bibemiiu

[bibemiiu]

recovery (this is gojo lives au)

[bibemiiu]

recovery (this is gojo lives au)

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➡️ Choose Sylus ➡️Choose Sukuna ➡️ Choose BOTH! ✨

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This is what I imagine when reading nerdjo fanfics

Art credits @nekozuu_ from instagram

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Dating Gojo doodles

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nerdjo! who whines while he’s tutoring you. it’s been thirty five minutes and you’ve gotten through two problems, he reminds you. but you won’t stop changing the topic, or poking at his arm, or brushing his hair from off his glasses.

nerdjo! who begs you to stay up til midnight when you have a nine am lecture the next day so you can watch a new episode of his favorite, albeit lame, show with him because he wants to share it with you.

nerdjo! who, instead of bars, takes you to museums. he doesn’t act priss— he still laughs loudly at your jokes, he still slings an arm around your shoulder and tugs you along like you’re alone— but he does go into extensive detail when he sees an artifact he’s studied before or an art piece he looked up because it reminded him of you.

nerdjo! who calms you down when you have a big assignment coming up and insists on helping you with it (free of charge). he buys any supplies you may need, listens to you explain what you want to do with it, and compiles a step by step plan for how to achieve your goal as soon as possible.

nerdjo! who builds you lego flowers. call him lame, call him a child, but they’re forever! he says. he puts all but one together by himself and saves the very last one for you to do together, so the memory will last too.

nerdjo! who begs you to come with him to his optometrist appointment so he can make sure you still think he’s cute with his new frames. he wants to branch out, explore, switch it up— but he’s deathly afraid you’ll find him any less than handsome. he loves to impress you.

nerdjo! who knows you’re attracted to him. he knows he’s attractive as is, he’s not insecure about his looks. he’s an observant man, he knows what he does that makes you squeamish and he profits on it.

nerdjo! who pushes his glasses up while looking at you with two fingers. who tugs on ties he wears to interviews with one hand while he presses the other to your hip. who yanks his fingers through his hair and holds it in the air for just a second too long so you can see the way his eyes shine.

nerdjo! who, while he may be a nerd, radiates a confidence to him. that confidence shines through in moments like this, with his hands pushing your hips down as you desperately try to raise them.

nerdjo! who knows what he’s doing. his tongue is as precise as he is in between your thighs, lapping up at the sheer slick that covers you. he’s good at facts and memorization, so he’s memorized exactly when to flatten his tongue nice and slow and when to point it all fast like.

nerdjo! who moans when you do, rolling his hips into the bed as he continues dutifully. he’s obsessed. you’re everything, you’re the ground he walks on, you’re the hottest thing alive.

nerdjo! who has done this so many times it’s like religion to him. who is so used to your taste and your smell and the way you feel and it never gets old. and— no matter how many times he has been here, no matter how long he can last, no matter how little he’s being touched…

nerdjo! who cums in his pants more than half the time when he goes down on you. his whines vibrate against your clit, muffled by you dripping cunt.

nerdjo! who blushes a pink red, buries his face into your thigh, raises the pitch in his voice as he goes “couldn’t help it, baby, you’re so pretty… can i still fuck you?”

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"His hands came to rest on the sides of your face, his thumbs moving to wipe away the tears from your cheeks, his heart hurting with how beautiful you looked, even with your red puffy eyes, with tears still brimming in them, even with your cheeks still wet, and your sniffling... he had never been immune to you, in all the centuries, you were his biggest weakness, and he was, in every way, yours."

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When you’re in bed together, Satoru always has to be touching you in some way. Actually, in most situations, he has to - his fingers naturally find yours during walks, locking together without a second thought. When you rest your head on his shoulder during train rides, he absentmindedly twirls a strand of your hair around his finger. Right before your stop, he gives a slight tug to wake you up, teasing you about the little bit of drool at the corner of your lips. Don’t worry - he’ll kiss it away.

Satoru always pulls you close. He doesn’t mind the heat in the summer; even if you complain about it, he’ll still find a way to touch you, even if it’s just pinching the hem of the oversized shirt you stole from him. He gets it - Japanese summers in traditional houses are no joke. He teases that if you’re good, maybe Santa will bring you an AC this year. You respond by brushing your leg against his, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. And if your legs happen to be a little prickly, he just laughs, pulling you in by the back of your neck. “My little cactus,” he murmurs, his blue eyes soft with affection.

Winter, though - that’s his favorite. He likes being the big spoon, tucking you under his chin, wrapping his arms around you until you’re practically buried against him. It’s hard to tell if he’s keeping you warm or just smothering you. He loves feeling your warmth against him, listening to your soft breathing, your little snores. He prefers winter because you always come to him, searching for his warmth. His only complaint? Your cold hands. And when you press your freezing feet against his back just to mess with him, you instantly regret it. Because, really, why are you running? He just wants to hold you (and maybe bite you - fair payback, and your cheeks are too tempting).

After moments of intimacy, he prefers lying on his back, with you sprawled over his chest, one leg lazily draped over his waist. Your skin warm and dewy against his, breaths still a little uneven as they start to slow. Your fingertips absentmindedly trace the scars scattered across his ivory skin, a soft, familiar touch that makes him sigh in contentment.

He cups your face, tilting it up so he can kiss you, his thumb gently brushing over your cheek. It’s slow, tender - one of those kisses that lingers, that you both sink into without realizing how much time is passing. He smiles against your lips, unable to help himself. And then, because he can never resist, those slow kisses turn playful. He starts peppering your entire face with pecks, laughter bubbling up as his fingers sneak to your sides, tickling just enough to make you squirm.

Even though he’s someone who always needs touch, who thrives on it, more than anything, he just feels lucky - to have you, to hold you, to love you.

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Pov you’ve stopped at a red light and you randomly check your rear-view mirror

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Sylus would be an amazing weighted blanket let's be real.

Mephisto is clearly not amused with being the third wheel 24/7 atp

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happy international women's day 🫶🏻

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"Dressed like this I might end up stealing the spotlight at the music festival."

its actually his comment on the white version but i thought black would fit better UwU

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Satoru is … obsessed with your lips.

For the most part.

He gets away with a lot under the guise of being your best friend—looping an arm around your shoulders, keeping you close in crowded rooms, resting his chin on your head, calling you every ridiculous pet name under the sun. But the lip thing? That’s different. That’s something else entirely.

Because he can not stop.

He does it constantly—cuts you off mid-sentence with a quick peck, presses lazy kisses to the corner of your mouth when you’re focused on something else, and—on more than one occasion—drags the tip of his tongue over your bottom lip just to see you gasp.

You slap his arm the first time he does it. “’Toruuu, you can’t just do that?”

He just grins, impossibly bright, tilting his head. “But why, baby?, can't I just kiss you once?”

And then there are the moments when he gets carried away—when a quick, teasing kiss turns into something else. When his grip tightens, when the playful edge in his touch disappears into something desperate and consuming.

Like now.

His lips move against yours with an intensity that borders on ravenous. His hands are everywhere—one gripping your waist, the other buried in your hair, keeping you exactly where he wants you. You barely have time to breathe before he pulls you back in, swallowing the sound that leaves your lips.

He kisses you like he’s been drowning forever, and you’re the first breath breaking through his lungs. Like you’re the only thing anchoring him to the world.

You try to pull away—to say something, to tease him, to scold him for acting like he’s starved for you—but the moment you do, his teeth catch your lower lip in a warning nip. A soft, stay.

And you do.

Because how could you not?

His hands are rough, gripping, holding—like he wants to leave his mark on you, like he wants you to remember. But when they reach your face, when his fingertips brush against your cheeks, his touch turns unbearably soft.

Like you’re something fragile. Like you’re something precious.

His thumb traces along your jaw, his lips slowing, pressing against yours over and over, softer now, reverent. Like he’s memorizing you. Like he’s terrified you’ll slip away the moment he lets go.

And maybe that’s what ruins you most.

Not the desperate, breath-stealing kisses. Not the bruising grip.

But the way he holds you like you’re a dream—one he’s afraid to wake up from.

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source

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the monster's gone, he's on the run and your daddy's here...

(I get so emotional about dadjo plss I will go reread all fics)

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helping him relax