brainrotsimpblogging

[brainrotsimpblogging]

The Art of Perfection

Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Toji, Choso x fem!reader

smut; the parts of you they worship most

║▌║ individual warnings for each character ▌│║

MDNI I Mainframe_access()

Gojo Satoru

❥obsessed with your pussy ❥the taste, the look, the feel, inside, outside, god everything about it ❥can't keep his hands, mouth, eyes off like e v e r ❥daydreams abt your pussy 24/7

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

//sub-leaning!Gojo

"Mhhhhh please," Satoru murmurs against the inside of your thigh, warm face smushed against your skin. He's been repeating himself for the better part of half an hour, nuzzling into you, leaving kisses along your legs so pretty on his knees. "Please, Y/n. I miss her so much...."

His whiney tone almost convinces you to give in. The added puppy eyes, shot through thick white lashes make it even harder. "Satoruuu," you purr, only reluctantly diverting your attention from your TV show, "if you keep begging, I might have to put a muzzle on you." His hair feels softer than usual between your fingers, nails along his scalp eliciting prettily fluttering lids from the man.

"But, Y/n," he starts, syrupy sweet, lips shaped by a pout, while he manages to scoot even closer like trying to merge his torso with your legs. Satoru doesn't yet dare to slide between them. "Why don't you shut me up with something else?"

A warning pull on his hair makes him quiet with a small, too-satisfied-sounding hiss. "You've been between my legs since morning," you remind him, clicking your tongue lightly. "Don't you want to spend your free time doing something else? Like... not on your knees?"

Satoru's head shakes under your hand, a small smirk forming as he finally dares to move a little closer, parting your knees with his body, hands flattening along your thighs. His eyes stare up at you, big like he's waiting for you to push him away again.

"But it's so warm, and soft," he brushes his lips against your inner thigh, reaching the edge of your shorts, "and it tastes like you... why would I want to be anywhere else?" Fingers sneak upwards, carefully pulling your clothes off once more, testing the waters. "I'll do anything you ask, baby. Just... please. Ten more minutes?"

Geto Suguru

❥obsessed with your thighs ❥squeezing them, biting them, licking, kissing, marking, just holding them ❥goes actually feral when you wear something revealing ❥has a million pics on his phone just of your legs ❥never really admits to it but it's very obvious

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

//dom!Geto

Your thigh is thoroughly messaged, Suguru's hand absentmindedly kneading the flesh while overviewing some letters. His touch feels possessive, not once straying from you despite Suguru's attention remaining elsewhere. He pinches your sweatpants, tugging on them slightly.

"Take these off, sweetheart," he murmurs, continuing to read through the paperwork.

You stall for only a moment before complying wordlessly. His hand is warm against your naked leg, fingers spreading wide to claim as much skin as possible. He hums only once, clearly pleased with the newly exposed area, fingers lingering before they start to wander. His touch is reverent like memorizing each centimeter of skin all over again.

"Why are your legs shaking, baby girl?" Suguru questions absentmindedly, as if his hands haven't been wandering higher and higher up your thigh, like hot coals, making your insides twitch and heart pump faster than it needs to.

"No reason," you gasp, trying to keep from closing your legs as Suguru's hand just so brushes your by-now-soaked panties. The lie earns you a harsh pinch.

"Don't lie to me." Suguru's attention finally shifting to you makes you feel even more exposed, darkly piercing eyes shooting right through you. The impact has your pussy drooling relentlessly into the fabric.

Your stuttered apology is cut short by Suguru pushing you over onto your back, hovering above, one hand next to your face holding himself, the other gripping your thigh to support you wrapping them around his waist.

"When you need something, you know you should tell me," he purrs, leaning closer, his eyes never once straying from yours, "otherwise I have no other choice but to tease you, baby..."

Kento Nanami

❥obsessed with your face ❥every expression, every feature that tells him how you feel, the sparkles and the dulls of your eyes ❥loves when he gets certain responses out of you - when he can control what you look like ❥he can't help it; cupping your cheek, brushing your lip, kissing your forehead, grazing his lips along your temple

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Kento's movement is deliberate, every thrust of his hips with a passion you've only ever experienced from him. You can't help your moans from flowing freely, each push driving you to call his name, proclaim your pleasure like it's gospel. You're so caught up, you barely notice Kento's undivided attention never once leaving your lust-painted face.

"You look so perfect when I push my cock into you," he sighs, hips meeting yours, shaft stretching you perfectly deep.

You can't help but whine, pressing your hips upwards to meet him, gasping at the new angle. He finds your eyes when you open them, warm and all-engulfing, Kento's lips stretched into an adoring smile. "So perfect, darling." His kisses are warm against your cheek, trailing over your temple and the rest of your face, appreciating each feature with soft contact.

You moan his name, barely a stutter while arching your back as his attention intensifies the pleasure. His hips snap into yours with added force, your moans spurring him on, gentle grunts falling from the man above you. "K-kento I'm- hah- I'm gonna-"

"Let go, baby," he rasps, keeping up his pace one hand cupping your chin gently, "let me see you when you come."

His repeated thrusts cloud your brain, filling you out until you're full, every cell vibrating with the penetration of Kento stretching pleasurable muscle. It spills over, your moans rising in volume, body tense, and face contorting whichever way the orgasm takes it, creating a work of art for Kento only.

Toji Fushiguro

❥obssessed with your tits ❥can not take his hands off of you ever ❥or his eyes ❥completely shameless about it to ❥his hands are never not under your shirt or in the process of pulling it upwards or down

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

"What'cha cookin', sweetheart?" Toji's voice rings through the air, deep gravel that sends shivers down your spine. He presses against you from behind, warm chest against your back, peeking at the omelet frying in front of you. You can't help but lean back into him, enjoying the attention.

"Breakfast. Want some too?"

He chuckles, right into your ear while his hands wander up your sides, taking a very predictable path to your chest. "Nah. Got something else I want right here."

You groan when Toji squeezes your tits, fingers digging just deep enough to keep from being uncomfortable. He seems pleased with the sensation like this isn't the tenth time today he's felt it, a low satisfied hum brumming against your neck. "Toji," you try to argue, interrupted when he turns you around and lifts you onto the countertop. You barely have time to shut the stove off.

"Shut up for a second, 'm busy. With my girls." Toji shamelessly lifts your shirt, broad body pushing your thighs apart to be closer to your chest. His hands cup your boobs like it's second nature, one pair of fingers sneaking around your nipple for a teasing pinch. Toji doesn't even try to conceal his wandering eyes.

"Don't tell me to shut up, these are my tits dumbass," you snarl, trying to pretend his rolling fingers aren't having an effect on you, like the way your pussy throbs and begs for his attention each time he squeezes.

Toji's grin is downright evil, eyes flickering up to meet yours for a short second. "You sure?" he chuckles, leaning down to kiss along your neck, tongue darting suggestively low along your collar. "'cause they seem so much happier in my care..."

Kamo Choso

❥obsessed with your fingers ❥gets so shy and blushy when he so much as looks at them, don't get me started what happens when he touches them ❥nothing gets him harder faster than your fingers in his mouth, he can come from just that ❥always play with them absentmindedly, it usually calms him down or helps him concentrate

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

//sub!Choso

Choso is already a squirmy mess. You've barely done anything. Just a brush of your finger against his cheekbone, and whispered praise against the sensitive shell of his ear, enough to entice a growing bulge against Choso's pants. You can't help but laugh.

"You're so easy, baby," you murmur against his ear, fingers trailing along his neck while you straddle his thighs, so close the heat pools between you two much like his growing desire. "What's got you so worked up, hm?" As if you don't already know the answer to that.

He whimpers as your hand continues its path down his neck, along his jawline, tracing his chin. "Y-you're being mean," he gasps, helpless already. His thighs strain underneath you, useless against your weight.

"Why's that, Choso?" There's no use hiding your grin while your fingers trail to his lips, watching your boyfriend's eyes flutter when you brush along his lips. "I'm barely doing anything..."

The way he moans when you push two fingers past his lips and press them onto his tongue makes you shiver. Choso's eyes roll back, body tensing in the way it always does. It almost feels too satisfying, how pathetically Choso's hips rut upwards, restricted by you still. His cheeks burn red when you laugh at him again.

"That's all, hm? Just need my fingers down your throat and you start whimpering?" his eyes cross as you press deeper into him, feeling the wet warmth of his mouth around you. "Think I can make you come like this again? Let's find out, baby boy."

[brainrotsimpblogging]

Fuku! Could I please have 10 with Atsuya?

Oh, you like that? (KusaReader) mdni!

“Fuck- you feel amazing,” Kusakabe praised, gruff voice breathy and husky as he had you splayed in front of him. He was barely pulling out before burying his cock all the way back in, one hand plastered on the plush of your hip and the other over your shoulder. He was hypnotized by the hair you had falling over the back of your neck, which made its graceful way down your back.

He was rolling his hips into you, taking his sweet time in between your moans and mewls for his name, and progressively getting lost in the feeling of it, his cock sliding against your glistened, soft and throbbing folds. Kusakabe drove his hand mindlessly to the nape of your head, and grabbed a handful of hair, giving it a tug.

It was like a special button had been pressed. It sent a shockwave of pure pleasure down your spine, having you arching your back, plumping up your ass to take him even deeper and the whimpers that tumbled out of your mouth had him shuddering in pure bliss.

“Oh… you like that?” He inquired, with a dose of playfulness in his already panting breath. You mm-hmm him to the best of your abilities, having your brain turning to absolute mush the instant the tugged at your hair again, softly tilting your head back, projecting the towering muscles of your neck in an arch.

“God… ah… You’re so fucking pliable like this- fuck,”

Some primal urge took complete hold of him, an urge of taking you and dominating you completely.

With one single, strong grip, he lifted you towards him only with a hold on your hair, and your mouth fell open in a mixture of a moan and a whimper, your hands making their way to the back of his neck once your shoulder blades met his chest.

“Is it good?” He asked, his warm breath tickling the skin on the edge of your ear like molasses. You whispered him a yes, Atsu, please, more and it snapped something inside him.

In a second, he used his grip on your hair to tilt your head to the side, buried his teeth on the side of your neck, robbing you of moans and cries, and began rutting relentlessly against you. His other hand made its way towards your clit, circling and massaging it so eagerly he had you seeing stars. Out of his mouth came nothing but animalistic grunts as he chased both your releases.

It wasn’t long before your orgasm came crashing down on you like waves on the shore, and your entire body jerked as you cried out his name. Your walls fluttered and pressed all around his cock, milking him dry, having him cum shortly after with a shout muffled against the bite he still had very much pressed against your skin.

You were both panting while coming down from one of the most intense highs yet.

“Shit… I had no idea… you liked that so much…”

[brainrotsimpblogging]

Some tenderness

I had to get back to my commissions but i couldnt resist making my warm-up sketch kusahigu haha ✨

[brainrotsimpblogging]

My favourite coward.

[brainrotsimpblogging]

Could I request Noé getting reduced to a teary-eyed, whimpering mess by his femdom s/o?

tags: bdsm, mistress/pet, bondage, noé bimbo aesthetic, f/m

Noé had never been drowned before, but he had to imagine this was what it was like.

The constant gasping for air that never quite filled his lungs. The struggle to keep focused on just keeping your head above. The moments of listlessness when your mind floats between trying to catch up and surrendering to the black. “Stay with me Noé.”

His head lulled back in a dim, empty headed sort of way. Like his brains are sloshing around in his skull for want of thoughts, as he obeyed his mistress. She doesn’t even need to tilt his head up with the tilt of her finger. He’d follow the sound of her voice anywhere.

“That’s it. Such a good boy.” Noé let out an opened mouth whine as she ran her thumb over his bottom lip. His mouth is open so he can try to get air into his lungs. Surely not to speak as he couldn’t think of words right now. All his mouth was good for was breathing, drooling, and servicing his mistress.

“You’ve done so well, my love. You’re always so obedient for me.”

‘Anything for you’ he wants to tell her, but all he can get out is a gurgle of a moan in appreciation.

“Oh, if only I could keep you like this forever. Lust drunk. Practically paralyzed with overstimulation. Just keep you here with me forever, tied up like this, blindfolded in the dark. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

‘Yes! Yes! Yes! Forever!’ Noé lifted up on his knees towards his mistress, as much as his binds would allow. Oh, how wonderful that would be indeed. To never have to fight monsters again. To never have to deal with liars. To never have to worry about people’s intentions, or false faces. To only be hurt when he asked for it, begged for it. To do nothing but live and love and serve his mistress for all eternity. He wanted to cry it sounded so perfect.

Noé wanted to actually cry when his mistress pushed him down. Back on his knees, sitting on his ankles, where he belonged. He should have known better. So stupid.

“Don’t say that!” His mistress snapped. Had he actually said that bit out loud? “You are not stupid. You, are my perfect, sweet Noé. Don’t ever forget that.”

He nuzzled eagerly into the hand that touched his cheek. A tear actually spilling out from under his blindfold but he couldn’t tell what it was from now. Desire, torment, relief. It all swirled around inside his body and empty head that he couldn’t make up from down. “Shall we make love now, my precious Noé?”

Then his world was righted again. Hyper focused. Noé nodded so hard that he might have given himself whiplash, but he didn't care. All of this had been leading up to this moment: release. The teasing. The binding. The sweet words and harsh cracks of her crop against his skin. All of it just for this.

He suddenly remembered how hard his cock was and how much it hurt. Noé whimpered. His thighs rubbing together to try and relieve some of the pressure. "Awww....I know honey. It must hurt now, doesn't it." He nodded. Whining out confirmation from his throat before he was panting in sharp breathes as she cupped him. He had been desperate for her touch, but now that he had it it was too much. "You want to cum, don't you Noé? Make you feel good."

He whimpered out something close to a yes again. His body quivering as he tries to stay still and not cum. He hadn't been given permission. But he wants so badly to fuck himself into her hand that it hurts almost as bad as his cock.

His world went tumbling when his mistress pushed him back. When had there been a pillow behind him? Was he on the bed? Noé expected the sharp bite of the floor against his back, but instead was met with soft linens. He moaned almost as loudly as when he was being touched. Surrounded by softness he melted into the bedding. What little of his senses fading away as he sunk deeper into the plush fabric.

“Stay with me Noé.” She repeated to him, and he was really trying.

His bed shifted. Her feet on either side of him as she stood over him. He couldn’t see it with the blindfold, but he could sense it. Her looming presence all consuming him. He whimpered to be dominated further by it. His mistress kneeled to straddle him and Noé hissed like the savage humans painted his species as as his erection brushed against the front of her. How the tables had turned in the story. The strong, fierce, blood crazy monster all but broken before his weak, defenseless, human mistress.

“I’m going to fuck you now Noé.” She told him while stroking his cock. Stroke was a strong word, however, as it was just her fingertips caressing him. “I’m going to fill myself with your cock and ride you. Use you for my pleasure.” ‘Use me! Use me!’ “You’re going to feel so good inside me. You always do. Don’t worry, it won’t be long. I’ve been so turned on watching you fall apart that I’ll be cumming very soon. Then, and only then, I’ll let you cum, my precious. Sounds like a deal?”

There was no sweeter deal that the devil could offer him. Noé mustered up all what little strength, mental capacity, and just plain voice he could to utter out one single word. “Yes.” It was all he could say. All he needed to. His mistress raised herself up and sunk down on his cock, and Noé screamed like he had been stabbed; instead of him being the one stabbing her.

His mistress was indeed wet. Drenched, actually. He took a small amount of comfort in knowing that she really had been turned on by him. Aroused by his presence. Desired him. It’s a subconscious thought at best, however, as all he can legitimately think about right now is the primal instinct to fuck & cum, but holding on to what little restraint he had left to not do so until his mistress told him.

“Almost….there…!”

Noé’s teeth grit. He could taste his own blood his jaw was locked so tight. He didn’t think he had it in him to hold on. He was crying, wailing, begging. Noé wasn’t sure what he was doing until he heard those wonderful words that would set him free. “Yes Noé! Yes! Cum from me! Give it to me my love!”

He came extremely hard. To the point that the darkness behind his blindfold was a moot point as his mental vision even darkened as he came and came for what seemed like hours.

When it was over, Noé realized that his mistress wasn’t on top of him anymore. He jerked up, or as much as his exhausted body could, but then a cool hand and a cool rag was placed on him. “Not too fast. We don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Noé sighed as he felt the rag wash over his body to clean him. His oversensitive, overstimulated body soaking in the coolness eagerly. His breath calming down. His mind coming back to him.

“I’m gonna take the blindfold off now. Close your eyes.”

He does, immediately. The covering is removed and Noé slowly opened his eyes. Vampire eyes were very sensitive. It’s why they used the blindfold in the first place. But he had to adjust to the light when they were done playing. His arms were next. Untethered behind his back now, and they fall forward limp into his lap.

“Are you alright?” Noé nodded. He still didn’t have the mental capacity to speak. His head lulled forward to rest on his mistress’s shoulder. Her arms coming up around him instantly. Smoothing his hair. “My sweet Noé….”

She continued to shower him with quiet, soft praise as his mind succumbed to black again. Only this time to sleep. He was exhausted. Sated. When he woke up he and his mistress would go back to the world, play their normal roles instead of the ones they played here. For now, he would hold on to the ones they had in here, in this room. Where he was her perfect, willing, obedient pet, and she would be the one to take care of him.

[brainrotsimpblogging]

Hi! Could I request Noé being comforted by his partner after he woke up from a nightmare?

Noé had nightmares as a child, but they went away when he went to stay with Louis & Domi. Returning briefly after Louis’s demise, but then free of them again for most of his adult life.

But they were never like this.

It seemed every night now Noéwould have a nightmare.

Waking up in cold sweats (if he was lucky) or locked into his mind to fight the monsters in his mind.

Tonight, he was lucky. He woke up with a jolt out of bed. Gasping for air to fill his lungs as he felt like he had been drowning. Was he drowning in the dream? Or was it just a general feeling of dread and being pulled down that he felt? “Another bad dream?”

Noé turned to his side to see [Y/N] laying beside him. They were awake too now. He felt guilty about that. Noé nodded and [Y/N] immediately sat up with him. “Would you like me to make you some tea?” He shook his head.

Sometimes tea helped. A nice soothing chamomile or special blend they had found to help with sleep, out on the Paris streets, but he felt like he couldn’t keep it down right now.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He shook his head again.

Talking about it felt like it would make it more real. That it would speak life into his nightmares. Noé knew that was ridiculous, but he couldn’t risk it. So he would remain silent on the visions that plagued him.

“Do you want a hug?”

Noé didn’t answer this time. Just turned and wrapped his arms around [Y/N].

He clung to them like a life raft to save him from this drowning feeling. Keep him afloat. Keep him sane. “Thank you.” He muttered into their collarbone as he held them and let himself be held in return.

“I didn’t do anything.” [Y/N] insisted.

But to Noé it was everything.

[brainrotsimpblogging]

Old vinyls and kitchen lights ~ N.K.

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Reader

Summary: Nanami invites you over for dinner and as Frank Sinatra plays in the background everything falls right into place.

CW (content warning): literally nothing, this is just tooth rotting fluff.

AN: Hi guys! I just saw a post here asking for someone to write Nanami dancing to old vinyls and I just had to give it a go. This is shorter than my usual works but I really like how it turned out. English isn’t my first language so I’m sorry if there’re any mistakes. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! :)

Requests are open so feel free to send yours! (you can check the list of characters I write for on my pinned post)

Masterlist

You had been seeing Nanami for a little while now. It was perfect, he was respectful, thoughtful and a gentleman above all. He treated you like a princess and everything with him just seemed so easy, everything falling into place when he was around. You couldn’t even remember the last time someone had made you feel like he did so when your phone screen lighted up, displaying his name and a message that read:

Dinner at mine tonight? I’ll cook.

You jumped at the opportunity without even thinking twice about it. You could tell he had overthought it by how simple the message was. Nanami Kento never did things halfway. Not in battle, not in work, and certainly not with you.

——————————————————————————

His apartment reflected him in every corner: clean lines, calm colors, everything curated with a purpose. You stepped in, and instantly, the world felt slower. Safer.

He greeted you in a crisp button-down, sleeves already rolled up, and an apron tied around his waist and somehow, even that looked dignified on him.

“I hope you’re hungry.” He said as he ushered you in.

The table was already set, candles flickering gently. A soft crackle stirred from the corner of the room, the vinyl player was already turning. And then came that familiar, velvety voice: Frank Sinatra.

You smiled. “You put this on for me?”

He nodded. “I remembered you said you grew up hearing this kind of music. I thought it might feel… comfortable.”

"Fly Me to the Moon" played as you sat, and everything, from the meal and the wine to the soft glances shared between bites felt suspended in something tender and unspoken.

But Kento was clearly on edge tonight. Not in a bad way. He was just… careful. Quiet. His eyes flicked to you too often, and when your fingers brushed as you reached for the wine, he pulled his back a beat too late. Like he didn’t want to lose contact but couldn’t quite let himself linger.

You didn’t say anything about it. You just gave him time. He always bloomed slower than most but oh was he worth the wait.

——————————————————————————

After dinner, he moved to tidy the plates, but got up and followed after him, grabbing his wrist gently right before he opened the sink.

“Wait.” You said, your voice low, nearly drowned by the start of another song: “Bewitched”.

He turned to you, confused.

“Dance with me.” You asked, smiling.

There was a pause and that was rare for Nanami. He always had a plan, a schedule. But now, he just… blinked as if he was utterly confused by your simple ask.

“In the kitchen?” He said, as if it were the most foreign concept.

You laughed softly. “Yes, in the kitchen. Right here. Come on.”

He hesitated. His lips parted like he wanted to make an excuse, something about not being good at it, or how ridiculous he probably felt. But instead, he slowly let the dish towel drop.

You reached for his hand, and his palm met yours. Firm, but slightly trembling.

“Is this okay?” You asked gently.

He nodded once. “I just… haven’t done this in a very long time.”

“You don’t have to know the steps.” You said. “Just move with me.”

Your voice was so soft and gentle and you looked up at him with eyes that made him feel that the world around him wasn’t so bad if you were in it, how could he say no to that?

You guided his hands, one resting cautiously on your waist, the other still in yours. The music wrapped around you both, and soon you were swaying in time, your heads tilted just enough to feel each other's breath.

Nanami relaxed in stages. First in his shoulders, then his hold on you, and finally in the way his forehead touched yours.

The light from the dining room flickered softly behind you. The world narrowed to the two of you and the hum of Sinatra.

“I don’t understand how you do this.” He murmured suddenly.

You looked up at him. “Do what?”

“This.” He gestured slightly, the hand on your waist gripping just a little tighter. “Make me feel like this. Like the world is quiet, even when it shouldn’t be.”

You smiled, heart thudding. “Maybe it’s not about understanding it. Maybe it’s just… letting yourself feel it.”

And that was when he froze, only for a second, like he’d just realized something. He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze head-on.

“I love you.” He said suddenly, clearly, as if the words had been building pressure inside him for weeks. “I’ve known it for a while. I didn’t want to say it until I was sure, but- ”

You pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the way it rose with his next breath. “You’re sure now?”

He nodded, his voice quieter. “Completely.”

You leaned in, pressing your lips gently to his, and when you pulled back, you whispered,

“I love you too, Kento.”

A deep breath escaped him, not one of tension, but release. Relief. He pressed his forehead to yours again, smiling softly now.

“Thank you.” He murmured. “For being patient with me. For asking me to dance.”

And so you danced . Slowly, clumsily at first, then comfortably. Two hearts moving in sync under the soft glow of kitchen lights and the croon of a record that would now always sound like love.

Tags: @hawkwithsocks @noooo-onee @pickledsoda @suna-yoshihara

Taglist is open so let me know if you want to be added for future works! :)

[brainrotsimpblogging]

when you slap their ass and run away

featuring: Satoru Gojo, Choso Kamo, Suguru Geto, Kento Nanami, Toji Fushiguro, Sukuna Ryomen, Ino Takuma, Hiromi Higuruma, Shiu Kong and Shoko Ieri

genre: smau, crack, suggestive (18+ - MDNI)

warnings: language, suggestive

Like this? You can find my other smaus here and my drabbles and fics here!

Want to send me a request? They are currently open and you can find my rules here!

[brainrotsimpblogging]

SHOKO IEIRI FIC RECS // mdni!

we’re just friends! - @/classyrbf

slight edging - @/screampied

kawaii, hentai, boobies - @/cumironi

no rest for the wicked - @/reignpage

unfazed! - @/leahrintarou

rubbing pretty clits - @/screampied

work wife - @/luvgam3

boys suck and girls I’ve never tried - @/sonarspace

red wine supernova - @/mononijikayu

warming you up - @/oatmealwrites (multi)

frankenstein, the monster - @/madaqueue

leaked - @/ayyy-pee

on call - @/ayyy-pee

puff puff pass - @/chososcamgirl

slumber party - @/logoleptic-since-06

shower - @/lilacxquartz

baby sitter - @/fleurvi

headcanons - @/webism

so desperate for you - @/lilacxquartz

more headcanons :3 - @/lotties-ashwagandha

doctor ieiri, what’s the problem? - @/solaiced

drunk sex - @/husbandograveyard

I DONT OWN ANY OF THESE FICS!! // CREDS TO THE WRITERS!! <3

[brainrotsimpblogging]

brat | track one

360

producer!suguru x popstar!reader

prev / next series masterlist / full masterlist

wc: 2k

content: smut, fluff, smau / exhibitionism (concealed in a public setting), fingering, drug/alcohol use, ambiguous relationship status / a little scene-setting before we get into it next chapter :)

taglist is closed! 18+ please <3

Variety — YEAR OF THE BRAT: SUGURU GETO AND YN HAVE THE INDUSTRY IN A HEADLOCK (AND THEY’RE LAUGHING ABOUT IT)

Vulture — INSIDE THE CULT OF YN AND GETO: WHY EVERYONE’S COPYING THE CHAOS

The Cut — THE ART OF BEING WATCHED: THE ROLLOUT THAT TOOK OVER YOUR TIMELINE

[ seven days, 14 hours to drop ]

you’re chewing gum when you walk in.

the meeting room is glass-walled, over-lit, aggressively air-conditioned. it smells like money and emails. a brand director is mid-slide, gesturing at a screen filled with words like reach and multi-platform ecosystem. someone else chimes in about vertical integration.

suguru trails two steps behind you with half a croissant in his hand, headphones slung around his neck. he doesn’t say a word—just drops into the chair beside yours and opens his laptop as if the room isn’t full of people.

you don’t take your sunglasses off. their fault for lighting the place like an interrogation chamber.

“the aim is cultural virality,” someone says. “we’re thinking cross-brand utility meets niche rebellion.”

you blink slowly. blow a bubble. pop it.

“is there a slide where you tell us what the fuck that means?”

suguru doesn’t look up, but he does smirk beside you—the silent, crooked kind he gives you when he thinks you’re being mean on purpose. (you are.)

a younger exec tries to pivot. “no, like—we just want to elevate your image without diluting the—”

“please don’t say authenticity.” you cross your legs. “i’ll have to light myself on fire.”

[ six days, 12 hours to drop ]

@/cultyn (instagram post) 📸 : your silhouette behind a sheer curtain with silver tinsel, suguru’s tattooed hand pulling the curtain aside. 💬 : countdown in bio. don’t be late ⏳

@/cultgeto (instagram post) 📸 : same as yours. 💬 : it begins 🔄 360 video friday

[ four days, 22 hours to drop ]

you feel it before you name it—that warm, sparkling edge of visibility. the music’s perfect. the lights are forgiving. everyone’s looking, seeing exactly what you want them to.

but the only eyes that matter are fixed on you from a corner—suguru, legs spread and an arm slung over the back of the couch like the section belongs to him. (it does.)

he waits.

you let it build. air-kiss people you barely remember. twirl a girl’s hair between your fingers, whispering something that makes her giggle. lean into camera flashes, catching light in your earrings, your clothes, your teeth.

and when you’re satisfied, you cross the floor, hips swinging like a threat, and slot yourself between his knees. he leans back and gives you that look—somewhere between dare and devotion.

“having fun?” he asks, amused.

you straddle his thigh without answering. your skirt rides higher, his eyes drop lower. instead of stopping you, he grabs his jacket from the seat and drapes it over your bare shoulders—possession dressed as modesty.

“so fucking spoiled,” he mutters, more observation than complaint. like he’s proud. like he made you this way on purpose.

you roll your hips once. then again, slower, dirtier. a palm settles on your ass to guide you, not stop you. his show now, not yours. every grind hits harder as you fall into the rhythm he sets.

he takes your drink, downs it in one swallow, sets the glass aside. you watch his throat work before that same hand trails condensation up your thigh and under your skirt.

you’re slick through your panties.

“you’re such a fucking handful,” he says with a smirk, planting kisses from your cheek to your jaw. his voice is hot in your ear, close enough to catch between beats. “you know that?”

you tilt your head, feigning innocence. “wanted you to touch me.”

his smirk deepens when you slide your knees wider on the seat for him. he shifts your panties aside and sinks two fingers in.

your mouth drops open as he sets a pace. you arch into him automatically, grinding harder, already after something without permission. his palm presses over your clit with every thrust. it’s sloppy—shallow breath, parted lips, heavy eyelids.

you try to keep the rhythm, to stay composed, but his fingers work in time with the music, eyes pinned to your face. he kisses you when he catches it—the split second where it stops being teasing and starts being need.

“breathe.”

your hips stutter, the warning landing between your lungs and your legs.

“you’re gonna cum too fast.”

you nod, or shake your head—you don’t know. you ignore him like you always do, desperate now, chasing it like you’re not surrounded by strangers. if anyone’s watching, suguru’s already made sure they can’t see anyway.

“you wanna be fucked on this couch in front of everyone?” he asks, voice dropping to something fond and a little mean. “or are you gonna behave?”

you don’t answer. can’t. your forehead drops to his shoulder, breath hitching as his cologne fills your senses. you’re right on the edge—

“i know, baby.” he murmurs it like a spell, dragging his thumb up your clit. “i know. make a mess if you need to.”

you cum on his hand like it was his idea. like you didn’t start the whole thing in the first place.

he keeps you there, fingers still inside, letting you come apart in pieces on top of him. your hips twitch and you whimper into his throat, melting against him. he lets you ride it out. lets your slick flood over his fingers and down his hand, then pulls out slowly. tucks your panties back into place too carefully for what just happened.

then he brings one finger to his mouth, licking it clean. he offers the other to you, and you take it like you always do—lips parted, tongue out, wrapping around him slow in the way you know drives him insane. you suck, humming low in your throat like a thank you.

you start to lift your head, suddenly aware of where you are and the fact that the song’s changed twice, but a hand finds the back of your neck, grounding you as he kisses your temple.

“not yet,” he murmurs. “you’re okay.”

so you exhale and let yourself sink into him fully. your cheek pressed to his chest, his arm snug around your waist, jacket still warm over your shoulders. the music keeps playing and the lights keep shifting, but for a few more seconds, you stay where you are.

[ four hours to drop ]

you’re twenty-five minutes late and only partially dressed when you go live.

you rarely do interviews separately. don’t take meetings separately either, unless you’re trying to scare someone. livestreams are the same—it’s him or nothing.

suguru stands behind you, black shirt half-buttoned with the sleeves rolled up. he’s halfway through lacing your corset, rings flashing as he works the ribbon like he’s tying a gift.

“i told you to start getting ready two hours ago,” he mutters, eyes on his hands.

“you did,” you agree with a nod, squinting at the phone propped against the hotel mirror. the chat scrolls too fast to follow, but you catch a few:

SUGURU HANDS WATCHERS STAND UP he’s doing it wrong but like… sexy?? she’s so calm i would be screaming and crying and biting

“chat says you’re doing it wrong.”

“chat can’t get you out of a corset with one hand,” he deadpans, not even looking up.

you seal the joint in your hands with a slow press of your tongue, dragging it across the paper like you know he’s watching. (he is. he always is.)

he finishes with a final tug, knotting the ribbon tight and smoothing the laces like he’s proud of himself. his fingers trail down your spine in a lazy line as he kisses your bare shoulder once, soft and thoughtless.

the lighter clicks. you inhale, exhale. watch him in the mirror as he disappears from the frame to rifle through the jewelry you’d dumped onto the counter earlier.

he returns with earrings, necklaces, and bangles in hand.

“stay still.”

his fingers are cool where they skim your neck. he hooks the earrings in slow, fastens your necklace, slips each bracelet on one by one and brings your hand to his lips when he’s done.

you pass him the joint.

“we were supposed to be there thirty minutes ago and it’s thirty minutes away,” he says, exhaling smoke.

“mm,” you reply, dabbing on lip gloss. “better hurry up and pick my shoes then.”

i’ve never wanted to be a joint so bad in my whole life HE PICKS HER JEWELRY?????? is this foreplay or a grwm

[ 30 minutes to drop ]

the diesel party is still going by the time you leave. your heels click loudly against the sidewalk. suguru’s hand rests low at your back, half-steering. he smells like weed and your favorite cologne.

someone with a press badge calls your name—matte lipstick, eyes wide like she can’t believe you’re real. she catches you just before the car with a mic, a cameraman, and a hopeful smile.

“just a second—can we get a quick word? you both look—” she hesitates, trying to find the right language. “—unreal.”

suguru stops halfway behind you, not moving his hand from your waist.

“so,” she starts, practically vibrating. “what made you two want to show up together for tonight’s diesel launch?”

“we love a party,” you reply, smiling.

she laughs like it’s charming. follows up with something about your sound, the visuals you’ve been putting out recently. you let suguru answer that one—you’re busy watching the lights bounce off the gloss you left on his cheekbone.

“okay, last one. you probably get this all the time, but—are you two… together?”

suguru grins. “we’re the same person.”

you don’t miss a beat. “worse.”

the interviewer laughs, flustered and delighted. “right. okay. thank you—”

but you’re already sliding into the backseat.

the car door shuts and the world cuts out. no bass, no flashing lights. just dark leather and air conditioning and exhaustion behind your eyes.

you exhale once, sharp, and start leaning forward to unbuckle your shoes.

suguru stops you. “let me.” like it’s obvious.

he pulls your feet into his lap one at a time, slipping the heels off like you’re breakable. his thumb circles your ankle, slow and grounding. your breathing evens out.

outside, cameras flash against the windows, but the tint’s too dark for them to get anything real.

it echoes in your head. are you two together?

“you didn’t say no,” you say softly, eyes closed.

he keeps rubbing. “you didn’t either.”

when you look at him, he’s smiling at you, eyes soft like he’s listening for something unspoken.

you settle deeper into the seat, one hand resting over his.

neither of you has said it.

but he always shows up. always looks at you like you’re the only person in the world speaking his language.

and you do the same.

you’re each other’s. just not in a way you can put in writing.

[ three minutes post-drop ]

the 360 video drops at midnight. it’s trending by 12:03.

the internet does what it always does.

@/bratchive: every brand strategist watching this with tears in their eyes

@/getogirl: brat / tamer dynamic so loud you can hear the leash drag

@/forynonly: legacy is UNDEBATEDDDDD icon behavior

you don’t check your phone, but you feel it—the shift, the buzz, the spin of it all. the world catching up to something you’ve already lived through.

[brainrotsimpblogging]

Hello!

Can I request a nervous Obanai finally revealing his face to reader who is his partner/lover and who knew him for years and never saw his full face respecting his wishes?

part i

Obanai flinched as he felt something touch his shoulder. Expecting a slap. An insult for his monstrous deformity.

Instead, when he turned his head, he found a small scarf hanging just over his shoulder.

“I won’t look.” Obanai turned his head further to look over his shoulder and indeed their eyes were closed. “But…I want you to know that it doesn’t matter to me. I love you Obanai. Nothing can change that. I know you’re not comfortable with your face because of what happened, but that doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

His heart clenched. Obanai wanted to believe them but….humans could be so fickle.

The demon slayer took the scarf and wrapped it around his face. He called out when he was finished and turned around just as [Y/N] was opening their eyes. They seem clam, but a little disappointed. He knew that was probably due to him covering his face again, no matter how much he trusted them or they wanted to be there for him, and he felt guilty.

The two of them say little more and head back to their safe house. Little more was said between them once they were there too. [Y/N] didn’t comment on it, as Obanai was usually quiet, but this time he was quiet for pensive reasons. He wanted to be open with [Y/N]. Or as open as he could be with anyone. Obanai trusted them with his life, yet he couldn’t trust them with his scars? It was ridiculous.

That night, just before they laid down, Obanai touched [Y/N] on the shoulder to get their attention. “I want to show you something.” He said.

Slowly, carefully, and willing his hands not to shake, Obanai unwrapped the new bandages around his face. The coils of the wrap unfurling until they revealed his true face underneath. Then, he sat there. Waiting for them to make a sound.

For a moment, [Y/N] just stared at him. Seeming surprised that he would show them, then morphing into critical as they look on every inch of his face. Then, they looked sad.

[Y/N] leaned forward and wrapped their arms around Obanai’s waist in a hug. “Thank you, for showing me.” Relief washed over him. He didn’t think he would be accepted so easily. “I know this was difficult for you, but I appreciate you trusting me. I love you.”

Obanai’s arms came up to hug them back. A warm feeling spreading over his chest and body. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do it sooner.”

“Nonsense.” [Y/N] let him go and looked him in the eye again. “Do you wish to go to bed now, or would you like to put your bandages back on?”

“I…I think I want to put them back on.” He was happy they accepted them, and relieved that they accepted him, but he wasn’t ready to have the bandages off all the time. Maybe one day he would be, with [Y/N]’s help, but for now only [Y/N] know about them was enough.

[brainrotsimpblogging]

getting a new interest that it feels like nobody gaf about is so excruciating what do you mean people aren't going ham nuts over this thing. please start losing your minds

[brainrotsimpblogging]

Sonic after doing an April Fools prank on Knuckles

[brainrotsimpblogging]

SMAU!

They watch your horse while you're away!

Tw: Sukuna being Sukuna, suggestive in Suguru's

MINORS DNI!!

Characters: Gojo, Geto, Toji, Nanami, Sukuna, Choso

Note: I came up with this idea when I was out of state a few months back. Figured I should maybe actually write it. This is my first smau, I've never used Memi before. Please, please , please ignore the time stamps. They don't make any sense, and I totally gave up trying to figure them out. It's pretty short. Some of the app was being glitchy, so if anyone has a recommendation for an easier way to do this, please let me know!

[brainrotsimpblogging]

tattoo artist!choso kamo x reader

synopsis: a quiet artist-turned-tattooist, Choso Kamo carries a hidden love for his college art partner

choso kamo who’s your classmate, the boy who sat a few rows down in your college art class. Always quiet, intense, focused. You noticed him before he ever noticed you, drawn to the way his hands moved across paper, the way his sketches weren’t just good, they were alive.

choso kamo who became your class partner after a few projects paired you together. At first, it was quiet cooperation. Then, it became something more, shared playlists while you worked, late nights laughing over half-finished canvases, inside jokes scribbled into sketch margins. You didn’t realize how quickly he became your person, neither did he.

choso kamo who fell for you slowly but surely, between shared brushes and coffee breaks, in the way your eyes lit up when you talked about your dreams. He never told you, not directly. But he memorized the way you smiled when he handed you your favorite pen, how your voice softened when you told him his art was brilliant. He didn’t know, he couldn’t have guessed that you felt it too.

choso kamo who studies the language of flowers in his free time, browsing through hundreds of books in the library whenever he could, his fingers tracing delicate illustrations and handwritten notes. Researching every petal, every hidden meaning, he searched for the perfect blooms he’d one day give to someone special — to you. And finally, one late night, he found them, the three flowers that spoke every unspoken word in his heart.

choso kamo who graduated with you but life pulled you both in different directions. You, the girl who loved to travel, who wanted to see the world. Him, the boy with ink-stained fingers and a dream of opening his own tattoo studio. Neither of you confessed. You both didn't because you didn't want to ruin the friendship you both built. You wanted the best for each other, even if that meant walking away.

choso kamo who chased his dream for you, because it was your belief in him that lit the spark. Your words still echo in his mind: “your art deserves to be permanent.” so he made it so. He became a tattoo artist, built a name for himself and pushed through long nights and quiet grief, fueled by the thought of one day tattooing the girl who once looked at his sketches like they were magic.

choso kamo who, a year later, owns his own studio, walls lined with designs he once showed only to you. The clients coming in non-stop and his name whispered with admiration in the tattoo world. He knows he should be content, well he is, but there’s still a quiet pit in his chest, a space shaped exactly like you. The girl who made him believe his art was worth something. The girl who left, not because she didn’t want to stay, but because you both were too scared to speak what mattered most.

authors note: hellooo, this is my first post and i hope you like it. i have been working on these for the past week and making this at school. let me know if you want a part two ^_^ <3

written by angelonfire | plagiarism not authorized

[brainrotsimpblogging]

everyone's afraid of something

you ask them what their greatest fear is

characters: gojo, geto, nanami, toji, choso, sukuna + guest stars yuji, megumi and ino!

warnings: party mix of angst, crack and fluff (can you tell i don’t know how to be serious) some retrospective foreshadowing if you squint 🫣

a/n: don’t kill me if i got ino wrong pls 😭😭 also guess which one of these is my fear </3

[brainrotsimpblogging]

Ink and permanence ~ C.K.

Pairing: tattoo artist! Choso Kamo x Reader

Summary: when you went to get your first tattooo you didn’t expect that the ink on your arm wouldn’t be the only permanent thing you would leave the studio with.

CW (content warning): modern! AU (no curses), tattoo artist!Choso, mentions of needles (tattoos), mentions of loss and tooth rotting fluff.

AN: English isn’t my first language and I’m typing this from my phone so I’m sorry if there’re any typos/mistakes. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! :)

Requests are open so feel free to send yours! (you can check the list of characters I write for on my pinned post)

Masterlist

The soft chime of the studio doorbell almost made you turn around.

Your hand froze on the handle, breath hitching as the cool air from inside brushed against your cheeks. You were really doing this. After months of scrolling through references, bookmarking ideas, saving up every tip and leftover paycheck, you were about to get your first tattoo.

You stepped in cautiously, eyes sweeping the space like it might bite.

It didn’t.

Instead, you were met with warm lighting, mellow alt-rock humming from overhead speakers, and the rich, distinct scent of ink, disinfectant, and something faintly floral, maybe incense. The walls were covered in art: some traditional, some neo-Japanese, some experimental chaos that somehow worked. The floors were polished concrete, and plants hung lazily from the ceiling in mismatched pots. A huge, oil-rubbed copper sign near the back read KAMO INK in bold strokes.

“Hey there.” A blonde woman at the front desk greeted, popping up from behind a sleek monitor. “You’ve got that look. First timer?”

Your eyes widened, caught like a deer in headlights. “Is it that obvious?”

She grinned, pushing a strand of silvery hair behind her ear. “You’re holding your phone like a rosary and your design like it’s a secret love letter. I’m Yuki. You here for Choso?”

You nodded and quietly offered the folded sketch you had guarded all morning.

Kana took it gently, glancing it over. “Jasmine vine?”

“My mom’s favorite.” You said softly. “I drew it a few months ago. Kind of… memorial, I guess.”

She smiled with a softness that reached her eyes. “Beautiful. He’s almost ready. Want some water while you wait?”

You nodded again, retreating to a black leather couch with a water bottle and your nerves bundled under your hoodie. The studio buzzed quietly with the familiar hum of tattoo machines like bees in the walls. A sound both terrifying and hypnotic.

Just as you’d calmed your racing heart to a dull gallop, a voice broke through.

“You’re my jasmine girl?”

You looked up and froze.

Standing a few feet away, framed by the hallway’s soft light like some kind of ink-stained saint, was a man. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Long, dark hair pulled into two buns that oddly worked on him, a few strands falling around his face that was adorned with a thick black line across the bridge of his nose. He wore a black sleeveless shirt that clung in just the right places and showcased arms carved with layer upon layer of tattoos, some sharp and geometric, others painterly and soft. His nose was pierced, a dark hoop in his septum. His lip as well. Even his ears bore delicate silver chains.

His eyes were what undid you. Deep, charcoal brown, and… still. Intense, but not threatening. Like he saw everything and reacted to nothing.

“Uh… yeah. That’s me.” You stood awkwardly, clutching your sketch like a talisman.

He stepped forward and took the page, scanning it with slow reverence.

“You drew this?”

You nodded, heat rushing to your ears.

“It’s really elegant.” He murmured. “Delicate, but confident line work. You ever tattoo?”

You blinked. “Me? Oh- no. God, no.”

He smiled, not big, but real. “Shame. You’ve got a good hand.”

You were too stunned to reply, so you followed silently as he gestured toward a backroom station. The walk felt longer than it was. You kept your eyes on the back of his neck, where a string of sakura petals trailed down the column of his spine, vanishing into his shirt.

“This okay?” He asked, pulling a curtain closed behind you.

You nodded, stepping into the small but organized space. Sterile tools neatly arranged. Warm lamp lighting. Another plant, this one hanging beside his seat.

“Go ahead and roll up your sleeve.” He said, already printing the stencil from a nearby tablet. “You wanted this on your forearm?”

“Yeah.” You said. “So I can see it.”

“Good spot.” He murmured. “Visible. Personal. And it’ll heal easy.”

You sat down and laid your arm on the padded rest, trying not to flinch as he cleaned the skin with practiced hands.

“You okay?”

You nodded, eyes locked on the floor. “Just nervous.”

He glanced up, and his voice softened. “Hey. Look at me.”

You did. Slowly.

“You’re allowed to be nervous.” He said gently. “First tattoos are a big deal. But I’ll take care of you, alright?”

Something in you uncoiled. Maybe it was the steadiness in his voice. Maybe it was the way he looked at you like you were already safe.

“Okay.” You whispered.

He worked efficiently. The stencil felt cold against your skin, but his hands were warm, firm. He angled the mirror for you once he pressed it on.

“What do you think?”

You stared. The jasmine curved gracefully from your wrist to the bend of your elbow, just like you’d envisioned.

“It’s… perfect.” You murmured. “Better than perfect.”

He gave a small nod. “Give it a minute to set. Then we’ll start.”

You watched as he moved through his setup. Gloves, inks, needles, barriers. Everything methodical. Ritualistic. It was clear he cared. Not just about the art, but the process.

The buzzing started. Your heart jumped.

Choso looked up, eyes meeting yours again. “You ready?”

You took a breath. “As I’ll ever be.”

He started at your wrist, wiping the skin one last time before the needle met flesh.

The sting was sharp. Immediate. But bearable. Like a thousand tiny paper cuts overlapping, but rhythmic.

Your breath hitched, and you instinctively curled your fingers. His hand was there, grounding.

“You’re doing great.” He reassured. “Just breathe.”

You nodded, trying to focus on the hum of the machine and not the fire beneath your skin.

“Tell me about her.” He said.

Your eyes fluttered open. “Who?”

“Your mom.” He said. “Only if you want to of course.” His voice and eyes were so soft as he observed you that you found yourself nodding slowly.

You swallowed. “She… loved gardening. Jasmine especially. Said the smell reminded her of summers in Kyoto.”

His brow lifted slightly. “Kyoto?”

“Her family was from there.” You explained. “She used to tell me stories about temple gardens and rivers that sang.”

“That’s beautiful.”

You looked away, blinking. “I used to think tattoos were scary. Like… you had to be tough. But now I think it’s the soft things that deserve permanence the most.”

Choso paused. Not in the tattoo, his hand stayed steady, but in his breath.

“That… ”He said after a moment, almost still breathless “might be the best thing I’ve ever heard in this chair.”

You smiled. Just a little. But it stayed.

The hours passed in a blur of ink, warmth, and quiet conversations.

He told you about growing up with a dozen siblings, about painting graffiti before he found tattooing, about how he brewed his own herbal teas because the store-bought stuff tasted like sadness.

In turn, you told him about your art, your cat, the way you always started books and never finished them. He teased you gently for that, but his voice never lost its softness.

“Still with me?” He asked as he reached the final leaves.

“Mhm” you hummed in response, watching the curve of his wrist.

He finished with delicate shading, wiping the area gently.

“That’s it.” He said after a few more minutes. “You made it.”

You looked down, breath catching. It was stunning.

The jasmine vine looked alive, flowing, whispering, held in soft greys and gentle lines. A small detail he’d added: one lone flower near your wrist, full bloom.

“For her.” He said, tapping it gently. “That one’s the heart of the vine.”

You blinked, suddenly overwhelmed.

“Choso…” you whispered.

He looked up, and something tender flickered in his eyes as he smiles at you.

He cleaned and wrapped the area, talking you through aftercare like a practiced lullaby. You tried to focus, but your chest was tight in a way that wasn’t nerves anymore.

He handed you his card before you left. Not just the studio one but his.

“For touch-ups. Or if you wanna talk through another piece. Or, you know… coffee.”

You looked up. “Coffee?”

He shrugged. “Or tea. Or books you won’t finish. Or anything.”

You stared at the name on the card, fingers brushing the edge.

“You ask all your clients out?”

He smirked, just barely. “Only the ones who stare at me like I’m about to eat their soul and still call my work perfect.”

You laughed, really laughed, for the first time in days.

“Well…” You said, tucking the card in your sleeve. “I guess I’ll owe you coffee then.”

His smile was slow, but bright. “I’ll hold you to it.”

You walked out of the studio with a bandaged arm, a swelling heart, and something lighter in your chest than you’d felt in months.

Ink beneath your skin. His number in your hand.

Maybe softness wasn’t meant to be hidden. Maybe it was meant to be permanent.

——————————————————————————

The card sat on your nightstand for three days before you texted him.

Not because you didn’t want to. You did, so much it made your chest ache. But every time you picked up your phone, your fingers hovered over the screen like you needed permission. You kept wondering if the warmth he gave you was real, or just another fleeting moment you'd rewrite into something bigger.

Eventually, the ache to see him again outweighed the fear.

Hi. This is your jasmine girl. Still owe you coffee. :)

His reply came faster than you expected.

I was starting to think you ghosted me. You free Friday? There’s a place I like. Quiet. Good tea.

You stared at the screen, heart thumping loud in your ears.

Friday sounds perfect.

——————————————————————————

The café was tucked between a dusty old bookstore and a florist that smelled like lilies and clove.

Warm wood and brick lined the inside walls. The music was soft, barely there, an acoustic cover of a song you couldn’t place. Someone was knitting in the corner. The barista had silver ink up their neck. It was a space made for softness and staying.

Choso was already there.

He stood when he saw you, rising from a window seat with a half-finished mug in his hand. He wore a loose charcoal sweater, sleeves pushed past his elbows, revealing the inked patterns running down his arms fluid, bold, meticulous. His hair was down today, draped over his shoulders, framing his face in a way that made your breath stick for a second.

“You came.” He said, his voice quieter than you remembered. Almost cautious.

You smiled as you slid into the seat across from him. “I said I owed you coffee.”

His mouth twitched like he wanted to smile bigger but wasn’t sure if he should.

“You still do.” He said, and gestured toward the counter. “Go ahead, I’ll keep the seat warm.”

You returned a few minutes later with a lavender chai, extra honey, and tucked yourself into the opposite cushion. He watched you for a beat.

“What?” You asked, already blushing.

“You suit this place.” He said.

You blinked. “How?”

He shrugged. “Gentle. But you notice everything.”

The heat in your cheeks didn’t fade. It bloomed.

Conversation flowed more easily than you expected. He asked about your job, your art, your favorite time of day. You told him you liked the hour just before dusk, when everything was soft and fading but not quite gone.

He told you his was just before dawn.

“I like the quiet.” He said. “The way the light crawls back in slow. Like the world’s deciding if it wants to wake up.”

You sipped your drink. “You’re more poetic than I expected.”

He gave you a look. “What did you expect?”

You grinned. “More brooding. Less… tea metaphors.”

He leaned back, crossing his arms. “You think I’m brooding?”

You tilted your head. “You have a ring in your lip and an entire graveyard tattooed on your forearm.”

“It’s a tribute to my brother.” He said quietly.

Immediately, your smile dropped. “Shit- I didn’t mean- ”

Choso raised a hand gently. “It’s okay. You didn’t know.”

You hesitated. “What happened?”

His eyes drifted to the window for a moment. “Car crash. Few years ago.”

You waited.

“He was loud. Way louder than me. Used to rap into his cereal spoon and try to convince me to join his imaginary band.”

A small laugh escaped you. “What was the band called?”

“Concrete Lotus.” Choso deadpanned.

You laughed. “That’s… actually not terrible.”

He cracked a faint smile. “He’d be thrilled to hear that.”

You held his gaze for a long moment. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Thanks for asking.”

——————————————————————————

When the sky outside had darkened into navy and the lights in the café had grown dimmer, you lingered at the door with him.

“So…” You said.

“So…” He echoed, stepping closer.

You looked up at him, unsure if the pounding in your chest was nerves or the weight of wanting something.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked.

Your breath caught and stayed frozen for a moment. You nodded, too stunned and nervous to trust your voice now.

It wasn’t rushed. Wasn’t tentative. His lips met yours like he’d been waiting, not just today, but longer. Like something inside him had been reaching out for someone else’s softness and found it.

Your hand curled into the front of his sweater without thinking. His fingers brushed your jaw, then the side of your neck, and for a second, the world stilled.

He pulled back slowly, forehead resting against yours.

“You taste like honey.” He murmured.

“You taste like trouble.” You whispered back.

His laugh rumbled in his chest. “Maybe. But the good kind.”

——————————————————————————

Things unfolded slowly after that.

You started texting every day. Then voice notes. Then late-night calls when neither of you could sleep. He sent you photos of work in progress, close-ups of inked skin and faded sketches and you sent him your latest pencil drawings and in-progress watercolors.

By the second week, you knew the names of all seven of his plants and most of his siblings. By the third, he knew the name of the perfume you wore and which tea you liked best depending on the weather.

He took you to ramen spots, bookstores, record shops. You took him to quiet parks, art galleries, street fairs. He never rushed you. Never crossed a line. But his touch always lingered, fingertips against your wrist, palm on the small of your back, a kiss pressed to your temple when he dropped you off.

And when you finally visited his apartment?

It surprised you.

Minimalist. Neat. Lots of art. A couch you could melt into. A cat named Peaches who didn’t like anyone but instantly curled into your lap. You stayed on that couch for hours. Talking, sketching, legs tangled together like it had always been that way.

——————————————————————————

“I want another tattoo.” You said one evening, curled under one of his throw blankets, your head on his shoulder.

Choso turned slightly. “Already?”

You looked up at him. “Too soon?”

“No.” He said. “Just… didn’t expect it.”

You reached into your bag and pulled out a small folded sketch. It was more abstract this time, your own design. Delicate curves, this time it was a shark, interwoven with stars and linework shaped like heartbeat waves.

He stared at it in silence.

“This one’s about healing.” You said quietly. “For what comes after.”

Choso’s hand brushed your thigh. “You want me to do it?”

You nodded.

He looked at you for a long moment. “I’d be honored.”

——————————————————————————

The second session was different.

You weren’t nervous. No hoodie wrapped around your body like armor. Just a simple cotton shirt, your hair pulled back, and a small smile on your face as you walked into the same studio room where you first met.

Choso prepped like always. Gloves, sterilization, careful precision. But now his touches lingered. His fingers brushed your shoulder before he applied the stencil, and when he asked if you were ready, he leaned down and kissed your temple first.

The tattoo was quiet. Not in sound, but in feeling.

You sat with your eyes closed as he worked, and for a long stretch, neither of you spoke. Just the hum of the machine and the warmth of his presence.

When he finished, he wrapped your arm, then bent to press a kiss to your bandage.

“What’s this one mean?” He asked.

You met his eyes.

“That I’m not afraid anymore.”

His hands settled on your waist, his lips on your jaw.

He held you for a long time that night.

——————————————————————————

Months passed.

You watched spring bloom, then shift into the wet heat of early summer. You fell asleep in his bed, woke up to his raspy voice saying your name like it was a prayer. You met his friends. Loud, chaotic, messy, beautiful people who all hugged like they hadn’t seen you in years.

You introduced him to your sketchbook. Let him see pages no one else had seen. Designs unfinished. Feelings unfiltered. He looked at them like they were a gallery.

He asked you one night, while you were sketching on his couch. “Ever thought about apprenticing?”

You looked up. “What?”

“With me.” He said. “Tattooing.”

You blinked. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly.”

You shook your head, heart fluttering. “I don’t know if I’m ready yet.”

He didn’t push. Just smiled. “When you are, I’ll teach you.”

——————————————————————————

That summer, he gave you your third tattoo.

A tiny one. Hidden behind your ear. A single heart, no bigger than a grain of rice.

“Protection.” He said, pressing his lips there afterward. “For all the parts of you you’re still finding.”

You kissed him slow that night, hands in his hair, your fingers tracing the tattoos on his back like Braille. Like stories.

——————————————————————���———You knew something was different when Choso cleaned his apartment three times in one morning.

It started with him vacuuming the entire place twice while you sipped your tea from his kitchen counter, watching the usually-unbothered tattoo artist mutter about “streaks on the glass” and “cat hair in the couch seams.” Peaches watched him with disdain from her perch by the window, tail twitching like even she thought he was being dramatic.

“Everything okay?” You asked finally, when he scrubbed the coffee table for the third time.

Choso didn’t look at you at first. Just wiped harder.

“Choso.”

He exhaled through his nose and straightened up, cloth in hand. “Yuji’s coming over.”

You blinked. “Yuji?”

“My little brother.”

Your heart skipped. “You never said I’d be meeting him today.”

“I didn’t know until last night.” He admitted. “He’s usually busy with school. And sports. And saving stray dogs. He’s basically a golden retriever in human form.”

You smiled. “Sounds adorable.”

“He is. He’s also…” Choso hesitated, his fingers fidgeting with the cloth. “Important to me.”

You softened. “I know.”

“I just don’t- ” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not easy bringing people into that part of my life.”

You crossed the room, wrapped your arms around his waist, and leaned into his chest.

“I’m honored.” You said into the cotton of his T-shirt. “And nervous. But mostly honored.” That earned you a soft chuckle from your boyfriend.

His arms came around you slowly, like he needed to be sure this was real. “You don’t have to say anything special. Just be yourself.”

You tilted your head. “What if myself is awkward and says something like ‘sports are neat’?”

Choso smiled against your hair. “Then Yuji will probably ask you to come to his next game.”

You pulled back, searching his face. “Are you sure you want me to meet him?”

He nodded. And in that simple movement, you felt something deeper, something heavier, settle between you. He wasn’t just introducing you to his brother.

He was letting you into the last piece of his heart.

——————————————————————————

Yuji arrived an hour later, knocking twice before opening the door with a grin that could’ve powered a small city.

“Yo!” He called, stepping inside in a hoodie three sizes too big and a skateboard tucked under one arm. His hair was bubblegum pink today, wild and soft, and his sneakers squeaked against the floor as he kicked them off.

Then he saw you and his grin widened.

“Hi!” He greeted enthusiastically, walking straight over and offering a hand. “You must be the jasmine girl!”

Your eyes widened. “You know about that?”

“Choso didn’t shut up about you for two weeks.” Yuji said cheerfully. “It was kind of adorable.”

You glanced at Choso, who was now silently contemplating his life choices by the kitchen counter.

“I’m Yuji.” He said. “Obviously. And you are way cuter than the doodles Choso keeps in his sketchbook.”

“Yuji.” Choso growled.

You blushed. “He has doodles of me?”

Yuji looked proud. “Like, a hundred.”

You turned to Choso, who looked like he was about to evaporate.

“They’re just... studies.” he mumbled avoiding your gaze as a rosy dust started to form under the ink on his face.

You stepped closer, rising on your toes to kiss his cheek. “I want to see them later.”

Yuji let out a victorious whoop.

“Damn!” He said, flopping onto the couch. “No wonder he’s been in a good mood lately.”

——————————————————————————

The afternoon passed in laughter.

Yuji was everything Choso had said and more. Bright, open-hearted, funny without trying. He talked about his classes, his friends, his terrible cooking attempts. You found yourself easing into the conversation faster than you expected.

At one point, you and Yuji were talking about your favorite animated movies when you felt Choso’s arm slide around your waist, his fingers slipping into the space between your ribs and hip like they belonged there.

You glanced at him. He didn’t say anything, just watched you and Yuji with a look so soft, so full of quiet awe, that your heart twisted.

Later, while Yuji played with Peaches on the rug, you found yourself alone with Choso in the kitchen.

He was stirring a pot of soup, something simple and warm but his eyes kept drifting to the living room.

“You okay?” You asked, leaning beside him.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“You look like you’re thinking.”

He was quiet for a long beat. “I never thought I’d have this.”

You turned toward him. “Have what?”

He didn’t meet your eyes. “Something stable. Safe. Family that doesn’t feel… broken.”

Your heart clenched. You reached for his hand, fingers threading through his.

“You do.” You whispered. “You have it now.”

He looked down at your joined hands. “I know.”

Then he lifted them, kissed the back of your knuckles, and held them against his cheek.

“I’m glad it’s you.” He said. “You’re the only person I’ve ever wanted to bring home.”

——————————————————————————

Yuji left just after sunset, giving you a long hug and promising to send you the “worst memes in existence” as a thank-you for being cool.

“Take care of him.” He said quietly, when Choso stepped away to grab his jacket.

You blinked. “I’m trying.”

Yuji smiled, softer this time. “He doesn’t let people in easy. But he’s all heart. All the way down.”

You nodded. “I know.” And you did.

——————————————————————————

That night, after the dishes were done and the city lights flickered outside the windows, you curled into Choso’s lap on the couch. You were quiet for a long time, your head against his shoulder, your fingers tracing the tattoos on his arm without really thinking.

“Thank you.” He said.

You looked up. “For what?”

“For not running.” He said simply.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“I know.” He kissed the top of your head. “Still. Thank you.”

You shifted slightly, enough to look up into his eyes. They were dark, soft, unguarded.

“I love you.” You whispered.

It wasn’t planned. Wasn’t a dramatic build-up. It just… came. Quiet and real, like everything between you always had.

Choso didn’t answer right away. Instead, he touched your face, his thumb brushing your cheek like it was the most important moment of his life.

“I love you too.” He said finally. “I think I’ve known since I saw the jasmine sketch.” You leaned into his palm. His voice was hoarse. “I didn’t think I’d ever feel that again.”

You kissed him like a promise. Like home.

You spent that night tangled together under the blankets, his heartbeat steady under your cheek, his breath warm against your forehead. Outside, the city moved, the wind whispered, the stars blinked quietly behind clouds.

But inside, everything was still. Safe.

Yours.

——————————————————————————

Weeks later, you were curled on the tattoo studio couch during Choso’s break, sketching flowers in a new notebook.

He looked up from the front desk and smiled. “What are you working on?”

“Designs.” You said, showing him the pages. “For practice.”

He crossed the room, leaned down, and kissed your forehead. “You’re going to be brilliant.” He said.

You smiled. “Only because I have the best teacher.”

He traced a jasmine bloom on your sketchpad. “And I have the best muse.”

Tags: @hawkwithsocks @noooo-onee @pickledsoda @suna-yoshihara

Taglist is open so let me know if you want to be added for future works! :)