creaseevans

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It’s affection, always / you’re gonna see it someday

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hometown, am i allowed to go into a new year without you?

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suguru's bday

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Happy Valentine's Day! Collab with galeontop1 (X)

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*stares*

ac: shesdeny

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valentine excuse

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swimming au doodles I dreamed up for @fushiglow ♥️

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the other nerdjo i had in my pocket

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hi this is my take on nerdjo

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Jujutsu Kaisen Headcanons - Choso Kamo

Choso's the kind of guy...

SFW:

Choso is a nice guy. No, he’s not the “nice” guy who’s actually a dick and labels himself as a “nice” guy so he can feel entitled to kindness and attention. He’s the actual type of nice guy; kind out of the goodness of his heart, has no issue stepping in at the right moment to do someone a solid, and keeps to himself often enough that he can easily remain  unnoticed until he does just the perfect thing to stand out and outshine everyone else in the vicinity. Altruism just exudes from every inch of him like rays of light.

Choso is the type of guy to become friends with literally everyone. Sure, people don’t often approach him because of his (contrarily) intimidating demeanour and appearance. But once he opens his mouth or makes a good impression, people naturally flock to him. He fills many roles in people’s lives: the protective brother, a gentle father-figure to his nieces and nephews, a dutiful and reliable coworker, and most of all, a doting and committed friend. He is the friend of all friends to you, of course, whom he met months ago and signed his heart heart away at first impression. Not that anyone could know. 

He’s extremely good at hiding his feelings. Very professional. Very coherent and organized and put together. It’s actually a piss-off because you can’t gauge whether he feels anything beyond friendship for you at all. You go out of your way to look and smell nice around him; you wear some of your most revealing or fitted outfits when you meet up lately, whether it’s just the two of you hanging out or in a group of friends. He usually avoids looking at you when your cleavage is out or the exact shape of your body is eligible from miles away. Everyone can tell you feel some way about him except for him, apparently. He’s either the biggest airhead on planet Earth or, unfortunately, just not attracted to you at all.

He has an amazing singing voice; surprisingly soft and gentle for how deep it is, but it has that classic Choso boom to it when he hits certain notes.

He’s totally not the type to sing in front of anyone. You only found out cause you heard him drunkenly doing it one time in the washroom at a bar when he thought nobody else was in earshot.

Choso’s a big car guy. He loves cars and motorcycles. He knows the make and model of every single one out there as well as random obscure facts about each. He spends his down time doing mechanic work on second hand vehicles that collect on his driveway up to half a dozen. You dropped by his place once and found him shamelessly shirtless underneath a rusty old sedan, sweaty and greasy and muscular as hell??? Like, hello, obliques!

(That’s part of how you met him, actually: your car had a flat tire and you had no idea you were driving around on it like that. You stopped to fill gas and he was at the pump next to yours. He came over cautiously, pointed it out to you from a safe distance (so as not to creep you out) and offered to change it for you while you waited inside (it was nighttime). He also paid for your full tank without your knowledge and left his contact on a post-it stuck to your window, “in case of any future car emergencies.”)

He’s so shy that he turned red all over when he rolled out from under the car and saw you gawking.

Choso doesn’t talk much; he’s a listener. He can spend so long without saying a word that sometimes you’re not sure he’s even in the same room. But you always know his attention is focused on you because…

Choso rarely blinks, and he makes some of the most intense, unwavering eye contact you’ve ever personally seen. The guy doesn’t just look at people—he sees through them. It’s pretty freaky, honestly. You have to pause mid-conversation from time to time just to break away from the ferocity of it.

The reason people find him so intimidating from afar is because he has major resting bitch face (see point 2). In fact, it’s beyond resting bitch face. It's a more morbid bitch face. He just looks so miserable and disinterested and borderline exhausted, and anytime he isn’t fully paying attention to his features they fall into that half-lidded, tired, downturned and offended expression. But as soon as you catch his attention his chocolatey eyes always light up and crinkle at the outer corners like he’s been waiting an eternity just for you to show up.

Choso’s hair is on the longer side, just past his shoulders, and he has a meticulous routine for it (and a strict one at that): he washes every Sunday, Tuesday, and Friday; oils and deep conditions every Thursday night; and he trims his ends and bangs every three weeks. He also uses a scalp massager and roller. Nothing and no one stops him from following through on his hair rituals.

He doesn’t like to be touched by people he isn’t close with or without consent, and he doesn’t touch others without their consent, either. The first time he watched you cry (you’d just gone through a breakup and you had only known Choso for a couple of weeks at that point) he walked up to you, paused, and asked, “Is it okay if I hold you?” (You quickly agreed, needing desperately to receive some type of reassurance.)

He’s deathly touch-deprived; you could tell right away once he hugged you that first time. You’re reminded of it every instance he hugs or makes physical contact with you even now. The way he holds you in place and digs his fingertips into your frame gives you chills, quite frankly. And how his big, warm, rough hands rub up and down along your back as if they’re memorizing every bone and shape would be otherwise inappropriate for just a “friendly” hug if you didn’t know better how harmless and well-intentioned he truly is. You also suppose it makes sense for how rarely he touches people or lets himself be touched.

He’s a terrible texter. He doesn’t respond for hours and he almost never initiates the conversation. At first you thought he just didn’t like you or want to talk to you, but his efforts to see you in person and how great of a friend he is off the screen tells you otherwise. You slowly realize how infrequently he uses his phone and how bad he is with technology overall, which makes no sense because…

Choso is a teacher. At a public school. To a class of ten year olds. That’s his full-time job.

His favourite colour is purple.

He has a vitamin D and B12 deficiency. Also low on iron. Has cavernous dark circles under his incredibly deep, brown eyes.

Choso has a collection of plushies and teddy bears on his entryway shelf. It started with the first time a student gifted him one and it grew to what it is now. He also keeps every single card he ever gets from anyone.

His pet peeve is when people chew gum or eat really loud. He also doesn’t like using public toilets. Again, he is an elementary school teacher. The man can hold his bowels and bladder for hours and not bat an eye.

He loves children, which makes no sense because he hates loud sounds and germs and bacteria and messes and anything high-energy.

He’s a picky eater. He knows what he likes (chicken, fish, eggs and grains) and he sticks to it. Getting him to eat vegetables is like pulling teeth out of a shark’s mouth. He says red meat makes him nauseous.

His eyes are very sensitive to light, especially the sun. He has an assortment of hats and baseball caps. His favourite is the one you got him for his birthday. He wears it all the time.

It takes nearly a year of flirting and waiting for him to get the clue until you get tired of the suspense and lose your patience. Over a casual cup of coffee one morning, you lean forward and give him a deadpan stare and ask, “You realize I’m into you, right?” Choso chokes on his coffee (black; no cream or sugar) and doesn’t stop for almost five minutes.

His love language is touch (surprisingly enough) and acts of service. He loves doing things that would make you smile without your ever realizing that you needed someone to. Since you began dating, he’s always been there during lunch hour to share a home cooked meal with you, and he dutifully drives you to and from work even though you both live and work in different places. You don’t really get to drive your car anymore unless you’re running errands or going out somewhere Choso won’t be.

He’s a big holder: your hand, your fingers, your arm, your waist…as long as he’s touching you, all is well and he’s more than content. He loves walking into any room and everyone immediately knows that he’s all yours.

He’s terrible at planning “real” dates and at giving gifts. Like, his gifts don’t totally suck, but they’re ultimately not the things you point out liking or wanting. But this is forgiven because he comes through on literally everything else. It just means you get to plan the dates, because he always agrees and follows through on everything with a big smile on his face.

He loves giving you flowers. He gets them randomly on the most mundane of occasions. Saturday morning breakfast together? A bouquet of flowers waiting for you at the kitchen counter. Got off work early? Choso comes and picks you up with an assortment of blooms in the passenger side seat. He just knows how to make the most ordinary moments feel incredibly special.

When you ask him when he started liking you, he says, “I think I was in love with you since the moment I saw you.” In disbelief, you ask him why it took so long for him to act on it, and he tells you he could never be sure. He didn’t want to “burden you with his feelings because you deserve so much better.” As if that even exists? 

NSFW:

Choso likes to tease and he loves foreplay. It’s not even just you he’s teasing—it’s just as much himself, if not more so. He teeters and beats around the bush to the extent that you’ve shared fully clothed orgasms together with you riding his thigh with his fingers bruising your hips or him grinding into you from behind while you’re leaned over against something, but you haven’t come close to actually having sex. It’s been a couple of months and you’re starting to suspect something is up—not that it isn’t incredible sexy to sway and rub back and forth against each other for the better part of an hour while he grunts and whispers horrendously downbad munitions in your ear. But, like, come on now. You need to see the man’s dick, at the very least. You can tell it’s more than sizeable, so it makes no sense to you why he’s hellbent on keeping it hidden away.

This all comes to a climax during one fateful sleepover where you spend the night waiting for the first ray of light to peek through his curtains. Then, you get to act out a plan to wake him up with the best head of his damned life.

Choso’s a pretty deep sleeper, so it takes a good bit of time before his eyes fly open, but he starts sighing and whining his hips against you mere seconds into the act.

Cut; thick and veiny. Six inches but the girth is more distracting than the length. Darker skin around the shaft and balls and his head is a dark pinky-mauve. He keeps it trimmed but never clean shaves it off. 

When he does wake, his eyes are the widest you’ve ever seen in a mixture of shock, panic, and disbelief (and some pleasure, too). He stutters something about how you don’t have to do this for him, and you lift away just enough to ask, “Do you really want me to stop?” He shakes his head furiously. You tease him a bunch about why he’s been hiding such a pretty dick from you, slobbering and sucking generously all the while. And at the last moment, just as his balls tighten and his hips jerk and his fingers clutch your face in place around the base of his length, he whispers a very quiet and rushed “I’ve never had sex before.”

Tastes salty-sweet; very white and runny. Gets super sensitive when he comes and you have to give him a break.

Once you learn that he’s a virgin, it all makes much more sense: how skittish he gets when you touch, how his breaths come heavy and quick one after another, how he grabs you like you’re sand running out from within his fists by the second, how dazed and overwhelmed he appears whenever you’re both in the heat of the moment. It’s always felt like he’s never experienced intimacy before and been starved for it; now you know it’s really the case. When you ask him how he’s never been in intimate with anyone before, he explains that he “was waiting for the right person.”

Choso is allergic to latex and you both don’t like the feeling of condoms so you get a birth control shot to make things easier, at least for the first little bit.

Because he’s new to it, Choso has quite the sex drive—not that you’re complaining. He’s ready to go at any given moment and gets incredibly worked up over the smallest things. Even seeing your bare arms gets him blushing and bricked, and God forbid you wear shorts or skirts around him. If you thought he couldn’t keep his hands to himself before, now is a whole new ballgame.

His favourite part of your body is your legs. He also kisses your feet and ankles often enough that you suspect he might enjoy a footjob. 

You’re right, and he does.

His favourite position is cowgirl; he loves having you in power because one: he knows he can’t hurt you as easily as when he’s on top and two: he just fucking loves how good you look, thighs spread against him, stomach rippling with every grind, tits bouncing against his face and mouth, taunting him to catch them with his teeth and hands. He loves holding you against him in a bone-crushing hug while he fucks up into your warm, wet cunt and makes you call his name repeatedly as you come.

He’s not loud until he’s close, but when he is close he’s vocal enough to be heard through the walls. He doesn’t care who hears him practically spelling your name through his grunts and moans or who catches him saying the things he does in the heat of the moment. “Am I a good boy, Mommy? I won’t come until you tell me how good I am—tell me I’m a good boy, Mommy—tell me how good my cock feels, tell me how much you want my cum in you, tell me my cock belongs to you—please, Mommy, please, please, please…”

You’re not used to taking up the “dom” role, but he makes it quite hot. The kink also isn’t as weird because he is a fully grown, middle-aged man. He just wants you to lead; direct him, order him, reward him and even punish him. 

In all his perfect poise, Choso does have one toxic trait, and you only see it once in a blue moon since he never loses his cool. But if you ever get into a disagreement with each other where he actually becomes angry, Choso does use his size and strength against you in the bedroom. He takes it out on you in ways that leave you gasping and clawing and trembling and riddled with shame. He has no problem punishing you, either, and it usually consists of making you say and do things that would be otherwise concerning to the average set of eyes and ears. You once batted your eyes a little too much and twirled your hair at your server during a date to see if it would score you a free drink. In retrospect, you should have clearly explained the plan to your boyfriend beforehand, because Choso did not take it well. “You need to be put in your place, don’t you? It’s been too long since someone reminded you of where you belong. Don’t get uppity with me, understand? I fucking love you, and I’ll do whatever I have to do to remind you that this isn’t a fucking joke. Behave yourself. Be a good girl—that’s it, there’s my well-behaved princess, there you go. Take it in deeper—hold your breath, come on, you can do it—hey, eyes up here, keep them on me. Did I say you could look away? Hm? Did I tell you you could stop? You don’t believe me, do you? That I’ll fuck the attitude right out of your pretty little head? I’ll drill it into you until you bleed on my cock. You don’t mind that, do you, princess? You knew what you were getting into when you started all this. Couldn’t just let us have a simple dinner together, could you? You had to go and start flirting with the server, of all people—fuck’s sake, get up on those pretty feet—turn around and bend over, show me what I wanna see…yeah, fuck you, I knew it. Not even wearing underwear and flirting with other guys? Do I look like a fucking joke to you? Did you get this wet for him? Shut up, not a word besides ‘yes’ or ‘no’ out of you, okay? Not a single, fucking, syllable, or I’ll give you something to cry about.”

You quickly fall head over heels for this side of him, but you experience it so rarely that you get withdrawals. This ends in a vicious cycle of you trying to instigate and his patience running thinner each time, to the point that you find him crying one day over your supposedly “inevitable breakup.” That’s when you explain that you have no real plans to leave him, nor are you looking for anyone else. Once he learns that you did it all to get him to roughhouse you, he’s left slack jawed and pensive for nearly an hour with no response. 

He lets you pick fights over petty shit after that. Hell, even he starts getting an attitude with you over small things, like what you’re wearing or your dating history or anytime a guy even glances your way. The only part that makes any of it okay is because you both check in consistently to ensure that it is still an act and neither of you seriously feels or behaves this way otherwise.

For a school teacher, Choso has one of the gnarliest vocabularies in the bedroom, and he likes to fuck downright nasty. We’re talking hair ripping, bruising, biting, spitting in each other’s mouths, tying up and down, blindfolds, collars and leashes, exhibitionism—the man literally licked his cum out of you once or twice and jerked off while he made you come for him again. He’s a completely different person when he’s horny, and the harmony between how much he loves to dominate versus how much he also enjoys being submissive always keeps things fresh and exciting.

While he loves you in lingerie and costumes, he has no problem dressing up, either. And yes, while he’s incredibly sexy when he cosplays your favourite character or a serial killer or some other psychotic freak, he’s just as delectable when he puts on the maid outfit, or the other slutty, clearly feminine lingerie you coax him into.

Yes, he let you put one in him. A man’s whimpers have never sounded so pretty.

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Jujutsu Kaisen Headcanons - Suguru Geto

Suguru's the type of guy...

SFW: 

Suguru’s the soccer/hockey mom type of guy: he carries snacks, band aids, ibuprofen, tissues, gum, hair ties, and a spare set of socks in his bag at all times. That’s actually how you met him: you were at the coffee shop and asked several tables around you for a band aid (after the barista said they didn’t have any) until Suguru came over with one. He also offered a couple of alcohol swabs to clean things off before applying it.

Suguru’s the type of guy to forget to introduce himself. He gets so engrossed in the person in front of him and what they’re saying that he completely forgets how social interactions are supposed to go. You had to ask him at some point what you’re supposed to call him. He had to think about it for a moment as if he’d forgotten his own name.

(After chatting for almost an hour, he asked yours and you, very forwardly, also gave him your number.)

He’s the type of guy who drinks anything BUT plain coffee with milk and sugar, you conclude by the fourth date. The man will drink matcha, he will drink hot cocoa, he will drink iced or warm lattes with butt loads of cold foam or sweet syrups drizzled throughout, and he will drink LOTS of fruity teas. But a plain coffee with just milk and sugar may actually kill him?

Not only is Suguru the type of guy to paint his own nails, but he also insisted on teaching you after discovering how badly you do the edges (it’s hard!!!!). He likes for you both to have matching or complimentary manicures. It’s also a complete waste that he taught you how to paint because he never lets you do it and always wants to do your manicures and pedicures himself. Sunday nights are for the fingies and toes.

(Coincidentally, he HATES the smell of polish and remover. He has to wear a clip on his nose the entire time that makes his voice all high and nasally.)

Suguru is that guy with a seven-step skincare and five-step hair care routine. You can’t even describe the face he made upon discovering your simple shampoo-and-conditioner, face wash-and-moisturizer antics. But you do wish you’d taken a picture of it.

He totally forgets to eat sometimes. You wonder how it’s possible for him to be the size and height he is if this has always been the case. That is until you share your first real dinner together and he eats nearly five thousand calories in one sitting. He then proceeds to finish your leftovers as well. When you ask him about this deranged behaviour, he just shrugs and says, “I don’t know. I love food, but I don’t really think about it unless it’s in front of me.”

Suguru hasn’t worked out in a gym in almost two years, apparently. He just does runs and “generic labour” at the farm he works at. The solid abs and bouldered deltoids he hides underneath baggy clothes would beg to differ.

Suguru is a total plant princess. The first time you went to his place, you weren’t sure if it wasn’t a greenhouse. Potted wonders and vines and vases were all over the place. This came as even more earth-shattering when a little white cat tinkered her way through the hall and snuggled her butt right up against your ankles. “Oh, no, she knocks things over all the time. But I can’t exactly get mad at her, so I just re-pot everything. That’s why all of these are melamine or recycled plastic.”

That’s another thing about Suguru: he has tremendous amounts of patience. You’ve never met anyone as kind or forgiving as him. You’ve asked him to share his meditation routine with you but he keeps lying about not having one.

(The cat’s name is Dandelion; Dandy for short. She’s a white domestic short-hair with blue eyes and a pink button nose.)

Suguru’s a very formal type of guy. You didn’t expect it, but he took you out on a proper date and verbally said the words “Will you be my girlfriend?” and then proceeded to clarify with “Like, romantically. Not like a friend who’s also a girl—which is totally fine, if that’s what you prefer to be, I just—” and that’s when you cut him off with a kiss and he settled down.

He’s the type of guy to love openly and quickly. It’s less than two months in when he just casually drops an “I love you” on you one morning as you’re on the toilet and he dips his head in to grab a hair brush. Then he simply leaves you to marinate in it while you sit there in shock, unmoving except for the plop-plop-plop in the toilet.

In contrast to how casually he’s able to deliver the sentiment, he’s entirely floored when you return it in bed that same night. He’s so taken that he stops moving and has to wait a moment to get it back together. But after that one still moment, the rest of it feels like you’re being attacked by a tornado.

Suguru’s the type of guy to leave “I love you” sticky notes by your bedside or on your door. One time, you decided to keep the note and stuck it on something at his place before leaving. It was returned to you on your laptop the next day. It’s now become a sort of game between you; sometimes the notes get passed back and forth so long that the adhesive on the back completely dissipates. After writing a new one, you both toss a coin to decide who gets to keep the old one. Suguru’s won seven out of ten tosses, so far.

He’s not the type to gloat when he wins. Somehow, he finds a way to turn his wins into yours. Like how he ended up with most of the old “I love you” post-its but folded them into paper flowers and put them on artificial stems. He gave you the bouquet on your one-year anniversary. You bawled like a little bitch.

Suguru hates seeing you cry or hurt. It’s the only time you’ve seen him distressed. It makes him physically sick and you can tell by how pale and sweaty he gets. He banks his sick days at work since you started dating. Every month when you get your period, Suguru hibernates at your place with you for the first three days because he knows they’re the hardest. He cooks for you, keeps you showered and clean, massages you, naps with you, cleans for you, and he’s at your general beck and call otherwise. Your favourite part is always ordering in impulsive cravings and watching your favourite shows or movies. You also enjoy breaking into the piggy bank of sweets and candy he saves up for you all month.

He’s the type to slowly move you both in together without your ever realizing. Roughly a year in, you discovered just how much of your stuff was now filling in his otherwise spacious new place. The only things left at your apartment were a few pairs of clothes and your mattress (everything else was part of the owner’s furnishings). This little scheme dawned on you when your lease was up and instead of helping you look for another place, Suguru conveniently chimed, “Oh, why don’t you just stay with me? All your stuff’s here anyways.”

(As formal as he is, turns out he was too shy to ask you to move in. He thought giving you a key to his place as a Christmas present was a big enough hint and has no idea how you didn’t clock it. You tell him you would have said yes if he’d just asked. He just blushes and smiles.)

Suguru is a big tipper at restaurants and cafes. He often tips more than the actually meal or drink costs. You fear this may have detrimental effects on his finances, but he somehow manages to keep things running more than smoothly. Suspiciously smoothly.

Turns out, he doesn’t just work at the farm. He actually (very successfully, too) co-owns it with his best friend Satoru, which leads to the next point: Suguru’s just the type of guy to downplay exactly how well he’s doing or how much he has. (He has a lot.)

Since he wakes up ridiculously early most mornings to tend to farmwork, Suguru’s the type of guy to cook you an elaborate, three course breakfast each time and leave it covered in the oven with a note on the door for you to enjoy. Meanwhile, he shoots back a creamy, sugary beverage or two and just raw dogs the rest of the day on an empty stomach until the late lunch or dinner you share together. You’re trying to help him remember to eat more often, so you’ve started packing him just as elaborate lunches and snack packs at night once he’s gone to bed. You have to text or call him to remind him to actually eat out of them. He always enjoys them when he does.

NSFW:

Suguru takes his sweet time initiating sex for the first time. Upon reaching week four of the relationship with not a lick of intimacy, you had to break the ice on the subject. Suguru was surprised, then laughed it off. “No, I’m not asexual. I just didn’t want to weird you out or get right into sex without your deliberate consent.”

(You gave it to him instantly.)

Since his middle name is basically serenity, you were a bit worried as to how the sex would go. You don’t altogether mind the notion of “love making,” but you’re also not a purely vanilla person by nature.

Suguru’s generously girthy and lands in the seven-inch range. He’s uncut and always shaves everything clean off. You’ve never seen a crotch as hairless as his. There’s a thick vein that runs from below his belly button, down his beautifully carved pelvis and right up the length of his shaft. You like tracing it with your tongue and watching his reactions. He gets real breathy and sensitive about it.

Suguru can last a while, but that doesn’t mean he won’t take the time to service you in at least two to three other ways before finally giving you what you want. He’s quite the skilled tradesman with both his tongue and his hands, but you prefer his long, knuckly fingers over the former. Something about the veins and muscles in his arms when he endlessly plunges palm-deep inside of you drives you right over the edge. While he’s quite humble otherwise, getting you to orgasm is one thing he’s quite smug about. The way he smirks when you fall apart for him is absolutely sadistic.

Contrary to his soft, silky personality and demeanour, he’s quite the devil in arms behind closed doors. (Sometimes, those doors aren’t even closed.) 

He’s a biter (genuinely shocking). He likes to mark you in places where nobody would be able to see it and find out just how rough and territorial your sweet, doting boyfriend truly is. Such places include your back, your tits (specifically, right around your nipples), the plush of inner thigh right at the apex of your legs, the outer skinfolds right next to your “perfectly suckable lips” (no, NOT your mouth), and all over the meat of your ass.  

Suguru doesn’t eat pussy; he makes out with it. He French kisses and has an affair with it. Just let him do it and expect to be there for the better part of an hour, probably. Nothing you say or do can deter him from his “favourite meal in the whole world.”

He has no problem putting you in your place when it comes to sex. It’s genuinely some alter ego type shit. The change is a complete 180, to the point that you sometimes feel like you’re cheating on your amazing, loving boyfriend with some sex-crazed maniacal psychopath that leaves you shuddering and unable to stand on your feet for a good few hours afterwards without buckling knees or trembling thighs. The only part that reminds you they’re the same person is when he gently cleans you up afterwards and apologetically kisses all the places where he’d bit, clawed, smacked or choked only moments ago. The comedown is nearly as thrilling as the experience itself.

Suguru loves mocking and demeaning you with simultaneously praiseworthy titles. Phrases like “My precious little whore,” “Perfect fucking slut,” or “My stupidly pretty princess” roll off his tongue just as easily as “My little baby,” “Good fucking girl,” and your personal favourite: “My little pussy fairy.” It’s quite the whiplash.

Suguru fucks like his life depends on it. All the calm and peace behind his foxy monolids drains the moment he realizes what’s about to happen. The fire and hunger that replaces that calm is enough to make your heart plunge down and drop out through your ass every single time regardless of how often it happens. He is not a gentle lover, and you couldn’t be more thankful for how viciously he strokes or how diligently he chokes or how shamelessly he orders you to open your mouth so he can fill it with his fingers and spit into the back of your throat while the head of his cock breaks the rim of your cervix and your eyes roll like a slot machine into your skull.

He wasn’t as vocal at first because he was shy and anxious that you would get turned off by it. Turns out, when he moans and whimpers it’s so fucking delicate that your pussy flutters just at the sounds that come out of him. While you enjoy his gruff snarls and grunts and the tone of his poetic degradation, you take every chance you can get your hands on to have him undone and vulnerable, shivering and trembling and nearly sobbing from ecstasy at the worship you deliver.

Suguru never makes you beg or ask for it. He does like to hear you say what you want, but he often readily delivers your services on a golden platter. He’s just so generous like that.

While he gets to address you with all kinds of pet names and kinky titles, he only ever wants you to call him “Suguru” between the sheets. “Baby” is too vague, and nothing else quite establishes his dominance over you the same as hearing gasps of his name over and over again while you convulse and shatter against him, so soft and weak and vulnerable that it makes his heart stop.

He makes you keep your eyes open and on him at all times. “Keep your focus on me,” “Look at what I’m doing to you, keep watching,” “Look at me with those pretty eyes, I wanna see how big they get when you come for me,” “Don’t you dare look away,” all of that. Even when you’re kissing now you’re both always looking at one another. You don’t think you can go back to kissing with your eyes closed again.

He asked you in the beginning if you want him to use condoms just so you wouldn’t have to deal with contraceptive side effects. You used them a few times before realizing how badly you wanted to just fluid bond with him. He has never complained about this; he’s ready to face any consequences, should they happen. And while he loves going to pro-choice rallies with you, he does fantasize from time to time about a little version of you running around the farm, driving him crazy with worry.

Suguru’s favourite place to come is on your face, because your face is his favourite sight in the entire world. Yes, he loves your body. But it was your nervous smile and hopeful eyes that caught his eye the very first time and kept him looking back again and again. Seeing his cum streaked across your gorgeous lips and dripping down your cheeks and chin is a mental image he frequents regularly throughout the day.

(One day, you make him lick the cum off your face and feed it to you by kiss. This changes his brain chemistry forever. You’re definitely the one.)

[creaseevans]

Jujutsu Kaisen Headcanons - Toji Fushiguro

Toji's the kind of guy...

SFW:

Toji’s the type of guy to take his time to ask you out. He’s not in a hurry and he’s exactly confident enough to know that he’s caught your eye, and that you won’t be looking away anytime soon.

You should know that if there’s a first date, there’s about to be many more. He doesn’t do this a lot. “Dating” is too much fucking time and energy—but you? You’re quite the hidden gem, found by him and worth your weight in gold and diamonds. He’s willing to try it a little while.

Toji’s the kind of guy to eat his burger in two to three bites, max. He’s got a large (and perfect) bite, like the human edition of a shark. He can fit an entire slice of large pizza in his mouth at once. Killer jawline, too. He knows how good he looks when he eats, even if it’s messy and unmannered. 

Toji’s not a jealous guy, because he’s way too secure with himself. But he is human, so it does happen from time to time. Shockingly, though, his jealousy isn’t sparked by obvious things like if someone touches you or catcalls you; he finds these hilarious, because he can just pull you into his side possessively and push the perpetrator (a bit too rough, at times) and snark something like “In your dreams, bud” or “Keep on wishing.” What does get him are simple, little things, like if a guy says something and you laugh too hard at it, or you listen too carefully to what they have to say. “So, what was so funny about what he said?” he’ll ask you, arms crossed defensively over his chest. “You know he’s a fuckin’ dork, right? He’s a loser.” Your co-worker once complimented your hairstyle in front of him (you’d clipped it up into an elegant twist) and Toji noticed you wore the style a few more times, taking a moment to admire it in the mirror. He wouldn’t let you put it up like that anymore. He got rid of the claw clip you needed for it while you weren’t home.

Toji’s the kind of guy to pretend not to know what something is just so he doesn’t have to buy it. You once spent an hour explaining to him and showing him what contact lenses are, and he kept playing stupid. “I just don’t understand what you’re talking about. There’s no such thing. I’m just gonna stick to these.”

“These” are reading glasses (he’s in his forties), but he doesn’t like to wear them around you because he hates how nerdy they look. You think they’re incredibly sexy and give him that sophisticated edge he usually skips out on.

Toji’s the kind of guy that hasn’t had a real haircut in ages. Anytime his hair is getting in his eyes he just takes a straight razor and shaves it down so long as it’s not touching his eyes anymore. When you first met him, he nearly had a mullet because the back was so neglected. You take him for haircuts now.

He’s the kind of guy that HATES tipping. You once tipped at a restaurant and he looked at you accusingly. “Why would you tip them $10? You could’ve given me that money for coffee on my way to work.”

Toji doesn’t buy you flowers (he won’t spend the money on a $28 bouquet). But if you both pass by somewhere that has flowers growing, he will rip them out to give to you. Especially if it’s off someone’s lawn. He likes to do it out of spite.

Toji doesn’t remember your birth date or anniversaries, but he does remember things like your food allergies and aversions, your favourite treats, what kind of music and movies you like, and your pet peeves. He stopped using certain slurs when he learned you didn’t approve of it. Taught his friends to stop using them, too.

Toji doesn’t have a wallet. He just stuffs everything free-reign into his pockets. You get him one for his birthday. He leaves it at home all the time. “This is why I just put everything in my pockets.”

Yeah, you moved in together pretty fast. He didn’t ask and neither did you. It just sort of happened. You guys went into a random building to “look around” (fuck in the elevators) and stumbled into an open house for one of the apartments. You live in it together now, and Toji pays 65% of the rent, which is a huge surprise because…(see next).

Toji cannot stay at one job long enough to save his life. He’s never made it past probation; the longest he stuck it out was 11 days. His resume looks like a shopping receipt, but he just can’t stand the whole bit: the office environment, the cubicles, the staff that never shut the fuck up, the constant meetings and team building exercises, signing a new birthday card every week AND tucking a bill of money into the envelope?? FUCK! He always quits before the week is up. He’ll come home and make up some excuse about being fired (he’s never been fired) and ask you to find some more job adverts for him. “This is gonna be the one, babe. I promise,” he says every time he starts somewhere new. You know it won’t be.

For the horrifying inventory of knives, blades, axes, hatchets, clubs, stars and a fucking firearm you discovered in one of the unopened boxes hidden deep into a closet (he shrugged that they were from a “past job”), Toji’s the sort of guy who’s scared of needles. Don’t talk to him about tattoos or nothing. Don’t you dare bring up vaccinations. He’ll pass out on the way to the clinic.

He doesn’t like his spine to be touched directly. It’s overstimulating and he’s quick to catch your hands when you try. Sometimes he can squeeze a bit too hard when he’s caught off guard.

Toji claims to not need deodorant. (He does need it.)

Toji doesn’t do his own laundry. One day, in the thick of a Bad Bitch episode, you put your foot down about it and told him to clean his own clothes. You then came home to him washing t-shirts and pants in the bathtub with your expensive skincare products. He used up about $300s’ worth of cleansers and scrubs in less than an hour. “I told you I’m not good at this shit!” he whined, having the audacity to play innocent. 

Toji teases you all the time about how he’s going to break your heart. Deep down, he believes that upon growing sick of his antics, you’ll actually be the one to break his; something he didn’t think he was capable of experiencing anymore. You don’t get sick of him, nor do you break his heart.

NSFW:

He takes his time to eye-fuck you, shamelessly and offensively, makes it obvious what he’s doing and leers wide when you scowl at him. He loves to show off his big, perfect teeth and wicked smile.

He’s the type of guy where when he finally does ask you out, he tells you exactly what to wear (“your littlest dress and heels”) and picks you up a few minutes late (he loves how pouty you get after waiting and almost thinking he’s about to blow you off). 

Toji’s the kind of guy to not care about being caught in public. He’ll start touching you anywhere, and he doesn’t care if it’s the first date. His fingers were already dancing on your knee and making the journey up your thigh during the car ride over. More than once, you pried his warm hand away with both of your own to hold it affectionately in your lap, your shiny eyes smiling so hard that he let you get away with being prudish about it. You missed the heat of his touch on your body right away.

He takes you to the club, buys you a couple of drinks, just enough to get you hazy and charmed. Then he takes you to the middle of the floor, and surrounded by dozens of bodies, he slinks up against you from behind to start muttering in your ear about “Why did you wear this dress? Tell me why you wore this,” while his gigantic, wandering hands grope your hips and crush them to the bone, grinding your ass back against his bricked up crotch. “Did you want me to touch you? You wanted me to do this to you, didn’t you?” As if you decided any of this.

Toji loves foreplay, for you especially. He likes to play with your tits when he knows people are looking, but the room is just dark enough and just clouded enough with smoke and machine-generated fog that nobody will actually see him rolling your nipples between the roughened pads of his fingers, your front against the wall and his front against your back. He cages you in on every side, protecting you from the world with his blanket of a body while also putting you on display every chance he gets. Your little sighs and protests of “No, Toji, stop! Someone’s gonna see,” are so precious to him. He knows someone is going to see, because someone is always looking at you. That’s the point: everyone is looking at you, but you’re only looking at and thinking of him.

He’s a narrator, surprisingly enough: everything he does to you, he describes it in your ear to the greatest extent possible. “Look how hard your nipples are getting when I tease them like this…Jesus, they’re getting so big. You never told me your tits were so soft and pretty. What if I suck on them right now? What if I sucked so hard that milk came out of them, baby? Would you let me do that?”

His favourite part of your body is your tits (see above) but your ass is a very close second. He grabs it, squeezes it, holds it, and smacks it every time you’re within reach. He wants to leave the outline of his hand on your cheek like a stencil so he can target the exact same perfect spot each time.

Toji’s the kind of guy to finger you just for fun. Whether he gets to come or not is out of the question, because watching you shake and tremble while you fuck yourself on his long, thick, knuckly digits is always a blockbuster delight. Feeling you clench up around them, periodically tighter and more delicious, is a gloat to his ego and fascination. Your delicate moans and whimpers while you spill over his palm and down his wrist is like a porno on repeat in the back of his mind, every minute of every day. And he shames you with his descriptions of it every time, because—again—he loves to narrate. “Aw, your lips are swallowing my fingers, sweetheart. Look at your pretty little pussy fluttering and pulsating while I finger you—you’re so fucking wet, princess. Why’re you so wet, hmm? You’re such a cocktease, you know that? Clenching like that, gripping me in so fucking hard—you gonna suck my cock in like that? Your pussy better sing and clench for my cock just like this, baby, just like how it is for my fingers, or I’m gonna be so upset…you don’t know what happens when my dick gets angry, do you?”

(Toji’s the kind of guy to hate condoms. He won’t wear them. Doesn’t matter what you say; don’t bother. He’ll get tested and show you that he’s clean, and he’ll (find a way to) pay for your contraceptives or Plan Bs. But he won’t wear a condom.)

He quite literally has the biggest dick you’ve ever seen. Not just in person, and not just from the fair amount of porn you’ve watched—he has the biggest dick you have ever seen. There are no arguments there. It’s a menacing thing, nearly the length of your forearm and the girth as thick as (if not more than) your wrist. He’s cut (he’s older; their generation is mostly circumcised) and clean, pubes trimmed to a stubble around the base. The length and balls are free of hair altogether. It’s a tanned colour, like the rest of his skin, but his tip is more warm toned and full of blood flow while the sac underneath is a touch darker with discolouration. His precum is translucent, almost clear (see below) and his boner looks sore to the touch.

Toji fucks. He fuuuuucks. He fucks you in positions you’ve never heard of, at angles and depths you didn’t know were possible. He actually rearranges your guts, moving everything aside to make room for himself, letting you know how deep he is when he places a hand against your navel and pushes in against the poke of his head. He loves the raspy gasp you let out when he does that. “How’s a little thing like you taking me in so deep, huh? I bet I’m hurting my little girl. I bet you never want me to stop.” You don’t, even though you always experience aftershocks and cramps when you’re done being ravaged. You don’t tell him this because the experience itself is too mesmerizing while it’s happening in real time. You also don’t tell him because deep down, you suspect that he doesn’t actually care about you enough to empathize with your pain or struggles.

He’s the kind of guy to always come inside you, no matter what. Whether it’s in your mouth or in the warm, slick confines of your lower chambers, he always finishes inside you. He doesn’t ask you if he can—and it’s not like he wouldn’t if you told him not to. He’s gonna do it anyways. His seed belongs inside of you, and there’s nothing that makes his head spin the way it does when he delivers every last drop of his offering deep into you, hoping it becomes part of you forever. He also loves watching it ooze out of you, though, and knowing he gave you more than enough to get the job done.

Oh, yeah, he wants to impregnate you. Big time. He relics the idea of his perfect genetic sequence being passed on to as many as possible. There should be miniature multiples of him running around all over the place. He used to donate sperm for cash flow All The Time in the past. He hopes to run into any potential kids he may have had/made one day, though he hopes it’s just a casual meet and greet and not, like, “Hey, I need to depend on you.” Cause he’s donated, like, A LOT of sperm, and he does not have the kind of riches it would take to sponsor almost a hundred kids.

Something about Toji screams that he wouldn’t mind sharing you with someone he trusts. He just gives off a threesome vibe, and you felt it since day one. It echoed every time he put you in a vulnerable position in public, in the way he smirked and laughed whenever men would hit on you or check you out. He “joked” with you about it a couple of times, too. “I wonder how pretty you’d look with two cocks inside of you.” “You can tell me if you want more, y’know. I don’t get offended. I know you love me too much.” He quickly laughed it off when you frowned and swatted him away. But then you met his friend—his best friend—Shiu Kong, and you knew Toji was up to something from the first moment he left you alone with him. You did end up having a threesome. You ended up having many more, in fact. And he was right: you did love him too much to think about anyone else once it was all done.