aali ⭐️

22 - multi fandom writer - satoru gojo truther - FREE PALESTINE

[apricotgojo]

hi, i write little freaked out love stories about fictional people ⋆ 𐙚 ˚.

22/ european/ mdni! / fictional men enthusiast

call me aali! ฅ ฅ

→ masterlist → feel free to ask me/ request anything! → READ RULES BEFORE REQUESTING

recent works:

〃love at first sight - gojo drabble (sfw) 〃getting them hard (nsfw) - jjk multi-character one-shots!

[apricotgojo]

MDNI! 🐟🔞

in which you squirt for the first time and rafayel seems to forget he has h2o mermaid physics.

based on this! <3

the golden lights from the setting sun were shining through the blinds of his studio, hitting your glistening body while you were sprawled out on piles of unwanted sketches.

the papers stuck against your sweaty body, shuffling with every hard thrust you were receiving.

rafayel was situated between your legs, ramming into you while holding one of your legs up to somehow fuck himself impossibly deeper inside of you.

“my beautiful muse,” his voice was low, rough “look at you, cutie, falling apart on my cock”

you could hear the smile in his voice but you couldn’t see it through your teary vision.

he was stressed - artist’s block was irritating him and he was barely sleeping lately.

this was the first time he decided to take his stress out on you, finally giving in to your idea to take his stress out on you instead.

but he’s never fucked you like this - in this angle where you feel his tip abuse your cervix again and again and again.

his eyes were glued to your expressions, to the way you gasped his name and rolled your eyes. he could feel your walls clench around him, milking him.

your whines got louder, your nails dug into his biceps deeper - tell tale signs of your approaching orgasm.

his free hand moved below your stomach and his fingers landed on your sensitive nub - the sensation mixed together making you see fucking stars.

you could feel your orgasm approaching hard and fast - it was like a jolt of electricity suddenly ran through your body.

“R-Raf- hngh!” you breathe heavily, arching your back. “I-I think i’m-“ you couldn’t even finish your sentence because it hit you instantly.

rafayel’s composure was lost. the way your pussy squeezed the life out of him was driving him absolutely insane - and as your orgasm hit, he could see water try to gush out of you.

“oh would ya look at that” he was breathless, eyes wide in almost disbelief.

he pulled his cock out of you, hand still toying with your clit, and with every pulse - you squirted fountains, hitting his lower torso.

“that’s my girl-“ it took him a moment for him to register the fact that he got his lower body wet because of you.

but it was too late.

you opened your eyes again through heavy breaths, absolutely wrecked.

a yelp echoed in the big studio, and this time it wasn’t from you.

in front of you you watched as your boyfriend plopped down on the pile of papers -

big, beautiful tail coming into view, wiggling around.

you propped yourself up on your shaky elbows and you couldn’t help but let out a laugh at the sight in front of you.

he was flopping around like a fish out of water, huffing and swearing under his breath as he tried to get himself used to his tail.

“a little help here cutie.” he put on a strained smile, chuckling nervously.

but you couldn’t stop laughing, clutching your stomach at the sight.

“hey!” he pouts finally managing to hoist himself up. “youre gonna regret laughing when i get my legs back”

you throw your head back in laughter and wipe away stray tears -

i mean how could you not when your boyfriend who was balls deep inside of you a few moments ago has turned into a fish right in front of your very eyes?

[apricotgojo]

{18+} Sins and Transgressions

pairing : zayne x f!reader

summary: a young woman from a plague ridden village seeks out the village physician to cure her of her strange illness - only he realizes that what she has is not an illness at all.

tags: plague era au , innacurate depiction of the 1400's, NSFW, fingering, loss of innocence, taboo desire.

a/n - i’ve been thinking about this for a WHILE

For months she had thought herself on the brink of madness. Something within her stirred in ways she could not name—strange flutters low in her belly, warmth rising into her cheeks, a tightness in her throat, palms damp with sweat. Worse still, she could not stop pressing her thighs together, for the pressure brought a shameful kind of relief that only left her yearning for more.

It was not like any illness she had ever known. The more she tried to dismiss it, the stronger it grew, pulsing between her legs like a secret ailment gnawing at her flesh. When she confessed her fears to the other village women, they recoiled, some crossing themselves, others fleeing as though her words alone might spread contagion. Medicine was scarce, and death too common—fifty souls buried only last month from nothing more than a fevered cough.

What if this was something new? A sickness not yet known to God or man? Would she be the first to perish of it?

Panic took her by the throat, and that night, with a lantern clutched in trembling hands and her cloak drawn high against the biting air, she knocked upon the door of the village physician.

The door cracked open, revealing a sliver of light—and his voice. “Yes?”

Her eyes brimmed with tears. “Forgive me, doctor. I beg you—please, I need your help.”

The door opened fully then, and there stood Doctor Zayne, his figure thrown into relief by the faint glow behind him. He studied her for only a breath before stepping aside, a silent summons to enter.

The heavy wooden door groaned shut behind her. She lowered her hood, damp strands of hair clinging to her cheeks, and turned to him with desperation etched into every line of her face. “Doctor… I am ill. Ill in a way I do not understand.”

He said nothing, only moved past her, lighting a few more lamps until the chamber glowed in warm gold. Shadows danced along shelves of glass phials and bundles of dried herbs, the air tinged with rosemary and smoke. “Sit,” he said gently, gesturing to the cushioned chair.

She obeyed, wringing her hands in her lap, unable to still the quiver in her limbs.

“Tell me your symptoms.” He dragged a stool before her, seating himself close enough that the hem of his coat brushed her skirts. His eyes were steady, the kind of gaze meant to quiet fear.

She told him everything—the fever of her cheeks, the pounding of her heart, the restlessness in her body. His palm pressed cool to her brow, his thumb brushing lightly at her temple as he listened. But when her voice faltered, her face burned hotter still.

“And… between my legs—”

The physician stilled, his hand hovering.

“It feels like… an itch I cannot reach. The more I press my thighs together, the stronger it grows, unbearable. Sometimes, when I do so too long, a… a fluid comes out.” Her voice broke on a sob.

His jaw tightened, his silence weighing heavier than words.

She covered her mouth with trembling fingers, horror widening her eyes. “Tell me, doctor… am I dying?”

At last he cleared his throat, gaze shifting aside as though it pained him to meet her eyes. “No,” he said quietly. “You are not dying.” His voice was lower now, almost hoarse. “Does this affliction seize you often?”

She shook her head. “It has worsened only these past weeks. Most after… after I came here last with my sister.”

Something unreadable passed over his face, his ears tinged red in the lamplight.

“Would you… allow me to try something?” His voice was a whisper now, a priest’s murmur in a confessional.

Her lips parted. She nodded.

He drew closer, the stool scraping against the stone floor. Their faces were only inches apart. “Pardon me,” he murmured. His hand, chilled from the night air, found her thigh.

She startled at the touch, heart hammering. Her breath came shallow, nose wrinkling, eyes widening. “It… it is happening again,” she whispered.

“The feeling between your legs?” His voice fanned against her lips as his fingers traced higher along her skirts.

She nodded frantically, a whimper escaping her.

“I have just the cure,” he said at last, though his hand paused. “But it is not one you will find in any apothecary’s vial.”

“Whatever it takes—” she gasped, desperate. “I only wish to be rid of it.”

A low chuckle slipped from him, the sound dark and knowing. “It is not sickness, my dear.” He leaned closer still, lips brushing her ear, his breath hot against her skin. “When a woman’s body ripens, it is overcome with certain… humors. Needs that must be relieved, lest they trouble her to madness.”

His hand slid past the thin fabric of her nightgown, grazing skin that burned at the touch. “It is the same with beasts in the field and men at war. Nature compels it.”

She trembled, liquid heat pooling between her thighs, the ache mounting until she could hardly bear it. Her legs pressed together instinctively, trapping his hand between them.

Zayne’s lips curved into a wicked smile against her ear. “Ah, but you must not close yourself to me.” His voice dropped, silk and sin. “Part your thighs, sweetheart. It will never leave you otherwise.”

Her body shook as she obeyed, slowly spreading for him.

“Good,” he breathed, his hand sliding higher, finding the proof of her torment already damp against his fingers. “Very good.”

A finger slid between her puffy folds, instantly slick with the heat of her body. She gasped, toes curling within her shoes, a desperate sound spilling from her lips.

By her ear came the doctor’s shuddered breath, betraying his composure for the briefest moment. Her hips lifted of their own accord, greedy for more of him.

“Ah—ah. Patience,” he murmured, voice low, velvet-wrapped command. His fingertip circled her swollen nub, rubbing gently, expertly, drawing sparks of pleasure that made her thighs quiver. “How does this feel?”

A cry tore from her throat, tears brimming hot in her lashes as her head fell back. “So good! Please—please, keep going, doctor,” she begged, her voice breaking with need.

He hummed against her fevered skin, his breath brushing her ear. “You are going to feel a little stretch now. Is that all right, sweetheart?”

Her brows knitted in confusion, breath ragged. “W-what?”

“Just relax for me,” he soothed. His finger slid down her slick core, then pressed inside, pushing past her untried entrance. Her hand flew to his shoulder, clutching at the fabric of his coat as a sharp cry escaped her lips.

The heat of her body gripped him at once, her inner walls clenching tight, as though her very flesh were reluctant to let him go. She had never touched herself before—he could tell by how fiercely she seized him.

“Ahh!” she moaned, thighs twitching to close, but his other hand kept them firmly parted.

“It will ease soon,” he whispered, steady as any prayer. “I promise.” He began to move his finger, slow and deliberate, sliding in and out until the raw sting melted into something else—something that made her hips rise to meet him, her moans softening into broken pleas.

“There now,” he said, a smile ghosting his lips, the kind that made his words more intoxicating than any draught of wine. “I told you it would feel good.”

Her dazed eyes found his.

“We could add another… if you wish.”

She swallowed hard, hesitation lost to the ache that consumed her. “Anything,” she breathed, “anything to rid me of this plague.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Not a plague, my dear. But if it is relief you want…” His hand shifted, and another finger slipped inside her.

She gasped sharply, her body clenching around the intrusion, stretched so full she could scarcely breathe. But then the rhythm began again, his fingers pumping steadily, scissoring her open with a sinful patience. Wetness spilled freely, running down to dampen his wrist, and still he coaxed her deeper into her own undoing.

Her body writhed under his hand, torn between shame and relief. The stretch of his fingers still burned, yet the ache turned swiftly into something more—something that made her cling tighter to his shoulders, hips rising shamelessly to meet the rhythm he set.

“Good girl,” Zayne murmured, his voice thick but steady, the way a priest might soothe a penitent. “See? Your body knows what it needs, even if your mind calls it sickness.”

Her lips parted on a trembling breath. “It… it feels so strange. Yet I want more…”

His lips brushed her temple, his words dripping like honey and sin. “Not strange, my dear. Natural. When the humors boil too hot, they must be released—else they turn to madness.” His pace quickened just a little, curling his fingers until her thighs jerked. “And you burn hotter than most.”

Her cry echoed in the small chamber, her nails digging into the wool of his coat. “Doctor—ahh, it’s too much!”

“Shh,” he hushed, steadying her with his free hand as though she were some fevered patient trembling on the edge of delirium. “It is not too much. It is exactly as it should be. Your body is weeping for release—can you feel how wet you are? How tightly you cling to me?”

Her face flamed, tears slipping from the corners of her eyes. “I-I cannot help it—”

“You must not fight it.” He pressed his mouth to her ear, his voice low, coaxing. “To resist would be the true sin. Nature made you this way. Let me guide you.”

His fingers moved faster now, scissoring, curling, pressing into some hidden place within her that made her sob aloud. Her legs quivered, straining to close, but he held her open with clinical precision, determined and merciless.

“You see?” he murmured, his breath hot against her skin. “Already your body opens for me, drawing me deeper. This is no plague, no curse—it is the proof you are alive.”

Her vision blurred, every nerve alight with fire. Her hips chased him now without shame, the shame drowned by need. “Doctor, I… I feel as if I will break—”

“You will not break.” His tone turned sharp, commanding, even as his thumb found her swollen nub again and pressed. “You will yield.”

Her scream tore free, raw and unrestrained, her body clamping down around his fingers as wave after wave of release wracked her. She shook violently, tears streaking down her flushed cheeks, her thighs shuddering against his firm grip.

Zayne did not relent until her body softened against him, collapsing into his chest, her breath ragged as though she had weathered some fever. Only then did he draw his hand away, slick and shining in the dim lamp-light.

She sagged against him, lips trembling. “W-what… what was that?”

He cradled her cheek in his clean hand, brushing away her tears with a physician’s tenderness—and a sinner’s smile. “The cure, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Not of sickness… but of ignorance.”

[apricotgojo]

random hc where rafayel has h2o mermaid physics and every time he makes u squirt he just turns into a fucking mermaid in front of you

[apricotgojo]

just saying im currently writing a drabble on this ….

[apricotgojo]

do y’all think caleb twirls his necklace in his hand while he’s jorking it too?

[apricotgojo]

random hc where rafayel has h2o mermaid physics and every time he makes u squirt he just turns into a fucking mermaid in front of you

[apricotgojo]

just a hc that mc likes to use the “i have cold hands” excuse on caleb just so he can let her put her hands down his pants. it never really started as something sexual but you cant blame him for getting instantly hard the moment he feels her cold hand through his boxers.

especially with the way her hand rested oh so innocently on his upper thigh. her focus was always on whatever they were watching on the screen and his was focused on how if her hand moved a fraction she could feel just how pathetically hard he’s gotten

and the funniest thing was that he wanted her to move her hand. wanted to see her reaction. wanted her to catch the way his body reacted. but every time she does it she just rests her hand there - while a knowing ghost of a smirk curls at the corner of her lips

and hes just there staring down at her hand in his pants - jaw clenched and his poor cock practically leaking through the fabric.

[apricotgojo]

I WANNA MAKE MORE MOOTS SO FOLLOW ME ON TWITTER!

[apricotgojo]

ts sent me into ovulation

[apricotgojo]

i’ve fallen deep into the love and deepspace rabbit hole and unfortunately i cant come out and refuse to even

[apricotgojo]

although i'm an absolute sucker for the nerdjo agenda - i do strongly believe that canon gojo gives me popular jock who's also top of his class vibes that i can not ignore.

[apricotgojo]

yutamaki officially canon and theres no doubt in my mind that yuta was the one carrying their children

[apricotgojo]

hi!! i’ve had this thing rotting in my head as a writer myself, but i just don’t think i could do the idea justice

this idea stemmed from like a month ago when i saw this tiktok

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT6s1jTGr/

and it made me so sad!! like poor toru he needs someone to love too man </3

that’s why i was thinking of something like gojo becoming like very depressed and lonely, until reader comes along and fills the void in his heart. like she’s exactly what he needs. doesn’t even have to romantic i just want my sweet boy to have someone 🥹

thank you so much!!

a/n - anon-chan, thank you for requesting this! i think about the fact that gojo is alone probably like five times a day so you've given me the opportunity to make him less lonely in another universe. ugh i love him.

it crept up slow on him.

that feeling.

the one that gnawed at him late at night when the house was too quiet, when the grandfather clock was too loud, when his body ached but there was no one to notice. the feeling of having no one to depend on. no one to casually call for coffee. no one who ever asked him the mundane things—how are you, how was your day, what’s your favorite color.

satoru gojo had everything. money, capability, titles, strength, power. but he also had no one.

sure, there were people around him—students, colleagues, acquaintances who bowed when he walked into a room. but never a person. never someone he could come home to. never someone who gave him a reason to want to go home in the first place.

the titles chained him—strongest, unkillable, honored one. they were supposed to flatter him, but all they did was remind him of the expectation that he could never falter. never fail. never be human.

he tried distracting himself. arcades, record shops, little cafés tucked away in quiet streets. but everywhere he looked, the world mocked him with togetherness. couples leaning over plates of crepes, friends arguing playfully over vinyl records, children tugging on their parents’ hands with ice cream dripping down their wrists.

he always walked home alone. always left with nothing but his shadow.

eventually, he stopped going out altogether. easier not to look at what he couldn’t have. but ignoring the loneliness didn’t kill it—it only grew sharper.

so one night, restless, he let his feet wander. hands stuffed in his pockets, white hair catching the glow of neon signs as the city bled colors across him. no real destination, just the ache of needing to move, to escape the suffocating silence of his home.

and then—warmth.

the glow of a small bakery he frequented, light spilling onto the pavement. the faint scent of sugar and strawberries carried on the night air.

he might’ve kept walking, but something tugged at him. so he turned. and immediately regretted it.

because the first thing he did was slam straight into the glass door.

“ow—” he muttered, hand flying up to his forehead.

inside, you froze, then burst into laughter, rushing to the door. “oh my god—are you okay?”

satoru straightened, dignity in tatters, flashing you a grin like it hadn’t hurt at all. “yeah, yeah. door came outta nowhere. pretty aggressive door you’ve got here.”

you raised a brow, biting back another laugh. “doors usually don’t attack people. maybe you should watch where you’re going.”

he chuckled, a little sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck. “fair point. maybe i was distracted by the smell of sugar. or maybe—” his gaze flicked to you, eyes glinting— “by the view.”

you rolled your eyes but your smile betrayed you. "smooth. come in before you freeze out there."

he could feel your gaze on his face as he stepped inside.

"it's you." you state, a small smile on your face.

he blinked, furrowing his brows. “what do you mean ‘it’s me?’”

your cheeks flushed pink, confidence folding into something shy. “i—well—” you rubbed the back of your neck, stuttering. “i’ve seen you around a lot. you always leave before my shift starts, so i never got the chance to talk to you.”

you wanted to talk to him? why?

his confusion must’ve been obvious, because you laughed nervously. “my parents usually serve you. they say you tip really well and… i just wanted to say thank you. for supporting our shop.”

gratitude. directed at him. it had been so long since anyone had looked at him that way.

he cleared his throat, heat creeping up his neck. “they’ve got good pastries,” he muttered, offering a small smile. your eyes sparkled when you looked up at him.

“thank you.” you gave him a little bow. “now… what can i get for you, mr…?”

“gojo. satoru gojo.” his name fell like an introduction, not a title. “and i’ll take the strawberry cheesecake.”

your lips curved down into the most dramatic little pout. “you mean… the last slice?” you pointed sadly through the glass.

his eyebrow quirked. “uh, yeah. it’s got a strawberry on it, so i’m guessing that’s strawberry cheesecake.”

you bit your lip, gaze lingering on it. “are you sure you want that one? the matcha cheesecake’s just as good.”

he smirked, amused. “nah. strawberry. unless there’s a problem with it?”

“no! no problem,” you rushed, then hesitated, voice dropping quieter. “i was… kind of saving it for after my shift. i’ve been looking forward to it all day.”

he watched you fidget, the way your shoulders curled as you slid the glass door open. “but… customers come first.”

something in his chest clenched. you looked so soft, so human, standing there torn between duty and desire.

he clicked his tongue, sighing. “fine. you can have the last slice.”

your eyes widened, a smile tugging at your lips. “really?” you gasped, then caught yourself, glancing at him. “but—you looked like you really wanted it too.” your voice softened, almost tentative. “unless… you’re not opposed to sharing?”

a smile curled at your lips. hopeful. inviting.

and for the first time in a long while, satoru gojo felt that ache in his chest loosen.

he sat at a table, still feeling a little dumbfounded.

you moved with an ease that unsettled him—untied your apron, brought over two mugs of hot chocolate topped with whipped cream, and the last slice of strawberry cheesecake on a tray. two forks placed neatly beside it.

“this is like… a little routine of mine,” you admitted sheepishly, curling your hands around your mug. “you should take the first bite of the cheesecake.”

he arched a brow, smirking. “you’re not just saying that because you poisoned it, right?”

you chuckled, sipping your drink. “only one way to find out.”

he dug in dramatically, eyes rolling back as he slumped in his chair. “mmm. that’s actual crack.”

“it was served with love!” you wiggled a finger at him.

“oh, so you love me already? i’m starting to think you’re some kind of stalker.”

your cheeks flared as you clicked your tongue. “i serve all my treats with love. you’re nothing special.”

but to him, you were.

he found himself watching you more than the food—your little expressions, the way you hummed when you tasted something sweet, how you didn’t shrink back from his teasing. you weren’t intimidated by him. you didn’t treat him like the strongest, the honored one. you just… treated him like a person.

“so,” you said softly, “tell me about your day, mr. gojo.”

and for the first time, the chair across from him wasn’t empty.

from that night on, he came back. again and again.

the bell above your door became his favorite sound. even when there were plenty of strawberry cheesecakes on display, he always shared one with you.

he told you about the mundane. his favorite color. the weird dream he had. the kind of things no one had ever asked him.

and slowly, he realized he had a reason to get out of bed in the morning. a reason to keep going through the chaos of his days.

you.

until one night, he didn’t come.

you waited, longer than you should’ve. watched the clock tick closer to closing. packed up the cakes. your gaze lingered on the strawberry cheesecake.

your lips pressed together. he had told you where he lived, once.

maybe—just maybe.

with your heart in your throat, you packed the slice and locked up, walking to his place.

the house was massive, intimidating, just like him. you knocked, nerves buzzing, but there was no answer. you sighed, ready to leave, when you heard your name.

“what… what are you doing here?”

you turned—and froze.

he stood there, battered and bruised. shirt torn, blood streaking his face, hair a mess.

“satoru—” you rushed forward, eyes scanning him. “what happened?”

he winced, trying to straighten. “i got, uh… attacked. by a… duck.”

you gave him the flattest look imaginable. “really.”

“big duck. vicious.”

you clicked your tongue. “you don’t have to tell me. but you’re not standing out here bleeding.”

you helped him inside, his arm draped over your shoulder. he hissed with every step, fumbling for his keys. finally, he slumped onto the couch, forcing a grin. “look, i’ll be fine. you don’t have to—”

“satoru.” your voice was firm, cutting through his façade. “let me take care of you.”

he blinked at you, something unsteady flickering in his chest.

you returned with warm water, a cloth, the little first aid kit you carried for emergencies. your hands were gentle but steady as you cleaned his wounds. he tried to joke—about how bad he must look, about how you’d probably seen worse—but his voice kept faltering. because the way you touched him was soft. tender. like he wasn’t just the strongest, but someone worth caring for.

and when your hand brushed his cheek, lingering just a second too long, he realized his heart was racing.

you cleared your throat and averted eye contact with him, your cheeks heating up. it was unfair - how beautiful he looked even in the state he was in.

"you should be fine if you don't move-" you felt his hand curl gently around your wrist, stopping you from getting up.

his adams apple bobbed in his throat as he stared at you, baby blues twinkling.

"thank you." he breathes out - in a tone you've never quite heard from him.

your lips part as you lock eyes with him, encaptured by him. his grip on your wrist moves to your cheek, his finger brushing over gently - like you were made of porcelain.

“satoru…” you whispered.

his walls crumbled. he leaned forward, hesitant at first, as though asking permission. and when your lips finally met his, soft and trembling, it felt like the answer to a question he hadn’t dared to voice.

the kiss was gentle, almost uncertain—like he wasn’t used to giving something of himself away. his lips brushed against yours with a kind of carefulness that felt foreign on him, like he was terrified you’d vanish if he pressed too hard. clumsy. sweet. hesitant. the kiss tasted faintly of strawberries and chocolate, but it carried something heavier—trust. safety. warmth.

when he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, breath warm and uneven.

“wow,” he murmured, lips quirking. “you taste better than cheesecake.”

you let out a startled laugh, smacking his shoulder lightly. “you’re ridiculous.”

“ridiculously handsome? ridiculously charming? ridiculously injured in my own living room?” he grinned, dimples deepening despite the bruises.

you shook your head, biting back a smile. “more like ridiculously lucky i don’t just leave you here to fend for yourself.”

he leaned back just enough to look at you, blue eyes soft but teasing. “mm, you wouldn’t. you love me. remember? you said so. served with love, right?”

your cheeks burned. “i was talking about the cake, not you.”

“same thing,” he said smugly, closing his eyes like he’d won some great victory. “we’re both sweet. and irresistible.”

you rolled your eyes, but your hand lingered against his jaw, thumb brushing gently over his skin. “you’re insufferable.”

“and kissable,” he replied, grin wide.

soft laughter, teasing, quiet comfort stretched between you. for the first time, his house didn’t feel empty.

and in that quiet, glowing light, he realized— he had someone to make cookies with on christmas eve. someone to share crepes with, to talk to after a movie. someone to enjoy doing laundry with, to spend lazy sunday mornings under the sheets. a face he could close his eyes on and see again in the morning. someone he pictured carrying his child—a product of their love. someone he could grow old and brittle with.

satoru gojo finally had someone.

ᯓ★

divider by @ithemes !! want to send in your own request? ★ ★ read the RULES first ★ and then click the 'feed my hyperfixations!' tab in the bio. kisses <3 -aali .ᐟ

[apricotgojo]

how it feels waking up knowing jjk season 3 trailer is actually out and it wasn’t a fever dream

[apricotgojo]

in my brain suguru geto canonically has an eyebrow piercing

[nanamisgirly]

⊹₊。꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ tongue tongue tongue tongue ˖ 𑣲 comments and reblogs are always appreciated ma girliiies <333

SERIES

virgin!nerdjo was one second away from cummin' in his stupid pokémon boxer. 

because not only was his baddie of a girlfriend grinding down on him, but you were also peppering his neck with kisses—lipstick smeared across his throat, jaw, cheeks. everywhere but his lips. 

virgin!nerdjo's hands were clenching sooo hard on his bedsheet they could rip. his breathing was ragged while your hands framed his flushed face and your mouth wander. he was pathetically whimpering from the wet sounds your mouth was making and your full weight curshing down on top of his thighs.

when you finally pulled back, just inches away, his watery blue eyes blinked up at you. his cheeks burned pink, the tips of his ears glowing just as hot.

“can i kiss you?” you whisper. the corner of your mouth curved upward as he nods fast enough to cause him whiplash—his knuckles had gone bone-white from gripping the sheets.

“you gotta put your hands on me, pretty boy.” you coo the words, guiding his larger hands up your thighs until his long fingers brushed the swell of your ass. 

virgin!nerdjo is only good at breathing shakily, screwing his eyes shut, lips pressed together.

and as you lean in to press a gentle kiss on his soft lip he instantly moans. at first, you keep it soft, testing. then, as his grip on your hips tighten, you tilt your head and catch his bottom lip between yours.

your tongue dart out, slicking across the fullness of his mouth—

and he jolts back.

virgin!nerdjo hiccuped, lashes fluttering open. you tilt your head at him, brows lifting.

“i—i didn’t…” his voice cracked, ragged with nerves. “i wasn’t—! i wasn't ready for.. for tongue! i mean, i’ve never—”

his words broke off when your thumb brushed his bottom lip, easing his mouth open. you pushed your body flush against his, your chest pressed to his throat, and his breath hitched audibly.

“that's fine, just follow me. ‘kay?” you breathed, not giving him a chance to answer. your fingers slid into his fresh undercut, tugging and angling his head just right for you to crash against his sweet mouth—eager to taste more of him on your tongue.

he gasps right into the kiss, the sound high and shaky. his lips move clumsily under yours, uncoordinated—but fuck, was it good.

when you slipped your tongue past his parted lips, he let our the most pathetic little mmph! and squirmed, thighs twitching beneath you. his hands, still on your ass, flexed nervously.

you yanked him closer by his hair, tongue sweeping deeper, tasting all of him. his lips were smooth, spit slick between you, and every time you sucked his bottom lip into your mouth he gave this tiny squeak that shot straight to your core.

“nnh—ah, w-wait—” he tried to pull back again, white lashes fluttering widely. 

but you just murmured against his lips, “shhh, you're doing so good, 'toru.” and the nickname made him shiver, his cock twitching violently against his pants.

he was wrecked.

lips swollen and glistening with spit, eyes helpless totally at your mercy.

you smirked, brushing your thumb across the damp curve of his bottom lip again—smearing your lipstick all over. “kiss me back like that, pretty boy.”

he swallowed hard, throat bobbing against your chest. then, mustering every drop of courage, he leaned forward and kissed you—messy, so sloppy, but eager.

you couldn’t help but laugh against his mouth, half-melted by how bad but sweet virgin!nerdjo was at it.

♡*´꒳`* 🏷️ @ethereal-moonlit @idkidk32 @nanamisss @arletteluna @imjusttryingman @k3ytoheav3n @melancholicreaper @luvvmae @smultronsalle @captaineelliee @sultrycarrie @arminsbbymami (to be added : comment here !)

[apricotgojo]

first time requesting kinda nervous... (⁠˘⁠･⁠_⁠･⁠˘⁠)

Haii!! could i request timeskip!haikyuu boys' (specifically Osamu, Kuroo or Kita) fav position/where they like to come undone?? (with f!reader if that's okay)

hope you're having a great day ♡⁠˖⁠꒰⁠ᵕ⁠༚⁠ᵕ⁠⑅⁠꒱

18+ MDNI

characters: post timeskip ! kuroo, osamu, kita (seperate) & fave position /what makes them come undone ;) a/n - hihihi pretty! (❁´◡`❁) thanks for trusting me to be your first <3 i havent written for the haikyuu boys in a hot minute so this was a treat teehee - i got really into this ngl so much so that i wrote a one-shot for all of them oopsie! enjoy!

KUROO:

anything with a mirror !

he never really appreciated the full-length mirror in his bedroom until he started dating you.

the first time he caught a glimpse of you in it, he had you face down, ass up, taking him so fucking good. he was sliding in slow, tongue poking out in concentration as he watched your pretty pussy stretch around his cock.

he bottomed out with a groan, chest heaving— but when his eyes flicked to the mirror, when he actually saw you—he nearly lost it.

your eyes were screwed shut, lips parted with drool trailing down your chin, nose crinkling from the sweet ache of being so full. little whimpers spilled out of your bitten lips, your back curved just right, ass pressed back into his hips—

he came embarrassingly fast. like, five strokes fast. (you never let him live that down.)

after that, the mirror wasn’t just furniture. it was ritual. it was necessity. it was his.

kuroo never lets himself finish before he’s wrecked you, wrung you out completely—your voice hoarse from moaning, your thighs trembling. that’s when he pulls you into his lap, sits you down pretty in front of the mirror.

"mmm, look at you," he breathes, lips brushing your ear. one big hand cups your jaw, forcing your dazed gaze to meet your reflection. you—pouty, messy, flushed—so, so fuckable.

his other hand trails between your legs, and you spread them for him without even thinking. your cunt is glistening in the low light, and he groans like it’s the first time he’s ever seen it. two fingers sink inside with no resistance, his pace quick and steady, scissoring you open while you whine and paw at his cock pressed hot against your back.

"you want it, baby?" he murmurs, fingers curling just right, making you jolt. "you gonna watch me fuck this pretty little pussy, hm?"

when he pulls his fingers out, you whimper at the emptiness—only for him to tap his cock against your swollen clit. the sharp jolts make you yelp out broken little "ah, ah, ah!" noises, and he chuckles darkly at your reflection.

then he’s lifting you, guiding you down slowly, so slowly onto his cock.

your mouth falls open—his too—as both of you watch the stretch in the mirror, your pussy swallowing him inch by inch until he’s buried to the hilt.

you throw your head back onto his shoulder, whimpering, and he peppers sloppy kisses to your temple, your cheek, your nose.

"thaaat’s it," he groans, eyes glued to the mirror. "my pretty angel."

his grip on your thighs is bruising as he starts thrusting up into you, cock slamming deep, the fat tip bullying your sweet spot again and again.

and this time—this time—he keeps one hand clamped on your jaw, making you watch yourself come undone, while the other slides down to your clit, circling it in tight little circles that have your whole body twitching.

your face in the mirror—your parted lips, your glassy eyes, the tear slipping down your cheek— he swears it’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

"fuck, baby—look at that face—" he groans, black hair sticking to his forehead as he bounces you on his cock, sweat dripping down his chest. "you’re so fucking beautiful when you cry on my cock—"

your voice is breaking, words slurred. "t-tetsu—holy sh—shit—"

"yeah, that’s it, angel," he grunts against your neck, fingers rubbing your clit harder, faster. "fuck yourself down on me, show me how bad you need it—"

your tits are bouncing with every thrust, your pussy fluttering wildly around him, and he’s babbling now—"babybabybaby—fuck, this pussy’s mine—‘s made for me, angel, ohhh fuuuuck—"

he’s staring at your reflection, at your ruined little face, and it pushes him over the edge.

"oh my god—" he chokes, head falling back, giving you one last brutal thrust before spilling hot inside you, moaning your name like a prayer.

he fucks you through it, hips stuttering, before finally pulling out with a shaky groan. his cum spills out of you immediately, running down your thighs in thick, messy streaks.

you collapse against his chest, trembling, and he doesn’t let you move—big hands holding you steady, grounding you. his forehead presses to the side of your head, both of you breathing heavy, sweat cooling on your skin.

"baby," he murmurs, voice low and wrecked, "you did so good for me. my pretty girl."

he tilts your jaw gently toward the mirror again, but this time there’s no teasing in it. just a soft kind of awe.

"look," he whispers, lips brushing your hairline. "look how beautiful you are like this. my angel."

your reflection stares back: hair wild, cheeks flushed, lashes damp with tears, lips kiss-swollen. you can’t even believe it’s you, not when you look so completely undone in his arms.

kuroo presses tender kisses to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. "i could stay like this forever," he says between each kiss, voice husky but soft. "holding you. keeping you all to myself."

his hand strokes down your thigh, slow and soothing this time, and he hugs you tighter against his chest.

then, with a lazy grin curling at the edges of his mouth, he murmurs against your skin—warm, almost fond:

"but you know me, angel… one round is never enough."

OSAMU

mating press !

osamu craves the feeling of your skin like it’s oxygen. he’s addicted to it—the heat radiating off you, the way you’re always soft and warm under his hands. he loves the press of your body against his, loves being surrounded by your scent, would sell his soul to be wrapped up in it forever.

but especially when he’s inside you—god, nothing compares. no matter how deep he sinks, no matter how tight he holds you, it never feels close enough. he could bury himself in you for hours and still ache for more.

he gets drunk off of you. off your face when you fall apart for him, off the way your cunt flutters and grips him like you’ll never let him go, off your sweet little moans that spill out every time he slams into your g-spot.

his pupils are blown, lips swollen, hair a mess—he’s looking at you like the world might collapse if he even thinks about stopping.

you gasp when his hands clamp around the backs of your thighs. "s-samu, what are you—ah!" the question cuts off in a cry when he shoves your knees to your chest, folding you in half, pressing you into the filthiest mating press. the angle makes you see stars.

"need more," his voice is gravel, broken. osamu’s gone. "you can take it, baby. hm?" his hips roll forward, testing, and you claw desperately at his chest, your back arching off the sheets.

"s-s’too much—fuck, please—"

but then he sees your face. your teary eyes, your swollen lips, your chest squeezed against your knees. so needy, so pretty. and the last shred of control inside him shatters.

"shhh." he hushes your pleas, mouth pressing to yours, kissing you sloppily as his thrusts pick up pace. "wanna fuck you like this forever," he mumbles against your lips, breath mixing with your broken moans.

your pussy is soaking him, clenching so tight it feels like you’re trying to pull him deeper.

"god, you’re perfect," he groans, head dropping so his tongue can lick up the sweat-slick column of your throat, moaning at the taste of your salty skin.

the room is filled with the sound of wet skin slapping, your cries melting with his ragged groans. his abs flex with each brutal snap of his hips, and when he looks down at you—at your wrecked little face, your trembling body—his brows knot.

and then your quiet, stoic man breaks. he throws his head back, lets out a guttural moan that sounds ripped from his chest.

"fuck—baby, your pussy’s squeezin’ the fuckin’ life outta me—"

you’ve never heard him this loud, this desperate. osamu, who’s always so calm, so precise, is fucking you like he’s breeding you, like he’ll die if he doesn’t fill you.

the sight of him like this—sweaty, messy, lost in you—tips you over the edge. you scream his name as you cum around his cock, back arching off the sheets as your body writhes in bliss.

"oh, fuck—" his voice cracks, hips pounding through your orgasm. his eyes are locked on your face, watching you cry and twitch on his cock, and he sounds pathetic when he begs, "can i cum inside, baby? please—"

"y-yes!" you cry out, nails raking down his back.

his whole expression crumbles—wide eyes, lips parting with a choked groan—and then he’s grabbing your ass, slamming in even deeper. his face buries in the crook of your neck as his cock pulses, spilling hot inside of you, his body trembling as he moans your name into your skin.

he stays there, cock buried, panting like he just ran a marathon in the dead of summer. his arms keep you folded tight against him, refusing to let go.

eventually, his head lifts, sweat dripping down his temple. he presses his forehead to yours, eyes closed, lips brushing soft breaths over your mouth.

"my pretty girl," he whispers, voice hoarse. "you wreck me."

you give him a shaky little smile, kissing the tip of his nose.

"didn’t know you could be so loud, ‘samu," you tease, your voice a giggle.

he pouts instantly, cheeks flushed, and grumbles under his breath: "…shut up."

KITA

cowgirl !

there’s nothing in the world shinsuke kita loves more than you. he adores you. would do anything for you without hesitation.

he loves taking care of you—especially when it’s just the two of you like this. kissing every inch of your skin, asking if you’re okay when your face twists in that mix of pleasure and pain, praising you softly, holding your hand while he fucks you slow and deep, like it’s the last time he’ll ever have the chance.

you’re always beautiful, but nothing could’ve prepared him for the way you look when you’re on top of him. riding him, using his cock like it’s yours to ruin—like he’s just your toy.

he looks up at you, eyes wide and hazy, lips parted as you sink down on him. his fingers dig into your hips as his cock disappears inside your tight heat, and his breath stutters.

"good girl," he whispers—more to himself than you. he doesn’t move yet. he waits, patient, until you’ve adjusted, his chest rising and falling with shaky breaths.

you look down at him with just as much love, your eyes soft, your lips curling as you roll your hips slowly. "does this feel good, baby?" you murmur, voice barely above a whisper.

he nods instantly, eyes fluttering shut before snapping back open so he can watch. "y-yeah," he breathes, watching your pussy drag up and down his throbbing cock.

"look so pretty like this, my girl," he says softly, knuckles brushing down your back, his voice broken with want. little grunts escape him with every grind of your hips. "keep using me, yeah? keep using my cock, sweetheart."

you mewl at his words, throwing your head back as you move harder, faster, the coarse hair of his happy trail rubbing perfectly against your clit with every roll of your hips.

"shit—" he hisses through his teeth when he feels your cunt clench down around him, tighter, hungrier.

his hand settles at the small of your back, grounding you, while his other arm falls across his forehead, lips parting in pure bliss. "good girl. my good fucking girl. f-fuck, just like that," he groans, watching the way your tits bounce with each movement.

your pace doesn’t falter, even as your little whines get more frantic, spilling from your lips like music to his ears.

"shin, i-i’m close—" you gasp, your hands pressing against his slick chest for balance.

his hazel eyes snap back to yours instantly, his hips giving the tiniest thrusts up into you to help. "yeah, baby? you wanna cum?" his hand snakes between your thighs, thumb finding your clit without hesitation, rubbing tight circles that make your whole body jolt.

"wanna cum with you," he whispers, voice wrecked, sitting up so your foreheads touch, breaths mingling, eyes locked.

you moan in perfect sync, his lips crashing into yours just as his hips snap up into you, and the sound you let out is muffled into his kiss.

"cum for me, pretty girl," he breathes against your mouth, biting your bottom lip gently.

you fall apart together, trembling and moaning into each other’s mouths, his strong arms locking around your body to keep you flush against him. he fucks you through it, holding you close, refusing to let you go.

and even when the high ebbs, when your body shudders weakly against his, kita doesn’t stop touching you. his hands rub slow circles into your back, down your thighs, grounding you as if he’s reminding you he’s here, you’re safe, you’re his.

"that’s it, sweetheart. you’re okay. you did so good for me," he whispers, forehead pressed against yours, voice warm and trembling. "my perfect girl."

he peppers soft, lingering kisses across your face—your forehead, your cheeks, the bridge of your nose—before pulling you even closer against his chest. his cock still sits deep inside you, and he makes no move to pull out.

"let me stay here a little longer," he breathes, voice quiet and earnest. "wanna feel you, wanna keep you close."

your lashes are wet when you look at him, lips wobbling into the softest smile. "shin…"

he hushes you gently, thumb brushing away the dampness at the corner of your eye. "shh. i got you, baby. i’ve always got you."

his lips find yours again—slow, tender, worshipful—before he rests his head against yours, eyes closed in contentment.

"i love you so much," he murmurs, every word dripping with devotion, like it’s the only truth he knows.

your voice is quiet but steady as you whisper back, brushing your nose against his: "i love you too, shin. always."

ᯓ★

want to send in your own request? ★ ★ read the RULES first ★ and then click the 'feed my hyperfixations!' tab in the bio. kisses <3 -aali .ᐟ