1am habits
pairing drunk!gojo x fem!reader
desc 18+ ⸝⸝ after-party au it's past midnight, your phone lights up once, and you tell yourself it's nothing. but gojo satoru has never been good at taking silence as an answer. when you open the door, he's already there — drunk, crooked, leaning on the frame like he belongs.
a/n meow i love gojo. i need him so bad restrain me pls ♡. also two fics n one day bc i have no life and am bored.
wc 2309
the text comes in at 1:07am.
you up
no punctuation. no follow-up. just his name lighting up your screen like a bad idea you already regret. you don't answer. you flip your phone face down and tell yourself you're going back to sleep. there's a knock at your door ten minutes later. uneven. a little too loud, then too soft. like he misjudged the distance.
you open it before you can stop yourself.
he's there. shirt crooked, one sleeve bunched up by his elbow, hair a complete mess like he's been raking his hands through it all night. he's leaning on your doorframe like it's the only thing keeping him vertical.
his eyes blink a little too slowly when they land on you. then he smiles.
"hey," he says, dragging the word out. "see... see, i knew you were awake. you always pretend you're asleep, but you never are."
"gojo," you say flatly. "you're drunk."
"kinda," he mutters, swaying as he tries to stand up straighter. he misses, shoulder bumping the frame. he laughs at himself, breath warm and sweet with alcohol. "floor's movin'. swear t'god it started first."
"you need to go home."
he squints at you like he's focusing really hard. "i am home. well. not—" he waves vaguely behind him, then looks back at you, grin crooked. "jus’ wanted t’see your face. n’ maybe your thighs."
"you're not coming in."
he takes a step forward anyway and almost falls. you grab his arm on instinct, and he immediately takes advantage of it, stumbling into you instead of past you. his arms slide around your waist, loose but heavy, weight settling against you like he belongs there. his forehead drops to your shoulder.
"mm. hi," he murmurs. "you smell nice. didya always smell like that, or is m'brain makin' things up."
"let go," you say, even though you haven't pushed him away yet.
he tightens his hold just a little, chin lifting so he can look at you. his words blur together now, slow and sticky.
"c'monnn," he whines softly. "lemme in. i'll be good. i swear. i'll jus' sit there. maybe breathe. maybe— maybe not even touch. promise. probably."
"that is not convincing."
he smiles, lazy and unfocused. "you always say that. an' you opened the door anyway. kinda feels like you like when i show up like this."
"you're drunk and inappropriate."
"yeah," he agrees easily. "but m'honest. booze does that. makes it real hard not t'say stuff."
his thumbs press into your sides, slow and absent-minded. his voice drops, softer, words slurring together.
"i bet you think about me when you're bored," he murmurs. "late at night. when it's quiet. when you're starin' at your phone hopin' i text first so you don't gotta."
your breath catches.
he feels it and smiles into your shoulder. "see. told ya."
"gojo."
"mm?" he hums, leaning closer, nose brushing your temple. "say it again. like that. sounds real nice when you're annoyed."
"you are not staying."
he laughs quietly, breath warm against your skin. "yeah. okay. sure. jus' five minutes. then i'll go. but if you kick me out now, i'm gonna spend the whole walk home thinkin' about what you'd look like if you didn't."
that does it. the door shuts behind you with a soft click.
and he is absolutely not going to be good.
you don't have to look at him to know he's smiling, that slow, lazy victory of a man who knows he's won before the game has even properly started. his weight shifts against you, becoming less of a lean and more of a deliberate press, pinning you between his body and the solid wood of the door.
"see?" he murmurs, the words a low vibration against your temple. "toldja you'd let me in."
you don't answer. words feel useless, like they've already been used up and all that's left is this. this humming space between his body and yours. his hands, which had been resting loosely on your waist, begin to move. it's a slow, exploratory drag of his thumbs over the fabric of your shirt, tracing the curve of your ribs, a touch that's both proprietary and impossibly gentle for a man this drunk.
"...gojo," you say again, and this time it's not a warning. it's just a name. a surrender.
he makes a soft, pleased sound in his throat, a hum of approval. "yeah. just like that." he pulls back just enough to look at you, and the drunken haze in his eyes hasn't cleared, but it's sharpened with focus. all of it is on you. he lifts one hand, his fingers clumsy as they push a stray strand of hair back from your face. his knuckles graze your cheek, and the touch is so unexpectedly tender it makes your chest ache.
"y'know," he says, his voice dropping to that slurred, confidential whisper that's already undone you once tonight, "how i was thinkin'… on the way here. 'bout your pretty thighs." his eyes drop, tracing the path his hand had just imagined. "was thinkin' 'bout how they'd feel wrapped around me. wasn't even bein' a perv. just… curious."
his honesty is a weapon. you know it. he knows it. but it doesn't make the heat that pools in your stomach any less real. he sees the shift in your eyes, the way your lips part slightly. he sees everything.
"can I?" he asks, and it's the first time he's asked for anything. his hand hovers over the hem of your shirt, his fingers twitching with the effort of not touching. "just wanna feel."
you nod. a short, sharp jerk of your chin.
his hand slides under your shirt, his palm warm and calloused against the bare skin of your stomach. you suck in a breath, and he follows the sound, leaning in to press his lips to the corner of your mouth. it's a messy, open-mouthed kiss, tasting of whiskey and something sweet, something uniquely him.
his other hand joins the first, both of them roaming your back, your sides, mapping out the terrain he's only ever seen in his head. he walks you backward, his movements clumsy but determined, until your legs hit the edge of your sofa. he follows you down, settling his weight over you.
"you smell even better up close," he says, burying his face in the crook of your neck. he inhales deeply, a sound of pure satisfaction. his teeth scrape over your pulse point, and you arch against him, a silent plea for more. he gets the message. his mouth is hot on your skin, a trail of wet, open kisses from your collarbone to your ear.
"fuck gojo," you breathe, your hands tangling in the messy silk of his hair. it's softer than it looks.
"say it again," he demands, his voice muffled by your skin. "wanna hear it when i'm makin' you feel good."
he pulls your shirt up, and you lift your arms to help him, the fabric disappearing into the darkness of your living room. his eyes, when they find yours again, are dark with intent, but still so bright. he dips his head, his tongue tracing the curve of your breast before his lips close around a nipple. the jolt that goes through you is electric, sharp and immediate. he sucks, hard, a wet, obscene sound in the quiet room, and you cry out, your back bowing off the couch.
"fuck," he groans, lifting his head. "knew they'd be perfect." he gives the other one the same attention, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak, his tongue swirling until you're writhing beneath him, a mess of need and frustration.
he works his way down your body, his mouth never leaving your skin. he kisses your stomach, your hips, the soft skin of your inner thighs. he's on his knees on the floor now, looking up at you from between your legs, his hair a wild halo around his face, his pupils blown wide.
"been thinkin' about this," he says, his voice rough. "right here." he hooks his fingers in the waistband of your sleep shorts and pulls them down, slow, deliberate. his eyes never leave yours. he tosses them aside, and then he just looks. For a long moment, he just stares, his gaze so intense it feels like a physical touch.
you curse under your breath, a plea and a warning all at once.
"shh," he says, leaning in. "i got you." and then his mouth is on you, hot and wet and utterly shameless. he licks into you with a desperate, hungry intensity, his tongue finding your clit and circling it with a pressure that makes your vision blur. your hands fly to his hair, holding him to you, and he groans against you, the vibration sending a shockwave straight through your core.
"fuck—" you gasp, your hips bucking against his face. "gojo—"
he just hums, a sound of smug satisfaction, and doubles down. he's messy, sloppy, drooling a little as he eats you out like it's the only thing he's ever wanted to do. his tongue is everywhere, flattening against you, then pointed and probing, dipping inside to taste before returning to circle that sensitive bundle of nerves. the coil in your stomach winds tighter and tighter, a hot, frantic knot of pleasure that's about to snap.
"that's it," he slurs, pulling back just enough to speak, his chin slick and shining. "c'mon. wanna feel it. wanna taste you cumin' on my tongue."
he slides a finger into you, then another, and the stretch is perfect. he curls them just so, finding that spot that makes you see stars, and his mouth returns to your clit, sucking hard. that's all it takes. the world whites out, a muffled scream into your hands as your orgasm crashes through you. your whole body trembles, shaking apart under his hands and mouth, and he doesn't stop, working you through it until you're a whimpering, oversensitive mess.
he finally pulls back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. he looks wrecked. his hair is sticking to his damp forehead, his lips are swollen and red, and his eyes are heavy with a need so potent it makes your breath catch. he stands up, his movements still a little unsteady, and fumbles with the button on his jeans.
"can't," he mutters, his voice hoarse. "can't wait."
he shoves his jeans and boxers down just enough to free himself, and your eyes widen. he's hard, leaking at the tip, and he wraps a hand around his own cock, stroking once, twice. he leans over you, bracing one hand on the back of the couch beside your head. his other hand guides himself to your entrance, running the head through your wetness.
"look at me," he says, and it's not a request. you force your eyes open, meeting his gaze. "wanted this. wanted you. for so long."
he pushes inside in one slow, deep stroke that steals the air from your lungs. he's big, and the stretch burns in the best way. he pauses, buried to the hilt, his forehead dropping to yours. his breath is ragged, warm and smelling of you and alcohol.
"fuck baby," he whispers, his voice cracking. "you feel... so much better than i imagined."
you can't speak. you just wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, a silent invitation for more. he takes it. he starts to move, his rhythm uneven at first, still clumsy with drink and desperation. but it doesn't matter. every drag of his cock against your walls is perfect. he's hitting that spot with every thrust, a deep, grinding pressure that builds the pleasure all over again.
"you're so wet," he groans, his words muffled against your neck. "so fuckin' tight. takin' me so good."
his hand slides between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit. he rubs messy, uncoordinated circles, but it's enough. the stimulation is almost too much, a sharp, bright edge to the deep, rolling pleasure of his thrusts. you're close again, embarrassingly fast.
"i knew it," he pants, his hips snapping faster now, losing all pretense of control. "knew you'd be like this. knew you'd fall apart for me."
"shut up," you gasp, digging your nails into his shoulders.
he laughs, a breathless, broken sound. "make me."
he kisses you then, a messy, dominating kiss that's all teeth and tongue. he swallows your moans as your second orgasm builds, higher and hotter than the first. his thumb presses harder, his thrusts become erratic, and you shatter, clamping down around him as you come with a cry that's half his name, half a sob.
"shit—" he chokes out. "i'm... fuck."
he buries himself deep one last time, his whole body going rigid as he spills into you. you feel the pulse of it, the warmth of him, and he collapses on top of you, his full weight pinning you to the couch. you're both breathing hard, the only sound in the room the frantic beat of your hearts.
for a long moment, you just lie there, a tangle of limbs and sweat and satisfaction. his face is still buried in your neck, his breathing slowly evening out. you think he might have fallen asleep.
then he shifts, lifting his head just enough to look at you. his eyes are heavy-lidded, the drunkenness softened by something else. something warm. something that looks terrifyingly like contentment.
"hey," he whispers, his voice raw.
"hey," you whisper back.
he smiles, a slow, lazy, genuine thing that doesn't look like it's for anyone but you. "toldya i'd be good."
you can't help it. you laugh. a real, honest-to-god laugh. "you are absolutely not good."
"yeah," he agrees, his smile widening as he drops his head back onto your chest. "but m'honest."
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