you're here again. standing across from him, small plastic containers with leftovers stacked on the countertop. your shirt is shifted, hanging off one of your shoulders, a trail of hickeys across your collarbone.
satoru leans over the kitchen counter, licks the remaining edamame paste from his pinky and index. i love you.
you're standing in front of the open fridge, the light from the fridge door gives him a view of your side profile. brows furrowed, expression bordering the line between exhaustion and consideration, your lips drawn in a thin line.
you haven't been able to scold him for weeks. haven't raised your voice or been forced to drag him out of bed. all you've done is drop the food off, restock the fridge and then go.
tonight, you're emptying it.
your shoulders tremble, drop then rise, in rhythmic tone, one then two. he knows you're crying. he doesn't need six eyes to see when you're all he ever sees.
he waits for you to look over your shoulder, the white plastic bag empty of kikufuku crumples beneath his grip and the stool screeches as he gets up.
a slender finger hooks under your chin and he looks into your eyes. beautiful. the fridge door shuts.
he kisses your forehead, and his head dips to your neck. for a beat, he waits for you to shout at him, but the words never come. his lips latch onto your neck, then with a thumb, he swipes a tear from your cheek.
don't leave me.
he pulls away and looks off to the side. then he walks away, heading into the entryway of the living room, only once does he look over his shoulder at you.
once is enough to plead, and once is enough for you to follow him. haven't you always been somewhere behind him at every corner in this world?
he takes a seat on the couch, and he doesn't wait for you to reach out to him. he pulls you onto his lap. he lets you cry into his shoulder until you fall asleep. and when you wake up he hasn't shifted one centimeter.
you look at him with eyes bleary, full of sleep, full of love, full of hatred, full of quarrel, full of grief — full. satoru pulls you into a kiss. he wants to be so full of you. whatever fills you, he wants to be a part of it. but more, he wants you to fill him until he can't breathe without thinking of you.
as if he doesn't already.
he sits next to you in the tub later. he lets you wash his hair, dote on him and run the pads of your fingers over his pale flesh, marked by you, the skin of his chest and shoulders raw with your nails, your lips, your teeth. all of you.
he doesn't let you dry him off after though. but he does shake his wet hair at you, and he laughs when your nose scrunches up in disapproval.
you dress him, albeit with much challenge. he never stays still. chin atop your hair, then lips against your ear and he talks and talks and talks until he has to swallow from how dry his throat is.
you don't look at him, but he knows what you're thinking. should you stay the night? will he be here when you wake up if you do?
the two of you crawl into bed, satoru turns off the lights, draws the curtains of the balcony door only halfway shut, his fingers tremble at the habit. you like to watch the stars before you sleep, and feel the warmth on your skin when the sun rises through the gap between the curtains.
he hugs you from behind, tells you he loves you and you say it back. you say goodnight, and he doesn't answer. he figets in the bed, shifts under the blankets like always and you roll over to your side, wrap your hands around his waist and he sighs, relaxed.
he says goodnight and kisses you on your nose, then your cheek, then your lips. he murmurs in your ear that he wants pancakes for breakfast tomorrow and you laugh, pretending —
the both of you pretending all too well that he'll be here tomorrow morning, groggily padding into the kitchen and whining like a child, dipping his pinky into the pancake batter.
pretending, that you'll have his clothes ironed and megumi will come by for breakfast, to finally get the laundry you did for him and the bentos you forced him to get - moving around the house and grabbing snacks for him and itadori to share later.
pretending, that satoru will pester you about picking favorites and chide megumi about not paying bills and eating out of both of your palms, working you like a dog. that you'll smack satoru and bellow a laugh, crushing both boys into a hug before they head off for the day.
pretending, that it'll be okay.
your eyelids droop, sleep calling you while satoru watches, his forehead pressed against yours. before you can drift off, you hear the thump of his heartbeat, the soft breath escaping his lips.
you don't know if you're dreaming yet.
but you hear it, ever so faintly, a promise :
"i will win."
notes ; night b4 gojo fights sukuna brainrot that i never posted. also, i rlly wanna know what u guys think ab this style of writing :))
thinking about how gojo gets so giddy and smiley when you kiss his dimples :(
like he’ll do anything for you to press kisses to his lil dimples, sometimes preferring that than actually kissing you on the lips. he always tells you it makes him feel so pretty <3
he’ll be blushy and would get so shy, his cheeks growing red and his ears burning. he would try to hide his face the first time, too giggly to look you in the eye, especially when you tease him.
“you like your dimples kissed? what happened to all that big talk earlier, look at how much you’re melting right now!” he would just huff and pout, still blushing at your actions
sometimes he’d smile and angle his cheeks at you, waiting for you to press gentle kisses to the indentations on his cheeks.
“wish i could just lay in your dimples, pretty boy” you sigh, kissing his cheeks and brushing his hair out of his eyes. he’d let the words go straight to his heart, warmth blossoming in his chest as you peppered kisses on his face.
he’ll come home after a long day, settling next to you on the couch, melting into your touch when you rub your hand up and down his arm as he lays his head on your chest. his dimples appearing softly when he hears you talking about your day, laughing at your terrible jokes.
“there they are” you grin, placing enthusiastic kisses over his cheeks, smile only growing as you watch your lover grow redder by the kiss.
“you’re obsessed,” he giggles, face smushed between your hand and your lips, “thought you said your favorite feature was my eyes” he pouts.
“changed my mind,” you hum, kissing his dimple once more before letting him wrap his arms around you.
satoru finds that years later, as the two of you are sitting on the couch, much older and wiser than before, he’s still giddy and shy when your lips press to the small dimples. he still blushes just as deep as the first time you did it.
you find him just as charming and endearing with every giggle and giddy smile. you’re still as in love as before, pressing gentle kisses to his cheeks whenever you have the chance.
a/n: idk man i just need to kiss his dimples every day every hour every second !
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wrote this quick thing to cope with shibuya (and school starting)
contrary to popular belief, waking up with satoru gojo wasn’t filled with angst or longing.
never were you filled with an overwhelming sense of loneliness or abandonment upon seeing an empty dip in the bed beside you, because never, not even once, had you awoken due to the loss of his warmth around your body.
when satoru rose from bed, so did you, and when you rose from bed, so did satoru. whether that was at five in the morning or one in the afternoon, you and satoru started your mornings together. the two of you never had strict sleep schedules, anyway, due to the demanding nature of your jobs.
mornings were a kinder, more merciful part of your routines. compared to all the violence, mental and physical exhaustion that made up the majority of your day, at least you could have a sense of peace as you rose with the dawn.
the two of you shift around in your sleep plenty of times, from cuddling to hogging blankets on opposite sides of the bed, to waking up in a tangled mess of limbs. satoru’s mornings start in the crook of your neck, and if not there, then he turns around to bury himself in the crevice. his hair tickles your face and slowly pulls you out of unconsciousness, and for a moment the sensation alarms you. but when you realize it’s only satoru, with strong protective arms wrapped around your waist and face buried against you, you sigh and collapse against him, turning to lay on your back and card a hand through his messy snow locks.
mornings with satoru were not hurried-- not in the slightest. if there was one thing satoru could get away with as the strongest, it was lazing about and being late. and he certainly wasn’t eager to rush out of your comforting arms, and so the two of you take your time adjusting to the morning light that peeks through the blinds, adjust yourself a couple more times in bed, throwing your legs atop of each others (and hissing when one was too cold), and simply taking what’s left of the dark before slowly getting out of bed and into your shared bathroom.
the whole routine is done slowly, not a single sense of urgency. brushing your teeth, washing your face, patting each other's bed heads down to look just the slightest bit more presentable in the bathroom mirror.
he’s arguably more groggy than you are in the mornings, which makes him all the more eager to finish up in the bathroom and head to the kitchen to brew himself coffee. by the time you finish up, you’re slowly making your way into the kitchen where satoru stands holding the handle of his mug. he extends your own toward you when you approach, and you graciously accept it with both hands and a mumbled “thank you…”, and the two of you take a minute or two to bask in each others company and in the relieving, energizing warmth of your beverages.
mornings with satoru were not loud or filled with much conversation. in contrast to your usual days and nights filled with teasing and random conversation, it was not uncommon for the two of you to go long stretches in the morning without a word. time taken just to reboot and get into the mindset of the day, but not wanting to separate from each other. all the two of you really need is each others’ presence. the habitual noises that come from your routines--the slight clattering of dishes, the wrinkling of fabric as you got dressed, the whirring of cars from outside as you open your windows to let in fresh air-- was the most sound that filled your apartment in the morning.
muttered conversation rises as the sun does higher in the sky, when the sleep slowly starts to fade out of your systems. it’s about the weather, it’s about your schedules for the day, it’s about how he kicked you in his sleep, and him giving you an apologetic kiss to make up for it. small, substanceless conversation, but it was enough.
you take him in in other ways instead. he tastes like coffee and mint in the mornings when he kisses you, a strong combination that you’ve learned to find comfort in. the large white tee he wears to sleep smells of his body wash and softener as you nuzzle your face into the fabric, taking in a couple of extra minutes being enveloped by him before the two of you begin your day. his hair is untameable, sticking out in all directions no matter how much you try to adjust the messy heap into somewhat of a presentable style. he laughs at the small pout on your face as you do so, and takes your hand out of his hair to press a small kiss to your fingertips. he grins and tells you he doesn’t mind and neither should you as he leans into your palm.
he takes you in in other ways, too. silently listening to your hums as you check your phone to see what you missed out on while you slept, the gentle tune soothing his irritation over waking up from his pleasant slumber with you. he watches you style your own hair after giving up on his own, thinking about how much it suits you through his hazy head. and if he’s feeling just clingy enough, he’ll collapse his head atop of yours and breathe in the product you put in that he loves so much, gently swaying the two of you in place. what originally starts out with a single peck to your pouty lips as he holds your chin delicately turns into another, and then another. you laugh at the satisfied look on his face when he realizes it's your lip balm he loves so much, and is reminded to snatch the tube for himself from your bathroom drawer before he leaves (though he’s always disappointed, because it always tastes better against your lips).
he adjusts the pin on your uniform after you finish dressing yourselves as you scold him to “spend a little more time with the first years today”, and he can only smile and reassure you that he “has something special in store for them”. you help him pull his blindfold over his head and adjust it so it sits comfortably over his eyes, combing your fingers through his unruly hair that now looks even more wild with something holding it up.
you check once, twice, all over your apartment to make sure you aren’t forgetting anything, and satoru chuckles and reassures you that a simple phone call will have him warping to the school to drop off anything you left behind. as you kiss him goodbye before parting ways in front of the school, he mumbles against your lips that he’ll stop by later with a breakfast treat for the two of you to share in the office (because satoru is still greedy, and though he’ll original buy just one for you to enjoy on your own, he’ll not so subtly eye and indicate that he wants a bite).
and with that, the two of you part your separate ways, and the slow morning transitions into the hectic start of your jobs. but you know that even so, you’ll be filled with a solace reminiscent of the one you two shared earlier when you enjoy your treat in the empty staff room together later.
you hear the door to your chamber slide open. looking up from your book, you see dan heng walking towards you on the bed with a pillow under his arm. you watch as he plops his pillow down and makes himself comfortable under your blankets.
after a while, he speaks up. "i hope you don't mind. i'll be sleeping in here."
"excuse me, i do mind."
"not my problem." and just like a child, he turned his back to you with a huff, snuggling further into the mattress. you merely sighed at his antics and gave his head two pats before going back to your reading. the room was silent other than the constant wrinkling of paper when you turned a page and dan heng’s soft breaths.
the rustling of sheets signaled dan heng’s movements. slowly, he moves closer to you. only stopping once his cheek rested on your side and his arm loosely wrapped around your hips. he feels your fingers tangle themselves in his hair.
“aren’t you gonna ask why i’m here?” dan heng’s voice was muffled against you. soft rumbles from him sending shivers up your spine.
“it’s either you had a nightmare or your back hurts a ton from that pathetic mattress of yours. we should really get you a bed, heng.” your hand slides from his hair to his back, caressing it up and down. he mumbles something inaudible so you lean down, trying to hear his answer. “what?”
“i said, the archives will have no more space if i get a bed.” from the sound of it, you can only assume that dan heng’s sulking right now. you let out a soft laugh and continued to caress his back, hoping to lull him in a profound and peaceful rest.
“are you done reading?” he asks, slightly sitting up to perch his cheek on your arm. “no. i still have a few chapters left.”
“can you put your book down now?” he looks up at you with a hopeful gaze. eyes gleaming under the faint light of your night light. seeing as you couldn’t really say no to him, you marked the page and set it down the table beside your bed before laying down and joining him under the blankets. dan heng was in your space the moment your head hit the pillow, arms wrapped around you as he rested his head on your chest.
“goodnight.”
“goodnight to you, too.” with a short peck on his temple, you both drifted off to dreamland.
bonus:
(“i wouldn’t be able to sleep with you if i get a bed” he mumbles under his breath, heat rushing to his cheeks making him hide further in your clothes, thankful for the dim light in your room.)
one of my personal favorite dichotomies in atla is how iroh, once the top strategist and highest-ranking general of the fire nation, now directs all his energy and considerable tactical experience towards attempting to keep his teenage nephew from throwing himself into life-threatening situations AND IROH REGULARLY FAILS TO PREVENT HIM FROM DOING SO.
he lead a six-hundred day siege and now iroh can't keep up with a sixteen-year-old armed with two swords and a passionate deathwish. zuko's motto is "act first, think never" and he's running rings around his uncle. it's like!!! who's gonna come out on top, iroh's west point education vs. zuko's deep and abiding commitment to always choosing the stupidest possible course of action, and zuko manages to win every single time
this was the best part of the episode. 0.3 seconds of aki stomach. thanks mappa. because of this, I will continue to support chainsaw man. I'll see you all in season 2
new year's kiss. / hayakawa aki x gn!reader, fluff, aki kisses you the minute the clock strikes twelve.
ten, nine, eight...
"hey, c'mere for a sec."
the cold night air brushes against your skin, cool and sharp in your nose when you breathe it in. it tickles the hair on the back of your neck, it leaves goosebumps on your arms. smoke blows in your direction when aki stamps his half-burned cig out onto the balcony railing, and the familiar smell of his rich cigarettes wafts into your lungs. he flicks it away quickly and reaches for you in the dark.
one hand comes to grip your side, while the other holds your cheek, his fingers cold, his touch feather-light. aki exhales a long, shaky breath. he looks at you softly, he holds you closely. the stars reflect in the deep blue of his eyes, and his gaze is filled with something you can't understand.
seven, six, five...
the lull of the city fills your ears: people counting down in the street, the idle ambiance of cars as they pass by. in the corner of your eye, through the balcony's glass door, you can see the television in the living room. it's still on, and the screen is flashing in big, colorful numbers, the clock counting down to the end of this year.
"... aki?"
four, three, two...
aki wipes the tears from the corners of your eyes with his thumb. he leans in a little closer, his warm breath fans out over your face.
there's something he needs to do, and he's needed to do it for a long, long time.
all of the secret glances, the hopeful touches, the times he's wanted to tell you how he feels but he just can't manage any words. all of the moments where he's seen your heart break when he was the one who was supposed to be holding it dear. all of the times he's wiped your tears just like this and wanted more than anything to promise to give you better so he would never have to see you cry again.
he's constantly doubted himself and tried to forget this, tried to live like he can move on, but he can't help but love you as effortlessly as he breathes. a whole new year has begun since he met you, and after all this time, you still occupy every space inside his fragile little heart. it beats with yours like without you, it wouldn't.
in this moment, aki wants to say so, so much. he wants to tell you he's sorry for not having the guts to do this sooner. he wants to tell you how deeply he's fallen, how everything he's ever done for you was never a coincidence, how he's thought about this more than he'd like to admit, and it's stupid, he knows it's stupid, but you're the most lovely soul he thinks he's ever come across.
but he's running out of time — hell, he ran out of time months ago. he doesn't have a chance to say any of that, just time to act. one opportunity to change the direction of this new reality, and it starts now.
as fireworks are sent into the sky with a whiz, aki whispers a reply against your lips: "I want to start this year off right."
one.
and then, they're going off, exploding into brilliant pops of color and light and sound, and as they illuminate the sky, aki is connecting with you in a perfect kind of kiss.
he's dragging you closer, you're leaning into him, your chest is swelling, your heart is pounding. the world melts away to devotion, to the promise on his soft lips and the prayer in his trembling hands. aki is alive again, finally. and you're the match that lit the flame.
the fireworks stop, and aki pulls away for a moment, just to breathe. he kisses you when they go off once more, and then again, and again. the pop of a firework, and then his lips on yours. the shimmer of sparks, and then his palms cradling your face like it's precious, your hands tangled in his hair, all while you kiss to make up for the times you went without in the year before this one.
he only pulls away when the sound of the fireworks has completely ceased. it's several minutes into the new year now, and when your eyelids flutter open, vision restablishing, aki greets you with sparkling eyes, and with a smile that glows.
"I love you." — aki says it like it's familiar, the words tumble from his mouth with absolutely no hesitation. "I love you, god," his finger traces your lips, they're still warm from his kiss. his head falls to lean on your shoulder, his arms wrap around you in a tight embrace. "I love you."
you return his hug, and in his ear, you mutter a quiet, sweet, I love you too, aki.
it feels good to finally say it. it feels even better to hear you say it back.
aki holds you like this for a long while. his breathing evens out, deep and steady. the city is slowly enveloped in silence. you hold him like you don't want him to let go, and so he doesn't.
last year started with aki not even knowing your name, and now you're everything to him, now each syllable that makes up the idea of you is always in his mind and on his tongue. he didn't know the sound of your voice, and now he's memorized it like a favorite song. he didn't know the feeling of your lips, and now he thinks he could never forget it.
with you here beside him, aki has hope that this year will be better than the last. he'll spend it showing you just how much he adores you.
you pull apart, eventually. aki takes your hands into his and squeezes them tightly.
"happy new year." aki rests his forehead against yours, he closes his eyes, he sighs deeply. his bangs tickle your skin. the moon and the stars are now your only audience. "I can't wait to spend the rest of this year with you."
The lights in Hokkaido seem to glow even brighter when you're here beside him.
Aki breathes out, a cloud of crisp, cold air wisping up from his mouth into the night sky, swallowed by the pale light of the moon. A thin veil of snow falls slowly; tiny, soft snowflakes brush his shoulders, they kiss the top of his head and they get tangled in the dark strands of his hair. The snow settles onto the branches of the dead trees, it covers the ground in a fluffy blanket of white.
He's not used to the city. There's a bridge that curls over the streets below, and from here, Aki has the perfect view; he can see the crowds of people shuffling below, the colorful lights that frame every tree, every hedge. They blend together until he can't make out anything but a wash of blue and purple and white and red.
There's people all around, laughing, taking pictures. Aki can make out bits and pieces of their conversations when their voices overpower the whistle of the wind. There's kids playing with the public binoculars, there's friends complaining about how cold it is.
And then, there's you, standing beside him, admiring the cityscape's luminous glow with stars in your eyes and your face buried in your scarf, Aki's scarf. He wrapped it around your neck when you mentioned how you forgot yours.
It's pretty, isn't it, Aki?
Yeah. Aki blinks, turning his gaze away from you and back towards the city. It's pretty.
The array of lights is a sight he's never known, but the dusting of snow is the one thing his heart can never seem to forget. When the cold works in through the back of his neck and the tips of his fingers, it settles in his bones like it's been there before. It's the kind of cold that feels like darkness coming sooner than you're ready for, that tastes sharp on the end of your tongue.
He's been here before. But he hasn't been here like this in a long time. How long has it been, ten, no, thirteen years? It's always quick trips. He doesn't give himself the chance to linger.
And you're with him. You: gentle soul, twin flame. You're here, even though Aki insisted you didn't have to come, even though he's never brought anyone to his hometown before. You're beside him, sweet when you shuffle closer until the puffy sleeves of your coat are pressing up to his, beautiful when the lights reflect the softness of your hue and when the shadows cradle the intricacies of your face.
You're here. You're right here, and everything is okay. Hokkaido always chokes him, but right now, Aki feels like he can breathe again.
With his gaze still locked on the city, Aki's hand drifts towards your own in a subconscious effort to be closer, and then, in a deliberate one when you feel his fingers delicately brush your knuckles. He exhales a soft sigh, he reaches for just a bit more.
His hand is cold, frost in the future of his palm and the crevices of his fingerprint, but his touch sparks a budding warmth. You feel it spread over your arms and your shoulders. It settles in your chest when he wraps his pinkie around yours like he's swearing a promise to love you.
Just the slightest touch. The two of you, connected by nothing more than your pinkies and the resounding beat of your hearts.
The world seems to grow quieter than it was before. The lights reflect brighter. Time becomes lost to the way the snow falls.
Aki doesn't say anything. Neither do you. But when you turn to leave, you make the promise official; locked pinkies work into your fingers lacing in between the gaps of his own. They become your hand held in his, giving him a tight squeeze when you tug him along.
And then, you're hand in hand as your boots scuff the sidewalk and crunch the snow, you're walking through the twists of color and the arches of twinkling lights without a care in the world, as if you and him are the only people to exist. Like this moment is living. A breath of life, from what was once a shallow grave. This, as simple as it is, is what it feels like to be alive.
Aki's got a ghost of a smile on his face, but when you turn to him once the two of you stop to admire another huge, light-bound tree, he's suddenly looking away, his lips pursed, eyebrows pinched, cheeks red from more than just the biting cold.
You okay? You look embarrassed.
At the sound of your voice, Aki turns towards you, and the moment he sees your face, he can't stop the smile from tugging at the corners of his cheeks, he can't hold back a weak sort of giggle that explodes into a happy sort of laugh.
It feels good to worry about something dumb. It feels good to melt in the comfort of simplicity.
There's a worry that's been lingering in the back of his head for a while now, coiling anxiety in his chest. But it's the good kind. It's the fluttery, dreamy, butterfly kind of anxiety. It makes him feel nervous, but giddy, and he isn't used to feeling this way, his heart doesn't know how to handle it.
He's not sure if he should keep laughing, or start crying. He doesn't know if he should kiss you like he's yearning to or if he should try to find the words to tell you just how much you mean to him, to admit to you right here and now that he's falling for you more than the snowflakes are, and he's been falling for a long, long time.
When he comes here, he's always restless, always thinking about something so much bigger than himself. But right now, he's worrying about something so stupid, so inconsequential. And he loves it.
You're teasing him when he doesn't reply — What, what is it? You gonna tell me? Aki laughs a little more when you pout and shake his arm by his hand, still linked with your own.
He glances around for a quick second. There's still people everywhere, people walking and admiring the lights, people eating from concession stands. People who are in love, who are walking side by side, connected, who look just like you and him...
Aki meets your pleading eyes, with a shy look in his own. He leans down a little closer, and he speaks quiet enough that only you, the snow, and the wintery puff of his breath can hear.
"It's just... when we're holding hands, it makes us look like a couple, don't you think?"
His kisses are hot and heavy, slow and deep — Aki kisses you like he's got all the time in the world, and he's going to savor it. His lips feel like the warm crackle of fire, his touch feels like gentle droplets of rain. Your whole body shivers when his fingers toy with the hem of your shirt. Slowly, they slip under, and feather-light fingertips press to your bare skin: delicately, like you're made of diamond and crystal, and touching you is a treasure in and of itself.
You feel the silhouette of his palms as they glide down, gripping your hips to drag you just a little closer on his lap. Then, trailing down further, his large hands squeezing the soft flesh of your thighs. You can taste the rich smoke on his tongue, and the bitter ash on his soft lips. You can tell by the way he devours you that he needs you, that he needs this.
Maybe he's needed it for longer than he thought. Maybe he needed it without even knowing. Maybe the way your lips connect perfectly with his was always meant to be and maybe he should have spent less time in hell and more time trying to find you. The number of kisses he can fit into this life will never be enough. Perhaps he'll meet you in the next.
Aki groans into your mouth: a quiet, lovesick noise. He sucks gently on your tongue, enough to make you gasp and tug him impossibly closer. The sound of your kisses echoes with the sound of your quickened breathing, with the hum of the air conditioner and the creak of the bed each time your weight shifts.
Aki could do this all night; he could forget about the world with you for as long as he can. He could indulge in your mouth on his and your body between his hands for as long as you would allow. And you could kiss him forever, because Aki kisses you like this is it, and he's got no intent to do anything more, or to take anything more than you're willing to give. Your lips are all he needs.
Your hands drift up, until your fingers are running through his long hair, tugging on the strands, sending tingles up his spine and spreading an ache in his chest, a throb in his heart. He can feel it racing and racing and racing, so fast it's looping in on itself, so hard he can hear the pitter-patter in his ears like the beat of a drum.
You grip his hair a little harder, you let your fingers get lost. Aki sighs, his muscles loosening, his shoulders slumping. Coherent thoughts swirl before they fizzle out into nothing, until his head is dizzy and he's melting. Until he's pressing his lips even harder against yours, until he's kissing you without any air, until he's drowning — And honestly, he couldn't be happier. His lips were made for your own, yours are his salvation, and to lose himself to you is a joy worth dying for.
Finally, after what must have been forever, you pull away, giving him a moment to breathe. His eyes meet yours when they flutter open; he's panting, his eyelids heavy and drooping, his lips parted, red and kiss-swollen. His face is warm, his cheeks are pink. Aki has to fight the urge to tug you back in. He breathes in, breathes out, he lets himself return back to reality.
There's a heavy sort of look behind the deep blue of his eyes. It's almost as if you can see the way he adores you, you can tell how he looks at you like you're fate, like you're home. He's been trying to remember how home feels like for a long, long time. You feel like finally taking off your shoes and unzipping your coat, only to hang it in the same familiar closet, on the same familiar hanger, the way you've always done. You feel like comfort.
Your hand comes to cup his cheek, then his jaw, brushing strands of messy hair behind his ear. You're leaning in again, until your lips come to settle on all his tender little intricacies: you kiss the shell of his ear, breathing warmth into his skin, and then you kiss where his ear is pierced, where his lobe meets the circle of cool, black metal.
Aki exhales a long, shaky breath, and he holds your waist, he tilts his head back, he lets his eyes flutter shut. He can feel you place light, tingly kisses on his jaw, then down to his neck — You nibble at his throat, at his Adam's apple. You kiss it when he swallows, and Aki feels the whole world start to spin.
Spinning and spinning, turning faster when you kiss his nape and trail your fingertips over the outline of his collarbones, slowing down and stabilizing when you whisper his name close to his heart, right where it rests between the bones of his ribcage. Aki's eyes open slowly, and he sees you reaching for his hands, grabbing them and taking them into your own.
Your gaze stays locked on his as you caress his battered fingers with your thumbs, as you stroke where his palms are calloused. You bring his right hand to your lips — It's the one he uses to hold his sword, it's the one he uses for contracts, and you've memorized it by now, because it's the one you always reach for.
It's the one you hold late at night when you're drifting off under the sheets, it's the one you bandage when he comes home sore and weary. The same hand he uses to kill is the one he uses to peel apples for your lunch, and to cut the thorns off your roses. It's his right hand that he places on your cheek before he kisses you, and it's the one that touches you more delicately than you've ever known.
Warmth settles over his skin, working through his veins when you breathe out, slow and steady. You kiss his knuckles, the skin tender, bruised and purple. Pretty and painful all at the same time. Devotion is palpable on your lips, it's in your eyes, it's in your hands. It's in the way you begin to caress his arms, touching the crosshatch of scars, tracing the outlines of every contract he's ever made and every battle he's ever lost.
They wind up from his forearms, twisting over his biceps, like the veins of fallen leaves. Flowers could grow from his blood, from where it's been spilt, tiny sprouts of smooth, bright petals, and your hands would be the one to plant the seeds. You make him feel like they're beautiful. You kiss them, you kiss his scars and it feels like love, it feels soft and alive; your mouth sucks out the corruption, leaving little hickeys in your wake.
And you do the same with the scars on his chest, pressing kisses to each old wound and faded mark. Aki's chest expands and contracts, he feels like he's drunk on this. You trail your finger up a huge, rough scar, his worst scar. It travels up from his stomach to his chest, deep and slender, sensitive to the touch, to the fragments of his heart. Your touch is so gentle he can hardly feel it, your lips feel like solace. The mark he hates the most also happens to be the one you treat the sweetest.
"You're so pretty."
Aki's eyes go wide at the sound of your voice, his cheeks flush an even brighter shade of red. His heart flutters: a hummingbird's wings inside a little cage, a resounding echo. And this is where Aki understands, this is where he knows deep down in his core that all of him is yours. You own his heart, his soul, his everything. God, he's so in love.
When he speaks, his voice is a smooth, deep murmur, a dreamy sort of lull: "I love you." Then, he takes your hands in his, a little desperately, his grip tight, and he says like a plea, "Stay with me."
You weren't planning on leaving, and Aki knows this, but he says it anyways. He knows you'll never leave, but after he's lost everything he's had, after every desire he's possessed has managed to somehow slip through his fingers, he needs you to just smile and nod and tell him, I'll stay, I'll stay. If the words are coming from your sweet mouth, then he's sure he can believe them.
You lean in, you kiss the tip of his nose. Aki wraps his arms around you, pulling you close. You mutter something about staying over — Can I borrow your pajamas and the spare coffee mug? — but he doesn't manage to catch all of it. He relishes in the feeling of you for just a few moments longer, in the feeling of your soul tangled with his. Your hearts like tethers, you, the sun, and him, the moon.
"Hey, you want a smoke?"
Aki brightens at that; the sound of your voice in his ear is a warm cocoon to envelop him, and it's a familiar question he's heard time and time again, an affair he's always happy to indulge in. You're reaching for the nightstand before he even gives you an answer, grabbing your shared pack of cigarettes and his baby blue lighter.
You place a cigarette between your lips, and when Aki sits up, leaning his back on the headboard, you hand one to him. You lean in close; the lighter is positioned in the center, the end of your cigarettes are pressed together in a well-known kiss, and with one strike of the wheel, the flame burns, and both your cigs flare to life.
Smoke fills the bedroom, it pricks at the corners of your eyes. The smell reminds you of his lips. Wisps of gray twist towards the ceiling when you both inhale, then exhale — A soft set of sighs, in complete unison.
The nicotine soothes Aki's lungs, he can taste the ash on his tongue. His eyes close shut as he takes one more long, deep drag. Then, he reaches for the ashtray, stamping the half-burned cigarette out into nothing.
You quirk an eyebrow as you watch him, fiddling with your cig between two of your fingers. "Is that all? You're done?"
A soft smile dawns on Aki's face, the kind that makes the apples of his cheeks lift, and the corners of his eyes crinkle. Just more places for you to kiss, just more things for you to adore. His hands come to settle on the curve of your waist, holding you gently, giving you the faintest squeeze.
"Yeah," He replies, "Don't need it. Besides, I'd rather be kissing you."
You snort, and you give your cigarette one more puff before putting it out, just as he did.
"C'mere, then."
And when your lips connect once more, Aki tastes like love.
Notes: Bruh it took all my self control not to make these all Gojo smh. I also tried to make the readers age ambiguous. if yall want more let me know! also let me know if you wanna be tagged!
