The lights are out in the house, and you’re settled down into bed beside him when Gojo asks you why you’re there.
“What?” you return, your words coming out more as a laugh than a question.
He shrugs — the sheets crinkle when he does so you know. “Don’t laugh at me! It’s not a dumb question.”
You sigh, rolling over and resting a hand on his chest, shutting your eyes and nestling down into the comfort you were in before he started his session of sharing the obvious late night thoughts that one normally keeps to themselves.
“Go to sleep, ‘Toru.”
“Are you seriously ignoring me?”
“Mm, no,”
“You’re not answering my question,” he challenges.
“I don’t answer stupid questions, Satoru, go to bed.”
He grunts to himself, looking up at the ceiling as the hand that still rests on his chest burns through the cotton of his t-shirt. The room is quiet, but never quiet enough to make him forget where you are, where your breaths lie.
This time, he turns his head to look at you straight, his hand taking yours and playing with your fingers in the air idly like you're not trying to go to sleep.
You give up.
Opening your eyes, you tilt your head up with a sigh, looking him so dead in the eye that it almost stings.
“Hi, Satoru,” you say, voice a lot more passive than it is tired. “If you ask me that question again—“
“I won’t if you just answer,” he taunts, but you can tell there’s more behind whatever joking tone he puts on.
You scoff; your smile gives you away. “What do you mean ‘why are you here’?”
“Simple question, really.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” you groan, rubbing your eyes as you sit up. “Maybe it’s because of this?” you answer, holding out your left hand, wiggling your fingers so he can watch how your ring glimmers in the moonlight that sneaks past the curtains.
Satoru cracks a smile. “Ooh, so you love me for my money?”
“Why else?”
You both snicker; you rest your head on his shoulder.
“Why are you asking me this, Satoru?” you say in something just above a whisper, taking his hand and placing it in yours, smoothing a thumb over his pulse. Still loud, still strong — he and his heart are very much alike. It’s why you wonder how he’s so quiet, now.
He takes a deep breath, shaking his head like he knows he sounds funny. “I dunno. Just seems wild, doesn’t it?”
“Define ‘wild.’ Because wild in terms of Satoru Gojo likely outdoes my definition by a mile.”
He doesn’t hide his grin, because he knows that you don’t deserve people hiding their happiness from you.
“I’m a little fucked for someone like you, aren’t I? Messy."
“I have your lastname now, isn’t it a bit late to think about that?
“Technically, you can always give it back.”
“Over my dead body, weirdo.”
Gojo cracks a small smile as you press a kiss to his cheek, the warmth of your lips lingering on his cheek even after you’ve left. It sears the inside of his mouth in the best way.
He tilts his head, running a hand through your hair, catching his finger in a twirl of it. “I’m hard to deal with, no?”
You hum, looking around your bedroom. “Sometimes. Not always.”
“That’s a lie.”
“Not completely.”
Gojo snorts a laugh. “Hard to live with?”
“Also sometimes, never always.”
“Hard to love?”
“Always never,” you answer without hesitation, yawning as you lay against his chest. "Never sometimes."
Gojo closes his eyes, smiles to himself — even though he knows you can’t see. His head leans back against the wooden headboard of your bed.
“Okay.”
“So we’ve agreed that you’re being dumb?”
“I—well, I never agreed to that,”
“Good!” you say anyway, tugging his shirt until he laughs and sinks back down into bed. “Now stop acting like it’s a task to love you, okay? It’s not.”
Gojo stares. He watches you sink closer to him, your hand still wrapped in his, the pad of his thumb swiping over the diamond on your finger.
i love sports animes because the villain is always just some highschooler who is good at sports. but hes from ANOTHER HIGHSCHOOL. no he doesn't cheat or do anything unethical. hes just really good. treated with the same gravity and theatrical introduction as anime villains who want to like blow up the world
summary: you find the other thing to surprise gojo with on his birthday.
contains: f!reader, 18+ nsfw, reader is in lingerie, lead up to cunnilingulus (mentions pussy once)
a/n: a follow-up to the col lingerie fic, ‘take my time (i’ll spend it all on you)’, might be one of the more explicit ones i’ve written (which i don’t write often! so please be kind!); title inspired by ‘if you let me - alina baraz’; happy birthday to our boy ♡!!
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.
There are few things that come to mind when you think about what to get Gojo for his birthday:
A couple of his favorite sweets (predictable and too frequent—he just bought a box of them last week); something customized and redesigned, maybe his blindfold? (which, you backtrack to realize, you had already gifted him for his 21st birthday years ago); answered prayers—requests that he continuously and ‘jokingly’ hints at (which, you also realize—he’s only really whined about two).
Two requests, with one he’s already walked in on months ago, spoiling your what-would-have-been birthday gift.
So, this leaves you with the other one—
The only other request. A repeat of something you did by accident more than a decade ago.
Except, now, on purpose, you know that Gojo’s asking for something entirely different, far from innocent.
You take a deep breath, closing your eyes as you bite the inside of your cheek. You hold it—
One.
The lace on the hem of your bra cups tickles your ribcage—it’s softer, but far more embellished than the pink one you’ve been (over)using. A gift from Gojo (“just a little something,” he said, handing it over to you one morning).
Two.
You rub your thighs together, white suspender straps gliding against your skin; the metal attachments on the lace garters pull taught, holding them in place.
Three.
Goosebumps litter your arms, little dots surfacing; it’s hard not to feel nervous when you know what awaits you—your heartbeat racing.
When you open your eyes as you exhale, breath shaky and vision a little hazy, you focus on Gojo—sitting on the floor, back slouched against his couch with an impossibly handsome smirk on his mouth. His lips are upturned, pink and curled at the corner, but bitten, just the lower bit.
You lock eyes, sleet white framing a darkening blue sky.
Something stirs in your belly when he shifts in his seat, the sleeves of his shirt tightening as he rests his arms wide open on luxurious gray cotton—an invite towards him.
An invite to—
“Maybe you should sit on my face again.”
The memory makes your face burn.
You slipped the first time it happened, tripping backwards over Tsumiki’s books stacked up on the floor. At 20, you were far from rusty, reflexes quick as you caught hold of the edge of the couch—the couch that Gojo also happened to be napping on.
There was an attempt: to balance yourself, only for your body to sink, gravity acting against your control. So, you landed right there, buttcheek covered by the fabric of your skirt, sitting straight on Gojo’s nose.
That incident had buried itself so deep inside your mind you were confident Gojo would never bring it up again unless you did.
But, of course he does, and when you least expect it too—by the counter of a gelato store, licking the dessert on hand while waiting for the cashier to punch the cost in.
And when he wets his lips now, a glimpse of pink swiping over his skin quickly, almost discreetly, you’re reminded of the same feeling you had back then—
—heated up, nervous; shy.
You move closer, his eyes straying lower, going over the pretty white number you have on; the one he got you.
The lace details on this set are more intricate, outlined with iridescent gray—an almost silver that shines blue when light hits; with sheer net as the base fabric, floral appliqués are carefully positioned on the bra and panty fronts, supported by ribbings that go down to the hem.
It’s a full-set, garters with the suspender belt and everything. Sexy but still soft—just what he likes.
And you’d be a lot less embarrassed walking up to him now if it weren’t for the single, most nerve-wracking anticipation: that you’ll be sitting on his face, for real, later. and maybe from now on.
He pats his lap, motioning for you to settle on it.
Your knees buckle under you when you reach him, holding onto his shoulders as you go down. And when you settle on his lap, straddling him, he reaches for your bra straps, pulling it off and to the side.
The kisses he lands on each of your shoulders are soft, but his lips are plump against your skin—a faint ‘smack’ sounding with each one. Your breath hitches when he goes lower, lightly sucking on the skin of your chest.
He’s trying to get you to relax, you know—with how he’s gripping your hips, rubbing circles onto the skin under his fingertips.
When his mouth crawls up your neck, licking, you throw your head back, breathing heavy. Your fingers rake through his undercut, grasping onto fists of white. Then you shiver, gasping as trembles ripple through you when his lips glide past your ears.
“Toru,”
He pulls away, blinking at you, half-lidded; you blink back twice.
“You ready?” his eyes search for yours, cupping your cheek as he slots his fingers behind your ear.
The smile on his face is teasing, but gentle. And if you say no because you’re too nervous, you know he won’t force you.
(Even if the hardness underneath his joggers is pressing intently against you).
You try to shake off the nerves, nodding your head as you take in another breath, preparing to push yourself up by his shoulders.
It’s odd to think about now, how he used to be feeling what you do right now; how he used to be led, guided—reassured; how he’s doing what you do when you try to get him to calm down.
“We won’t do this if you don’t want to,” he bends his knees up, letting you lean on it as he cages you in.
The thing is, you do want to—you’re just failing to see how this can be more for him than it is for you. That, and what if you get the position wrong? Can’t balance yourself properly? Lean into him too much and knock him out completely?
“I do, it’s just…” you sigh, running your palms over his chest. You fail to meet his eyes.
“If you’re shy now, I’ve seen it all before. And I always tell you, you taste de—”
You hit him before you catch how he’s looking at you, chuckling as he stares—tender and knowing. He takes your hand, kissing each of your fingertips.
The fact that he’s being this patient, this considerate of you acting on what you want is a testament to his restraint; he has to know that you want this too, if the wet spot on his sweatpants is any indication from you.
So, you peer back at him, smile growing wide before landing a soft peck to the tip of his nose.
He guides you when you stand, lips grazing your thighs as you let him pass through them. Then he leans back, neck supported by the edge of the couch as he tilts his head up. The moment your knees press into the cushion, dipping as you climb over him, he holds your ankles.
It tickles when he kisses his way down to the arches of your feet, but it’s a nice companion to the heat rising in your belly.
You hold on to the back of the couch, readjusting your knees as you find the right position to sit back down. And when you figure it out after a few movements, angling yourself until you’re settled right over him—the heat of you is pulsing.
He looks dazed between your legs, staring straight into you—the see-through net hiding absolutely nothing. Pussy-whipped, as they say.
You giggle as you stare down at him; it shakes him out of it, prompting him to look at you instead. His breaths are warm against your thighs but cool against your core, and when he trails his lips higher and higher until he reaches it, landing a kiss on the fabric separating you, you think your knees might give out.
The sight of Gojo smirking while being sat on stirs something within you—the creeping realization of how much it turns you on.
And he can tell, grabbing hold of your butt and squeezing the flesh, kneading. The fabric separating you is pushed to the side, giving him a clear view of everything; he sighs then moans, low.
But before he pushes you down, bringing you closer to his mouth, he smiles cheekily.
“Best birthday gift, baby.”
thank you notes: to @stellamancer bc the idea of col reader sitting on gojo's face came up in convo some time ago!! + @augustinewrites for supporting and enabling me ♡
comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡
