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tw: periods.

If you're sleeping like a starfish or just in an odd position on your period, and your panties move and your pad kind of slips aside and bunches up; and if Nanami was passing by with the laundry—he would not even bother to wake you up. He would just slide an arm under your back, around your waist, and lift you up slightly with ease and practice, to fix your panties with his other hand, so you don't bleed through your shorts or anything. Once he's done he'd pat the top of youe pussy like he's petting a cat and kiss your forehead before tucking you in a more comfortable position and put the blanket over you.

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AO3 easy trick: sometimes when I want to leave a comment on a fic but I dont know what to say specifically I'll just paste my favorite line(s)/little paragraph and then write something like "I loved this so much/this fic is amazing" or even just a string of hearts.

writers love knowing what lines stuck the most and this way you don't need to elaborate too much of your own

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Hey, guys? Make peace with yellow teeth. I'm so serious right now.

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I, unfortunately, had a thought.

I'm very sorry

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gojo fucking your thighs as practice bc he’s too big… MDNI 18+

"fuck," gojo hisses, hips stuttering. "so warm... can't believe this isn't even-fuck, baby, it's not even inside."

it never is. not yet. it's why he started this in the first place— "practice," he'd called it, with that lilting cadence, teasing but half-serious, wrapping your thighs around him and murmuring that you needed to get used to how he felt first. he's too big for you. the first time he'd ground against you bare, the head of it barely kissing your entrance, you flinched. now he doesn't even try to hide his anticipation.

it starts the same every single time. you on your back, thighs drawn together, pressed tight around him while his cock—thick and leaking and absurd in scale-glides between them. the apex of your thighs is smeared with your arousal and his precum, making each shallow thrust sound obscene. you also can feel how badly he wants it—veins bulging along his length, tip flushed a rosy pink, leaving streaks of precum across your inner thighs each time he drags forward. he grinds up, excruciatingly slow, the engorged head catching against your folds with every stroke. you whimper when it brushes your clit. he shudders. your legs tense around his waist. he drinks in your face, the way your lips part, how your lashes flutter when the head of his cock catches at your clit, a slippery near-miss. you whimper-soft and high-pitched. "toru!"

"don't—fuck—don't say it like that." gojo croaks, almost angry with restraint. "gonna lose it." in contradiction to his words, his hips roll forward, nudging again against the tight ring of your entrance. he wants in. he's wanted in for weeks.

"baby," he nuzzles your jaw. there's a sweetness to it that is inherently deceptive, "lemme-just the tip. c'mon, jus' a little." you shake your head before you can stop yourself. he groans, wounded, forehead falling against your collarbone. stays there for a beat. then you feel it: a nudge. insistent, clumsy, the swollen head of his cock pressing into your entrance, starting to stretch you past what you thought possible. no thrust, not yet— just the threat of his size.

"please," you can't tell if he's begging you or himself. "wanna feel you. wanna be good, but you're killing me." and you believe him. the strongest sorcerer's voice is breaking, and you can feel how his whole body is rembling with restraint.

"fine.... just a bit," you concede. he doesn't wait for more than a nod. hands braced under your thighs, he pushes in.

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i need everyone to know that community is what will save us all in every single way imaginable. you forming a bond with your neighbour or coworker might help them move house or feel less alone or have the courage to leave an unhealthy living environment. you helping a stranger might provide them with hope. in turn, being able to lean on your community in times of need will save you. your broader bonds with your community are the revolution we need. our society seeks to divide and separate us in so many ways but we are all so much more united in our struggles and joys than you are made to believe. we need to hold onto each other very tightly.

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MDNI 18+

gojo satoru almost never removes his blindfold.

not during missions, not to sleep. not even when you’re beneath him like this, panting into his mouth. he usually keeps it on—spares him the headache. you’ve never minded, though. his presence alone compensates for what he keeps hidden.

but tonight, something makes him pause mid-thrust.

he stills, breath shallow. two fingers hook beneath the edge of the fabric. with one slow pull, he slides it down. it hangs around his neck now. what’s revealed steals away your breath.

his eyes are otherworldly.

not just electric—opalescent, almost volatile in their beauty. platinum bled to cobalt, cold fire beneath a lattice of lashes so pale and translucent they catch light like spun sugar, long enough to kiss his cheekbones when he blinks. too beautiful to be real. too unreal not to be divine.

you reach up, brushing a lock of silver hair from his damp forehead, fingers grazing the corner of one crystalline eye. his lashes flutter—languid, indulgent, unbearably fond.

“you like?” his grin tilts crooked. boyish and smug. words simply fail you, so you nod. the motion cause you to tighten around him. he exhales sharply, nearly chokes on a groan.

“careful,” gojo mutters, sinking deeper into you. “you keep lookin’ at me like that, i’ll embarrass myself.”

your legs cinch around his waist, and the next breath he lets out is shaky. there’s colour high on his cheeks now—pink cresting beneath damp silver hair, reaching the delicate points of his ears. his gaze lingers on your face, then dips to the bounce of your breasts as he thrusts again.

“told you i was pretty.”

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The fact that people don't think friendship is enough to justify characters doing insane acts of love for each other baffles me. Like have you never loved your friend so so much you want to live in their ribcage. Have you never been really weird about a friend. Have you never wanted to bite your friends parents or shove them down a staircase. Have you never wanted to be buried in the same grave as a friend. Have u never. How do u people live like this.

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You can tell him everything, gojo (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

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​when you’re mad and he send you this as an apology because Satoru knew you love cats and Megumi

Oh, I’m too soft for this 🥺

@nagseo524

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Suguru Geto who punishes himself for loving you

Suguru Geto who punishes himself for loving you and somewhere in the process, punishes you too — a little deliberate, a little passive.

the new devotee as you were, a non-sorcerer, tainted, filthy, a monkey. And in his eyes, you were everything that was wrong in the world — in his heart? Some days, the reason he supposed the earth was revolving at all (so the time would pass and he’d gather courage), the sun shone at all (so he could lay his eyes on you), the moon circled the earth (so he could compare you it and consider you more beautiful) — was all because of you.

and thus, suguru geto punishes himself for this sliver of avarice — he wants to blame you, really, it’s only characteristic but…can he? suguru repents as well, tries, worships and meditates, mutters the name of any and every god — not the name of your god (which is him) — as he tries to cleanse himself (unsure he stills, for you or off you?)

suguru who washes his hands once, twice, thrice after touching you (accidental brushes he’d deem it, you knew better, so did he) — it feels inhumane (you make it so), his hand hurts (his heart hurts more) — the sin remains, the flesh rita and his soul yearns.

suguru who is scared, anxious, guilty — even when you fall to his feet (his fingers ache to cradle) — and a chained by his thoughts, morales; so when you beg of his love, his lips only offer a sneer — his throats only bubbles insults and his eyes scream their apologies and his loves squeezes it’s own self.

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It is your sworn duty, when you're in your 30's, to do something every day that would have gotten you viciously bullied in high school.

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gojo satoru was spoiled, sure. but he wasn’t used to being cared for.

he had people who answered to him. people who revered him, feared him, respected him. his clan, his school, his students. everything he wanted, he could have. everything he needed, someone got for him.

but then there was you.

you, who didn’t flinch when he joked too loudly or smiled too wide. you, who didn’t tiptoe around his legacy like it was made of glass. you, who leaned into him instead of away, who called him “satoru” like he was just a man, not the strongest.

and when you touched him, it wasn’t reverent or worshipful or like you owed him anything. it was simple. kind. natural.

like reaching to fix his collar on a windy morning.

like putting his favorite tea on the stove before he even asked.

like dragging him to bed when he passed out on the couch, glasses skewed, mouth slightly open.

“come on,” you’d mutter, soft but firm, “sleep properly, sato.”

and he’d blink up at you, half-lidded and drowsy, and feel something sweet settle in his chest.

you didn’t do these things because he asked. you didn’t do them because he was gojo satoru. you just… cared.

it rattled something in him.

once, you made him lunch and packed it for him in a neat little box. he opened it during a break at jujutsu tech, laughing at a text from you about something dumb his students did.

inside, there was his favorite food. a little sticky note with a doodle. a stupid pun you’d written.

don’t fight anyone on an empty stomach!!

he sat there, chopsticks halfway to his mouth, and just stared.

he thought about how no one had ever done that before. not like this. not with that silly, mindless affection. not because they wanted to make his day better.

and that night, when he came home, he found you on the couch in your pajamas, phone in hand, hair messy from the way you curled up against the cushions.

he walked over without saying a word, dropped to his knees in front of you, and laid his head in your lap.

you blinked down at him. “…long day?”

he nodded, face pressed against your stomach, arms winding around your waist.

“thank you,” he mumbled.

you snorted. “for what?”

he didn’t answer. just closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of your laundry detergent, your skin, your home.

he’d always had everything he could ask for. but until you, he didn’t know what it meant to be loved for nothing. for free.

and god, did it make him want to give you the world.

tori’s notes ᝰ.ᐟ i love satoru 😔

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 ✰ the copy of your apartment key you had handed your best friend!Satoru months ago was definitely the best decision you could have taken, it avoided you the hassle of having to stand up from the cozy spot on the couch to open the door, which happened quite a few times a day, it was like the blue eyed lived there at this point. with a pair of his shoes next to yours at the entrance, one of his blindfolds tucked into your underwear drawer, and that one jacked you once told him it was really cute hanging on the back of a chair, he did not wear it anymore, he said looks better on you either way.

so when the usual sound of your doorknob turns, you know it’s him, loud and whining your name, almost like a blur since he is on top of you in a second, face buried on the crook of your neck, “she cheated” is what he mutters.

the girl Satoru was dating for what? a week, it did not matter, he was hurt and pouty, extra cute in your opinion, so your hands find his scalp and scratch, “aw, baby, I’m sorry, she doesn’t deserve you”

“I found her making out with another dude” he cries in another whine, lips warm and soft on your skin, just like his hands sliding under the shirt —his— you wore, to press on your tummy and gently slide the waistband of your shorts and panties down, “he was not even handsome”

you can’t help but chuckle a little “no one is as handsome as you, baby” you coo, raising your hips just enough for him to bare you from the waist below, “it’s her loss” “her loss” you try to keep yourself coherent as Satoru fucks into your tight, warm pussy with deep but languid strokes, still keeping his face on the crook of your neck but his hips smack with a mind of their own, messily splattering the wetness seeping from your cunt onto thighs and pelvis, grinding a little with breathy whines from his part.

you could not understand how someone could even dare cheat on Satoru with how loving he was, so sweet, and with such a fat cock, “y-you’re the best boyfriend, baby, the ah! the... the best” moans and whines leave your throat, having first hand experience in your best friend’s gestures, it was strange why his relationships didn’t last.

“y-yeah, you promise?” he sounds so cute with that breathy and pleasured voice, knowing it’s your pussy making him that drunk, seeking for a compliment you are more than willing to give, “I- ah, fuck... love... your pussy” the white haired groans on your neck, hands squeezing on your hips tighter to keep you steady as he fills and stretches your tight hole, “the best I have ever had... nghm...” that sentence being enough to push you closer to the edge, hips bucking to have his cock hit the delicious spot inside your walls.

“mngh! the best... the best...” you repeat, lover, friend, fuck, who cares, fucked too good to even make up your own emotions.

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idk I just personally think that getting chills from music is the best part of being alive. like when a song is so good you can feel it in your whole body. that's why I'm here.