#sick satoru

[symphonyofsilence]

Let the poor man rest.

[nessieartss]

the fact that gege drew this panel and then pulled ch 261 is wild

[unceeled]

gojo satoru has you all covered. they were not joking when they said that this man would serve and protect because not a single thing touches you, ever. and gojo satoru is proud of that, that's what he's good at: being your personal shield.

and yet, even if he were to extend his infinity to you at every hour of the day, the one thing gojo satoru could not protect you from is getting sick.

then and there, the strongest one forgets how to act. this was not something he could fight off, something he could exorcise. no. but he felt helpless watching you squirm and curl up into a ball, sneezing and coughing on your bed.

he'd do everything in his power to take care of you, of course. but it was fidgety, at best. he never got sick growing up; he wasn't aware of the procedures of this all. so... he googled.

what else was he meant to do? you refused to eat, you were coughing up something, you were shivering, your temperature extremely high, and more things he truly did not want to think that you were going through. still, it was those same things that found their way to the google search bar as gojo satoru looked desperately for anything that could make your shivering figure feel better.

comfort was the last thing he got from his trip to the internet, however. the text on his screen informed him of the demise you'd supposedly face at this rate. you were gonna get worse and he was gonna lose the light of his life... is how he understood the search result.

after spending the whole afternoon napping, you finally stir awake feeling a cool towel on your head and something dripping on your hand. you blink the sleep away for a few more moments, eyes finally focusing on the sniffling figure holding your hand.

"toru, what's going on?" you squeeze his hand back lightly. you hear an almost theatrical gasp matched with widened blue eyes and immediately become engulfed in big bulky arms.

"i thought i was gonna lose you." he sniffs, nuzzling his face in your neck. you're left puzzled but return the hug nonetheless. "what made you think that?" satoru pulls away and examines your face. "baby, it felt like you were dying on me," he exclaims, still cupping your face.

"toru, it was probably just the flu-" you are interrupted by a cough that erupts from your throat.

"see! this is what google said would happen!"

"google? satoru gojo, you consulted google? and that's why you were crying?"

"next time i'll just exorcise every germ in this world."

"if you say so, baby"

[sanatomis]

cw. none except satoru being disgustingly cute (part 2)

satoru isn’t used to people calling him anything other than his surname. gojo-san to most, gojo-sensei to others. it’s simple, and gets the job done.

only a handful of people stick to calling him by his given name. to them, he’s satoru. it’s easy, and rolls of the tongue, and he greatly prefers it over the sound of his surname. it makes him feel like an actual person.

satoru never entertained the possibility of being called anything else other than those two names. he didn’t think it would ever happen.

for once, he was glad to be proven wrong.

“tough day, pretty?” you ask gently, and he sighs with a nod as he throws himself into your opened arms. his body moulds easily into yours, and he lets out a heavy groan as he settles onto the couch with you. the groan is loud, and over-exaggerated.

it’s so satoru.

you have to stifle a giggle.

“everything went horribly wrong,” he grumbles, his voice muffled against the fabric of your shirt. “the higher ups were up my ass again, my students laughed at me again, and when i finally made it to that bakery you liked they were out of your favourite pastries so i couldn’t get them for you—again!”

“oh, my poor baby,” you coo, and gently push his bangs out of his face. he nods in agreement, faking an immense amount of sympathy for himself. “‘s okay, at least you tried, hm? i think that’s very sweet.”

satoru hums, as if he’s deeply thinking about your words. “’m still your baby?” he mumbles, deciding that’s the most important thing right now. his eyes briefly flutter shut, consumed by utter bliss as you play with the hairs on his undercut.

“mhm, still my baby.”

“yeah? what else am i?”

this time you do giggle. he does this sometimes. you aren’t exactly sure why—but on tough days, satoru likes to crawl into your arms and listen to you call him every cheesy nickname under the sun. it’s easily providable and makes him so very happy, so you always indulge him.

“my honey bun.”

“and?”

“my boo bear.”

“mhm.”

“my sweetheart.”

“yes?”

you laugh softly. “my mochi,” you coo, and pinch his cheek. it’s a little squished because he’s laying on your chest, but it emphasises your point.

he grins under your touch. it’s adorable.

“keep them coming, please?” he asks, and you do. you always do, unable to refuse him. especially when he asks so sweetly.

“my sugar cookie.”

“my muffin.”

“my baby cakes.”

“my angel.”

“my love.”

“my husband.”

“h—huh?” satoru stammers, looking up from your chest. he lays his chin on your sternum, baby blue eyes blinking up at you. they’re filled with awe, surprise, and utter glee. “that’s, i’m not. . .”

“just testing the title, baby,” you tell him, and continue playing with his hair. he bathes in your touch and you smile softly as he grabs and kisses the palm of your hand. “what do you think, hm?”

“i think you should call me it again.”

“oh?”

“mhm,” he mumbles.

“my dearest husband.”

“again.”

“my handsome husband.”

“again.”

“my sweet husband.”

“again, please?”

you hum, impressed. “my well-mannered husband.”

satoru chuckles, and lays back down on your chest. his white hair tickles against your skin, and he sighs in content.

“i think i want to be your husband for real.”

“yeah?”

“yeah,” he mumbles and nuzzles further into your hold. “y’ve got the same ring size still, right?”

“i sure do,” you say, a content smile on your lips as you watch him slowly doze off to sleep.

“hm, good to know.”

for satoru, those nicknames make him feel as if he’s something even greater than a person—it makes him feel yours.

he’s not just gojo, the strongest. he’s not just satoru, the at-times somewhat immature adult with the sweet tooth of a child.

he’s yours. your baby. your honey bun. your boo bear. your mochi. your boyfriend. your love. and for satoru, there’s no greater thing in the world than that.

[sseevvvvyy]

oh I'm sick IM SICK OF THEM

[merlucide]

boys I think would do this lol

GOJO, itadori, INUMAKI, KAMINARI, SERO, monoma, HAWKS, UZUI, douma, TANAKA, NISHINOUYA, ATSUMU, KUROO, hinata

——————————————————————

I don’t have the energy to write anything so here:3

Made December 23rd 2023

[princessoflalaland]

'HEAD SO GOOD SHE HONOR ROLL!'. ݁₊ ⊹

ft. Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Toji, Hiromi and a special guest

synopsis: the jjk men love how much you love having them in your mouth.

'. ݁₊ ⊹content: fem!reader x jjk men, smut, spit play, breath play(choking on that d), oral(m receiving), degradation, voyeurism (implied)

'. ݁₊ ⊹word count: 5.1k

'. ݁₊ ⊹a/n: I have a terrible oral fixation and in dire need to give these wonderful men the best, soul-sucking, toe-curling, God-meeting head they've ever known. and this is how im gonna cope with it :)

Hiromi

"sh-shit, y/n," he hisses, hand burrowing in the locks atop your head. you leer up at him as your hand slips up and down his shaft while your lips work the upper half of his cock. "y'taking me s-so deep, o-oh my God..." your moist lips and hand meet time and time again, spreading your saliva all over him. a groan rumbles from hiromi’s chest, the sound going straight to your already soaked panties.

you bottom him out in your throat, your nose nestled comfortably against his coarse, recently shaved pubes. the scratchy feeling makes the lower part of your gut tingle as you take yourself off him to breathe.

"sorry, romi." you coo lovingly. you're never not working his cock. even during 'breaks' in moments like these, you make sure he has some kind of stimulation. you glance briefly at his gleaming tip, mouth filling with saliva all over again. "y'taste so good. can't get enough..!"

he's back in your mouth, you shamelessly gag on his length. tears brim in your seductive eyes and threaten to spill and ruin your mascara. hiromi watches you hungrily suck him off, like your heart will stop if you don't suck every ounce of cum out of him in the next minute. your head bobs, easily sliding half of his length into your throat before dragging your lips back to his tip. his head leans back, his chair going with it slightly with a creak. "fuuuck, just like that."

hiromi's grip on your hair tightens and you begin to wonder if he wants to take control. you'd love for him to fuck your face, and he'd love that too. to fuck his throbbing dick into that pretty face, ruin your make up and break your already cockdrunk mind even more. but your incessant, vacuum-like felatio has his balls tightening prematurely and his breath shortening.

"crap, y/n, i'm--agh--g-gonna cum." he warns, pressing your head further down, loving the way your throat constricts with your gagging. "gonna let me cum all over that pretty face?" he pants, a salacious glare swirling behind his dark, hooded eyes. "huh, baby? gonna let me cum all over you?"

you nod, somehow, as you bob your head a little faster. your hand grips the sides of his muscular thighs, salty trails of your mascara streaking down your cheeks. you urge him, beg him to release on your face through the sound of your sloppy choking. your slutty noises makes him use your mouth like the fleshlight it is until he feels his cum is spurting out of sensitive tip.

he moans as his core tightens, you yanking this orgasm out of him unapologetically. it takes everything in him to not close his eyes and let the white hot bliss take over. his sweet-sour cum coats your tongue, a worthy reward for relieving this overworked individual of some of his stress. the moans you release send shocks of pleasure straight up hiromi's spine, making his toes curl.

you make good on your wish and let him out of his mouth so he can spary whatever cum he has left all over your pretty, slutty little face. panting like a dog, you revel in how warm his cum is, how it splatters prettily on your visage like abstract art. one of eyes flutters closed as a drop lands right on your eyelid.

"ah, shit!" he swears under his breath. you don't even let him stroke the orgasm out, your hand fervently jerking him off to get as much of his essence out. "fuck, baby, fuck..such a dirty slut aren't you?" a satisfied simper curls his lips as he stares you down. he couldn't be prouder of you, watching his creamy, thick cum paint that gorgeous face. "looking so pretty with my cum all over you..."

and you look as proud of yourself as he does. a soft, grin crinkles your eyes as gaze up at your boss. "thank you, Mr. Higuruma." his cock twitches when you use his professional title.

being his assistant doesn't just stop at bringing him his morning, afternoon, and evening brew, or filing endless reports. no, no, being hiromi higuruma's assistant means all of his needs are met. and if that means getting on your knees in his office at the end of the work day, when the building is sparsely populated with workers, to suck the stress out of him, then so be it.

Geto

movie nights are some of your favorite ways to welcome the weekend with your boyfriend. glutton being your best friend as both of your favorite snacks and drinks crowd the coffee table, a list of films prepped all week to ensure there was never a shortage of entertainment. and let's not forget the blanket that suguru puts in the dryer for ten minutes on high heat for maximum comfort.

all the criterions are met for the perfect movie night, and it's all enhanced when you prance out of the hall wearing those black shorts he loves and an old shirt of his. suguru watches your hips, his eyes making the lazy ascent up to your playful eyes as you saunter over to the sofa.

"what's first on the list?" you ask, plopping down beside him, body flush against his.

"uh," he looks at his phone briefly to check the list he made on his notes app. "it's called Jennifer's Body."

you nod nuzzling and squirming on the cushions until you're comfortable. you angle your head upward at him, a bit of your hair falling softly over your shoulder. "let's get this started then."

you two are barely thirty minutes into the flick before your wandering hands find his dick and cause it to harden under his loose sweats, to which you innocently lowered your head on his lap and found said dick in your mouth. you can only do so much to resist the temptation that is geto suguru's cock, and he would be a complete fool to resist the warm, wet haven that is your skilled mouth.

"fuck, baby. can't even let me watch the movie, huh?" suguru chuckles, hand resting comfortably on your head. "not that I mind though, always make me feel so fuckin' good..."

his words fade on his tongue as you drag your lips down to his cum-filled balls. you've grown addicted to the plushness, the fullness of them in your mouth. you press your tongue to them roughly, coaxing them to give you the deliciousness you know is hidden within. you drag your godsend tongue up his shaft and swallow his cock whole, making his stomach clench, eliciting a wanton groan from him. "shorry, shugu," you say around a mouthful of him, "love your cock shoo much."

suguru’s eyes go out of focus, the pleasure damn near blinding him, as both your hands expertly work his cock and balls in tandem with your mouth. the lewd sucking and gagging sounds along with suguru's deep moans drowns out the movie that you both have long disregarded. your boyfriend's other hand slips over your back to your ass, his rough palm massaging the plush of it. his voice is a husky whisper when he finally collects enough of himself to utter words. "take it deeper, baby..i know you can- ah!" you obey him promptly not letting him finish his sentence. you angle your head, letting his fat tip prod the inside of your cheek. he watches this, feeling the coil in his stomach tighten more. "shit, shit, y/n. so fuckin' nasty..."

"only for you, baby." you've taken your mouth off him with a proud pop, stroking him, spreading your excess spit around him. you look him in the eyes sultrily, eyes zeroing in on his lips. a new desire blossoms in your chest and you realize you really wanna kiss him right now, wanna feel his smooth lips on your wet ones. you want his tongue to caress your own and make you even wetter than you are now.

knowing you for so long comes with the ability to read you like an open book. "make me cum and I'll give you what you want." he promises with a squeeze to your butt, prompting you to lower your head back down to his sheeny dick. you smile sweetly and put all your effort in to making him achieve an orgasm, bobbing your head fervently with a soundtrack of sloppy slurps and gags to get him to cum.

suguru swears and praises you under his breath as the coil tightens impossibly tighter. "don't stop, don't stop, don't stop," his pleas spur you on, making you bring your head all the way down till your nose kisses his pelvis. tracing a vein along his shaft with your tongue, moaning softly is the last push he needs.

his cum spills over your tongue and down your throat, the sweet then sour taste like the most potent drug, making your eyes roll and toes curl. carefully, your lips wrap around his tip so some of his orgasm is caught on your tastebuds. a thin trail of saliva connects you to him as you finally release him. "fuck," suguru breathes, satisfied. "c'mere, love.." he kisses you, his tongue finding your cum-covered one and tasting himself. he sighs deeply, a hand snaking its way to your nape and pulling you closer. when you two part, he gives you a long, searching look, one that seems to be searching for the depths of your heart and what hides in it.

"you're so good to me." he muses, his thumb lazily rubbing your nape. "what did I do to deserve you?" heat floods your system at his sentiment. he has the tendency to become saccharine and raw after intimacy.

you straddle his lap, feeling his dick harden under your weight. "you didn't do anything but love me for me." you relent, cupping his face and kissing him. "and I couldn't ask for anything else."

Toji

you couldn’t wait until after your shift to get his dick down your throat. no, no, you just had to call him out in the middle of the workday, pull him into a dingy alley, and drop to your knees like a common whore.

“this what i do to you, ma?” he rasps as your lips make the lewd descent to his base. “give you dick so good you can’t even go the day without it?” the tip of your nose just barely grazes his rough pubes before your pulling your head back, gasping for air. a string of saliva connecting you to the thing you crave the most in this moment.

“mhm..” you hum distantly. you’re mind is not on anything he’s saying or what’s going on. you don’t care how the pavement bites you through the thin tights you wear, or the passerby just outside the alley. all you care about is dousing the fire in the pit of your stomach that’s been raging since this morning. pumping his cock hurriedly, you suckle on the tip like it’s a casual popsicle.

toji doesn’t like the lack of attention he’s getting, his eyes darkening and lips curling downward. normally, you’re equally infatuated with his dick and him, like they’re two separate beings. cooing to him how much you love his cock, praising it, while worshipping said cock with that godsend mouth of yours.

but right now, it seems your attention is solely on his cock, which doesn't fly over well with your fuckbuddy. instead of gently cupping the back your head like he’s been doing, he seizes a harsh fistful of your locks and bottoms out into your throat. a gasp-like moan is stifled by his length from the sudden intrusion, your eyes widening and tears burning the backs of them. he holds you there, groaning lowly at the way your throat convulses as you gag.

“stupid bitch..” he mutters, he holds you there for a few seconds before sliding himself out your wet cavern to keep you from passing out. you don't even think to tap his leg to signal that it's too much, his cock being the only thing on that dirty ol' mind. "think you too good to answer me or somethin?" your mouth lolls open, your gaze seeing past his.

toji slaps his dick on the side of your face, eyebrows pinched together in what could either be annoyance or confusion. "you cockdrunk already?" all he gets in response is a lazy nod.

the only time you come to your senses is when you fervently try to reunite your tongue with his dick. you sloppily bob your head on him, lewd squelching and sucking sounds bouncing off the alley's dirty walls.

it's rather rare for you to get so cockdrunk you can't even respond to him, so he decides to use this to his advantage.

“you want my cum, pretty? that why you actin like you can’t talk?” toji mutters through clenched teeth. he can barely contain the sounds rumbling in his chest from how good you’re being to him. his eyes flicker to the alley’s entrance, seeing the multitude of people passing you two by obliviously.

his scar twitches as the beginnings of a smirk form on his face. what he wouldn’t give for someone to make a wrong turn for whatever reason and catch you, on your knees giving him the sloppiest head. he brings his attention back to you, watching as his dick slides in and out of your throat with ease.

“s’good a fuckin whore, makin me feel so good..” your fuckbuddy’s words almost collide into each other with how good your mouth feels. his eyes nearly disappear into his skull when he bottoms again, reveling in the constriction of your throat as you gag. he wants to test your limits, see how long you can keep him in that pretty little throat if yours. "you want my cum, so fuckin work for it," he growls.

tears chase each other down your cheeks, leaving dark messy trails of mascara. saliva coats the lower half of your face and some parts of your cheeks. your eyes, a little red with your lashes glittering with tears. a complete and utter slutty mess, thats what you are in this moment. but toji thinks you’ve never looked prettier. a hint of adoration worms its way into his condescending gaze as you loll your tongue out at him as though you are asking for something.

“what? feelin nastier than usual?” he asks, collecting spit onto his tongue to deposit onto your waiting one. he gives you a generous amount, letting it slide off his tongue down to your open mouth in a long, silky trail. you pant like a bitch in heat as you wait for the saliva to land in your mouth, eyes wide with orgastic anticipation.

mixing his saliva with your own, you continue to blow him and let him fuck your face. toji feels his balls tighten as his orgasm approaches. "'agh, fuck, y/n. 'm gettin close.." he doesn’t try to keep quiet anymore than you do, the erotic duet the two of you make reverberating off the alley and back into your ears.

“want me to cum on yer face, slut? paint that pretty face with my cum?” he moans, using your mouth like it’s his own personal fleshlight to reach his climax. you feign a nod through his harsh thrusts.

“shit, ‘m gonna cum, baby. gonna cum all over you...” that’s his final warning before he yanks his dick out of your mouth and releases onto you. your eyes stay glued on him as his thick, potent cum spurts onto your face and into your mouth.

“take it, take it, take it…” he hisses through his teeth. this orgasm of his fierce and he can’t tell if it’s from the grade A head you just gave him, or because of how much of a whore you were and how that turned him on like nothing else. “that’s a good girl,” he sighs once he’s done, twitching a little as you kitten lick his tip for more.

wiping a dollop of his cum from your cheek and sucking it off your finger, you gaze up at him. “thanks, toji.” you’ve come back to your senses, so you stand up and pull a compact mirror from your back pocket. you smirk at your reflection, admiring the milky globs he so graciously left on your face. you won’t admit it, but you love when he defiles you like this, leaves his mark on you so no one ever forgets who gets you to act like this. and you won’t ever need to admit it to him because he already knows, knows you’re his and always will be. 

Nanami

you love your husband, and with that love comes with helping him destress the second he comes through the door to your home. you greet him in a way any wife would: take his coat and hang it for him, asking him how his day was, give him a kiss, which turns into two, then three, then find yourself on your knees undoing his zipper and freeing his aching cock.

"lemme help you, honey. you always work so hard..." you purr, your warm breath traveling over his length and sending shivers up his spine. "God," he breathes, hazel eyes fluttering. "how can I resist when you look at me like that?"

with a simper, you wrap your plush lips around his tip, drinking the precum pooling there. your eyes become heavy-lidded as the flavor of it traverses over your tastebuds. humming your satisfaction, you let in more of his cock. the girth of it stretches out your mouth, forces you to widen your jaw until it aches. the pain is good though; it's worth it if it means you can get more of your husband's dick down your throat.

nanami tucks his bottom lip between his teeth as he watches you, lust vibrating beneath his skin, making him feverish. his breath comes out harshly through his nose as you leer up at him. he'll never get over the polarity with you. outside, you're a respectable young woman, one he is proud to call his wife. you're articulate and kind, you never fail to make his heart swell with affection and pride.

but within the walls of your shared home, you become something else. a minx, a nymph, a siren. you make him ache for you in ways he never has for any woman, bring him pleasure like no one else. you worship him and let him have his way with you. and honestly, there's nothing more he could ask for after another grueling day at work.

"oh, my love..that's so good." your husband moans deeply through labored breaths. "yes, baby, just like that. take me nice and deep."

your tongue presses firmly to the underside of his dick after it has traced every vein on it. you don't even need your hands, having more control with just your mouth than some have with both their hands. he can't tear his eyes away from yours, it's like he's entranced. you've reeled him in and there's no going back.

slow, steady bobbing of your head leaves your spouse breathless. he holds both sides of your head, fighting demons not to buck into your warm, wet, perfect mouth. the subtle gagging sounds you make nearly makes him snap. "such a good wife, treating me s-so nicely.." he praises. "ah, fuck, y'always so good to me..so fuckin good." hearing the usually decorous nanami curse is music to your ears.

nanami can feel his legs weakening, the pleasure that pulses through him with every beat of his heart becoming too much. your throat is so well trained, it takes all his inches with ease. your jaw is achingly numb from being widened for so long. you let your head make small, almost imperceptible circles as you speed up, angling your occasionally so his tip pokes your inner cheek, eliciting a sharp gasp from him.

"ah, y/n," he chuckles, surprised at how slutty yet modest you can be. not a single drop of saliva has escaped your mouth since you've started. "gonna make me cum. p-please, keep going, 'm so close."

with each bob of your head, you get closer to the base, your eyes breaking contact with his to glance at the golden pubes that come just out of reach of your nose.

"yes, yes, yes." nanami's voice raises in pitch for a split second, indicating that you're doing a stellar job. soft moans from you vibrate through him, making him jerk slightly. his fingers dig into your hair his eyes struggling to stay open as ecstasy threatens to shut his brain down entirely.

your husband's jaw drops as he feels himself going right over the edge, careening into the pits of what's going to be an amazing orgasm. when you're sure he can't take anymore, you let your lips kiss his base, snatching his orgasm right from him.

nanami can't stop the pathetic noises he makes as his cum pours done your throat. your throat feels heavenly, constricting and relaxing the way your pussy would. he convulses slightly, a sweet mix of whimpers and soft moans falling from his lips.

"baby- baby, please I can't-" he can barely beg you properly. his hips involuntarily buck further into your mouth as his orgasm reaches its end, his tip jabbing at the back of your throat mercilessly.

you drag your lips slowly back to his tip, watching him darkly as he twitches. you release him with a pop and finally use your hand to gently stroke him.

"c'mon, kento," you say softly as you rise to your feet, still maintaining a gentle hold on him. "lemme help you unwind a little more, you've earned it."

and with that, he falls in love with you all over again.

Gojo

"i've always wanted to try this with you, baby. a-always wanted to see what it'd be like..." your boyfriend has not shut up since you so kindly hung your head off the side of the bed and asked him to fuck your face. his heavy, breathy words heat the room along with the wild lust dancing behind his sky blue eyes. if only you could see that look on his face, the sultry adoration contorting his features.

"takin it so good, pretty. my pretty fuckin whore..." gojo's hands carefully cradles your head and neck. your own hand has busied itself with lazily rubbing your pussy, slick oozing down to your ass and the sheets. the sounds coming from you send ripples of pleasure through gojo's system making him just a bit louder. this angle allows him the view of a lifetime. he can see the bulge his length forms in your small throat, the sight of it making his mind even hazier.

his thrusts stagger and he pulls out to let you breathe. you gulp down fresh air, saliva trailing down onto your cheeks and making its way slowly toward your lower eyelids. gojo strokes himself as you recover, panting with flushed cheeks.

"you're so sexy like this, my sexy little slut." his voice is dripping with sultry adoration and honesty. he truly believes you're a gift from above because who else, other than an angel, would let them be defiled like this for him? he rubs his tip across your puckered lips, smearing precum and spit all over them. "aw God, y-you're gorgeous, angel, y'know that?" his praises continue to tumble out of his mouth as your boyfriend eases his way back into your waiting jaws. "so perfect, perfect f'me."

your fingers pick up the pace along with the speed of his thrusts. primal moans and whimpers, wet slurps and gags, the subtle squelching of your sopping pussy are the only noises in the room. you bring your hand up and pinch your nipple, yanking a gargled moan out of yourself. your essences leaks generously onto the sheets as his tip continues to tease your uvula and reduce your already weak gag reflex.

gojo's shameless whimpers and breathy approval makes you want to do more to please him, so you abandon your nipple, reach out and fondle his heavy balls. "agh, Christ, y/n!" he shouts, moans chasing the words, "tryna make me cum, huh? don't wanna cum too quick, wanna make th-this last.." your soft hands squeeze his breeder balls, coaxing them to give you everything he has to offer. your significant other begs you to ease up, to not tease him so much. you chuckle, the vibration making his mind go blank long enough for you to let your fingers wander to his perineum.

gojo's jaw goes slack as he throws his head back, sloppily thrusting his cum straight into your throat. the pressure in his lower abdomen released without him even realizing and now he can't seem to stop his hips as your delicate fingers massage the space between his ass and scrotum. there's so much cum, too much for your mouth to hold and your throat to take in. some dribbles down the sides of your mouth, over the spit trails on your cheeks and too close to your eye. as his cum slides down your throat, your hips buck upward as you climax onto your fingers. when he pulls out, he strokes the rest of his release out onto your neck and chest, shaking and gasping.

gojo hasn't really opened up about trying certain things, especially butt stuff, but the way he yelped and his usually perfect thrusts stuttered when he came is indication enough that maybe now he will be.

Totusmoto

you've been waiting for this moment, waiting since you first laid eyes on your neighbor. his lumbering figure drifting in and out of the run down apartment complex never failed to trigger something carnal in you. and things only got worse when you'd hear his gravelly, desperate moans through the walls. you couldn't care less for the woman who tried to harmonize with him with her own sounds, all that mattered was listening to him.

so, when your sink suddenly decided to act up, calling the landlord for a repairman was not the first thing that came to mind. you'd run into totsumoto yuushi at the apartment mailbox, both of you silently rifling through envelopes. as soon as the opportunity presented itself, you seized it. you struck up a simple conversation, something about the sweltering heat that summer rolled in. he looked at you with a bored expression at first, wondering why anyone who wasn’t someone he owed money was paying him any mind. but the look in your eyes told him everything he needed to know: behind that polite gaze was a caged, carnal beast that wanted him.

it was then he knew you were definitely worth getting to know. over time, you two became well acquainted. chatting nonstop at the laundromat, while you two retrieved the mail, and just anywhere you two happened to be. everything was falling into place, just like you wanted. one day, you casually asked him if he knew anything about plumbing. having been a maintenance man for one of his many jobs, he told you yes. and yuushi had an inclination there was much more to this inquiry of yours than his expertise regarding pipes.

so now, on another sweltering afternoon after your neighbor so graciously fixed your faulty sink pipes, you're paying him back for his kindness by swallowing his dick whole.

"h-holy shit- you're really g-good." your neighbor's gravelly voice only darkens the wet patch already staining your panties. one hand you pumps the parts of yuushi's cock that you're out of practice throat can't quite reach. your eyebrows pinch together slightly as you watch him ogle you. you're lost in those dark eyes of his, not wanting to be anywhere else other than under his carnal stare.

"mhm, take it. take it like the good girl you are..." he's much sweeter than you anticipated, but from what you've heard through the walls, it doesn't come to much of a surprise. yuushi gently places his hand on your head, guiding you down his shaft. "that's it, you can take more of me, more of this fuckin cock."

the need to please yuushi, to show him you're better than whoever gets the honor of being fucked silly by him every night, becomes more important than the need for air. so, just to prove how badly you need him, you take in more of his thick inches, your eyes forcing themselves shut so you can focus on controlling your gags. yuushi groans, gripping the counter behind him with his free hand fiercely. the spasms of your throat are heavenly. "just like that, fuck. yes, baby, yes." even if he tries, he can't stifle the pathetic sounds you force out of him.

you reel back, a thin spit trail connecting you to him. you gasp, which dissolves into heavy panting. you're eyes are completely clouded over, a look that tells yuushi: i'm your whore, so treat me like one.

"c'mon love, back in your mouth." he orders breathily when he thinks you've had a long enough breather. "wanna feel your mouth again, c'mon, please.."

your hand and mouth work double time, thick globs of saliva hitting the tile of your kitchen as your gargle on his dick. yuushi senses his climax chasing him down from the telltale tightness in him stomach. the impending orgasm causes him to lose himself just a bit, and he bucks up into your mouth in time with the bobbing of your head. "fuck, angel." he pants, his brain fogging over with the white bliss that's building like a tsunami coming to shore. "just a bit more, 'm almost there, almost... fuck!"

he grabs the sides of your head and brings your lips flush against his base. his cum floods your mouth, letting you briefly taste its warm saltiness, before traveling down your esophagus. the white of your eyes are all he can see, or would see if his head wasn't thrown back from the immense pleasure. when he's done, he slowly withdraws his gleaming cock from your jaws, trying and failing to catch his breath.

he looks down at you with the utmost fondness, so much so, your heart flutters like a lovestruck teen's. yuushi truly can't believe his luck. sure, sex with the spirit haunting his room may be some of the best sex he's ever had, but you, you're something else. maybe it's how tangible you are, how he can see you whenever. maybe it's because now he's unabashedly curious of what else you have in store. maybe it's because he knows being with a ghost may never amount to being with a living, breathing woman. whatever the case may be, he knows it's going to be borderline impossible for him to stay away from you now.

[nevermeyers]

“When it's your time to go, make sure you're surrounded by others”

[jasmineoolongtea]

it turns out, gojo satoru hates silence. to be more accurate, he hates the sound of total nothing when it comes to you.

that's not to say that he wants you to scream at him like all hell's breaking loose but he just wants something from you, good or bad he doesn't care, over this suffocating silence. you don't even look at him; instead, you focus on attempting to secure the sterile white bandages on top of his injuries. you pretend like you don't see the crimson red of his blood seeping through them as you do.

"baby..." his voice is barely above a whisper, a rare occurrence for someone who's always been the loudest in any room he's in. he gets no response from you, only the sight of your jaw tensing up as you grit your teeth. satoru tries and fails to meet your eyes.

"baby. please, talk to me." he pleads softly, using his other unoccupied hand to reach out to you. you freeze slightly at the feeling of his fingertips upon your arm.

a small sigh of defeat escapes him. "see? i'm fine, nothing's gonna hurt me alright? it's just a scratch, that's all." as if to emphasise his point, he raises his arms up in a show of goodwill, swallowing the harsh wince of pain that threatens to escape his lips.

for what feels like the first time in forever, you look back at him, your eyes meeting his cerulean ones. "that's not the point, satoru." you state, finishing up your bandaging of him. "what if one day you do get hurt badly?" the clang of your tools hitting the metal tray table echoes within the walls of the infirmary.

he brushes off your concerns with a wave. "that's not going to hap-"

"okay, but what if it does?" you cut him off bluntly. your expression is serious, deadly serious with your unwavering gaze and slightly furrowed brows, to the point where he's rendered speechless for the first time.

"have you ever thought about what would happen to the people you leave behind... about me?" your words trail off at the end of your sentence, your voice faltering slightly as well. maybe it's a trick of the light but satoru swears that tears are welling up in the corner of your eyes.

his chest tightens with an uncomfortable squeeze, his gaze falling to the floor. no one dares to speak for a moment, whatever words and phrases of reassurance satoru would typically throw your way now suddenly seem shallow and lack any sort of weight behind them. the air is tense around the both of you.

you don't even need him to respond to know the answer to your own question as it would be a resounding no. for most of his life, satoru lives and breathes like he's untouchable, detached from most things including other people. being someone who has been leagues above everyone else since birth does that to a person.

however, it seems that this has caused him to forget that others around him don't share his fate and that no matter how detached he still believes himself to be, there are still ones who crave his connection and see past his facade of godhood and more as the human he truly is underneath it all.

"...i'm sorry, baby." he murmurs under his breath as he looks back up at you, sincerity and raw vulnerability evident in his expression. "i promise that i'll be more careful next time." he brings your hands to his lips and presses a soft kiss against your skin, letting himself bask in the warmth, your warmth, that is radiating off of you.

"there shouldn't be a next time." you huff half-heartedly, trying to stand strong in light of his previous behaviour which led to this moment but you feel your knees start to turn into jelly the moment his lips graze your hands.

a faint laugh escapes him. "i'll make a promise on that too." he adds, spreading his legs slightly just so he can pull you against his chest and into his arms.

gojo satoru is used to living only for himself but now, he has to remember that he has someone to come home to and he's going to make sure that he starts living like he did. only a shame he didn't see this earlier.

[pupkashi]

gojo isn’t a baby when he’s sick (shocker!)

a/n: just a little drabble I’ve had in my head for a while now :P i just think satoru is so thoughtful and amazing ok bye

masterlist

gojo takes colds like a champ. he doesn’t complain or writhe around in pain, on the verge of tears and begging for all your attention. instead he calls ijichi telling him he’s staying home and rolls back into bed, pulling the covers closer to his feverish body.

you’re awake minutes later, vision fuzzy and hair a mess as you reach over to hug your lover, fully expecting to end up grabbing cold sheets as usual. you almost jump out of your skin when you feel satoru’s warm body.

“angel you okay?” you whisper, worried as to why he wasn’t at jujutsu tech by now.

“sick” is all he says, sniffling a bit and turning around to face you, covering his mouth with the blanket, “took medicine already” his voice is muffled and you pout at him.

his face is flush from the fever you’re sure he has, strands of hair sticking to his forehead as you push his hair back, running your fingers through his hair. you motion for him to come closer, rolling your eyes playfully when he hesitates, worried about getting you sick.

“I’ll be fine, c’mere” you smile, holding him tightly when he finally gives in, relishing in your body heat.

the two of you doze off again, but by the time you wake up satoru is already out of bed. you can smell freshly made chicken soup as you get closer to the kitchen, finding satoru curled up in a blanket with an empty bowl on the coffee table.

it’s something that takes you by surprise, fully expecting him to follow his usual absurdly clingy and pouty routine dialed to 100. instead he’s incredibly self sufficient, taking his medicine and making his own food. he rarely complains to you, only telling you he feels like shit when you ask how he’s feeling.

satoru motions for you to join him on the couch, laying his head in your lap and closing his eyes when your fingers find his hair, playing with the soft snowy strands.

“y’know i expected you to be all clingy and helpless” you admit, smiling down at your lover, who by now is in and out of micro sleeps.

he hums a ‘nu uh’ pausing for a second before speaking up, “don’t wanna make myself your chore when i can take care of myself” he mumbles, “you’ve got ‘nough on your plate.”

his response takes you by surprise, a soft smile pairing your lips as your eyes soften at the man in your lap. how’d you get so lucky?

“thank you hun, but you aren’t a chore” you reassure him, fingertips softly tracing his jawline, then moving to trace down the slope of his nose. “i love taking care of you, angel boy.”

you can see his smile growing wider as you talked, dimples peeking out as his blue eyes fluttered open softly. satoru moves so he’s laying on his back, watching as you admire him, slowly scratching at his scalp once more.

“I’ll take care of you when i can” you whisper, brushing any stray strands of hair out of his eyes. it’s a small gesture, but it makes satoru’s heart leap out of his chest, body warm from both your love and the virus wreaking havoc on his immune system.

satoru takes your words lightly, he won’t cry and complain every three seconds because he’s sick. he’ll take his medicine and pout a bit, but he’ll never be too dramatic.

he will let you take care of him though, never saying no to your cuddles or soups, loving the way you fuss over him.

taglist: @chilichopsticks @anime-for-the-sleepless @safaia-47 @nanamikentoseyebags @fushironi @nineooooo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @gojoshooter @beautiful-is-boring @sweetheart-satoru @luna0713hunter @torusmochi @kentocalls

[ohimsummer]

satoru loves when you feed him. he just adores watching you dote on him, patting away crumbs and stains on his face as his lovely little wife, both of you knowing full well that he’s perfectly capable of doing it himself. but it’s something about you doing it that makes his heart beat a little faster, makes him so much more aware of his love for you, and get a craving to paint your lips in the wettest kisses. his mind goes empty. it's just you—a blurry haze of your heavenly face and the forkful of food you're offering him.

"it's hot, satoru.", you warn him.

"mhm.", he hums, eyes closed in contentment and he's clearly not listening. all that’s on his mind is the loving regard he has for your generosity. he asked for a taste of your food, jokingly, and of course you oblige. you love him, after all.

“no, satoru, i mean—“

and it’s too late. satoru’s taken a bite without so much as a second of hesitation. you watch his lips curl up in a grin for a good half-a-second before his eyes jolt open, and he’s spitting it out in his hand.

“b-baby—!”, he coughs, wheezing helplessly as his face begins turning a bright shade of red. “wha—?!”

you’re ripping a paper towel off the roll and shoving it into his spare hand. then, you’re shuffling over to the fridge to grab a cool bottle of water, cracking it open and setting it on the table next to him as you take the discarded food to throw away.

“i told you it was hot, satoru, it’s spicy.”, you scold him, though you’re not sure if he even hears you when he’s too busy gulping down the entire bottle of water. “you didn’t listen, did you?”

truthfully…no, he didn’t listen. but, could you really blame him? when he’s got such a perfect wife, eating her perfect cooking, nodding her perfect head because she’s so generous to indulge him without a second thought, looking so perfect as she offers him the fork with a hand underneath to catch any drops, mumbling her perfect words that, in hindsight, were surely ‘it’s hot, satoru’, can you really blame him?

🌶️: @anthoosies @staryukis @lxnarphase @deepenthevoid @bubblez-blop @luvvmae @risuola @bunnymacaron @hellkaiserinphoenix @cinnamoneve @satoruxsc @rosso-seta @starlightanyaaa @domainexpansionmypants @biscuitsngravie @babytoshiii @kissesfrombelle @v0ctin @purplegemadventures @luvvforliaa @apatauaia @sataraxia @leilalilox @sugu-love @manyno @the-monster-under-the-bed @kisstoru @blindbabycadder @xinfvl @jianyuu4mii @neptuneblue

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

IF YOU ASK ME TO LEAVE, I’LL STAY FOREVER ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; satoru is stubborn; even when plagued by such a high fever, he insists there’s no need to take care of him. thankfully, you’re equally as stubborn.

word count; 10.8k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, implied non-sorcerer!reader, sickfic, reverse comfort, sickening amounts of fluff, lots of petnames, satoru gojo vs the mortifying ordeal of being loved, just a tinyyyy bit of angst if u rlly squint, literally just satoru being pampered for like 10k words straight, he’s cute when he’s sick but still manages to be a lil shit <33, he’s also a huge sap you have been warned!!

a/n; what can i say, im a proud member of the ”satoru gojo needs to be babied relentlessly” club <33 he’s just a little guy!! tagging @catchuuu my beloved for being the sweetest enjoy a healthy dose of sick sleepy satoru <33 i am tagging all toru enjoyers in spirit btw i love u all

you’ve never seen satoru like this before.

head buried into a big pillow, white locks tousled and sticking to his forehead — skin sweaty, hot to the touch, with a flushed face to match. heavy breaths fall from his parted lips, blinking in and out of consciousness, squeezing his eyes shut.

it’s nothing like the joyous, loud, cocky satoru you’re so used to. he’s weak. he’s fatigued.

he’s completely, undoubtedly sick.

”really, baby,” he slurs, raspy and dry. still attempting to raise himself up, arms straining under the weight of his shivering body. ”there’s no need f’ —”

unceremoniously, his limbs give out beneath him, and he tumbles right back down; a meek little wince escaping his throat as his face falls back into the mattress. the sound makes your heart squeeze tightly in your chest.

”ah. that’s…” he tries to speak, a disgruntled hum muffled by the sheets. ”… annoying.”

satoru sounds frustrated. you can tell he’s resisting the urge to close his eyes, a little helpless, unable to even move properly, like a fish out of water. he’s still breathing unevenly, still sweating, still burning up — you can practically feel it, from where you’re standing, crouched down by his bed.

you’ve never, ever seen satoru like this. you’ve seen him sniffling during flu season, wrecked with headaches during rainy season. you’ve seen him vulnerable; not many times, but enough that it matters. 

but you’ve never seen him like this.

(and it makes you terribly anxious.)

”satoru, please just —” you croak, gnawing at your bottom lip. trying desperately to swallow the worry in your chest. ”don’t overdo it. please?”

you can hear the anxious little timbre of your own voice, and you can feel the frown tugging at your lips. but you can’t do anything to quell the insistent pitter patter of your heartbeat, the ache that accompanies it. satoru’s lying down, still trying to gather the strength to reassure you, even through the feverish haze clouding his mind. 

he looks so small.

this wasn’t what you were expecting to see, today. you were expecting to meet up with satoru, and see his happy little grin, those tiny dimples and freckles that only show themselves in the light of the sun. you were expecting to feel the weight of his hand in yours, as you strolled down to the new crêpe stand he’s been wanting to check out since he first found their instagram account.

you were expecting to see him happy. healthy. a little obnoxious, a little annoying — but hopelessly sweet. all the love you could ever need, molded into a human shape. your little angel.

a sigh slips from your lips. you can’t help it; because satoru is just so stubborn, so closed off, and he can be such an idiot sometimes. you knew something was off the moment he sent you that text, asking you oh so charmingly, apologetically, if you could postpone your date for just an hour or so. you knew something was wrong, but he still wouldn’t let up until you brought out the 🥺 emojis. 

and then he told you he was fine. it’s all he ever is, apparently.

my throat’s just a little scratchy, is all. wouldn’t want you to miss out on the voice you love so much, yeah?

give me an hour and i’ll be perfect for you. <3

moron.

he’s curled up in a fetal position, trying to stop himself from shivering, muttering little reassurances under his breath that you can’t make out. wearing ripped jeans and a nice jacket, like he was fully prepared to head out like this — like he genuinely thought an hour, some painkillers and a dream would be enough to chase away a fever this severe. like he was so desperate to see you he was fully willing to take that risk.

moron. moron. he should’ve called you the moment he realized he was sick. instead, you had to coax him into letting you come over, with a flurry of sad and cute emojis you know make him go weak at the knees when they’re coming from you.

and here you are. in satoru’s house, in front of his bed, trying to convince him that he is, in fact, sick. 

but he just won’t listen.

”just — gimme a couple minutes, honey?” your boyfriend mumbles, barely coherent, stringing words together haphazardly. awfully dizzy. ”i just need the painkillers to kick in, i promise i —”

”satoru.”

there’s a sad tint to your voice, now. unmistakable. one that satoru notices, even through the feverish, muddy filter over his reality. 

and it makes him quiet down.

(he doesn’t want to disappoint you.)

as gently as you can, you settle down on the bed, eyes painfully softened. overflowing with care. towering over him, leaning close — to press your lips against his scorching forehead, brushing away his sweaty bangs with a palpable tenderness. your voice soothing, coming out almost as a low coo. you’re frustrated, and exasperated.

but most of all, you’re worried.

”go back to sleep,” you hum, a gentle command. your hand finds his, cold skin meeting warm, tracing circles over his palm. ”i’ll take care of you.”

”there’s no need,” he mutters, instantaneous. so used to denying kindness. 

but he curls an arm around your waist, anyway, tugging you closer; a little needy. like you’re much too far away for his liking. finally beginning to settle down, coaxed into resting by the soft touches your grace him with. it’s only a matter of time.

so you keep your lips against his forehead, cradling his slender fingers in yours, murmuring little whispered reassurances. and before you know it, his lashes have fluttered shut, like a white dove landing on the ground. he still looks so troubled, so meek. you can’t resist the urge to soothe him, hand cupping his face, thumb smoothing over the apple of his cheek. you watch him lean into it, eyes dripping with care. your poor baby. 

for a couple precious moments, you allow yourself to indulge in the sight. even like this, he looks a bit like an angel, a painting come to life. like one wrong brushstroke could smudge him. 

so you’re delicate, as you trace little hearts into his skin, delicate as you maneuver his body enough to peel the layers of clothing off him — leaving him in only an oversized tee and a pair of briefs. satoru can only whine, softly, so quiet you barely even hear him. so disoriented, on the brink of falling into a deep slumber. some part of him is trying to resist, you’re sure, still agonizing over the date he’s missing out on. as if anything matters more than his health.

but it doesn’t work. he can only let out a tiny groan, hopelessly pliant as you tuck him in, pulling a big blanket over his shoulders. you card through his hair, another soft kiss planted on his sweaty forehead — and your hand stays between his locks until you’re sure he’s asleep. his breathing mellows out, his grip around your waist loosens, seeking comfort from you even in his dreams.

you’d crawl under the blankets with him, but you have work to do.

stealing one final glance at your fever-ridden lover, your heartbeat ricochets. he still looks so meek, all warm and sweaty, shirt sticking to his skin. a frown tugs at your bottom lip.

satoru is always so stubborn, refusing to lean on others for support. you wish he had called you immediately, nagged at you to come baby him. sure, you might’ve sighed in faux exasperation, and teased him a little, but it still would’ve made you feel happy. useful. and you would’ve done it in a heartbeat. maybe, if you just prove that you can take care of him properly, he’ll do it next time.

so you stand up, leaning down to press your lips against his forehead one last time, and make your way towards the kitchen.

satoru’s house is spacious. a little too spacious, enough for at least three people to live in comfortably; nice furniture, an expensive sofa in the living room, a large tv you’re almost certain he only keeps around for white noise. such are the ways of the rich, you suppose. he doesn’t invite you over very often, so you’ve never had the chance to get very affiliated with the space. it’s always the other way around — him, waiting for you on the couch when you get home, chirping out an unconvincing don’t even worry about it, baby! when you ask how he got in without a key. or him, showing up at your doorstep in the middle of the night, filling the sleepy silence with jokes to distract you from the bags under his eyes.

(he likes it when you cling to him in your sleep — he sleeps a lot better that way. that’s what he told you, at least, when you brought him coffee in bed that one time. a little glimmer of honesty.)

he stays over so often he might as well just move in, but you aren’t really sure how to even approach that subject. some part of you fears it’d be too much, too intimate, that he’d pack his bags and run away. bringing all his secrets with him, that soft laughter you’ve grown so fond of. so you figure it’s better to let him make a home out of yours, let him curl up on your couch and snack on the candy you hid in your kitchen cabinets. that’s safe for him.

and now that you’ve seen his home up close — if you can even call it that — you think you’re starting to understand his preference. because it’s spacious, yes, but also empty. save for expensive furniture and fake houseplants, there isn’t anything to indicate that the apartment belongs to him, that he feels comfortable there. like he hasn’t even bothered to make it his. like it’s about to be sold, and you’re just one of the potential buyers, checking the place out. admiring the patterns of the floorboards and the walls.

it doesn’t feel like satoru at all. 

his own bedroom was another story, a much more pleasant one. a lot more satoru. filled with little trinkets, key charms and souvenirs and silly figurines. a framed photo of three students by the windowsill, an old uniform hanging by his closet, socks strewn about here and there. a dying houseplant. comic books and movie posters and a ps5 you don’t think he’s touched since he finished spiderman 2. a king sized bed, that makes him look like a spoiled little princess when he’s lying in it, next to a cat plushie you won for him at a fair. knowing he actually sleeps with it kind of makes you want to cry.

there’s this particular scent, too, lingering in the air. mellow, nostalgic, the kind that soothes you with just a whiff; a blend between sunlight, expensive cologne, and something sweet. it clings to all his favorite clothes, to his skin. you’d live in it if you could. 

something constricts, inside your chest — like thorny vines strangling your beating heart, pressing down ever so slightly. just thinking about it, about him, about his distressed expression as his head hit the pillow. making your way over to his kitchen, getting yourself affiliated with the space, preparing to make a good soup for his fever. the fridge is almost empty, save for sweets and that one drink you like. the takeout boxes on his kitchen table tells you all you need to know.

it only makes you worry more.

luckily, you were clever enough to buy your own ingredients on the way here. chop, chop, into tiny little pieces. chicken soup should help, shouldn’t it? it’s all you can focus on, all you can hope for. anything is fine; you just want to help him, be of use somehow. he does so much for you.

you just want to give some of it back.

satoru’s loneliness is a subtle thing. flexible, alert, slipping away at the slightest sign of knowing eyes. for someone who’s so often surrounded by people, cracking jokes and laughing louder than anyone else, he doesn’t seem to make any noise when he’s alone. he curls into himself, just a bit, and a kind of reminiscence smooths over the contours of his face. 

that’s when you see him. that lonely, lonely guy. resigned to his self-imposed isolation, paradoxically yearning for something more. watching as the cherry trees bloom, like they’ll give him the answers he seeks once they bear fruit.

but the moment you come into view, he smiles. knowing you won’t push it — that you’ll let him take his time. that you’ll let him flee, just a little. 

still, you can’t help but wish he’d lean on you a little more. you wish you could chase his loneliness away with a pitchfork, but it’s a fickle creature. you somehow doubt he wants to part with it. 

all you can do is love him. love him, love him, and love him some more; until he’s had his fill.

(you’re not sure he ever will. it’s a good thing, a very good thing, because you’re almost certain you’ll never run out.) 

and that’s why you’re here. in his ghost of a home, his kitchen, pouring water into a large pot. tender, sprinkling love over every single action, every slice and dice, every piece of chicken and veggies thrown into the boiling water. you try and you try, hoping it’ll reach him.

but before you can make another attempt, something reaches you, instead.

two long arms curl around your waist, suddenly, something warm and soft pressing itself against your back. and you almost flinch, completely caught up in the stirring of the soup, unsure of how much time has passed since you began. it jolts you out of your thoughts. 

you know who it is, though. never mind the fact that he’s the only other person in the apartment; you know it’s him by his touch alone, the weight of his arms, that particular scent that surrounds him. like memories of summer.

it’s awfully sweet, the way he clings to you, the soft little blissful sigh that slips from his lips. but before you can feel moved at the domesticity of the gesture, worry clouds your senses. he doesn’t even get the chance to speak.

”satoru —” you place a palm on his forearm, craning your head to look back at him. his forehead rests against your shoulder, and his eyes are closed. he’s still so warm, too warm. ”what are you doing here? you should be resting.” 

your boyfriend mumbles something, under his breath, something that your ears can’t quite digest. he shifts, a little, as if getting ready to put on some sort of act — to smile and joke, or laugh and tease you. you can imagine what he’d say if he wasn’t in such a feverish state; he’d hug you from behind, a low purr of what’cha up to? whispered right into your ear. then you’d jolt, and he’d giggle sheepishly, satisfied with the reaction.

but now, all he can do is cough. still leaning against you, gripping onto your midriff a little more desperately than usual. you step away from the stove, turning around, making sure your hands never leave his. looking up at him with concern in your eyes, noticing his little frown.

”c’mon, you need to lie down.” you reach for his cheek, cupping it in your palm, and he practically melts into it. enjoying the chilly sensation to his fever-ridden skin. “the soup’ll be finished soon, okay?”

”… you made,” he tries, syllables falling from his lips haphazardly. ”soup —” a series of coughs. they cut him off, and the worry in your chest only deepens. 

“don’t push yourself, okay? you’re really sick, dummy.” satoru pouts, but doesn’t say anything, only clinging to you tighter when you usher him away. “let’s go back to your room, alright?”

but he won’t budge. he’s so sleepy, so sick and delirious, putting all his body weight on you. you try your best not to stumble beneath it.

”honey,” you plead, holding him securely in your embrace. his arms around your waist, your hands on his shoulders. ”work with me, please? just gotta get you back to bed —”

”’s…” he whispers, suddenly, a raspy little thing. scratchy, meek, awfully earnest; you wonder if he’s too sick not to be. ”… too lonely without you.” 

a moment passes. your breath hitches pitifully, at the base of your throat.

satoru is hugging you so tightly, as if you could disappear at any moment, slip away if he doesn’t keep you close. he’s holding you as if pleading for comfort, for a touch of safety. as if he needs you. if his meek little admission hadn’t already melted your heart the marrow, that thought certainly would’ve done the job.

taking a moment to collect yourself, you inhale, face surely aflame. satoru just nuzzles into your shoulder, too tired to say anything else, wanting to be close to you. it’s a wonder your knees don’t buckle.

gently, you let your hand trail upwards, palm smoothing down his hair. softly, like he’s a clingy, overgrown cat. ”sorry,” you start, just a little breathless. ”i’ll be with you, okay? won’t leave you alone. i promise.”

there’s an earnesty in your words that you doubt you could ever fake. satoru must hear it too, you think, because he finally begins to work with you. allowing you to stumble towards his bedroom, supporting his weight.

but once you make it to his bed, he still refuses to let go of you.

”toru, gotta go finish that soup. ’n make you some tea.” you rub his back, soothingly, as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. shaking his head and emitting a throaty groan, only squeezing you tighter when you try to guide him under the covers. how cruel of him, to act so cute when said soup is most likely boiling over by the stove. ”please, sweetie? it won’t take long. i promise. you can go back to sleep.”

another groggy huff. you’re both still standing by the edge of the bed, and satoru still won’t let you leave. all you can do is sigh, smearing a little kiss against his neck. 

he squirms, ever so slightly, and you get an idea.

so you keep pressing little kisses against his skin, knowing just how to make him melt. feeling him relax in your embrace, snuggle into your chest, so pliant that he lets you tuck him in — as long as your lips stay pressed against his jaw. before he can realize what’s happening, you grab hold of the blanket, draping it over him; his half-lidded eyes blinking up at you. you press a final kiss against his forehead, grabbing the cat plushie from the edge of the bed and placing it close enough for satoru to reach if need be.

”i’ll hurry, toru. be a good boy and stay here, alright?” 

a teasing lilt sneaks into your voice, coaxed out by how adorable your boyfriend looks like this; baby blue eyes all droopy, snowy hair messy as it falls across the cushion he’s resting on. blinking sluggishly, grunting a little in response. 

when you scurry off the bed and make your way towards the door, you glance back at him. he’s still looking in your direction, with half-lidded eyes, and your chest aches. ”i’ll be back soon, baby,” you try to soothe him. “try to sleep.”

this time, you hurry. body working almost on autopilot, images of your boyfriend still tugging at your heartstrings like he’s arranging an orchestra, moving your legs forward. before you know it, you’re walking back, carrying a tray with both your hands. steam wafts up from the hot soup and the warm cup of tea, shaking a little as you walk, a pair of painkillers in your pocket. just in case he needs more. an eager, pulsating joy rushes through your veins — now you can be with him, tend to him, not leave him alone in a room so like him you wish you could stay there forever. 

your footsteps are light, almost careful as they cross the threshold. satoru stirs, waiting for you to come to his side, looking like a kicked puppy in his giant bed. he tries to lift himself up, but it looks like it requires an intense amount of focus, like his elbows could buckle any second. 

”careful,” you croon, hurrying over, placing the tray on the nightstand. gently pushing him back down on the mattress. he complies almost instantly, too out of it to put up a real fight. staring at you, as if in awe.

to satoru, you appear almost as an angel, a somewhat blurry figure that he recognizes without looking. your very presence is soothing, like a lullaby in human form. with the hazy filter clouding his mind, he can’t even seem to form words correctly — all satoru can focus on is you. your movements, the lilt of your voice, a cold hand dulling the heat of his forehead.  

his fever still hasn’t gone down. you try and muster a smile, but you’re sure it must look painfully coated in unease. crouching down, you place your elbows on the bed, your jaw meeting the mattress. you’re at eye level with him, now.

”hey,” you start, low and comforting. you don’t want to be too loud. ”sorry it took so long.”

using what little energy he has left, satoru crosses the distance between you, inching closer and closer. noticing it, you reach a hand out to cup his cheek — lips quick to find his forehead. a barely audible sigh leaves him, and you smile.

”d’you think you can eat?” you whisper, gazing at him fondly. treating him a little like a baby, maybe, but you can’t help it when he’s like this. quiet as a mouse. ”i made soup and tea… sound okay?”

he tries to make a noise. it comes out sounding like a strange blend between a dissatisfied groan and an affirming hum, but he still ends up nodding slightly. you wonder if indulging you is ingrained into his bone structure. 

”… okay. think you can sit up, toru?”

once again, your boyfriend only hums — but he does begin to move, trying to hoist himself up, wobbling pitifully. you help, keeping him steady until his spine meets the headboard. slumped against it, he blinks slowly, feverishly.

”thank you.” you press a chaste kiss against his cheek, before reaching for the cup of tea, the scent of chamomile and lavender filling your senses. you blow on it softly. ”here. it should help with your throat, so try to drink a bit, okay? s’ got honey in it.”

silently, he accepts the cup, bringing it to his lips. when he takes a sip, you catch the slightest hint of a grimace on his lips; even with your warning of careful, it’s hot, you think he must have managed to burn his tongue. 

satoru keeps his thoughts to himself, not wanting to worry you. but he can’t say bringing himself to drink it is an easy endeavor, with how sweaty it makes him feel, how it forces him to acknowledge how painfully dry his throat is. how he can’t even taste the herbs.

he wants to be good for you, though.

so he gulps it down, slowly, managing to sip almost all of it until you decide to give him a break. compared to this morning, he already feels just a little better, a little less like he’s in a fever dream. you’re sitting by the bedside, so patient, so caring. he can’t take his eyes off you, even now. clearing his throat, attempting to get used to speaking again. ”thanks.”

the mutter sounds strained, but slightly easier on the ears, easier to make out than before. courtesy of the honey, you assume. gosh, you hadn’t realized you’d begun to miss his voice so much. 

”no problem,” you hum, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “think you can eat something? or is that too much?”

”’course,” he croaks. there’s a slight sense of liveliness in his eyes that wasn’t there before, but before he can continue, he’s caught off by a small coughing fit. harmless, but sufficient in making you worry. 

”no need to force yourself,” you soothe, patting down his head, watching as he quiets down. the tea might’ve given him a temporary energy boost, but you still don’t want him to overdo it. “just relax, satoru.”

he hums, weakly, and you reward him with a light ruffle of his hair. then you direct your attention to the soup on the nightstand, still hot, smelling of vegetable broth and fresh chicken and coriander. you bring the bowl down to your lap, and take a spoonful of the soup, blowing on it like you did with the tea. bringing it towards his lips. 

”i dunno if it’ll taste very good,” you admit, scratching absently at the back of your neck. ”but it should help with the fever, at least. i’d be happy if you could eat a bit.”

as his lips make contact with the metal of the spoon, satoru can’t help but let himself be swept away. he still feels a little too hazy, too feverish to really comprehend what’s happening; he feels oddly bare like this, vulnerable, a little afraid of what might come out of his mouth if he doesn’t keep it shut. so he opts to accept the treatment he’s receiving, not putting up a fight or making a fuss. not meeting your expectant eyes.

(he feels a little shy, being spoonfed by you. how very unlike him.)

the soup does feel soothing. he thinks he can even get a sense of the taste, how hard you must’ve worked on it. but more than anything, the way you’re acting is like balm to his soul — looking at him so kindly, treating him so tenderly. offering him spoon after spoon with gentle words of encouragement. being babied in such a way makes him feel so oddly content that he’s almost embarrassed. it should be the other way around. 

yet here you are, spoonfeeding him soup that you made yourself, because he’s sick, even though he hates to admit it, and you care about him. he allows the information to linger in the back of his head, for a while, wallowing in the comfort it brings him. fully comprehending it would take too much of a toll on him, in this state. 

satoru basks in the intimacy of the situation, and so do you. brushing strands of hair away when they stick to his skin, pressing your lips against his forehead to check his temperature. you keep doing it until satoru’s appetite dwindles.

”alright, that should be fine —” you glance down at the bowl, now roughly half-empty. more than enough, you think. ”uhh… how do you feel?”

”… better,” satoru answers, truthfully, the ghost of a smile on his glossy lips. ”thank you.”

for a second, you only stare, saying nothing. there’s something in satoru’s expression that catches you off guard, something that’s a little hard to identify. is it the way the light reflects off his skin, his pupils? the red, feverish flush of his skin? that flimsy little smile? or is it the honesty in his eyes, the way he’s looking at you like he’s trying to convey something he can’t put into words? 

as you look at him, take him in, the boy you love so dearly, you can’t help but feel like he just carved open his chest — let you peek inside his ribcage. it’s hard not to feel flustered, in the presence of something so vulnerable.

and he’s thanking you. as if taking care of him is a great burden, a chore, something you’d demand gratitude for. you want to tell him that it’s the bare minimum, the very least of what he deserves. the very least of what you could, should do for him.

you want to tell him that he’s safe, here. that there’s no need to be the strongest, whatever the hell that means, that he can let go of the burdens you know he hides from you. that he can just be your sick, terribly stubborn boyfriend.

”… okay,” is all you breathe out, every other word getting stuck in the back of your throat. ”that’s good.”

satoru’s fingers curl around yours, suddenly, where they lay on your lap. his movements are still a little groggy, disoriented, as he brings your hand up to his lips. they’re warm and soft, especially so in light of his fever. he closes his eyes, white lashes catching the light of the sun, flitting in through the haphazardly closed blinds. your heartbeat stutters.

”… love you,” he mutters. a soft little thing. your eyes don’t leave his face, and your lips part before your brain can instruct them to.

”i love you too,” you blurt out, instantaneous. like you couldn’t bear to keep him waiting. ”… satoru.”

he smiles against your skin. he always does, at the sound of those words. you make him feel so terribly, terribly weak, all the time, everyday. you make him feel so human, and he can’t bring himself to think of it as a bad thing anymore. 

he’s still cradling your hand when he brings it down to the blanket. ”thanks for coming,” he continues, pushing himself. trying to get the words out while he still has the energy to say them. “you didn’t have to.”

they’re a little clumsy, a little stale on his tongue, but they’re honest. he is thankful — the prospect of being seen like this is discomforting, gruelingly so, but he doesn’t mind nearly as much if it’s you. he’d never tell you, but he did feel just a little lonely, when he woke up this morning. disoriented, enveloped by hot flashes of pain, in a way he’s not used to in the slightest. missing out on your date, too, that he had been looking forward to ever since you decided on a time. 

but, as if sensing it, you came to his rescue. the feeling of your lips on his skin was the first sensation he felt, when he woke up for the second time — with you by his side, this time. his guardian angel, carrying the scent of spring with you. the memory of a certain boy, of better times. 

(satoru thinks you’re nostalgia personified. he likes to imagine that you met as children, underneath a cherry tree somewhere, but he knows it’s not true. there’s no way he wouldn’t remember you.)

you smile. pleased, at his show of vulnerability, small as it may be. ”i wanted to,” you assure him. equally honest, equally full of double meanings and hidden messages that neither of you need to uncover to understand. ”… i care about you. of course i’d come.”

a light, raspy chuckle; that’s all satoru manages to vocalize. his mind is stuffed, and there’s an ache in his chest, longing to be filled. it’s been there for a while now. but somehow, some way, you manage to fill it up, slowly but surely, almost effortlessly — with every sound you make, every slight movement, every flicker of an expression on your face. everything seems so effortlessly perfect, in his eyes.

the words leave his lips before his mind can think the thought to reel them back in. 

”what did i do to deserve you…?”

you blink. a moment passes.

then your eyes soften, considerably so, crumbling at the corners like the cookies satoru loves so much. he’s looking at you, eyes soft in a similar sense, layered over with adoration. you think the love inside your chest might crawl out of your throat and eat him alive.

a chuckle of your own drips into the air, quivering slightly. terribly fond. this time, you’re the one who drags his hand up to meet your lips; kissing his knuckle softly. his breath hitches.

”i’m the one who should be saying that to you,” you grin, a little weakly. and you mean it. you don’t think you’ve ever meant anything more. 

it’s so honest that it strikes a cord right down his heart, more heat than the fever can account for rushing to his cheeks. satoru hopes you don’t notice it. all he can do is squeeze your fingers, lightly, not trusting his voice not to break. silence lingers, and you only gaze at him softly. 

”… do you want anything else?” you finally ask, with a tilt of your head. still so eager to assist, racking your brain to come up with anything else to do for him. ”i’ll get it for you, no matter what it is.”

and, truthfully, satoru thinks you’ve done more than enough. more than he could ever make up for. but he’s always been greedy, and there’s one thing, only one thing, one thing he can’t help but ask for. something he craves more than anything. he can’t help but indulge himself, indulge in his selfishness, in the need to feel your skin against his. 

so he stretches his arms out, and looks at you with a distinctly needy glint in his eyes. his fingers move in a grabby motion, almost unconsciously, and he might’ve been embarrassed if he wasn’t still so feverish. all he wants is to keep you close, to make the hollowness inside his chest dissipate. you always make that lonely feeling go away.

needless to say, you heed his request. almost instantly, your heart pumping in a steady rhythm, with this visceral desire to keep him close, to protect him. and who are you to resist, when he’s asking for it himself?

you waste no time crawling beneath the covers, situating yourself right next to your lover. only then do you finally, finally, reach your arms out to pull him close; so close you feel the heat of his skin, the beat of his heart. his cheek meets the softness of your chest, snuggling closer, and you card a hand through his soft locks. his arms reach around your midriff, a perfect puzzle piece, and he releases an audible sigh — deep and satisfied. in his tired, clingy state, he subconsciously throws a leg over yours, trapping you further. 

you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

finally, satoru can fall asleep. with the fever still clouding his senses, and your nimble fingers smoothing along his scalp, the occasional kiss to his head as he listens to your soft heartbeat, he’s drifted off before either of you know it. melting into you, into your warm embrace, cheek squished against your chest. tiny little breaths fall from his lips, and you feel like you’re cradling the whole world in your arms. 

you’re relieved. making yourself comfortable on your back, with satoru sleeping soundly on top of you, hoping he’ll feel better when he wakes up. careful, even with your breathing, intent on letting him sleep. knowing he doesn’t get nearly as much rest as he should, most days. 

before long, even you succumb to the cozy atmosphere, gradually dozing off. satoru is always warm, even more so now, and his weight is comforting.

stifling a yawn, you tug him a little bit closer, allowing your eyes to flutter shut. you could use a day of catching up on lost sleep, too.

when you wake up, you’re acutely aware of something poking your cheek.

it’s a ticklish sensation, sort of irritating, and it rouses you from your cozy slumber. disgruntled, so cruelly ripped away from your sweet dreams — satoru was in it, you think. you feel robbed.

still, you can’t be too mad. not when the real deal is right in front of you, eyes crinkled and full of warmth, a teasing smile on his lips. he’s still snuggled into your chest, all cozy and cute, as you lay on your back, propped up by a myriad of fluffy pillows. he looks up at you adoringly.

”well hello there,” he purrs, shooting a giddy little grin your way. still poking your cheek. ”wakey-wakey, sunshine!”

a series of blinks. you stir a little further, the sleepy haze of your brain beginning to slip off, slowly but surely. it takes a couple of seconds for you to remember why you’re here, what happened before you fell asleep. 

”… hey,” you greet, at last, stifling a yawn and squeezing your eyes shut. stretching lazily, like a sleepy cat. ”how do you feel…?”

”i’m perfect. better than perfect, actually,” satoru chirps, a little cheeky, hoisting himself up so that he’s hovering above you. a hint of mischief in those pretty eyes. ”you’re a good nurse, y’know?”

you huff out a chuckle. as always, his actions reveal more than his words — you could tell he felt a lot better the moment you saw his smile, heard how he formed his words. “alright, that’s good,” you hum, exhaling softly. ”how long was i asleep? what time is it?”

”i woke up just now, too,” satoru lies, albeit a small one. he did wake up recently, only to spend what he thinks must’ve been at least fifteen minutes staring at you until he physically couldn’t take it anymore. he had to hear your voice, see your smile. it’s a personal record for him; usually he spends less time admiring your peaceful expression, far too eager to speak to you.

”it’s pretty late,” he continues, another small lie. pleased with himself. ”way too late for you to go back, actually. how about you spend the night?”

another blink, your eyelids heavy and droopy as they open and close. then you’re reaching for your phone on the nightstand, and checking the time. a smile is quick to bloom on your lips, teasing and bubbly, as you tilt your head to meet his gaze.

”it’s only four, satoru.”

”way, way too late,” he only reaffirms, flopping down on top of you again, keeping you from leaving. ”god knows what kinda creeps are out there at this hour — much too unsafe. i’m just looking out for you, baby.”

”of course,” you indulge him, a sly little roll of your eyes that makes him pout. ”you know i was planning on staying over anyway, right?”

”well, of course! i wouldn’t expect anything less from my favorite nurse.”

his eyes betray his words, gleaming with a sudden colour of excitement, all glitter and relief. a joy that clogs up his throat like seafoam, and spills out from his lips. you look down at him, for a second, unable to resist the temptation — reaching for his forehead with the back of your hand. 

it’s significantly less scalding, now. 

you let out a sigh, laced with relief, one you didn’t know you’d been holding in. ”it really has gone down,” you hum, stretching the sleep from your limbs again. “that’s good.”

satoru huffs. ”i said i was perfect, right? don’t you trust me, my sweet lover?”

”i never know with you,” you give him a huff of your own, exasperated. fond. “you said you were just fine this morning, too.”

”i was!” he whines. piling up lie after lie. “i totally could’ve made it to that date, you know. i got worse because you had no faith in my abilities.”

”right. of course.” you shoot him a lopsided grin. ”you just don’t wanna admit the fever beat your ass, huh?”

”see? no faith.” a chuckle slips from your lips, and satoru has to bite back a smile. ”unbelievable. i fought that fever off just for you, and here you are, laughing at me.”

”oh? i thought it was thanks to my top notch nursing skills?”

”well, that too! but it was mostly me.”

a sigh. “whatever you say.” then you’re smiling, once more, unable to help yourself. eyes crinkled at the edges, soft around the corners. ”i’m just glad you’re better. i was worried.”

satoru pouts, again, but you can tell he acknowledges it — your earnest concern. this is how you love, the both of you, through words that never say it all and actions that say the words your mouths can’t fit. decoding the meaning of it all in silent gestures, glints in your eyes. little truth games.

”you really thought a lil’ fever was gonna be enough to keep me down?” he shakes his head once, then twice. and you know that what he means to say is i never want you to worry. “c’mon, now, baby.”

another lighthearted roll of your eyes. ”yeah, yeah, yeah. my sincerest apologies, my strong, stubborn, totally-not-sick boyfriend.”

”don’t you mean your strong, perfect, beautiful, clever, flawless, totally-not-sick boyfriend?”

”don’t think i didn’t notice you sneaking the stubborn out of there.”

”hehe.”

a silent moment passes, something tender filling up the space between your words. satoru’s weight is still so comforting, like a big blanket, his arms enveloping you as he breathes in your scent. you’re so happy that he’s acting insufferable again.

”alright, my honeybee,” he suddenly chirps, breaking the silence, hoisting himself up. ”time to go. we can still get those crêpes if we hurry.”

you blink. once, then twice.

”… satoru.”

”yeah? what’s up?”

you give him an unimpressed look, gazing up at him, towering over you like he fully thought you’d be alright with letting him leave. ”you’re… not going out today,” you deadpan. “you know that, right?”

this time, he’s the one who blinks. once, then twice.

”huh? why not?”

”uh, because you’re sick, maybe?”

”what?” satoru pretends to be shocked, offended, as if he can’t believe you’d even suggest something so outrageous. ”i’m all better, though!”

you raise an eyebrow, thoroughly displeased. all better? ”your fever isn’t gone, satoru. it’s just not horrible anymore. you’ll get yourself even more sick if you go out now.”

”i won’t! seriously!” he insists, looking down at you with a sorry attempt at puppy dog eyes. ”i feel good enough to run a marathon!”

”you’re not doing that either,” you mutter. then a sigh, exasperated. you can’t let this charade go on for too long. ”come on, satoru — don’t be so stubborn. we can go there another time.”

”but —”

”besides, didn’t you say i have to spend the night because it’s too late to go outside? remember the creeps?” there’s amusement in your voice, a light smile on your lips. ”what if they get us?”

”well, they obviously won’t get you while i’m there,” he huffs. ”what, you don’t think i can protect you properly? you’re hurting me, angel.”

you bite back an incredulous laugh. god, he’s stubborn. you’re so in love with him you just barely restrain the urge to pull him in for a kiss.

”sa-to-ru,” you coo, dragging each syllable out, sending a shiver down his spine. ”we’re not going outside. end of discussion.”

”why not, though?” he continues to pout, still refusing to give in. resorting to cheap guilt-tripping. ”don’t you wanna go on a date with me? you don’t want to see me happy, is that it?”

you only sigh, thoroughly exasperated, reaching up to cup his cheek nonetheless. he nuzzles into it. ”you’re such a baby.”

”your baby.”

another sigh, to mask your adoration. at this rate, the back and forth will never end, so you scramble for solutions.

“can’t we just have our date here?” you suggest, after some contemplation. ”i bought some ice cream on my way here. we could watch a movie, or something. isn’t that enough?”

satoru’s eyes bore into yours. contemplative, as he lets the silence linger, gears turning inside his mind. he wants to go outside with you, wants to hold your hand and hear you hum happily as you bite into your crêpe; wants to steal a bite when you’re not looking.

but it is a tempting offer. you could eat ice cream, and binge a bunch of movies, and he could rest his head in your lap. coax you into playing with his hair.

(he’s maybe, just maybe, a little bit tired, too.)

so, finally, he sighs — softly. in resignation. 

”… well, i guess that’s fine,” he pouts, allowing himself to fall back into your embrace. his voice is muffled, as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. ”i wanted crêpes, though…”

”i’ll get you your crepes,” you assure him, relieved to have reached a compromise. ”i can go buy ’em myself and come back. then we —”

”no, no, no!” satoru suddenly interjects. whining, tugging you closer. ”you’re not going anywhere. not without me!”

a sigh, just as adoring as it is fatigued. ”then i’ll… order crêpes, or something. or we’ll eat ice cream today and then crêpes when you’re better. does that sound okay?”

satoru is silent, for a while.

”… okay,” he hums. ”that’s fine.”

”haah. okay, good —”

”however!” 

you give him a look, a silent what now? that has him smiling. shuffling a little, in your embrace, planting his jaw on top of your chest and gazing up at you with a grin. ”instead of the crêpes, i want a kiss.”

you blink. exasperated, as an amused chuckle follows. ”so convoluted. you can just ask, you know?” you don’t give him time to answer, eager to appease the pouty man. ”whatever.” 

leaning in, you press a chaste kiss to his cheek. sweet and soft. to your surprise, he’s still pouting when you pull away. ”i meant on the lips,” he explains, as if it was obvious. 

a tilt of your head. 

”… but you’re sick.”

”so?” satoru just pouts, expression practically etched into his face at this point. ”you won’t kiss me anymore? just cause i’ve got a tiny, miniscule fever?” he huffs, turning his head to the right and shutting his eyes. ”if you don’t love me anymore, you can just say that.”

another sigh leaves your lips. he’s so ridiculous. you can’t really deny him, though.

”… fine. it’s your fault if i get sick, though.”

in the blink of an eye, he’s perked right back up. wagging his non-existent tail, closing his eyes and waiting for you to try again. silly.

but you relent. his lips are only slightly warmer than usual, and you choose to see it as the good sign it is, proof that his fever truly is starting to dissipate. you feel satoru relax, melting into the kiss, but before it can drag out too long you’ve pulled away. ”— there. happy now?” 

”for now,” he quips, equally teasing. he’s cute, though. a little kiss or two is a small price to pay for the spark of joy in his iris, even if it ends with you sick on your deathbed in a couple of days. 

”that’ll do,” you grin, hoisting yourself up with your elbows, carrying satoru with you, his jaw still on your chest. ”wanna go eat some ice cream, mr unreasonable?”

you don’t really need an answer. of course satoru wants ice cream. you’ve never seen him turn down anything sweet — and, lo and behold, he perks up again, getting into a sitting position. like an excited puppy. 

”got it,” you chuckle, stopping to think for a moment. “there’s soup left, too. but maybe you’d rather order something? it turned out kinda so-so.”

satoru gapes. ”you kidding? that was the best soup i’ve ever had!” 

his exclamation makes you roll your eyes, words so coated in confidence that you almost want to believe him. ”satoru. you don’t have to lie.”

”i’m not!”

”you couldn’t even taste it.”

”i could, i could!” he stubbornly whines. ”i tasted all your love. every single drop!”

you give him a look. he only grins at you, a little teasing, a little giddy. you can’t help but feel a bit embarrassed; averting your gaze with a sharp scoff. ”yeah? and how did my love taste?”

satoru leans forward. it’s sudden, and you blink, instinctively leaning back in turn. he’s wearing a signature smirk when he stops moving, close enough that you feel his breath on your skin. hot.

”delicious,” he purrs, glancing down at your lips. blue eyes gleaming with mirth. ”best thing i’ve ever had.”

you know he’s just trying to fluster you, so you try to fight against it, but it doesn’t work nearly as well as you’d like — crumbling under his gaze, averting your own with a quiet huff. and he lets you off the hook, satisfied with your embarrassed expression. pulling back slightly, letting you breathe. 

as swiftly as you can, you regain your composure. clearing your throat. ”well, you can have more of it later, then,” you make a move to get off the bed. ”let’s go eat ice cream.”

after being caged in by satoru for so long, your limbs are a little stiff, caught under the weight of his boundless love. when your feet hit the soft flooring, you stretch them out, watching satoru follow your lead. still clad in that sweaty shirt.

”you should probably get a change of clothes,” you suggest, exhaling as your muscles loosen up. ”you’ve been wearing that shirt all day.”

”oh? is that an excuse to see me out of it, sweetheart?” satoru grins, fresh mischief gleaming in his eyes. ”you know you can always just ask.” 

you huff out a sardonic breath. ”yeah, yeah, whatever. throw on a hoodie or something, weirdo.” you stifle a giggle when he makes an offended noise behind you. “and some pants.”

”you don’t like the underwear?” he looks towards the corner of the room, studying himself in the mirror. “this is an expensive brand, you know?”

”you’re the only person on planet earth who’d give a fuck about underwear brands,” you scoff, a little snarky. ”just — put some comfortable clothes on, okay? i’ll go get the ice cream ready.”

”wait!” he exclaims, attaching himself to you, curling his arms around your bicep. “you’re not allowed to go anywhere without me, remember?” 

“… okay, okay. hurry up and get changed, then.”

sitting back down on the bed, while satoru walks towards the closet, you scroll through your phone — refusing to meet his expectant stare. he wants you to look over, you’re well aware, just so he can tease you for trying to sneak a peek. you won’t give him the satisfaction.

when he’s done, he’s wearing a comfy hoodie and some sweatpants. it’s a good look on him, casual and cozy. awfully cute. he wastes no time in attaching himself to you, again, an arm linked with yours as you travel to the kitchen; grabbing the pints of ice cream from the freezer, a couple snack bags from the drawers, before plopping down on the couch.

satoru maneuvers you into his lap, and you don’t put up a fight, leaning into him as your back meets his chest. he keeps you locked in place, arms around your waist, planting his jaw on the top of your head. and he relaxes, comforted by your smaller body pressed up against his. holding you so close satisfies a certain protective itch in his brain, never failing to calm him down. a safe haven, of sorts.

you watch the movie and eat the snacks, chattering away, letting the silence linger every now and then. after a while, satoru gets a slight headache, resting his head in your lap and whining for you to soothe him. you do so without any teasing; you’re much too soft for him. and he’s still sick, even if he’s doing better. you couldn’t resist him even if you tried.

so you opt to indulge him.

”baby, i think my fever’s going up again…” satoru pouts, gazing up at you through fluttering lashes. ”can you check?”

you smile, with a raise of your eyebrow. ”this is the fifth time you’ve asked me to check your temperature, toru.”

”just wanna make sure,” he whines. “please?”

with an exaggerated sigh, you lean down, lips once again meeting his forehead — humming against his skin. nope, his temperature hasn’t gone up. just like it hadn’t gone up the last time you checked, or the time before that.

”you’re good.”

”oh, thank god,” he exhales. ”are you sure? like, a hundred percent sure? maybe you should check again. just in case.”

”satoru,” you coo, a teasing lilt on the tip of your tongue. ”you can just ask me if you want a kiss.”

”a kiss? scandalous. i just wanna make sure my condition doesn’t worsen.”

he’s grinning, and you’re rolling your eyes, and both of you know damn well you’re going to indulge him anyway. he sighs in satisfaction when he feels your soft lips on his heated skin.

”hmm…” you narrow your eyes, thoughtfully, before looking down at him with a teasing smile. ”nope. definitely still the same temperature.” 

”you sure?”

”a hundred percent.”

”hmm. okay, got it.” he rolls over, burying his face in your stomach. wrapping his limbs around your midriff. “that’s good. just wanted to check, you know?”

”of course.”

”might need you to check again soon. just to be safe,” he chirps, biting back a soft grin. you don’t bother hiding yours.

”got it, got it,” you coo, fingers carding through his messy hair. “anything for my sick baby.” 

satoru releases a soft breath, bordering on a giggle. you can’t help but let your smile grow wider, heart brimming with affection. you let it clog up your chest until the movie’s almost over, and you simply can’t help yourself anymore.

”your room is very like you.”

it’s sudden, breaking the peaceful silence, making satoru stir. you’re both starting to get sleepy again. but he blinks up at you, studying your expression before parting his lips.

”… oh? how so?”

“well…” you stop to think. humming, absently fidgeting with a lock of your boyfriend’s hair. ”when i first walked in, i thought the whole house felt kind of empty, you know?”

satoru hums. unsure of where the conversation is going, maybe just a little intrigued. he mostly just likes listening to you talk. 

”but then i went into your room, and — it just felt very you. kinda messy, and stuff, but cozy. and a little sentimental.” satoru looks up at you, admiring that certain soft glimmer in your eyes. you meet his stare with a smile. ”maybe it doesn’t make sense? i guess i’ve just been thinking about it.”

he closes his eyes.

there’s something soft in your tone, something silky and simple, and he can tell you’re being sincere. it’s something he likes about you — that willingness to be soft, almost pridefully so, to bare yourself even if you aren’t sure that he’ll return the favour. he likes to think it’s rubbing off on him, slowly but surely; he doesn’t think he’s quite as bad as before. telling you about things that are dear to him isn’t something that scares him, anymore. and even when you see him vulnerable, sick and delirious in bed, he isn’t afraid that you’ll use it against him.

you’re a comfort; his safe haven. a place to rest his weary head. maybe you always have been, even before he really got to know you.

”i like your place more,” he finally admits, lighthearted in its weight. your gaze flits down, but his is still lingering on the tv, not really paying attention to it. ”it feels very… you.”

a smile crawls up to rest against your lips. playing along, your hands finding solace in between his fluffy locks. ”how so?”

and satoru smiles. eyes sparkling with something mellow, like a soda pop cracked open on a boiling summer day. he shifts a little, just to gaze up at you again. ”it’s… homely. warm,” his smile only grows. “and awfully sentimental.”

he lifts a hand up, to touch your cheek. tender, as his thumb smooths against your skin. it’s warm, beneath his touch, heating up with every word he speaks. satoru’s love feels a little like the sun, when it spills out this fervently, like it could burn you into cinders — you think you’d be happy to lie in the ashes. he’s smiling at you, like sunshine, like little dusty specks of light. and he exhales.

”i wouldn’t mind staying there forever.”

the expression on his face is a lovely one. you take a moment to simply bask in it, desperate to etch it into your memory. you don’t think you could forget it even if you tried. how fondly the light of the room embraces him, that soft grin he’s shooting your way, only vaguely teasing. and his eyes, the gateways to his soul, so sincere you can’t look away.

you love this man with your whole chest. you knew before, you’ve known for a long time, but each day you fall in love all over again. it’s all you can think as you look at him, all snug and safe and happy in your lap.

you don’t realize you’ve been staring at him silently until he chuckles, pulling you out of your sentimental stupor. it only flusters you further.

”you’re cute,” satoru croons, still cradling your cheek. tender, soft fingertips against your heated skin. all you manage is a meek little furrow of your brows, but that only makes him chuckle again.

”… you can.”

he blinks. still smiling.

”stay forever, i mean.”

you can’t look at him, when you say it. the words are barely above a whisper, and you aren’t sure if they’re conscious or not. it’d be nice to say they just slipped out, but they feel somewhat deliberate, all the same. you know you mean them, either way. it’s the one thing you’re sure of.

this time, satoru is the one who can do nothing but stare, his expression unreadable. you try not to let your gaze wander to his face, his eyes; but through the peripheral of your vision, you feel like you catch a particular kind of sadness reflected in them. or maybe it’s something closer to yearning, longing. something like that.

”… well,” he finally hums, voice so low you barely pick up on it. ”maybe i will, then.”

you reach something. 

you catch a glimpse of it, at least, for just a second or two. something warm and bare, something simple and incomprehensible at the same time. an emotion so strong it leaves you reeling, yet still so light. it’s there and then it isn’t, just out of reach, and you think that if you could only find the courage to curl your fingers around his, then —

a laugh track plays from the tv, snapping you both out of your thoughts.

(the moment passes before you can fully understand it, fully comprehend it. maybe some part of you already has.)

…

satoru chuckles, reaching for another ball of mochi and popping it into his mouth. ”this movie’s awful, huh?”

”yeah,” you’re quick to agree, maybe a little too quick. grinning weakly. ”it’s good in a so bad it’s good kinda way, though.”

he hums in absentminded agreement, still chewing on the soft treat. keeping his gaze steady on the screen, the flicker of emotional scenes he hasn’t been keeping track of, barely resisting the urge to look up at you again. but his heart already feels a little too mushy for his liking — he’s not sure he could take it.

satoru doesn’t get sick often.

his immune system is strong, there’s no denying that. but more than anything, he simply can’t afford to be sick. there are people who need him, people who depend on him, and the idea of being in such a defenseless state — stuck in bed while the world continues to spin, unattended — makes him feel so anxious he could throw up. even sleeping makes him feel a little skittish, sometimes, though he’s gotten a lot better since he started falling asleep with you in his arms.

it’s funny, he thinks. before you, being sick wasn’t something that really existed in his world. if he felt a little under the weather he would simply puff out his chest and down a painkiller or two, waving it off with a flick of his wrist; no biggie, really. he’s satoru gojo, after all, and the world needs his eyes on it.

but then you came along. you came to his rescue, spring in your pockets, and you took care of him, with what he knows to be love. genuine, earnest concern for his wellbeing. his happiness.

yeah — it’s funny, for sure. satoru never thought he’d ever enjoy being sick. 

yet here he is, head in your lap, feeling you run your fingers through his hair. kissing his forehead whenever he whines, indulging his little convoluted ploys. bringing him soup, when he gets hungry again, soup you made yourself. he wasn’t kidding when he said he tasted your love through it; it was all he could taste, with his numbed out senses, all he could feel.

you’re so good to him. there’s nothing he would trade for these moments with you, absolutely nothing. he’s glad you came over, after all. glad you’re so stubborn, and oh so caring. satoru can’t help but smile, heart almost stuffed to the brim with gratitude — what could he possibly do with this immense love in his chest?

”i love you so much,” he blurts out, practically beaming. now you’re in his lap, again, and he takes the opportunity to smear openmouthed kisses against your neck. delighting in the little squeak you try to muffle.

”where did that come from?” you blink, squirming a little in his embrace. a movie is still playing on the tv screen, one better than the last — your attention was fixed on it before satoru broke the silence.

”just felt like saying it!” he only chirps, grinning ear to ear. ”i love you. you’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he murmurs, earnestly, lips against your skin. ”my whole world.”

for a moment, you wonder if the fever is making him delirious. then again, this is pretty standard for satoru; always eager to fluster you, to shower you with love until you’re pushing him away. it’s overwhelming, but you’ve never minded. this is how you measure his love — little gaps between too much and never enough.

”… you’re not gonna say it back?” comes a whine, right by your ear. now he’s nibbling at your neck, little beast that he is, pouting because you let the silence linger for too long. he’s being such a baby about it. but you still rush to reassure him, echoing his words in earnest. 

”i love you too, satoru,” you smile, slightly exasperated. craning your neck so that your lips can meet his jaw, and satoru grins, giddy at the attention. ”my whole universe.”

satoru lets out a happy little noise, almost a giggle, sleepy and pleased. his arms squeeze you just a little tighter, like you could never be close enough, even when he’s got you in his lap like this. if he could, he’d keep you there all the time. attached at the hip, close as can be. 

even with a ruined date, even after worrying you, he feels well and truly satisfied. because you're here, and you’re watching a good movie, and you’re gonna stay over tonight. when it gets dark out, he’ll get to fall asleep cuddled up beside you, hold you in his arms and feel you nuzzle into his chest. then he’ll pepper your face with kisses to wake you up, and you’ll grumble all sweetly, and he’ll carry you to the kitchen despite your grumpy protests. you’ll eat breakfast together, chatting and enjoying the way the sunlight flickers around the room like a happy cat. maybe he can even make you breakfast himself, to thank you for today. 

if the fever’s gone by then, you’ll probably let him outside. then you can go get those crêpes, and maybe go to a park, or to the movie theatre, or a fun arcade, before heading back to your apartment to relax. and then he’ll stay over. the day after, too. and the day after that.

living together with you wouldn’t be so bad, he thinks. it wouldn’t be bad at all, actually. 

the thought has been on his mind for a while, now. getting to fall asleep with you every night, eat breakfast with you every morning, see more of your footprints in his life… satoru can’t think of anything he’d like more. maybe he’ll start hinting at it, slowly but surely. if he can lure you into broaching the subject, that would be ideal — but if he has to, he doesn’t mind doing it himself. you’re worth the emotional toll.

you curl into your boyfriend a little further, his jaw now resting cheekily on the top of your head, large palms underneath your shirt and rubbing circles into your bare skin. you have no idea what he’s thinking, no idea about his plans, and he thinks that’s for the best. he knows you’ll indulge him, at the end of the day.

maybe he’ll just ask you, tomorrow. if you say no, he can just blame it on the fever making him delirious.

[kodzuken]

i really don’t think we talk enough about how gojo said “if i’m gonna die it’s gonna be the same day as geto did” like what’s even up with that

[madaqueue]

gn!reader - 18+ MDNI (jerk! him! off!)

you love having him like this - milky thighs spread, bare chest glistening under a thin layer of sweat. glossy lips part as your beloved satoru takes in uneven breaths, trying to gain some level of composure.

(not that he needs to, of course.)

because tonight, you get to take your time with him.

tonight, after a lifetime of being strong, he gets to let himself be weak. vulnerable. soft. luxuries the world’s greatest sorcerer are rarely afforded.

“just let go for me, baby,” you coo as you coax another orgasm from him, your palm now sticky with his release. he can’t even get out his usual snappy response, mind still reeling from the way your fingers squeeze around the base of his cock, every nerve in his body focused only on feeling your skin along his.

and he’s especially focused when you pick up your pace shortly after, the sound of your hand pumping his length threatening to overpower his quiet gasps.

“can you cum for me again, ‘toru?”

it’s a simple task - normally, his days are full of complex and often conflicting responsibilities, having to decide between infinite choices that all seem to lead to imperfect outcomes. but this, this he can do. there’s no thinking involved, no decisions to make, just you. and he’d do anything for you.

white hair dances over his eyes as he nods, giving you his best attempt at a smile. he’s accustomed to pushing himself, his body, to its limits, but something about the way you’ve been using him today has him exhausted. his muscles ache, straining as his back arches off the bed. he can barely move his hips enough to fuck himself into your waiting hand.

“there you go, good job, love,” you hum, and everything burns hot, the tips of his ears red and blush creeping down his neck until his entire body is flushed with the way his heart swells. “just lay back and let me take care of you, okay?”

a gentle palm rests along his hip, cool to the touch. he stills. but your hand never does.

there’s that heat in his core that’s getting brighter and brighter with each stroke. he wants to call it love. that’s the only thing that could give off this much light, he thinks, so bright it’s almost blinding. his vision goes white.

he can’t even make out your words, but he thinks they’re some combination of “i love you.” his entire body shakes, sweet whimpers tumbling from his lips as he comes undone.

then, he’s giggling as you press kisses across his skin - over his thighs, up his tummy (especially that one spot by his waist where he’s ticklish), up his neck, his cheeks, his forehead, his eyelashes. he’s still trembling, but he doesn’t feel the need to do anything about it - he’s not forcing himself to get back up after a blow, he’s not brushing rubble from his clothes. instead, he’s pulling you in, the softest thing in his whole world.

because tonight, he’s not ‘the strongest,’ he’s not the world’s greatest sorcerer or the fate of jujutsu society.

tonight, he’s just your satoru.

a/n: quinn tries to write smut after months of only fluff/angst challenge (warning: impossible)

[megumiifushiiguro]

there are gay people i respect

and then there are gay people i DON'T respect

[catopti]

sparring