffs. “now open your eyes so i can see how pretty they look when you cum” his grip on you loosens, his voice loses its edge, “please. . .”
it’s the closest he’ll ever get to begging. you can’t really deny him, not when he’s making you feel so good. so you let your eyes flutter open. you let him look. you let him see all of you, you let him see the way your pupils dilate, the way your lips falls apart. the way tears prick at the corners of your eyes as he rocks you into oblivion, coaxes orgasm after orgasm out of you. and he watches it all, committing every gasp, every tear, every tremor to his long-term memory.
he doesn’t let up. even when your legs tremble uncontrollably and his muscles scream in protest from being folded for so long. he just shifts his weight, pulling you impossibly closer. because this is what he craves. what he needs. what he lives for: being skin to skin, heart to heart, until your very souls merge into one.
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꒰ 爆豪勝己 ꒱ › katsuki hates being loud in bed. mdni.
pro hero! bakugo x fem! reader. unprotected piv
for someone who’s so loud and cocky, katsuki is surprisingly quiet in bed. because he hates the sounds he makes, finds his own whimpers and groans pathetic and weak. he hates the way his control dissolves, the way his body betrays him with hitched breaths and feeble groans. every time a whimper ‘threatens’ to spill from his lips, he’s gulping it down, jaw clenched so tight it aches.
he kisses you like he’s trying to swallow the moans building in his own chest. his tongue sweeps into your mouth, not just to taste you, but to make sure you’re so full of him that no sound can escape.
“kats breathe,” you gasp when he finally lets you up for air.
“shut up,” he snarls, but there’s no heat beneath his words.
when you finally sink down onto him, taking him in inch by excruciating inch, his whole body goes rigid. a sharp hiss falls through his gritted teeth, and he immediately buries his face in the crook of your neck, as if in shame. you can feel the vibration of his groan against your throat, a guttural sound he tries so, so hard to kill.
“fuck,” he breathes, a mere puff of air against your glistening skin. his hips remain still, even as his cock throbs inside you
when you start to ride him, his hands fly from your hips to your ass, then to your shoulders, anywhere he can get purchase, as if he’s physically trying to hold himself together. his breathing becomes harsh and uneven. you can hear the struggle in every inhale. his crimson eyes are squeezed shut, his brow furrowed in concentration that has everything to do with not falling apart.
you love watching him like this. you love being the one to unravel him. you pick up the pace, rolling your hips in that way you know drives him wild, and you feel the tremor that starts in his thighs, the way his calloused fingers dig bruises into your perfect skin.
a sound that’s half-gasp, half-whimper, bubbles up, and katsuki immediately clamps his mouth down on your shoulder — using your body to silence his own.
he’s drunk on the copper leaking from your broken skin. he presses soothing kisses to your shoulder and it makes you clench even harder around him. that’s what finally makes him break. a moan tears from his throat, muffled by your flesh but unmistakable. a vulnerable sound that’s completely at odds with the explosive hero he is by day. it’s the sound of him stripped of all his defenses
and he hates it. you can feel the way he freezes for a moment, horrified by his own lack of control. “don’t—”
“don’t what ? don’t stop ?” you tease, rolling your hips again.
“stop fuckin’ lookin’ at me like that,” he’ll grumble, turning his face away even as his hands white-knuckle your hips, pulling you closer.
but you’re not having it. you reach back, tangling your fingers in his sweat-damp blond hair, and pull his gaze towards yours. “let me hear you,” you murmur “wanna hear how good i make you feel.”
“no,” he shakes his head, stubbornly, eyes squeezed shut. “can’t. it’s too damn embarrassing.”
“it’s hot” you counter, “you’re hot katsuki. now let me hear you.”
“don’t — hah — say shit like that” he groans. his hips, now freed from their self-imposed prison, thrust up to meet yours. his moans become more frequent, little whimpers and moans he can’t swallow, each one is followed by a tightening of his jaw, a rosy flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck.
“that’s it kats,” you encourage, “just like that.”
when you lean back, changing the angle just so, he finally, truly surrenders. his eyes fly open, wide and glazed with pleasure, and his mouth falls slack. a string of curses,spills from his lips. “fuuuck . . . you’re so—hck— damn you”
his face is completely red, and he’s so, so loud but he’s past the point of caring. his hips slam into yours, his movements losing all finesse, driven purely by need
“gonna. . fuck, baby. . i’m gonna—” he chokes out, and it’s the most warning you’ve ever gotten from him.
he cums with a strangled cry, your name a wanton mess on his lips. his whole body all but arches off the bed. the sounds he makes are muffled by your skin, but you feel them all the same—the whimpers, the groans, the exhausted panting. for a long moment, the only sound in the room is his ragged breathing and the pounding of your own heart.
then, slowly, he relaxes, his body going limp against yours. you know he’s replaying every sound, every whimper, and cringing. you card your fingers through his hair, holding him close, and wait. eventually, he shifts, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to your sternum before muttering against your skin, “that’s never gonna happen again”
you don’t have to say anything. you just smile, because you know that next time, when you’re skin against skin and joined together as one, you’ll break his silence all over again.
꒰ 呪術廻戦 ꒱ › satoru’s favorite way to unwind. sfw.
gn!reader. fluff. slightly inspired by ^ this funny ass tiktok i saw
satoru’s head is heavy in your lap. you’ve been carding your fingers through his hair for what feels like hours, fingertips brushing against his scalp softly. he’s melting into a syrupy puddle, like putty in your palms as he laments about the trials and tribulations the higher ups put him through today.
“and then they tried to tell me that my mission reports need more detail,” he mumbles against your thigh, voice muffled by your skin. “as if i have the time to write an essay about every curse i exorcise.”
you hum softly in response, your nails gently scratching against his scalp. he sighs contentedly, nuzzling deeper into your lap like a cat seeking warmth. his hand, which had been resting limply at his side, now moves to grip your knee, fingers pressing in just enough to ground himself.
“they have no idea what it’s like out there. they just sit on their old wrinkly asses making decisions about things they’ve never seen or experienced,” he continues, his voice growing quieter with each word. “sometimes i wish—”
you shift slightly, reaching for the throw pillow beside you to prop behind your back. the movement is minimal, a slight readjustment to get more comfortable. but satoru freezes.
immediately, his head starts shaking back and forth against your lap. it’s not quite a tantrum, but it’s close—like he’s physically trying to shake off the discomfort of your hands leaving his hair.
“one sec,” you murmur, still focused on getting the pillow positioned right.
the shaking stops abruptly, replaced by a high-pitched whine that’s utterly uncharacteristic of the strongest sorcerer. the honored one. he’s lucky megumi isn’t here to tease him. he sounds pathetic and needy, and it makes your heart ache a little.
“sweets,” he whimpers, voice cracking slightly. “i’m six seconds away from dying, why’d you stop ?”
“so much for being the strongest . . ” you roll your eyes but you abandon the pillow instantly, hands returning to his hair. as soon as your fingers resume their threading through his soft strands, he goes boneless against you again, a shudder of relief running through him.
“okay,” you lean down to press a soft kiss to his forehead. “you were saying ‘toru. . ?” he presses his face deeper into your lap, breathing evening out the second you continue playing with his hair.
“sometimes,” he murmurs against your thigh, his voice barely audible, “i wish i could just kill them all. every last one of those old men in their stuffy rooms. it would make my life so easy.”
you don’t respond, knowing he doesn’t need you to. he just needs to say it, to let the darkness out where it can’t actually hurt anyone.
“no more long ass meetings,” he continues, his words slurring with exhaustion. “no more stupid reports, i’d finally have peace and quiet. i just want peace and quiet. . .”
you lean down again, this time pressing your cheek against the top of his head, your hand never ceasing its gentle movements through his hair. “i know,” you frown, “i know, toru.”
he sighs, the tension finally leaving his body and surrendering to the comfort of your touch, your presence is the only thing in the universe keeping him from spiraling. what would he do without you ?
꒰ 呪術廻戦 ꒱ › nerd!jo will always put you first. sfw.
fem!reader. very self indulgent fluff. college au.
it’s 2:34 in the morning, and the only light in your dorm room comes from your glowing laptop screen. your history paper, a fifteen-page monstrosity on the socioeconomic impact of the second world war, is due at 8:00 am. you’ve been surviving on a combination of caffeine and sour candy for the past six hours, and you can feel the exhaustion settling deep into your bones
you’re typing the topic sentence of your conclusion, when without warning, without so much as a flicker, your screen goes completely black and the low hum of the fan ceases. your heart hammers against your ribs, a beat of pure panic. no. no, no, no.
you spam the spacebar. nothing. you mash the power button, holding it down until your finger aches, then releasing it and pressing it again. nothing.
you try every combination of keys you can think of, hands trembling so badly you can barely type. nothing. the screen remains a void mirror that reflects your own, tear-streaked face back at you. the document. your sources. hours of work. . . gone.
a choked sob escapes your throat. tears spill over your waterline, blurring your vision until the dark screen is just a smear of nothingness. you can feel the panic building in your chest, squeezing the air from your lungs.
your roommate, shoko, is dead asleep across the room, her soft snores the only sound breaking the suffocating silence. you can’t wake her up. you can’t bother anyone with this. with the sole exception of satoru gojo, of course.
with trembling fingers, you grab your phone and pull up his contact. thumb hovering over your keyboard.
it’s almost three in the morning. satoru is meticulous about his sleep schedule. he needs his eight hours or he’s insufferable and cranky all day. and he has his biochem final today. you can’t. you shouldn’t.
but the thought of starting over from scratch, of facing this alone, is more than you can bear.
toru i’m gonna cry
[ 02:36 am ]
you stare at the words you’ve typed up, they’re so dramatic and unserious but you send them anyway.
i hate my fucking chungus life
[ 02:36 am ]
three little dots appear before you can even wipe the fresh tears from your cheeks.
toruuu ❤︎ :
What’s wrong baby?
[ 02:36 am ]
the simple text is enough to make another sob wrack your body. you type out a response, your fingers slipping on the screen.
my laptop isn’t working
i was working on my history paper
AND THE SCREEN WENT BLACK
[ 02:38 am ]
toruuu ❤︎ :
Everything’s going to be okay
Did you try restarting it?
[ 02:38 am ]
his calm, logical response is simultaneously comforting and annoying. of course you tried restarting it.
mhmm
i tried like six times it’s not working
idk what else to do
[ 02:40 am ]
toruuu ❤︎ :
Okay. I’ll come take a look at it
Give me a few minutes
[ 02:40 am ]
you’re sniffling quietly, trying to muffle the sound in your palm so you don’t wake shoko up. you feel so helpless, so stupid for not saving your work to the cloud more often.
ilysm you’re the best ❤︎
[ 02:40 am ]
toruuu ❤︎ :
I love you most Princess
Hang in there
[ 02:40 am ]
true to his word your phone buzzes again, eight minutes later
toruuu ❤︎ :
I’m here
[ 02:48 am ]
you slip out of bed, socked feet making little to no sound on the cold linoleum floor. you crack open the door just enough to see him standing in the dim hallway, a silhouette of messy white hair. he looks exhausted, eyes hazy with traces of sleep, hair sticking up at odd angles. his expression softens when he sees you
he steps inside, closing the door quietly behind him, and his arms are immediately around you, pulling you into a warm embrace. he smells like patchouli dreams and his clean laundry detergent. his large hand comes up to cup the back of your head, fingers smoothing over your hair as he presses a featherlight kiss to your forehead.
“shhh, hey, none of that,” he murmurs, wiping at the tears on your cheeks with his thumb. “it’s just a computer. we’ll figure it out.”
you nod into his chest, “i’m sorry i woke you up ‘toru.”
he just shakes his head, pulling back to look at you. “don’t be silly. you know i’d rather be awake with you than asleep without you.” he gestures with his chin towards your desk. “let me take a look at it”
you lead him to your desk, where your macbook sits. a 2017 pro with the glowy touchbar, decorated by a myriad of stickers from your favorite bands and cartoons. you can’t imagine parting with it.
satoru sets his own laptop bag down on your bed. the one he uses for gaming, a beast of a machine that he treats like his firstborn child. “here,” he says, unzipping it and pulling out the sleek laptop. “you can use mine to finish your paper. i’ll see what i can do.”
you want to protest, but he’s already booting it up. the screen lights up, and you can’t help but smile through your tears.
his lockscreen is a picture of you, fast asleep on his shoulder. he has dozens of widgets centered around you — your wishlist, your shared calendar, one that says ‘days since i last told my princess i love her: 0’. he types in the password ( your birthday, of course ) and hands it to you.
“try and finish your paper baby,” he says softly, already turning his attention to your dead laptop. “i’ve got this”
you settle on your bed, pulling the heavy laptop onto your thighs. you can hear satoru muttering quietly to himself as he gets to work. you sign into your microsoft account and pull up your most recent cloud backup to find that you’ve only lost the last few paragraphs. it’s salvageable.
you’re still sniffling occasionally and every time you do, satoru glances over at you, brows furrowed in concentration. “you okay over there?” he asks after a few minutes.
“yeah,” you murmur, not looking up from the screen. “i’m okay.”
he works in silence for a while longer. you can hear him humming to himself, technical nerdy stuff that flies completely over your head. “flex cable . . . backlight. . hinge.” he examines every port, every seam, long fingers moving delicately
finally, he lets out a long, heavy sigh. “oh, baby,” he exhales, and his tone is so full of pity your stomach drops. “i’m so sorry.”
“what?” you look up from his laptop, your heart starting to pound again. “can’t you fix it toru? you fix everything.”
he shakes his head slowly, “come here, look at this.”
you get up and move to stand behind him, peering over his shoulder at your laptop. he opens the lid just a tiny crack, a couple inches wide. for a split second, the screen flickers to life. you can see your desktop background, a picture of the two of you at the beach, and the thin sliver of light from the screen illuminates his face. then, as he slowly opens the lid further, the light sputters and dies, plunging the screen back into darkness.
“see?” he frowns quietly, closing it again. “your lcd cables are all shredded. they run through the hinge and over time they break. it’s a super common issue with this model.”
“no clue what any of that means,” your voice quavers, “can you replace it?”
“i mean, yeah, i can,” he says, leaning back in your desk chair and running a hand through his already messy hair. “it’s just . . it’s a risky repair. i’ll have to order the parts, and even then it’s a crapshoot. if i mess it up, i could damage the logic board, and then it’s really gone”
“so what do we do?” you whisper, feeling the panic start to creep back in.
he looks at you for a long moment, blue eyes heavy lidded and drowsy. “i can order the new cable and try the repair. if it doesn’t work. . .” he hums, trailing off as he considers the options, “i’ve backed up your macbook so i can transfer all your files to a new one.”
“i’m not buying a new one ‘toru,” you sigh, the thought of the expense makes your head spin even more than the lack of sleep.
a slow smile spreads across his face. the look he gets right before he does something completely unnecessary, all in the name of ‘taking care of you.’ “who said anything about you buying it?”
“you can’t just buy me a new macbook, satoru,” you scoff, your voice firm even as your heart does a little flip
“can’t i?” he raises a brow, leaning forward in the chair. “why not?”
“because it’s too much even for you! i can’t ask you to do that”
“it’s a good thing you didn’t ask then,” he shrugs, gently closing your broken laptop for good and setting it aside on the desk. he stretches as he clambers to his feet. padding over to the edge of your bed and patting his lap. “come here.”
you hesitate for a second before obliging. he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest and burying his face in the crook of your neck. his breath is warm against your skin and you can feel the steady beat of his heart against your back.
“how much of your paper do you have left?” he murmurs against your skin.
“almost done writing my conclusion,” you sigh, leaning your head back against his shoulder. “it’s probably not even that good.”
“don’t say that,” satoru tuts, giving you a gentle squeeze. “none of that self-deprecating stuff tonight. you’re brilliant and you know it.”
“i guess” you sigh, skimming through your body paragraphs
he shifts, maneuvering you both until you’re situated more comfortably on your bed. he’s propped up against the headboard with you nestled between his legs, your back to his chest. he places a tender kiss on your shoulder.
“you’re on the dean’s list for a reason,” he says quietly “finish up your paper. i’ll stay up with you.”
with him soothing you like this, the panic in your veins finally subsides. you type the last few sentences of your conclusion. you proofread your essay once, twice, then format the bibliography.
when you finally hit ‘submit’ on the university portal at 3:29 you let your head fall back against satoru’s shoulder with a soft thud.
“done?” he asks, voice thick with sleep. “done,” you sigh.
“so proud of you” he smiles, pressing another kiss to your shoulder. “time for bed, then.”
he gently takes the computer from your lap and sets it on the floor, then shifts you both down until you’re lying properly under the sheets. he doesn’t even try to walk back to his own dorm. he just pulls you into his arms, tucking your head under his chin to keep you close.
“toru?” you whisper into the darkness. “hm?” he murmurs sleepily
“thank you. for everything.” he just holds you tighter, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. “any time, princess.”
you know he’ll probably scold you for staying up so late in the morning but he’ll also make you matcha and help you look for a new macbook. one with the same specs as your now useless one.
you fall asleep knowing that this is just one of many nights. that there will be other disasters that feel like the end of the world. but you also know that satoru will always be a text away.
꒰ 糸師冴 ꒱ › sae accidentally hard launches you mdni.
pro player! sae itoshi x f! reader. inspired by mbappe so ooc lol.
sae itoshi despises social media with every fiber of his being. it’s too lukewarm for him. all his accounts are managed by some pr team that solely posts professionally shot photos of him and he only opens instagram for the following reasons:
to repost reels of his match highlights that re al’s social media team tags him in,
to reluctantly comment on shidou’s posts after receiving an absurd amount of threatening texts from him,
and to like your posts and stories within seconds of you uploading them.
the latter being the main reason he bothers to check the app.
you’ve been together since you were both awkward teenagers but sae is still adamant about keeping your relationship private. not because he’s ashamed — far from it — but because his fanbase is, for lack of a better word, unhinged.
they know he’s been in a relationship for years; he’s never denied it in interviews. what they don’t know is who he’s dating. and with how private the midfielder is, most fans had long since accepted that they’d never find out. but as fate would have it, they get their answer a few hours after re al wins the uefa champions league.
sae’s just gotten out of the shower, a towel slung low on his hips as he rummages through his bag for a fresh set of clothes.
“took you long enough” you sigh, you’ve been waiting for him on the king-sized bed — wearing nothing but his spare re al kit — for what feels like forever.
sae glances up, his usual detached expression softening for just a fraction of a second as his teal eyes sweep over you. he pads toward the bed, the carpet muffling his steps until he’s right in front of you, leaning over. his fingers brush against your collarbone as he traces the collar of the jersey.
“you’re wearing my kit again ?” he shakes his head fondly before saying, “it’s not even your size” he emphasizes his point by tugging gently at the sleeve hanging well past your elbow.
“it still looks better on me.” you grin as you look up at him.
“i think it looks better off you.” his gaze drops from your eyes to your lips and then he’s kissing you. veiny hand moving from the jersey to cup the back of your neck, holding you in place as he pours everything he felt during the match into your parted lips.
he barely pulls away, just enough to grab his phone from the nightstand without breaking the kiss completely. the screen illuminates his sharp features, casting a pale blue glow on his cheekbones as he opens the camera. he needs to commit this to memory, to capture this exact moment before he’s too lost in you to think straight.
there are few things sae itoshi loves more than taking pictures of you. he has thousands of them on his phone; candid shots of you sleeping, photos of you in his clothes, in your own, in nothing at all. on rare occasions he’ll post a picture or two on his close friends story. his way of showing you off without exposing you to his fans.
he doesn’t need to ask you to pose. you’re already turning onto your stomach, propping yourself up on your elbows, and looking back at him over your shoulder. you reach back with one hand and point directly at the number ten between your shoulder blades. the soft click echoes in the hotel room as he captures the image. it’s perfect. you’re perfect. he’d be an idiot not to post it.
he’s quick, thumbs flying across the screen as he types out the caption, ‘the re al trophy’. he hits what he thinks is the right button to share this moment with his small, curated list: rin, his teammates, and shidou — who will undoubtedly send a tirade of messages saying he should be the one celebrating with sae instead of you. he tosses the phone onto the bed beside you, his attention immediately returning to more pressing matters. i.e. taking his jersey off you
he’s leaning in to press a kiss to your shoulder when his phone vibrates. once. twice. then far too incessant for a close friends story. he breaks away with a frustrated groan, snatching his phone up. to his surprise and dismay, it’s not just shidou being shidou for once. but a tsunami of notifications from his official account.
his eyes widen as he opens instagram and sees it: the picture of you, in his kit, pointing at his number. posted to his public story, not close friends. thirty seconds ago. he scrambles to delete it even though he knows it’s already too late.
“shit” his thumb hovers uselessly over the screen as the notifications continue to pour in, each one a fresh wave of public exposure. the internet moves fast when it comes to sae itoshi.
you raise a brow, turning to look at him, “what’s wrong ?”
he doesn’t answer right away. his gaze is fixed on the ceiling, but you can tell he’s not actually looking at the ornate plaster. his jaw is tight, muscle ticking beneath his skin, and his eyes are clamped shut.
years of privacy, of sidestepping paparazzi and shutting down invasive questions, of keeping the person he loves safely beyond the reach of public scrutiny — all undone in less than thirty seconds.
he drops the phone onto the bed as if it’s burned him, running a hand through his damp maroon hair, “i posted it” he mutters dejectedly. and when you remain unfazed he adds, “publicly.”
you blink, processing his words. the indifferent look on your face, completely at odds with the panic etched onto his. “oh.” you say, your voice surprisingly calm. “well, that’s one way to do it.”
sae stares at you like you’ve just grown a second head. “that’s all you have to say ?” his voice is strained, “you’re not upset ?”
“why would i be ?” he lets out a sigh of relief, picking up his phone again. his pr manager’s name is flashing on the screen, but he ignores it. he clicks on the story a fan account’s tagged him in. they’ve already zoomed in on your face, trying to match you with old, blurry pictures from the stands. it won’t take them long to find your account. you reach out to still his frantic scrolling by placing a hand on his wrist. “are you upset, sae ?”
“obviously” he stops scrolling, his thumb frozen on the screen, but he can’t bring himself to look at you, “i’m very upset with myself.”
“why ?” you press gently, your thumb stroking the inside of his wrist.
“because i was careless” he admits, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. “and i would’ve preferred to do this properly.”
you shift, moving to kneel in front of him, your hands resting on his tense shoulders. you start to knead the tight muscles, feeling him gradually relax under your touch. “define ‘properly’”
he doesn’t answer right away. he leans into your touch, his head bowing slightly as you work out a particularly stubborn knot between his shoulder blades. “i don’t know . . . i just wanted it to be on our terms. when we were ready. not because i fumbled with my phone like an idiot.”
sae itoshi, who can slot a penalty past the world’s best keeper without so much as trembling, is freaking out over an accidental hard launch. you can’t help but laugh. it makes his shoulders, which were slowly relaxing under your touch, stiffen all over again.
“don’t laugh at me. it’s not funny,” he mutters, though there’s no real heat behind his words. “not in the slightest.”
“you’re right, it’s not funny, it’s adorable” you lean in and press a kiss that makes his frustration fade away to his lips.
deep down, beneath his initial panic, sae’s glad. he’s glad because he knows that once the world gets over the excitement of finally knowing who you are, he can finally show you off the way he’s always wanted to. he can finally hold your hand walking down the street, kiss you in the stands after a goal, and take you to those fancy award dinners he’s always avoided. the thought of it all makes his heart race. some mistakes are worth making.
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꒰ 呪術廻戦 ꒱ › gojo’s eyes glow when he’s close mdni. unprotected piv ⁝ inappropriate use of reverse cursed technique. overstimulátion ⁝ inspired by this tiktok i saw a few days ago ✶
there’s a whole galaxy in the space between satoru’s lashes. you could spend hours just watching his eyes. they’re the kind of blue that doesn’t feel real, wisps of the sky and the deepest parts of the ocean. you’ve memorized the way they darken when he’s focused, the way they soften when he looks at you, and the way they glow when he has you caged beneath him.
the first time you notice it, you’re intertwined in the dark of your bedroom. the only light source is a lunar sliver cutting through the curtains. satoru’s moving above you, a steady rhythm that has you arching into him, nails digging crescents in the sweat-slick muscle of his shoulders.
“that’s it baby” he murmurs, skin against skin echoing in the room, “keep looking— hck— at me”
his eyes light up. familiar blue flares into a something unrecognizable — a white neutron star. it’s blinding. you squeeze your eyes shut as a gasp falls from your lips.
when you open them again, the luster is dim. his usual azure gaze is fixed on you, though his pupils are blown wide, practically swallowing the color whole.
“toru. . .” you breathe, heart hammering against your ribs. “what was that?”
he stills, hips pressed flush against yours. a cocky grin spresding across his face, “what was what?” he teases, though his voice is hoarse and his breath is ragged as he leans down to graze your collarbone
he chooses that exact moment to roll his hips and the follow-up question dissolves on your tongue, forgotten in a haze of pleasure. but you don’t forget the sight.
you can’t. not when it’s seared onto the back of your eyelids
you start to anticipate it, heavy-lidded eyes squinting to commit each subtle tell to memory. you notice the way his breath hitches, the way his hands grip you tighter, knuckles growing paler with each thrust. a delicate, pretty pink flush spreading from his face to his chest. beads of sweat glistening in the moonlight
and then when he’s right there, on the verge of it all, his eyes are filled with starlight. the closer he gets, the brighter they burn. until the blue between ivory lashes is eclipsed by the intensity of his cursed energy
now it’s all you can focus on when your legs are wrapped around his waist and his name falls from your lips like a fervent prayer.
he’s rutting into you, all inklings of restraint gone. his forehead rests against yours. his pretty blue eyes, blanched out by an incandescent white, are locked on yours and they’re so, so bright you can see your reflection in them.
you’re the center of his universe.
“mhh ‘toru” your whimper, your body jolting as he shifts his angle ever so slightly. yet another orgasm ripples through you. you clench around him as your back arches off the bed.
you’ve lost count completely. they all blur into each other, leaving you boneless
“fuuuck” he chokes out, his hips grind against yours in a circular motion that has you seeing stars, “squeezin’ me like that i’m—”
his words are swallowed by the guttural sounds reverberating in his chest. his whole body goes rigid above you and his eyes are blinding white. you feel him pulse as he spills into you, marking you from the inside out. there’s so much of it.
satoru buries his face in the hollow of your neck. for a fleeting moment, there’s only the sound of your heavy breathing. the light from his eyes fades, plunging the room back into a familiar dimness.
within seconds, he props himself up on his elbows. hair disheveled, white strands plastered to his forehead with sweat, lips swollen and red from your kisses. eyes already starting to simmer again
“you’re so beautiful” he murmurs, cupping your cheek in his hand. all you can do is lean into his touch. you turn your head just enough to press a kiss into the center of his palm
then you feel it, a wave of renewable energy that washes away his exhaustion, soothes his strained muscles, and clears the blissful fog from his mind.
he’s using his reverse cursed technique for something so selfish, so human. his lips brush against the shell of your ear “‘m not even close to done with you,”
he doesn’t give you a chance to respond. he pulls out slowly, letting you feel every thick inch of him before he slams back into you, burying himself to the hilt in one fluid motion.
his eyes are glowing again, nearly too much to look at. you have to fight the instinct to shield your face from the sheer intensity of his gaze. a celestial force that has absolutely no business belonging to a human, albeit the strongest
it’s the most beautiful, yet terrifying thing you’ve ever seen.
꒰ 呪術廻戦 ꒱ › nerd!jo hates your energy drinks sfw.
fluff fluff fluff + nerdy chem stuff. very self-indulgent
satoru loves you so completely it feels like a fundamental law of his universe, as unchangeable and indisputable as gravity, polarity, and einstein’s theory of general relativity.
but he hates your energy drinks with an intensity that rivals his love for you
he hates the garish colors of the cans, the aggressive branding, the chemical-sweetness that clings to you after you’ve had one. and most of all, he hates what they do to you.
he hates the subtle tremor in your hands that you try to hide by shoving them in your pockets. he hates the way your eyes dart around, unable to settle on one thing for too long, he hates the slight spike in your heart rate when he presses his ear to your chest, a frantic rhythm that has nothing to do with him and everything to do with the caffeine coursing through your veins.
sometimes, late at night when you’re curled up against him, he’ll trace your face with his fingertips and think about all the articles he’s read, all the studies about cardiovascular health and the long-term effects of chronic caffeine consumption.
he finds himself terrified because he loves you too much to watch you slowly poison yourself, even if it’s in the name of productivity.
when satoru finds you in the kitchen each morning, he doesn’t even have to look up to know what you’re holding. he just knows, and his jaw tightens
“another one?” he asks, he’s leaning against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, glaring at you like you’re about to drink a vial of poison.
you take a deliberate, long sip, the sugary, chemical taste coating your tongue. “good morning to you too, ‘toru.”
he pushes off the doorframe and walks over, snatching the can from your hand before you can stop him. “do you even know what’s in this? do you even know what taurine is?”
“does it matter?” you groan, reaching for it to no avail. standing at well over six feet, he holds it out of your grasp effortlessly.
“the artificial sweeteners in here,” he starts, already in lecture mode, “the obscene amounts of sucralose and acesulfame potassium in these is what’s making your stomach hurt all the time. it’s altering the composition of your intestinal bacteria and making you bloated”
you rub your temples, a dull throb already starting behind your eyes. “i know, toru. you’ve sent me seventeen articles about it this week alone.”
“have you read any of them?” he queries, a frown tugging at his lips
“i skimmed,” you admit, trying to grab the can again. he’s too fast, “your fearmongering makes me anxious”
“no sweetheart, that would be the caffeine stimulating your central nervous system and triggering your adrenal glands to pump out cortisol and adrenaline. think about how many milligrams of caffeine are in each can. every time you crack one of these open you’re forcing your body into fight-or-flight”
satoru finally looks at you, his glasses slipping down his nose slightly. his blue eyes are filled with concern that makes you feel guilty. “baby, the long-term effects on your cardiovascular system are terrible. you’re increasing your blood pressure, elevating your heart rate, and putting yourself at risk for arrhythmias. . . especially when you drink them like water. you’re torturing your nervous system”
you sigh, leaning against the counter, the exhaustion already creeping in despite the caffeine you just consumed. “yeah well, i can barely function without them. what am i supposed to do?” you ask, your voice sounding smaller than you’d like. “i have too much on my plate, i can’t just stop drinking them.”
“i worry about you,” he says simply, and the sincerity in his tone makes your heart squeeze. “i hate seeing you like this”
his fingers trace your jawline, and you lean into his touch despite yourself. “i just need to get through the day,” you whisper.
“i know, baby, i know” he says softly. “but we can find something that doesn’t slowly poison you like a matcha latte or black tea”
you smile up at him. “only if you make it for me.”
he grins, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “deal. but no more of these,” he says, tapping the offending can. “they’re all going in the trash.”
you know he’ll probably follow you around all day to make sure you don’t buy another one, and you know you’ll have a headache by noon, but as he pulls you into a proper kiss, you find that you don’t really mind. for once, it’s okay to let someone else take care of you.
“sit down baby.” he murmurs softly, “i’ll make you a matcha latte, and if you hate it, we can try something else tomorrow morning”
꒰ 呪術廻戦 ꒱ › satoru’s the luckiest man alive. sfw.
gojo x fem! reader. canon-compliant. tooth-rotting fluff. est rel.
it’s one of those summer afternoons where the air feels thick enough to swim in. tsumiki’s somehow managed to drag a very reluctant megumi to the community pool, leaving you and satoru to melt into the worn leather of your couch together. your head’s resting on his lap, the thin fabric of his shorts doing little to mask the heat radiating off him. a well-loved paperback of pride and prejudice with a creased spine is lying open on your stomach, but the words have started to blur into meaningless black squiggles. you let out a sigh. lifting the book and letting it fall to the floor with a soft thud.
“oh?” satoru murmurs. “finally done reading about ‘your darling fitzwilliam’ ?” his hair is slightly damp, a few snowy strands clinging to his forehead. his blindfold’s pushed up and he’s looking down at you with an amused smile playing on his lips.
“don’t call him that,” you mumble, swatting at his knee. “you have to call him mr. darcy. calling him fitzwilliam just ruins his sex appeal.”
“tell me, does fitzwilliam make your heart flutter the way i do ?”
“i don’t have the energy for your nonsense today, satoru” you groan, draping an arm over your eyes to block out the harsh light filtering through the curtains “it’s too hot”
“c’mon, sweets, humor me,” he murmurs, leaning down until his face is merely inches from yours. “i want to play a game with you.”
“what kind of game ?” you ask, your voice muffled by your arm “if it involves getting up from this couch, i’m not interested.”
“no moving required,” he promises, “it’s a naming game. we’ll take turns, ‘kay ?” you raise a brow but you’re too lethargic to question him
“name all the things you like about satoru gojo. see who can name the most. my turn.” he claps his hands together, “everything.” he claps again, looking down at you with an expectant grin.
you can’t help but roll your eyes, “you can’t just say everything” you scoff, “that’s cheating, now i’m obviously not gonna play”
it’s almost comical how quickly his smug grin melts away, replaced by a persistent pout. his lower lip juts out, his eyes widen, and he slumps back against the couch cushions with a wounded sigh. “sometimes it feels like no one appreciates me.” he mumbles
“oh, you’re such a baby,” you sigh. satoru’s genuinely sulking. the strongest sorcerer of the modern age, pouting because you won’t stroke his ego. it’s ridiculous, but it’ll be great practice for your vows
with another sigh, this one more resigned, you prop yourself up on your elbows, facing him. his pout is still in full effect, but his bright blue eyes are watching you, a flicker of hope in their depths. “fine, i’ll humor you” you concede, rolling your eyes. satoru immediately perks up, pout vanishing as if it never existed.
you take a deep breath, humid air filling your lungs. “okay. i like how funny you are. sometimes i think you might genuinely be the funniest person i know. you find humor in things no one else does and you make me laugh even when i want to strangle you. but i think you should know that your pranks aren’t funny in the slightest and you really need to stop messing with ‘gumi and nanami”
“i think my pranks are hilarious” he protests. you hold up a finger to his lips to silence him.
“nope,” you say firmly, though there’s no real heat behind it. “your pranks are cruel and unnecessary. poor megumi just wants to live his life without you constantly trying to give him an aneurysm.”
satoru nips playfully at your finger, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. you yank your hand back with a gasp, swatting at his shoulder.
“i retract my previous statement. you’re not funny, you’re annoying” you grumble, though you can’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips. “quit messing around or i’ll go back to reading.”
“noooo,” he whines, “i’ll behave, i promise. cross my heart and hope to die. well, not really die. that wouldn’t be very fun” you glare at him, but you carry on regardless
“another thing i unfortunately like about you is how caring you are,” you hum, “you try — and fail — to hide it but anyone who truly knows you, knows that you’ve got the biggest heart in the universe.”
you shift, getting more comfortable, your fingers tracing the faint scar that starts at his neck and trails down his torso. he tenses slightly but he doesn’t shrink away. “and how selfless you are” you add softly, “the sorcerer killer was an asshole, but you’re still taking care of his kids. you took them in and gave them a home. you didn’t have to do that ‘toru. no one would’ve blamed you if you didn’t.”
you pause, your fingers still tracing his scar, “you could’ve walked away y’know ? after everything. you could’ve left it all behind and no one would’ve been able to stop you. but you put your own feelings aside and you stayed which leads to my favorite thing about you,” you say, and now your voice is barely a whisper. “the thing i love most about you is that you’re strong.”
you hold up a hand before he can make a remark about how that’s kind of his whole deal “and i’m not saying this because you’re the strongest. i’m not talking about your cursed energy or the six eyes or any of that. i mean you’re strong in here.” you reach out and gently tap his chest, right over his heart.
“you’ve been through so much, ‘toru. you carry the weight of this whole world on your shoulders, you’ve seen so much suffering. you’ve lost so many people. and you never, ever let it crush you. you’ve seen the absolute worst of our world, and yet you keep smiling every single day. you choose to find joy even in the darkest moments. and it makes me feel safe, makes me feel like everything might actually be okay.”
you feel your own eyes start to prickle with tears. “and i love you,” you say, the words feeling huge and overwhelming in the small, hot room. “i love you with my whole heart. every part of you.”
for a moment, he’s just staring at you, his expression unreadable. and then you see it. a shimmer in his eyes. a single, perfect tear escapes, tracing a path through the faint sheen of sweat on his cheek. and then he’s wrapping his arms around you, pulling you flush against his chest, and all his weight is pressing into you, pinning you to the old leather couch.
“satoru — get off me — you’re heavy—” you squeal, pushing at his shoulders to no avail. it’s like trying to move a mountain.“it’s like a sauna in here, get off !!!” he’s not listening. he’s burying his face in the crook of your neck, and you can feel the dampness of his tears against your skin as he peppers kisses against your jaw, cheek, and the corner of your mouth.
“i love you,” he’s murmuring between kisses, his voice thick with emotion. “i love you, i love you, i love you.” you’re still squirming, still complaining about the heat and his weight, but your protests are losing their steam. your hands, which were pushing him away, are now pulling him closer. his eyes are shining, and his smile is so wide it looks like it might split his face in half. the summer heat doesn’t seem to matter so much anymore.
