“y/n it’s two in the morning, what the fuck are you doing.” shoko said, shuffling behind you half asleep, dressed in pjs that matched yours while you squinted at your textbooks under the dim lights.

“…studying?”

“you were supposed to be in bed three hours ago.” she leaned on the doorway, crossing her arms over while you turned over in your seat.

“i’ll be right there, i promise—.” you were cut short when she walked upto you, cupping your jaw, planting a soft kiss to your lips before grabbing you by your wrists and pulling you away.

“you said that hours ago, you need sleep to function.”

“says you.” you rolled your eyes, allowing her to drag you back to your shared bedroom, polaroids of the two of you on the walls with her med school papers scattered over the floor and the sheets messy with her hair sticking up all funny from rolling out of bed to find you.

“i’m the medschool student, you should be listening to me.”

before you even had the chance to start questioning all her habits she kissed you, lips movie against yours before she jumped back onto the bed, beckoning you over with her arms.

you slowly crawled over, hovering on top of her before—

thud!

you landed right on top, your head resting on her chest, your legs tangled together before she moved her hand up to pat your head—kissing the top of your head before patting you on the cheek.

“aww is my pretty girl tired?” she cooed, watching you curl up on top of her like the cutest weighted blanket, slowly nodding while you wrapped your arms around her waist.

“exhausted.”

“yeah, yeah i’m sure you are, nerd.”

this is my first time writing sapphic content but trust me there’s more to come 🙂‍↕️

point nemo | fushiguro toji, gojo satoru, ieiri shoko, ino takuma, kamo choso, kong shiu, yuuta okkotsu ↳ making them sleep on the couch? you might as well have banished them to another planet.

a/n: this is what won the poll!! it was actually super close between this and a nanami fic, so I'll be posting that tomorrow :) this is baby's first smau, so hope you enjoy it! I feel like I'm actually pretty bad at texting irl, so this is probably awkward and bad, but fuck it. I also cuss a lot, but I feel like that's fine. some of these are more intense than others. warnings: cussing, mentions of violences and injuries, substance abuse, some toxicity. methinks that’s all. anyways, leave smau requests for sure, but honestly, I prefer writing....so don't expect like daily smaus or anything. love y'all <3 (also, this is just a random assortment of characters whom I was able to come up with ideas for....so if you want specific characters lmk).

synopsis : js period fluff !!

characters : gojo , geto , nanami , choso , toji , sukuna , shoko , ino , yuta x reader

warnings : period stuff

ʚ incl: gojo, geto, nanami, toji, choso, sukuna, higuruma, shiu, ino, shoko, uraume

ʚ cont: fluff

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

the first time you kissed shoko ieiri, you were staying over at her dorm after a party. you were both a drunk, giggling mess, wiping make up off each other’s faces in her obscenely small bathroom. you’re not sure how or why it happened, it just did. because it felt right.

it always felt right with shoko. every kiss, every breath against your heated skin, every sweet word in your ear.

none of those things ever left the confines of your dorms, though. you didn’t have an explanation for this, why neither of you would reach for each other’s hand in public, why at every party, you’d have to make it look like a pure coincidence both of you had to use the restroom, or suddenly be sleepy at the same time to leave.

it didn’t matter as long as it felt good when you were with her, even if it meant you couldn’t kiss her in the sunshine, but only cloaked in the moonlight.

the day before you graduated college, she took you to the beach. it was cloudy and windy, the ocean freezing between your toes. you wrote your initials in the wet sand on the shore, like some lovesick teenager, and watched as a wave wiped away half of the wonky finger-drawn heart, along with your name.

you never saw her again after graduation. no texts, no phone calls, shoko never posted on her social media accounts— and she soon became a ghost, buried along that part of yourself only she had ever been allowed to see.

it took some time, but life eventually forced you to move on. and that’s when he came— stable, kind, the promise of stability, the white picket fence life you were expected to want. everything that came after that happened so fast you were suddenly walking down the aisle in a white gown.

with a bouquet of wildflowers clutched between your hands, you spotted violets, and halted in your steps. violets— her favorite flower.

all those years of missing her suddenly dawned on you, and you didn’t think twice about turning on your heel and leave. the horrified gasps of guests didn’t reach your ears, the yelling, the shame they attempted to chain you down with.

you’d had enough of that.

so you stopped the first taxi on the street, bunched your gown in the backseat and told him to drive off. you knew exactly where you wanted to go.

the sun was high in the sky, shining down on the crystalline waves, the sand warm underneath your feet, heels held in one hand, a corner of your voluminous skirt in the other. there weren’t many people, but you did not care for their stares, not when your eyes when locked on the figure sitting by the shore.

you didn’t say anything when you sat down beside shoko, and neither did she. her hair was longer, her eyes more tired, but your heart still leapt in your chest when she turned to look at you. the first real reaction it’d had in years.

she smiled at you, soft and understanding, but never surprised— like she’d been waiting, and she knew you would’ve come back some day. when your fingers traveled across the golden grains to meet hers, she didn’t pull back, resting her hand on top of yours instead.

and promised to never hide again.

┊┊a/n. you might be thinking "what the fuck is wrong with you!?" and the answer is that i don't know either. please don't throw tomatoes at me

WLW

You ask your girlfriend if she'd still love you if you were a slug.

▪︎586 words, fluff, teasing, a little suggestive, making out, a bit of groping, etc▪︎

She’s sprawled out beneath you, one arm behind her head, the other tracing lazy circles against your thigh. The sheets are kicked down around her waist, skin warm and damp where your nightgown clings to it. The ceiling fan hums above, stirring the faint smell of oil from her hands and the lotion you’d used after your shower.

You say it out of nowhere. “What if I turned into a slug?”

Her brow furrows. “A slug?”

“Mhm.” You shift your weight on her hips, slow, like you’re testing her patience. “Slimy, slow, tragic little thing. Would you still love me?”

She gives a small laugh, one that doesn’t reach her eyes. “That would never happen.”

“But what if I did.” you insist, voice dipping. “Would you still—”

“No,” she cuts in, deadpan. “I’d pour salt on you.”

You blink at her, mouth parted in disbelief. “You’d what?”

Her grin grows sharp, a hint of teeth. “Salt. I'd melt you right down.”

“Oh, well then—fuck you.” You try to slide off her, but she catches your wrist quick, the same hand that had been idle seconds ago. Her grip is warm, solid.

“Hey,” she murmurs, tugging you back until your knee presses into her side again. “I’m joking.”

You don’t look convinced. She leans up, kisses your cheek—just there, where your skin still glows from the bath, and stays close enough that you feel her breath move against your jaw.

Her voice softens, low and amused. “You really think I’d let you crawl away from me? Slug or not.”

You huff, pretending to stay annoyed, but your smile betrays you.

Her hand slides higher, up the back of your thigh to where the nightgown rides. Not rough—just enough to remind you she could keep you here if she wanted.

When you finally meet her eyes, they’ve gone heavy, that slow burn you recognize. The kind that always starts like this—half joke, half threat, all heat.

“You’re so annoying,” you mutter, though your voice has gone softer, caught between irritation and a laugh.

She only hums, that low sound that sits somewhere deep in her chest. Her eyes never leave your face.

Then she pulls you down and kisses you—slow at first, then deeper, hungrier. Her mouth tastes faintly like mint and sleep. You feel the shift in her body, the way she moves to meet you, the way her hand slips under the hem of your nightgown. Warm palms slide over the curve of your ass, fingers flexing like she’s testing the weight of you.

You make a small noise against her mouth when she grinds up, the thin fabric between you doing nothing to dull the heat. She swallows it with another kiss, rougher this time, one that makes your chest ache a little.

“I love you,” she breathes against your lips, the words coming out between a sigh and a murmur.

You pull back just far enough to look at her. Her pupils are blown wide, eyes dark and certain. Your own heartbeat stumbles. “I love you too,” you whisper back.

She smiles. You press your mouth to her throat, feel the jump of her pulse under your tongue. Her hand stays on your ass, the other tracing up your spine until her fingers rest at the base of your neck. You kiss her again, slower this time, and the room goes quiet except for your breathing and the soft creak of the bed beneath you.

The kind of quiet that feels like promise.

The intimacy is open, messy, the kind of kiss that tastes like breath and want. Her tongue drags against yours slow, deliberate, until you forget the joke that started this, forget everything but how close she feels.

Her hands get greedy. One stays low, cupping you through the thin fabric, guiding you down against her; the other drifts up your side, fingers pressing into soft skin like she’s trying to memorize it. You feel her nails catch slightly when she grips, and it makes you gasp against her mouth.

She takes the sound, deepens it. The air between you grows thick. You break just long enough to breathe, foreheads touching, both of you slick with sweat already. Her thumb slides along the inside of your thigh, teasing without meaning to—just restless, needing you closer.

You kiss her again, harder this time. She meets you with a low noise that sounds half like a groan, half like a plea. Her hips shift under you, and you follow the motion before you even think. The nightgown rides up, cool air licking across the back of your thighs.

You pull back, just to look at her—her lips swollen, eyes glassy, hair stuck to her temples. She looks up at you like she might bite or beg; you can’t tell which.

You smile, breathless. “You were gonna pour salt on me, huh?”

She laughs against your jaw, open-mouthed and warm. “Not a chance.”

Dividers by @rmstitanics

:// Schoolyear of 2006, Jujutsu High

Click!

You lowered the camera, impatiently waiting as the blank photo slowly slid out of the chunky device.

"Can I see? Can I see?" Satoru had rushed beside you, almost toppling over poor Shoko as he leaned over your shoulder.

"In a sec, it still needs to develop, Satoru." You mused, waving around the photo and blowing on it lightly. You heard that that was supposed to help the colors come out quicker.

Shoko plucked the photo out of your hand. There were some hints of grey peaking through now. "If it looks bad, blame Satoru for moving so much."

"Hey! Not my fault I want to look my best!"

Suguru squinted at the photo, noticing the harder lines and shadows now. "It kinda looks like you blinked."

"No!" Satoru grabbed the photo, ripping his glasses off and bringing the picture to his face. "No I didn't! You can't even see my eyes!"

The first time Shoko catches herself staring, it's because of your hair.

You're leaning against the infirmary counter, still in yesterday's mission clothes, complaining about how the dry shampoo stopped working three hours ago. Your hair is somewhere between day-three and day-four, slightly flat but the lengths still holding that lived-in wave that makes it look expensive even when you swear it's a disaster. Strands catch the afternoon light slanting through the blinds and turn molten gold at the edges. There's a tiny halo of frizz framing your face like you just walked out of some indie movie scene.

Shoko's fingers twitch around the pen she's supposed to be using to sign off on your post-mission report.

"It's the hair," she tells herself firmly while you ramble about how you need to wash it tonight or tomorrow morning at the latest. "It's just the stupid hair. Anyone would stare."

She almost believes it.

Almost.