sugurugetoshairbrush

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

TY @pepperyduck 4 the tag—yr aesthetic is giving floral softgirlcore !!

1. Getou Suguru 🧎‍♀️ (& Gojo only if he wants to be our third)

2. Kakashi Hatake (my first anime crush—since age 12 loll)

3. Sasaki Shuumei

4. Son Hak

5. Silva Zoldyck (DILF)

I sleep on my back like I’m coffin ready LOL—stg that’s the best type of sleep

@tojisth3rdwife @mentallyillcore @ihavethegrimoire @sumbarbietingz @slutlight2ndver @inthedarkshadows000 feel free to join <3

I have no idea how this works so here we go 🫠����

@amathslutsguidetofandom @xoxunhinged @pepperyduck @ltash @mall0ww @v1x3n @xxshadowbabexx @celestialprincesse @erinfern0 @m00nxghost @chamomiletealeaf @soap-ify @gluttonybiscuits @tomiesdiet @cinnamorollcrybaby

first, search your name + [aesthetic] on pinterest and add the first 4 pics 🌌

then, name 5 fictional characters you'd marry in a heartbeat 💍

lastly, which position you sleep in 😴

simon riley (duh)

gojo satoru

nanami kento

levi ackerman

erwin smith

I mostly sleep on my back and right side :)

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

Will you write personal!trainer Toji?😩😩😩

Yesss I will!! I been waiting on someone to ask me this 😩—you get it!! Do you want anything specifically? Let me know—bc if not I will let Toji take me wherever he takes me 🤭 xoxo

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

Please tag me in any stoner Geto works?!? I'm obsessed and in need of moreeeee!! 🤤🤤

I gotchu!! Added to the taglist! TYSM, I’m glad you enjoy the chaos 🤭💋💋

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

GODDAMN HE’S FINE AS SHIT

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

CEOS OF NEVER ESCAPING THE ALLEGATIONS

…but will I be sat for the movie? YES🧎‍♀️

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

Work Rivals with Office Siren!Suguru Getou

Getou Suguru is the worst.

The absolute worst. He makes your life a living hell, your job a warzone, and worst of all, he’s the most maddeningly attractive man you’ve ever laid eyes on.

You hadn’t always been mortal enemies. In fact, your first impression of him was something out of a cheesy rom-com.

On your first day as a junior accountant, you stopped by a local coffee shop to grab a medium, hot, cream, no sugar. The moment your order was called, both you and a sharply dressed man stepped up to the counter.

The first thing you noticed was his height—towering enough to make you tilt your head back. On the way up, you took in his impeccably tailored navy suit, crisp white shirt, and slim black tie. His sleeves were neatly cuffed at the wrists, revealing a deep bronze complexion adorned with a flashy silver Rolex and a few understated rings.

When your gaze finally reached his face, your breath hitched. He was striking. Long black hair tied back in a half-up style, sharp cheekbones, and a strong jaw. Black gauges and a gleaming silver eyebrow piercing accentuated his features, and a pair of rectangular glasses slipped slightly down the bridge of his nose. He eyed you with an air of irritation, violet eyes glinting behind the glare of the café lights.

“Is this yours?” he asked, gesturing to the coffee being held out by an increasingly impatient barista.

You had a perfectly charming response prepared in your head. But as luck would have it, your brain short-circuited, and what came out instead was less… ideal.

“Why else would I be here? Course it’s mine. It’s my first day, and you’re holding me up.”

The sharpness in your tone made you wince internally, but you couldn’t backtrack now. Crossing your arms, you tilted your head, doubling down.

His brows knit together as he huffed. “Could’ve done without the attitude. Just take it and go.”

You grabbed the coffee with a muttered, “Whatever,” and turned on your heel, heading for the door. But before it swung shut, you glanced over your shoulder at the disgruntled stranger. At least you’d never have to see him again, right?

Wrong.

When you arrived at work and sat through the orientation, you focused on staying out of trouble. That plan went out the window when you were led to your cubicle—right across from a familiar face.

Your guide tapped him on the shoulder. He turned, and when his eyes met yours, surprise flickered for the briefest moment before being replaced by irritation.

“—and this is Getou Suguru, your cubicle neighbor. It’s also his first day as a junior accountant, so don’t be shy. This job can get pretty isolating, so building relationships is important,” your senior said cheerfully.

Forcing a polite smile, you extended your hand, hoping he’d let your earlier encounter slide. His handshake was firm, his larger hand warm against yours.

“Nice to meet you,” he said smoothly. “Looking forward to working with you.”

Your senior walked off, satisfied. But as soon as he was out of earshot, Getou grabbed a bottle of hand sanitizer, pumping an aggressive amount into his palm.

“Enjoy sharing the same title,” he said coolly. “Soon, I’ll be your superior, coffee-girl.”

He spun his chair around, strands of sleek black hair whipping over his shoulder.

That was six years ago.

Time had not softened the animosity between you two. If anything, it had calcified into a rivalry so intense it pushed both of you to climb the ranks faster than anyone expected. You were both promoted to Corporate Controller—a position that typically took eight years to reach—on the same day.

It was supposed to be a single-person role, but after the CFO reviewed your identical performance stats, he decided to make an exception. Now, you and Getou are seated on the 36th floor of the company’s sleek high-rise, with matching titles engraved on silver plaques outside your offices.

The only thing separating you is a glass wall, through which you exchange daily glares.

Competition fuels everything. From routine tasks to major projects, you turn every assignment into a wager. The CFO, Nanami Kento, has become your unofficial referee. At first, he admired your drive. Over time, though, even his legendary patience has begun to fray.

“Getou’s management style is 2% less efficient than mine,” you declare during a performance review, presenting your meticulously crafted charts.

“Her sales plan took a 0.5% dip last quarter,” Getou counters with his own spreadsheet. “In hindsight, my proposal conserved more resources.”

“His data compression wastes company time!”

“Her budget oversight missed the social media revenue I proposed—”

“You stole that idea from me!”

“SHUT. UP.”

Nanami’s voice, usually calm and measured, reverberates through the room. He stands abruptly, the tension radiating off him like heat.

“I cannot take another second of your childish bickering,” he snaps, slamming a hand onto his desk. “You’re both brilliant, hardworking, and utterly insufferable. You’ve turned this office into a battlefield, and frankly, I’m this close to quitting just to escape you.”

The words hang heavy in the air.

If Nanami’s outburst isn’t enough to make it clear something has to change, the rest of the accounting branch soon makes it crystal. Your colleagues have begun avoiding you and Getou like the plague, steering clear of the drama that follows wherever you go.

Well, everyone in the accounting branch has turned against you and Getou—except for one person: your one and only work friend, Gojo Satoru.

Gojo, the accounting manager, ranks just below you. He is a walking billboard for excess, always dressed to the nines in custom Dolce & Gabbana baby-blue suits that match his piercing cerulean eyes. Every month, he carries a new designer briefcase, each more luxurious than the last, and you have yet to see him repeat one.

He wasn’t just anyone. Gojo is—or was—the heir to a global media empire. His great-grandfather had founded the conglomerate, which owned everything from cable networks to film studios and streaming platforms. But seven years ago, the Gojo family had severed ties with their infamous black sheep.

Gojo had always been a loose cannon, his antics splashed across tabloids with alarming regularity. When he was finally caught in a particularly compromising situation—a sleazy nightclub rendezvous involving a rival conglomerate’s heir and a bottle girl—his family decided they’d had enough. The Gojo media machine couldn’t suppress the scandal, and rather than shell out another fortune trying to salvage their name, they cut him off.

He went from riches to rags—or as close to “rags” as someone with Gojo’s charisma and wits could get. He clawed his way up the ladder at your company, and while his charm earned him plenty of allies, his ego alienated just as many. That left you as the only one who could truly tolerate him. Perhaps it was your shared arrogance, though yours stemmed from your relentless rivalry with Getou, while his was… well, Gojo was just Gojo.

Which is why you’re currently in a supply closet, your back pressed against the metallic shelving as Gojo shakes your shoulders like a madman, his usually smug face looking uncharacteristically panicked.

“You have got to end this feud with Getou,” he hisses, his bright blue eyes practically glowing in the dim lighting. “It’s spiraling out of control. The whole department’s gone to hell. Nanami’s snappy, everyone’s overworked, and the accountants are making more mistakes than ever because they’re so stressed.”

He runs a hand through his shock of white hair, sighing dramatically before adding, “You two have the worst reputation I’ve ever seen. And coming from me—someone who’s made global headlines for my bad behavior—that’s saying a lot.”

You open your mouth, ready to defend yourself, but Gojo raises a hand, cutting you off.

“Don’t even start with the whole ‘but our numbers are the best’ speech,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Because while your stats are impressive, they’re not enough to make up for the chaos you two create. And,” he leans in closer, a devious smirk curling his lips, “don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you look at him.”

You freeze, your heart pounding as if he’d just exposed your darkest secret.

“Oh, don’t play dumb,” Gojo teases, his tone sing-song. “You’re practically undressing him with your eyes half the time. It’s honestly disgusting. If this is your idea of flirting, you might be a masochist. Or a sadist. Or both. Either way, the rest of us shouldn’t have to suffer through this painfully obvious sexual tension.”

Your cheeks burn, and for once, you’re speechless.

Gojo straightens his lapels, his smirk widening. “I’ve had enough of this nonsense. I’m going to fix it, one way or another. Consider this your warning.”

Before you can respond, he spins on his heel and storms out, slamming the door behind him. 

You stand there for a moment, your mind racing.

“What can he even do?” you mutter to yourself, laughing nervously. “He’s just an accounting manager.”

But you’d underestimated Gojo.

By the time you return to your office, he’s already marched into Nanami’s and laid out his nefarious plan. Meanwhile, you find yourself staring blankly at the income statement on your screen, utterly distracted.

Your gaze drifts to the glass wall of your office, where you can see Getou seated at his desk. He’s wearing a fitted chestnut vest over a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his tanned forearms. His black hair is tied in a loose bun, a ballpoint pen shoved haphazardly through it.

As you watch, he reaches up to twirl a strand of hair around his finger, his violet eyes scanning a thick packet of papers. When he suddenly glances up and catches you staring, your breath hitches.

His piercing gaze darkens, and a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. He arches an eyebrow, his expression equal parts smug and devastatingly attractive. Then, as if to torment you further, he returns to his work, the faintest smile still lingering on his lips.

You shift uncomfortably in your chair, heat pooling in your cheeks. If your hatred of Getou is a defense mechanism, it isn’t working—if anything, it only heightens your attraction to him.

But you resolve to keep your distance, for the sake of professionalism.

That resolve lasts precisely one day.

The next morning, Nanami summons you to his office. Confident in your newfound clarity, you stride in—only to feel your confidence waver when you see Gojo lounging against the window like a model in a photoshoot, the sunlight framing him perfectly.

Then the door opens behind you, and in walks Getou.

He takes the seat next to you, his legs spread obnoxiously wide, oozing dominance.

Nanami wastes no time. “I’ve reached my limit with your behavior. The entire branch is suffering because of you two. So, effective immediately, you’ll both be attending the annual financial policy conference together as a team-building exercise.”

You groan. “Sir, with all due respect, I don’t think—”

“This is non-negotiable,” Nanami interrupts, holding up two plane tickets. “And to ensure you take this seriously, know that if this doesn’t work, I will demote both of you and give your positions to Gojo.”

Gojo grins triumphantly.

Nanami adds, “And don’t think I won’t be monitoring your behavior. The conference is hosted at one of our company hotels, so we’ll have access to surveillance.”

As you leave his office, the weight of the tickets in your hand feels suffocating. Later that evening, you seek refuge straight off of your shift, at the nearest bar, ordering a drink to drown your sorrows.

Slouching on the barstool, the straps of your dress slip down your shoulders, but you don’t bother fixing them. At this point, you’re too far gone to care. Nursing your drink quickly turns into downing shots, thanks to the kindness—or opportunism—of nearby patrons. Some, sensing your frazzled state, buy you a drink out of pity. Others, mostly men, let their eyes linger on your neckline before waving down the bartender to pour you another on their tab.

You lean your cheek against your arm, swirling the straw in your glass absentmindedly. The din of the bar becomes white noise as your thoughts spiral. Then, you sense a presence settling on the stool next to you.

“Rough day?”

The voice is low, amused, and far too familiar. You stiffen before letting out a slow, tired huff.

“Fuck off, Getou.”

You aim for venom, but your tone lands somewhere closer to exhausted. His chuckle vibrates through the space between you, and then you feel the warmth of his hand on your shoulder, his fingers tracing small, deliberate circles.

“Aw, don’t tell me I’ve finally worn you down,” he drawls, his voice dipping with mock concern. His hand moves, catching the strap of your dress and sliding it back into place with a languid tug. “Resorting to alcohol already? Never thought I’d see the day.”

You snap your head toward him, gathering the last scraps of defiance you have left. He’s leaning casually against the bar, his beige sweater hugging his frame a little too perfectly, the knit fabric stretching taut over his arms. His expression is maddeningly amused, dark eyes glinting with the kind of satisfaction that makes your blood simmer.

“Pretty cocky, aren’t you? Need some liquid courage for our trip, I assume?”

Instead of answering, he reaches forward and swipes your drink. He takes a long sip, his throat bobbing as he swallows. His teeth click against the glass when he sets it down.

“Strong,” he remarks before leaning closer, his voice dropping. “And speaking of the trip, I assume we’ll put on quite the show, hmm? Don’t get me wrong—I hate you. But I hate the idea of Gojo taking either of our jobs even more.”

He nudges your foot with his own, a silent challenge in his raised brow. You hesitate only for a second before extending a hand, your manicured nails catching the dim light.

“Finally, something we can agree on. Look, I’m willing to do whatever it takes to keep our positions. Yeah, maybe we go overboard sometimes, but we get results. We’re the best.”

“Damn right,” he replies, his smirk sharp and self-assured. His fingers brush yours as he takes your hand, and then he raises it to signal the bartender for another round.

You clear your throat, trying to regain control of the conversation. “It’s just a weekend. We can fake being civil for two days. We’ve never failed to perform before, and we’re not about to start now.”

His hand lands on your shoulder again, his touch oddly grounding. “We always exceed expectations. You always go above; I always go beyond.” He emphasizes the last word with a teasing smirk that makes your jaw tighten.

“Oh yeah? Always?” You lean in, narrowing your eyes. “Bet I can out-drink you. Hell, I already have. I’ve practically forgotten why I was even upset in the first place.”

“Big talk for someone who’s clearly lying.” His grin spreads wider, white teeth gleaming. “But hey, I’m all for proving you wrong. Again.”

The conversation dissolves into a blurry competition. Before you know it, the counter between you is littered with empty glasses. The room spins around you, your skin hot, your head light. 

Somehow, in the midst of it all, your legs have tangled beneath the bar, Getou’s foot hooked possessively around your ankle.

When you glance at him, his bronzed skin is flushed, a pretty pink spreading across his high cheekbones. His hair is loose now, cascading over his broad shoulders in soft, inky waves. His glasses hang from the collar of his sweater, and he reaches out, his finger brushing against your chin.

“You’re spilling,” he murmurs, dragging his finger along your skin to catch a stray drop of liquor. He pulls it back and raises it to his lips, licking it clean with a slow, deliberate motion.

“Playing dirty, huh?” you mutter, your voice thick.

Getou takes the last sip of his drink, his cheeks puffing slightly as he holds the liquid idle in his mouth, and shrugs. The casual gesture makes something snap inside you. Desperate to turn the tables, you grab the collar of his sweater and yank him toward you.

His lips crash into yours, soft yet insistent, and for a fleeting moment, the world shrinks to the warmth of his mouth and the faint bitterness of alcohol lingering on his breath. Your tongue grazes his bottom lip, and he parts for you, letting the sharp tang of liquor transfer between you. A low groan rumbles from his chest as his hands tighten around your waist.

You swallow, leaning into the kiss, your fingers clutching at him as his hand slides up, tangling in your hair. He tilts your head back, deepening the kiss, and a moan escapes your lips before you can hold it back.

His other hand moves lower, pulling you closer until you’re perched halfway on his lap, the warmth of his body pressing against you.

“You might’ve had more to drink than me,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice teasing yet dark with intent. “But I bet I can have you begging for me off a kiss.”

His thigh presses between your legs, and your dress rides up higher than you’d like to admit. You’re soaked, the flimsy fabric of your underwear doing little to shield your dignity—or his slacks—from your arousal.

“Think you’ll have me begging?” he murmurs against your lips, his breath hot against your skin. 

“You’re the one falling apart, sweetheart.”

Before you can retort, your phone buzzes on the counter, the vibration cutting through the haze. 

A message lights up the screen.

Gojo Satoru: I just KNOW the hate sex is gonna go hard. Don’t thank me all at once, sweetie ;)

beautiful ass fanart by: _viziiro_ on twt/X

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

Tiktok Influencer!Gojo Satoru—“Bail Me Out” Prank [prev]

@ sexygojosatoru has made a new post:

“bail me out” prank (GONE WRONG :( ) #fyp

00:03 =⬤--------------------------- 03:38 

⇆ㅤ ◁ㅤ❚❚ㅤ▷ㅤ ↻ 

[The video opens with Gojo perched at his desk, his camera balanced on his laptop. He’s grinning maniacally, his tinted glasses catching the light as he adjusts his blue drop-shoulder shirt draped loosely over a crisp white tee. Flashing a quick peace sign, he leans closer to the camera, mischief practically radiating off him.]

Gojo: “What’s up, guys? It’s me, the one and only Gojo Satoru. Today, I’m pulling the bail me out prank to find out who’s really ride or die for me. Because, duh, I’m Gojo Satoru—obviously everyone should drop everything to save me. Right? Anyway, I’ve pre-recorded a fake jail call on my laptop, and I’m using my work phone to really sell it.”

[He waves a sleek black phone in front of the camera and then, with exaggerated stealth, presses #67 to block his caller ID.]

Gojo: (whispering) “Pro tip: hiding your number is key. I saw this online somewhere, so don’t @ me. Okay, shhh—first up: Nanamin.”

[Gojo smirks as he punches in the number. He hits play on his laptop, and a robotic voice fills the air.]

Laptop Audio: “This is a collect call from… Gojo Satoru, an inmate at… Tokyo Detention House. Press 1 to accept the call. Thank you. This call will be monitored and recorded for security purposes. Connecting you now…”

[Gojo claps a hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh. Static crackles, followed by Nanami’s deep, steady voice.]

Nanami: “Gojo? Are you there?”

Gojo: (frantic) “Nanami! Thank god! I need your help. They arrested me for armed robbery—I didn’t do it! Bail is set at $10K. Please, I’m begging you!”

Nanami: (flatly)  “Gojo, no. If you’re really in jail, just Hollow Purple your way out. You don’t need my money. Goodbye.”

[The call ends with a sharp click. Gojo pouts at the camera, but the glint in his eyes says he’s far from done. He dials the next number, holding a finger to his lips for dramatic effect.]

Laptop Audio: “This is a collect call from… Gojo Satoru, an inmate at… Tokyo Detention House. Press 1 to accept the call. Thank you. This call will be monitored and recorded for security purposes. Connecting you now…”

Shoko: “Gojo? What the hell is this? Wait—are you serious right now?”

[Gojo clasps the phone to his chest, throwing his head back like a tragic hero.]

Gojo: (desperate) “Shoko, you won’t believe it! I forgot to put up a veil on my mission, and the cops saw Red. They cuffed me on the spot—no lawyer, no nothing! Please, I need $10K to make bail. Help me, Shoko!”

[A burst of laughter erupts on the other end.]

Utahime: (laughing) “BAHAHAHA! No way! Gojo got locked up? Throw away the key! Actually, leave him in there for a week—teach him some humility. Don’t drop the soap, Gojo!”

[The call ends with Utahime’s cackles echoing in the background. Gojo glares at the camera, muttering.]

Gojo: “Why does Shoko hang out with that asshole? Ugh, fine—let’s see if my sweet students care about me.”

[He dials again. The robotic voice returns, reciting its familiar lines. The call connects, and a quiet voice answers.]

Gojo: “Megumi! My precious student! I’m in a tight spot. The cops think I’m a murderer—I need $15K for bail. You have to help me. Pool your money, sell your stuff, whatever it takes!”

Megumi: (dryly) “This is actually hilarious. Good riddance.”

[There’s muffled shuffling before another, much louder voice cuts in.]

Yuji: (panicked) “Sensei?! Are you hurt? Are you okay? We don’t have that kind of money, but I’ll start a GoFundMe right now!”

Megumi: (groaning) “Yuji, stop. This is obviously one of Gojo’s dumb TikTok pranks.”

Yuji: (hesitant) “Wait… is that true? Sensei, tell me this is a joke!”

[Gojo drags a hand down his face, letting out a long, theatrical sigh.]

Gojo: “Fine. Yes. It’s a prank. Megumi, you’re such a killjoy. Say bye to TikTok.”

Yuji: (relieved) “Bye!!”

03:38 =================⬤ 03:38

⇆ㅤ ◁ㅤ❚❚ㅤ▷ㅤ ↻

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

i just binged your stoner geto series and i’m so obsessed 😭 it’s so messy i adore it so much

thank you for your work!! 🙏🩷🩷

TYSM !! I appreciate you 4 reading <333 I'm cooking up the next one rn from asks & my own unhinged ideas LOL xoxo

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

playing match-maker with professor!gojo satoru [prev]

Dr. Gojo Satoru added Prof. Shoko Ieiri to Cupids <3

Dr. Gojo Satoru: Sho where are you taking your lunch today? You: Eat with us in Gojo’s lab!

Prof . Getou Suguru emphasized your message

Prof. Shoko Ieiri: …why? Dr. Gojo Satoru: colleague bonding time! Prof. Shoko Ieiri: what’s the catch? You: Why does there have to be a catch T-T Prof. Getou Suguru: Join us, and we’ll accompany you to that meditation class taught by the cute brunette you’ve been drooling over.

Dr. Gojo Satoru laughed at a message

Prof. Shoko Ieiri: yeah alright

Shoko appears in the doorway of Gojo’s lab shortly after agreeing to join. Her white lab coat flutters as she strides in, a fitted blue shirt tucked into black pin-striped slacks. She plops her brown bag onto the table beside you, tossing her long brown hair over her shoulder, and extracts a sandwich and an apple.

Across from you, Gojo sits perched at his desk, leaning back with his legs crossed atop the surface. His usual smug determination is evident, highlighted by his untouched strawberry cheesecake yogurt. His white turtleneck peeks above the collar of his lab coat, accentuating the icy hue of his hair and brows.

Unfortunately, spending so much time with Gojo means you are beginning to mirror him in subtle (and sometimes regrettable) ways. Today’s shared wavelength is your matching outfits—both of you in white turtlenecks and brown straight-leg slacks. Though, judging by the label on his, the price tags aren’t even close.

Getou, seated on a stool to your other side, shakes his salad container, the silver hem of his cardigan shimmering under the fluorescent light. A stray strand of hair falls across his face, and he tucks it behind his ear before turning to Shoko, who silently munches on her sandwich.

“So,” Getou begins, smirking, “we’re just going to ignore how quickly the promise of getting near your little hippie crush convinced you?”

Gojo snickers and Shoko shoots Getou a glare.

“She’s not a hippie,” Shoko retorts, wiping her mouth. “Meditation is a holistic approach with spiritual and health benefits. What do you guys even want from me? Gojo, you don’t eat lunch on campus—ever. The café staff down the road probably know you better than your students.”

You chime in. “Important business, Shoko. Gojo and I are working on a project requiring the intellectual brilliance of like-minded individuals.”

Getou nods solemnly. Shoko laughs.

“Thank god you entertain him,” she says. “Back when my pre-med lab was next to his, he wouldn’t stop dragging me into his ridiculous schemes. You’ve saved me countless headaches.”

Gojo grabs a stress ball from his desk and lobs it at her. Shoko deflects it with her elbow, the ball bouncing to the floor.

“You’re so mean,” Gojo pouts. “Anyway, you’re here to confirm my theory that first-years Itadori Yuji and Kugisaki Nobara are the ideal match.”

Shoko groans. “Of course I am. Let me guess—you two,” she points at you and Getou, “think Itadori and Fushiguro Megumi are a better match.”

You nod eagerly.

“Well,” she sighs, leaning back, “considering Gojo’s total lack of social awareness, I’d normally side with you two. But…Gojo, are you positive that you can concretely back your theory?”

Gojo stands, pacing dramatically. “Is an atom that’s lost its electron considered positive?”

“I think you’re saying yes?” you guess.

“Exactly!” Gojo snaps his fingers, grinning triumphantly.

Shoko, ever the pragmatist, pulls out her phone. “Fine. This semester, I’m teaching those three in Health & Wellness. Let me show you something.”

She scrolls through her phone and finally finds a video. “Yuji and Nobara worked together on a group project. Watch this.”

00:03 =⬤--------------------------- 01:17 

⇆ㅤ ◁ㅤ❚❚ㅤ▷ㅤ ↻ 

[The video begins, revealing Yuji and Nobara squeezed together in the frame, their smiles radiant. Nobara playfully elbows Yuji, whose eyes widen in mock shock before he starts speaking.]

Yuji: “Hello, Sensei! Nobara and I finished the group assignment together and decided to try something totally out of our comfort zone. Actually, it’s something we’ve joked about before because it sounded ridiculous.”

[He stifles a laugh, running a hand through his pink hair, the short strands standing on end.]

Yuji: “We went to a local teaching farm and did… goat yoga. We’ve seen the posters on campus forever, so we thought, why not? It was a blast! The goats were fun, and hanging out with Nobara was great too!”

Nobara: “Yeah! Honestly, I was kind of nervous at first. It’s not easy convincing a goat to climb on your back during yoga poses. But once they did, their little hooves felt like a mini massage. Here—look!”

[She lifts a photo into the frame, holding it close to the camera. The image comes into focus: Yuji in a shaky downward dog pose on a yoga mat, Nobara beside him coaxing a tiny goat onto his back with a piece of hay. Nobara bursts out laughing and shakes the photo.] 

Nobara: “Haha! Right after this, the goat climbed off Yuji and—get this—it started peeing. Like, it barely missed his pants! He’s so lucky he didn’t get soaked.”

[Yuji yelps, shoving her shoulder while Nobara doubles over, her laughter echoing. Grinning through his embarrassment, Yuji snatches the camera, bringing it close to his face.]

Yuji: “Okay, Sensei, I’m cutting this off. Nobara’s having way too much fun at my expense. But yeah, aside from that one… incident, it was really fun. I’d totally do it again!”

[His hand covers the lens, and the screen fades to black.] 

01:17 =================⬤ 01:17

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Shoko lowers her phone, pressing it to her lips as if lost in thought.

“Sorry, you two. After watching that again, I’m siding with Gojo on this. Look at them—they’re glowing. If someone made me laugh and smile like that, I’d be completely done for.”

Getou scoffs, muttering something about how that explains why Shoko’s “so giggly after meditation.”

You shush him, trying to keep things light.

“Alright, that makes it 2-3. But you know who else teaches those three? Professor Haibara. We have to ask him.”

Before long, Haibara Yu strolls into Gojo’s lab, looking as disheveled as ever. His charcoal slacks are slightly wrinkled, his pale pink shirt untucked, and his silver glasses sit crooked on his nose.

“You called—Oh! Everyone’s here! Hi!” he exclaims, spreading his arms wide in greeting.

Getou, ever efficient, disposes of his salad container and slings an arm over Haibara’s shoulder.

“Hey, Yu. Quick question: as their professor, do you think Yuji and Megumi would make a good match?”

Haibara blinks, caught off guard. “As in… romantically?”

When Getou nods, Haibara rubs the back of his neck, thinking.

“Well, they’re in my History of the Samurai class, and let me tell you, they’re my most enthusiastic students. On the first day, I asked what everyone already knew about samurai. Yuji and Megumi practically bolted to the board and started writing a list of skills they’ve practiced together.”

He grabs a marker and writes neatly on the whiteboard:

Samurai Fighting Basics – Megumi & Yuji

• Iaido: Drawing & Sheathing Iaitō • Kenjutsu: Bokken Stances & Striking • Kendo: Shinai Quick Attacks

“They even demonstrated some techniques right there in class,” Haibara says with a grin, his thick bangs falling into his eyes. “It’s obvious they’re close and share so many interests. Honestly, I ship it!”

The room erupts into chaos as everyone starts debating further. The argument rages on until Gojo’s next class begins trickling in, scattering the group with reluctant promises to continue later.

During your own lesson, as your students take turns popcorn-reading poetry, your phone buzzes in your pocket.

Dr. Gojo Satoru: Hey, I just remembered. We’re facilitating that student union meeting today. We can totally ask the upperclassmen for their opinions!

You sigh, typing back a quick response.

You: Fine. Get back to teaching, Gojo.

When you woke up this morning, you definitely didn’t expect to be holed up in an empty classroom, grilling the Student Union’s elite members one by one about your matchmaking drama. Yet here you are, derailing their bi-weekly brainstorming session for fund allocation. To justify your antics, you and Gojo promised them unwavering financial support—if they gave you honest answers.

First up is Vice-President Okkotsu Yuta, his usual warm demeanor making him an ideal candidate for candid feedback. Sitting across from him, you can’t help but notice how he smiles sheepishly, like he’s trying to soften whatever he’s about to say.

“This probably won’t help much,” Yuta begins, rubbing the back of his neck, “but I’m ninety percent sure Maki likes Nobara. I mean, I can really see it, so I propose… NobaMaki.”

You and Gojo exchange a look, equally unimpressed. Without a word, you call in the next person.

Secretary Inumaki Toge is next. Sassy and loyal, he takes his seat across from you with a raised brow, clearly amused by the situation. After you explain the debate, he listens intently before lifting his hands to sign his response.

“I don’t know about Megumi and Yuji,” Toge signs carefully, his fingers precise, “but if you’re suggesting Nobara and Maki, I’ve got news: I’ve heard Maki and Yuta are actually a thing.”

You freeze mid-follow-up, fumbling for the signs to convey “suggest” and “imply.” Gojo swoops in, translating seamlessly. Of course, he’s fluent—he picked up sign language quickly after the two of you agreed to learn for Toge’s sake.

“Well,” you mutter, leaning back in your chair. “That cleared up absolutely nothing.”

Finally, you summon President Zenin Maki. Confident and direct, she strides in with her arms crossed, rectangular glasses reflecting the fluorescent lights. Her thick lashes peek over the frames as she narrows her eyes at you.

“What now?” she snaps, cutting right to the chase. “Me and Yuta? Seriously? Look, you didn’t hear this from me, but since we’re dragging Yuta into this—Toge likes him. So there’s that.”

Maki turns on her heel and marches out, her ponytail swishing with every sharp step.

Gojo groans dramatically and leans his head on your shoulder, the soft tips of his snowy-white hair brushing your cheek.

“This is just getting more ridiculous,” he says, voice muffled against your arm. “Everyone’s in love with someone else. What the fuck?”

Your phone buzzes in your pocket. Careful not to disturb Gojo, who’s still sulking on your shoulder, you retrieve it.

Prof. Nanami Kento Can you return my projector tomorrow morning? I need it for my lesson. Thank you kindly. Also, I hear you and Gojo are still sniffing around where you don’t belong. Just a word of advice: being messy usually leads to more mess. Good luck cleaning it all up.

You sigh, sliding your phone back into your pocket. Nanami’s right, of course. But does that mean you’ll stop? Absolutely not.

insp by @r4yz-4u's comment !

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

Tiktok Influencer!Gojo Satoru—“We Listen & We Don’t Judge” [prev] [nxt]

@ sexygojosatoru has made a new post:

“we listen & we don’t judge” challenge w/ my students again!! (ft. nanamin) #fyp

00:02 =⬤--------------------------- 02:58 

⇆ㅤ ◁ㅤ❚❚ㅤ▷ㅤ ↻ 

[The video opens abruptly with Gojo flashing a grin so confident it’s almost unnerving. He’s dressed in a soft grey polo sweatshirt, his wispy white bangs clipped back by a baby blue barrette that looks both out of place and perfectly on-brand. He gestures for the camera.]

Gojo: (whispering) “Nobara, hold the phone steady so I can start!”

[The frame shifts slightly before leveling out. Gojo clears his throat, cheeks tinted pink, and offers a sweet, almost innocent smile.]

Gojo: “So, uh… I’ve hooked up with a mass murderer. Post-mass murder. And… I went back for more.”

[A loud gasp cuts through the air—Yuji’s, unmistakably.]

Nobara: “Oh, that’s not—”

Megumi: “You should block Yaga right now.”

[Gojo winces dramatically, avoiding the camera as the blush deepens. He waves a hand dismissively.]

Voices in unison: “We listen, and we don’t judge.”

[The camera transitions—this time landing on Megumi, who’s tugging at the neckline of his baggy black tee. He stares into the lens, expression unreadable.]

Megumi: “Alright, uh… I’ve never tried to look for my absentee father. He’s been dead to me since he left my life.”

Gojo: “Damn.”

Voices in unison: “We listen, and we don’t judge.”

Nobara: “Yeah! Screw him!”

[Nobara leans into the frame, tilting the camera to focus on her. She puckers her lips, flipping her hair with theatrical flair.]

Megumi: “Just go already!”

Nobara: “Fine, fine! So, sometimes, when I want to shop, I rummage through Gojo-sensei’s desk and… take any loose cash.”

Voices in unison: “We listen, and we don’t judge.”

Gojo: (frantic) “No. Nope. I am gonna judge! What the hell?!”

Megumi: “Too bad—it’s a no-judge challenge. Honestly, Nobara, I do it too.”

Yuji: “Wait, what?! Why wasn’t I invited?”

[The camera cuts sharply to Yuji, now front and center, clad in a snug black compression tee. He points at the camera, grinning.]

Yuji: “Okay, mine’s a storytime, so buckle up. One night, I was, uh… feeling a bit hot and bothered. You know. I decided to…deal with it. And just as I was about to… Sukuna popped out from my hand and started laughing hysterically. Since then, I’ve just stayed… y’know… pent up.”

[A heavy silence lingers, the kind that feels like the world is holding its breath.]

Megumi: “Wow. That’s…dark Yuj. Uh, guys?”

Voices in unison: “We listen, and we don’t judge.”

[Gojo snatches the camera, repositioning it onto his strained face.]

Gojo: “Okay, that got way too real. Let’s bring in Nanamin to lighten the mood.”

[The frame cuts again. This time, it’s Nanami, caught mid-sip of his coffee at his desk. His blue button-up is pressed to perfection, his blonde hair neatly combed, though the faintest twitch of his brow betrays his irritation.]

Nanami: “This better be my last TikTok, Gojo. Okay. There are… occasions where I’ve used my Ratio technique… inappropriately. And that’s all I’ll say.”

[The room erupts into gasps, though Nanami’s smirk is so subtle it’s almost imperceptible.]

Voices in unison: “We listen, and we don’t judge.”

02:58 =================⬤ 02:58

⇆ㅤ ◁ㅤ❚❚ㅤ▷ㅤ ↻

insp by @devilishdior & @tlissablr's comments !

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

getou suguru + low lighting x luscious hair - kenjaku = my type

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

tl;dr hotboxing the v with stoner!suguru getou [prev]

“You gotta stop fidgeting on my lap, you’re gonna make me lose.”

“I’m bored,” you whine.

Nestled snugly in Suguru’s lap, you cling to him like a koala, face buried in his neck. The rich, earthy scent of his cologne—sandalwood, your favorite—does little to distract from the fact that you’re getting zero attention.

You know who is? Gojo (derogatory).

After a long day at work, the thought of unwinding with Suguru was the only thing that kept you pushing through your exhausting shift. Now, thanks to the spare key Suguru gave you, showing up unannounced had become routine. You’d imagined finding him napping or lounging so you could snuggle, but instead, you were greeted by the thunderous sounds of Suguru and Gojo yelling over a video game.

Ever sweet, Suguru greeted you with a warm smile—but not an ounce of eye contact as he hunched over, aggressively mashing buttons. He’d invited you to sit on his lap, promising it was “one last round.”

That was four rounds ago.

At this point, you’ve resigned yourself to either falling asleep to the rhythmic sounds of button-mashing or waiting for Gojo to rage-quit. But a surprising third option presents itself in the form of Suguru’s phone ringing.

Suguru nudges you with his controller. “Mind answering that for me? It’s in my right pocket.”

Rolling your eyes, you reach into his pocket, fishing out the phone. The caller ID reads: 

Toji (Neighbor/Nuisance)

Suguru groans. “Ugh, who knows what crazy-ass shit Toji’s about to unload now.”

Eager for a change in pace, you accept the call and press the phone to Suguru’s ear. “Here, Sugu. I’ll hold it for you.”

Toji’s boisterous voice is loud enough to catch snippets like “no kid tonight,” “get wild,” “casino,” and “can’t say no.” Suguru exchanges a few exasperated grunts before sighing in defeat. “Okay, okay. Meet you down there in 30.”

Suguru signals for you to end the call, groaning as he explains, “So… here’s the deal. Toji’s kid is with his mom, and he just scored ten grand off some hustle. Now he wants to hit the casino. And since Gojo dumped his drug-dog onto him, we kinda owe him.” He grimaces. “We can’t exactly say no.”

Gojo clutches his chest dramatically. “Why does everything I do come back to bite me in the ass?! I need my chakras aligned.”

“You need your brain cells aligned,” you retort. “Let’s just get ready for whatever nonsense Toji has cooked up.”

You twist around, reaching for the zip on the table to “prepare” yourself for Toji’s rough personality. Just as your fingers brush the bag, Suguru puts his controller down, catching your arm in a smooth, practiced motion.

“Nah, we’re good,” he says, his voice calm but with a hint of amusement. “Toji’s gonna smoke us out. Said we could hotbox his car.”

Gojo pauses mid-stretch, eyebrows shooting up as he grabs his navy half-zip from the back of the couch. Tugging it on over his shirt, he lets out a dramatic scoff. His bright blue eyes are wide with disbelief.

“The Honda?!” he exclaims. “Only bad things happen in that Honda.”

You shrug, unfazed. “Tough shit, Mister ‘I Make Impulse Purchases When High,’ Satoru.”

He narrows his eyes at you, dramatically clasping his hands together as if summoning divine wisdom. “Chakra. Alignment,” he intones, deadpan, before zipping up his jacket with a flourish.

Thirty minutes later, you’re stepping out of Suguru’s apartment building to find Toji leaning against his black Honda Accord. He’s decked out in Amiri jeans and a smug grin, fanning a stack of cash.

Toji’s eyes flick to you, shamelessly sizing you up. “Didn’t know you were bringing your little friend along. Not that I’m complaining.”

Suguru steps in front of you, voice low and sharp. “Eyes up here, Toji. She’s not interested.”

Gojo saunters past them, LV messenger bag swinging as he slides into the passenger seat. “Like that’s gonna stop him. He's a menace to society,” he mutters.

Inside the Honda, the smell is… questionable. The seats bear faint stains, and there’s a musky undertone, despite Toji’s claim he “Febreezed it earlier.” Suguru rolls down his window before Toji even starts the car.

“Better enjoy that fresh air,” Toji warns with a grin. “Once we hotbox, no weaklings breaking the seal.”

Gojo scoffs, pulling down the visor to adjust his hair. “How’s Gojo Junior, by the way? You find him a loving home yet?”

“Funny you ask,” Toji smirks. “Sold him to a buddy who coordinates underground dog fights. You can catch him in the doggy ring on Tuesday.”

The car goes silent. Your jaw drops as Suguru sputters. Gojo’s tinted Ray-Bans slip down his nose, his face frozen in horror.

“WHAT?!” you and Suguru exclaim in unison.

“Relax,” Toji chuckles, taking a sharp turn that throws you into Suguru’s side. Suguru steadies you with an arm around your shoulders, fingers brushing your neck. You shudder instinctively, shaking your head as Toji continues. “You said you needed it gone. I did that, didn't I?”

You interrupt, “Let’s circle back to what the fuck that was later. Right now, I need to know where you copped the weed, Toji. Getting laced isn’t exactly on my bingo card.”

Toji chuckles darkly. “Don’t worry that pretty little head,” he says, reaching into the center console with his free hand. He retrieves a blue mylar bag and dangles it between two fingers. “Picked up some gas from the dispensary.”

The car swerves slightly, and Gojo snatches the bag out of Toji’s hand.

“Toji, dear God, focus on the road! I can get you whatever you need!”

Toji smirks, undeterred. “Ah, you don’t worry that pretty little head either,” he teases.

Gojo fake-gags, clutching his throat and miming an exaggerated retch before snatching up the bag.

“Oh shit!” he exclaims, holding it up triumphantly for you and Suguru to see, his bright blue eyes gleaming with playful mischief. “This strain? Mine.” He taps at the fine print on the back of the bag, where, sure enough, his name is inscribed as cannabis breeder.

Grinning like a kid showing off a gold star, Gojo shoves the bag back in Toji’s face. “Cultivated by yours truly.”

Toji playfully jerks the wheel, making Gojo lurch back into his seat, wheezing.

Despite the casino being thirty minutes away, it feels like you get there in ten, bumping into Suguru’s side more times than you can count as the car winds through the streets.

Toji parallel parks right in front of the strip, snugging the car into a tight spot. You cringe with every movement, bracing for the sound of metal scraping metal, but it never comes.

He leans his seat back, invading your already cramped space, and pulls out two rolling trays. One gets passed to Suguru while the other balances precariously on the center console.

“Gotchu doll,” Toji says, swatting away Gojo’s hands as he picks up the mylar bag and starts grinding the weed.

You lean your head on Suguru’s shoulder, watching as he expertly packs the blunt, his fingers flexing with practiced ease. His brows knit together in concentration, and you absentmindedly trace the slit in one of them with your fingertip. The flick of the lighter precedes the soft flare of a flame as Suguru seals the blunt with a lick and lights it with a calm efficiency.

He passes the blunt to you first, winking, his lashes low and dark against his cheekbones. “Ladies first.”

Toji smirks and rolls up the windows. “Get your last breath of fresh air, everyone.”

You comply, taking a deep inhale before the blunt meets your lips. The first drag is warm and sweet, the earthy blueberry flavor lingering on your tongue. By the third, Suguru’s lips press against yours, his tongue sneaking between them as he kisses you deeply, tasting the smoke still in your mouth.

Drawing back, he hums appreciatively. “Mmm, Gojo, your strain’s flavor is so distinct it’s kiss-transferable. Truly one of one.”

Gojo whoops. “No way! I need to start charging more for my work. I’m in the lab cooking like Professor Utonium.” He grabs the blunt from Suguru and hands him the second one that Toji just finished rolling.

By now, the car is heavy with smoke. The faint buzz in your limbs morphs into a warm tingle as Toji launches into a monologue about his latest scams.

“—And if you make a big purchase, I’ll get your money back—ten percent cut for me, of course,” he explains, passing the blunt.

Gojo, giggling uncontrollably, wheezes. “Panhandling in a hotbox is CRAZY work.”

Toji’s reclines in his seat, legs spread wide, “What can I say, I got kids to feed.”

Suguru taps your thigh, drawing you out of a daze. You pass him the blunt with a shaky hand, shooting him a lazy grin. His gaze lingers, warm and heavy, before he takes a long drag.

You take a deep breath, but your lungs only fill with thick smoke, leaving you coughing softly. 

Blinking through the haze, it dawns on you—each of you is now holding a blunt, four in rotation. The air is dense, swirling with the acrid sweetness of burning weed, and the car feels like a hotbox on steroids.

Toji shifts in his seat, the humidity inside making his dark hair cling to his neck. He fiddles with the radio, pausing on a 90s hip-hop station. The bass-heavy beat fills the car as he nods along, a small grin playing on his lips.

“This used to be my shit,” he mutters, lost in the music.

“Old head,” Gojo chimes in, a teasing lilt in his voice.

Without missing a beat, Toji fires back, “I prefer DILF, thank you.”

Your phone buzzes in your lap, the screen lighting up with a message. Suguru notices and leans over, smirking as you open the group chat:

last 3 braincells

sugu: so are we just gonna ignore how toji’s macking on gojo rn HARD

toru: mom pick me up im scared

You bite back a laugh, shoulders shaking as Suguru chuckles quietly against your neck, his breath tickling your skin.

you: am I the only 1 who heard him say kids? as in plural…

toru: YOOO WTF yr right he did!

sugu: aint no mf way

Meanwhile, Toji is oblivious, drumming his fingers on the console and humming along to the music. 

He casts a glance back at you all. “Whatchu kids know ‘bout this?”

toru: 3 minutes

sugu: huh?

toru: 3 min until I crack open my window I feel like I’m suffocating

sugu: nonononononono

you: omg toru me too I’ve choked down 9 coughs you: it hurts so bad

Gojo snakes his hand between the seats, holding up three fingers as he starts a silent countdown. 

You reach over, squeezing his hand in solidarity, your chest burning from suppressed coughs.

Suguru leans into you again, his lips brushing your ear. “I’m officially faded,” he whispers, voice light and hazy.

Finally, Gojo rolls down the window, and chaos erupts.

A dense cloud of smoke billows out, so thick it looks like the car’s on fire. Toji yells, “THE FUCK?!” scrambling to lock the windows, but it’s too late. The night swallows the smoke, leaving the car reeking and Toji fuming.

Outside, you stretch, your movements sluggish as your lungs finally catch some fresh air. The world feels surreal, every sensation heightened and slightly off-kilter. Smoke continues to waft out, curling into the night sky like some supernatural fog.

Toji glares at Gojo, shaking his head. “Y’all are lucky I’m feeling nice tonight,” he grumbles, popping the trunk with a sharp click. “Let’s head in now.”

He grabs his bag, slinging it over his shoulder as Gojo circles the car, unzipped bag in hand and a fistful of gummy bears in his mouth. “Welf,” Gojo mumbles, barely intelligible around the candy, “thas was… interessing.”

You swipe a couple of gummy bears from his bag, popping one into your mouth and offering another to Suguru. The sugary burst soothes your throat, and Suguru hums appreciatively as he takes the gummy from your fingers.

Suguru holds up the gummy bear. “Here’s to playing bystander while Toji speedruns going broke.”

Gojo cackles, tossing a gummy into his mouth. “And thus, the world restores its natural order.”

The inside of the casino hits you like a sensory overload in your inebriated state. Flashing lights blur and disorient, leaving you dumbstruck until Suguru’s firm pull steadies you. The air buzzes with energy, a cacophony of laughter, shouts, and the constant chime of slot machines. The sharp scent of liquor mixes with the faint aroma of stale cigarettes. High ceilings and regal gold detailing loom above, exuding opulence, but you can’t shake the feeling of being out of place. Self-consciousness creeps in, tightening around your chest.

Suguru’s hand threads through yours, warm and grounding. You follow him as he trails behind Gojo, weaving through the sea of patrons toward the slot machines. The upturned glances from passersby sting—a mix of judgment and amusement no doubt drawn by the pungent scent of weed clinging to your clothes. You square your shoulders and decide to own it.

Settling next to Gojo, you watch him whip out a wad of cash with zero hesitation. He gleefully feeds the glowing red slot machine, his movements full of fervor. You and Suguru exchange a knowing glance, both having agreed earlier to sit out on gambling. The likelihood of loss was too high for your liking.

But Gojo? Gojo thrives on chaos.

He strikes out again and again, spinning and losing sixty consecutive bets. The grating whirl of the slots feels louder than ever in your ears.

Then, miraculously, he hits a match. Gojo’s eyes light up with disbelief and excitement, his grin infectious. Without missing a beat, he stuffs another ten bills into the machine.

Suguru groans, rubbing his temple. “I want the record to show that when Satoru complains about losing hundreds tomorrow, I’m absolutely saying, ‘I told you s—’’”

“COOME ON, SEVEN! C’MON! COME TO DADDY!”

The booming voice is unmistakable. Toji.

You and Suguru whip your heads around, craning to see where the commotion is coming from. A large crowd clusters near the craps table, and you catch a glimpse of Toji gesturing wildly. You nudge Gojo’s shoulder, but he waves you off without looking up.

“Can’t stop. I’m on a roll.”

Rolling your eyes, you follow Suguru as he pushes through the crowd. People mutter complaints, but you’re too curious to care. Finally, you reach the front.

Toji is at the center of it all, shooting dice with the swagger of someone who owns the place. A hefty stack of cash rests on the table, and the crowd cheers as he rolls another seven. Chips clatter as side bets are placed, the table a kaleidoscope of frantic energy.

“Blow for me, sweetheart,” Toji purrs to a blushing young woman beside him. She complies with a shy smile, and Toji winks before tossing the dice with practiced ease. They land with precision—a perfect seven.

“FUCK YEAH!”

Cheers erupt again, only to be cut short by a voice crackling over the speakers:

“Good evening, patrons. Could the owner of a black Honda Accord parked out front please make their way to the front desk? You are wrongfully parked in VIP. Thank you.”

Toji curses under his breath, scanning the crowd until his eyes land on you. “AYEE, Suguru! Be a dear and handle that for me, huh? I’ll give you a cut of this sweet cash.”

Suguru sighs, extending his arms. Toji tosses the keys, which Suguru catches effortlessly.

You make your way back through the crowd, calling out over the commotion, “At least we’ve got an excuse to leave now! This is insane!”

Outside, the cool night air hits your face, bringing instant relief from the chaos inside. You slide into the passenger seat, sighing as you pull Suguru’s arm toward you and snuggle into his warmth. He hums softly, the blinker ticking as he maneuvers the car toward the parking lot down the street.

The headlights flicker, casting dim light on the uneven pavement. Suguru squints, searching for an open spot. After a few minutes of frustration, he backs into a secluded space far from the casino.

“It’s even farther than I thought,” you mutter, not looking forward to the walk back.

Suguru reclines his seat with a heavy sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. You nuzzle into his bicep, stroking his fingers.

“What’s wrong, Suguru?”

“This just isn’t how I pictured tonight going,” he admits, tilting his head back with a wry smile.

You kiss along his arm, teasing, “Oh, come on. You’d just be playing video games all night anyway. Don’t act like I didn’t save you from yourself.”

He chuckles, his eyes softening as he glances down at you. “Neglecting you, was I? My apologies, baby.”

He juts his lower lip out in an exaggerated pout, and the mischievous glint in his eye makes your heart flutter. “Come here,” he murmurs, guiding you onto his lap.

You crawl over to the driver’s seat eagerly, letting Suguru’s hands guide your legs until you’re firmly settled on his lap. His palms trace the curve of your thighs, warm and deliberate, as he pouts dramatically, his expression expectant.

Turning your face away, you catch a lock of his long, black hair between your fingers, twirling it absently. He reaches up, cupping your cheeks and squeezing gently, forcing your lips into an exaggerated pout.

“Don’t do that,” he murmurs, leaning forward to kiss you, firm and unyielding.

You refuse to meet his kiss, turning your face further away in defiance. He exhales a quiet laugh, releasing your face to pepper soft kisses on each cheek before cradling your jaw with both hands. His dark eyes lock onto yours, half-lidded with a mixture of fondness and heat. His thumb brushes your bottom lip, his touch languid as it draws teasing circles along your thigh.

The resolve for your bratty act falters under his touch, and your resistance melts. You lean in, capturing his lips roughly, hands sliding up to tangle in his hair. Teeth graze, tongues intertwine, and the kiss grows hungrier, his low groans resonating between you.

Your fingers trail to the sensitive shell of his ear, stroking lightly. His breath catches, and he grinds against you in response, lips trailing down to the curve of your neck.

“You gonna finally take care of me, Sugu?” you whisper breathlessly. “Right here, in Toji’s car?”

He groans against your skin, biting gently before pulling back to look at you. “Yeah? So needy you need me right here?”

His hands slide under your shirt, palms splaying against your bare skin as he presses a kiss to the base of your throat. His hips buck upward, grinding into you, and a soft moan escapes your lips.

“Want you, Sugu. Need you now,” you murmur, tugging at the waistband of your leggings.

Suguru chuckles low, kissing you again as he helps slide your leggings down, lips never straying far from your skin. You tug at his zipper, freeing him from his boxers. His cock springs free, thick and glistening at the tip, the deep tan of his skin contrasting sharply with the flushed pink of his head, already leaking.

“God,” you whisper, staring at him through your lashes as you lean down, kissing the velvety head. 

Your tongue flicks over the slit, savoring the salty taste of him as he groans, head falling back.

“Pretty girl,” he rasps, “don’t make me wait.”

You smirk, letting your spit drip down his shaft, spreading it in slow strokes before positioning yourself over him. His hands grip your hips as you sink onto him, inch by inch, the stretch stealing the breath from your lungs.

“Fuck,” he groans, holding you steady. “That’s it, baby. So tight, so perfect.”

You bottom out with a gasp, the fullness almost overwhelming, and he grinds you against him, his hips rolling to drive him deeper. The sensation sends a shiver through you, and you bite into his neck to muffle a moan.

He responds with a sharp slap to your ass, the sting making you squeak. “Move, baby. Need to feel you.”

You begin bouncing on him, your pace faltering as pleasure wracks your body. Suguru takes over, gripping your thighs and lifting you effortlessly, his movements deep and relentless. You’re reduced to broken moans, your nails clawing at his chest beneath his shirt.

“F-fuck, Sugu—ah touch me,” you whimper.

He obliges, one hand sliding to your clit, rubbing in tight circles. You cry out his name, trembling as the coil in your stomach snaps, leaving you gushing around him.

“Look at me,” he commands, his voice rough.

Your eyes flutter open, meeting his heated gaze as he thrusts up into you, chasing his own release. 

His grip tightens, and with a low groan, he spills inside you, warmth flooding your core.

You collapse against his chest, his lips brushing your temple as you both catch your breath. His fingers stroke through your hair, and you hum contentedly, savoring the intimacy of the moment.

Then his phone vibrates, breaking the quiet. You retrieve it, holding it up as Suguru unlocks it.

Satoru: SOS Toji is down $5k in the hole, and I gambled away all my cash. Satoru: Please come get us. /srs Satoru: Pull up to the front ASAP. Satoru: Now he’s down $6k. Hurry!!!

Suguru reads the messages aloud, his voice tinged with amusement. You both glance at the mess you’ve left on Toji’s seat and exchange a sheepish look.

“Well,” you say, smirking, “he can’t be that mad. Not when he’s already lost sixteen grand.”

Suguru laughs, shaking his head as he pulls you close again. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

[taglist: @inthedarkshadows000 @saltyhansen @m0rgui <33]

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

Tiktok Influencer!Gojo Satoru—“She’s a 10 but…” [nxt]

@ sexygojosatoru has made a new post:

“she’s a 10 but…” challenge w/ my students :D (ft. nanamin) #fyp

00:03 =⬤--------------------------- 04:14 ⇆ㅤ ◁ㅤ❚❚ㅤ▷ㅤ ↻

[The video opens with a hand pulling back from the camera to reveal Gojo in the frame. He’s lounging in a cream cable-knit sweater, his signature black circular glasses perched low on his nose. His sky-blue eyes gleam mischievously as he leans closer to the lens, a playful grin stretching across his face. His snowy hair, slightly tousled, flops over his forehead until he sweeps it back with a flick of his pale fingers.]

Gojo: (whispering) “Gojo here! So, today, I’m doing the ‘She’s a 10 but…’ challenge with my adorable students. I plan to stir the pot and, maybe, start a little drama. You know, the usual. Let’s go!”

[The camera cuts abruptly to Yuji’s dorm room. Yuji sits at his desk in front of his PC, wearing a baggy white tee and a chunky blue headset with cat ears. He swivels to face the camera, his expression a mix of curiosity and confusion. Nobara and Megumi’s voices chatter faintly in the background.]

Gojo: “Yuji, my sweet boy, ‘She’s a 10 but… she has a flat ass.’”

Yuji: “Sensei—wha—wait, what?”

[Cut to Yuji again, this time with his headset slung around his neck and his gamer chair spun fully toward the camera.]

Gojo: “—et it?”

Yuji: (grinning, earnest) “Got it! Hi, guys! If she’s a 10 and she’s got a small butt, she’s still a 10. Personality matters more!”

[He throws up an enthusiastic thumbs-up. Gojo groans exaggeratedly.]

Gojo: “Let’s try this again. ‘He’s a 10 but… he hates the Human Earthworm series’.”

[Yuji pauses, scratching his chin as he furrows his brows, clearly torn.]

Yuji: “Hmm… then he’s, like, an 8? I’d be lowkey hurt, but hey, people have different tastes, so I guess I can’t get too mad about it.”

Gojo: “Boooring! Yuji, you’re too pure. This is terrible content. NEXT!”

[The camera swings over to Nobara, who’s striking a pose with one hand on her hip. She’s wearing a plum long-sleeved shirt and flashes a peace sign with a sly grin.]

Gojo: “Nobara! Save me from Yuji’s snoozefest. ‘She’s a 10 but… she’s domineering.’”

Nobara: “Domineering? Like bossy? Assertive?”

Gojo: “Exactly! Dominatrix vibes—minus the leather and whips.”

[Nobara raises an eyebrow, her cheeks faintly pink.]

Nobara: “Still a 10. No shame in a strong woman.”

Gojo: “veery interesting. Okay, ‘He’s a 10 but he’s a hardcore tsundere.’”

[Nobara’s playful grin melts into a grimace.]

Nobara: “Ugh, no. That type of trope is so annoying. Just say you like me already and stop wasting my time. That’s a 4.”

[The camera zooms dramatically to Megumi, lounging on Yuji’s bed with his phone. He glances up, unimpressed, then back at the screen. Gojo lets out a snicker before turning the camera back to Nobara.]

Gojo: “‘He’s a 10 but he’s an eater.””

[Nobara’s face scrunches.]

Nobara: “Oh, Gojo, that's not—CUT!”

[The camera cuts back to Nobara, laughing uncontrollably.]

Gojo: “‘—uck. I meant, ‘He’s a 10 but he ingests questionable things—like he’ll put just about anything in his mouth.””

Nobara:“Wait—like, eats anything? Oh, ew! Yuji vibes. That’s a 1.”

Yuji: (off-screen) “HEY!”

Gojo: “In Yuji’s defense, he has a reason! It’s not like he’s on My Strange Addiction munching on soap.”

Nobara: (deadpan) “Sensei, that’s rich coming from someone whose best friend swallowed ba—”

[The camera cuts abruptly to Megumi, now glaring daggers at Gojo.]

Gojo: “MOVING ON! Say hi to the fans, Megumi. They keep asking if you’re single.”

Megumi: (dry) “Pay me for these features.”

Gojo: “There’s that tsundere charm! ‘She’s a 10 but she interrupts you constantly.’”

Megumi: (flatly) “4. Maybe a 6 if she knows when to stop.”

[The camera swings back to Nobara.]

Gojo (sing-song): “Nobara’s a 4~!”

[Nobara lunges at Gojo, snatching the camera to turn it on him.]

Nobara: ”‘He’s a 10 but he’s like 30 years old, lives off sweets, and takes mirror selfies daily.’”

Yuji: (off-screen) “DRAG HIM!”

Megumi: (smirking) “1.”

[Gojo gasps theatrically and grabs the camera back.]

Gojo: “Betrayed by my own students! No soba for dinner!”

Yuji and Nobara: (wailing) “NOOO!”

Megumi: (shrugging) “It’s not like I said 0, could’ve been worse Gojo-Sensei.”

[The camera sweeps across the room: Nobara stands with her fingers clasped in a dramatic pleading gesture, while Yuji has collapsed to his knees, wailing theatrically. Megumi stands nearby with arms crossed, raising an eyebrow as if to question everyone’s sanity. Just as he opens his mouth to speak, the faint creak of a door interrupts the chaos.]

Nanami: (off-screen) “What’s going on in here?”

[The camera turns to reveal Nanami standing in the doorway, tie slightly loosened.]

Gojo: (grinning ear to ear) “Perfect timing, Nanamin! We’re doing the ‘She’s a 10 but…’ challenge. Your turn!”

Nanami: (deadpan) “If I play along, will you stop asking me to hang out this weekend?”

Gojo: (mock serious) “Deal.”

[Text appears on-screen: “I lied LOL had my toes crossed XD”]

Gojo: (gleefully) “Alright, Nanamin, first question: ‘She’s a 10 but she corrects your grammar.’”

Nanami: (calmly) “A 10. Grammar is important.”

Gojo: “Ugh, buzzkill. Okay, ‘She’s a 10 but she won’t go down on you.’”

Nanami: (stone-faced) “Still a 10. Boundaries matter.”

[Gojo spins the camera toward himself, pouting dramatically.]

Gojo: (to the camera) “This video is flopping! Okay, last one, Grandpa: ‘He’s a 10 but he’s taller and stronger than you.’”

Nanami: (without hesitation) “Still a 10. I’m secure enough in myself to not feel threatened by someone else’s physical attributes.”

Gojo: (waving the camera back to himself) “You guys heard it here first! Nanamin’s totally into me.”

[He smirks, wiggling his eyebrows and delivering a cheesy wink at the lens.]

Gojo: (teasing) “I mean, who can resist my—”

[A collective groan erupts from the students off-screen. The camera shakes, suggesting a struggle, before cutting abruptly to black.]

04:14 =================⬤ 04:14 ⇆ㅤ ◁ㅤ❚❚ㅤ▷ㅤ ↻

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

💬 reddit

← ⬤  r/relationship_advice • 16 hr. ago       

      1mjust-agirl02

I found out my (22F) sneaky link (25M) is a cult leader. Am I enabling him if we keep hooking up?

First-time poster here. I’ll try to keep this brief. A few months ago, I was going through a rough patch. I’d just moved to the city from a tiny countryside town—a major life change. Sure, it came with perks: a good job, a decent apartment, and better nightlife. But I felt… disconnected. No matter what I did, I couldn’t shake the gnawing loneliness. The more I tried to adapt, the more isolated I felt.

I’ve always been a model citizen—quiet, diligent, never stepping out of line. But in the city, my days dragged, my nights felt darker, and I was slipping into depression. I couldn’t pinpoint why, but everything around me seemed coated in this heavy, negative energy.

That’s when I started frequenting a local bar. It was small, dimly lit, and blissfully cheap. The kind of place where people drank alone to nurse their sorrows. I guess I fit right in.

The bartender knew my order. The regulars were predictable: the middle-aged lady with crimped hair, the clean-cut businessman with tired eyes. I even started to find comfort in the routine. Until he walked in.

It was a random Wednesday at 5 PM. He was tall, with long black hair tied back neatly except for two loose strands framing his sharp, bronze-toned face. Dressed in a plain black sweatsuit, he looked effortlessly suave, even with a grim expression. Our eyes met, for a moment, his stern demeanor softened, replaced by something that felt like intrigue. Without hesitation, he made his way over, settling beside me like it had been his plan all along. He ordered whiskey—straight—and downed it in one smooth gulp.

“You didn’t even flinch,” I blurted, unable to stop myself. “Impressive—or concerning.”

He smirked, devilish and confident. “You don’t even know.”

That was the start. We chatted. Or rather, we danced around anything personal, just sharing vague feelings and flirting between drinks. He had this magnetic sorrow about him, like we were kindred spirits.

The night carried on, the drinks kept coming, and somehow, he kept getting closer. Our knees bumped beneath the booth. He was attractive in that quiet, alluring way—charming. That distant look in his eyes, as though he’d seen too much too soon, only added to his appeal.

I think we both needed a distraction. I laughed at his teasing, swatting playfully at his chest. His dark eyes lingered, and when I fumbled with my glass, he reached over, swiping his thumb across my lips.

What came next was a blur: heated kisses stolen in a dingy bar bathroom, his coarse hands gripping my waist and sliding to the back of my neck. The kiss was messy, whiskey burning on his tongue as it slid against mine. We stumbled back to my apartment in a haze, barely making it inside.

The second the door swung shut, he had me off my feet. My lock hung unlatched as he threw me onto the bed, the impact knocking my head lightly against the headboard. His hands were everywhere—rough and deliberate. My blouse fell open, my slacks tangled around my ankles as he pushed me face-down on the mattress. I heard the shuffle of his sweats coming off, the warmth of his spit trailing down my skin.

He’s big. I struggled to take him, fluttering and gasping as he pressed inside. His hand yanked my head back, forcing me to look. Between the bunched fabric of his sweatshirt held in his teeth and the tense, toned muscles of his abdomen, the sight was utterly debauched. The sounds—slick, lewd—filled the room. By the end, my sheets were damp, my chest marked with his teeth and hands, and I had my first noise complaint from my neighbors.

I thought that would be it. A one-time thing.

But then, the next Wednesday, he was at the bar again.

Now sober, I finally got a good look at him—and somehow, he was even more devastatingly handsome. His sharp features softened by the loose claw clip holding back his hair.

Our dynamic stayed the same: casual conversation, teasing touches, and nights that left me trembling. He was addictive. Every time, his grip was firm, possessive—his habit of squeezing my throat just as my climax approached pushed me to the edge. It had me teetering between bliss and unconsciousness, choking out strangled moans as he drove into me, relentless. It felt like a punishment. It felt like everything I hadn’t realized I’d been missing.

If I were to indulge myself, I’d admit I liked him best when sobriety started creeping back into him. He had this way of reading my body like a map, tracing every nerve and exploiting it until I was trembling, breathless, undone. Sometimes, as he finished—his hair spilling over my face like a curtain—I’d let the lines blur. I’d tell him how good he was, how deeply I felt him, how pretty he looked. And for a fleeting moment, he’d soften, his rhythm slowing, kissing me with an almost tender deliberation.

Weeks later, I got a text and an address:

“Want to see you. Be here at 11. Side door, past the gate.”

Curiosity got the better of me, and I showed up. His house was bigger than I’d expected—too luxurious for someone his age. On the way to his room, I passed a door slightly ajar. Inside, I glimpsed pink walls and a boy band poster. My stomach dropped. Was he married? Did he have kids?

I confronted him immediately. Sitting nervously on his bed, sandwiched between his toned thighs, I listened as he explained. He’d been raising his two orphaned cousins for years. His voice softened as he talked about them—their favorite shows, their quirks, their hobbies. I’d never seen him like this before. The care and pride he showed for them stood in stark contrast to the man I knew intimately.

That night was different. When I came, hard and breathless, his lips brushed mine, our eyes locked, fingers intertwined beside my head. For the first time, I thought I was starting to understand him.

But everything changed soon after.

At work, I passed a bulletin board I usually ignored. For some reason, that day I stopped. A flyer caught my eye—his face stared back at me.

In the photo, he was dressed in a golden kasaya draped over black yukata robes, his serene smile paired with an outstretched arm in a regal, inviting pose. The caption called him a “Buddhist priest” and a “divine leader” of some obscure spiritual group.

Confused, I Googled it. Turns out, it wasn’t just a spiritual group. It was a full-blown cult. The photos showed worshippers kneeling before him, their faces aglow with reverence, calling him a godlike figure.

I couldn’t resist. That evening, I went to the event listed on the flyer, held at a local temple. I slipped into a seat in the back, close to the door. Watching him lead the ritual felt surreal. There he was—calm, composed, draped in robes—like he hadn’t had me screaming into my pillow just days ago.

Then, I saw him lay his hands on a sobbing woman kneeling at his feet. Her cries turned into praises as she clung to him, trembling. It was… chilling.

I barely had a chance to settle in before I felt the need to leave. I thought about ending things right then and there—but I hesitated. Now I’m torn. On one hand, he’s the best I’ve ever had—dominant, attentive, and downright divine in bed. On the other hand… he’s a cult leader.

If I keep seeing him, am I complicit in whatever shady things his group does? Or am I overthinking it—can I keep pretending I know nothing?

Advice is welcome. Don’t hold back.

( ↑  734  ↓ ) ( 🗨️ 1K ) ( ୨୧ ) ( ↳ Share )

⬤ toge-talks-shit  MOD  • 14h ago • 

This is the wildest shit I've read all day. My prayers go out to you, OP—but your hookup might be answering them LOL. Fr though, the cult stuff sounds creepy. Not worth it. ↑  1.5K  ↓ 🗨️ Reply ∘∘∘

⬤ blue-eyes-savelives  • 11h ago • 

OP, message me privately. Did he ever mention old regrets, breakups, or friends? Plz answer. T-T ↑  425  ↓ 🗨️ Reply ∘∘∘

⬤ k-nam_mister73  • 9h ago • 

Delete his number. You should’ve ceased all contact a long time ago. ↑  344  ↓ 🗨️ Reply ∘∘∘

⬤ nobarabara_yaps  • 2h ago • 

He sounds hot. See it through. Gatekeep, Gaslight, Girlboss. ↑  109  ↓ 🗨️ Reply ∘∘∘

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

playing match-maker with professor!gojo satoru—”we can’t mind our business!” [nxt]

teaching is incredibly rewarding. nothing beats the sense of fulfillment that comes with educating the next generation—it gives you a sense of purpose and makes you feel like a contributing member of society. but recently, you've developed a guilty pleasure, an unhealthy vice. 

because, in truth, what you really find rewarding isn’t teaching. it’s the juicy gossip you share with your colleague, gojo satoru. 

it started innocently enough—quick whispers and passing speculations about students during breaks. then it escalated to frantic texts about classroom dramas. now, it’s a full-blown routine: coordinating your lunch breaks to debrief over an aptly chosen herbal tea at the café across the street.

gojo, the physics professor, is an instigator by nature. unfairly brilliant and chronically bored, he’s always looking for ways to entertain himself. you, an english professor with a manageable workload, were the perfect partner in crime. together, you’ve meddled in your students’ lives, and your escapades have become something of a shared hobby.

his preferred method of meddling is match-making, and to your credit you guys have had one successful match:

juniors, kasumi miwa and kokichi muta.

sweet, hardworking miwa was one of your favorite students, always putting extra effort into your creative writing assignments. muta, (aptly nick-named mechamaru) is a genius with mechanics and the president of the robotics club. gojo taught him quantum physics and claimed he was one of the sharpest students he’d ever met.

it started with a haiku.

you’d assigned miwa’s class a poetry assignment, and her submission, though simplistic, immediately caught your attention:

I may not love science, I can’t bring machines to life, yet I yearn for you.

if that wasn’t enough, there were faintly erased doodles of robots holding hands in the margins of her submitted assignments. around the same time, gojo noticed muta sitting strategically in his class so he could be visible through the window into yours. he angled his notes just enough to display his complex equations—clearly trying to impress miwa.

the moment you pieced it together, you texted gojo:

dr. gojo satoru: no way, her haiku is basically screaming I love him

you: lmao I asked her about the inspiration, and she said, “just a friend”

dr. gojo satoru: she’s gonna move on if we don’t act now!

you: what if we double-book office hours for them? “accidentally,” of course

dr. gojo satoru: omg brilliant, drafting the email rn XD

the plan worked. you and gojo “accidentally” scheduled them for office hours at the same time, then conveniently left them alone. miwa, stumped by an intentionally tricky writing assignment, was soon receiving help from muta. numbers were exchanged, tutoring sessions turned into hangouts, and four months later, they were officially dating.

now, every month, gojo extorts a cream puff from muta as a “thank you” for the setup from the pricey bakery downtown. you pretend to disapprove but always end up splitting the treat.

which brings you to your current predicament. you and gojo are locked in a heated debate about which first-year students to set up next. gojo insists itadori yuji and kugisaki nobara are the ideal pair, but you’re convinced yuji and fushiguro megumi are better suited. gojo’s conviction runs so deep he swears it’s ingrained in on an atomic level.

so to raise the stakes, gojo has wagered his louis vuitton messenger bag (est. value: $3k), while you’ve offered up your earnings from the third installment of your self-published ya novel (est. value: $4k). and yes, the fact that those numbers are so close in value is embarrassing.

desperate to prove each other wrong, you agree to consult your colleagues.

gojo’s first choice? philosophy professor getou suguru.

dr. gojo satoru added you and prof. getou suguru to a group chat

dr. gojo satoru named the group chat cupids <3

dr. gojo satoru: getouuuu dr. gojo satoru: getougetougetougetougetou

prof. getou suguru: this is highly unethical.

prof. getou suguru left the chat.

though getou pretends to be above your antics, he shows up to join you in gojo’s office later, coffee in hand and smirking. he brushes a finger across the desk and frowns at the dust.

“if I were willing to entertain your ridiculous game—which I’m not—I’d say megumi and yuji are the better match,” he declares, smugly.

he strolls to the whiteboard, sliding his glasses down from his forehead to settle over his eyes, his black bangs falling neatly into place, and begins sketching a diagram:

utilitarianism: will the act ultimately result in the best overall results—maximizing utility?

• megumi x yuji: opposing personalities balance each other out, ultimately improving their weaknesses. ↳ e.g. megumi silences yuji when he talks over the lecture, while yuji incites megumi to participate more during group projects, increasing his participation.

• nobara x yuji: similar personalities embolden bad habits, ultimately leading to chaos. ↳ e.g. nobara and yuji are rarely late individually, but when they hang out, they end up coming to class late, usually carrying coffee, and snacks.

getou pops the cap back on and crosses his arms, “I rest my case.”

you cheer while gojo groans, insisting getou’s biased.

determined to recruit an ally, gojo drags you to statistics professor nanami kento, the epitome of calm professionalism. confident in his plan, gojo smirks and declares, “once nanami agrees with me, the resident genius, your theory will come to a grinding halt—no momentum, no inertia, just friction stopping you in your tracks.”

nanami’s sitting at his desk engrossed in grading assignments when you all appear in the doorframe. his brown oxfords shined, speckled tie flung loose over his shoulder.

when he notices your presence, he pointedly checks his watch before stating, “you’ve got ten minutes, for,” he gestures, “whatever this is, I leave at six.”

you explain the predicament and nanami rolls his eyes, rubbing at his temples like he’d just got a headache. “sounds like simple probability, for example,” he rises to pick up a piece of chalk from his blackboard:

p (a) = # of favorable outcomes / # of possible outcomes

p (a) represents the probability of event “a”, megumi and yuji coupling up

he draws a number here, a letter there—the equation is getting increasingly hard to follow, even gojo looks dumbfounded. 

“two, carry the one. and you get…” he starts completing the result:

p (a) = f(u)<k 0ff

he deadpans, the mirth visible in his eyes, “you guys really thought I’d help you with your childish endeavor, has anyone ever told you to simply just mind your own.”

you huff out offended, “we can’t mind our business! come on, don’t be like that. aren’t you close with yuji, being his advisor and all, you should want the best for him!”

nanami sighs, glancing down again at his watch. five more minutes. he approaches you and flips open his phone, scrolling for a couple seconds. 

“here look,” he tilts the screen showing a text thread with yuji:

itadori yuji (freshman): sensei can I ask you something?

nanami k.: what can I do for you itadori? 

itadori yuji (freshman): you know how I’m undeclared? well, I love spending time with friends. is it okay for their interests to influence my major?

nanami k.: while the choice should ultimately be your decision itadori, it is only natural that your environment and experiences influence the line of thinking that leads to that decision. which of your peers have you found most influential? 

itadori yuji (freshman): I don’t wanna say because I don’t think they realize how much I look up to, and respect them. I’m scared I’ll psyche them out. but they’re terrific: driven, independent, and forthright.

nanami k.: well if those traits are any indicator they seem like a strong, positive influence to your academics.

you finish reading and you all share a look. you start, “okay so, I think I’m confident that with yuji’s messages in mind, we all think, no, are certain, that yuji’s ideal match is…”

“megumi!”

“nobara.”

“megumi!”

“nobara!”

and so, you once again, begin considering who might be the next best person to consult for an additional perspective.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊ back in their dorms, megumi, yuji, and nobara can’t stop sneezing, the sheer weight of being so heavily discussed tickling their senses.

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

Ok so this aint really a request, just a lil ✨sprinkle sprinkle✨ since your StonerSuguru was on my mind last night. I was listening to this cover of Sunflower (yea the one from spiderman) by Chord Overstreet. Its a super chill sultry acoustic version.

I had a vision of your character and Suguru waking up in his bed, room all hazy from sunlight coming through the slits in curtain and what not and them being all cute. Him playing with her hair and them talking. Maybe this song is actually playing in his room on his daily mix and he’s humming it, showing her a different side of him. Idk if its a morning after they ✨do it✨ or if its just a morning she stayed over because they were too high and fell asleep lmao but i saw you writing something sweet and sensual like that bwcause you do it so well. In case u need inspo for a future scene😘😘😘😘😘

you ate with this ask!! so sweet 🥹 I incorporated it into a morning after [here]—hopefully it’s to your liking bc this is all I got 😫 (*tyrese voice) and honestly, it inspired the softer, more vulnerable side I showed of him throughout, kinda love that for him