✚ Rapper!Martin x fan!Reader ⋮ oneshot ⋮ bananagirl masterlist
desc - you’ve been a fan of martins music since before he was on all streaming platforms, since before he was doing live performances and headlining for famous artists. And one day he suddenly deleted your favorite niche song of his off all platforms and you thought the best thing to do is to DM him about it, even though you knew he would never see it in the floods of all his DMs.
note - listen I know I said I was going on hiatus but I got really bored and js wanted to post smth so I made this BUT AS SOON AS I POST THIS I WILL OFFICIALLY BE ON HIATUS I NEED TO GET OFF TUMBLR HOLY SHIT ITS AN ADDICTION 😭😭🙏🙏
richie jerimovich’s equally as obnoxious “friend” moves back to chicago
It happens on a random Wednesday afternoon. Syd is, as on very rare occasion, working the counter. Richie had just up and left it stranded, yelling out that he was going to have a smoke while he was already halfway out the door. Sug had asked her with her sweet, please-I-have-no-other-options-and-we’re-dead-anyways look and Sydney couldn’t find it in herself to say no.
“Hey, there,” She smiled, trying her best not to be awkward. The counter is not where she’s used to being and it feels nothing but wrong. “What can I get for you?”
The woman wears jeans, worn in sneakers, and a graphic t-shirt with a stupid phrase on it. She’s trying to shove everything in her purse — a wallet, a crushed up pack of Newports, sunglasses, and a bunch of other indistinguishable objects — and failing.
“Yes, hello,” She leaned against the counter, purse still open and swinging on her shoulder, hands slapping against the cold surface. It throws Syd off a bit, how comfortable she seems. I mean, she’s practically throwing herself across the counter. “I’d like to order one hot and fresh Richard Lawrence Jerimovich, please.”
Syd pauses for a second, head tilting.
“Uh, is that — are you asking for Richie?” Syd pointed behind her to the kitchen. She nods.
“If I’m allowed. Why, he get fired? Shoulda kicked that bastard outta here a long time ago, if you ask me,” Her fingers tap against the counter in an undistinguishable rhythm.
“Who you kickin’ out, Syd?” Richie pushes through the door, vision of the other side of the counter blocked by it. Once it closes, though, and he glances over, Richie stops in his tracks. A grin breaks out on his face and he looks happier than Sydney has ever seen him.
“Don’t play with me,” He yells, pointing at the girl who now has an equally as big smile. “Don’t fuckin’ play with me, now!”
She pushes off the counter, arms spread out before yelling back, “I’m back baby!”
“Yeah!” He laughs. “That’s what I’m talking about - fuck yeah!” Richie jumps over the counter. Syd backs up until she hits the wall behind her, eyes wide.
“What is going on…” Her own question for herself is overshadowed by the pair still yelling and shouting celebrations. Carmy pokes his head through the door, finding Syd looking lost and helpless.
“What the fuck is happening?” His wild curls shake with his head. Syd only shrugs, arms flailing out in the direction of the two. Carm turns to watch as Richie holds her up to his height in a tight hug, yelling expletives in her ear.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” His eyes fall shut before he quickly turns back around into the kitchen, Syd following him. “This-I, I cannot deal with that. One Richie is e-fucking-nough, I can’t do two. I can’t-I can’t. Sug!”
Richie finally puts her back on the ground, but his arms stay wrapped around her.
“Wassup, babe? Whatchu been up to?” For how much yelling he was doing, his voice is now the opposite.
“Nothin’ fun. How bout’ you, huh, what’s Big Rich cookin’ up in Chicagolands Beef?”
“Eh,” He shrugs. “Beef. Y’know what, though, this fuckin’” He stops for a second, already getting annoyed again. “This fuckin’ bitchy inspector lady found that hole by the stoves, y’know, with all the napkins, remember? I gotta go get some caulk and fill that shit.”
“Rich,” She lays a hand over his bicep. “I promise, you absolutely don’t need anymore cock than what you already got, homeboy.” They laugh so hard Sug can hear it while she leaves the office after hearing Carms distressed yell.
“What’s the matter? Is everyone okay?” She looks as concerned as she always seems to be in The Beef.
“She’s back.” Carmy says with a hand running over his face.
“Who? The inspector? Why is she-“
“No,” Carmy mutters, looking her in the eye as more obnoxious laughter rings out from the front. “Her.” Natalie’s face lights up in recognition and a bit of what can only be described as horror.
being in love with your best friend's girlfriend is hard. not knowing if you're the baby daddy is harder.
pairing: bodyswapped bf!Suguru x f!reader x bsf!Satoru
content: MDNI, fluff!!! smut!!, established relationships, au where Geto never defected, reader-insert, no use of yn, multiple povs, gojo is down so BAD (absolute loser loverboy if I'm being honest), gojo and geto swapping bodies, accidental pregnancy, threesome, unprotected sex, finger sucking, nipple play, piv sex, creampie
a/n: art by @dinneratgios !!
“Hi, angel.”
“Which boyfriend am I speaking to?” you groaned into the phone, tucking it between your ear and your shoulder as you bent over to pull out ingredients for tonight's dinner for one.
“Guess,” Suguru's low voice rolled through the grainy connection, Satoru chuckling somewhere in the background.
“Hi, Toru,” you sighed, rubbing your forehead after dropping the food on the counter.
“That obvious?” You could hear his pout, the quiet murmur of the real Suguru saying something you couldn't make out while you leaned against the edge of the marble.
They'd switched bodies back a few days after the curse hit them the first time. But it hadn't lasted more than a few weeks before they swapped again. Showing up together and shrugging it off with some story about it just 'happening' when they were fighting some random curse. They didn't seem particularly stressed though.
No, you were pretty sure they were having fun with it.
At first, you thought it was just an accident. Something out of their control. But lately?
You were almost positive they figured out some special trick to switching bodies, taking advantage of trading places whenever it suited them.
There hadn't been a repeat of the first night, but it didn't seem like it even mattered. Not when Gojo had somehow slipped himself inside your relationship even when he wasn't occupying Suguru's body. An arm thrown around your shoulder on the couch, messy kisses planted on your cheek, all the nights over the past couple months he insisted it was too late to drive home just for an excuse to sleep on the other side of your bed. Suguru always just watching with an entertained little glint in his eyes, until the second his best friend pushed a little too far and-
“Still there?”
“Yeah,” you yawned for maybe the hundredth time today, stomach twisting at the thought of actually cooking and eating the food on the counter.
“You miss me?" He teased, making your boyfriend's voice lilt up in an unfamiliar way. There was a dull thump, then a pained noise and a heavy huff back into the phone. "Oops, us?"
You didn't think you were supposed to miss him.
But you did. More than you wanted to. Somehow, somewhere along the way, three started feeling less like a crowd and more like comfort. Catching yourself glancing towards the empty corner of the couch where Satoru usually sat when his favorite show came on, instinctively reaching for the candy bars he liked at the grocery store when you were shopping for Suguru.
“Mhm,” you hummed, changing your mind about making a real meal and cradling the food back in your arms to haphazardly shove it all back onto the middle shelf of the fridge. You could just use the card Satoru left and order delivery. But perhaps a nap first.
“It’s not even that late there, are you seriously sleepy?” Satoru asked with a laugh. They'd been gone for two whole weeks already on some stupid trip to take care of some underground group of curse users in the middle of nowhere.
“I think I’ve got, like, the flu, or something,” you shrugged, closing your eyes when a wave of lightheadedness washed over you, awkwardly crouched by the open fridge, a weird refrigerant smell you never noticed before only adding the nausea coiling in your stomach.
“You're sick and you didn't say anything?” It was still weird to hear your boyfriend whine even when you knew it was really Satoru. One of the little things you hadn't been able to get used to yet.
“I mean, it's not like you can do anything, it's probably just a stomach bug,” you excused, spit pooling in your mouth as you started to stand, vaguely aware you might actually puke when the corner of your vision started to grow fuzzy.
“Baby-"
ᦏ♡᪔
“Hey,” Your brain barely processed the feminine voice as Shoko’s, your head feeling cloudy when you tried to sit up just for a soft hand to press you back against the table. “Bad idea.”
“Shit, Shoko?” You croaked, blinking blearily.
“Your boyfriend called. Said it sounded like you passed out on the phone,” she informed you, letting you adjust to your surroundings, process that you were waking up in her office instead of your home. “You hit your head pretty hard.”
That would explain the headache throbbing behind your eyes, but there was no pain, no cuts or bruises when you ran your fingers over your forehead, although your hair was still sticky on one spot, red staining your hand when you brought it back in front of your face. You guessed she must've used her technique to heal whatever wound it left.
“I told both those idiots you'd be fine, but you know them,” she sighed, glancing back at the pack of cigarettes on her desk but not going to grab them, folding her arms over her chest instead. “Probably on the first flight back already.”
If Satoru was back in his own body, he was probably wrinkling the fabric of reality to transport himself back to you.
“Thanks, um, for that,” you muttered, sighing as you rolled over on your side, the nausea that had settled in your stomach still there even now.
“So,” she started, her tired brown eyes fixing you in a sharp stare, like she was waiting for you to say something.
“Uh-huh?” You blinked back, too exhausted to work out what was expected from you.
“Does Suguru know?” She asked, her head tilted to the side as she nudged a small trash can closer to you with her foot.
“Know what?” You gagged before you could ask anything else, and if there was anything left in your stomach to throw up, you probably would've. She picked the trash can up, holding it out like she expected as much.
“That you're pregnant?” Shoko deadpanned.
“That I'm what?”
You did puke then.
Desensitized enough not to be totally disgusted, she just held the rest of your hair back with her other hand until you finished, murmuring something under her breath about guessing that was a no then.
Your brain couldn't compute it.
Sure, you and Suguru weren't always that careful, but-
Shit.
"You'd need to see a specialist, but from my scan, I'd guess you're probably about two months along," she muttered, and it was only then noticed the portable ultrasound machine pushed back on the opposite wall. Something you guessed was more for internal injuries instead of accidental pregnancy.
"I took a morning after pill," you defensively muttered, wiping the corner of your mouth. "I-"
"That only works if the sperm didn't-"
The door swung open before she could finish, and Gojo walked through. Except, you weren't even sure if it was actually him, or your real boyfriend in his body. Either way, he was rushing over, brushing your hair back from your forehead like he had to examine you himself.
"Satoru," she started to scold him, but he didn't even seem to hear. Blue eyes burning through you with a certain intensity you knew didn't belong to him.
"It's Suguru," you cleared your throat, watching the way his pink lips parted but didn't protest, the concern etched in every crease of his face. "They've been swapping bodies ever since that stupid curse."
"Oh," Shoko frowned, glancing between you before she picked up at the not-so-subtle implication in your voice. "Oh."
Yeah. Oh.
You didn't even know if your boyfriend was your baby daddy.
Even if Suguru had been the one to get you pregnant, he wouldn't have been in his body to do it.
"How are you feeling?" He asked, somehow still missing it even with the six eyes. Suguru searched your face, scanning for any sign you weren't alright before glancing over to Shoko. "Is she okay?"
"She'll be fine," Shoko dryly replied, brows furrowed together as she shook her head a little, throwing you a look that said you were on your own with this one. "Don't think she's been eating enough."
Yeah, now that you were supposed to be feeding yourself and a fetus that already technically had two dads.
What would you prefer?
A bright little blue-eyed baby with grabby hands if it meant it was Suguru who knocked you up? One with dark hair and your favorite smile when you were sure Satoru would still say it was his?
"I'll take her home," Suguru murmured, even though it was Gojo's voice you heard, a long arm wrapped around your waist to help you stand up.
His warmth was welcome, still steady and strong even when it wasn't, well, him, holding you up and walking you back out to where Ijichi was waiting with a car. You guessed one of them must have called him, given him the heads up to wait. Suguru opened the door for you, insisting on buckling you in despite you muttering that you could do it yourself.
"Satoru probably won't be back for a couple hours. He's on the plane now," he murmured once you were on the way back.
You nodded, leaning your head against the glass as you weighed your options, wondering how the hell you were supposed to tell either of them something so huge.
Maybe you were being greedy, but you didn't want to lose one or the other. Didn't want to have to make a choice when you just started to like the color your world had taken having both of them around. But you didn't know how they'd feel about this when none of you had even talked about what was going on with the three of you.
Did Satoru even want kids? Was Suguru ready?
Were you?
As fucking scary as it was, you couldn't help but feel some primal surge of protectiveness, a strange need to keep this thing inside you safe, even if it was like, the size of a pebble or however big babies were supposed to be when you couldn't be more than two months along.
"Get some rest, baby," Suguru softly spoke, still making your spine shiver at how odd it was to hear Gojo's voice sound so sincere. He went to rub your shoulder, infinity brimming and buzzing faintly before he remembered to turn it off, his fingers cold as he tried to massage some of the tension out.
Completely clueless to how much he'd be hearing the word baby soon enough.
ᦏ♡᪔
Three hours stuck at 27,000 feet.
Three hours without even a single update on how you were doing or if you were okay. He didn't even have time to book a first class seat, stuck in the middle of encomoy and his row. Without even infinity on to stop the idiots to his left and right from brushing against his, ah, Suguru's skin.
He never knew how fucking annoying it was to deal with people touching him until he didn't have the power to stop them.
The girl next to him kept throwing him heated glances, trying to reach out to twirl one of her fingers in his long dark hair that Satoru ruthlessly swatted away by the time he was finally grabbing his suitcase and getting off the damn thing.
"Sorry," he grimaced to stop himself from using one of Suguru's cursed techniques here and now on a civilian. "I have a girlfriend."
Was it really a lie?
His body, his brain, his soul, whatever it was that made him him, it all ached for you like you were already his.
The ride back to your place, Suguru's place, it somehow managed to stretch even longer, his leg anxiously bouncing up-and-down in the backseat watching familiar buildings pass by. He'd gotten a text from Suguru, at least, a few sentences confirming that you were okay, that he brought you back home to sleep, but it didn't do much to help the unease crawling up his skin.
He wanted to see you.
To touch you, wrap his arms around you and tuck your head beneath his chin. In his own body instead of Suguru's. He knew he'd only ever be your boyfriend's best friend to you. But he still wanted more. Even if he had to share.
The door was unlocked when he got there, the scent of Suguru's cooking hitting him the second he was kicking his shoes off.
"Honey," he called out, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it up by the door as he peered through to the kitchen only to see himself there, white brows furrowed together as he stirred something on the stove. "I'm home."
Suguru scowled at him, blue eyes squinting into a harsh stare as he dragged over the state of his own body before sighing. Maybe it was just his ego speaking, but god, did he look so goddamn good.
Why didn't you want him?
"You stink," Suguru wryly commented, scrunching his nose up.
"Should I go see if our girl wants to wash me?" Satoru teased, not even really meaning it, nerves pricking under his skin as he fought the itch to go straight to see you.
"Let's just switch back," Suguru rolled his eyes, turning the burner off and moving the pot of soup to a different one to cool. "You'll probably just jerk off in the shower again."
One time.
He only did it one time and Suguru still wouldn't drop it. Besides, didn't they have bigger things to worry about? Much more important issues?
"Fine with me," Satoru muttered back, running his fingers through Suguru's long hair one more time before he asked what he really wanted to know. "Did Shoko say what's wrong with her?"
"Not eating enough," Suguru shrugged, icy blue eyes focusing on Satoru with a hint of guilt he shared. Regretting accepting the mission when you weren't okay here. "She's asleep now."
You were Suguru's to take care of after all.
For some stupid reason, his heart squeezed. Strained against his chest no matter whose skin he was in, finding himself leaning against the doorframe outside of your room after they switched back as he tried to convince his own legs to take the first steps in. Staring at your sleeping form, the blankets rising and falling with your breath.
Would you want to see him? Did you even miss him at all? Or just Suguru?
He squatted down next to the bed, swallowing hard at the sight of you curled up beneath the blankets, slowly waking up at the sound of the floorboards creaking underneath him.
"Hey, beautiful," he murmured softly, his own voice sounding nearly foreign to him after being in Suguru's body all day. He thought he was being the bigger person, letting him stay in his so he could get back to you as soon as possible, but part of him couldn't help but wish it was him here first.
Your eyes cracked open, a little yawn escaping, and Satoru couldn't stop from reaching out with a pale thumb to drag his thumb over the corner of your lips where a little bit of drool escaped.
There was a heavy pause, a thick moment where you stared at him, biting down on the inside of your cheeks before your mouth opened.
"I'm pregnant," you spoke so quietly, he wasn't sure he even heard you correctly until it struck him you were serious.
Was he fucking dreaming?
Had one of those cursed users knocked him unconscious hundreds of miles away and this was some scarily vivid hallucination?
"I don't know which one of you is, um, you know..." You trailed off, swallowing hard and looking at him with that help me look that made him want to drop everything for you. Even if he was mostly scared shitless at the idea that you might be having his kid.
"It's really from that night?" He asked, and you nodded, only uncertain in what his reaction would be.
"Are you mad at me?" You whispered, your eyes all wide and wavering, hoping for the best and waiting for the worst.
"No, angel," he promised back, cupping your face as he tried to control his breathing. The lights flickered in the room, his restraint slipping as he struggled to hold himself together when his mind had already conjured up pictures of you padding around barefoot and pregnant with his baby. "Never."
You blinked, brows knitting together as your voice broke, "Satoru?"
"Seriously, I'm gone for five fucking minutes and you're trying to make a move on her when she's not feeling good-"
Suguru stopped two steps in. Towel slung low on his hips, water droplets still rolling down his tanned skin, damp hair hanging loose and down. His face was frozen in a familiar scowl, but there was something else brimming behind his stern stare.
"What's wrong?"
"Suguru," you said his name like you were only now realizing it was him. It felt like stepping on a fucking thumbtack. A sharp sting he couldn't ignore, throat threatening to close as he watched you look up at his best friend the same way you just looked at him. "I-"
"What?" He pressed, walking over to sit on the edge of the bed, the towel dropping lower, nearly slipping off, a ridiculous amount of his happy trail sticking out when this was supposed to be a serious moment.
"I'm two months pregnant," you admitted, just to pull the blanket up over your hide like you could hide from either of them.
Suguru tugged it back down with more restraint than Satoru was pretty sure he had in a single pinky finger. Focusing on one steady breath as a time, reaching out to graze over your flushed cheek.
"You're serious?"
Satoru hated how much it felt like he was interrupting. Stuck on the sidelines to suffer through this shared intimate moment.
"Yeah, it's just..." you hesitated, finding the ocean in Satoru's eyes already waiting for you, searching for some buoy there to keep you afloat.
"The baby could be either of ours," Satoru finished for you, saving you from the hard part of saying it out loud.
The blood drained from Suguru's face, the crease between his brows getting even deeper as it hit him that this wasn't the happy memory automatically marking the start of fatherhood for him.
"I'm obviously the dad," his best friend wryly said, nose held up high as he subtly assert his dominance. "Biological or not."
"As far as I'm concerned, it's mine either way," Satoru huffed back, folding his arms across his chest. "I'm not going anywhere."
"She's my girlfriend," Suguru snapped, and you recoiled a little, pulling back from both of them.
"Sweetheart," Satoru hummed, hoping he sounded casual and not like he was choking on the huge lump in his throat as he turned to you. "Why don't you choose?"
ᦏ♡᪔
You knew better than to believe what came out of Satoru's mouth was anything but bait.
But you were craving comfort, craving their company. Missed both of them more than you were currently willing to confront. And who knows, maybe some of your horniness was thanks to pesky pregnancy hormones?
Anything to blame other than how badly you were burning to have them again.
They forced you to eat first, waiting until you were full of warm soup that finally settled your stomach, still bickering behind your back over the logistics of who was really the dad depending on who knocked you up in whose body blah blah blah, before bringing you back to the bedroom.
"You should sleep," Suguru murmured, trying to guide you back underneath the covers.
"I don't want to," you muttered, stifling your yawn to look up at him with your best set of puppy dog eyes.
"Yeah, she doesn't want to," Satoru echoed, a hand sneaking to your side, half-supportive and half-scheming.
"You have to be exhausted," Suguru frowned, nose scrunching up like he was struggling to decide what to do with the two of you.
"Not too tired for you," you pouted, sitting up to skim a finger along his chest, forcing the fabric of the shirt he changed into to lift up enough to expose his tanned midriff.
"Baby," he sighed, the pet name making your stomach flutter a little extra now.
"I've been lonely the past two weeks," you added, fluttering your lashes like it might convince him to cave in. The least they could do was take care of you after that, wasn't it? "You left us."
The us was enough to erode the last of Suguru's restraint, but he still sighed anyway, catching your wrist before you could cup the rock-hard bulge he was sporting.
"You don't know what you do to me," he muttered, lips pursing together as you found yourself smiling up at him.
"I don't think either of you gets to talk," you retorted, voice still thick with sleepiness as you gestured to your stomach. "You guys did this to me."
Although, was it really so awful to have two incredibly hot men arguing over who got to play daddy to your child? Which one of them would get to spoil them the most and sign their name on the birth certificate?
"You're too cute not to cum inside," Satoru tried to defend himself? Dig a deeper grave?
"Then why aren't you trying to right now?" You questioned with a soft hum, laying out the trap knowing he'd be the first to spring it.
And Suguru wouldn't let him do it alone.
"You win," Suguru muttered disapprovingly, clicking his tongue as he complied for maybe the first time in your relationship.
He was letting you have this.
But he still made it clear he was going to go gentle - and that he'd throttle Satoru if he didn't do the same.
Touching you like you were some fragile piece of porcelain, as they might shatter you by simply skimming over your skin too hard, stripping you down to just a pair of panties with reverence.
Satoru ended up underneath you, your back pressed against his chest, supporting you as Suguru climbed on top and caged you both in. Spreading your thighs apart and shaking his head at how soaked your pretty little lace underwear was, the damp fabric sticking to your skin before he pried it off.
"Who are you this wet for?" Suguru casually asked, like the question wasn't the sharpened blade of a knife, threatening to slice through the tension - and maybe you too. "Me?"
He leaned in to drag his tongue across your clit, taste buds longing for you like the rest of him. Making you shudder, your shoulders relaxing back into Satoru's strong grip.
"Or him?"
He didn't actually want an answer, not when his nose was nudging against your clit, tongue diving in to find out the truth for himself. To feel the way your body reacted to him, thighs squeezing down on his head to hold him there as he ripped a weak gasp from you.
"Be gentle with her," Satoru (complained) reminded him with a loud click of his tongue, his best attempt at sounding serious, you guessed. Mature.
Suguru pushed your thighs apart enough to lift his head, peeking up to scowl at his best friend.
"Do you think I'm stupid enough to be rough with the mother of my baby?" He scoffed, his thumb dimpling your plush thigh as his now glossy lips twitched down into a frown.
"Our baby," Satoru corrected him, and you were pretty sure if Suguru's hands weren't already on your thighs, he'd be strangling his best friend.
And you really didn't want to have to deal with both of your potential baby daddies attempting to murder each other before you managed to find out a proper due date.
So you grabbed Suguru by his hair, guiding him back down until you were grinding against his nose. You could feel the way he tensed, murmuring something you couldn't hear as he went back to eating you out, teasing you with his tongue since he knew the only thing that would shut Satoru up was the sound of your moans.
Wondering in between his drawn-out licks if he'd still be willing to do this if he knew for sure your baby didn't belong to him. Or if he'd still double down and say that he came in you anyway, that he'd love the little blob currently growing inside you the same.
Despite how expertly he swirled his tongue around, working you open until you were whining his name, rolling your hips up to drive that thick muscle of his deeper. Satoru was still holding you in place for him, one strong forearm wrapped around your waist while the other slid up to your tits. His lips kept teasingly grazing over your throat, not quite kissing, just...testing. Seeing what sort of reaction he could get when you were already at risk of falling apart before you came remotely close to cumming.
"Need more?" Suguru murmured, all low and deep as he looked up, thumb tracing over the inside of your thigh in a long motion, pushing it down into the soft bed. Sweet as honey.
"I need you," you affirmed, nodding and readjusting, feeling Satoru's bulge against your back as he let out an indignant huff at the lack of attention he was receiving. His mouth latched into your collarbone, attempting to claim you with bite marks and hickies, sucking hungry wet spots across your skin as he started grinding against your back.
Satoru was just like some sugary candy, the kind that gave you a certain kind of fleeting high, made your breath hitch with the hit of dopamine that came with his smile. Suguru was soothing. Calm you wanted to cling to.
And yet, once you were in bed between them, it was like their roles switched. Your boyfriend was sharper, his composure cracking and giving way to his need for control when Satoru seemed ready to rob it from him.
To rob you from him.
"Whatever my future wife wants," Suguru casually promised, moving up and pulling down the loose band of his sweatpants to reveal the pretty head of his cock. Dark and glistening, beads of pre-cum already collected at the tip, threatening to roll down as your stare stuck to the thick shape of him.
"You're proposing?" You asked, fighting the urge to giggle or make ring requests, finding it all too easy to get swept up in his familiar waves when you knew you should be discussing the real logistics that came with adding another member to your full apartment.
"I will if he doesn't," Satoru chimed in, and your mouth twitched up in a smile, about to part before Suguru promptly shut you up first.
Slowly sliding himself in, your words getting choked up and replaced by air as you found yourself squirming at the pressure, struggling not to immediately clamp down after aching for this moment from the day he left.
Suguru took his time, making sure you felt every inch, holding back like he was torn between being terrified he'd accidentally hurt you or the baby and tempted to see how much of him you could take.
Satoru's grip on you tightened, but you were lost in the drag of Suguru's girth against your walls, how his hips hit your skin, his fingertips caressing your cheek. He swiped his thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it open before slipping it in between your teeth. Letting his knuckle rest between the ridges, daring you to bite down. He started picking up the pace, not daring to bottom out all the way but still making sure you were satisfied with what he gave.
But it was a slippery slope, and old habits were hard to break, especially when he was used to breaking you.
His strokes were faster, threatening to press up against your womb while his thumb pressed down on your tongue, cheeks hollowing out as you started to suck on it. Satoru's cock twitched underneath you, something damp starting to seep through his clothes and spreading on your skin watching his best friend fuck you.
"My girl's so greedy," Suguru murmured, jaw tensing as his restraint weakened at your breathy whimper.
Every touch, every thrust was intimate. Intentional.
Letting you know he wasn't going anywhere with the rut of his hips and the warmth of his skin. Saying enough without actually having to say anything at all.
Satoru might have crept his way in, carved out a niche in your heart, but the whole thing still belonged to Suguru.
It didn't stop him from trying to make a play for more.
And it didn't stop you from liking it a little when he did.
"I'd be so soft, angel," Satoru whispered in your ear, hands moving until he was squeezing your tit, tenderly rubbing over your surprisingly sensitive nipple until you made a squeak that didn't even sound like yourself. "So sweet to you."
"T-toru," you stammered, half-muffled into Suguru's hand, completely thrown off by how fucking good it felt for him to rub your nipples like that, lashes fluttering and another low moan escaping as he switched to the other one, making a V with his fingers and expertly massaging it, his infinity abandoned and forgotten as he focused solely on making you whine again.
"Don't say his name while I'm inside you," Suguru grumbled, and maybe it was sheer willpower, or Satoru simply wishing hard enough for it, but you felt the shift in the air.
And when your eyes hazily met your boyfriend's, you realized it wasn't him anymore.
They swapped places again.
Satoru stalled inside you, blinking as it struck him that he was back in Suguru's body now. The lump in his throat bobbed hard as he took in the full visual of you getting stuffed full while you laid on top of his actual body, head reclining back on his chest and hair splayed out. Overwhelmed at the sensation of being buried deep in your cunt, at how it felt for you to suck on his finger while his cock throbbed and begged for more friction.
You loved Suguru. More than anything. Needed him like he was your blood and bones, etched so deeply inside you that you weren't sure where your heart ended and his started.
But somewhere along the way, you were starting to suspect that your feelings for Satoru had shifted to something more.
Something you still weren't sure you wanted to name.
Because even when you shut your eyes, even when it was Suguru's cologne you were smelling and his rough hands on your hips, you could still picture Satoru's pretty face hovering above you, his sharp nose and smug smirk, that brilliant gleam in his eyes as you felt yourself getting stretched out around his thick length when he finally took the plunge and started pounding into you himself.
He was true to his pretty promises though. Almost sickly sweet, pulling this thumb out from your lips to cup your cheek instead, fucking you nice and slow while he tried to hold your attention hostage with tender words that you could barely even process.
How could you when Suguru was picking up where he'd left off? Pinching softly at the sensitive peaks of your nipples, twisting them just enough to toy with you, pulling your strings despite being under you.
You mumbled something, completely incoherent as you whined and writhed between their firm bodies. Tugging at the dark roots on your boyfriend's scalps while the man inside his body fucked you down so you had to feel the full length of his actual length pressed against your ass.
"You're not fucking her right," Suguru dismissively spoke behind you, managing to sound even more sarcastic using Suguru's voice. "Are you even trying?"
"S-shut up," Satoru hissed back, eyes scrunching shut, a rough groan escaping as he desperately clawed back the urge to cum.
"Don't worry, pretty," Suguru tch-ed, one of his mean hands slipping in-between your thighs, just above where he was watching his cock disappear into your warmth. Rubbing slow circles against your clit, intent on making sure you came before either of them. "I'll take care of you."
You knew he would.
Perhaps that was why it was so easy to just let go. Giving into the maddening motion of soft fingertips and searing pressure, thighs trembling and body shuddering as your pussy reflexively squeezed down on the dick currently attempting to mold you to his shape and size.
Satoru was so close, the chest hovering above yours heaving, sweat sticking to the pretty divots and sculpted muscles of your boyfriend's beautiful body. But Suguru refused to let him get there first.
Pushing you over the precipice without a second thought, cooing softly in your ear and telling you that this was what you wanted, that you could take it, sharp teeth skimming over your shoulder right as Satoru let out a lewd moan and bent down to bury his face on your other side, biting down on your collarbone as he came inside you hard and fast.
Well.
You couldn't get pregnant again.
Coming down didn't bring any kind of epiphany. Didn't make it obvious who you wanted to be the dad, or help you come up with some solution to magically fix all of the potential problems having a child came with.
But it made the world feel a little more manageable when they were there.
You didn't even realize Suguru finished too until you felt how damp your back was, the sheets underneath you soaked in sex and sweat and cum too.
"Did you-" You started to ask, dazed and dizzy as you craned your neck back to catch a glance at his face.
"Not my fault Satoru never gets laid," Suguru murmured, but you could see his blush much more easily on Gojo's pale complexion. "Can't help that he doesn't get touched."
"Be nice," you scolded, giggling a little, exhaling hard before leaning back against him, body still shaky as he squeezed you back, pulling you close into his broad chest, despite the mess.
"So," Satoru exhaled, breathing heavily as he left another kiss on your shoulder to soothe where he'd bit you before. "Who's the daddy?"
You bit your lip, letting your lashes flutter for a long moment as your stare shifted between the two men. Couldn't they just be dad #1 and dad #2 and decide amongst themselves?
being in love with your best friend's girlfriend is hard.
being in love with your best friend's girlfriend and being stuck in his body is harder.
pairing: bodyswapped bf!Suguru x f!reader x bsf!Satoru
content: MDNI, established relationships, au where Geto never defected, reader-insert, no use of yn, very mild use of pet names (baby, sweetheart), multiple povs (and positions), gojo is down so BAD (absolute loser loverboy if I'm being honest), gojo and geto get bodyswapped, oral (m! and f! receiving), handjob, mirror sex, unprotected sex, inappropriate use of jujutsu, threesome
wc: 10.3k (pinky promise it's worth it)
a/n: it should hopefully be clear who is who, but if you are ever in doubt, I mostly used Satoru/Suguru to indicate who it really is and Gojo/Geto in reference to their bodies <33 enjoy!! hehe also this was inspired by @quinnyundertow so we can all thank her for this fr
“I dunno,” Shoko sighed, shrugging for the twentieth time since her two least favorite idiots stumbled through her door.
“What's that s’pposed to mean?” Gojo groaned, clearing his throat like that'd make it any more comfortable to hear the wrong voice coming out of it or get rid of the shitty taste lingering on his tongue. The other Gojo passed him a soda, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers and squinting at Shoko while she fiddled with the cigarette dangling between her lips.
“If I had to guess,” She tutted, tilting her head like she didn't get paid nearly enough for this. “The effects will wear off in a day or two.”
“And if they don't?” He heard himself ask, watching the words leave his mouth, trace the sharp line of his own jaw from the soft yellow glow of Shoko's lamp when his head cocked to the side.
“I'll figure something out,” She apathetically shrugged.
“So what? We’re just stuck like this?” Gojo whined, gesturing down at the body he somehow found himself in after finishing off a particularly nasty curse with Geto. Not that he was complaining that much though. If he had to swap bodies with anyone, it would probably be him.
Sure, Suguru was almost as strong as him. But there were other, ahem, benefits.
Namely, you.
“For now,” She yawned, digging through her drawers for a lighter.
“Fuck,” Geto mumbled, rubbing his eyes like they hurt. Gojo knew from experience they probably did - that his friend wasn't equipped to handle the strain from the six eyes, even with the thick pair of shades he borrowed or the dim lighting in Shoko’s office.
“Aw, cheer up,” Gojo teased, about to slap a hand on his own back just to meet nothing. It was bizarre to be on the receiving end of his technique, something invisible tension flickering in the air before it dissolved, a calloused palm meeting the soft fabric in his uniform. “Who wouldn't wanna be me?”
Geto glared at him, snow-white brows knitted together in a deep scowl.
“Who would?”
“You guys wanna take this outside?” Shoko interrupted with an exaggerated eye-roll, jutting her thumb towards the door.
“Well, if there's nothing you can do,” Gojo sighed, feigning disappointment as he felt around Geto's pockets for his keys and phone, already planning ten steps ahead for the harebrained scheme that had been forming in the back of his brain from the moment he blinked and saw himself standing across from him.
The first item on his agenda?
Slip away from Suguru to find the nearest bathroom and figure out what exactly he was working with.
“Satoru,” Suguru started, the warning a lot less effective coming from his own voice.
“What's the passcode on your phone?” Gojo ignored him with a yawn.
“You think I'm giving you that?” Suguru huffed. He couldn't tell through the glasses, but Gojo was fairly certain his friend was glaring again.
“Ijichi has my house keys,” Gojo shrugged, slinging his hands in his pockets and starting for the exit without looking back. “Unless you want a bounty on your head, you should probably stay in for the night.”
It went without saying that if word got out that the holder of the six eyes wasn't in possession of his own body, wasn't a weapon they could currently use, they might as well be painting a bloody target on his forehead.
“What are you going to do?” His best friend scoffed, peeking down his shades to cut him another sharp look as he followed him out into the hall.
“I'm gonna fuck your girlfriend.”
Suguru chuckled, dark and low, raking long fingers through his hair, hand stopping to hover in the air like he wasn't used to having it cut so short.
“Oh yeah?”
Suguru probably should've known better than to issue a challenge like that to him.
“What? Don't think I can?” Gojo pouted, popping open the tab on soda, the sharp edge of the metal slicing a thin cut along his thumb, pinpricks of blood dotting the broken skin.
It actually stung.
He hadn't actually been hurt since when? They were teenagers? It was kind of exhilarating. The sensitive new sensations, the lack of control welcome for once.
“She'll know it's not me,” Suguru simply said.
“Wanna bet?”
Your boyfriend was late.
Like, by a lot.
So much so, you were debating on calling Gojo to find out where he was, considering you couldn't get so much as a text back.
Hovering over his name in your contacts before hitting the call button with a sigh, flipping the burner off and resting your hip against the kitchen counter. But even when he answered, there was just static-y silence on the other end.
“Hello? Gojo?” You were pouting already, annoyed that you had to resort to hearing news about your boyfriend secondhand from quite possibly the least responsible person you knew.
“Uh, yeah?”
His voice sounded different. You couldn't put your finger on what it was until you realized he almost sounded serious. Not greeting you with a cheesy nickname or some obnoxious over-the-top pick-up line that he still insisted on using despite the fact you'd been dating his best friend for nearly two years now.
“Is Suguru with you?” You huffed, the sharp edge of the counter starting to dig through your thin dress. Although, it was probably closer to lingerie than an actual sundress.
“He’s not home yet?”
You were expecting some annoying arrogant reply - that Suguru was strong enough to take care of himself blah blah blah or how cute it was that you were worrying about them yada yada. Not an actual response that came close to concern.
“Is everything okay?” You bluntly asked, frowning while you tucked the phone between your ear and shoulder, reaching up to pull down a couple plates from the cabinet.
“Why wouldn't it be?” Gojo awkwardly coughed, the usual cockiness that marked every word absent.
“Something you wanna tell me?” You impatiently huffed, foot tapping against the tile. After the shitty day you had at your own job, the last thing you needed was whatever idiotic thing they'd gotten themselves in now. You'd been hoping for a quiet evening in with Suguru, had cooked him a nice dinner, lit a few candles, put on some soft music along with the tiniest thong you owned.
“No?”
Yeah, right.
In the years you'd known Satoru, he'd never answered a question with just a single word.
The plate pinched between your fingers slipped, hitting the marble with a crash! when it broke into big shards on impact. You winced at the sound, carefully picking it up piece-by-piece and tossing them into the open trash can by the counter.
“Did something happen? Are you okay?” Gojo's panicked voice called out to you from your phone's precariously cradled position. You couldn't stifle your giggle.
“Oh? Is the great Satoru Gojo worried about me?” You teased. Seriously, what was his deal today?
His laugh was dangerous, an octave lower than usual when it reverberated through you. It almost sounded like he was there, purring it directly in your ear.
“You should be more careful,” He warned. Maybe Suguru had finally started wearing off on him.
“I should, hm?”
“It almost sounds like you're flirting with me,” He chided with a click of his tongue.
“You wish,” You laughed.
A thud by the entryway distracted you, keys jingling as the lock started to turn. Gojo started to say your name, all soft and low, and something pricked at the back of your brain, like an itch you couldn't scratch.
“Whatever, weirdo,” You sighed. “Just forget about it. Suguru’s here.”
You hung up before he could keep you on the line and longer, sitting your phone on the counter and finding another tiny shattered piece of ceramic to toss out, heavy footsteps echoing on the floor behind you.
“Sugu-”
Your greeting was cut off by massive hands on your waist, fingers wrinkling the soft fabric of your dress as his thumbs traced little crescent moons along your back, a head nuzzling against the crook of your collarbone.
“Did someone miss me?” You teased, trying to crane your neck back to take a peek only for him to squeeze you tighter. His lips grazing against the column of your throat, his breath cool on your skin.
“Maybe,” He murmured, teeth nipping at your ear while you squealed and twisted away from him.
A pretty bouquet of white roses was tossed on the counter next to the sink, a few of the petals starting to get crushed from where it was laying.
“Those for me?” You suppressed your smile, ignoring the way one of his hands was currently sliding underneath the hem of your dress while you picked up the flowers, careful not to get picked by the thorns poking out underneath the thin ribbon they were tied together with.
“Mhm,” His honeyed hum was soothing, music to your ears while he started to pepper your neck with gentle kisses, brushing the thin strap of your dress off your shoulder.
“What's the occasion?” You giggled, taking a tiny whiff of them.
“Can't I just get my pretty girl some flowers?” He practically whined behind you, his firm chest pressed against your back. You were used to him being glued to you after he got home, but usually it was just a hand on your back, a hip brushing against yours, just small expressions of his casual affection. The weight of his presence threatened to swallow you already, his mouth tracing your collarbone like he really might consume you before the night had even started.
“As long as they're not apology flowers for something stupid you and Gojo did,” You hummed, relaxing back into him.
He didn't say anything to that.
“Sugu,” You started disapprovingly, about to scold him before he turned you around, quick to cop a feel while he did, grabbing a handful of your ass and squeezing hard when he picked you up and sat you down on the counter so you could properly face him.
“I didn't do anything,” He asserted, dark eyes settling on you and trailing south, savoring each second like he was drinking the image of you in. A sharp canine biting down on his lower lip when his gaze settled on the cleavage spilling out.
Maybe it was silly.
But it felt like the first time he'd seen them all over again. How lovestruck he looked the longer his stare lingered, the sharp little exhales he barely seemed to manage, something hanging thick in the narrow space between you.
“If you say so,” You yielded, delicately pinching a white petal between your fingers appreciatively, admiring his selection. His eyes crinkled when he smiled, faint lines etched into the skin when he pressed another featherlight kiss on your forehead. “Grab the vase for these?”
The curve of his mouth turned down, faltering for a second when he looked down at you.
“Could you, um, remind me where it is?” He apologetically requested, going to scratch the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his dark hair.
You squinted at him.
Was he being serious?
“Under the sink?” Unless you were somehow misremembering, he was the one who stuck it there last.
“Oh, yeah,” He sighed. Reluctantly pulling away to bend down and open the cabinet, moving sponges and the dishwasher detergent over until he found the vase tucked in the back corner.
You watched him fill it up, his fingers clumsily clasped around the bottled neck of it, shutting off the water and taking the flowers from your hand to plop them inside.
“You okay?” The hard edge of the counter bit into your palm as you scooted closer to the edge, eyes narrowed as they focused on him. He was quick to return to you, sturdy thighs nudging your own further apart, the tent in his pants only obvious when it suddenly pressed against you.
“Long day,” Your boyfriend mumbled, looking at your lips like they were the only thing he'd been thinking about.
“I'm sorry,” You murmured back, leaning in to plant a tender kiss on the corner of his mouth.
His hand caught your chin though, pulling you in closer, your cheeks almost squished under his firm hold. His thumb digging in on one side while his index finger pressed into the hard line of your jaw, his mouth colliding against yours. Your lips parted automatically for him, his tongue immediately slipping between them, fervently exploring your mouth like you were tonight's meal, brushing against the ridges of your teeth and sliding over your own. It was sloppy, hungry, his lower lip soft and swollen while you sucked on it. Running your fingers through his silky hair, pulling the hair tie out of the messy half-bun he'd thrown it into earlier, brushing back the bangs that framed the sharp planes of his face.
He didn't pull away until you were almost out of air, tilting your chin up while you both sucked in ragged breaths.
“Baby,” You softly said, stroking his hair like all the muscles in your thighs weren't pulled tight, like there wasn't a growing damp spot soaking through the lace separating you from him. His eyes were closed, melting into your touch, his head relaxing into the palm of your hand. “Dinner's getting cold.”
“I want something else to eat,” His voice was raspy, a low hum that came from the back of his throat. Going back to kissing you the second the last word left his mouth, his mouth marking what felt like every inch of your neck, the ghost of his lips going from butterfly kisses to hot and heavy sucks that would surely leave bruises by tomorrow, lewd pops! joining the sound of your broken breathing.
The friction of his erection rubbing slowly against your clit through the barely-there fabric of your thong was tantalizing. One hand hiking higher and higher up your thigh until one sturdy finger slipped under the band of your underwear, toying with it while you tugged on his hair. You could barely think straight, brain addled between his hands and his mouth and even just his cologne, warm and woody and as intoxicating as the rest of him.
“Oh?” You could hardly choke the syllable out, shakily exhaling when his teeth scraped against the fragile skin of your throat. Instinctively chasing the more, more, more your brain was screaming for, you rolled your hips up trying to soothe the already aching bundle of nerves starving for attention, a desperate moan escaping his throat at how snugly your body was pressed against his.
“Angel, please.”
You paused, but he was too lost in the moment to notice. Nudging the straps of your dress down further until he freed both your breasts, assuming your flinch was just from the cold air on your nipples, bending down so he could pop one in his mouth, letting his tongue swirl around it, teeth graze against the sensitive nub.
It wasn't Suguru.
Only one person you knew would call you something like that. Or beg before you'd even so much as touched his dick.
Those stupid fucking assholes.
Suguru - or Satoru, you technically supposed - bit down again, sucking a harsh spot on your tit, about to pull your panties down with his other hand just to accidentally tug too hard, the dainty fabric tearing with a loud rip!
“Oops,” He paused to grin up at you, his smile too wide, eyes too big when they landed on yours. Only further convincing you of the growing suspicion that this was not in fact your boyfriend.
Weird curse stuff just sorta came with the territory - you knew that when you started dating him. Especially considering some of the, uh, bizarre aftereffects that sometimes came with his technique. You experienced that firsthand when he came home one night a few months ago after swallowing some filthy fucking lust curse.
But this?
“Oops?” You echoed, chewing on your bottom lip while he licked a clean stripe back up your neck, kissing your jaw again while he removed the now-useless scrap of fabric between your thighs, not-so-discreetly pocketing it.
“M’ sorry,” He murmured, hands drifting back down to your ass when he picked you up, not pausing his onslaught of kisses carrying you through the kitchen into the hall until he reached the bedroom, kicking the door open a little too hard, the knob hitting the wall behind it with a loud thud.
You barely processed your back hitting the mattress, the hem of your dress bunching up past your hips as the familiar weight of his frame climbed on top of you. His mouth made its way south, eager to claim every inch for himself, spreading your thighs with those huge palms and practically panting at how exposed you were.
If you were right, and this was Satoru, you guessed that meant you must've been talking to your real boyfriend on the phone earlier. You fucking knew something was off. And he didn't say a word.
You were going to kill both of them.
They shared almost everything. Were you really that surprised you hadn't turned out to be the exception?
“God, you're so gorgeous,” He wasn't really even talking to you, muttering to himself while he admired you splayed out in his best friend's bed, on his best friend's sheets.
You'd never taken any of his teasing seriously. It was just in his nature. A player, a flirt. Sure, you’d never actually seen him with any girls. But you just always assumed they existed.
Maybe it was just because he was in Suguru's body, but he seemed so sincere, your name falling in a dreamy little sigh from his lips.
Suguru had to know what Satoru would do once he came home. So why let him? Unless you were the pawn or prize in whatever game they were playing.
If that was the case, you weren't going to settle for anything less than being the winner.
You reached down, running your fingers through his hair again, playing with the ends between your fingers and humming quietly.
“Suguru,” You purred, reminding your friend exactly who he was supposed to be imitating as he hesitated between your thighs.
“Hm?” He didn't, or couldn't, tear his gaze away, his rough thumb absentmindedly tracing figure-eights along your hip, probably not even aware of how much he was fidgeting.
“I thought you were hungry?” You innocently pouted, batting your lashes at him.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Whatever faint restraint he'd been exercising snapped.
The sharp point of his nose bumping into your clit as he pressed his tongue hard and flat across your entrance, dark glossy eyes fluttering shut while he pushed down your thighs, pressing them into the plush mattress.
Even if he looked like Suguru, it didn't feel like Suguru.
He was messy, overeager, his tongue lapping up every ounce, every drop you offered, devoted swirls exploring you. Open-mouthed kisses where his taste buds scraping against the inside of your walls, groaning with every squirm and gasp he elicited. It didn't take him long to figure out where your weak spots were, working them over and over again, ignoring how tightly your thighs were clenched around his head, your fingers pulling at his hair.
“S-shit,” You whined, clawing at the sheets when his tongue slipped out, feeling yourself throb at the absence until his mouth wrapped around your clit. It almost felt like he tore the next moan out of you, the neglected bud sore, blind need pooling in your gut while his tongue roughly circled it.
His touch wasn't as practiced, wasn't as steady, but what he lacked in rhythm, he sure as fuck made up for in earnestness.
Suguru Satoru was clawing at your hips, pulling you into the warmth of his mouth while your back arched off the bed, needy whimpers rolling off your tongue while he dove back in to taste you again. It could've been intentional, how he was constantly readjusting like he was still getting used to Suguru's body, but his nose kept ghosting against your clit, the knot in your stomach getting tighter every time he did, desperation clawing its way to the surface as the heat rose to your face when you remembered who was eating you out like he was fucking starving.
“S-” You stopped yourself, not entirely convinced whose name was about to leave your mouth.
“Mm?”
You covered your mouth with your hand, muffling your moan when his nose edged against you again, all the nerves in your body begging for him to keep going.
But he caught a glimpse of you, his thin brows scrunching together while he narrowed his eyes at you. Pushing off your thighs until he was hovering back over you, pulling your hand away from your lips.
“Wanna hear you, pretty girl,” He complained, digging his knee up until it was snugly shoved against your entrance, leaving a damp spot on the baggy fabric of his pants, gradually applying more pressure as if the friction alone wasn't enough to drive you insane.
“Sugu,” You mewled, pushing your bottom lip out just for him to snag it between his canines, capturing your mouth with another searing kiss. You wondered if Satoru's pride could handle hearing his best friend's name from your lips when he was the one on top of you.
“Yeah?” He mumbled into your mouth, groaning when you bucked your hips up to meet the slow grind of your boyfriend's cock against your clit. You let your head rest against the soft pillow underneath you, a quiet whimper falling out when he smothered your face with more kisses.
“Remember what we were talking about a few nights ago?” You asked, knowing he'd be forced to lie either way considering the conversation in question never happened, just something you made up.
“What about it?” He tested the waters, doing a poor job at mimicking the sultry silk of your boyfriend's typically reserved voice. He pulled away until his nose was brushing against yours, your fingers grazing over his smooth cheek, his marble complexion.
“I’ve just been thinking,” You drawled, running your thumb over his defined cheekbone, a nervous glint in his eyes he couldn't hide at how you trailed off.
“And?” He pressed, something damp leaking through his pants onto your thigh.
“Mm, maybe we should invite Gojo over,” You suggested, leaving the implication hanging in the air, feel the energy shift when it finally struck him.
“Oh.”
His cock twitched against you, begging to be set free while his mouth hung open.
“You change your mind?” You teased, craning your neck up to plant butterfly kisses along his throat, tracing the tendons there the same way you'd done hundreds of times before.
“N-no,” He stammered, a throaty grunt falling out when your hand trailed down his chest, running two fingers along the band of his pants before slipping them underneath his boxers, collecting the pre-cum that had leaked out and slathering up-and-down his thick shaft. The vein running along its side was bulging, throbbing more with every slow stroke of your fingers wrapped around his girth. “I-I can call him.”
He didn't really look like he wanted to though, his eyes rolling to the back of his head, jaw slack like your hand alone was heaven.
“Uh-huh?”
Suguru wasn't normally this sensitive, moaning at every little touch, putty in your palm.
“Whatever you want,” He ran his tongue along his bottom lip like he was savoring the traces of you left there. It was probably wrong of you, but you sucked hard on his neck, hoping to leave a patchwork of blue and purple hickies by the time you finished, marks Suguru normally would have scolded you for, but Satoru seemed to worship, freely groaning every time your teeth brushed against him. He hissed when your grip tightened, rutting up into your hand. “Fuck, angel.”
Too distracted, too worked up to think of anything except the friction of your palm against his shaft, he didn't notice when your other hand slipped into his left pocket, plucking Suguru's phone out. Unlocking it just to find a message from ‘Gojo’ already there, along with all the unread ones you'd sent earlier. Your boyfriend so kindly informed him to go ahead and try, and what he was implying only irritated you more.
Your reply was short.
Come over.
How long would it take him to show?
Gojo could teleport, and while you had no idea if that meant Suguru would also technically be able to, the idea of your boyfriend popping in to find you jerking him but also not-him off had your blood rushing south. Your frustration fighting the lust clouding your judgment, all the cells in your body currently occupied by the thought that one of them better make you cum soon.
“There,” You mumbled, and he peeked at you through half-lidded eyes, lost in his own sea of desire.
“What?” He choked out, his voice thick as you continued pumping in your steady rhythm, his breath hitching.
You dangled the phone in front of him briefly, having to stretch to deposit it on the nightstand by your boyfriend's thin pair of reading glasses he'd left there this morning. Straining to reach over and flick the lamp on, the fading evening sunlight throwing long shadows across your bedroom. His expression twisted for a second, and you couldn't tell what he must've been thinking, but it melted into almost ecstasy when your fingers grazed against his sensitive tip.
“Toru should be here soon,” You murmured, slowly enunciating the nickname you rarely ever used for him, feeling him twitch at the way it rolled off your tongue.
“Toru?” You were pretty sure he was trying to sound jealous, but he couldn't hide the hint of pride, his ego inflating just from you mentioning him.
“Mhm,” You purred, probably having more fun than you should at playing with him the same way he always toyed with you. “You know, I think he might have a little crush on me.”
“W-what?” Hearing your boyfriend stutter was delicious, to see his composure crack so easily.
“You don't think so?” You teased, your hand jerking up and earning a low hiss.
“I don't know,” He breathlessly murmured, his cheeks flushed pink.
“Take your clothes off,” You tutted, arching your brows up and pausing there.
His moan was nothing short of filthy, his cock jerking up when your hand didn't move.
“You’re not gonna cum just from a little hand job, right honey?” You taunted, finger drifting across the slick slit along the top, another gutteral noise leaving him like he was letting you know he very well might finish before the real Suguru could show.
“Course not,” He scoffed, but it came out more like a whine.
“Then. Take. Your. Clothes. Off.” You repeated, punctuating each word with a slow drag of your fingers along the throbbing vein, watching his cheeks hollow while he sucked on his molars.
“Fine,” He grimaced, pulling away to remove his shirt first, tugging it over his head and quickly working to pull his pants and boxers down in a single fluid movement. His cock was so red it must've hurt, damp and slick as it sprung up to smack into the hard muscle of his abdomen, your eyes lingering when they landed on his dark happy trail.
When he wasn't talking, his mouth set in the same hard line and eyes fogged with hunger, it would be easy to convince yourself he was Suguru.
The knock down the hall reminded you who was really the one standing naked in front of you.
“Should I-”
“The door's unlocked,” You shrugged before you could finish, propping yourself up on your elbows while you tilted your head to the side. “Besides, can't he just teleport inside?”
You waited for an excuse, for him to give their little game away, but he didn't.
“Yeah, you're right,” He murmured, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling you into his lap, taking the hem of your dress between his fingers and lifting it up over your head, discarding it with the rest of his clothes scattered on the floor.
The door creaked open at the same moment he unclasped your bra, his tip twitching against the hood of your clit at the slow sound of footsteps approaching.
It was funny, they were lighter than Suguru's, a little softer, but they had the same rhythm, one you automatically recognized as his.
“You nervous, baby?” You whispered, caressing his cheek.
“No,” Satoru huffed, brows furrowed together tightly.
Liar.
You were about to turn to face the open doorway, but his mouth landed on yours before you could, kissing you like it might be the last time he’d be able to. Which you guessed could be true, that even if Suguru told him he could try to fuck you, he might actually kill Satoru for it if he discovered just how close he'd already come.
His lips tearing at yours, a hand on your lower back holding you firmly against his chest while his tongue traced your teeth, slid against your own.
The actual Suguru cleared his throat.
But Satoru refused to back off, his thumb brushing over the ridges of your spine, canines tugging at your kiss-bruised lips.
“Started without me, huh?” Gojo's taunting voice called out, the wooden frame of the door creaking like he was resting his weight on it.
You managed to twist your head, lips pressing messy kisses along your neck while you assessed your new company.
Intense blue eyes narrowed, white brows scrunched together and his jaw set tight while his gaze slowly scanned over your bare body, probably already littered with hickies and bruises. He reminded you of a big cat, how leisurely he measured you, his stare flitting from you to him and back to you. Hands slung in his pockets, amusement and maybe something darker, more possessive glimmering in his eyes when they locked with yours. The lights flickered for just a second, a small crackle hanging in the open space, the air thick and charged.
“Sorry,” Satoru apathetically shrugged, unbothered while his other hand groped at your breast.
Your boyfriend wasn't looking at him(self) though, focused entirely on you.
“Suguru,” You let out a soft moan, not breaking his stare while Satoru hummed happily, rolling a nipple between his fingers, content to keep the charade up.
The one you were actually talking to smirked. A little crooked smile smugly curling up to let you know he knew you knew.
“Mm, what, sweetheart?” Satoru whispered into your skin.
“You're being a little rude ignoring our guest,” You scolded, grinding against him just enough for him to get his teeth.
“M’sorry,” He apologized again, warm eyes fluttering open when you climbed off of him, his fingertips grazing against your wrist in an attempt to stop you before you started walking over to where Suguru was leaning against the frame, and his usually passive expressions were even harder to read when they were hidden under a new face.
You hadn't been nervous before.
But walking up to Gojo while you were naked, even if you knew it was actually your Suguru was unnerving, anxiety pricking at you when you pressed a finger against his chest, just for nothing to stop you. Heart lurching in your chest, lungs no longer working when you realized infinity was on. But then he let out a small, almost inaudible sigh, and the tip of your finger was suddenly wrinkling the tight white shirt covering his broad frame.
The dull thrum of blood rushing to your head filled your ears at the way his unnatural eyes seemed to be scrutinizing every inch of your skin, how much they seemed to burn for you the longer he looked.
“Well?” You cocked your head to the side, hoping to come across as far more confident than you really were when you knew he'd be able to see straight through you.
“You wanted me here,” Suguru simply said, choosing his words carefully. The game had changed, morphed into something new, trying to make the other break first, come clean, an implicit sort of understanding exchanged in his heavy state.
“I thought you'd be a little more excited,” You tried to sigh like you were disappointed, starting to turn around just for a hand to snag your waist, his tongue clicking when he pulled you back.
“Did I say I wasn't?” He muttered, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his arm snaking around your back to hold you closer until your tits were practically squished against his chest.
Your attempt to slip away was futile, his grip only getting tighter when you peered up at him, your stomach twisting when all you found was Gojo's face looking down at you, the messy white hair and the bright blue eyes you’d never seen so close, pretty pink lips pursed together.
It's not like you'd never realized he was attractive. But it'd always been more like a fact, something you'd never really paid attention to. You realized with abject horror that holy shit, you were attracted to him when your breath hitched in your throat, your thighs pressing together at his sudden proximity.
“You’re a dick,” You mumbled, squirming under his hold. You weren't positive which one you were talking to - honestly, probably both.
“Oh yeah?” Suguru chuckled, the sound of Gojo's lighthearted laughter doing nothing to soothe your nerves.
“Yeah,” You managed a tiny nod, sucking in short inhales, feeling like you were being crushed under his piercing gaze.
Someone else's hand found your hip, familiar callouses claiming you as a firm chest pressed against your back, Satoru's other one tangling itself in your hair and tugging, your head forced to tilt back to look up at the dark-haired man you were used to waking up with.
Caught between the two of them, not sure if you were ensnared in their trap or if was the other way around when you craned your neck up to smash a kiss against your not-boyfriend’s mouth, forcing the real one to watch as your tongue slipped between his lips, explored every nook and cranny you’d already committed to memory.
“Honey,” You whispered when you broke away, studying his jaw, all his familiar features, somehow still stuck reminding yourself that it wasn't Suguru when he looked at you like that. The unspoken affection, the searing adoration in the amber glow when it caught the light from the lamp.
“What’s my girl want?” Satoru teased, a deep hum in your ear.
“I want you,” You bit your lip when he gave your hair another tug, swallowing hard.
“You heard her,” Satoru mockingly addressed Suguru, oblivious to the fact he was really the one left out, unaware that the charade had been up before he’d gotten his first real taste of you.
“You can watch,” You let your gaze linger on Suguru, while Satoru pulled you free from his grasp and tossed you onto the bed.
All you heard was one short exhale before Suguru relegated himself to the oversized armchair in the corner of the room. It was supposed to be a small reading nook, tucked between the tall bookcase he built for you over the summer and the tall mirror leaning against the wall. Certainly not meant for this.
But his expression didn't change.
Lips pressed together, the muscles in his jaw pulled tight while he watched the bounce of your breasts when you hit the mattress, watched his own hands pry your thighs apart to reveal how wet you were, a few faint red splotches staining your skin to hint at what had happened before he arrived. He didn't miss the way you were watching him either. A small part of you wondered just how much he could see with Gojo's technique, considering he hadn't shown up with any of the blindfolds or bandages or sunglasses the latter usually always had with him.
But Satoru snapped you back to reality, grabbing both wrists in one huge hand and pinning them above your head, nudging your legs just enough to line himself up properly, his movements still jerky, still adjusting to his new proportions.
You had one singular moment of clarity. A split second where you realized you were actually about to let Gojo fuck you. Okay, yes, he was in Suguru's body, it was still technically him.
And the next moment he was sinking into you, and fuck, you nearly forgot everything at how fast he filled you. Whimpers your brain could barely recognize as your own falling out freely when he started fucking you like you really were his girl.
Dark bangs falling in his face, the first beads of sweat sitting his forehead, hovering over you like he was trying to sear what you looked like underneath him in his brain.
His thumb digging into the divot of your wrist, the mattress creaking when he found a pace bordering on brutal. Each thrust hard and fast, his hips smacking against your skin while you hooked one leg around his waist, your chest heaving with every shuddered breath.
“Mine,” He murmured, low enough you suspected he hadn't intended for Suguru to hear, but in the blurred edges of your vision, you caught the way your boyfriend's fist tightened, how white his knuckles were.
You figured it was a fifty-fifty chance on whether Satoru was saying it purely to piss him off or if he was trying to stay in-character.
“Mm, all yours,” You whined back, straining under his grip, absolutely hoping to get a reaction out of Suguru.
You'd never expected Satoru to be so, well, desperate.
It almost felt like he was trying to brand you, ingrain himself so deeply you'd never be able to root him out.
“I wanna touch you,” You jutted out your bottom lip, flexing the tendons in your wrist where his hold was starting to ache. His hips stuttered at your request, pausing to recollect himself, his hair hanging down in a thick curtain. Releasing your hands with a heavy breath, cock twitching when you reached up to brush his bangs back.
It had to be muscle memory.
But you could've sworn you saw his lips mouthing an ‘I love you’ before they met yours.
Satoru never really gave your thoughts the time to linger on anything though, hips pounding into you, trying to press the shape of you into the squeaking mattress, the bed’s wooden headboard smacking into the wall in time with every forceful thrust.
Mumbling mindless compliments into your skin between every kiss, promises of how pretty you looked like this, how much he was yours.
As much as you loved hearing those words come from Geto's mouth, the shriveled up leftovers of your logic reminded you that just because Satoru never shut up, it didn't mean he actually meant any of it.
It was just his dick talking.
Probably.
He had one hand behind your neck, cradling your head up so it was easier for him to kiss you, distracting you from where his other one was heading until it was already there, his fingers forming a sharp ‘V’ as they skimmed over your clit, teasingly kimming over it just to return to massage rough patterns over it, not very discreetly experimenting with what made you gasp, thighs squeezing around him. Your own fingers tangled in his hair pulling free to scramble for his broad shoulder blades, the nails scratching down his back earning you a heedy moan, his hips suddenly bucking up, and you weren't sure what pushed you over, the tip grinding hard against the spongy little spot at the back or how he rolled the already overworked bundle of nerves between his index and thumb, but you were crying out, tiny stars dotting your vision eyes clenched shut, legs quivering when you came.
“Fuck, you're gonna make me-” His quiet curse was cut short with a raspy moan, stalling out inside you, frozen except for the breaths he managed to suck in and force out, finishing earlier than he'd intended.
The thick warmth of his cum already started to leak down the inside of your thighs, coating his still-throbbing shaft when he reluctantly pulled out.
You kissed him anyway.
The same way you had when you still thought he was Suguru, just a tender one pressed to the edges of his lips before he untangled himself from you, flipping over next to you to stare at the ceiling fan slowly spinning overhead.
Suguru laughed.
“It's my turn, isn't it?”
The lilt of his voice, the way his mouth quirked up in half a smile stole the breath from your throat.
You could feel your chin turn up, but you couldn't control it, couldn't move when it felt like all you did was blink and he was standing up, article after article of clothing being peeled off, tossing them over to the half-empty laundry basket in the closet. Satoru was still dazed, blinking lazily next to you, head reclined back on the pillow, Adam's apple bobbing through his ragged breathing.
“Well?” Suguru mimicked your tone from earlier, padding over to your side of the bed left only in a plain white pair of boxers. Propping yourself up on your elbows, your eyes automatically trailing down his sculpted chest, the defined muscles of his abs down to the trail of white peeking out above the band of his underwear. In a fluid movement, he was shedding those off too, his cock springing up the second it was free.
And shit, Gojo really had won the fucking generic lottery when he was born, because how the fuck was that fair? Even his dick was pretty. Not quite as thick as Suguru's, but longer, a slight curve to it, the tip a tantalizing pink.
You had to swallow the spit pooling in your mouth.
“Forget how to use your words?” He tsk-ed, one knee sinking into the mattress next to you, a soft hand slipping down to the small of your back and pulling into the warmth of his chest. Picking you up, holding you how he always had, cradling you and carrying you in front of the mirror. But he smelled like Satoru, the candied scent of his cologne, the sweetness flooding your nostrils.
“No,” You choked out, loathing how small it sounded. Staring at the sharp outline of his collarbones so you didn't have to look at his face, brain refusing to reconcile who you were looking at with who it actually was.
Suguru wasn't having it.
It was hard to tell what happened first when you still felt so dizzy, how fast he sat down, his hand twisting you around so you were on his lap, his chest on your back, his erection pressed against your spine. Forced to meet your own glossy eyes in the mirror, the necklace of hickeys left around your throat, your trembling body perched prettily on Gojo's thighs. His fingers pulling your thighs apart, repositioning you until you were directly above the dripping tip, your mouth dry at the thought of taking all of him like this.
You didn't think it'd fit.
For all your teasing and taunting, he was about to give you back everything you gave him tenfold.
“Su-” You nearly slipped up, blinking too fast.
But he shoved two fingers in your mouth, muffling your voice before Satoru overheard and spoiled the fun.
Automatically, you parted your lips for him, swirling your tongue around his knuckles, sucking softly, lashes fluttering closed while he ghosted over your entrance, his free hand tugging your hips down, pushing himself in inch by excruciating inch.
“C’mere,” He murmured in your ear, forcing past barely-there ring of resistance, all your muscles squeezing hard around him like he was the interloper here.
“Oh, oh,” You panted, probably incoherent talking with his fingers pressed against your tongue like that. Your thighs quivering with the strain of being spread so open, your sore walls stretching around the delicious length of his shaft, the veins throbbing inside you while he continued to hold you down, slowly filling you up.
“Sweetheart,” He purred, using the same saccharine voice Gojo always did, and you almost jolted, squirming, but he just chuckled dryly, clicking his tongue as he paused, the sound not quite covering your own whimper. Your chin tilted up, head reclining back to rest against his chest, pushing puffs of air out of your nose, clawing for some tiny sliver of control.
“Fuck,” The sound of Suguru's voice from across the room, Satoru finally noticing what you and your boyfriend were doing with his body.
Peeking through heavy lashes to find his dark gaze in the mirror, his jaw slack at the sight of you looking so fucked-out on top of him, the needy noises pouring out despite the fingers still stuck in your mouth.
“Eyes on me,” Your boyfriend muttered, his quiet voice firm when you pulled your attention back to the man behind you in the mirror.
Cold blue eyes locked onto yours, his pale cheeks making the flush show easier, his lips a pretty shade of pink while they left phantom kisses across the column of your throat.
“Please,” You whispered against his fingers, his twitch feeling more like torture the longer he refused to move.
He pulled his fingers out, dragging his thumb across your bottom lip with a pleased sigh, slowly skimming his hand down your front so he could hold your other hip, his touch surprisingly delicate, controlled.
“You really want me to fuck you while your boyfriend watches?” Suguru mocked, and you guessed it wasn't even incorrect in his assessment even if he was just playing his role. And really, he made a far better Gojo than the cheap imitation Satoru had been giving you of Geto.
You shakily nodded, your own hands gripping onto his, fingers laced between his much longer ones, the pad of your thumb rubbing tiny circles over his knuckles, a silent reminder that you loved him despite whatever lengths you were both willing to go to win this stupid game.
“Please,” You repeated.
He bottomed out before you could breathe, his hips jerking up at the same time as he yanked you down, his tip not grazing, but smashed against your womb, deep enough that you were instinctively falling forward, trying to wiggle away, but he pulled you back before you could hit the mirror.
Whatever sound came out was strangled, your brain and your guts quite literally being scrambled by his rough thrusts, his hands easing you up just to spear you back down, feeling almost like you were being split open on his intimidating length.
“I-I,” You were stammering, gasping for air when every stroke seemed to slam the breath right out of you.
“What, baby?” He teased, his left hand drifting up to the bare strip of your midriff below your belly button, pressing down on it as if he could feel himself there.
“S’ too much,” You practically slurred, drunk on him and the stretch and the burn. He leaned in closer until his canines were teasing at your earlobe, shivering at how much of his body was already connected with yours.
“My love,” He coo-ed, for your ears only, lost under the filthy smack of his hips against your skin, the sloppy noises of him bucking up into you. “You can take it.”
It was embarrassing how easily he was pushing you back towards the edge, already on the precipice of another orgasm. Knowing your body like the back of his hand, angling himself to hit the same spongy spot as before, tears brimming along your lashes at how wrong right it felt.
How wrecked he looked in the mirror didn't help.
The stark white hair glued to his forehead with sweat, the muscles straining in his face, his bicep bulging, his fingers splayed out further to press down harder on your stomach, your body locking up when he drove himself deeper.
“S-Satoru,” You whined, starting to wonder if his dick was somehow lodged in your throat with how hard it was to manage less than a handful of syllables out.
“Mm?”
“Yeah?”
Idiots.
Suguru paused mid-thrust, sighing, stark-white eyebrows furrowed in frustration when he realized Satoru actually responded at the same time as him.
You both turned, peering over Gojo's shoulder at the real him.
You didn't think you'd ever seen Geto make that face, the panic that tinged his features, his mouth hanging open like even Satoru couldn't believe he'd given himself away.
“I-uh, listen,” He started to speak again, until his dark eyes narrowed, belatedly realizing that all your faces reflected was mild annoyance instead of confusion.
“I think I still won,” You peered up at your boyfriend with a little huff, pouting.
“Did you now?” He wryly murmured back, and you knew you lost when all it took was a harsh roll of his hips for you to moan his name this time.
“Shit, Suguru,” You whined, gripping his right hand tight to anchor yourself when you were already fully at his whim. You were throbbing around him, the heat building from within, the swollen bundle of nerves starting to ache from his neglect.
“Giving up already?” He taunted.
You stayed silent, lips pressed together tight to hold in what might've been a rebuttal or begging.
“Oh?”
He hoisted you up, your whine at how empty you felt without him ringing through the room until he positioned you on the bed, manhandling you into place until you were on your hands and knees in front of his best friend. Satoru was blinking hard, sitting up and staring at you like he couldn't believe you were real.
It was something you'd seen before.
The silky black hair, the bangs stuck to his skin, the veins popping out on his fist when it was wrapped around his cock, a weird sort of comfort reassuring you at the soft sound of your name falling out of his mouth.
“When did you figure-”
“The kitchen,” You started to shrug, a barely-there smile curling up until Suguru suddenly slid inside, not stopping until he managed to snugly force himself in to the hilt, your lips falling open as you made a strangled yelp.
The force of it pushing you forward, your hand grabbing one of Geto's sturdy thighs, scrambling for something to hold onto, Gojo's nails clawing at your hips, probably leaving little crescent moons on your skin. You doubted Suguru even realized it, his own usually clipped too-short to ever leave marks.
Geto's cock was barely inches away, the thick vein running along the side pulsing, Satoru apparently throbbing at the sight of him fucking you like you were on some invisible leash.
He might as well have been drooling.
“I think he needs a little help, baby,” Suguru was making fun of him, but you didn't think Satoru had it in him to care about anything other than the need that was surely coiling just as tightly inside him as it was in you.
“Yeah?” You asked him, trailing your hand higher until it was cupping his balls, just close enough for your fingers to brush against where his own were wrapped so tightly around his dick. “You want my help, Toru?”
His hand jerked up hard when you leaned in to slowly wrap your mouth around his tip, the point of your tongue slowly swirling over it.
You were content to keep teasing him, but your boyfriend had something else in mind, his next thrust unexpectedly forcing you to take Satoru in, the vein thrumming along your tongue as he hit the back of your throat. You nearly gagged, barely stopping yourself from biting down when you couldn't even breathe.
“Doin’ so good,” Suguru murmured softly, appreciatively, trailing delicate fingers across your spine to stop right at the nape of your neck, a smooth palm resting against it. You shivered, your shoulders rolling back just for him to push your head down on the last couple inches you hadn't managed to fit in your mouth before.
“Oh fuck.”
You were inclined to agree with Satoru.
Actually gagging now, your cheeks hollowed out in your weak attempts to bob your head up-and-down, but he was acting like it was the best head he'd ever received, his groans sticking out over the sound of skin-on-skin and the never-ending whines of the mattress (and you.)
“You okay?” Suguru muttered in your ear, his chest resting on top of your back, planting soft kisses over the sore bruises lining your collarbone. Checking in to make sure it wasn't too much like he didn't already know you just wanted more. Filled-up and fucked-out and somehow still starving for whatever affection either one would offer.
“Mhm,” You moaned, the sound from your throat practically making the cock in your mouth jump at how needy it sounded.
Suguru was the kind of man who'd put your needs first.
Just in his, uh, own way.
Something almost intangible stretching you further, almost like Suguru had somehow managed to slip a condom on without even slipping out of you. Your mind was too hazy to process what was happening while it expanded in the tiniest of increments, your body reflexively jolting forward with nowhere to go. Whimpering meekly, your fingers digging into Geto's muscled thighs like it'd help any.
“Oh, that's mean, Suguru,” Satoru chuckled hoarsely, apparently realizing what was happening before you had.
It wasn't until you noticed that there weren't any nails sinking into your skin, no honeyed kisses tracing your neck that you figured out Suguru was using infinity again.
“I'm mean?” Suguru wryly scoffed, more amused than annoyed considering he was still buried deep enough inside you he could probably feel your guts. “What do you think, sweetheart?”
He leaned in impossibly close, shuddering at the immense weight of the distance bearing down on you.
Even if they weren't both stuffing you full, you didn't know if you'd be able to formulate a reply. Stuck dumbly shaking your head no to take Suguru's side, shamelessly grinding your ass back against him, reduced to chasing your most basic instinct.
This time Satoru laughed, laced with a tight sort of disbelief. But you went back down on him, running your tongue along the vein and feeling the automatic rut of his hips, the laughter turning into a breathy moan of your name. Reaching out to caress your face while he fucked it, clearly close to cumming again.
Probably bruising the walls of your throat with the way he was rutting up into it, the girth forced up against the roof of your mouth. The sweet nothings rolling so easily off his tongue clued you in before the vein pulsing along the swirls of your tongue did, thick ropes of cum hitting the back of your throat, the tension in his muscles all relaxing at the same time while you struggled to swallow all of it.
“God, I fucking adore you,” Satoru groaned, not making a move to pull out this time even after the last drops leaked out.
Infinity flickered off. It was hard to tell if it was on purpose or if maybe it was too much to maintain.
But Satoru slipped out of your mouth, watching you through half-lidded eyes, the pupils so wide they almost looked entirely black. Combing his fingers through his long hair, untangling a tiny knot you probably put in it tugging it earlier.
“Suguru,” You mewled, glancing over your shoulder at the white-haired sorcerer behind you, immediately regretting it at how tightly your stomach knotted at the reminder of whose body was fucking you.
You hated to admit it, but you were nearing your limit and you wouldn't put it past him to work you well over it if you didn't concede defeat soon.
“Yeah?” He softened, his harsh pumps easing, his thumb hooked over your hip tracing tiny patterns.
“You win,” You muttered under your breath, biting down on your lip.
“I know,” His voice was low, rolling straight through you, only stoking the desperation clawing its way up from your core.
Losing was still fun when it was with him.
His hand slipping around, not having to fumble to immediately find your clit, pinching at the sore bud just to make you gasp.
“Say please,” He teased, your company clearly in mind considering how much he was making you beg for it.
Satoru wasn't wrong. Suguru could be mean. You just liked it.
“Please,” Your whisper was more of a rattle, your vocal cords straining to get the noise out. But it was enough. The pressure of his fingers working circles over your clit, massaging the same determined motions against it, damp streaks trailing down your cheeks at the tears brimming over your lashes.
The crescendo finally cresting, a white-hot wave of pleasure hitting you when pressed down just right. Blinding you to anything else other than the way he burned inside you, the ache in your heart at his proximity. You were only dimly aware of him cumming a handful of seconds later, just a faint inkling of surprise that he hadn't pulled out considering he was in Gojo's body, your already slick thighs pressing together when he pulled out like it'd contain what was dripping down them.
Your knees buckled, body simply refusing to support your weight and brain doing nothing to stop it.
Satoru caught you, leaning over to hook a sturdy arm around you and pull you on top of him, his other palm pressing your head down against his broad frame. His skin was still sticky, slick with sweat, every breath he forced in and out of his lungs making his chest move, the steady thrum of his heartbeat reverberating in your ear.
You didn't have enough strength left to move, letting him stroke your hair softly in silence.
Even if he wasn't currently stuck in Suguru's body, you suspected you'd still let him.
"You're okay," You barely processed his smooth murmur, still too lost in the haze of what happened.
"I would like my girlfriend back now," Suguru dryly remarked, a second set of hands sliding up your hips to grab your waist.
"Mine."
Did Satoru even realize how much he sounded like a five year old trying to steal someone else's toy on the playground?
Suguru crudely laughed, and your shiver was involuntary, how wrong it sounded to hear Gojo's body sound like that.
But he tugged you free from his own body's grasp, pulling you into a sitting position on the edge of the bed, a hand on your back to support you while he stood in front of you.
You didn't know if you could ever get used to this.
Staring at Gojo and knowing it was really Suguru, hearing his voice and feeling his hands, picking up on all the little mannerisms you'd grown attached to over the past couple years, how strange it felt to watch someone else do them.
"Are you-" You paused, flinching a little at how raw your throat felt. "Um, how long are you guys going to be stuck like this?"
"Dunno," Satoru chirped from the other end of the bed behind you while Suguru sighed, rolling those pretty blue eyes.
"Shoko said it might be a day or two," Suguru answered slowly, his serious stare focused on you, a deep crease between his brows that you'd never seen on Gojo before.
"Might?" You questioned, the first icy pinpricks of something close to dread starting to sink in at his careful choice of words.
"She has no idea," Satoru unhelpfully chimed in again, revealing what you guessed was probably the truth judging by Suguru's strained expression.
"You shouldn't worry about it, okay?"
It was pretty hard not to worry when those were the words leaving Gojo's mouth.
He leaned down to kiss you, softer this time, cupping your cheeks. You peeked, unable to help yourself. His sharp nose brushing against yours, his snowy lashes fluttered shut, the white brows peeking out above them.
"Kiss her like you mean it," Satoru heckled, the bed creaking while he got up. Suguru scoffed at his snipe, barely breaking the kiss. But he did listen, his teeth grazing against your swollen lower lip to dip his tongue further in.
“That better?” Suguru sarcastically remarked when he pulled away.
“Could you do it again so I can get a picture?” Satoru was holding up his own phone, snagged from the pants Suguru had discarded earlier, his camera actually pointed towards where you were currently sitting in front of his actual body.
You were huffing, everything aching when you scrambled back to grab a pillow from the top of the bed to throw at him, giggling to yourself when you remembered he no longer had infinity to block it, the pillow smacking him straight in the face.
Suguru laughed at him, a lopsided smile forming when the six eyes landed on you.
“Don't think you're off the hook either,” You pouted, common sense and reasoning starting to trickle in for the first time since Satoru showed up.
“You wanna punish me first?” Satoru cheekily volunteered himself, not making a move to put any of his, or you guessed really any of Geto's clothes back on.
“Shut up,” Your face was still flushed, turning away, not sure how to even keep eye contact with either of them when they were swapped like this.
“Guess we should all just spend the night here, huh?”
poll on what happens in pt. two here
mini a/n: pls lemme know if you enjoyed hehe!!! this is meant to be a oneshot but honestly I'm so tempted to write literally a prequel a sequel and a spinoff bc I simply cannot help myself lmfao <3
seeing spectres? got a ghost problem? it seems Satoru Gojo has one of his own - one he doesn't want to get rid of
synopsis: full-time nerd turned part-time amateur ghost hunter, you've become Gojo's favorite occupation! living with a roommate is hard enough - let alone falling in love with your (un?)dead one!
pairing: nerdjo x ghost!Reader
content: mdni, angst and fluff, death, rebirth/reincarnation, happy ending, pining and yearning, gojo is LOYAL, doomed lovers and second chances, kissing, drinking, idiots in love
art by @chu-cho + divider by @petalpxl
Four years.
Not quite 1500 days.
He finished graduate school. Traded his day job of interning at a research lab for something with steadier hours. Came home from work by six every night to kiss you at the door. Ignored his relatives asking when he'd buy a house or find somewhere bigger.
What was that saying? Home was where the heart was? Well, his was with you.
It didn't matter how much money he was offered to move or transfer to a new city. He couldn't imagine walking through his front door without you there waiting for him.
It wasn't like he was making the only sacrifice.
You could've moved on too.
Found peace in the afterlife, or on whatever plane was waiting for you. But you refused to leave him either.
Even when he found the first few wrinkles, laugh lines starting to etch in his skin already, frowning and poking at them in the mirror while you giggled on the counter.
"I'm not even thirty," Gojo murmured, groaning as he pulled out his phone to order moisturizer.
"Not that far from it," You laughed, dragging your thumb over the side of his mouth. "At least you can age."
You couldn't.
In fifteen years, he'd already be in his forties while you'd never make it past twenty-five.
He hated thinking about it. Despised the disgusting way it made him feel and the fact he was far too attached to ever let you go either.
"Will you still love me if I go gray?" He pouted, pulling you in by your hips, your thighs automatically wrapping around his waist while he started peppering your face with kisses to make himself feel better.
"You're close enough," You giggled again, reaching up to ruffle his white hair before he cut you off with a proper kiss. Your lips were still sweet, parting for him already, a present in itself.
Four years of small moments - and it still wasn't nearly enough.
Gojo didn't even see the car that hit him.
It was kind of like what you said. Crossing the street, glancing one way, and the next he was on the pavement, his brain barely processing the sound of metal crunching and glass shattering. It didn't even hurt that much - a dull pain he couldn't place.
But he knew what was happening.
Aware of what would come next.
His last thought was of you though, smiling to himself at the idea you'd finally be able to move on. That he wouldn't be tethering you here anymore. Geto would tell you what happened - would make sure you made it where you needed to go.
And hopefully, wherever that was, you'd be together.
He guessed he didn't end up making it to thirty after all.
The sun was warm on his skin, thick summer heat drifting through his window. There weren't any clouds in the sky, but it still felt oppressive, hanging down over his head while he yawned and forced himself to get out of bed.
He'd been having the same dream for the past year. The same girl. A pretty smile and a prettier laugh. One that looked at him like he hung the stars, with soft lips that kissed him like he was one. So why the fuck did he wake up feeling so gutted?
Like he was grieving someone he never met?
He'd never been much of an artist, but he'd picked up a pen more than a few times in pathetic attempts to sketch her. Never quite capturing the details so vivid in his head. The shape of the mouth was always a little off, the eyes never even enough, the hair the wrong shade.
And it was stupid, instead of focusing on his physics lecture or paying attention to his engineering homework, he ended up doodling in his notebook most of the time, only looking forward to a night art class he'd started taking solely to learn how to draw.
The day always drudged by, just waiting for dusk to fall to find his way into one of the older buildings on campus with a bag slung over his shoulder, notebooks and pens jostling around inside, loose sheets of paper getting crumpled by the time he made it into the dusty old room that doubled as a ceramics class during the day, long tables and stools already set out and ready.
No one else was there yet.
It was the only thing in his life he was ever early for.
He got set up in the second row from the front, dumping out his stuff before rearranging everything how he liked it when the door creaked open.
Gojo didn't glance over at first. Too focused on fixing his pencils to look up until he heard a soft murmur.
"Oh, hi."
It felt like he'd been electrocuted.
Maybe he'd never met you. But he knew you. Knew your voice.
He was stuck slow motion. Head refusing to move faster, turning towards you just to freeze the second he found your face.
You were already staring at him.
Mouth hanging open just slightly, hair mused and eyes wide, lip gloss catching the light as you let out a little gasp. He didn't know how much he's been craving hearing that would until he was immediately replaying it in his head.
"Hey," He choked out, his voice strangled in his throat.
Somehow, you were even prettier in person.
"I haven't seen you here before," He awkwardly added, nervously fidgeting with his pen before dropping it. Pushing up his glasses next, fixing his hair and hoping you didn't notice how anxious he looked.
"I'm, um, modelling for the class," You gestured to the empty spot in the front, watching him like a deer in headlights before dragging your eyes away. "Do you know where I can put my stuff?"
He wasn't sure how he managed to reply, mumbling something almost incoherent as he pointed over at a desk towards the front, his brain too jumbled on how you were actually real and more than a dream, about to jump to the conclusion he must have just seen you around school and his subconscious must really like your face before you spoke up again.
"This is going to sound like, crazy," You started, chewing on your bottom lip equally nervous. "But I literally just had a dream about you. Have we met before?"
He gaped at you, hurrying to rummage through his bag to conjure up one of the fifty drawings he had if you, stuttering something along the lines of me too before shoving it forward.
You approached him a little reluctantly, constantly searching his eyes for something just to immediately look away the second he caught your stare. But you seemed to relax once you saw the sketch, a small laugh escaping at the chicken scratch on the page.
"Is that supposed to be me?" You giggled.
Before he could embarrass himself more with another reply, more students started filtering in, along with the instructor who was quick to call you over. You dropped the paper back on his desk and smiled at him, and he was pretty sure the world stopped spinning.
It was torture to watch you strip down in front of ten other people - even for artistic purposes.
To trace the lines of your body with charcoal instead of his fingers, to study every little curve and divot and not imagine kissing them, to watch the little changes in your expression when you occasionally threw him a tiny glance.
And God, it was embarrassing that his cock was already hard in his boxers, straining against the band when he hadn't even looked at the swell of your breasts.
It was his best work yet.
You were his favorite subject after all.
He waited after class, drawing tucked inside his bag for safe keeping while you fixed your clothes. Pulling a hoodie on and touched up your hair, looking at him like you couldn't decide if he was something new or old.
"C-can I get your number?" He asked, throat dry as he wiped the sweat from his palms on his jeans.
"Sure," You blinked, a brief flash of surprise crossing your face before you shoved it down.
He ended up ripping out a new sheet of paper and passing you a pen, a tingle running down his spine at the brief second your skin was touching his. You scribbled it down, pausing before adding your name underneath it.
"What are you doing tonight?" You hesitantly asked, finger brushing against his again when you passed it back. On purpose this time.
"Whatever you want."
The two of you ended up in a hole-in-the-wall diner, eating off each other's plates and telling stories over soda and desert, absorbed in every word that left your lips. Talking to you felt like deja vu, able to preemptively guess what faces you'd make, or when you'd laugh. Finding pieces of himself in the crinkles by your eyes and the tilt of your head.
"It really feels like I know you," You hummed, leaning across the table, your foot nudging against his shin.
"You know," Gojo started, clearing his throat and sitting up straighter. "Some studies suggest that the brain uses faces we've already seen in our dreams so it is possible we saw each other somewhere-"
You threw a french fry at him.
"Personally, I like the idea we were lovers in a past life," You interrupted.
Gojo blushed, heat rising to his cheek at the idea of that despite the fact he'd seen you naked just a couple hours ago.
"Isn't fate more fun than science? Maybe I was a princess and you were my knight," You shrugged, smiling at his clearly flustered face. "Or you were some poor, struggling artist and I was your muse?"
None of the words felt big enough to describe what you were to him. Whatever this was.
"Yeah," He breathed. "Maybe."
Dinner turned to drinks. A nightclub he'd never been to before, his hands on your hips and your wrists around his neck, dancing and laughing and murmuring dazed and drunken things he knew he wouldn't remember the next morning.
The rest of the world forgotten in favor of you. He didn't want to go home. Didn't want to have to go stare at the ceiling and dream about something that was right in front of him.
But you eventually pulled him out by his hand, groaning that you had to get up early in the morning for work and asking if he'd want to grab dinner again afterwards. He had never agreed to anything so fast, hardly paying attention when he was walking backwards so he could keep his focus fully on you.
And almost backed out into the street filled with incoming traffic.
You yanked him by his collar at the last second, and he toppled back on top of you, sending you both sprawling across the concrete, scraped up but not seriously injured.
"Be careful," You scolded him, but you didn't push him off your lap.
It might've been the adrenaline spiking, the near death experience talking, but it was like some weight had just been lifted off his shoulders, like everything he'd been searching for had finally showed up, relief washing over him in one wave.
He found you.
"I'm not going anywhere," Gojo murmured, leaning down to press a soft kiss against your lips. Tangible. Real. The first of many more. "You're stuck with me."
a/n: well this is officially over!! our doomed lovers have their happy ending (even if gojo had to get hit by a car to get it) <3
seeing spectres? got a ghost problem? it seems Satoru Gojo has one of his own - one he doesn't want to get rid of
synopsis: full-time nerd turned part-time amateur ghost hunter, you've become Gojo's favorite occupation! living with a roommate is hard enough - let alone falling in love with your (un?)dead one!
pairing: nerdjo x ghost!Reader
content: mdni, heavy angst, smut, mentions of murder, gojo is in LOVE, discussions of death/afterlife, heavy yearning, hurt/comfort, grief, ghosting, confessions, jealousy, drinking, unprotected piv sex, creampie, idiots in love
art by @chu-cho + divider by @petalpxl
It was kinda like he was living with a ghost. Well, he was literally living with one, but still. He hadn't seen or heard you at all since your fight a few weeks ago.
He came home to find all his items untouched, nothing moved. No scent of you to cling to or cold spots to find. His bed unused, blankets not wrinkled and the tv still on whatever channel he last left it to.
Talking to you didn't work.
His neighbors would probably think he was fucking crazy for begging the empty air for forgiveness, fumbling around like he was blind just for the chance to bump into you one more time.
"Did you find anything else out?" He anxiously asked, peeking over Geto's shoulder to see the bright screen of the laptop, reading the curt email he received from the cops when they tried to request an inquiry into your death.
"They rejected it so no," Geto sighed, shutting the computer and rubbing his eyes.
His best friend had insisted he come stay over for a few days - to make sure he was eating and showering and not sending himself to an early death to join you.
Gojo wasn't at that point - yet.
The harder he searched for clues he couldn't find and scrounged through articles to find even just a friend or two of yours to talk to, the closer he got to losing it though.
"No one gives a shit," He gritted his teeth, taking off his glasses to rub his eyes.
"You do," Geto reminded him.
It didn't seem to matter when you didn't realize it.
He went back to his undisturbed apartment the next day and slept in his cold bed. You were still what he dreamed of these days - but your face had become blurry again. Or worse, bloody.
He rested his head against pillow, wishing for one more touch, one more word, wondering if this was what grief was. The emptiness, the huge gaping hole in his heart where you had been, in all the little spaces of his life that you'd carved out for yourself just to disappear from.
Loss had been something foreign to him before.
A concept he only understood as that - a concept.
He'd never experienced it. Never felt the full weight of it sinking into his bones, the million tiny things that you were made of, the moment he looked forward to, all just gone.
"I miss you," He murmured, hoping that just maybe you were still listening.
Tracing over the spot in bed where you used to be, as if he could will you back into existence.
And then he heard it.
The rustle of fabric. A soft sigh.
"You should move on."
It would've hurt less if you killed him. At least then he could be with you.
"I don't want to," He whispered.
You didn't answer him.
Retreated back somewhere in the shadows, out of his reach.
"Don't go," Gojo pleaded. Begging for just a brush of your skin against his, no matter how small. "Come back."
Sometimes, he could swear he felt your hurt. The ache that ate at you. The betrayal behind it. He hated his part in that.
"Haunt me."
Couldn't you hear how much he meant it?
He couldn't evict you from his heart or his head. You'd already established a permanent residency there even if you decided you didn't want it anymore.
A phantom he was convinced he couldn't survive without.
You didn't budge though. Starving him of your attention, staying silent once again even after he spent the next four days moping in bed and watching your favorite shows, chocolate wrappers littering his nightstand while clothes piled up in the laundry basket.
He guessed this was depression, already on the fourth stage of grief and unable to comprehend how he was ever supposed to get to acceptance.
He refused to leave his room for more than food or the bathroom - but Geto had other plans, using the spare key Gojo had once given him to get in, scrunching his nose up at the mess and rolling his eyes when he find Gojo in the nest he'd made out of his bed.
"Get up," He groaned, tossing off all the blankets that probably needed to be washed.
"No," Gojo rolled over, burying his face back in his pillow.
Geto huffed, grabbing a different one and smacking the back of his head with it.
"You need to get out of here."
Gojo wouldn't have let Geto drag him out if he'd known where he'd take him.
The loud music, the flashing lights, too many bodies too clue, reeking of cheap colognes through the sweat. It used to be one of his favorite clubs. A place to destress and let loose, to dance and make an idiot out of himself after a single drink. But that was another world. Another him.
Now he was sipping something fruity in a corner booth and wishing he brought noise-cancelling headphones.
Geto was across from him, talking about something that happened at work was if he could actually hear anything over the crowd and the heavy thump of the bass ringing in his ears. As if he could listen when his mind was back on you.
Girls would come out, giggle and flirt a little, grinning at Geto and occasionally throwing him a sheepish glance, apologetic that they weren't paying attention to him.
He didn't notice.
Too busy counting cracks in the table and thinking about how fucked everything was. How fucked he felt. How unfair this was.
Until two girls sat down, one of them scooting into the booth next to him, her thigh pressed against his, her lips leaning in to graze against his neck and murmur, "Hi."
"Um, hello," He awkwardly answered, scooting back to put some distance, but she just giggled.
"You're cute," She commented.
"Not really," Gojo dryly replied, fixing his glasses.
Geto was distracted by the girl next to him, whispering something to her and chuckling before throwing a glance back at Gojo, trying to shoot him a look that said relax.
He couldn't.
Every laugh, every word felt like a betrayal to who he actually wanted to be with.
Cheating on a ghost.
What would you say if you saw him?
Would you be upset? Hurt? Or would you just tell him to move on again?
Gojo excused himself to get another drink, but walked right past the bar, snagging a taxi passing by to get back home.
He stumbled back through the door after taking five minutes fumbling with the lock, unable to get his fingers to work right.
"Sweetheart," He called out, closing his eyes and reclining his head back on the door after he shut it, head throbbing and exhausted. "Please."
More nothing.
"I don't want to live without you." It was tactless. He knew it. But the alcohol in his system only made him even more of an idiot than he usually was. It wasn't warmth in his chest. It was a fire, running through his veins and wrecking his body, all the stuff he repressed and pushed down simmering back up to the surface.
He could get everything he ever wanted - but not you. He'd never get you. So what was the point of keeping up the pretense of pretending he was fine going on like that?
"Don't say that," You whispered, so quiet he almost missed it.
"It's true," He argued, keeping his eyes closed, covering his face with his hands to hide the tears that were pricking at them.
"You're being an asshole," You muttered, somehow more broken than him. Voice cracking, barely audible. "Why are you doing this to me?"
"I'm selfish," He admitted. "And I'm in love with you."
"Is that why you have lipstick on your shirt?" You scoffed.
He winced.
"It wasn't like that," Gojo cringed as he said that, the same slimy feeling in his gut from the club returning. "I left after she tried to kiss me."
"Why?" You asked, a bitter little laugh accompanying it. "I can't compete with someone who can actually touch you. Stop asking me to try."
"You don't have to try," He huffed back, taking his hands away and removing his glasses in the process, cleaning where he smudged them in the hem of his shirt. When he put them back on, pushing the thick pair up the bridge of his nose, he froze when he saw you standing in front of him, almost unable to finish his thought. "There isn't any competition."
No one else could compete.
Your eyes wavered with hurt, icing on a hundred other tangled and twisted emotions. Regret and raw anger, betrayed but still begging him to make it up to you with the little pout on your lips.
"All I want is you," He murmured. "And I never, ever thought of you as some kind of tourist attraction. I just liked you."
"I want to believe you," You spoke softly, looking down at the floor instead of at him.
"What I did was stupid, and I'm sorry, but I swear I just wanted to help," He started to say before you made a strangled little sound.
"Gojo-"
"No," He shook his head, refusing to let your relationship go backwards, refusing to put on the act like he was just accepting this was how it was. "It's awful and I'm probably a horrible person, but I hate the idea of you moving on. I want you to stay with me. I want to wake up next to you and go to sleep with you in my arms. Actually get to take you on a fucking date and take pictures together."
"We can't," You reminded him, tears welling up in your eyes.
"So why can't we just enjoy what time we do have?"
He didn't know who moved first.
Only that you tasted ten times better than those shitty drinks at the club. Savoring your lips on his like it might be the last kiss he ever got, hot and hungry as he pinned you down beneath him on the couch. Your form was more solid than it had ever been, maybe from how much energy you'd conserved ghosting him.
Every kiss, every touch was concentrated.
All his nerve endings burning and begging for more, neurons firing and brain demanding your body, his hands shaking as he skimmed over your hips and your waist, one squeezing your tit while the other eventually cupped your cheek.
"Let me love you," He murmured into your mouth, barely breathing at all in favor of marking every inch of your lips with his own.
"I don't think I can stop you," You wryly commented back, cracking the first hint of a smile he sorely missed.
Loving you was just too easy.
His fingers sinking into your skin and his mouth latched into your neck when he buried himself back inside you, content to stay there for the rest of his face.
The sex was slow this time.
Sensual and steady, memorizing every second of your face scrunching up and your thighs wrapped around his waist. The sinful squeeze of you sucking him in and your nails scraping down his shoulder blades when he grinded himself in deeper, fitting inside you nice and snug. Slowing down as he dragged himself in, drawing it out just to make you squirm.
"Tease," You murmured before moaning his name again, unable to even fully pronounce it. "S'toru."
He had to make it count.
Glasses fogging up and hair hanging in his face even when he kissed your collarbone, wishing he could stay inside you longer, staving off his incoming climax just for a few more minutes of this.
His thumb swiped back over your swollen clit, nearly cumming just watching you cum, how pretty you looked with your head tossed back on the armrest. And then your nails sunk in deeper, more physical proof you were here and all his, and he unravelled.
Cum leaking out all over you and on his couch, cock still throbbing and aching when he finally dropped his head down in the nook of your throat.
"I'm not leaving you," He whispered, flipping you around after a few minutes, letting you lay on top of him this time. "Not now or ever."
"I know."
Neither of you talked for a while. But it wasn't the same silence as before. Not painful, although it was filled with a different kind of pining.
"It was an accident. Sort of," You murmured, readjusting on his chest but refusing to look up at him when he stiffened.
"What?" He asked, his lungs straining for air as it set in what you were talking about. How you died.
"I didn't have a lot of friends. But um, someone from my work dropped by when I wasn't expecting it," You swallowed hard. "I was excited, I guess, it wasn't like people ever came over so I called in pizza and drinks. It's funny, you know, I don't even remember exactly what we ended up arguing about, just the disappointment."
Gojo hadn't thought you could break his heart more. But you kept going.
"One second, I'm asking them to leave and trying to get them out the door, and the next, I'm being shoved," You laughed, light and airy and somehow absolutely depressing at the same time. "It didn't hurt. Just a snap when my head hit something and the next thing I knew I was here and none of my stuff was."
"Who did it?" He murmured, craning his neck down to kiss the top of your head.
"Does it matter?" You muttered. "I was angry at first, upset that the world kept spinning without me."
He was angry. Upset at the cops who didn't care. That you weren't mourned properly by anyone but him. But your feelings were more important.
"Then you moved in," You said it like he saved you. Like everything else was simply inconsequential. "I let my life go a long time ago."
You were holding onto his now.
Only staying here for him.
"I wish I met you sooner," He wistfully muttered.
Something in his tone made you look up, your eyes soft, glittering in the low light when your stare flickered from his lips up to his glasses.
"Maybe in another life," You shrugged, reaching up to trace his jaw with the tip of your finger.
Even if he didn't remember, he'd be damn sure to find you in the next one - and fuck you for real.
seeing spectres? got a ghost problem? it seems Satoru Gojo has one of his own - one he doesn't want to get rid of
synopsis: full-time nerd turned part-time amateur ghost hunter, you've become Gojo's favorite occupation! living with a roommate is hard enough - let alone falling in love with your (un?)dead one!
pairing: nerdjo x ghost!Reader
content: mdni, heavy angst, mentions of murder, gojo is in LOVE, discussions of death/afterlife, heavy yearning, protective/possessive gojo, arguments, emotional hurt
art by @chu-cho + divider by @petalpxl
Gojo leaned over the rail and puked.
Suguru was still talking in his ear, asking what the hell was happening and if he was okay between scolding him for not even fucking looking your name up once since he moved in. As if he could even come close to being okay with the new image forming in his mind that you'd been murdered.
Forced the face the fact there really weren't any happy endings when he hadn't even dealt with your death to begin. When he'd never really ever thought of you as gone since you were always here.
"How?" Gojo hoarsely asked, wiping his mouth with he back of his hand.
Part of him didn't want to know.
Wanted to hang up and pretend he'd never checked his phone.
But curiosity killed the cat and someone had killed you.
"Robbery, maybe? There isn't much information in any of the articles I found," Suguru reluctantly answered, like he wasn't sure if he should even be offering what he did have.
"Fuck," Gojo grunted, his legs weak, threatening to give out from underneath him as he paced back-and-forth.
"No one was ever arrested."
Was that why you were stuck here?
Your murderer was roaming around free while you were confined to the apartment they took your life in.
It wasn't fucking fair.
"Can you, um," Gojo paused, choking down the hot lump in his throat, unexpected tears forming in the corner of his eyes before he regained his composure. "Can you just send me what you found?"
"Sure, but Satoru, look, I think you should get a bag of stuff and come crash here for a few days. We don't know what happened to her, but maybe we can figure out how to help put her spirit to rest," Suguru suggested, like that was the right thing to do.
He didn't have to say it for Gojo to know what he was subtly hinting at.
Wanting to be with you was wrong.
You weren't meant to be here. Fuck, you were never even meant to meet. Or who knows, maybe if you would've if some asshole hadn't happened to intervene.
"No," Gojo shook his head as if his friend would even be able to see it. "I'm staying."
"You don't think she'll be upset once she realizes you know?" Suguru scoffed.
He was right. You would be. You'd dodged practically every question and dismissed every concern. Fragile and fucked up over something you couldn't speak of.
Gojo got it now, understood that the last fucking thing you wanted to discuss was your death when you'd been ripped from the world and shoved into a space where you couldn't be seen.
What would happen if it hadn't been him moving in? What would happen after he moved out?
"I can't leave her," He mumbled, scratching the back of his head, fluffy strands of hair grown too long from the haircuts he'd been putting off getting in favor of staying in with you.
"Satoru." Disapproving. Disappointed.
He hung up on Suguru.
But his palms were cold, clammy as he went to push his front door back open. Hesitating before the threshold, trying to force his face back into the happy man he'd been just ten minutes ago. Before he'd found out another harsh truth.
He couldn't kid himself - couldn't carry on pretending it was somehow natural, not the peaceful passing he wanted so badly to believe in.
Were you buried? Cremated? Was there even a grave he could put flowers at?
He knew what he needed to do. He just loved you too much. He didn't want to let you go - but he couldn't live with himself if he didn't do everything he could for you even now.
Even if there wasn't enough evidence left to convict your killer, even if it wouldn't bring you back, he could at least try to deliver the justice you deserved.
Gojo walked inside without realizing he was crying.
But you noticed immediately, your pretty face frowning at him before he'd even shut the door behind him.
"What's wrong?" You immediately asked, and he couldn't even appreciate the way your brows pulled together, the faint crease that formed between them when you jutted your bottom lip out. "You're crying, Satoru."
"Nuh-uh," He weakly said, pushing his glasses up to wipe his eyes. "Jus' allergies."
"Was I that bad?" You half-joked, but you were nervous, a strange hum in the air as the energy shifted. "I know it's been a while, but-"
"Don't make me carry you back to the bedroom," He tried to tease, one corner of his mouth struggling to twitch up into a comforting smile.
He had to be strong. Had to be the kind of man he wishes he'd been there to be in your life before him.
And you might've been the only ghost here, but you saw straight through him.
"Seriously," You frowned. "What happened?"
"I'm fine," He lied. "Just, uh, got some bad news from Suguru. Nothing for you to worry about."
You scowled at him, and his stomach dropped.
"Why are you-"
Gojo saw it the second the realization smacked you in the face. That you knew he knew. Your lips freezing half-open, hurt flashing across all your pretty features, and he almost wished he couldn't see you again so that he didn't have to watch the betrayal burning in your eyes.
You turned, disappearing down the hall before he could grab your arm, and his feet felt glued in place. The weight of your life and death on his shoulders, the balance between the two he'd been desperately trying to navigate.
He scrunched his eyes shut, running his fingers through his hair and hating himself for fucking this up already.
But then your footsteps were coming back, and an apology was already forming on his tongue, trying to work out the words to explain it better, to promise that things didn't have to change, that he just wanted to know you. To fix this.
"You took my diary too?" Your voice was raw. Thick and raspy, like you were trying just as hard as him not to cry. The stereo switched on, flipping through channels nonstop, the bulbs from the lamps flashing bright before burning out and a cabinet he'd left open slamming shut.
"I-it's not like that," Gojo stammered, but you had hidden yourself from him, no apparition or faintest flicker of you to be seen. "I never read it."
"Bet your friend did though," You laughed, but it was bitter, hurt. Because of him. "What even am I to you? A dead girl to pity fuck? Something to play with until you move somewhere else? A tourist attraction?"
"Fuck, no," He protested, stepping forward and reaching out trying to find you.
You were sensational on your own, but the last thing he wanted was to sensationalize the one thing that separated you. You were still you. Ghost or not.
"I just wanted this to be real," You muttered, blunt and broken.
"It is real," Gojo argued back, hands searching the empty space in front of him. "Baby, I just want to help you, okay? I love-"
"Don't say it," You scoffed. "I'm dead, remember? You're a little late."
"It's not."
Satoru wasn't sure anymore who he was trying to convince. You? Or himself?
Everything turned off, but he still couldn't sense you anywhere.
seeing spectres? got a ghost problem? it seems Satoru Gojo has one of his own - one he doesn't want to get rid of
synopsis: full-time nerd turned part-time amateur ghost hunter, you've become Gojo's favorite occupation! living with a roommate is hard enough - let alone falling in love with your (un?)dead one!
pairing: nerdjo x ghost!Reader
content: mdni, angst and fluff and smut, unprotected piv sex but she can't get pregnant lol, creampie, lovesick gojo, roommates-to-lovers but one of them is dead lol, paranormal aspects ofc, fem reader, discussions of death, some darker themes but plenty of goofy gojo to go around, idiots falling in love, mystery, gojo is down so bad, aftercare!
art by @chu-cho + divider by @petalpxl
Satoru Gojo had kissed a lot few girls in his life.
But nothing compared to this. To you.
His hands were moving on their own, hoisting you up by your waist and not stopping until your face was right in front of his, and fuck, your eyes were pretty, wide and shocked and lashes fluttering as you stared through him.
"Sato-"
His lips were on yours before you could finish, smothering you with the affection he'd been dying to show for weeks.
And yeah, he felt kinda creepy keeping his eyes open while he was sticking his tongue in your mouth, but he couldn't help it. You were just so perfect. Just so you.
The girl from of his dreams.
Lashes fluttering, skin soft under his touch, cold. It didn't matter. Gojo had enough warmth for both of you.
You made a cute little mmph, cracking one eye open to sneak a peek at him. He could see the surprise register in your face when you realized his eyes were already locked onto yours.
You pulled away with a squeak, grabbing the blanket to pull over you and sit up, but Gojo was faster, refusing to let you climb off of him so you had to settle for straddling his lap instead. "Y-you can see me?"
Hearing your sweet stammer, your shy stare focused solely on him, the weight of your thighs while you nervously shifted, it was too much. Gojo could feel his cock twitching, the bulge growing harder beneath you with every tiny readjustment you made.
"I can see you," Gojo echoed, equally breathless as he admired every tiny detail, trying to etch as much as he could to memory in case you disappeared on him again. You almost shimmered, not quite translucent, but not solid either.
Something in-between.
Still caught in the middle of life and death even now.
You shyly started feeling for your hair, like you needed to fix it, your lips parted in surprise. But you didn't look away. Equally scared the second you did, he wouldn't be able to see you again.
"Do I, um, look okay? I can't exactly check in a mirror," You nervously laughed. How could he tell you that you were so cute it hurt? The look in your eyes and the way your lips curled up and how you tilted your head at him made him wish he could marry you here and now.
"You're beautiful," He murmured, sitting up so he could trace your outline over the blanket. But you dropped it down, revealing where you were still naked. Usually, you were stuck in the same clothes you died in, but he'd peeled them off of you last night, and he weren't sure where they ended up, or how that even fucking worked.
You rolled your eyes at him sighing as you tried to cover your breasts with your hands. He went to brush them away, to hold them for you, but you spoke again so timidly. "You don't have to lie."
"I'm not," Gojo pouted, plucking your hands away and staring openly at your breasts. Eagerly cupping them and immediately going to roll your nipple between his fingers to cover up how nervous he was. His mouth has gone completely dry, sweat already pricking at his forehead at having the prettiest girl he'd ever met on his lap. "You're breathtaking."
Cheesy, yeah, but true? Certainly.
Scientifically accurate, even.
"No one even said that sorta stuff to me when I was alive," You huffed, embarrassed.
Gojo paused, frowning at the thought you really didn't believe him. Didn't think as highly of yourself as he did.
How could that even be possible?
"Guess I'll just have to prove it to ya, huh?"
And half an hour later?
He was in heaven.
(Not that he'd actually say that and remind you of where you weren't.)
But he liked to think you felt the same, watching your glossy eyes tear up and glaze over, your hips in his hands, lifted up in the air while he drove his cock all the way in. Watching the connection of your bodies, yours soft and shimmery compared to his hard, smooth complexion, entranced by the way you sucked him in.
Your head was thrown back, hair splayed across his pillow while you moaned his name, music to his ears. Divine. An angel on earth, thighs spread and cunt throbbing with every rough thrust.
Lewd squelches and breathy gasps, broken grunts escaping his throat as he tried to hold himself back, desperately clawing to keep control when everything about you made him lose his damn mind.
How could he focus when your lashes were fluttering? Stop himself from scratching your hips and grinding up into your cervix when each drag of his cock lead him there? When your face scrunched up in pure pleasure every time he did?
His cute little ghost falling into pieces on his cock.
Crying his name and squirming in his grasp, begging him to never stop, every tremble of your thighs and quiver of your lips making his abs tense, trying his hardest not to cum yet.
You'd already finished once, biting his collarbone when you came undone, sore love bites littering his neck and chest before he'd pulled you into this position. His thighs aches, knees sinking into the mattress while he held you up, fucking you to the edge of overstimulation.
"F-feel good?" He stammered, sweat making his glasses slide down the bridge of his nose. He had to let go of one of your hips to push it back up, brushing damp strands of his hair back.
You struggled to nod, making weak whimpers as writhed around him, each little adjustment just squeezing him tighter. "Mm, mhm."
"Say it, sweets," He was begging, and he couldn't bring himself to care how desperate he sounded.
"Feels good, S'toru," You practically slurred, drunk on desire, and he felt dizzy on it. Delirious on the way you said his name like that, all cute and breathless.
It was almost enough to make him forget you stopped breathing a long time ago.
His thrusts stalled for a second, reminded that your presence was probably temporal. He'd move or you'd move on.
But then you whined, letting go of the sheets to reach out for him. To touch him.
And he was dropping your hips, wrapping a hand around the back of your neck while he bottomed out, the weight of him pressing down on your chest while he captured your lips in a kiss he hoped seared through to your soul.
Hoped it'd stain it, leave a mark that memory wouldn't betray even if you were here a hundred more years. That this moment had been real and you had been wholly his.
You moaned into his mouth, and he came hard and fast. Finishing inside you, your grip only getting tighter like you were trying to squeeze him dry. Painting your cunt and your thighs white with him, more proof that you were here. Bare and raw in his bed, chest heaving and breasts bouncing when his fingers fumbled to massage your clit.
Your hands were on his face, holding back his hair and tracing over the scars there, holding his stare while your lips stayed parted.
"C'mon, baby, that's it," Gojo panted, lost in the lust and the longing when his quick circles pushed you to climax too, legs wrapping around him as you let out another sweet moan.
He half-collapsed into the bed next to you, dragging your weak body over his, both of you exhausted and sleepy-eyed. Cradling your head against his chest, combing through your hair and pressing kissed everywhere he could reach, mumbling mindless praises.
"You think, um, if things were different," You stopped yourself from finishing, readjusting to sneak a peak up at him.
He knew what you were asking anyway.
"I'd want you," Gojo promised. "In any life."
Or death, it seemed.
You didn't say anything, but snuggled back against him, content to stay in his arms a little longer. Let him trace over the ridges of your spine, to note every freckle and scar he hadn't gotten the privilege of seeing before.
He had a million more questions. None he was sure you'd answer, but still felt worth mentioning, if only to show you just how much he wanted to know you. All that you offered.
But you fell back asleep, or whatever version of it the dead had, and he kept his mouth shut. Saved it for later.
He only climbed out of bed when his phone started buzzing on the nightstand. Geto, he guessed. He carefully slipped out from under you and threw on some clothes before stepping out the front door to call him back.
"Hey, sorry I missed your call," Gojo yawned, phone jammed between his shoulder and ear as he cleaned his glasses with the hem of his shirt. "What's up?"
"You didn't read that diary, did you?" Geto murmured, a sharp edge of something Gojo didn't want to place.
"I mean, no, it felt wrong," He admitted, sliding his glasses back on and anxiously rubbing the back of his neck.
"Did you even look her up?" Geto hissed.
"I, uh, tried-" The grainy scoff on the other end made his stomach churn, nausea creeping in. "Why?"
seeing spectres? got a ghost problem? it seems Satoru Gojo has one of his own - one he doesn't want to get rid of
synopsis: full-time nerd turned part-time amateur ghost hunter, you've become Gojo's favorite occupation! living with a roommate is hard enough - let alone falling in love with your (un?)dead one!
pairing: nerdjo x ghost!Reader
content: mdni, angst and fluff and smut, oral sex (f! receiving), ghost GETTING head this time, roommates-to-lovers but one of them is dead lol, paranormal aspects ofc, fem reader, discussions of death, some darker themes but plenty of goofy gojo to go around, idiots falling in love, Geto being a skeptic, gojo is jealous and down atrociously bad
art by @chu-cho + divider by @petalpxl
Some things were sacred.
The faint taste of cherry chapstick that still cling to your lips. How delicately you'd interlace your fingers with his. The few seconds when he first wakes up in the morning, the fleeting moments where he could almost believe you were actually alive in his arms, hair tickling his face and your skin touching his skin.
So Gojo knew what he was holding was something holy.
To you, at least.
He hadn't meant to find it, a rare occasion where he wasn't even trying to be sneaky. Just struggling to clean out his closet while you were distracted by a new book he'd brought home in the living room, leaving you lounging on the couch, pages flipping on their own and the sound of your favorite song drifting down the hall. He was innocent for once, tossing clothes in the laundry basket and reorganizing shoes when he noticed the crooked floorboard, his fingers reaching out to see if it was properly secured just to discover how easily it could be pulled up.
And now?
He was trying his hardest not to open what very much appeared to be your diary, a familiar little heart drawn in the bottom corner of the cover.
You might actually kill him and send him straight to the afterlife if you discovered him with it.
Or even worse?
You might not even want to spend it with him anymore if you suspected he was snooping.
The stereo flipped off in the living room, and in a moment of panic, he was scrambling to fix the floorboard and stand up, shoving the small book into the bookbag hanging up in his closet. Dusting off his jeans and sliding into his desk chair right as the door creaked open.
"Hey," He nervously greeted, fiddling with his fingers as he felt your weight slide into his lap, wrists thrown around his neck before you leaned in to press a soft kiss to his cheek, lips tracing over the pale scars there.
Gojo tried to kiss your lips, just to miss and press a soft peck to the tip of your nose instead, earning a tiny giggle that made his cheeks flush pink.
If you were striving off his attention, he was getting addicted to yours.
Every kiss, every touch, every little sound and flash of color he could make out made him long for more, his heart hollowed out like he could try to trap you inside it, let you live there instead.
The dreams we're getting stronger too, and if he was convinced before, he was certain now that it was you there with him, you occupying his sleep the same way you occupied his space.
He actually got to see you there, got to laugh and linger in the weird limbo, even if he rarely remembered more than bits of pieces the next day. The shape of your lips. The crinkle by your eyes.
Sometimes a story you'd tell him.
Never the beginning or the end, but the bits in between.
Gojo attempted to draw you from the scraps he could recall, but uh, he wasn't exactly an artist. The little frowny face you'd scribbled next to a bunch of question marks on the page beneath it proved that.
"Satoru," A voice softly spoke, and he jolted.
Eyes going wide, everything else forgotten as he squeezed your sides tight, trying to wrap his brain around it.
You said his name. And he heard it.
Little laughs and faint moans were one thing. But a full word? Your pretty voice calling out to him?
His pulse pounded in his eardrums, threatening to drown you out, his fingers slipped under the thin fabric of the shirt he couldn't see just to feel your skin underneath, to feel as close to you as possible.
"I heard that," He breathed, disbelief still shining in his eyes. "I heard you."
"R-really?" A quiet stammer, just as nervous and flustered as he was. Gojo rubbed his eyes, blinking a few times before slowly nodding.
"Yeah," He answered, and then he was standing up, picking you up with him and laughing like he heard the funniest joke in the world.
You were heavier than he expected - for a ghost, he meant. Not weightless, but as if he was actually lifting your body.
Gojo could be clueless, but thankfully, he at least knew better than to voice that and accidentally annoy you.
"Say something else," He requested, anxious excitement of his own bleeding through when he set you back down, shaky hands clumsily trying to caress your cheeks, dying to hear you speak again. "Anything."
"Satoru," You repeated, giddy and trying not to giggle this time, your hands reaching up to cup his face, accidentally bumping into his glasses. "I like you. A lot."
"I like you more."
And seriously, even a skeptic like Suguru would have to admit you existed when you could actually talk to him.
"Satoru," Geto sighed, cutting him a look that was more concerned than surprised. "It was kinda funny at first, but I think you should see a doctor."
"C'mon," Gojo groaned, half-dragging him down the hall to the front door of his apartment.
It was a spur of a moment thing, meeting up after his shift ended a couple days later to show Geto the diary and once again, ask for advice regarding his love life. Or, uh, could he still call it that if you weren't living?
Either way, Geto took the book from him and flicked through it, probably expecting Gojo's handwriting, or some other hoax. But whatever he saw just made Geto scowl, asking what the fuck was wrong with him before he threw the diary in his own bag before Gojo could ask for it back.
And somehow, in his instance that he wasn't making any of it up, he accidentally ended up inviting him over after dinner.
Geto's lips were pressed in a thin line, disappointed or in disbelief, but choosing not to comment as Gojo turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open.
The apartment was eerily silent.
Nothing on, no noises, curtains mostly drawn and long shadows cast across the the dim living room.
"Well," Suguru slowly said, letting out a second long sigh. "It's certainly creepy."
"Honey, can you come out? I want you to meet someone," Gojo called out, flipping on a lamp just for it to immediately turn back off. He laughed, like it wasn't, in fact, creepy, readjusting his glasses and wiping the sweat on his palms off on his shirt.
Were you upset? Or was this your idea of a joke?
Okay, he hadn't mentioned bringing Geto over, but he never considered you might mind.
"Please," He pouted, turning the lamp on again and glancing around the empty room. You tidied up while he was gone, all the books put up and a blanket nearly folded over the back of the couch. The lilies he'd bought for you died after a few days, but he was quick to replace them with fresh pink peonies instead (and actually buy a vase this time).
"Do you want the number for my therapist?" Geto deadpanned.
"She's real," Gojo insisted, and as if to prove his point, a book suddenly fell from the shelf, clattering loudly to the floor.
He could see the way Geto's brows were quick to cinch together, how his eyes squinted to slits as he searched for some clear string or mechanism to make it happen. But then the tv turned on, the remote floating as you started flicking through the channels, before tossing it back on the coffee table.
"Ha-ha," Geto dryly said. "Very funny. So how are you doing that?"
Then his jaw went tight, a flicker of surprise registering in his dark eyes, and Gojo guessed you were probably touching him, maybe grabbing his hand or poking him.
"He's not," You giggled, and Gojo noticed the fabric wrinkling on Geto's sleeve as if you were tugging on it. "I am."
He quickly realized bringing Geto over may have been a mistake.
And yeah, it was silly, and absolutely stupid, but you were his ghost, you were supposed to haunt him.
Not sit between the two of them on the couch and play a weird fucked-up version of twenty questions with Geto where you took turns answering questions about being dead - or alive.
He felt like a fucking idiot for not thinking of something like that sooner.
It didn't matter much though - you still passed on anything and everything personal.
How you died, if you had any family, only hesitantly offering your first name and age. The one you'd still be stuck at even when birthdays came and passed.
He did get confirmation you couldn't leave the apartment though. That you'd found yourself stuck here two years ago. How much you hated the tenant before him. That somehow the stuff that used to sap all your energy, like turning on the stereo or opening cabinets, was easy to do now.
In exchange, they tried to fill you in on modern events. Random bits of gossip or latest news stories. Gojo wondered if you wanted to ask about people you used to know, if there was someone out there who loved you that would kill for a chance to talk to you just one more time like this.
And all he discovered was just the thought of someone else having you, all of you, made his heart lurch, his stomach churn, every piece of him feel sick.
Even listening to Geto chuckle, to see his lips curl up in the same smirk that always made girls wilt and throw themselves at him, hearing your sweet voice speaking to someone else, that was already shitty enough.
But realizing he might never have even had a chance if you weren't confined here with him?
It fucking sucked.
His nervous chatter faded, folding his hands in his lap to keep from pushing up his glasses every second and feeling more like a ghost than you were.
But you noticed, your body brushing closer against his while you pried his hands apart to hold one. He had to look away, hoping you wouldn't notice how sweaty it was, that you wouldn't start wishing you lived with Geto instead of him.
What if you started thinking his rants were boring? What if you thought Digimon was immature compared to Geto's more tasteful interests?
Almost like you could sense his anxiety, you leaned in closer, and he felt your breath on his neck. Slow kisses trailing upward, canines scraping against his tendons until your mouth settled on his jaw. Reminding him where your affections still laid.
"Hey, Suguru," Gojo managed, squeezing your hand as he cleared his throat. "I'm pretty tired. Mind heading out? I'll call you tomorrow."
Technically-speaking, he was tired. Therefore, it wasn't a lie.
To be totally honest though?
He wanted your lips somewhere else. Wanted your nails raking down his shoulder blades and your warmth wrapped around him.
"Sure," Geto replied, meaning to push off the couch only to accident push off your leg instead, and you let out a cute little yelp while he chuckled. "Sorry, sweetheart."
Yeah, no, Gojo was never inviting Geto back.
There was no way in hell he was sharing you.
And you didn't mind, did you?
He could take care of you - great care of you even!
His palms spreading your thighs and pinning them down to the mattress, the small shorts and your underwear he couldn't see shoved aside so he could get a taste of you.
Dragging his tongue over your slit, wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking softly while phantom fingers tugged and pulled at his hair. Getting tangled as you moaned his name, hips arching up off his bed.
"Taste so good, baby," He groaned, eagerly licking and lapping at you while his glasses fogged up.
Were you more sensitive like this?
It sure fucking seemed like it - every exploratory drag of his tongue made you whine and whimper.
Your thighs were tense, muscles twitching as you strained to close them together, squirming to get more friction when he dove in deeper. He'd been at it for half an hour, but he just couldn't seem to get enough.
His lips were glossy, slick with spit and you, but he was pretty sure he could live off of this, sustain himself on your kisses and your cunt.
"Satoru," You whined, and he released one of your thighs to shove two fingers inside instead, scissoring and stretching you out just to hear the strangled gasp escape your throat. Pretty little broken breathing, picturing what you might look like with your head thrown back against his pillow while he fingered you until you were begging to cum. "Please, ple-"
"Be my girlfriend," He huffed, like he wasn't knuckle deep and you weren't dead.
"Y-you know I-I," You were stuttering, but he didn't want the reminder of what you were probably going to say.
That he should probably find a living girl when all he wanted was you.
"Just say yes," He quietly murmured, returning to sucking on your clit while his fingers drove back in deeper, your walls squeezing at the soft plea of his voice.
"Alright," You weakly murmured, your voice strained. He was rutting against the bed, his cock already painfully close to cumming in his boxers as your thighs trembled under his touch. "I'm yours."
He didn't know who finished first.
Just that he'd do anything to finally fuck you.
Settling for snuggles underneath the sheets post-shower, damp hair sticking to his forehead while you fixed his glasses, your naked body resting on top of his.
Softly sighing, his arms wrapped around you, your fingers running over his scars like they were something you found beautiful.
Like he was something you found beautiful.
For the first night in months, he dozed off to a dreamless sleep. Eyes fluttering closed, just to crack them open to bright sunlight streaming into his room a handful of hours later.
Blinking a few times, brushing your hair back with a yawn, murmuring something half-incoherent that hadn't fully left his lips when he glanced down and saw you.
Actually saw you.
You hadn't noticed yet, your cheeks still squished against his chest, eyes closed. He wasn't sure if you could actually sleep, or if maybe it was still a matter of habit, like breathing or blinking.
Tentatively, he reached out, his fingers finding flesh, soft and sweet and his, although your form still flickered, almost translucent as he traced over your cheekbones.
seeing spectres? got a ghost problem? it seems Satoru Gojo has one of his own - one he doesn't want to get rid of
synopsis: full-time nerd turned part-time amateur ghost hunter, you've become Gojo's favorite occupation! living with a roommate is hard enough - let alone falling in love with your (un?)dead one!
pairing: nerdjo x ghost!Reader
content: mdni, angst and fluff and smut, ghost giving head, roommates-to-lovers but one of them is dead lol, paranormal aspects ofc, fem reader, idiots falling in love, petty reader, gojo being a DORK, she falls first + he falls harder, oral (m! receiving), kissing, gojo whimpers
art by @chu-cho + divider by @petalpxl
Three days.
Gojo had been sleeping on his own couch for three days.
Banished from the bedroom, the door shut and locked. To be fair, he had the key, could easily check the cameras. But it felt wrong to snoop even more than he already had.
Whatever the reason, he'd try to respect the fact you clearly weren't comfortable with him digging into your past. Despite how much it was killing him to not know the answers to the million-and-one questions regarding your (after)life.
Were you stuck here forever? Would he be trapped wherever he died too? Or was there some other reason you were stuck with him, some unseen, unfinished business?
Still, he cared more about the damage he'd done to your relationship (if he could call it that) than to anything you might've done to his stuff during the last few days.
Those were all just physical.
Things that could be replaced.
There was only one of you. (Or had been.)
He was tempted to crash at Geto's place, but it sucked enough to see his stupid smug smirk when Gojo showed up to lunch without the so-called proof he swore he'd have by now. Plus, he sort of hoped to see that dumb door open each time he came home, for your cold hands to help him take off his jacket or a bottle of water to be waiting for him on the coffee table.
If there was anything he couldn't take, it was the quiet.
So he just ended up grabbing extra shampoo and conditioner at the corner store and convincing Geto to go out shopping with him for some new clothes, skipping over the reason being he currently didn't have access to his closet.
Could it be considered the silent treatment if you never said anything to him in the first place?
"Fight with your girlfriend?" Geto baited after noticing his unusually somber behavior, picking a black sweater off the hanger and holding it out for him to look at.
Gojo huffed, taking it and glancing over his shoulders to search for a dressing room. For some stupid reason, he couldn't help but wondering if you'd like it.
"What do you do?" He started, pausing at the amusement faintly flickering in Geto's eyes before forcing himself to continue. "When a girl is mad at you, I mean?"
"What I do? Or what I think you should do?"
Gojo didn't understand what the difference was, but then again, he didn't understand girls either. He shrugged, and Geto let out a low chuckle before answering anyway.
"Buy her flowers."
Ignoring his best friend's arched brow and suspicious stare while he handed over his credit card to the cashier half an hour later, he was unsure how to deal with the growing discomfort in his stomach whenever he thought of you.
Which was often.
He already tried talking to you from the hallway, slipping I'm sorry notes under the door and promising he didn't even see anything. But his pleas felt less effective when he still had no clue what your name even was.
Begging for forgiveness from a girl whose face he couldn't even see.
He hoped Geto was right.
Gojo turned the key in the lock when he returned home, a pretty bouquet of white lilies and shopping bags in hand, plus a small box tucked under his arm as he twisted the knob and peeked inside.
"Angel?" He called out, immediately cringing when it didn't come out quite as smooth as he hoped. Idiot. Who wants to be called angel after they died?
But then he heard it - the creak of a door opening, soft footsteps down the hall.
"Hey," He quietly spoke, walking in just enough to set the box and bags down on the corner of the couch before standing up straight and holding out the flowers. "I, um, got these for you."
You didn't take it from him - but a stem bent, a few of the petals rustling like you were touching or sniffing them.
"Do you like them?" Gojo tentatively asked.
He wasn't a virgin. Technically.
But he'd still ever bought flowers for someone else before. He wasn't sure what kind to get - and it felt more than a little morbid to imagine the last time you received flowers was probably for your funeral.
He hesitated, brows scrunching up in worry as chewed the inside of his cheek, wondering if he'd just lost his last chance as another bleak thought crossed his mind.
"Fuck," He winced at what he'd forgotten. "I don't think I have a vase."
You laughed.
It was soft, maybe even just a figment of his imagination, but God, he'd never heard anything so pretty. A small little giggle, one that rang in his head as you plucked a single flower from the bunch, the lace ribbon that tied them together unravelling.
He felt like he was unravelling with it.
"I'm sorry," Gojo murmured, probably for the fiftieth time in the past few days. "I wasn't trying to pry. I just-"
You broke the stem in half, a small flash of green falling to the floor as you tucked the flower behind his ear, held in place by the thick frame of his glasses.
And he was so distracted by your smaller hand slipping into his, he didn't realize just how close you were until your lips were pressing softly on his. Cool, tender. Blinking back surprise for a second before he was suddenly leaning down to deepen it, knuckles turning white around the rest of the flowers as he tried to wrap an arm around your waist.
When it actually worked?
He was kissing you back twice as hard, trying to squeeze you into existence, fingers digging into flesh that wasn't actually there as he almost moaned into your mouth already. Sucking on your bottom lip like his own life depended on it, teeth nipping at it knowing there wasn't any blood to be drawn, no hickies he could actually leave on your neck, across your breasts, no matter how much he wanted to.
You squeezed his hand, your thumb delicately tracing a little pattern over the back of it, and all he could picture was one of those hearts of yours etched into his skin - seeping through his skin and into his soul.
The flowers were tugged free from his grip as you pulled back, twisting around to gently place them on the table, careful not to crush any of the petals. He tried to tighten his grip, but your presence weakened at his attempt to hold you still, forced to let go and scared you wouldn't stay.
But two firm fingers pressed into his chest, pushing him down onto the couch. He breathed, struggling to find words for the first time in his life. A blink, and his zipper was being tugged down. His jeans and plain white boxers wiggled down his hips before you pressed another kiss to the white fuzz of his happy trail.
Your breath was surprisingly warm, the ridges of your teeth briefly grazing over his exposed midriff as you planted feather-light kisses across to the sharp bone of his hip.
Admiring him.
You toyed with the band of his boxers, low enough you could see the thick patch of his hair, his cock throbbing painfully hard, and then you were running your palm over the clearly outlined bulge.
Gojo groaned, low and deep, head reclining back on the couch and legs spread wide as you nestled between them.
He had never wished so badly he could see you.
Dying to know what color your eyes were, if they were wide and glossy as you peeked up at him, lashes fluttering and lips parted. Your touch flickered between soft and firm, your fingers sending shivers down his spine when you finally freed his cock.
It was almost embarrassing how hard he was, how red and swollen his tip was, pre-cum smeared around it already. It'd been months since he'd jerked off, something he'd been abstaining from thanks to you.
And shit, he was sensitive.
The second you wrapped your lips around him, the second he felt your surprising warmth, the drag of your tongue over his pulsing veins, he was moaning like he'd never known the touch of another woman.
All other memories erased, scrubbed from his brain so he had more space to catalogue every searing sensation of you licking and lapping at him, sucking softly while your fingers wrapped around his base to stroke what didn't fit.
Did ghosts have a gag reflex?
Or was he the first human in history to receive a blowjob from a ghost?
His cheeks flushed, the lump in his throat bobbing hard as you gradually took him deeper, his thick cockhead bumping into the back of your throat, pleasure building brighter, hotter inside him, his fingers shakily reaching out until he felt for your cheek, your soft skin.
Fuck.
Gojo caressed your cheek, groaning loud enough his neighbors could definitely hear him. Finding a loose strand of your hair and wrapping it around his finger, vaguely wondering how you managed to get him so wrapped around your own.
He wondered if he'd be able to to see you with the pair of thermal goggles he hadn't gotten to use yet, or if that would kill the mood.
Your free hand slid up his thigh higher, squeezing him as his cock grazed against the roof of your mouth, and he was barely holding on by a thread. Sanity ready to snap, white-hot need he'd never felt before ripping through him.
He couldn't help it, bucking his hips up and damn near losing his mind when he hard the muffled little moan you made, like you could feel him too, and the thought you needed him even half as much as he needed you right now had him feeling for the back of your head to hold you closer, eyes scrunched close as a particularly lewd whimper escaped him.
All his muscles were pulled taut, abs painfully tense when you suddenly cupped his balls while you were already practically choking on him, and he was cumming before he could stop himself, trying to pull out just for you to swallow his cum anyway.
You'd never eaten food before - not as far as he was aware.
Shit. Could you eat? Had he accidentally been starving you?
Panicked, he pulled out, reaching out to touch your face, a thumb brushing over your lips before you suddenly pressed another kiss there too, suddenly sucking on it until his knuckle was between the ridges of your teeth.
His cock throbbed, threatening to get hard again.
"W-was that okay? Um, a-are you hungry?" He was stammering, tongue-tied as your presence suddenly shifted, taking his fingers out of your mouth and holding it so his palm was facing up. Then, you traced several simple letters out.
Y-E-S. N-O.
He breathed a sigh of relief, chuckling as he realized you were answering his questions.
"Can you say something again? I want to hear your voice," He nervously admitted, hoping you didn't notice how much clammy his hand was, unable to wipe the sweat away when you were holding it.
He was painfully aware of the fact his cock was still out, but he didn't dare move to put it back up, not when you were trying to communicate with him, when forgiveness still felt so fragile.
There was just more silence, but somehow, your presence felt a little stronger, your form a little more solid. Light streamed in through the thin curtains, and when it caught just right, he could almost swear he saw little slivers of you, movement his brain couldn't fully perceive.
"Um, did you?" He awkwardly asked. "Say something?"
Another Y-E-S.
"Shit," Gojo muttered. But his disappointment was hard to hold onto when you were still here, when he could still touch and talk to you, even if he couldn't see or hear you. Yet. "Try again tomorrow?"
S-U-R-E.
He stared biting his lip, debating on what he could do for you. But for every question he got an answer for, ten more seemed to pop up.
Gojo guessed there was only one more he couldn't live without knowing. His face flushed, blinking hard as he tried to pull himself together enough to ask without stuttering.
seeing spectres? got a ghost problem? it seems Satoru Gojo has one of his own - one he doesn't want to get rid of
synopsis: full-time nerd turned part-time amateur ghost hunter, you've become Gojo's favorite occupation! living with a roommate is hard enough - let alone falling in love with your (un?)dead one!
pairing: nerdjo x ghost!Reader
content: mdni, angst and fluff and smut, roommates-to-lovers but one of them is dead lol, paranormal aspects ofc, fem reader, discussions of death, some darker themes but plenty of goofy gojo to go around, idiots falling in love, petty reader, gojo being a DORK, she falls first + he falls harder
art by @chu-cho + divider by @petalpxl
"Honey, I'm home!" Gojo called out, kicking the heavy door shut behind him, arms already filled with the boxes that'd been delivered while he was out.
He wondered what sort of face you might be making - if you'd roll your eyes and huff at him, if you'd smile and giggle at the way he liked to greet you every time he returned to his apartment. Sometimes, he'd discover the old stereo he'd fixed up himself turned on, switched into some station he never listened to, although you were kind enough to keep it down so the neighbors couldn't complain. Today? The TV was on again, but surprisingly enough, it was playing one of his favorite shows.
Were you giving it a chance? Or had he just forgotten to turn it off before he left this morning?
Gojo sighed, dropping the boxes on his kitchen table and flicking open the pocket knife on his multi-tool keychain to open the first one.
But then he felt it.
You.
The chill against his back, the subtle weight of something nudging against him, a cool breath against his shoulder. You were watching. Curious to see what he came home with today.
He hoped you'd like it better than the ouija board he bought last week.
You wouldn't even let him take it out of the box, and the whole thing ended up buried at the bottom of the trash can by morning.
The floorboard behind him creaked, and the weight of something soft on his back increased, and faintly, he felt something rest on his shoulder, like maybe you were resting your hand or your chin there. If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend you were really there, and-
Fuck, were those your tits pressing against his back?
He felt heat creeping up his neck, faint color blooming across his cheeks at the contact.
"Check this out," He casually said, like he wasn't blushing picturing ghost boobs.
He sliced open the packing tape of the first box, pulling out an EMF meter and an EVP recorder, glancing over his shoulder to where he guessed you were, but his eyes slid past you to the camera in the corner, concerned if you'd noticed any of the others - or even cared.
The pressure behind him shifted, the spot next to him warming up, your interest piqued. Did you recognize it?
He'd spend more than a few restless nights wondering how old you were and where you came from. If you died had been here for ten years or a hundred. If you'd always been confined to his apartment in particular or if maybe you visited the other occupants in the building during the day. What would happen if he moved? Would you stay here? Or follow him?
As far as he could tell, the second he passed through the threshold, he couldn't feel you anymore.
But honestly?
It was too depressing to linger on - to consider how incredibly lonely life it must be to you.
Gojo could feel the deep crease between his brows forming, fighting the urge to bite his lip when he looked over again to the empty space by his side.
He didn't know how, but he could feel your eyes on him, the hair on the back of neck standing up while you watched him the way he wished he could observe you.
"You know, if you ever feel like talking back," Gojo chuckled, picking up the EVP recorder and giving it a little wave. "Maybe I'll actually be able to hear you now."
He liked to imagine you giggled at that.
The second box lost your interest though, the candles and the assortment of ingredients that probably seemed random to you but Google said could be used in a ritual meant for communicating with ghosts if the recorder didn't work.
The TV flicked off, but he couldn't tell where you were without your presence next to him. He broke into the packaging for the EMF meter, breezing through the instructions and turning it on, walking through his apartment and waving it around until he paused in front of the wide-open door to his bedroom.
You know, usually, the guys on all those shows were in some dingy abandoned building in nothing but darkness, navigating through creepy barren rooms with night-vision goggles.
Not in an average two-bedroom apartment before the sun had even set outside.
His eyes landed on his four-poster bed and the wrinkled blankets before he even directed it towards you, something primal in his brain recognizing your presence and automatically knowing that's where you were.
"Hey," He choked out, stepping forward as the meter crackled loud and came to life.
Pointed right where he suspected.
Gojo switched it off, tossing it on his bedside table as he approached, his heart straining in his chest, an odd feeling strangling his breath every time it tried to escape.
Maybe it wasn't technically evidence you existed, but it was something physical, something his brain couldn't overwrite as his imagination or carbon monoxide poisoning.
He sat on the edge of the bed, facing away from you and shutting his eyes. It was easier that way. Your hand slipped over his, smaller fingers interlacing between his own and squeezing.
Geto would be getting the biggest 'I told you so' tomorrow.
You were real.
He had half a mind to call him over now and ask you to prove it to him yourself, but there was something almost personal to it.
Gojo didn't want to share you.
He abruptly stood up, the bed creaking, but he couldn't tell if it was from you or him as he grabbed the remote for the TV and turned it on, tossing it on the bed and hoping he didn't hit you.
(Could he hit you with it? Would it just go through you? What would that even feel like?)
Gojo guessed you were fine, judging by the way you were already flipping through his streaming services and changing the volume.
"I'll, um, be back in a few minutes," He nervously muttered, shutting the bedroom door behind him when he left, hoping the creaky hinges would let him know if you followed him out.
Maybe it was a matter of habit from your old life, but you still seemed to open and close doors rather than just pass through them.
He was hurrying to the living room, digging his laptop out of his bag and sitting down on his couch as he unlocked it, pulling open the ever-growing file he started once he first noticed your presence. The place where he catalogued every little change and observation he'd made about you for the past couple months.
It started innocuously enough.
A door that'd been shut swinging open on its own. Random items moved around. A jacket he hung up in the morning on the bed when he got home. A phantom hand touching his arm. Then came the weirder stuff. The recurring dreams of a pretty girl whose face he could never recall. Waking up from them to find he was sharing the bed with someone he couldn't see. Clothes left out on the chair in his room. A frowny face drawn on a napkin he'd left out when he didn't wear them. Trying to watch a movie just for the TV to turn off thirty seconds in.
You were getting stronger. He suspected you were feeding off his energy, or maybe just his attention. At first, he could hardly feel more than a few fleeting touches. Now? He could tell where you were, could touch you rather than wait for you to reach out for him.
Each notable event, each time you carved yourself a deeper space in his life, it was all carefully documented in a spreadsheet.
A new entry being added for today, adjusting the glasses on the bridge of his nose as he detailed the encounter and the EMF meter.
You existed.
So who were you really?
And for the first time, when he saved it, he didn't go to close it immediately. His mouth went dry, fingers typing out his own address accompanied with a word he'd tried very hard not the think about when it came to you: death.
Sifting through sponsored articles and weird search results until a news headline caught his eye: LOCAL WOMAN FOUND DEAD -
His laptop screen slammed shut.
If he turned on the EVP recorder, he would wager a bet that you'd be shouting at him right now. All the air sucked out of the room, the lights flickering overhead and the stereo crackling and changing stations every two seconds. He didn't think you were even doing it on purpose - that it was as out of your control as you being stuck here with him. Anger radiated off you in hot waves, like he'd somehow violated your privacy when you were the interloper here.
Last time he checked, it was only his name on the lease, but even if he could, he didn't want to evict you.
All he really wanted was to understand you.
But before he could stutter out an explanation, everything stopped, and he was alone again.
The air conditioning kicked on, the low hum doing nothing to drown out how loud it was when his bedroom door banged shut.
He expected the sound of books being thrown, his prized Digimon card collection being ripped up or to hear the remote hitting the tv. But there wasn't. Just dead silence and cold air blowing on the nape of his neck that should've been yours.
seeing spectres? got a ghost problem? it seems Satoru Gojo has one of his own - one he doesn't want to get rid of
synopsis: full-time nerd turned part-time amateur ghost hunter, you've become Gojo's favorite occupation! living with a roommate is hard enough - let alone falling in love with your (un?)dead one!
pairing: nerdjo x ghost!Reader
content: mdni, angst and fluff and smut, roommates-to-lovers but one of them is dead lol, paranormal aspects ofc, fem reader, discussions of death, some darker themes but plenty of goofy gojo to go around, idiots falling in love, petty reader, gojo being a DORK, she falls first + he falls harder
art by @chu-cho + divider by @petalpxl
"Look, man, I swear my place is haunted, seriously-"
"Uh-huh."
Geto didn't even bother looking up from his phone.
Sure, it was like the twentieth time this week he'd brought it up, but still, he could at least pretend to care that his best friend was about to be dragged into the afterlife by some demon or poltergeist hellbent on destroying his sleep schedule.
"She kept turning on the TV last night," Gojo whined, and Geto did look now, throwing him an exasperated eye roll across the table.
"She?" Geto dryly teased, picking up his coffee and taking a slow sip like he was stopping himself from mocking him more.
Gojo paused, pushing his glasses up the bridge of the nose.
Judging by his uninvited house guest's preference for trashy reality tv and the invisible weight he sometimes woke up to snuggled next to him in bed or pressed on his chest with phantom hairs tickling his face, he came to the conclusion you were probably a she.
Supporting evidence?
Occasionally, he'd even find little hearts and stars scribbled in his notebooks or in books he could've sworn he hadn't left out, the pages dog-eared like you wanted to make sure he saw it.
Or maybe that was just less scary than picturing some big burly guy trying to share a blanket with him at night.
Still, he was fairly certain Geto would scoff if he knew just how much thought had been devoted to you over the past two months since he'd moved into his new apartment only to discover it was already occupied.
"I ordered some stuff to catch her," Gojo cleared his throat, scrunching his face up to show how serious he was, thick brows furrowed as he warmed his hands on his own sugared-up coffee.
To be totally truthful, he'd ordered pretty much everything he'd ever seen on those ghost-hunting shows and put up cameras in the corners of every room a couple nights ago.
The last of it was out for delivery.
And tonight?
He was finally getting proof you existed.
Sometimes in-between sketchy Google searches involving summoning spirits and skimming over wikiHow rituals for contacting the deceased, he ended up posting a few blurry videos of what he'd captured so far on forums and YouTube, just to get accused of faking them or trying to start a shitty ARG.
Even showing Geto the very clearly current live feed from the cameras connected to his phone made it obvious he also agreed with them - Gojo was just paranoid of the paranormal. Like the books opening on their own were some elaborate trick he'd set up beforehand.
Okay, sure, he occasionally pulled pranks and stunts, but it was real this time.
Even you could be kind of cute (not that he would ever confess that to Geto) - he was still living with a ghost.
One he wasn't sure was trying to scare or seduce him.
He'd almost grown accustomed to the no-longer lonely nights laying next to someone, snacks delivered to his desk when he wasn't looking. A smudged kiss pressed to the fogged-up glass in the mornings.
Gojo sometimes imagined this was what having a girlfriend was like.
Not that he'd actually know.
He'd never had much luck with the living - too annoying or too much of a know-it-all to land any dates. Occasionally, one would look past the broad glasses and baggy sweaters (concealing faint scars scattered across his pale skin from a homemade chemistry experiment gone wrong) and approach him, but they usually lost interest mid-ramble or after he corrected them on something trivial, or worse, when they met Geto, asking for his number instead.
But not you.
He could talk out loud, work through math problems and rant about anything and everything, and you stayed. The couch cushion dimpling under your weight, the pillow crinkling, an invisible hand brushing against his while he yapped even if you couldn't reply.
Geto sighed, shaking his head a little as he glanced out the window at the busy street outside, and Gojo knew he was on his own with this.
him walkin in on the girls doing something they're not supposed to be doin :0 but ofc he can't manage to stay upset at them for long
He’s got the biggest soft spot in the world for his girls and he really can’t help it, especially when they’re young. They’re always up to something, usually because Rory’s a little shit (she takes after you) and Jack’s just trying to copy after her big sister.
You’re fast asleep one night when he’s wide awake. Just nerves, kinks in the road with The Bear, thoughts of Mikey’s birthday approaching, anxiety bubbling up that he doesn’t want to worry you with. So he heads downstairs to sit outside and clear his head with some fresh air—
Only to find Rory and Jack in the living room, on the floor, your sneaky bag of candy—the one reserved for you, that you pick at once the girls are off to bed and you’re cozied up on the couch with Carmen, chatting about your days between sweets—dispersed on the floor.
They don’t even notice his presence till he speaks up:
“What’s goin’ on here?”
They both look up, entirely spooked at their dad standing feet away.
“You two should be in bed.”
“But Dad,” Rory whines, “We don’t even have school tomorrow.” She puts on that pout she knows will have him cooing at her, and Jack follows right behind. “We were just looking, I promise.”
“Just lookin’, huh?”
“Mhm.”
“You know that’s your mother’s, right? That’s her candy you’re stealin’?”
Jack frowns, puts her big brown doe eyes to work. “Mommy lets us have some all the time.”
“Don’t lie t’me, Jacqueline.” One hand of his rests at his hip, the other swiping at his mouth as he fidgets. “You lyin’ t’me?”
He looks back and forth between his girls—his babies, really, because even though they’ve grown out of diapers and go to school on the weekdays, he still can’t fathom them as anything but his baby girls. So small, and so adorable, with tiny pouts and tiny hands and tiny giggles. They’re just so sweet.
“Not lyin’, Daddy.”
“She’s not,” Rory agrees. “Promise.”
He must be going soft. If Richie knew, he’d never hear the end of it, what with his heart going to mush at his girls, how he sees you in them both, how just a simple and meek little promise has his irritation going smooth and his lungs letting out a sigh before he cleans them up and carries them to bed—after they get one more piece of candy, of course, because who is he to deny them a little joy?
Carmen tells you the short of it by morning, limbs tangled together.
“You’re too easy on ‘em,” you giggle, “Such a softie. And they know it.”
“I’m not, y’know, soft, I’m just—”
“Bear, you let them get away with everything—”
“No I don’t—”
“If you say so,” you tease, letting the matter settle with your lips pressed sweetly against his, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you just a little closer. “It’s gonna come back ‘n bite you, though.”
“I’ll be alright, baby.” Another gentle trail of kisses, along your jaw, down to your neck, fading away at your collarbone. He’d kiss you all day if you’d let him.
“Hm.” Your nails scratch gently along his back, and you press your fingertips into the tender muscles of his back as he buries himself into your neck. “Are you making waffles today?”
A muffled groan escapes him, and he peeks up at you. “Thought you said you were doin’ breakfast today?”
You pout, and it looks awfully familiar to him. “Next weekend?”
“Next weekend, huh?”
“Promise.”
And oh, how the irony dawns on him, and oh, how little he cares. But why would he? How could he say no to you, or the girls you’ve brought into his life, when you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him—when you love him like you do?
With a brief stretch and a deepened kiss with your hands in his hair, he lifts himself out of bed as you trail close behind, your touch a comfort unlike anything else. And when you shimmy into your seat at the counter, laughing with him over your cup of coffee, watching sweetly as he prepares breakfast before the girls scurry into the kitchen, he knows:
vaporwave
origamiaround
ellievsbear
tangentwithtanner
kaledo-art
