#🀥words i water 🀥

[riveredmoon]

facesitti- oh, history study lessons with nerd!reader and athlete!sukuna

warnings: mdni: fem!receiving oral

pt 2 3

“if you don’t pass this exam…” your voice wavers, just a bit. “you’re off the football team, ‘kuna.”

your thighs tremble on either side of sukuna’s tattooed face, one hand fisting in his pink-hued hair like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. the other gripping on to his history textbook. the answers for tomorrow’s test staring back at you.

you want to fight it — not really. but, you know you should because this is important and you’re the responsible one!!! but his mouth is already wet from your slick and you can’t really see because of how fogged up your glasses are.

“i know that,” he growls, eyes narrowed, lips brushing against your folds. “so, let me study.”

“sitting on your face isn’t going to help you s-stud — fuck.”

you groan — his tongue drags a long, slow stripe along your pussy.

“it is,” his thick arms wrapping around your thighs, slightly, pushing you even closer to his plump lips. his tongue flicking against your clit so lightly, you don’t realize you’re rolling your hips against his face in response. “making you cum means i’m focused.”

you roll your eyes, ready to argue — but then he spits on your cunt and sucks your clit into his mouth like it’s the only thing he’s hungry for. your thighs tightening around his head, the textbook slipping from your grasp. you scramble to keep it upright.

“read,” he mutters, voice muffled. “you know i have to pass.” he pulls back just a bit and you shiver at the sight of your juices on his face.

“and don’t drop the fucking book on my head, brat.”

“maybe you’ll get all the answers the- sukuna!”

his tongue dips into your hole, curling, dragging back out — cutting you off completely. you clench around his tongue, your hips rocking forward instinctively. chasing the friction.

he chuckles. you groan.

“what is the first question, smartass?” he smirks, kissing the inside of your thigh — soft and slow. his fingers digging into you hard, your hips twitching.

your fingers shake as you try to remember how to read — the textbook feeling like cement from how heavy it is in your hands.

“n- name the polic— fuck..” eyes squeezed shut, jaw slack — no sound coming out. just sukuna’s tongue finding its way back, lazily gliding through your folds.

your hips roll in slow, desperate circles. grinding against his face. his tongue speeding up just a bit. chasing after that pressure. wanting, needing more. your orgasm is coiling hot and fast in your gut.

you’re still trying to keep the textbook steady.

slap!

your thigh stings from his hand just met it. his tongue gliding sweetly through your folds — a stark contrast.

cheeks hot, eyes narrowed. “which made it illegal f-for any foreigners to enter jap-?”

“sakoku,” he growls into your pussy — his mouth immediately latching back onto your clit, tongue flicking hard and fast.

slurping from sukuna, intelligible strings of words from you, and the thud from the textbook hitting his pillow (just shy from his head) are the only sounds that could be heard.

your (now) free hand reaches for the headboard. soft whimpers slipping from your lips.

he tightens his grip on your thighs, fingers heavy and hot. and he grinds your cunt down onto his mouth. his nose grazing your clit the perfect amount.

your legs quiver, your pussy throbs, and suddenly, all that tension snaps like a rubber band.

“c-c-correct,” you pant, completely wrecked. you’re trying not to fall over. your orgasm rocking through you like how sukuna tackles players on the field — hard, hot, and angry.

“see?” he murmurs, “your pussy is a good teacher.” lips barely ghosting your folds. and all you could do is moan.

and then he goes right back in — groaning into you, eating through your spasms, tongue still working like he’s trying to pull another one out of you.

you’re a twitching mess — babbling and drooling. the answers for the test are long gone from your mind.

then he pulls back with a wet pop, spit and slick all over his chin and nose. smug grin on his face, all confident.

“next question, nerd,” he groans, voice muffled by your pussy as he pulls you back down. “you’re supposed to be helping me pass.”

thank you @lily-bisque for reading my first draft, ily!

[vyxenisl0st]

╰┈➤ 𝙎𝙩𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙙 𝙜𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙄𝙄𝙄

Alastor x reader

🀥 Summary: You despised the TV Demon—the sound of his voice, his face, and especially his incessant news channel. But what happens when he finally says something worth listening to?

🀥 Warnings: fem!reader, slight angst, vulgar language, threats

🀥 Word count: 925

Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V

ﾟ･:,｡★＼(^-^)��ありがと♪( ^-^)/★,｡･:･ﾟ

Cannibal Town was quiet at this hour. The usual hum of voices and occasional blood-curdling screams had faded into a comfortable stillness. You sat with Rosie, fingers fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve as she poured steaming tea into your cup.

“There we go, dear.” She set the teapot down and gave you a knowing smile. “Now, tell me what’s bothering you.”

You stared at the tea for a moment before glancing at your empty ring finger.

“Alastor’s back,” you muttered.

Rosie’s eyes widened, and for a brief second, her smile returned. “Well, that’s wonderful news! I know how much you—” She trailed off, her expression shifting as she took in your reaction. “Wait… you don’t look happy.”

You scoffed. “Yeah, well, there’s a reason for that.”

Rosie tilted her head, concern creeping into her voice. “What happened?”

You exhaled sharply, gripping the warm teacup in your hands. “He’s acting weird.”

She chuckled. “Darling, it’s Alastor. He is weird.”

You shook your head. “No, not like that. Not his usual unsettling, cryptic, ‘I know something you don’t’ weird. It’s… different.”

Rosie studied you for a moment, then leaned in slightly. “Did you talk to him?”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Tried to. But he didn’t come back to me, Rosie. He’s at that damn Hazbin Hotel, helping Lucifer’s daughter with her little ‘redemption’ project.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “And I had to find out about it from the TV Demon of all people.”

Her expression twisted in disgust. “Vox? Oh, that’s vile.”

“Tell me about it.” You tightened your grip on the cup, trying to keep your anger in check. “So, of course, I went to see him. And do you know what happened? He kicked me out.”

Rosie blinked. “He what?”

“In front of a whole room full of people,” you added, the humiliation still fresh. “Like I was nothing. Like I wasn’t his wife.”

Her brows furrowed, her fingers tapping against the counter. “That doesn’t sound like him.”

You let out a harsh breath, shaking your head. “I know. And that’s what pisses me off the most.”

Rosie was quiet for a moment before speaking carefully. “Maybe… he has a reason?”

You scoffed. “Oh, I’m sure he does. He always does. But it sure as hell doesn’t change the fact that he left me behind and didn’t even look back.”

A gentle hand rested on your shoulder.

“(Y/N), you are the strongest person I know,” Rosie said softly. “Your patience is admirable. You waited seven years for this man. Are you really going to throw everything away on the first day of his return?”

You opened your mouth to argue, but she squeezed your shoulder, cutting you off.

“Let him come to you,” she continued. “Let him explain himself. But first, let him find his words. And if he doesn’t…” Her lips curled into a playful smirk. “Then you officially have my blessing to broadcast his screams on his own radio.”

She winked, and despite yourself, a giggle escaped your lips.

You picked up your cup and took a sip of tea. The warmth spread through you, but the taste was… strange. Off.

During your years with Alastor, you never drank tea. It was his thing—too sweet for your liking. But after he left, you clung to whatever pieces of him you had left. The scent of boiling herbs in your kitchen reminded you of lazy mornings spent together. The sugary taste of flavored water brought back memories of soft, sleepy kisses before the day began.

But after a while, the memories faded. The taste lost its warmth, leaving nothing but a cloying sweetness on your tongue.

After a while, it was just tea.

But now? Now, you felt Alastor again.

Seven years.

What’s a few more days?

╭──╯ . . . . . . . . . . ╰──╮

You spent the next few days in your district, trying—and failing—to ease your mind. Work, errands, distractions, anything to keep your thoughts from circling back to him. But no matter how much you buried yourself in tasks, the memories refused to stay dormant. His voice echoed in the silence, his absence a shadow stretching over you.

The morning was heavy with gloom, the air thick with the lingering scent of last night’s acid rain. Puddles of sizzling liquid still clung to the edges of the streets, reflecting the dull glow of the underworld’s eternally dim sky. You pulled your coat tighter around yourself, ignoring the distant hum of the waking city.

Alastor used to joke that the weather in Hell mirrored your emotions—cloudy, stormy, unpredictable. Gloomy, just like you, darling, he’d say with a teasing grin. Makes one wonder what has you so upset all the time. You used to roll your eyes at his dramatics, but now? Now you couldn’t help but wonder if he had gone to sleep last night, staring at the ceiling, wondering why the skies wept acid. Wondering if you were crying, too.

Your fingers brushed against the chain around your neck, where your wedding band now hung. It was no longer abandoned on the floor, no longer a discarded relic of a life you weren’t sure still belonged to you. But you couldn’t bring yourself to slip it back onto your finger—not yet. Maybe not ever.

With a sigh, you turned down a quiet alley, needing a moment away from the noise of the district. The weight in your chest hadn’t lifted, and you doubted it would anytime soon. But for now, you walked.

Because stopping meant thinking. And thinking meant feeling.

And you weren’t ready for that.

‿‿‿‿ ‿‿‿‿ ‿‿‿‿ ‿‿‿‿ ‿‿

Taglist: @lynsexperience @hayamie @l3rittney @l34n @msfandomsblog

Author’s note: For some reasons I can’t tag some of your accounts in the taglist.

[yeonmuse]

BREAK THE WALLS | Kim hongjoong

Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Full Chapter List

🀥 Government agent Hongjoong x Rebel Oc

🀥 genre | dystopian society, halazia x geurilla concept , enemies to lovers

🀥 word count | 1k

🀥 Summary | An organization by the name of Sector 1 was well known for their work in the underground, theyve been well known for the recruiting of teens and using them to form an army since the year 2034. Collecting strays for their rebellion against those in higher power. Now the year is 2064 and the organization still runs strong they run like a family, with the new technology theyve found ways of keeping alive those that have been scorned in any past battles theyve had against the government.

When the government sends in 7 of their best men to infiltrate the organization. What will they do when their cover is blown and their true intentions are revealed? Will they join the rebellion or will they continue to let the government pull their strings like the little puppets they once were?

Skylar district October 15th 2064

"I understand we have to practice with them for this evaluation or whatever it is but why do I have to practice with her? Shes pretty and all but she scares me a little." Mingi whines as he and the rest of the guys conversed in Hongjoongs room.

"Because we played the number game and you clearly lost, besides hongjoongs dignity is still recovering from last night's fight with her." San laughs as he looks over at Hongjoong who was simply scowling in a corner.

"I just underestimated her a little okay, I underestimated all of them. They're a little more advanced than we are back at Alaura. It's just a little unexpected, okay. They are a lot stronger here than I thought." Hongjoong sighs as he leans over in his seat, as if thinking over a new way to go about things

"Earlier today when I got lost I overheard her talking to someone from the hallway, she told them that she wouldn't stop until anyone involved in the government was dead. Based on her fight with hongjoong and the way she speaks about Loren...if she finds out why we're really here then.." mingi trails off silently

"Looks like this is gonna be a lot tougher than we thought." Yunho scans over the faces of all of his brothers before sitting back in his seat.

"If you continue to let me get you off your feet like this you surely won't make it past the evaluations. You need to get at least one hit on me, Mingi, I'm not even moving at my usual speed." Tahani shook her head as she watched the silver haired boy push himself up from the floor for the third time.

"You always go for me when I'm not ready, you never even gave me a chance to stand the last two times." Mingi whines, earning an amused smile from the girl

"Your enemy wont think twice about whether or not you're prepared to fight, which means you need to be ready at all times. You need to fight until there's nothing left." Helping him up from the floor she allowed him to take a breather before calling out san into the pit.

"Ill never understand how she can just fight them back to back like this." Jongho who had been soaked in sweat, sat on the sidelines beside a tired Leedo.

"I'm pretty sure its the body, it isnt like she can necessarily feel the pain anymore from the neck down." Leedo responds before chugging down a bottle of water.

This was a moment San had been waiting for since the minute he watched her fight Hongjoong. Amongst the seven of them san may not have been the strongest but he was the quickest and most swift moving amongst the seven of them.

"Alright pretty boy, let's see what youve got." She smiles at his stance before watching as he made the first move. As she avoided each of his attacks she set her eyes on his movements, compared to others who she could easily track their steps san was a bit more difficult. His movements were not as easy to predict as the others. Everyones eyes locked in on the two as they fought, more specifically hongjoong. Rather than watch his own teammates' swift movements Hongjoong found himself observing Tahanis movements alone. She moved quickly, and every attack or counterattack she delivered against san was swift. Did she seriously just pick up on all those movements in four years alone? Hongjoong was snapped out of his thoughts at a loud thud, looking up he saw san sprawled out on the floor and Tahani standing over him smiling at yet another victory.

"Well that was fun." As they entered their living quarters Seonghwa slumped into the couch allowing his body to finally rest after hours of practice.

"They're a lot more intense than Alaura." Yunho sighs before grabbing a water from the fridge and downing it.

"Why does it feel like no matter who we beat here our strength wont matter unless we can get past the girl."

"Im sure thats not the case Woo this organization was here long before she even joined so i doubt she's what decides whether we make it here or not." Seonghwa responds half asleep on the couch.

"Yeosang got it easy, all he has to do is hang around in some lab with that Eris girl." Mingi whines before plopping down onto the couch.

"It is the perfect place for him though, plus it gives us a chance to check out their technology, we can report whatever we deem useful here back to Eden." Hongjoong responds as he leans over a nearby chair.

"The Hira girl, she's pretty ruthless when it comes to her fighting you think they're all like this?" Wooyoung states, earning nods in agreement and few shrugs from few of his brothers.

"With the girl I think there's more to it. When she fought with mingi her demeanor changed. She wasnt mean to him like she was that first day we got here. When she speaks about fighting it's like do or die for her like she doesn't have a choice."

"That's because I don't." The sound of the girls' voices made them all jump, how much had she heard.

"Why are you idiots so jumpy, you can relax, it's not like I'll hit you outside of the arena." She rolls her eyes before looking over at all of them.

"I fight like that because against your enemy they'll show you no mercy. We all do. You can't spare even a second to those asssholes at Alaura because theyll kill you without so much as a second thought. There isn't a moment to spare for weakness in this organization, too much ride on the sake of every recruit for me to allow any of you to slack off." At her words they all fell silent, though it angered them to hear someone like her speak ill of the Alaura they couldn't say a word.

[riveredmoon]

bimbo!reader just wanted to hold it while nerdjo peed

warnings: smut, oral m!receiving, crack, dumbification

“why aren’t you peeing?” you look up at him through your lashes. making sure to pout your glossed lips a little extra, not missing the way his eyes flick from them back to your finger trailing the vein along his cock. 

he lets out a deep sigh, pushing his glasses up in the process. “i’m erect,” you watch from your knees as he stares back at you. his hands balling up against his thighs. 

your finger swirls around his tip, slowly. he lets out a stream of air through his nose. 

“so?” you giggle, watching the pencil behind his ear fight to stay in position. “is it like… stuck?” you go back to studying his cock — it’s pretty like him. big, slightly curved at his red tip, a protruding vein that you really like running your tongue along — it gets him all stuttery and whiney. 

“the erection is adding pressure to my uret-,” he closes his cerulean eyes, rubbing his palm against his jean clad thigh. you are very much aware of what you’re doing. you usually are when it comes to him, everything else… topic for a different hour. “i am not explaining this to you in a bathroom.” 

“if you paid attention in anatomy you’d kno-“ 

“‘toru, you know i’m a cancer sun with a leo moon,” you roll your eyes. your finger now running from the white hairs at the base of his cock, up along his vein again. 

his head falls back, the pencil slipping from his ear and making a small sound as it falls against the porcelain of the sink. “that’s as-astrology..” his adams apple bobs and you clench your thighs at the sight. 

“whatever,” your grab his cock with one hand, not adding pressure, barely moving — just to feel the weight of it. his cock twitches against your palm, and you grin. “i just wanted to hold it while you tinkle.”

“don’t say that,” he deadpans, his eyes focused on your unmoving hand. 

“should i help you?” you tilt your head, innocently but your thumb starts to rub circles against his tip — spreading his precum. he slightly juts his hips towards you. smiling to yourself, you continue. “do i like squeeze it or something?” 

you don’t wait for an answer. you lean forward, pressing a soft kiss to the head of his cock. your eyes still on his, watching every huff of a breath he’s sending out. then you place another kiss, almost feather like. then you take him completely in your wet mouth, your tongue gliding along the underside of his heavy cock. 

that earns you the whine you’ve been searching for since you’d entered the bathroom in the guise of holding it while he pees. 

now both hands wrap around the base of his cock — his abs flexing with the contact. you bob your head, your mouth wrapping around his tip sucking softly. 

you pull back with a pop. your lips glistening with spit. “don’t like pee in my mo-“ 

“fuck, stop talking,” his hands leave his thigh and thread through your hair. “stop talking and suck my dick.”

“so mean,” you pout, batting your lashes as you look up at him. your hands are still wrapped — slightly twisting at the shaft and jerking up 

he groans, his hands pushing your head back towards his waiting cock. this time, you take more of him — your cheeks hollowing, drool pooling, your hands twisting just beneath where your lips stretch around him. 

"fuck," he whines, all high pitch and shaky. his hands pull at your hair a little harder as you continue to bob your head — taking him deeper, tasting him on youtube tongue. 

his knees buckle, and you moan around him — cause him to twitch against your tongue. 

you pull back once again, a string of spit and his precum keeping you connected to his throbbing cock. he looks down at you — pupils blown out, checks flushed pink, sweat dampening his frosty hair. 

you lift his cock, your tongue running along his vein and you watch him become slack jaw.

with his hands still in your hair, your lips barely inches away from his dripping tip — you look up at him, all wide eyed and questioning.

"what is an ureth-something?"

i wanted to make my nerdjo all smug 🤭

[chihiroonii]

HOW I FELT READING THIS A GIRL WITH GLASSES BAHAHAHAH

nerd!reader is a little insecure and athlete!sukuna reassures her the only way he knows how

warnings: smut, piv, (mdni, obvi)

pt 1, 2

you see the looks. you hear the snide comments, the ones from girls you’ve really never been comfortable around. even you can’t explain how you and sukuna make sense. 

two very different worlds between you — yours consisting of astrophysics and ted talks while his consists of red solo cups and drunk dedications over the winning touchdown he made.

his world also consists of very pretty blonde cheerleaders… like this one who is gripping on his arm as he celebrates another win. her smile is all big, her eyes all dreamy. and boy, do you understand the sentiment but it isn’t something you want to see. especially on the campus instagram. 

so you sit, and stare at the instagram post. that little burrowing ache in your chest growing — the one that makes itself known when you see someone prettier, bolder, someone who fits in his world and doesn’t wear anime graphic shirts to class because that’s all she has in her closet. 

you’re so stuck in your thoughts that you don’t even hear his heavy footsteps enter your bedroom until you feel his body heat. one of his hands wrapping around your bare calf. 

“surprised you’re not doing homework,” there’s a slight teasing tilt to his voice and you want to crack a smile. but you look at him, and see his perfectly sculpted, tattooed face and that fucking picture flickers in your brain. her hands on him. 

“should i dye my hair?” 

he blinks at you. hard. bored. “what?”

“get contacts?” your index finger comes up to push your glasses up the bridge of your nose. 

“the fuck are you on about?” his hand pauses its movements. 

“just questions,” you shrug. your eyes falling to the now dark screen of your phone.

“i like fucking you with your glasses on,” you hear the slight annoyance in his voice. because of course he does — you remember just last week the absolute fit he threw when you asked if you could take your glasses off when you were in between his legs. his cock pressed to your lips, his own fingers pushing your glasses back up as you bobbed down on him. “they fog all up… lets me see how much of a mess you get on my dick.” 

then he sits back and stares at you for a second. his eyebrows furrowed as his usual scowl softens, just a tad. 

his eyes tracing over every part of your body — darting from your eyes, to your lips, to the digimon shirt you’re wearing. his hand that is wrapped around your leg squeezes, just slightly. reassuringly, in his own little way. 

you feel warm under his gaze. you feel beautiful. 

and your pussy is clenching at the thought of him being yours. 

and in a voice much softer than before, but still his. still firm. still strong enough to be listened to. he tells you, “i like everything about you.” 

his sweat slicked chest is pressed against your back. his hand gripping your hip tight enough to leave a bruise, the other tangled in your hair — yanking your head back just enough to keep your glasses from falling onto the mattress. 

they’re fogged, slightly crooked, sliding down your nose with every thrust he makes. 

“like i don’t jack off to your nerdy ass,” he scoffs, fucking into your tight cunt with mean, punishing strokes. your pussy flutters, trying to take all of him — the stretch, the brutal pace, the pressure. “no way — fuck — no way in hell are you changing anything about y-yourself.”

you moan, loud, strangled. he laughs, brash and teasing, and it burns hot under your skin, right where your body continues to meet his. that common coil fluttering beneath your ribcage grows insistent. he brings a hand down, smacking your ass so hard you’re sure you’d still feel the sting when you sit down later. 

he grabs on to you harder, diving into your soaked hole  even rougher. the sound of his body slapping against yours fills the room —  filthy, lewd, unapologetic. like it belongs here. 

and then he leans over, his cock still pistoning into your pussy — breath hot at your neck, his teeth sinking into your shoulder, just enough to make your pussy clamp down hard. he groans, his tongue swirling over where his teeth just claimed you. 

“no need to be insecure, baby” his lips brush against your ear, voice all smug and low. you clench around his cock, his hand on your hip tightening.  “you’re the only who gets dumb on my cock.” 

he drags out slow, your cunt trying to pull him back in — before slamming back in. 

“oh m-my g-“ you’re a mess — long strings of whimpers and incoherent words spilling from your mouth. your glasses slipping off your face, mouth open, eyes rolling, slick running down your thighs and his. 

and when you come — legs giving out on you, his name wavering off your lips like a broken record, fingers clawing on the bed — he fucks you through it. 

he doesn’t stop. not even for a second. your walls molding around his throbbing cock with ease. 

his tattooed chest flush against your back, you feel every breath he groans against your skin. 

his hands loosen their grip, he slows his strokes down — almost torturously slow. enough to drag out your orgasam. his hips grind into you with deep, greedy thrusts, making sure you feel every inch of his thick cock. your cunt pulses around him, soaking wet and overstimulated.  “my smart girl,” he pants, his own voice just as wrecked. “fuckin’ perfect little thing.”

a little rushed because i got too excited! @sukunahs have more dreams for me, okay?

[riveredmoon]

cockwarming athlete!sukuna (in honor of him passing his history exam)

warnings: smut, public setting (mdni, obvi)

pt 1 3

your eyes bounce from the study guide on the computer in front of you and the door — to the left of you, where any student, professor, or custodian can walk on by. 

“i have to study, ‘kuna,” your voice is shaky. your thighs hurt from clenching around his thick ones. the cursor blinks at you as you try to stay as still as you possibly can. 

and sukuna… 

he is sitting below you, one hand lazily gripping your hip. his other hand is quietly tapping the desk, as if he has all the time in the world. his cock sits deep inside of you, just there — hard, thick, and demanding. it’s stretching you full, while you sit in his lap and grip on to the desk in front of you. your legs feel like jelly, and you want to tell him to just fuck into you – you know he'd like that. 

you could practically feel his smug grin brushing against your shoulder blade – because of course he is calm, while your pussy drips around him, needy and unmoving. 

you pray that professor yaga skips his library walk through today. 

“study,” sukuna replies easily, no hidden groan, no shakiness to his solid voice. “ain’t nobody stopping you.”

you swallow thickly. your glasses slipping to the edge of your nose as you arch your back the tiniest bit. looking for some friction, some movement to relieve the pressure building in your gut. 

your pussy flutters around him when you shift. your warm, tight walls molding around his thick shaft. you almost let out a strangled moan when you feel his dick twitch inside of you. his mushroom tip kissing that spot that only he has managed to reach. 

“relax,” he scoffs, his voice even and solid. “you’re already shaking and i haven’t even moved yet.”

you roll your eyes, tucking your bottom lip in between your teeth. “couldn’t we wait?” 

his cock shifts inside of you once more, with a wet drag as if your cunt doesn’t want to let go. 

he hums. “i thought i should be rewarded for passing that dumbass exam.”

“all you had to do is stu-“ 

he juts up into you, deep and quick. the hand on your hip gripping hard enough that you know you’ll see a bruise later on. 

your fingernails dig into the wood of the desk, a weak mewl slipping from lips. your pussy clenching around his throbbing cock, that’s now stilled in your cunt once more. 

“we’re in a library,” he reminds you, a chuckle evident at the end of his voice. “you of all people should know we need to be quiet.” 

he leans forward, his chest flushed against your back, his lips brushing your ear. 

“lean back,” he says, and it’s not a suggestion. 

you let out a breath through your nose, as his hand starts to trail up your thigh and between your legs. his index finger sliding in between your wet folds, gathering your slick. 

one of your hands fly to his wrist, to ground yourself. his slick-coated finger flicks your clit making your whole body jolt.

“o- oh.”

“you’re getting the better end of this reward,” he whispers into your ear, his voice rough. “my smart girl.”

he starts to circle your clit, lazily. teasing you. your hips jerk before you even realize that you’re moving. your cunt clenching down with a soaked squeeze around his throbbing cock. 

shamelessly (not to mention recklessly) you roll your hips. the sounds of your hushed breaths, sukuna’s quiet gruffs, his finger circling on your clit are obscene. you feel a breath get caught in his chest. 

“finish this at m- my place,” you catch the little stutter he’s trying to swallow down. both of his hands are gripping your hips now, holding you still. “if you could read back three lines,” his cock twitches, “i’d let you choose where i cum.”

[riveredmoon]

cheater gojo watching your friend, geto, fuck you. based on this song.

warnings: mdni - smut: piv, doggy, voyeursism(?)

“how did you cheat on a pussy this sweet?”

suguru’s voice rolls from behind you, smooth and teasing. your hands are grabbing at the sheets, knees spread, thighs shaking.

your soaked cunt clenches around his cock, milking him with every ruthless thrust. his hips slam into you — obscene sounds fill the room; your plush ass slamming back on him, your moans, and satoru’s restraint slipping away. suguru pounds into you fast and relentless, like he’s more pissed about the cheating than you ever were.

“be sure you watch this ‘toru,” suguru mutters with a chuckle as he yanks your hair, bringing your back to his chest. “watch how well she takes my cock.”

“fuck,” you softly groan. you fuck yourself back on his cock, chasing him with every pullout. its desperate, needy, messy.

one of his hands is tangled in your hair, the other pinching your nipples until you whimper. your hands clawing on his forearm, trying to ground yourself.

you arch your back, allowing his cock to reach deeper. the mushroom tip of his cock hitting exactly where you need it too.

your eyes meet satoru’s — flushed pink, lips bitten raw, frosty hair plastered on his forehead, cerulean eyes pinched into slits. his hands are twitching on his lap, like they don’t know whether they should stroke his cock or crawl over to you.

if suguru wasn’t stuffing you full, you might have giggled at the view. instead, you send a smug smile as you moan. satoru’s eyes narrow even more and drop down to where suguru’s cock enters your wet pussy.

“he never fucked you right, did he?” suguru whispers loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. one of his fingers roughly pulling at your nipple, you bite your lip to hold back your moan.

suguru pulls your hair back just a tiny bit more, your arch deepening — angling you just right. he ruts into you deeper, you slick trailing along his cock.

you shake your head, eyes still on satoru. your orgasm coils right in your gut, sharp and fast. thighs trembling, cunt fluttering around his cock — begging him to stay.

satoru’s hands are practically shaking, balled up in fists right on his thick thighs.

“n-no.” you send a wink his way and watch him swallow the lump in his throat down.

your pussy is a mess, wet and noisy meeting every thrusts that suguru sends your way. his cock hitting that spongey spot deep inside, over and over.

you could barely breathe, can’t really think — just incoherent babbles slipping from your lips. your eyes stuck on satoru as you watch him bite his knuckles. his other hand finally grabbing at his cock through his pants.

suguru’s thrusts start to slow down and you watch as satoru’s breathing slows. relief washing over him, thinking that this is the end.

“tell him that,” he sneers. you gasp when he slams back into you with one rough thrust. thick and mean. he doesn’t give you time to adjust, pounding into you faster, angrier.

“y-you never fucked me r-right,” you practically whimper, your head lolling to the side — trusting suguru to hold it upright.

“good girl,” his hold on your hair loosens and you fall forward. your chest hitting the bed below.

suguru’s thrusts doesn’t let up. you ass bouncing with every thrust — skin slapping skin echoing in the room.

“let me touch you,” satoru whispers into the room. his voice is flat and whiney.

you send a grin his way when you look up and notice he’s fished his cock out his pants. his face distorted in anger, his knuckles flushed white as slowly strokes his cock. his thumb running over his tip, spreading his pre cum.

“nah,” suguru barks out a laugh. “fuck into your hand satoru, because you’re not getting this pussy again.”

thank you @satorus-princess & @sugurusladyknightt for reading my first little draft :)

[riveredmoon]

her stage, their ruin ✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

pairing: sukuna x fem!stripper!reader x toji fushiguro

synopsis: he worships her. he wants to save her. she just wants to dance. inspired by pyramids by frank ocean.

warnings: modern au, non curse au, smut, sub/dom, transactional relationships, exes (reader & toji), each one shot would have its own list of warnings

a/n: in honor of hitting 1k (guys whaaaatttt????) here is a mini (smutty) series i’ve been working on!!! hope you guys enjoy it!!! thank you for being here, your comments, your love, and literally everything else in between!!!!!!

taglist -> comment on masterlist

sukuna’s track: she’s working at the pyramid tonight

he could have anyone, but he keeps paying to see the one woman who won’t let him touch her.

toji’s track: but your love ain’t free no more, baby

he let her go when he couldn’t give her the life she deserved; now he swears he can pull her out of the one she chose.

[riveredmoon]

ass eating reddit sub ft weirdo!choso and mean!reader

warnings: smut: (mdni, obvi)

his hands are spreading your ass apart. from over your shoulder, you could see just how wrecked he looks. pupils dilated, tongue lapping along his bottom lip as if he’s getting ready for his last meal. you don’t hide the shudder that runs along your spine — you’d just tell him to mind his fucking business. 

you’re bare, on all fours on his bed. your fingers grasping at the star wars sheets below you. choso is kneeling right behind you, his chewbacca shirt not matching the pink lacy panties he pulled down minutes ago. 

“you’re so fucking gross, cho,” you try to hide the whine laced in your voice. but, your body fails you — your hips arching towards him. you need something from him, and you need it now. 

“you asked me if i wanted to do it?” 

“no, i wanted to know if weird, little freaks like you, liked it.” you bite. his thumbs dig into the softness of your cheeks. 

“i couldn’t find a reddit sub that said if i would.” 

“why would you…” you scoff. your cunt clenches around nothing – slick already smeared between your thighs, warm and messy. 

the image of him sitting at his desk and looking this up turns you on. adding what choso already sees leaking near his face. unfortunately. “never mind. just do it already.”

he shrugs, spreading your cheeks even further apart. you watch as his head starts to lower, his tattooed face lining up with the arch of your back. 

a snarky comment is ready to roll out when you notice the blush creeping up his neck to the tip of his ears. it’s… cute, even for him.

instead, a shocked gasp slips out before you could swallow it down. 

choso spits right on your clenching hole, and he pulls back a bit to watch it drip towards your soaked cunt. his brows furrow like he’s concentrating on a test he’s supposed to be studying for — tongue poking out. that cute, pink blush staining his cheeks. 

“fuck-“ eyes squeezed shut, and your breath caught in your chest. your thighs twitch, nearly closing — but his strong grip keeps you steady. 

and that gives choso all the power to continue.

his tongue licks a slow, hot drag across your rim — and you refuse to admit just how hot it is.  

you didn’t think he’d bury his face in your ass with this much desperation. his licks are frantic, deep and long. wet sounds echo in between the slick on your thighs, his low groans vibrating against your ass. 

with his nose nudging against you as his tongue circles your hole, he mumbles against you. “you taste so fucking go-“

“shut up and go on,” you groan, hips rolling back. his slick lips presses against you again, hands squeezing your ass even harder — like it’s the only thing grounding him. 

you’re babbling, just moans and the occasion curse of his name spilling into his sheets. your legs are shaking, you want to close them around his head, keeping him there — your ass keeps arching toward him instinctively. chasing the press of his lips, the drag of his tongue.

“if you’d use your mouth like this to talk,” you try to bring back the stability in your tone, trying to sound firm. but, a whimper escapes as his face moves away, his finger trailing slick from in between your folds to where his tongue was just lapping at. “maybe you’d have frien-“ 

you’re cut off by his finger sinking into your hole — slow and teasing, like he’s testing the waters. 

“shit,” your toes curl, thighs trembling even more. his finger isn’t that deep but your body’s already twitching around it. your chest heaves out a groan. 

“mhm,” he hums, his voice low and deep. he adds another finger, spreading them. your mouth falls open, no sound coming out. “i’ll keep that in mind.” 

this has been in my drafts for weeks lol! are we sensing a theme?

[riveredmoon]

experienced!reader helps virgin!nanami jerk off

warnings: mdni, smut: m!masturbation

you’re laying on your stomach, legs kicked up lazily behind you, chin propped on palm as you lean on your elbows in front of him. you watch him smugly, a grin on your plump lips. 

kento is sitting stiffly against his headboard. blonde hair messily ruffled, slight weaving in front of his closed eyes. you can see the color pink twinge all the way from his ears to his aching, untouched cock. 

it twitches against his stomach after every shuddery breath he makes. 

“aw,” you mumble, voice as sweet as honey. “who has got you this hard?” 

his already sculptured jawline tightens. then, just barely audible. “y-you.”

you grin, knowingly. “is that right, big boy?”

he gives you a quick nod, his eyes flying open and flickering from your lips to your bare chest. the pink intensifies when realizes he’s been caught. 

“grab your cock,” you bat your lashes. he doesn’t even twitch.

you crawl closer, one of your hands skimming his tense thigh. “nanami,” you add emphasis on his last name, his cock twitching at the sound of it. “like this,” you reach for his hand, it’s warm and shaky, and much bigger than yours — and you bring it to the base of his dick. he groans when his own fingers wrap around it. 

his cock is thick and heavy in his fist, your manicured fingers stay wrapped around his. his grip is so careful, you have to slightly clamp your fingers a little tighter. 

“and now,” you whisper, moving both your hands together in the slowest stroke upward, “you’re gonna start to twist.”

a moan jumps out of his throat, it’s messy and loud and the strain in his neck tells you that he was doing everything in his power to not let it out. his head falls back, thumping against the headboard around him. 

your fingers stop, slightly loosening your grasp. 

“uh uh,” tone low and teasing  “eyes on me — i want to see how you look when you make yourself cum.”

his blonde lashes flutter, and unwillingly, he opens his eyes. they’re glossy and overwhelmed and you smile. you have him right where you want him. 

“oh, now that’s a good boy,” you smile at the pathetic little whimper that leaves his mouth. 

your fingers tighten again and you watch him gulp, his thighs tightening on either side of your naked body. 

your hand starts to move again — slowly. guiding his stroke, twisting at the tip and making sure to run his thumb along his leaking slit. 

“you ever thought about me when you touch yourself?” 

“i-“ he breathes through his nose. his hooded eyes trying their hardest to stay locked on you. you send him a smile. 

you squeeze his cock, he chokes on a gasp. “i don’t know why i asked. i already know the answer.”

he whines, and you have to clench your thighs at the sound. his hips buck into your hand, his hand lulling under yours. 

“i-i’m c-close,” your hand swipes down his shaft and you feel the ripples of shudder running through his body. 

“already?” you pout, not loosening your grip on his throbbing cock. you move upward slowly, making sure to twist as you come back down. “you’re not even doing half the work, nanami.”

your thumb is swiping over his slit and you know you got him. 

his back arches and he gasps, it’s loud and desperate — as he cums all over his stomach, his wrist, your fingers. 

“fuck,” he mumbles through a body tremble. his eyes are still on you. 

you bring your own cum covered fingers to your lips. your tongue twirling over them.

“you’re such a virgin,” you pull your fingers from your mouth with a pop and he groans, his cock already starting to stiffen again.

“if we do it again, you better not cum as fast.”

“i’ll try not too.”

me 🤝writing kento jerking off. my favorite delicacy 🤭

[riveredmoon]

night fever ˙⋆✮

Nothing is more magical than a Saturday night — especially in New York City.

pairing: satoru gojo x fem!reader

synopsis: one saturday night soaked in desire and disco, two dancers meet — one magnetic, one mesmerizing, both lost. on this fateful night, they find a rhythm in each other they’ve been searching for all along.

warnings/content: non curse au, fluff, love at first sight (kinda?), reader is so sassy (i love her), i also gave the reader some physical traits, cursing, drinking, club scene, smut: public sex, oral (fem!receiving), piv, unprotected, doggy, not finished.

word count: 6.3k

note: this was so fun to make! i hope you enjoy it :) *all pictures found on pinterest!*

listen

New York, New York 

A summer’s night in 1978 

Satoru Gojo — the self declared King of the Dance Floor — has a feeling that tonight is going to be much more than disco music and dirty dancing. 

His white, frosty hair is in perfect place. His blue eyes covered with the sleek black sunglasses that fall perfectly down the bridge of his nose; he is aware just how much the women love this. The gold chain his friends all chipped in to give him after he swore (once again, self declared) he won the title of King of the Dance Floor, clings to his chest from the sweat gathered there. The humidity thick with anticipation, something almost magnetic. 

The horns of the yellow taxis yelp in his ear as he struts across the cross walk. The concrete vibrating from the trains underground — the tremor feeling like the bass that flows through him when he enters the club. 

The night time air is swarming with bodies and mumbled conversations about wrecked work weeks and who knows who is going to be dancing tonight. He weaves and ebbs his way through the crowd of people. Shoulder bumps and scowls towards his get up go unnoticed. Not when the neon lights are glowing for him, and him alone.

Nothing is more magical than a Saturday night — especially in New York City. 

Satoru’s limbs are practically acting on their accord, leading him down the packed sidewalk to the one place where he and everyone else could be free. 

Home. 

No thoughts, no judgment, no one asking who he is and who he wants to be — and even if that question did somehow come into conversation over a booming Donna Summer’s song, “a dancer” would suffice. 

On Saturdays at Studio VI, Satoru and every other seasoned Saturday dancer is allowed to feel. Using the dance floor as a therapist, a mouth to talk from, a friend at times. He has and will always have the space here to close his eyes and look for himself in the groove of bodies and funk music. No claim to a throne that he does not want (and truthfully doesn’t want him either). No need to be anything more than Satoru Gojo.

Dancing gives him this high — one he has been searching for in everything else. Sunday through Friday, his brain racks up ideas and his cerulean eyes search for a meaning, for a want that drives him forth. One that rivals the feelings of a Saturday creeping up on his week. All he wants is to grasp onto this high, letting it flow into everything he does, into everything he is. 

He is sometimes so jealous of Saturdays, of funk, of Studio VI, of other people who get to see him dance, even sometimes of his own feet — because they have no restraints. All of those things can be what they are, no questions asked. They watch Satoru with pity in their eyes as he walks home with his sweat slicked on his hairline, the high feeling sweeping into the sticky air. His head down, his resolve gone again — the clock waiting to strike 12:00am next Saturday, just for him. 

So lost in his thoughts, lost in the magnetic pull that ties him to the bright lights and the secrecy of Studio VI — he doesn’t realize he is standing in front of it. 

Then the pink haired bodyguard that Satoru has grown to love and associate with the feeling he gets when he steps foot into the club — swings the door open for him. Granting him access to a burst of music, heat, and cigarette smoke. It wraps him up and squeezes like it knows his name, like it knows him personally. 

He sometimes thinks that it does. 

He steps forward, a slight push from the tempo spilling out of the door. His sunglasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as a waft of a humid summer breeze ruffles his perfectly styled hair. It also brings along a scent so sweet, he feels like he could die from a sugar rush. Right at the doors of heaven. No better way to go, he thinks to himself. 

The velvet ropes locking in the other Saturday dancers waiting to step into their place of reprieve  catches his attention. That feeling of something magical, something more than dancing grows stronger. The smell of sweetness practically dancing around… her. 

A shimmer of red, a bare back of smooth, glowy golden skin. It almost looks like she sat in the sun today just to accompany the red dress with a summer tan. 

Jet black hair, feathered at the bottom sways against her back. Everything about her flickering in neon, the club’s awning of lights acting as her own personal spotlight. 

Everything moves in slow motion — the way she shifts on to her left foot. The way her hips sway, even as she stands still — not dancing, just existing in a rhythm he would kill to hear. A tempo he wishes he could be the producer of, so that he can boastfully tell people he created something for… her. 

His mouth parts just slightly, as if her name is on the tip of his tongue wanting to be spoken into the summer’s night. His foot stuck in its first step into the club — essentially stepping on air. 

Then someone calls his name, and the bouncer waves him forward. New York City roars behind him, and he just realized everything was quiet when his eyes trailed along her spine. 

He’s pulled in, just when she starts to turn. Her side profile teases him as he pushes forward into dancing bodies and into the feeling that everything is going to change. 

Once inside, the lights swallow him whole. But something about those velvet ropes, bare golden back, and the stillness that came with it stays stuck in his chest. Like he’s heard the start of a song, but missed the hook. 

“It’s me, yo’ boy DJ Who Dat in The Back ,” Ino yells over the lyrics of Bad Girls. You stifle a laugh, knowing where he’s going with his weekly joke. “Ladies, ask me about my stage name and I’d show you how I came up with it. But, after my gig. I’m here to make y’all dance!”

The bass thumps against your heels as the record for Ring My Bell starts to play. The tempo is steady in the soles of your feet, rising slowly through your ribs as if it’s a string pulling you upright. 

Your movements are slow, on purpose. Letting the music move you, the dance floor welcomes you to a secret that only you can hear. 

Kento’s hands are light on your waist, respectful. Solid. Missing out on the secret that you and the dance floor are sharing — the rhythm flowing through him differently than how it’s flowing through you. But, he trusts you how you trust the music to guide you. He has never been here to take, just witness. Bringing you back to reality after Saturday night cascades away from you. 

But tonight, you felt that reality will forever be altered. You felt it on the train ride here, the stares of non dancers drilling into your bare back and reminding you that this is who you are. A dancer that sometimes clashes the reality of everyday life with the neon lights and tempo beats in the dream land of Saturday night clubs.

But with the rickety air conditioner on the train, the summer breeze that smelled of garbage left out on the side of the street and the gas exhaust from taxis, the velvet rope rubbing against your thigh — the air was different. There was a shift that electrified but also kind of scared you. 

The red dress you specifically sought after for tonight, clings to your hips effortlessly as you roll and sway. Sweat glides down the curve of your spine, but you don’t swipe it away. You don’t even feel it. You let it glisten. 

“Ken,” you say over the music. Your best friend’s hazel eyes meet yours, a quirk in his eyebrows. “Is someone staring at me?” 

“People are always staring at you,” he replies, missing a step and nearly stomping on your toe. You ignore how he is right, wanting to tell him this stare was different. It’s been following you since you were waiting in line. You almost want to tell him you welcome it, you want more of it. 

There’s a weight pressing in between your shoulder blades. It’s hot, and hungry — it makes your skin prickle from the contact. 

Someone isn’t only staring at you but they’re tracking. Watching every movement you make before you even think to act on it. 

That feeling of magic, of a new reality feels heavy in your chest. You do the only thing you know to do — you keep dancing. Knowing that the watcher knew you’d do that. 

You try to ignore the heavy gaze to focus on your feet moving. Focusing on the way your hips feel lighter whenever it follows the rhythm of a song. The stress from everything leaking out onto the dance floor. 

That pull is wrapping itself around your ankles. Kento’s hand slipping from your waist, giving you the freedom to let go. 

And you do. 

You turn in a half circle, hips still moving, your head tilted back just enough that the room blurs. Streaks of neon light bleeding like watercolors, the disco ball spinning stars across the room. 

The perfect picture. 

Kento leans in to ask you something, his words floating past you. Because there it is again — the intent stare, the awareness, the goosebumps climbing up your spine. 

The look is cumbrous, focused. Too sure of itself to be casual. 

With half lidded eyes, and sweat dripping from your hairline — you don’t have to know what it means. Your gaze lands — past the crowd of couples rubbing against each other, through the smoke, the watercolors and heat — 

Blue.

Behind black sunglasses. Frosty hair framing his face. Leaning against the wall like he owns it. Like he knows the secrets of the wall and every object in here, maybe even yours. Like he’s been watching you since the beginning of time.

And grinning.

Satoru’s friends try to grab his attention — Suguru pulling his arm and yelling something over the DJ's new song choice. Haibara pushes a red drink in his hands, he only slid attention to that because it matches the color of the lipstick on your lips. 

His eyes have not left your fleeting back, carefully tracking every movement you have made since leaving the dance floor. A continuous loop of you dancing and catching his gaze — your eyes blown out as you watched him grin at you, your lips agape as if you too knew his name and wanted to have it spill out — plays on one side of his brain while the other plays what’s happening in front of him. 

You’re seated at the bar, your back slicked with sweat as one of your golden legs fold over the other. He feels like an intruder just watching you, but he can’t help it. He doesn’t want to stop. He knows he wouldn’t be able to. 

He knows better than to chase someone. 

He’s never had to. 

But, with your presence pulling at places he didn’t know could be pulled at unless it involved dancing, he knew he couldn’t let you strut away. 

You looked at him as if you felt the feeling too and honestly that warmed him to the core. He is happy he isn’t a lone stranger to the idea of the disco changing his life between the sweat glands of dancing bodies and the watered down vodka his friends drink. 

Without so much as a plan, nervousness (a foreign emotion) stacking on his shoulder, and the feeling of maybe forgetting his name IF you ask for it — he pushes the drink back into Haibara’s hands. And he starts walking, or more like following the invisible string that connects his feet to the bottom of your heels. Like a headphone jack to a speaker playing a song only you two know. 

You don’t turn your head to greet him when he reaches the bar. You already know he is there. 

“I think you need a new partner,” he says, leaning one elbow on the counter. That fruity smell from outside flows into his airstream and he almost thinks he’s walking by those fruit stands on the corners. 

Your response is slow, and he finds himself fidgeting on the spot. But all the confidence that you had on the dance floor oozes out and tickles his ear. His chest lurches and he almost slaps himself at the absurdity of this. 

“Do I?” Your hands grip a sweating glass of the same color drink that was placed in his hand. He always jumps at the coincidence — this must mean something. Your lips, his drink, your drink. 

“Your friend,” Satoru pauses on the world friend to watch how you react to the word. Your lips meet the rim of your glass, showing no change in your expression. “He dances like a log, so yeah you do.” 

You shrug. “Didn’t know logs danced. I’d keep that in mind when I look for another partner.” Your tongue laps over your bottom lip and Satoru finds himself leaning in closer. “No log dancers, got it.” 

Satoru thinks this is easy, he has you right in the palm of his hand. “You don’t have to look too far,” he hums, and he watches how you roll your shoulders out. The red dress clings to your body perfectly. “I’m here,” he points to himself, despite you still not looking at him. “You’re my dream girl, I’ll be your dream partner.” 

Finally, you meet his eyes. Your head swivels to where he is standing and Satoru has to grip the edge of the bar. Your glare is intense, but known. As if he has been on the receiving end of it everyday of his life before this. He hopes he is after tonight. 

The awareness about tonight is gnawing on his spine. He feels himself stand up straighter, as if that would grant him all the change he so desperately wants if it has anything to do with you. 

“Well, Blue,” you almost purr, and he can’t help but watch how your lips form every world. “Can I call you that?” You bat your eyelashes in faux innocence and he goes to nod his head — because truthfully he’d let you call him anything if it means your eyes were on him. 

“If you’re looking for a dream girl … close your eyes and go to sleep and have a fucking nightmare.” 

You send him an amused smile and he can’t help but let the chuckle bubbling in his throat squeak out. 

Your eyes bore into his and Satoru all of sudden becomes a master of stillness. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t blink, afraid that any sudden movement would shift your attention elsewhere. 

“I’m here to dance. Not be anything for anybody.”

You glance away, back at the bar. The scratch of a record indicates the DJ is setting up a new song and Satoru knows this might be the only chance he gets, so he jumps. 

“So put your money where your mouth is and dance,” he pauses to place his hand in front of you. Your eyes drop to look at it with a confidence that tells him you might not place your hand in his. “With me.” 

“What’s in it for me?” 

“Dancing with the King of the Dance Floor,” he sends a gleaming smile your way, his glasses slipping just a bit. “I’d say that’s pretty neat.” 

You start to smile and Satoru is sure he’s never seen anything so beautiful. A soft exhale slips from your red lips, your lipstick smudged from the sips of your drink you took. It makes you look even prettier. 

“I made you smile,” he points at you. You send him a sideways glance. “Next base is dancing,” he shrugs. 

You turn to face him, your legs knocking into his and his skin prickles at the contact. “I’m laughing at you.”

“Wow, what a feat.” His hand reaches for his chest, his heart actually beating harder than it ever had before. He secretly prays that he is playing it cool. “What is funny?” 

“The color of your eyes match your shirt,” you point at his shirt, your finger mere inches away from his bare chest.

“Aw,” his hand on the bar reaches up to touch the ends of your raven hair. You move away when you notice. “So you were looking into my eyes. We’re practically married now.”

You scoff adding an eye roll. However, Satoru doesn’t miss the sly smile on your lips. Like you both are in on a joke that no one else could hear. He finds himself grinning down at you. 

Then, your hand finds his and you step down for the bar stool. And everything starts to morph into one — the warmth of the club rivaling the warmth of your hand in his. Your fruity smell dancing along with the multiple fruity drinks that are being passed along the bar to other patrons. Everything that goes against you pales in comparison. 

“You’re following me, Blue.” 

The music starts up and at this Satoru feels like he’s watching himself from the disco ball above. He watches the way you walk into the crowd, his hand in yours as everyone makes room for you to pass. As if the dance floor only called for you and everyone got the memo. 

You don’t look back, you know and feel him following. Even if your hand wasn’t pulling him along — he knows as well as everyone in this club, that he would’ve been nipping at your heels anyways. 

And that’s when he knows — he’s hooked. Maybe he would chase you. Wherever you bring him.

“Don’t fall in love, Blue.” You call from over your shoulder. Your fingers are dancing with his as you lead him to your home. This act being the highest form of intimacy in this world of yours. “It’s just a dance.” 

The music drops — sticky, heavy bassline crawls over your skin like the summer heat. Your fingers tighten around his, indents of each other gathering around your hands at how tightly you two are holding on. As you step into the full pulse of the crowd, you let go. You don’t look back, you don’t have too. 

You feel his presence just as you still felt his hand in yours. 

You sway your hips, confident and smooth — the rhythm of the song already memorized before it even started. Like your body had the blueprint for this. Bodies press around you, arms flinging along the beat penetrating the air. The heat rises like steam from a crowded sidewalk, but you can’t register it. Not with those blue eyes boring into your back like a handprint left behind. 

Your turn towards him, slowly and sultry — but making sure to keep a sliver of distance between your bodies. A challenge. An invitation to a changed reality. 

“My dream partner wouldn’t be so far away,” you add a pout to your lips. You relish in how his eyes stray from your swaying hips, to your lidded eyes. Like he’s collecting every piece of information you’re offering him, just for himself. 

He takes it. 

Two steps, that’s all it takes and he is in front of you. Smiling down at you like you’re the answer to all those hard hitting questions that attack him at three in the morning. He smiles and watches you, like he knew you’d make space for him.

His hand hovers over your hip, respectful, but you could feel the ache for him to touch you. You feel the way he is holding back. And that makes you smile back up at him. 

You tilt your head. “I don’t bite, Blue.” You bat your lashes at him, watching his adams apple bob from the swallow he lets down. “Unless you beg.” 

His grin widens and suddenly his hands are at your waist. The nerves and restraint you felt from him is slowly slipping away — you hope it doesn’t follow you into next Saturday. 

He pulls you into him — heat to heat, chest to chest — your bodies instantly catching onto the same rhythm. It’s almost as if you’ve been dancing for years. Your body knows his and he knows yours. 

The crowd disappears — just watercolor lights and blue prancing through your eyelids. You question yourself, how is it possible to feel free, even more so than you do dancing, in the arms of a stranger? 

Everything in the club spins slowly, like together you two are the center of gravity and everyone at Studio VI came to orbit around you. 

You trace your fingers down his arm, light as silk, until you reach his hand. It’s oddly cold now, not matching the heat emitting from his chest against yours. You guide his hand lower, where the small of your back burns, where your dress clings like a second skin. And when you roll your hips against his, just right, you feel it — that little stutter in his breath. The way his fingers curl, gripping harder — holding on to you as if he’ll lose you if he lets go. 

Your eyes bore into his. His smile is gone, yours too. 

It’s something hungrier nipping in between you. And you’re sure that you’d both welcome it with open hands. It’s Saturday night, after all. 

You loop your arms around his neck — bodies staying pressed together, moving in sync to a beat that you’re sure lives within your bones. Every sway is deliberate, every roll of your hips matched with tension from his grip on your hips. 

You two move like two magnets snapping together. 

You feel him holding back, like he thinks the club might collapse if he touches you the way you both want. 

It excites you. 

It confuses you. 

You want more. 

You step closer, your arms slightly pushing his head closer to you. Your lips brush against the tip of his ear. His cologne swallows you. 

“You told me you were the King of the Dance Floor.” 

He exhales through his nose, the rush of air tickling your shoulder blade. And in a tone that sounds like he’ll surrender any minute he says, “I am.” 

“Prove it.” 

The beat slows. People brush past you. Your bodies stay linked. 

His hand drags along your spine, slow and firm, until his hand reaches your hip where he grips — hard enough to leave a bruise. You grind into him, shamelessly, harder. And for the first time since he followed you onto this dance floor, he lets go — no sassy quip, no boyish grin. Just his hips bucking into yours. 

You gasp. Barely. Just enough to have him catch it. 

His blue eyes darken as you continue to stare up at him through your lashes. 

He leans forward, his lips grazing your jaw. Not kissing, but close enough that you believe he’s trying to memorize the scent of you or the taste of your skin brushing his lips. 

“What are you doing to me?” He murmurs against your skin, his voice all husky and you smile because you know you’ve caused it. The smell of his cologne lets you know that he’s still your Blue. “If you keep looking at me like this, I might have to take you someplace more private.” 

You hum, eyes fluttering close for a second. Your gut is dipping at the shift of the air and the heat crawling between your pressed bodies. 

When you open your eyes, you don’t recognize yourself in the mirror of his gaze. 

You step up on your tippy toes, your nose brushing his as you feel him exhale. “I dare you.” You whisper with your lips pressed to his.

He does not really remember how you both made it back here. All he could remember is the way your hips rolled against him, as if you knew what you were doing to him — like you knew just a couple movements from you would make him lose all control. His usual charm is not loaded onto his personality tonight, and there is a club of eyes that saw him embarrass himself by grinding shamelessly against you. 

But that feeling that has followed him all day today, making its way into his bloodstream and psyche feels so alive in this room that all he has to do is reach his hand out and he is sure he can hold it. He can shove it into his pocket and have it help him guide the rest of his life — and he hopes you’d be joining along. 

He’s never felt like this. Not until… you. 

You’re pressed against a dark, velvet wall, lips swollen and breath uneven. All Satoru can do is stare at you. His eyes are tracking every single movement you grace the room with. 

“Don’t need to hide behind these,” you whisper, your fingers curling around the edges of his glasses. You pull them off slowly, like you’re undressing him — giving him the chance to stop you if it’s all too much. But, Satoru wants to show you everything. He wants to dig into his chest and possibly give you his heart in the process. He’ll stick with the glasses for now. 

His lashes flutter when you finally remove the glasses, letting them slip from your fingers and hitting the floor with a small thud. The air feels different now that you’re looking at him fully. At the real him. Nothing blocking his eyes from staring straight into his. Satoru shudders at this. “I felt your stare on me all night. No need to hide anymore.”

He doesn’t really have anything to say, he doesn’t know what to say. His mouth is dry, his is dick hard. He can’t concentrate on anything but your smudged lipstick and just how short you are to him. 

He towers a good foot over you, and somehow he feels small under your stare. The way you tilt your head to the side as if you’re the one looking down at him. 

“You’re short?” He mumbles, his voice rough. 

You blink, right at him. “Short?” He hears the snicker that wants to slip past your lips. 

“Yeah, short.” 

You pause, well everything pauses for Satoru as a smile starts to grow on your lips. A dangerous, devilish kind of smile — and you say, “I’m the perfect height go do this.” 

Your palm press right over the bulge in his pants, and his knees almost buckle. 

“Get down,” you whisper, and he doesn’t even think to disobey.  

He sinks to his knees, like he is praying to an altar made just for you. His hands skimming down your body and stilling at your hips. 

He looks up at you, his voice getting stuck in his throat as you stare down at him. Your cheeks flushed, pupils blown out, bottom lip tucked in between your teeth. 

You hook a leg over his shoulder, dress hitched higher than before, and Satoru gets a full view of the damp spot between your folds. His hands press into the back of your thighs, spreading you open like a prayer, like he wants to crawl inside this moment and never leave. Stay right here with the bass banging in his chest and your eyes locked on his. 

He places a chaste kiss on your inner thigh, your skin soft and supple. The scent of your arousal follows, as he guides more kisses until his nose is basically brushing against your covered pussy. 

“Like being taller, huh?” He mumbles, breathless almost. His hands are gripping the back of your thighs so hard, he wonders if you’d leave here with mementos of him littered around your body. 

“I like having you look up at me,” you hum, amused. You buck your hips forward, his nose brushing against your clit. 

“Hmm,” he pushes the fabric of your panties aside, and he is thankful for the position of being on his knees — he wants to thank whatever higher power would listen to him. 

He drags his tongue, slow, almost possessively between your folds. The first full lick of you — hot and slick and already aching — makes Satoru groan like he’s the one being touched. 

You taste better than anything he’s ever known. 

You lean your head back and moan, and Satoru takes it as an endorsement — his tongue flattening, dragging up and down, then flicking exactly where you need him. Your moans ring in his ears and right here, he establishes that this is favorite song. One he’d listen to for the rest of his life if given the chance. 

One of his slender hands spreads over your stomach, anchoring you to the wall as he buries his face deeper between your thighs like he’s famished.

He licks your clit gently, nibbling at it softly. His eyes stay glued on you, watching how your legs tighten, how your hips twitch against him. One of your heels digs into his back and he smiles against you. He sucks you clit into his mouth lazily, then a little harder once he notices your head hitting the wall again. 

Your hips tremble around him. Your moans hitting a higher pitch, Satoru groans. He stands in one quick motion, your legs wobbling from being held up by him.

Your head falls forward onto his shoulder, your chest heaving. One of your hands reaches up to grip the ends of his hair at the nape of his neck, he shudders at the feeling. 

“When you first introduced yourself,” you pant, your lips brushing his ear. “You should’ve said you were really good with your mouth.” He groans, his hands palming at your hips.

He doesn’t give you a second to breathe before he presses his mouth to yours — messy and heated, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. You moan into the kiss, and he swears his dick got harder than it already was. 

“I’m going to fuck you now,” he pulls your hips back, turning you to face the wall. 

“I’ve been waiting, King of the Dance Floor,” you tease. Your hands clawing into the velvet walls, your back lightly arching, reaching for his touch. He unbuckles his pants like a man possessed. 

He slides in with a hiss — you’re so wet it’s obscene — and his hands fist in the fabric of your dress as he fucks into you hard. The red looks deeper as it flushes against the paleness of his palm. 

The beat of the music outside matches the frantic pace of his thrusts. His balls are slapping against your clit, his hips snapping into yours like how they did on the dance floor. 

You’re gasping. Moaning. Arching into him like you own this moment, like he’s yours to ruin. As if you haven’t ruined him before this.

One of his hands reaches for your neck, his hand wrapping around your throat. He sighs as he feels you swallow a moan down. 

“I hope no one is using this room to fuck,” someone yells from directly outside the door. Hand jiggling the locked door handle, his heart dropping with every twist of the knob. 

Satoru stills inside of you, his forehead resting on your quivering shoulder, hand stilled around your throat. His cock twitches as your gummy walls tighten around him. He wants to groan at the sensation, but quiets at the thought of getting caught. 

There’s a knock at the door, heavy and a little disarming. You clench tight and involuntarily around him. His breath shudders, his eyes roll back. 

“You’re doing that on purpose,” he grits, the hand around your neck adding some pressure. 

You smile at him from over your shoulder, “Get us caught and you’ll never fuck me again.” 

“So there’ll be a next time?” He murmurs, placing a soft kiss on your shoulder. 

“I don’t really want someone seeing your bare ass, Blue,” you laugh. Your hair brushing his face as you try to shift.

“It’s a nice ass,” he tries to laugh this off. His voice comes off almost like a growl. 

“I’d kick it if people see us like this,” you huff, you move your hips but all you do is burrow him deeper into your slick. Both of you letting out quiet groans. 

With a hand on your hip to still you from pushing him any further, he stares at the side of your face. The jiggles on the doorknob become more frantic, but right he could care less. “What if I’m into that?” 

“Blue, get out of me.”

The city is still awake, still loud, still buzzing. It’s still yours and his as you walk side by side. The moon dimmed itself to let the sun take over in a few hours. Stars not visible in the night sky, but neon lights and flashing billboards guiding you home. 

“Who are you?” You ask, breaking the silent blanket that wrapped around you both. 

Blue has a pizza slice in his hand, some tomato sauce at the corner of his lips and you want to tell him, so that he doesn’t gawk at his reflection about it. But, it’s boyish and it’s him, and you personally think he looks cute so unguarded. 

The glasses now atop his head, his shirt pulled out of his pants from earlier — you know you look just as unguarded. You’re happy that you’re doing it together. 

“Satoru Gojo,” he answers, his voice low and hesitant. You wonder if he didn’t want you to know his name. 

“No,” you shake your head, your hair feeling frizzy from the humidity as it rubs against your shoulders. “Who are you?” 

He stops, pizza still in his hand. You stop too, grabbing his hand to bring the pizza closer to your own lips, taking a bite. “I don’t know,” you hear the nervousness in his voice, as if he’s being interviewed. You watch as he scratches the back of his neck, his eyes darting from your lips to the sidewalk straight ahead. 

You give him time to find his words. You want to hear him. You want him to know he could be heard by you. 

“On Saturdays, I’m a dancer.” 

“Well, Satoru Gojo,” his eyebrows hitch up at the sound of his full name slipping from your lips, like it belongs there. It does after tonight, you just won’t tell him that … not yet. 

“You could be a dancer everyday. Whenever you hear music, just dance.” 

“It’s not what is wanted for me,” he shrugs. You notice the crease in between his eyebrows as he thinks hard, and you hate that you know the feeling. 

Sunday through Friday you hide, molding yourself to the status quo. On Saturdays you could squeeze into a red dress you spent your entire check on and just dance. Just feel. Just be yours. 

“Who gives a fuck,” you shrug and he lets out a croaked chuckle. His eyes running back to watch you, almost like he’s studying you. 

“I want it for you, Blue,” you almost don’t recognize how soft your voice sounds. It feels weird, but it feels like it belongs here. Like it belongs to be heard by him. “Do it for me, for you, and for all the Saturdays that are going to be spent in the grave after we’re gone.” 

You send him a smile, turning to start to walk again. You hear his feet scurrying behind to catch up and you both walk in a comfortable silence. The hums of cars stopped at red lights, the train still chugging down below, and your heart leaping whenever his arm brushes against yours. It warms you in a way you can’t really explain. 

Like you’re sitting in the middle of your bed with your Grandma’s quilt wrapped around you so lovingly, you’d stay there for the rest of your life if you could. 

“You’re not so nightmarish, huh?” He hums, his voice filled with nostalgia as if you guys haven’t met tonight. 

“Don’t push it, Gojo,” you bump your hip into his. He barely moves, just a smile gracing his plump lips. 

“It’s Blue to you,” he bumps back into you, his hand grasping your wrist as you falter just a little. “Want to dance next Saturday?” 

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?” 

“There are so many other days of the week,” you smile at him, his hand still on your wrist. His thumb rubs small circles near your pulse point. “We’re splitting here,” you stand at the corner, the walk lights blinking quietly. 

“Can I walk you home?” He nods, removing his hand from your wrist. The pizza is gone, both of his hands stuffing into the front of his bell bottom pants. 

“Nope,” you laugh, and you watch as his whole face lights up at the sound. His gaze soft, his foot nudging your heeled one. 

“No?” 

“Nothing personal. It’s just that you’re not supposed to ask, you just do it.” You shrug, turning completely around and starting to walk across the crosswalk. 

“Next time then?” He calls out, and you hear his grin, and smell his cologne. You feel his stare as if it’s still his hands on the small of your back, on your thighs, around your throat. 

You laugh, already missing his boyish grin. And you know that here, tonight, is what your body has been planning for.

That air of new possibilities. The new reality linked with blue eyes and a self imposed title of King of the Dance Floor. Boyish grins, neon lights, the humid early morning air that’s going to cling to your dress even after you slip out of it. 

Two people following a rhythm that could only be heard, understood, and loved by them. The sounds growing with you both since birth — this hot summer Saturday is when it finally decided to tie you together. 

And, you couldn’t wait to hear it again. 

“Bye, Blue.”

[riveredmoon]

drunk running | s. geto

chapter ten: everything is romantic

synopsis: twenty days after chapter nine — suguru geto comes to terms with this ‘relationship’. yn ln becomes brave, a little too late.

warnings: modern au, non curse au, quiet heartbreak, acceptance, cursing, angst (what else is new), comfort (?)

a/n: posting this while i’m away so that you guys can’t jump me!!!!

reminder: you’re an easy person to be loved — even if you’re just ‘you’.

three weeks after chapter nine: 

suguru geto is aware that it takes exactly twenty one days to form (or break, in his case) a habit. 

unfortunately for him, it is only day twenty. so, he isn’t completely shocked when his feet follow you out of the restaurant. 

a silent march as the laughs and looks of pity from your friends ring in his ears and tap on his shoulder. a warning of sorts — like how the lights flicker and are always fucked whenever you’re within reach. 

he now thinks of those little signs as the universe pulling him by the ear like a mom yanking their child from the gumball machine. as if he can’t always just go back for more when he thinks it isn’t looking. but it knows. and it punishes him for it. 

it’s been weirdly quiet of you since that morning — his roommates don’t bring you up, your laugh isn’t drifting through his vents. however, the scruff of your slippers are still loud in his ears, as well as the birdsongs, and unfortunately the words that left your mouth. he has to look over his shoulder to make sure your sleep deprived body isn’t following him through the grocery store — being met with your favorite snack on the rack instead.

the sounds being held prisoner in his ear drum since there is nowhere for them to go. you’re not there to laugh at his dry jokes, or wrap your legs around his waist when he fucks into you. those moments allow the words and sounds to slip away, finding homes in pillow cases and maybe even picture frames. 

your crying is another thing and he doesn’t think twenty days of trying to escape your orbit would ever let that escape his psyche. it sometimes keeps him up at night. his fingers hovering over your contact on those late nights — so that he could hear your voice, even if it’s dripping with sleep or the moans of another man’s name. he just wants to be sure there aren’t sobs racking your body, no red rimmed eyes. 

the books he stole from your bedroom started a little loot, all combining their letters and sentences of despair. harsh hums of your name whipping through the pages whenever he tries to read them. he kind of understands why you don’t finish them now.  

the books, fingers hovering over your contact photo, the dodging of your name and those chips you like in the grocery store, mean nothing when suguru replays the conversation from twenty days ago to the one from three years ago. 

the latter was angry, and forceful. the recent one was sad and downright predictable — he gave himself a minute to laugh about it. he knew… he knows you. 

he stops laughing whenever he remembers your last line: “so are you if you keep waiting.”

but, to know that in the moonlight three years ago you broke his heart, looking beautiful as you did. then with the start of a new day, the sunrise making its way along the horizon — your eyes red rimmed and shivers from the cold early spring air treading down your body — where you not only broke his heart again, but your own as well.

a question has been weighing on him.

would he have to wait till the sun is bright and aimed in the middle of a clear blue sky, for him to finally say goodbye? 

he doesn’t realize he had stopped walking — an older couple holding hands, bumping into him slightly when to get inside. their soft ‘excuse mes’ waking him up. 

you’re feet away, but it feels like you’re on the other side of this city. 

he watches your back from the open door of the restaurant. your steps are swift, but cautious — like you don’t trust yourself to make the right step. your feet going over the cracks with perfect precision — as if you knew it’ll hurt the ground if you accidentally stepped on them. 

the battle of warmth and coolness swipes along suguru’s skin as he starts to take a step to you. he smells cigarettes and a bit of your perfume, as if it lingered in the air just for him. it knew he’ll follow. 

you’re sitting on a bench, your back arrow straight. you almost look… small — and he hates it. he wants you to fill your skin the way you usually do. he knows that version of you could turn and walk away and… be okay. that version is his, whether you want him to be or not. 

you’d always be okay. and suguru… he’ll be suguru. 

he is always just suguru. a gentle reminder, even when he always wanted to be something more… to and for you. 

the street is bustling with groups of people walking by, some holding hands, others laughing at jokes. he dodges them, his feet leading him to the only working streetlight — the one that’s right above your head. 

and mere inches away, he thanks the light in secret for showing him everything that makes you.. his… you. 

the color of your hair swaying in the breeze perfectly. the earrings you always wear glimmering just right, like a shining star for him to pick out and make a wish on. even with the thick sweater you have on, he thinks he could make out the beauty mark on your shoulder. 

“can i sit with you?” 

you don’t look at him — he is sure you already knew he’d end up here. but your shoulders drop and he thinks he sees the breath you’ve been holding sizzle out of you. 

“please,” you softly whisper. it almost sounds like you’re the one begging, not the other way around. 

suguru ignores how hard his heart is beating, his body naturally finding its way next to yours. he slips on to the bench, his knees slightly brushing yours. 

your perfume greets him personally, it’s not the ghost he was following around. and he makes sure to take a deep sniff, his eyes lifting up to the dark streetlight directly above him. 

you still don’t look at him. you don’t even make a sound. silence settling between you like those bookmarks you keep wedged in your unfinished books.  

someone shouts an ‘i love you’ to someone and he smiles. he glances over to you, your bottom lip tucked into itself, your fingers grabbing on to one another. 

“i’m sor-“ your voice is quiet, he chooses to ignore it.

“i have been in love with you since we first met,” suguru says it so casually, he almost laughs when you snap your neck to look at him. your eyes wide, jaw slacked, that little twitch in your right eyebrow laughing at him, or with him (he doesn’t know anymore). 

“what?” a car blasting a pop song zooms past you guys. the lyrics grab the laugh that suguru wanted to let out. with your eyes on him after these twenty days, he feels like he’s rebooting. 

“yeah,” his hand reaches up to run through his hair, the light shining from your streetlight helping to cast his shadow on the road in front of him. he wants to look away, but he missed you. he doesn’t want to deprive himself of you tonight.

“thinking about it now, all i can do is laugh at that challenge shit i brought up three years ago.” he chuckles, but it’s sad. like it’s crawling out his throat to find a new host to belong to. 

his eyes drift to his shoes, his foot stepping on one of those cracks you ignored. 

he doesn’t move his foot. 

cars drive by, you’re breathing meshing with the sound of engines and blinker lights. he wonders if satoru ordered those appetizers he liked already. 

“suguru?” and like a start button, your voice snaps him out of the self imposed silence and he keeps going. ignoring your stare, and the pop lyrics still racking in his head.

“it was a challenge i already lost,” he shrugs, a soft smile on his lips as he jumps back to that night when this friendship evolved to kisses and bedroom entry. “and truthfully, i’d lose to you again.” 

a cold breeze whips between you guys, his hair flying in front of his eyes — shielding him from you. 

your eyes hitched up to your hairline, eyes still taking him in. 

“why?” 

“why, what?” 

“are you in love with me?” 

at the word love, you literally shiver. your eyes drifting to your own shoes. and he wants to hold you, bring you closer to him — swallow you so that you could stay with him forever. he settles with hitting your knee with his. 

the touch is warm, and welcomed. you push back. 

“because you’re… you.” 

and suguru smiles, a real one that feels like it’s going to melt here on this bench. he thinks about you, the way you laugh at any joke that filters through the airstream. the way you don’t ever finish a book, despite going to bookshops and buying more every month. words finding their way to live around you.

the way that your eyes always find his — like now. it feels like home. your eyes meeting him in the middle of anything that comes between — words and feelings gone for a second. your eye color meshing with his. 

he thinks of how at the expense of yourself, you stay true to who you think you are. 

you’re you. and as much as he loves that, he also envies it. because even after this, you will always be you. your own person. 

and suguru, will have to take another twenty days (plus one) to not be yours. 

a group of people shout from behind you two. their laughs and screams pinching in between the little space between your knees knocking. 

you look over at him, the light above you shining just a little brighter. your eyes gleaming with an emotion he is sure he has not seen, and that says a lot compared to the emotions he saw roll out of you the last time you spoke. 

“i was thinking about yo-“ your voice is hoarse, as if it’s been stuck in your throat for twenty days instead of the maybe three minutes of silence that carried over you.  “us.” 

your stare is heavy and he just stares back. 

the group is further ahead, their laughs still straggling behind, moving with your perfume and the sigh that you’re breathing out. 

“us?” suguru hides the surprise from his voice— but he feels the pink tinge that is crawling from your knees touching and climbing to the top of his ears. 

eye still on him, hands still balled up in your lap — you shrink into yourself some more. your legs squeezing, shoulders pulled back to your ears. 

he sighs and you flinch at the sound. 

“i don’t know what to do,” your eyes skip over him, and he feels the light above him get darker — if that was possible. he sits in an actual shadow of you, your soft voice living in the light. 

“i don’t know how to be the kind of partner that you need.”

your eyes still looking over him, he notices the tears though. how they’re getting heavy and slightly red at the lash line. and as much as he misses it, he wishes you don’t look at him again. not right now, not with tears on their way out. 

suguru knows what is about to happen and he wants to jump from the bench and take your tears and create puddles for your two to jump in, a playful distraction.

cloud nine is not feeling too high, not when he knows he shouldn’t keep it there. 

“i don’t think anyone truly knows what to do with love,” he whispers. your knee is fulling pressing into his and he’s thankful. “it’s usually just there.” 

you let out a hum, quiet and thoughtful. he wants to ask if you could do it again, so that he could replace the sound of your slippers with this breath.

the restaurant door opens, he smells the dumplings. he wonders if you’re hungry, or have you been skipping meals too? 

“so it’s not a bad thing that i don’t know how to say i love you?” 

another gust of wind knocks suguru on the side of his face. like a gentle slap to wake him up. your hair now swaying towards him, your shampoo etched in his pillow case that he knows he has to wash sooner than later, crawling towards him. 

“i think i’m the wrong person to ask,” he shrugs and lets the chuckle weasling its ways up, out. he doesn’t miss the way the corner of your lips twitch. “my mouth just tends to let it slip whenever i see you.”

a chuckle jumps from your lips too, it’s light but sad. it doesn’t sound like yours. suguru almost doesn’t believe he knows the person sitting next to him. 

your hand finds his. and he swallows the burn in his chest when your fingers interlocked. your touch is soft but hesitant — the non sexual intimacy coming off as stiff. 

and as if the universe was telling him that it’s time — he has decided he should listen to it when it comes to you from now on. everything stops — all of the cars stop, no groups laughing, the restaurant’s door doesn’t open. the light above you gets brighter and his knee brushes against yours and you two and this bench are the only things alive. 

“i’m sorry,” his eyes stare at your thumb slowly rubbing against his knuckle. the movement so soft, he wonders if he’ll feel it like those other phantom touches he gets from you. 

“you’re sorry,” your eyes narrow at street. he wonders if you’re trying to conjure cars with your mind. the stillness bothering you, while it calms him — or at least tries to.  

“i love you,” he wants to throw up, but nothing will come out. well, he hopes all of the sounds of your world slip out and stay right in front of this bench but he’ll miss them — maybe more than he’ll miss you. “but i have to let you go.”

you nod your head, accepting. your mouth sucking in a breath so sharp, he knows your lungs are burning from the sheer force of the inhale. your fingers grabbing on to his hand a little tighter, your fingertips searing cold kisses. 

you let out a sigh and it’s hurts him more than it should — as if the sigh itself knew knew this would happen. as if these twenty days were filled of you accepting something suguru wasn’t sure he was going to choose to do. 

your own body believing that you’d be alone. while suguru had to fight with himself — fight with the idea of letting you go so that he wouldn’t be alone. staying tethered to you so that he could stay in this orbit of yours — even when the sun turns away from him. leaving him cold and lost.

the bench bends around you both — making sure that even when you two leave, traces of the words left unsaid from you and the ones pouring out him stays weaven in the planks. maybe other people could have the conversation play for them, living for generations as a billboard for love not always being enough. 

“i’m sorry.” you break the silence, your head turning towards him. your lips in a meek smile. the tears are gone, but the gleam of that emotion is still there — the street light is making it even brighter. 

“for what?” 

you shrug, eyes dropping to your hand in his. your thumb is still running against his knuckle, like if you rub it enough it’ll tell you the answer. “being me.”

he almost apologizes for the laugh that falls from his lips. the laugh where his eyes squint shut, his hand grabbing on to yours squeezes a little tighter. the laugh he knows you love, you never fail to look away when he laughs like this. 

“you dweeb,” his laugh dies down and he could finally look at you. the wind started up again, super softly. it runs across your lashes and he smiles agin. “i love you either way, obviously.” he throws his free hand up, almost reaching for the dark light above him. 

and you smile. it almost replicates your real one. your eyes squinting at the corners just a little, your nose scrunching and he can’t help but squeeze your hand a little tighter. bringing your interlocked hands to his lap — as if your smile would seep through his thigh and into his bloodstream. 

his free hand reaches over, finding the coolness of your cheek. your eyes jump from his face to his arm, like you’re trying to figure out his movements. “i’d wait for you forever if you’d let me.” 

as quickly as his hand made it to your cheek, it falls. skimming the ends of your hair, your arms, and back to suguru’s side where it belongs. “i just realized i shouldn’t.”

and you quickly turn your head away — eyes back on the empty road. your thumb isn’t rubbing anymore but your fingertips are digging into his hand. he squeezes tighter. 

“i thought not loving you,” your voice cracks, and suguru also has to look at the road. “— or pretending not to would keep you safe.” 

“safe from what?”

“me,” he feels you shrug. “you’re the last person i’d wanted to hurt.” 

and deep down… suguru knew that. because he knows you. like how this bench is beginning to the know insides of you as you start to talk. 

“why do you think you loving me would hurt me?” 

“because i’ve already seen it happen.”

suguru blinks as he ignores the sniffles coming from you. ignoring the nails biting his skin. 

“three years ago and twenty days ago.” you whisper. your fingers relax along his hand.

not looking at you, or checking to see if his hand is bleeding, suguru sighs. one filled with longing and a slightly teasing tilt because he relishes in the fact that you’ve been counting too. 

a silence settles between you two, one that isn’t awkward or flashing in anger and misunderstanding — it’s forgiving and little sad. heavy in melancholy. 

the world starts up again — cars start driving down the road. pedestrians weaving between cars as they run across the street, laughter and hope inking the air. 

right across, under two, working streetlights is a couple kissing. it’s sweet, and caressing. suguru wonders who long did it take for the woman to tell the man that she loved him. 

“maybe in three years…” suguru’s eyes move from the couple and to a car speeding down — the black camouflaging in the night. 

“you’ll still be you,” your voice is back to normal — as if out of anything that was ever said tonight, this is what meant the most to you. 

he smiles, a genuine one — that feels like it doesn’t belong here at the moment, but it follows you whenever you’re near. “and you’ll still be you.”

you nod. because that’s another thing you’re sure about. he’s sure of it, this bench is sure of it… you’ll always be you. and he wouldn’t want that to change. 

“maybe, it’ll work then.” he finishes. and the burn in his chest is back, and it’s hungry and clawing and he needs to step away from you. 

give himself a minute to realize how this is going to change you, him, the smell on his sheets, his grocery runs, every new year after this. 

but, your fingers grip onto his hand and he does the only thing he thinks would mend the situation — at least for himself — he brings your hand up to his face, turning your palm to him, and places the most feather like kiss on your wrist. your pulse punching him in the lip as he does. 

you don’t react — no sigh, no gasp, no turn of your head. he doesn’t know if you’re even truly breathing. your pulse is the only sign of life from you. 

and like the quick breeze that tickled his cheek just now, suguru drops your hand, his own slipping out of your grip. 

the restaurant door flies open again and he knows it’s time for him to go. 

without a goodbye, a final glance, nothing really to commemorate this ending — he slips off the bench fast. or more like the bench pushed him off, his legs feeling stiff and his feet stepping on the crack with all his weight. he wonders if he’ll slip through. 

he steps away from the bench, the lights, the couple kissing across the street, the pop lyrics that stole his laugh, the smell of your perfume… from you.

he ignores the heaviness in his eyes and the twitch in his hand. his steps are long, but dragging. he doesn’t know where he belongs now. 

“your hopefulness always bites you in the ass,” your voice stops him, its light and humorous. that joking tone you use all the time is back. without turning around, he knows which smile is plastered on your lips. 

“only when it comes to you.” his own smile gracing his face. 

and then that silence that settles in between you guys like a mountain happens again. he doesn’t hear you move, he doesn’t move either. 

back to back — not in a silent war but in an embrace of knowing it wasn’t the time. neither of you are giving the other person the chance to see the other walk away. 

“i love you.” your voice is quite but firm and he’s happy it was said while a breeze flutters by — he hopes it visits him when he misses you. 

“i know,” his voice is low, but he knows you hear him. you always do. “i think i always knew.” he starts to walk towards the door — his fingers inches from the knob. a little louder this time, “i was waiting for you to stop lying to yourself.” his body slipping into the restaurant, his heart staying in the middle of this street.

and you. you don’t walk back in. 

taglist: @re-tired-succubus, @luvvcho, @iluvujt, @smolcooki33, @candy-s72, @starmapz, @shokosbunny, @emlient, @loveyislost, @whatismatildethinkingabout, @shibataimu, @11thlife02, @se-phi-roth, @frootloopscos, @risagichi, @sttaejoon-blog, @vampshxde, @corvid007, @marsavie, @vorfreudevortex, @bubblegumcat229, @fairygardenprincesss, @lily-isalittlegirl, @sukunasrealgf, @vimzya, @sexylexy12, @chaos-unlimited, @sukunasbigtiddiewifey, @timedisappears, @goonforgeto, @lily-bisque

[riveredmoon]

drunk running | s. geto

chapter nine: cynical one

synopsis: the morning after the night suguru said those three little words, again. yn fights to say it back.. kind of.

warnings/genre: modern au, non curse au, smau (shoko and kento are back), angst, heartbreak, cursing, yn's avoidant attachment is going to be the death of her

a/n: two more to go. i love yn. i love sugu. and no my heart is NOT breaking (yes it is). (also you guys voted for another suguru angst after this and i'm so ready to give you that one.) ok bye!

you’re not sure what it is that you’re feeling. your chest hurts. your eyes are dry from barely sleeping — you watched suguru’s back rise and fall. you just wanted to make sure he was still there. still yours. 

you don’t know why you stood silent after he said those words to you. or why you let him stay the night. especially when his eyes wouldn’t meet yours, no matter how much you tried to see what he was feeling. 

it’s not like you didn’t know. 

the slippers on your feet scuff off the asphalt foreignly. your arms pebbled with goosebumps. the early morning chill making your bones brittle and your teeth chatter. 

the sun is barely waving hello — snuggling on the horizon as if it’s being forced to start the day. like she has to deal with the consequences of not being able to say three simple words. even when you feel them. even when they weigh you down to walking outside in your pajamas and slippers. 

the runners on the path aren’t meeting your eyes either. they must know that you’re a liar. you wouldn’t look yourself in the eyes either. 

you want to scream at them. tell them they don’t understand. you can’t tell him the truth. you can’t let yourself love him the way he wants you to. 

however, your lips are tightly pursed as you ignore the stares, the chill of the early spring morning, and your brain telling you to turn around. go home. get back in bed and snuggle into the warmth of his pillow. and pretend that this never happened. 

but it did happen. last night. and three years ago. and it’ll probably happen for the rest of your lives, if either of you stick around. 

and now, the infamous calling out to him and talking about his so-called love devotion is underway. you wonder if he’s going to be mean. feel sorry for you this time? you wouldn’t even get mad at him if he was. 

ahead of you, suguru geto is walking. his steps are slow and loving, as if he’s kissing the ground. making sure he doesn’t step on any cracks because he fears it might hurt the earth. always the most thoughtful. 

his shoulders are tense though, rising to his ears. you want to reach out, but you’re at least twenty feet away. and, you’re not sure if he’ll be good at the idea of you trying to comfort him. 

a runner passes him, shouting out a ‘good morning’. he waves, a breeze pushing forward and swaying the ends of his hair. you feel like they’re beckoning you over — but deep down you know that’s just the sleep deprivation talking. 

your eyes trace the way his head is angled to the ground. the slow rising sunrise beaming on the side of his face. his feet kick at whatever is in his way that is not the concrete — gently of course. there is care in every single one of his movements. 

even as he ignores your presence, you know he hears the scuffle of your slippers. the running thoughts about you turning back and just drinking nyquil and going to sleep. you know he feels his name on the tip of your tongue. but, he’s giving you grace or space. 

you don’t know. you don’t really deserve either one. 

his name slips from your lips before you could stop yourself. 

“sugu.” your feet stop, your toes curling in the softness of your slippers. it feels like home. suguru’s eyes meeting yours and your toes in the fluff of your house slippers. 

his head spins, the wind tangling his hair. a runner almost bumps into him before he shifts to the side. 

“yn?” 

you hear him trying to coax in the surprise in his voice. but his tired eyes and slight pout tell you what you already knew. he knew you were behind him. he always knows where you are — much to his downfall. 

“i can’t say it.” you whisper. you hear cars starting up and you’re reminded that while you’re stuck on bedroom thoughts and secrets meant to be tucked in pillows, people are starting their days. 

you watch suguru watch you. his eyes are filled with this concern that you don’t think is necessary. you just can’t say three simple words — no need for the alarm. 

but, you shiver when a chill rattles the budding flowers on the trees. and you really can’t see him clearly. he looks like he’s in an aquarium — swimming with the sharks and you’re watching. a really foggy exhibit, you could only hope he makes it out alive. 

“are you okay?” 

his voice is hard, not angry. but, alarmed. and you wish you could make out the emotion in his eyes. 

you ignore the old man running behind you yelling “left”. you don’t even know where your left hand is at the moment. you probably left it in the bed. 

“i can’t say it.” you speak a little louder. your voice cracking and you know you’re far too gone. not a smidge of embarrassment is coddling its way up your throat. just regret. 

“you should take my jacket,” you could make out the figure of suguru stepping closer to you.

his steps are still soft, matching the tone in his voice. 

you hear shops opening — the gates rattling in the air. the slow signs and movements of the early morning. you smell the bakery baking their daily loaf. the domesticity of it causes you to break. 

or maybe it’s how the sun is shining on suguru. soft fluttery specks of gold warming on his skin. his arm is still out reaching, waiting for you to take hold of it. take his jacket. take his warmth. 

you pull your arms closer to your chest. and you start to cry — hot, steaming tears offering you warmth as they glide down your face on their own accord. and then, you could finally see him. 

he isn’t the gold shimmery figure that was him. but, he’s yours. soft eyes and black raven hair. the easy grin isn’t there, but in other situations you know would’ve been. 

and that makes you cry even harder. those embarrassing chest rattling sobs squeaking out of you. 

“i can’t love you,” you gasp out. your hands clawing at your own arms. you really hate that you can’t see. 

and like a slow motion film reel — every little thing that made what you just said a lie flashes in front of you. the first slide is suguru’s look alike. a haunting idea that even when he couldn’t look at you, couldn’t see you — you sought him out. no hiding from his look alike, just pretending and hope from you. they never could be him. 

images of your hand running along the drink cooler at supermarkets, always grabbing his favorite drink. you wouldn’t even notice until you got home. the smile he’ll send your way when he’d go in the fridge. you’ll hide the grin stretching across your lips. 

seeing him again after three years — almost falling into your hand, like you knew he would. the red umbrella peeling in the corners in your brain. the raindrops on his shirt matching the ones falling on to yours now. 

“but i do.”

he sucks in a breath, and you’re happy for the sound despite it being sharp and not mixing with the slight bustle of the day beginning. 

it lets you know that he’s there. you’re weirdly okay with that. 

“but i can’t love you the way that you need me too.”

“which way is that?” 

“by not walking away.” 

the silence is loud — louder than the bakers humming their tunes, the runners’ feet stomping as they run around the two idiots standing in the way. louder than the sun and its shine on him. 

his raven hair looks almost blue, and you want to stop everything. just to give yourself to take him in – you don’t know if it’ll be another three years until the next time you can. 

he looks like your suguru. that's all you could really see, all you could want at the moment. 

his arm with his jacket is still outstretched— still waiting for you. it’s almost supportive, waiting for you to find it and lean on it. 

“i don’t want you to hate me,” you whisper. the tears have finally stopped falling. but everything is blurry — suguru looks too bright. 

but you see him, you know you see him. you see him watching you. an unrecognizable look on his face. you’re sure you could establish every fleeing emotion that graces his features, but this one is one you can’t decipher. 

his eyebrows are raised, just enough that it looks like he entered his surprise birthday party. a smile doesn’t grace his lips, it’s almost a scowl — but there’s no anger in his eyes. he looks confused, but with so much more added to it. 

“you know i can’t hate you.” his voice is rushed, and breathless. you wonder if you missed when he was running too. 

“but you did.” 

“no -“ his face scrunches in confusion. you want to laugh at him, crack a joke at how his nose scrunched — like that kitten you saw yesterday. 

but a runner almost runs into you, reminding you that you’re not in a comfortable enough environment to joke with him. it’s cold out here, and rushed — not like the slow nights, packed warmly in either of your beds. where words and jokes and feelings are free to fly around. 

“you couldn’t even look at me three years ago.” 

you think about the night before his graduation, his eyes meeting yours for the first time in weeks. everything stopped for you in that moment — the bar’s music, sukuna’s rough hands on your hips stilled and ignored. suguru’s eyes rushed to find solace elsewhere, life starting up again quickly after. 

“i was hurt.” he says it so casually, like it’s the most random thing in the world. yes, people get hurt, but people don’t get hurt by you. you never let it get that far. well, you typically don’t. 

“and i’ll keep hurting you if i love you.” you admit. your throat is starting to hurt from the gasps and sobs earlier. 

suguru stares at you. not one part of his body moving. you want to be the one to ask if he’s okay now. 

birds start to chirp, like happy love songs floating through the closer up flower buds. drifting through the laces of the runners, giving them more power for their run.

the songs are mocking you and suguru. 

then he takes a step forward, and you didn’t realize how close you guys actually were. he’s still an arm’s length away but you think you feel the warmth of his chest, like he’s still in the bed with you. his hands are still clawing at your hair, so that he could have your shampoo etched on his fingertips for later when he misses you. 

“do you think i’m having fun now?” 

you step back at the urgency of his question. at the bite in his voice. the way his narrowed eyes are still on your face, no blinking, no skimming up your pajamas and down to your slippers. 

“i follow behind you three years later like a fucking masochist,” he lets out a dry laugh and you grab onto your arms even tighter. nails digging into your skin. you won’t be surprised if you leave a pool of your blood right where you’re standing. “i’m obviously not having a good time.” 

“but it’s going to end and i’m going to be the one to leave.” you rush out, and you don't even really believe what you're saying, you think you have to speak after him, keep pushing him away with things you know hurt. 

he lets out a scoff — and it’s still not angry. but it’s tired, like you. maybe your sleep deprivation has clung onto the sounds his body is making. 

“what are you even saying? no one is forcing you to leave.” his tone is bitter, but soft. like a gruff you let out when you find out your favorite restaurant ran out of your meal. 

it just wants to be understood. even knowing that, you can’t do what he wants. you’re choosing to not understand. 

“just fucking love me.”

“i do.” 

the birds start to chirp a little louder, you wished they were loud enough to sing over you. but suguru’s heavy breathing is telling you that he heard. he always hears you. 

“say it.”

“this was supposed to be simple.” 

simple. easy. not real. 

“say it then.” he ignores you, his arms pushing towards you. like he’s trying to push all his courage to you. 

it didn’t work. you knew it wouldn’t. suguru did too. 

you shake your head. it feels heavy, like the sun’s sitting on it — garnering all its shine towards suguru. pushing you into the ground, into the stillness of earth so you could ignore all the rush of emotions, as you usually do.

“i’m not brave like you,” your voice is watery and shaken. you really don’t want to fucking cry again but he looks blurry and your lash line is brimming with liquid you wish was rain from the night you guys rekindled. “i don’t trust good things enough to hold them.”

the smell of coffee wafts between you two, and you almost reach out your hand to have it finally meet his. so that you could tug him along, as if he’ll fight it, to a coffee shop and order him a black coffee with not one but two sugars. and watch him drink it and let out those morning sighs that only coffee drinkers emit. 

you’ll pretend you like the smell. just to sit and watch him. just to be in front of him. to be the one to do something for him.

but the silence is loud, the coffee smell is even louder. your stomach is starting to hurt and you really wished you turned back all those moments ago. 

he stares at you. eyebrows still raised. the breeze that you seem to have forgotten about graces his cheeks with the slightest pink twinge. it’s almost cute. 

“huh,” he pauses. you cringe, getting ready for whatever harsh word he may say. your defense at zero, you’re not going to fight. whatever he says is going to be true, because he knows you. he knows that. and you pretend that you don’t. “you really haven’t changed?” 

“were you expecting me to?” 

he narrows his eyes at you and shrugs. his shoulders finally leaving their tense position, falling along with his long arms. his jacket still folded in his arms. 

“i wasn’t supposed to be expecting anything from you.” he mumbles, his eyes finally looking down at your slippers. 

you swallow the lump in your throat. your freezing fingers are actually feeling sweaty in your arms. the fluff of your slippers isn’t comforting anymore. your feet are ready to join the runners, turn and bolt to the warmth of your bed. you can change your sheets and throw these slippers out, and hug the picture frame to sleep. 

“you’re going to truly end up alone.” 

and with your body ready for harsh words, ones to tangle with his feelings of sorrow from all those years ago — you pause. not at the statement, because it’s something you’d told yourself countless of times. but, the sadness in his voice is so thick you could almost swim through it like fog. barely seeing him, just his feelings and words swimming in front of you. 

and again, the words don’t affect you — the effect of the words on him do. knowing that he pities you, instead of himself because you can’t give him what he needs, twists your gut in a way that feels like it’ll never be normal again. 

so in your emotional haze, you do your best act — push and deflect. 

“so are you if you keep waiting.” 

you want to bite at the air like a dog playing fetch. grabbing the words and tucking them into your cheek — snarling whenever he comes too close to get them. 

suguru lets out a sigh. one that you could tell was stuck in his chest from maybe even before he told you that he loved you. it sounds lived-in, like it knew his secrets and yours. you could see it leave out of him like a ghost — quick and haunting. sorrowful and cold. 

all you could do is pull your chin to your chest, close your eyes, and cry. you want to do more. all at the expense of yourself. maybe pull your hair, jump in front of the next runner — twisting their ankle, scraping your knee. 

it would hurt less than this. and suguru could watch you hurt physically — in hopes that it compares. 

you could hear suguru tightly nod his head, his eyes narrowed — not out of anger but pure pity. you rather the fucking anger. you could almost feel his hair tickle you as the wind sways as he turns his back to you despite being feet away. 

and for the first time, you can’t be the one to turn away. you don’t think you want to. it’s not deserved. 

taglist: @re-tired-succubus, @luvvcho, @iluvujt, @smolcooki33, @candy-s72, @starmapz, @shokosbunny, @emlient, @loveyislost, @whatismatildethinkingabout, @shibataimu, @11thlife02, @se-phi-roth, @frootloopscos, @risagichi, @sttaejoon-blog, @vampshxde, @corvid007, @marsavie, @vorfreudevortex, @bubblegumcat229, @fairygardenprincesss, @lily-isalittlegirl, @sukunasrealgf, @vimzya, @sexylexy12, @chaos-unlimited, @sukunasbigtiddiewifey, @timedisappears, @goonforgeto, @lily-bisque

[riveredmoon]

softness is a weapon, too

stories stitched from sleep and still-bleeding thoughts.

last updated 07/27/2025

some works are for mature audiences!

please read warnings!

✓ -> indicates smut ✗ -> indicates angst

drabbles

toji fushiguro

-> release date: one drunken (lonely) night leads you down a rabbit hole of a prison pal website — where you come across none other than toji fushiguro. after a flirty email exchange, you find out his release date and decide to pick him up. turns out, he wasn’t the only thing getting released. (✓)

suguru geto

-> drunk running: three years ago, you and suguru thought you both could keep things casual—until a ‘drunken’ “i love you” changed everything. now, after radio silence and unfinished feelings, fate (and your nosy friends) throw you back together. it’s messy, charged, and way too familiar…but this time, will you finally get it right? (ongoing series) (✓, ✗)

-> echo: based on the song ‘echo’ by the marias. (✗)

-> swipe right: you got cheated on. downloaded tinder. swiped right. and now you’re getting fucked by your one night stand. (✓)

satoru gojo

-> taking what’s not yours: based on the song taking what’s not yours by tv girl! satoru is obsessed and you're moving on. (✓, ✗)

-> night fever: one saturday night soaked in desire and disco, two dancers meet — one magnetic, one mesmerizing, both lost. on this fateful night, they find a rhythm in each other they’ve been searching for all along. (✓)

choso kamo

-> even when i slip away: in a world where memories could be erased, choso clings to the pieces of a love he barely knew how to hold. even when you both forget — something in him remembers. (✓, ✗)

kento nanami

-> wave goodbye: you visit kento’s favorite place to live in the pockets he has left behind and to say goodbye. (✓, ✗)

-> quiet tipper: he watches your live streams, always quietly tipping — and tipping bigger than anyone else ever did. when you finally notice, you offer him something in return. (✓)

sukuna

-> for our eyes only?: your only fans is thriving, especially when your boyfriend films himself filling you up. (✓)

keiji akaashi

-> how to create a love story: akaashi just wanted to quietly sketch his dream manga character—he didn’t ask for bokuto’s chaos to drag him (and his art) onto twitter. but when yn’s friends stumble across the viral post, it sends her publishing world into a frenzy… and suddenly akaashi’s mysterious little doodle turns into meetings, manga deals, and, oh yeah—unexpected late-night texts, lingering looks, and a slow-burn romance neither of them saw coming. oops. guess this story’s getting a rewrite. (very slow on updates)

tetsuro kuro

-> everything is romantic: kuroo being down bad and falling in love with you anytime he could. based on everything is romantic by charli xcx.

collections/collabs i took part in:

-> internet baby: swipes right. streams. subreddits. apps you shouldn’t be on. post. moan. the internet has many tabs open — and you're the filthiest one. (✓)

-> her stage, their ruin: he worships her. he wants to save her. she just wants to dance. inspired by pyramids by frank ocean. (✓)

-> bisque’s summer bash collab

-> pepper’s who really cares collab

wanna check out some of my favorites?

[riveredmoon]

no war. but i will fight.

✧ an artist pretending to be a ghost

✧ i bite gently, but still i bite

✧ softness is a weapon, too

@pinkmatterings

[riveredmoon]

brief but bruising

nerd!reader x athlete!sukuna ii. iii. (✓)

experienced!reader x virgin!nanami (✓)

cheater!gojo watches geto fuck you (✓)

sukuna x reader x geto (✓)

mean!reader x weirdo!choso (✓)

bimbo!reader x nerdjo (✓)

ceo!sukuna