#loganblurbs

the director gives you both a few more seconds before yelling out the cue again, and this time satoru actually does pull away; with glossy, kiss-bitten lips and a lopsided grin to accentuate his expression. he hums in content, his eyes never leaving yours, hands still gripping onto your love handles hard enough for his fingers to leave indents in your skin

“oops, hehe. didn’t realize the scene ended,” he says, moving his thumbs in small circles over your waist before he’s letting you go entirely and taking a step back. his eyes rake over your form— the way your chest is still rapidly rising and falling with every labored breath, the small part in your lips as you stare back at him with a dumbfounded expression of your own

his hair is all over the place, standing up just a little bit with the support of the bandage. you take a moment to admire his face and you can’t tell with his eyes now fully covered but he’s looking right back into your own, feeling his heart jump for the nth time when he remembers how lucky he is to still have you and call you his

“you’re sure you can still see with this thing on?” you ask, a small, breathy laugh squeezing in between your words. he simply nods at you, smiling widely, booping your nose to confirm that he can, in fact, see just fine. you shake your head softly but hum in acknowledgement, cocking your head to the side as you glance at the strands now poking out from the back of his neck; almost resembling that of a mullet. it doesn’t look bad, per se, but the wispy strands are poking the side of his neck and he’s swatting his hand at them to get the ticklish feeling away

he likes to grab your face with both hands, rarely ever just the one. he kisses you like you’re both the stars of a movie— two lovers finally reuniting after a long and dangerous journey apart, a deep and passionate kiss shared as the climax of the movie fizzles out, hands desperately grasping at each other’s clothing for purchase; a poor attempt at grounding the intense romantic feelings they hold for the other

and, well— he kisses you like this even if you were just in the other room for a few minutes

ASK AND YOU SHALL RECEIVE!!!

you were taking a break in between filming when your co-star satoru gojo, the man who never needs to practice his lines all that often because he has an astounding memory, is suddenly knocking on the door of your trailer, asking if you would be willing to go over your kiss scene with him

he’s leaning against the doorframe with that prince charming smile of his, script rolled up into a tube in his hands, telling you he has some additional script notes he was hoping to discuss with you as well. yet he’s unable to hold back the smirk slowly forming on his face when you open the door wider to let him in, he’s unable to stop his arm from brushing against yours as he walks past you

of course, the “notes” in question are actually just your legs hanging over his shoulders, professionally-manicured nails digging into his arms, leaving nasty red marks while he pounds relentlessly into you. sweat builds up on his forehead from the exertion and sticks to his bangs, occasionally dripping down onto your bare chest, and if you weren’t already folded in half by him he’d lean down further and lick it back up

touch-starved!gojo with slight sensory issues after a long life adapted to his infinity being on almost all the time

touch-starved!gojo who shudders every time he feels the brush of your fingers against any exposed skin of his, who feels goosebumps rise on the back of his neck whenever you give him a hug (he hopes you can’t feel the way his heart starts racing, either)

touch-starved!gojo who needs a little bit of time to get used to your physical affection. he loves it, oh he loves it so much, but it makes his heart beat so so fast and his hands get clammy, the deep red blush on his face goes from the tips of his ears all the way down to his collarbone, he starts stuttering and, like — he’s satoru gojo… he doesn’t stutter but when you squeeze his arm in an affectionate gesture or even something little like poking his cheek or booping his nose it gets this reaction out of him that he isn’t used to, it’s almost overwhelming

touch-starved!gojo who, once used to your touch, craves it all the time. he’s about as clingy as a cat that just has to be sitting on or around you all the time every time you sit down, nudging his head under the palm of your hand to encourage you to stroke his hair, grabbing your wrist and putting your hand anywhere on his body: sometimes he brings it up to his face so you can cup his cheek or he’ll put it on his head so you can tangle your fingers in his hair. also likes to intertwine his fingers with your own and hold them close to his chest, right above his heart, or maybe even hold your hand on his lap whenever he sits down next to you

touch-starved!gojo who slowly and surely opens up to your affection and realizes just how badly he’d been craving this kinda closeness with somebody. he feels a literal ache in his chest when you’re both in the same room and he’s not hugging you, he feels like he has to be attached at the hip with you or else he’ll just die

touch-starved!gojo who is oh so vocal when you’re doing more intimate stuff in the privacy of your (or his) bedroom. it just feels so good to be completely full of the sensation of being with you, of getting to hold you, of being held. he would live in your skin if you’d let him, he wraps his arms tightly around you and if he’s not kissing your breath away he’s burying his face in the crook of your neck and letting your name slip out in between soft pants. even after you’re both done he’s falling asleep with his arms and legs wrapped all around you like a giant koala

he sees bits and pieces of himself in his baby. sees the way he rubs his eyes for a little too long in those first few weeks, how the mornings with him have to be handled so delicately (it turns out that a baby with the six eyes does not, in fact, like being woken up by the bright bedroom light above his crib).

he sees the way his little boy stands at the threshold of your shared bedroom with your husband, how the now 5 year-old rubs his tired eyes with one hand, just as he did when satoru would cradle him in his arms and rock him to sleep in the beginning. his other hand clutches his favorite blankie, holding the soft fabric close to his rapidly beating heart. he opens one eye again and then startles himself with whatever sight his mind conjured up, closing it immediately and holding the blanket tighter… the poor thing had just woken up from a nightmare