a/n: satoru! with! long! hair! - that’s it, that’s the post
mdni - nsfw under the cut
long hair but not the way suguru’s hair is long.
long hair as in it’s been a while since he had a moment to himself, let alone time for a haircut. so when he returns home to you after yet another long mission, his hair is falling into his face and over his eyes, almost hiding them completely from view.
“looks strange, right?” is the only thing he says with a grin when he sees you standing at the door, eyes wide.
he prefers his usual look, the undercut, the controlled unruliness. but you? even though you think you’re being sneaky, he notices.
those quick little glances through the fogged up mirror when you catch him fresh out of the shower. it’s not the towel sitting way too low on his hips that has your gaze lingering longer than usual - it’s the semi-dried white chaos on top of his head that’s making you want to follow every drop that drips from his ends and trace it down his skin. the time you usually take to brush your teeth suspiciously doubles.
or later that same night, when he rests his head in your lap only for your hands to absentmindedly tangle in his hair. with your attention captured by the movie you had chosen together, your fingers fall into a rhythm of their own, twirling lock after lock around your index finger, over and over again, like a mantra. he would love to let you lull him to sleep with your steady, repetitive motions, let himself drift off under your touch right where he is - but he wants more.
he wants you to forget all about your movie when he pulls you onto his lap, hips between your thighs and arms wrapped around your waist, tightly, until your chest is completely flush with his. unknowingly you reveal what's on your mind once again, breath lodging in his throat when all the tenderness in the world concentrates in your fingertips, pushing back his bangs and running through his hair all the way until you arrive at the nape of his neck. your nails meet sensitive skin, and he shivers, electricity trickling down his spine. you search for his eyes, only to find him already watching you with overcast skies, longing pressing down on his lungs like humidity. you mirror him, your gaze stifling when it drops down to his lips and all at once the brewing summer storm in his irises unleashes, lightning cracking when he finally gets to kiss you, soft and scorching at the same time.
what he wants even more though, is to look up at your flushed cheeks and the reddish bruise threatening to form on your neck before he dips down between your thighs, drinking in the gasp that falls from your lips when his own connect with your most sensitive spot. your breathing quickens, air sticking to your airways as he coaxes only the sweetest sounds out of you with every flick of his tongue. you push him closer, white locks spilling out from between your fingers - but he still needs more. you miss the near-devious look from under his heavy eyelashes as he abandons his firm hold on your hips and trails up your thigh, only to travel down again until he’s right in between. a broken moan slips from your mouth when he slides his fingers in with one smooth motion, your hand coming up to stifle it and prevent the sound from bouncing off the walls of your living room. you grab onto the loose collar of your shirt, bracing yourself for what you know is about to come - but he moves agonizingly slow, slowing down all of his motions until you're reduced to a rubber band pulled taut by impatience.
his name mixes with an exasperated groan on your tongue, head falling to the side onto the backrest of the couch.
“what’s wrong, love?” he purrs, looking up at you and halting his movements altogether.
the furrows between your brows deepen when he gifts you an angelic smile.
“tell me what you want.”
you reach out, gripping his hair again, the tenderness from before replaced by intention.
“do it properly.”
his eyes glaze over at the pleading tone you mutter your command in. he almost has you exactly where he wants you. just one more push-
“you sure you can handle it, baby?”
he watches it snap in your eyes, your refusal to play along evident in the way you use your newfound leverage to push him back between your legs, right where you want him the most.
without granting you a single breath more, he suppresses a triumphant grin and his lips reattach, fingers slipping back in to curl right against your spot with absolute precision. sudden sweet pressure has your back arching up into him and your fingers pulling on his hair, hard, tearing a moan from him that immediately intertwines with yours.
maybe he‘ll consider postponing that haircut - just for a little while longer.
this is what i have in mind if you need a visual for the hair LMFAO
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thinking about how satoru seems like such an indulgent type, esp with his sweet tooth and the fact that he’s so busy he rarely has time to stop and enjoy things properly. so when he does manage to catch a moment or two, he kisses you like he wants to savour it to the full, just like one would do with an expensive treat.
he’s slow and meticulous, taking his time, whether you’re cornered in an empty classroom for five minutes or home alone on a day off; it’s a hand grabbing your hip, gentle fingers on your cheek, a nudge against the tip of your nose. but don’t mistake that for some kind of restraint, he would never dream of denying you - or himself - anything you both wanted, not with your busy schedules and limited time. this was simply a different need; a need to push and pull, to trail light kisses up the expanse of your neck, the line of your jaw until one of you gives in to that little flash of impatience that makes you want to grab, hold and lean in.
and even if he’s the one to cave in, he kisses languidly, soft lips melting against yours like ice cream on a hot day. you’re a sugar rush to him and he would do this all day if he could. at this point, it all comes to him instinctually; the amount of pressure, the tilt, when to chase after your lips if you dare pull back for a breath, and most importantly - how to not miss the moment when it’s time to bite down on the hard candy he’s been sucking on.
this is where the thrill lies for him; when your lips part and his tongue slides against yours, when he gets to taste just how sweet you really are. it’s pure indulgence when he grasps your chin to pull you closer, hold you tighter, kiss you deeper. with every heated kiss you share, he feels hot blood rush through his veins, aiming for that familiar destination; soft moans pass between your lips and every flick of your tongue feels more intoxicating than the last. he pushes his limits to the max, lungs constricting with a lack of air before he’s forced to pull back, panting.
his eyes flicker across your face; pupils blown, lips red like a cherry lollipop - everything about you is temptingly delicious, so much that it takes everything in him to not overindulge. he’s an epicure at heart, knows he should always leave off with an appetite - except for the times when he’s not. when a smile cracks his lips and he decides to stretch the time you don’t have, his mind already wandering off to his office, that expensive chair and a locked door before he even grabs your hand to pull you along.
summary: after suguru leaves, you notice curses lingering around you. you go to confront him about it, but by meeting him again, you discover that some things seem to remain intact, even when you expect them to have been broken long ago.
c/w: sfw, sorcerer!reader, cultleader!geto, swearing, smoking & cigarettes, lovers to enemies to lovers kind of??, reader was negatively impacted by geto leaving & is lowkey obsessed with him, geto is lowkey obsessed with reader hehe, POV switches, no use of y/n
w/c: 1.2k
a/n: this was a just random thought that refused to leave my brain after i saw this (artwork by the great @521jie on X/Twitter!!). this is the verY first time i’ve ever written a proper fic (in my noTES APP ekkxkd) and posted it soooo (hELP LMAO) see it as an experiment. anyways enjoy - or don’t, your choice.
When he heard his own name cutting through the pattering hum of the rain, he couldn’t help but choke on the cigarette smoke he’d just inhaled, violent coughs instantly ripping through his lungs.
Lured into turning towards the strangely familiar voice, he expected to be met with nothing but endless rows of trees surrounding his temple.
Auditory and visual? Can‘t be.
It really was you - stalking towards him through the muddy grass, hair glued to your wet cheeks, and wearing a scowl he had never seen on your face before.
His name slipped over your lips again, raw animosity packed tightly into each syllable. It made his heartbeat stutter - but not out of fear. He tried his best to suppress a smile.
”You need to stay the fuck out of my business,” you snarled, almost baring your teeth at him like a wild animal.
You looked disheveled at best, uniform dirty and ripped like you‘d just come from a fight - or a particularly rough mission.
He tilted his head, losing against the lopsided grin that spread across his lips.
You were even more alluring than he remembered.
Your stance, your demeanor, your energy - you were there, right in front of him - but you felt so different.
It must be true then.
Mere months after he had left, the rumours surrounding you caught up to him. You had changed, evolved, fallen heir to that damned position that previously belonged to him.
It had made you impulsive. Reckless even.
There were whispers of binding vows and devilish pacts - your soul exchanged for power. That one he could only ever scoff at.
Ridiculous.
Your soul was already spoken for, traded on a mellow spring evening many years ago, the same day he had lost his own.
Through the nagging ache in his stomach he had tried to convince himself that you were someone who wouldn’t venture out and look for trouble - just because you could.
At least that’s who you used to be.
So the very moment he sent out that first curse, tasked solely with keeping a watchful eye over you while you complete your missions, he was aware that you would absolutely hate this - if you ever found out.
And now it seemed like you had.
”You came all this way just to tell me that?“
He took another drag of his burned-out cigarette, feigning nonchalance to conceal his shaky hands. Fucking adrenaline.
”This could’ve been a text, darling.“
Withstanding the look of your frozen-over eyes was easy. But he did wonder if the ice around your irises was unbreakable.
You scoffed at him. What a bastard.
Three years.
For three whole years, you had seen remnants of his face in every person you passed on the street. Found traces of his energy in every grotesque curse you exorcised.
The slope of his nose, the curve of his lips, the limitless patience in his eyes - you were cursed with never forgetting them. There was hardly a day where your subconscious hadn‘t forced you to face him, awake or asleep.
And now there he was - flashing you that same old stupid smile. Your lungs constricted with every breath.
His hair was longer than the last time you’d seen him, his features sharper, more refined. You clenched your cold fingers into fists, physically denying yourself the primal urge to just reach out and touch.
He must have been woven out of pure magnetism, his mere presence was enough to pull you towards him. It was impossible to blame anyone for mistaking him for some celestial being and finding themself trapped in his orbit.
You had been his first victim, after all.
However, he had made his choice.
And you had made yours.
A definite, irreversible reminder, stomping out any links that existed between you two.
Or at least it should have.
The driving anger that had brought you here in the first place crept its way back into your guts, pushing away any residual fondness and making you cross your arms and lift your chin. You were not going to humor his remark with a response.
“Why?“ A demand, not a question.
“Why do you send them after me?“
No combination of words could answer this without revealing to you what was locked away deep in his chest.
He chuckled quietly, seemingly unbothered, but his restless hands gave him away, driving cracks into his carefully crafted facade. They disappeared into his pockets, only to pull out a pack of cigarettes.
“For old times‘ sake?“
He extended his arm, just enough so you could reach the top of the pack but not the fingers that held it at the bottom.
You glared at him with knitted eyebrows when a bright orange something, carefully stuffed between the remaining cigarettes, caught your attention.
When you realized what you were looking at, your eyes widened, instantly shooting back up to his face.
His grin had turned sheepish. Caught.
”Your lighter. Is it-„
”Yes.“
Slender fingers quickly pulled the lighter out, throwing it to you effortlessly.
You managed to catch it, flipping it around in your palm a couple of times. It was cheap, worn out from extensive use, and painfully ordinary.
Scribbled on the back, however, was an almost faded, uneven black heart. Done with an equally cheap permanent marker and by no one other than yourself.
You had given it to him a lifetime ago, shortly after the two of you had acquired your first shared pack. You had felt so awfully grown up back then.
”I can’t believe that thing still works,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him.
His eyes darted away from you as if you had turned into the blinding sun herself.
”I take care of it, you know.“
Did you just walk into a trap?
You took in a sharp breath, the implication that came with the tiny mundane object in your hand was more than you could handle.
Your vision blurred for a fraction of a second, you tried to blink it away - but all you could see in front of you was him. Not the cult leader, the murderer, the curse user. Just him.
He’d expected many things to happen between the two of you, but not this kind of silence. Curiosity overwhelmed him, forcing his gaze back onto your face.
What he found there was a kaleidoscope of emotions, rapidly flickering across your features. Like hinges on a rusty old gate, they broke, tearing down what you had so rigorously molded around yourself.
The window he was peering through was small - and he could feel that he had absolutely no time to lose.
So he gave in, cutting across the two wooden steps leading down from the veranda, cigarettes long forgotten and dropped. Cold, merciless little daggers of rain immediately punctured his skin, but when his hands found your skin, it was so velvety, so warm under his touch.
You flinched at the familiar contact and closed your eyes. The soft pads of his fingers on your cheeks were a siren’s song, engulfing you, tugging you further and further into depths that you knew you wouldn’t ever be able to emerge from.
He didn‘t move his hands away.
You didn’t want him to.
His fingers brushed across your right cheekbone until they found their way through the tangles of your hair and to the back of your neck. He gently pulled you towards him, until your foreheads met and the air you breathed became the same.
”I‘ve been expecting you. Every day.“
Eternity passed.
You opened your eyes.
Maybe it was just the reflection of his own eyes in your blown-out pupils.
But there it was again.
Affection.
I’m kinda playing with the idea of writing a what happens after to this, but who knows…
lavender and bergamot - it’s everywhere; the air, your skin, the steaming water you‘re slowly letting yourself sink into, all the way until it‘s almost up to your nose, a ripple breaking up the perfectly smooth surface each time you exhale.
against your back you feel, more than hear, the deep, breathy chuckle of the man behind you, seemingly amused by your sudden fascination for disturbing the surface tension. you push yourself up, violet water sloshing around your bodies when you turn to look over your shoulder.
suguru looks downright surreal in the dimmed down light of your bathroom; his arms resting on each side of the bathtub, his hair down and damp, darker than usual and long enough for his tips to be submerged right by the juncture between his neck and his shoulders. droplets of water glide down the sculpted planes of his chest, courtesy of the high level of humidity in the room, that had also started tinging his usually so pale skin with a rosy pink colour, up to the highest points of his cheekbones.
he watches you savour the sight until your eyes lock with his, leaning forward when you look up at him from under your eyelashes. he kisses you, soft, reverent, short, his lips on yours just a fleeting brush of velvet.
his arms dip into the warm water to wrap around your waist, open palms on your skin, pulling you closer and sinking you both a little deeper again. your head tips back on his shoulder with a sigh when you start feeling your sore muscles let go of the tension they held on to so desperately. he plants another kiss on your hair before resting his cheek against it, making sure to stay enveloped around you until your eyes flutter shut, and he feels your breaths against his chest become even and deep.
i‘m drunk and at a party rn but hEAR ME tf out cause all i can coherently think about rn is going to a party with geto.
even tho you arrive together, you‘re quickly pulled apart in different directions because there are just too many people you haven‘t seen in a while, too many new faces to meet and befriend.
you bump into each other occasionally, sneaking glances and smiles or even a fleeting hand on your waist as he squeezes past you through the crowd with his friends. you wink at him once from across the room and he swears he can instantly feel the heat creeping down his cheekbones (he’ll blame it on the whiskey highball he‘s drinking tho if anyone is quick enough to notice).
and when the night slowly starts fizzling out, your alcohol-fueled elation mellows down and your social battery comes dangerously close to being depleted, you know exactly where to find him. sprawled out on a couch in a slightly calmer area, thighs parted and relaxed, one arm resting lazily on the backrest. you can‘t help the heart eyes you shoot him when you spot him sitting there, with a couple more stray hairs having escaped his half-up half-down hairdo. he pats his thigh when you approach and you are quick to oblige, pulling him closer to whisper „you ready to leave?“ in his ear, your question being immediately met with enthusiastic nods.
he insists on the both of you saying your goodbyes to everyone, too polite to pull an irish exit on your friends. and when you‘re done, you stumble out into the cold, catching an uber home.
it doesn‘t take long until you fall into bed together, hair untied and skincare done, tangled up in the sheets you giggle and laugh inbetween kisses and recollections of the night‘s events. when you tell him how you saw one of the guys fall asleep during some random drinking game, a laugh so sweet escapes him, it makes you wish you could hear it again and again and again.
it also doesn‘t take long until your words run dry and your lightweight kisses sharpen into nips and bites, the flush on your faces no longer just caused by the residual alcohol coursing through your veins but rather by the precise, well-rehearsed motions of your hands. one slow pull here, one lazy push there and finally the fabric of his sweats and your sleep shorts is no longer separating you from each other. the pace he sets is slow, languid, bordering on sleepy - eyelids heavy from exhaustion and pleasure. your nails dig into the soft shirt he‘s still wearing, gasps and pants intermingling between your lips until the tension you‘re both feeling builds and snaps like a rubber band.
after that, you don‘t just fall asleep, you black out, body heat ramped up enough for your sheets to be crumpled and hanging down the edge of the bed instead of wrapped around the both of you.
a/n: i am no longer drunk or at that party lmao but i found this in my drafts this morning - so to honour drunk me‘s dedication to sitting in a corner for 10 mins and writing this down, i‘m posting it in its og form
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suguru’s plan was a relaxing movie night - but you definitely had something else in mind…
what do you do when insomnia hits? exactly - make up scenarios with this man in your head (he my muse fr)
mdni - nsfw under the cut
————————————————————————
when it comes to movie nights, suguru and you mean absolute business. you’re doing it all - keeping lists, leaving letterboxd reviews and always preferring something new over a rewatch. once every couple weeks, however, a special rule you agreed upon comes into effect - comfort movies are rewatchable, at any given time and any number of times - no discussions, no veto.
so when he comes back to your apartment, sore and exhausted after a week that probably felt more akin to a month, you wrap yourselves into a blanket and huddle up on the couch with strategically placed snacks and his favourite movie queued on the big living room TV.
you keep sneaking looks at him throughout, intrigued by the way the flickering light dances across the bridge of his nose and his lips, by the way his eyes are fixed on the narrative unfolding in front of him even though you’re sure that he could recite the dialogues backwards if he had to.
you know that the only thing he probably wants right now is to relax. the only thing you want right now? him. so why not combine both?
you start your silent attack by repositioning yourself under the blanket, feigning that the comfortable position you were in has turned into one of discomfort and that the fact that your hand was now resting on his thigh was mere conincidence.
your fingers are subtle but restless and soon they inch closer and closer to the place you plan on conquering, ghosting over it, featherlight, not suspicious at all.
with his eyes still glued to the screen, he smirks knowingly. you turn to him, waiting with a lopsided grin.
you have him exactly where you want him.
“what do you think you’re doing?” taunting you, so sure of himself, so sure he knows what you’re up to. but when he sees the way you’re looking at him, his eyes widen.
before he can even register what’s about to befall him, you have already disappeared under the blanket, sweats pushed down and lips wrapping around the pretty tip of his barely half-hard dick.
he takes in a sharp breath, hissing your name through gritted teeth.
this was one of your favourite things to do, make him get hard just with your mouth. and he was very aware of your little preference, which only made it that much more enticing - and unfair - to him.
he pulls the blanket away, hand tangling in your hair solely to give him a better view of the spectacle in front of him. the sight alone makes him bite back a groan. but when you push down even further and have him hit the back of your throat, he loses complete control of the moan that escapes him and all the other ones that follow while you continue your skillful twirls and licks.
he’s beyond hard at this point, much to your silent satisfaction, and you’re not very suprised when you feel a gentle but firm grip on the back of your neck, pulling you away from him.
he crashes your lips together in a hungry kiss and when he pulls away, catching your chin in a similar grip like before, you can’t escape the intensity of his flared-up irises burning into yours.
“ride me.”
you raise a single perfectly arched eyebrow at him.
“please.”
you quickly find your place on his lap, lips instantly attaching to the flushed skin of his neck.
“hmm if you insist…” is the last thing you manage to hum against his skin before he captures you in another kiss.
mission accomplished.
————————————————————————
this is the first proper smutty thing i’ve ever written - so yay it’s a premiere. anyways i hope your hopefully well rested brain enjoyed this little drabble from my very sleep deprived one (pls excuse any errors - i am simply sending this out into the aether lul)
he still remembers the feeling of running his fingertips over the golden ridges of a certain vase back in the gojo compound. a rare, invaluable piece, passed down from generation to generation for several hundred years and decidedly off limits to tiny children’s hands. with every scolding it had become more irresistible to him, he was inexplicably drawn to it, the shape, the colours, the texture - so much that he still never visits his childhood home without sparing it at least a glance.
he doesn’t recall his first visit to the tokyo metropolitan art museum - he had probably been of primary school age, more interested in what the gift shop had to offer than whatever was hung up on the walls. but he remembers the first time a piece had resonated with him, shortly after graduating from jujutsu tech. he was quick to wrap one of the museum’s curators around his finger - a middle aged woman, wooed by nama chocolate and his eyes - granting him after hours access whenever he felt like it. he would go there, before or after missions, wandering through empty spaces or spending all his time in front of the same artwork until he was running late for yet another assignment.
but none of that is what he has in mind when he tells people about his love for the visual.
what he means is you, right now, sleeping in his bed.
the inward curve of the small of your back where he delicately runs his hand up and down, separated from you only by the alabaster coloured sheets you are wrapped in.
the shape of your spine that he traces all the way up to your shoulder blades, taking a detour to paint endless circles on your heated skin, his touch unhurried and light, careful not to pull you from your deep sleep.
the back of your neck where he follows the lines of your muscles, feeling the tension and stress before trying to soothe the exhaustion embedded in them with a gentle massage.
satoru can’t help the smile that tugs at the corner of his lips when he seemingly hits the right spot and you let out a deep sigh, melting further into the pillow you’re hugging to your face. his fingers brush up the nape of your neck and tangle in your sleep tousled hair that spreads out like brushstrokes against a canvas, his blunt nails steadily scratching your scalp and brushing back stray hairs that threaten to tickle you awake.
he freezes in place like a child caught in the act when all of a sudden your brows furrow and your nose wrinkles. his mother’s scolding words ring distantly in his ears again, the gentle timbre of her voice trying to make him understand that certain works of art are simply not made to be touched. only when you stir does he notice the sliver of sunlight that had crept through the windows of his bedroom right across your face.
you mumble his name like a question, voice heavy with sleep and eyes barely open to the sun-soaked sculpture of a man next to you.
“hey you,” he whispers, palm resting on your warm cheek. “finally you’re awake. i’ve been dying for some pancakes for hours now.”
you chuckle, wiggling closer to him and haphazardly pressing your cheek to his chest.
“not awake.”
“not awake?”
“mhmm.”
“and what about my pancakes?”
“yours always turn out better than mine anyways,” you grumble into his chest.
“that is so very true.”
there’s no need for you to see the faux smug expression on his face to know that it’s there when you instinctively go to pinch his side. he yelps, swiftly grabbing your wrist and holding it as far away from him as he can but you laugh like a cartoon villain, twisting out of his grasp and grabbing his wrist in turn.
he looks at you expectantly, ready for your next attack but you use your leverage on his arm to guide it to your waist. before you even manage to let go, his arm wraps around you, pulling you closer to him, open palm resting on your back.
you sigh contentedly, pushing your knee between his thighs and letting your eyes fall shut again.
“don’t you dare move your hand away for another hour.”
god, i would LOVE to hear ur thoughts about satoru's thighs, we do not talk about them ENOUGH (●´艸｀)ヾ
BESTIE I HAVE NEVER AGREED MORE WITH ANYTHING IN MY LIFE 🗣️🗣️
he himself never pays them much attention, thighs are just thighs yk - but not to you.
there are so many signs - your eyes trailing up his legs when you’re cramped in a changing room with him, sat on that ridiculous little stool and watching him try on like the fifth pair of jeans. or your refusal to join him at the gym after that one time. you lost count of how many times you had to bite your lip and look away that day, cheeks flushed not from the intensity of your workout, but from the way his shorts would ride up just right, exposing more than you could handle - especially in public.
so it’s no surprise that when you get him all to yourself, walking around your shared apartment in nothing but those damn boxers stretching around soft skin and defined muscle so deliciously, you can’t resist snapping the strained material against his thigh. you try to stifle your giggles when he whirls around, eyebrows furrowed and a pout on his lips, catching your wrist before you can repeat your offence a second time.
“why are you so obsessed with doing that?”
freeing yourself from his grip, you hook your fingers into the hem, pulling him closer to place an innocent kiss on his lips.
“would you rather i show you all the other things i’m obsessed with?” again.
his eyes widen just a bit, mind going into overdrive to conjure up the memories you just tapped into. his back against plush pillows, your lips on his neck, his chest, his hipbone. the shuddering breath he takes when he thinks he knows where you’re headed, just for you to diverge and bypass the target. your fingers pressing into the flesh of one thigh, while your kisses travel further down the sensitive inside of the other. the mischievous glint in your narrowed eyes before you sink your teeth into his skin, pleasure and pain tying in a race all the way to his very nerve endings, the arch of his back, the whimper that eludes him. your tongue gently soothing the sting, a stark contrast to the menace of a smile that spans across your lips right after, revealing how badly you wanna hear him make that sound again.
he is snapped out of it with another kiss, eyes refocusing and locking with yours again.
“where did you just go?” you purr, knowingly.
“show me.”
tagging @madaqueue bc ILY you fuel my delusion <33
