kisumi

𝓬𝓸𝓰𝓲𝓽𝓸 𝓮𝓻𝓰𝓸 𝓼𝓾𝓶

[kissumee]

ִ ࣪ ˖ ࣪ ᨰꫀᥣᥴ᥆ꩇꫀ ! ᰔ ִ ׄ — I write fanfiction because therapy is expensive — multifandom — unfortunately attracted to men who look like they'd leave me on read ˖ ࣪. ࿐♡˚.

Masterlist

Requests are open!

Tag list

©𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐞, 𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐫, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟔. 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐢.

[kissumee]

I'm so craving angst rn. Which character should I do? Decisions decisions

[kissumee]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Gojo Satoru who can't go five minutes without your attention

It was unusually quiet that afternoon, save for the steady scratching of your pen against paper. You sat at the long table near the windows, hunched slightly over a mountain of notes, textbooks, and practice worksheets. Finals were approaching fast, and despite being one of the strongest sorcerers in your year, you still had to pass written exams like everyone else.

The sunlight filtered through the tall glass panes, spilling across highlighted pages and dog-eared notebooks. It caught the loose strands of hair that had escaped your ponytail as you focused intently on memorizing curse classifications and historical incidents. You had already lost an hour to distractions earlier and refused to waste any more time.

Focus, you reminded yourself. Block it all out.

Even Especially him.

Across the room, sprawled across the leather couch like a melodramatic corpse, was Gojo Satoru.

He had been there for twenty minutes.

Sighing.

Loudly. Repeatedly. Annoyingly.

He would inhale through his nose like he was summoning the ghosts of his ancestors and exhale like a dying actor in a tragic play. The first few sighs had been met with passive silence. Then a single raised brow from Suguru. Then a sideways glance from Shoko, who was attempting to review anatomy notes in the armchair nearby. But you did not look up once.

Another sigh.

Suguru turned a page of his study guide with unnecessary force.

Another sigh, this time with a pitiful leg flop added for flair.

Shoko clicked her tongue, marked her place in her notebook, and dropped it onto her lap.

"Do you breathe like that on purpose or are your lungs just built different?" she asked without looking at him.

Satoru rolled onto his back, letting his legs dangle over the armrest like a man who had been sentenced to the cruel fate of not being the center of attention for twenty consecutive minutes.

"No one pays attention to me anymore," he declared to the ceiling, his voice filled with anguish. "I've been attention-starved for twenty whole minutes. This is oppression."

"You are proof that being gifted and being annoying are not mutually exclusive." Suguru muttered, not glancing up from his workbook.

"But I am suffering, Suguru," Satoru cried, clutching at his chest. "The woman I adore sits right there, and she won't even glance my way."

You didn't glance up. Your hand moved steadily across the page.

Shoko blinked slowly and looked at you with a small frown. Suguru snorted softly behind his workbook. The tension built like steam in a kettle.

Satoru groaned again. This time louder. Longer. He flipped onto his stomach and dragged his cheek across the couch like a cat seeking attention.

"Name," he called in a high, pitiful whine. "Name. Naaame."

You kept writing.

"Hello," he said, louder. "Pretty girl with the intimidating silence."

You flipped a page.

Satoru gasped as though physically wounded.

"Come on," he whined, rolling onto his side to face you. He propped his head up with one hand and blinked dramatically. "Just one word. One little acknowledgment. I will perish otherwise."

He began to make soft sounds—exaggerated sniffles, a very dramatic fake cough, the rustling of him rolling restlessly across the couch in search of purpose.

Finally, your patience cracked like thin ice.

Your pen clicked against the wooden table with a snap.

"Satoru," you said without lifting your eyes.

The room fell silent in a heartbeat.

Satoru, eyes widening, sat up as if electrified. His invisible tail might as well have started wagging behind him, back and forth, thump thump thump, as he waited like a dog who had finally been acknowledged.

"Yes!" he said, eyes shining.

You finally looked up, slowly, meeting his eager gaze. Your expression was flat, your voice deadpan.

"Go make me a coffee."

His smile did not falter. If anything, it brightened.

"Right away!" he chirped, leaping up with too much enthusiasm.

Suguru blinked.

"You're disturbingly happy to be used," he said.

"I am in love," Satoru replied with a straight face, already halfway to the kitchenette.

Shoko watched him open the cabinet and immediately drop the coffee pod onto the floor.

"He's like a man whose entire sense of self is powered by external validation," she muttered.

"No," Suguru corrected. "That somehow undersells it."

You returned to your notes without a word. But your pen paused for a breath, and for a fleeting second, the corner of your mouth almost twitched.

Only almost.

a/n: comments and reblogs are appreciated🫶🫶

Nav

©𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐞, 𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐫, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟔. 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐢.

[kissumee]

Badly really need any leaks of the 6th LI. When is he coming out?? I'm super hyped cuz he's supposedly mister sashimi's rival

[kissumee]

Kageyama Tobio

Series

Nothing here yet

Oneshots

Nothing here yet

Headcanons

Nothing here yet

©𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐞, 𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐫, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟔. 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐢.

[kissumee]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Summer and Shirtless Satoru

Jujutsu High dorms were old, and no amount of powerful sorcery could protect them from mundane inconveniences like summer heat and cheap wiring. Someone had overloaded the circuit with cursed appliances in the boys' wing again, and so the fans were useless. The evening air sat heavy and damp over the training fields like a wet towel no one asked for.

You had escaped the suffocating common room, hoping to get a few moments of quiet before dinner. The walk toward the back courtyard was lined with still trees and buzzing cicadas. You could hear faint laughter from the other students echoing around the corner. It made your shoulders unclench a little.

The door to the old storage shed creaked open easily when you pushed it. You had been meaning to check the inventory of training gear left behind by previous years. Half an excuse. Half a real task. Mostly a reason to stay busy.

You stepped inside, taking in the soft scent of old wood and distant sweat from years of use. You adjusted the collar of your uniform, tugging at it where it stuck to your skin. The heat was a thick layer pressed to your back.

That was when you heard movement behind you. You turned and saw him.

Satoru was standing near the far wall, shirtless, sweat-slicked and distracted. His upper body was bare and bathed in the gold of the setting sun, which streamed in through the cracked window behind him. His white training shirt was draped across his shoulder, clearly discarded mid-session. His hair was damp at the edges and pushed back, sticking to his forehead in a way that somehow made him look even more unreal.

You told yourself that this was not a big deal. It was a shirt. It was just skin. You had seen curses dismember humans. You had seen blood pour from bodies like rivers. A boy with a shirt off should mean nothing.

But it did.

Because it was him.

Because it was Satoru.

He had always been taller than you. Lankier. All legs and arms when he was younger, all childish arrogance with little control over it. But now his frame was different. Broader. Defined in the way that came from late-night training sessions and too much responsibility on a teenage back. His shoulders had filled out. His waist had tapered. And his collarbones caught the light like they had been carved with intention.

Your throat felt suddenly dry.

Satoru glanced up from whatever he had been fiddling with, surprised to see you there. His expression softened immediately. He didn't grab his shirt. He didn't apologize. Of course he wouldn't. This was Satoru.

"Hey," he said, casual and low. A little smug, too. He had noticed the way you froze. You could tell.

You forced your eyes upward and met his gaze.

"Satoru," you said coolly.

He smiled like you had said something flattering.

"Did not expect you," he said. "You checking on the gear or avoiding people?"

"A bit of both."

He nodded. His hands were behind his head now, stretching, his back arching slightly as he leaned. You didn't mean to glance down again but your eyes betrayed you.

There were scars you had never seen before. Small ones, pale and long healed. One just beneath his ribs. One at the curve of his hip. The kinds of marks that only someone who fought too much and rested too little carried. You wanted to ask how he got them. You also wanted to walk out of the room and never think about any of this again.

But you didn't move.

"Want to train?" he asked. "Sparring clears the brain."

You crossed your arms, more for yourself than him.

"You just want someone to throw around."

"Maybe," he admitted with a grin. "But it's also a good excuse to show off."

You rolled your eyes.

He tilted his head at you then, curious. Studying. And you hated how warm your face felt under that look. As if he could read every flicker of your thoughts.

"You're quiet," he said. "Well- you're always quiet but you know what I mean. Is something up?"

You opened your mouth. Closed it again. Then turned toward the stacked weapons on the shelf beside you.

"No," you said. "Just hot."

"Right," he said, still smiling. "You could always take your shirt off too."

You looked back at him sharply. He laughed. It echoed softly in the wooden walls.

"Joking," he added, though his voice was smoother now. "Mostly."

You didn't smile. Not visibly. But you turned your back to him and busied yourself with an old training staff.

And so you said nothing.

Behind you, you could still feel the heat of him. Not just his skin. Him. The way his presence filled a room and demanded attention even when you tried not to give it. The way his name tasted different in your mouth now than it used to.

The room remained quiet, save for the hum of summer air and the unspoken tension between two people too young to understand what they were stepping into.

a/n: it's freaking blazing in my country rn. reblogs and comments are appreciated 🫶

Nav

©𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐞, 𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐫, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟔. 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐢.

[kissumee]

Fushiguro Megumi

Nothing here yet

©𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐞, 𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐫, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟔. 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐢.

[kissumee]

Gojo Satoru

Series

Nothing here yet

Oneshots

Donut Tower

Nude portrait

Gojo Satoru being insufferable

A six feet noise pollution

Headcanons

Nothing here yet

©𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐞, 𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐫, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟔. 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐢.

[kissumee]

Itoshi Rin

Series

Nothing here yet

Oneshots

Nothing here yet

Headcanons

Nothing here yet

©𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐞, 𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐫, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟔. 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐢.

[kissumee]

Itoshi Sae

Series

Nothing here yet

Oneshots

Letting you take care of him after long days

Headcanons

Nothing here yet

©𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐞, 𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐫, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟔. 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐢.

[kissumee]

Blue Lock

Itoshi Sae

Itoshi Rin

Jujutsu Kaisen

Gojo Satoru

Fushiguro Megumi

Haikyuu

Kageyama Tobio

Suna Rintarō

Sakusa Kiyoomi

To be added..

[kissumee]

Not a good time to post this with the ongoing slander but wtv

[kissumee]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ He wants you to stack donuts on it

The morning sunlight was soft through the gauzy curtains of your shared apartment, casting a golden wash over the living room. The floor was still cold beneath your bare feet, and the air carried the faint scent of roasted coffee beans and whatever leftover sugar had clung to the donut box sitting beside you on the coffee table.

You had curled yourself into the corner of the couch, blanket over your legs, your hair tied up messily from sleep, a few strands falling over your eyes. You were scrolling through your phone without purpose, the light from the screen reflecting faintly in your sleepy gaze. Beside you on the coffee table, an open box of donuts sat like a treasure trove of sugar and sin. Your fingers were sticky with glaze.

Across the room, Satoru leaned lazily against the kitchen counter, cradling a warm mug of coffee in both hands like he had no intention of being productive today. His white sleep shirt clung to him in all the right places, rumpled from the night before, and his grey sweatpants slung low on his hips. His hair was still a little wild from sleep, sticking up in places he had not bothered to fix. He looked comfortable. At home. Entirely too attractive for someone who had done absolutely nothing to earn it.

He had been watching you for the last several minutes, not saying a word, just sipping and staring like you were more interesting than his drink. You could feel his gaze before you saw it. You peeked up from your screen and caught him mid-sip, eyes locked on the donut in your hand.

"You want one?" you asked without lifting your head.

Satoru tipped his mug slightly in your direction. "I want that one. The one in your hand. The good one."

"This is the last of the original glaze," you said, licking a bit of sugar from your fingertip. "Too bad you were too slow."

He narrowed his eyes at you, then pushed off the counter and wandered closer. He moved with the loose, effortless energy of someone who knew he could get away with murder if he smiled the right way. And unfortunately for your willpower, he probably could.

"I bet I could steal it if I really tried," he said, standing over you now, peering down like a mischievous cat sizing up its next play.

"But we both know I have faster hands."

"Bold claim from someone with powdered sugar on their chin."

You narrowed your eyes. "Do not deflect. This is sacred. This is my donut."

Satoru did not answer right away. Instead, he plopped down onto the couch next to you with a long, dramatic sigh and draped his body over the cushions like he was melting. His arm slid along the backrest behind your shoulders, his knee brushed yours, and his head tilted slightly to the side as he watched you chew your final bite.

You just wiped your fingers on a napkin when his voice dropped, soft and amused.

"You know," he said, "I was thinking. You ever considered what else you could stack those donuts on?"

You blinked, your chewing slowing down.

He waited.

You tilted your head at him suspiciously. "You mean like a tower?"

"Exactly," he said with a pleased grin. "A tower."

You leaned forward slightly, resting your elbow on your knee. "You mean like on your abs? I remember that conversation. I was joking."

"No," Satoru said, his grin widening into something far more devilish. "Lower."

It took a second.

And then you choked on your own saliva.

You turned your head away, coughing and sputtering as you laughed, covering your mouth with one hand. Your other reached blindly for the water bottle on the coffee table. Satoru just sat back, arms spread like he had just delivered the punchline of the year.

"You did not just suggest I stack donuts on your dick."

"For science," he said solemnly. "It would be for the advancement of human knowledge."

You looked at him, eyes narrowed. "You are impossible."

"Nine mini donuts, I think," he mused, lifting his hand and pretending to measure the air with exaggerated thought. "Maybe ten. Depends on the brand."

You were laughing again now, fully, helplessly, head tilted back against the couch. "Satoru. I swear to God."

"You could warm it up first. Make it hard and stable. Easier to slide on."

You turned to glare at him, still giggling. "You're insane. And a pervert."

"A pervert in love," he said sweetly, leaning in to kiss your cheek, his voice a low hum against your skin. "Also a very patient test subject, in case you were wondering."

You swatted his arm.

Satoru grinned, pulling back only to snatch your now-empty donut wrapper and examine it like it was a blueprint. His face took on a thoughtful expression.

"You know what else would work?" he said after a moment. "Those tiny mochi donuts. The chewy ones."

"You want me to decorate your crotch like a dessert tray?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm the dessert."

You shoved him so hard he nearly fell off the couch, and he went willingly, flopping onto the carpet with a groan. You tossed the napkin at his face.

"Your brain is a crime scene."

"And yet," he called from the floor, "you're still dating me."

You turned your head, looking down at him where he lay sprawled like a starfish, one arm flopped over his eyes.

"Yeah," you said, unable to hide the softness in your voice. "Unfortunately, I really am."

Satoru peeked up from under his arm with a grin that threatened to melt your spine.

"And you're thinking about it now, aren't you?"

You did not answer. But your smile gave you away.

a/n: ring pop next?

Nav

©𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐞, 𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐫, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟔. 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐢.

[kissumee]

.ೃ࿐ He lets you do his skincare

The bathroom light is way too bright for eleven p.m., especially after Sae spent the last six hours running drills until his legs felt like lead. He’s sitting on the closed toilet lid, his knees practically touching yours because the space is so cramped, looking up at you with his usual deadpan expression. He won't admit it, but his shoulders have finally dropped from his ears for the first time all day.

"You're using the expensive one?" he asks, his voice dry and raspy from dehydration. He eyes the glass dropper bottle in your hand like it owes him money.

"Obviously. Your skin is peeling near your nose, Sae. Shut up and tilt your head back," you say, squeezing a few drops of the serum onto your palms.

He groans softly but complies, leaning his head back against the tiled wall. His eyes flutter shut. You press your hands to his cheeks, the warmth of your skin contrasting with the cool, damp aftermath of his shower.

He doesn't flinch. Instead, his head sinks a little heavier into your touch, letting you move his face wherever you need to. For someone who spends his entire public life being completely untouchable, he’s ridiculously compliant when it’s just the two of you in his apartment.

"Your hands are freezing," he mutters, though he doesn't pull away.

"Maybe if you turned the heating up in here I wouldn't be a corpse," you shoot back, using your ring fingers to gently pat the serum under his eyes. You're careful not to get too close to his lashes, which are annoyingly long and thick. "Did you even drink water today? You look like a raisin."

"I drank three liters. It was windy on the pitch." He opens one eye, tracking your movements as you reach for the heavy moisturizer. "Don't put too much of that stuff on. It feels greasy."

"It’s not greasy, it’s a barrier cream. You have no barrier left. It's gone." You dot the white cream across his forehead, his cheeks, and the bridge of his nose.

Sae sighs, a long, exhausted sound that lets out all the tension he’s been holding since his morning workout. As you start rubbing the cream in using upward strokes, his eyes close again. He leans into the pressure of your palms. He likes this part the most, even if he’d rather die than say it out loud.

His face relaxes completely under your fingers, the sharp, defensive line of his jaw softening into something human and young. When you get to his forehead, he lets out a tiny, barely audible breath through his nose, completely defeated by the massage.

"You're falling asleep," you tease, tapping his chin.

"I'm not," he says instantly, his voice deeper now that he's half-conscious. "Just hurry up."

"Yeah, yeah."

You reach into your pocket and pull out a tube of tinted lip balm. His lips are chapped from the cold wind, a slight contrast to the rest of his now-glowing face. You pop the cap off and press the balm to his bottom lip, swiping it back and forth. He stays perfectly still, his breath warm against your fingers.

"Okay, smack your lips together to spread it," you tell him, capping the tube.

Sae doesn't smack his lips. Instead, he catches your wrist with a surprisingly quick reflex for someone who was just faking sleep, pulls you forward an inch, and presses his lips directly against yours.

He holds you there for a second, his grip loose but firm around your wrist, before pulling back just enough to look at you.

You blink, completely caught off guard, your hand still hovering in the air.

Sae lets go of your wrist, his expression completely blank, though there’s a tiny, smug twitch at the corner of his mouth. He rubs his lips together once, deliberately.

"Spread," he says, his voice completely level. "Like you wanted."

"You're literally so annoying," you say, your face burning as you hit his shoulder with the lip balm tube.

"You're the one who told me to do it," he replies, finally standing up from the toilet seat and stretching his arms over his head. He looks in the mirror, turning his head side to side to inspect your work, entirely satisfied with himself. "We're done here. Go to bed."

a/n: reblogs and comments are appreciated 🫶

Nav

©𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐞, 𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐫, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟔. 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐢.

[kissumee]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Doing a nude portrait of him

Satoru laid himself dramatically across the chaise lounge in their bedroom, limbs posed like he was auditioning for a Renaissance painting. A towel was loosely draped over his hips, though he had insisted on going "full artistic expression" for your sketching session.

"Are you ready for the world's greatest muse?" he asked with a grin, folding his hands behind his head. "Behold... the majestic form of Gojo Satoru."

You didn't even look up from your sketchbook. "I'm already regretting this."

"Liar. You asked me to pose. I'm just giving you Michelangelo-level gold here."

With a deep sigh and flushed cheeks, you finally looked up. "Okay, no moving. I'm going for classical anatomy study here. Not chaos."

Satoru nodded solemnly. "Classical. Understood. I'm a statue."

A moment passed. Then another. Your pencil began its gentle strokes across the page, capturing his collarbone, the slope of his ribs, his long legs

And then a sudden twitch.

You froze mid-line.

"Are you-? Satoru..."

"Hm?" he hummed innocently, eyes closed.

You squinted. "You're twitching."

"I am a living statue. Adds authenticity."

"Satoru"

"What?" he cracked one eye open, smirking. "I can't help it! You're staring at me with that intense, hot artist gaze. And you're sitting cross-legged right there in a tank top like some seductive art school fantasy. My body's reacting."

You groaned, throwing a cushion at him. "You are impossible! I was doing fine until your body decided to start improvising."

Satoru laughed, catching the pillow and placing it over his lap. "It's a compliment, really. Your art moves me."

"It's not your heart that's moved, Satoru!"

He wiggled his eyebrows. "Draw it anyway. Might as well document the full glory."

"No thank you!" you said, face hot with laughter as you tried to sketch around the problem. "This was supposed to be for my portfolio, not a hentai doujin!"

"Portfolio?" He scoffed. "Sweetheart, this is your magnum opus. The pinnacle of your career."

You threw your sketchpad at him.

He caught it, glanced at the drawing, and beamed. "I look good. You even got my mole right."

"Give me back my sketchpad before I erase that mole and add a comically large fig leaf."

You both dissolved into laughter, Satoru now shamelessly rolling off the couch and crawling toward her on all fours like a ridiculous cat.

"You still love me though."

"Unfortunately," you muttered, catching his face in your hands and kissing his forehead. "But next time, I'm drawing you in sweatpants."

a/n: If you've seen this before it's a repost from my alt. comments and reblogs are appreciated🫶

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©𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐞, 𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐫, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟔. 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐢.