a/n: satoru! with! long! hair! - that’s it, that’s the post
mdni - nsfw under the cut
long hair but not the way suguru’s hair is long.
long hair as in it’s been a while since he had a moment to himself, let alone time for a haircut. so when he returns home to you after yet another long mission, his hair is falling into his face and over his eyes, almost hiding them completely from view.
“looks strange, right?” is the only thing he says with a grin when he sees you standing at the door, eyes wide.
he prefers his usual look, the undercut, the controlled unruliness. but you? even though you think you’re being sneaky, he notices.
those quick little glances through the fogged up mirror when you catch him fresh out of the shower. it’s not the towel sitting way too low on his hips that has your gaze lingering longer than usual - it’s the semi-dried white chaos on top of his head that’s making you want to follow every drop that drips from his ends and trace it down his skin. the time you usually take to brush your teeth suspiciously doubles.
or later that same night, when he rests his head in your lap only for your hands to absentmindedly tangle in his hair. with your attention captured by the movie you had chosen together, your fingers fall into a rhythm of their own, twirling lock after lock around your index finger, over and over again, like a mantra. he would love to let you lull him to sleep with your steady, repetitive motions, let himself drift off under your touch right where he is - but he wants more.
he wants you to forget all about your movie when he pulls you onto his lap, hips between your thighs and arms wrapped around your waist, tightly, until your chest is completely flush with his. unknowingly you reveal what's on your mind once again, breath lodging in his throat when all the tenderness in the world concentrates in your fingertips, pushing back his bangs and running through his hair all the way until you arrive at the nape of his neck. your nails meet sensitive skin, and he shivers, electricity trickling down his spine. you search for his eyes, only to find him already watching you with overcast skies, longing pressing down on his lungs like humidity. you mirror him, your gaze stifling when it drops down to his lips and all at once the brewing summer storm in his irises unleashes, lightning cracking when he finally gets to kiss you, soft and scorching at the same time.
what he wants even more though, is to look up at your flushed cheeks and the reddish bruise threatening to form on your neck before he dips down between your thighs, drinking in the gasp that falls from your lips when his own connect with your most sensitive spot. your breathing quickens, air sticking to your airways as he coaxes only the sweetest sounds out of you with every flick of his tongue. you push him closer, white locks spilling out from between your fingers - but he still needs more. you miss the near-devious look from under his heavy eyelashes as he abandons his firm hold on your hips and trails up your thigh, only to travel down again until he’s right in between. a broken moan slips from your mouth when he slides his fingers in with one smooth motion, your hand coming up to stifle it and prevent the sound from bouncing off the walls of your living room. you grab onto the loose collar of your shirt, bracing yourself for what you know is about to come - but he moves agonizingly slow, slowing down all of his motions until you're reduced to a rubber band pulled taut by impatience.
his name mixes with an exasperated groan on your tongue, head falling to the side onto the backrest of the couch.
“what’s wrong, love?” he purrs, looking up at you and halting his movements altogether.
the furrows between your brows deepen when he gifts you an angelic smile.
“tell me what you want.”
you reach out, gripping his hair again, the tenderness from before replaced by intention.
“do it properly.”
his eyes glaze over at the pleading tone you mutter your command in. he almost has you exactly where he wants you. just one more push-
“you sure you can handle it, baby?”
he watches it snap in your eyes, your refusal to play along evident in the way you use your newfound leverage to push him back between your legs, right where you want him the most.
without granting you a single breath more, he suppresses a triumphant grin and his lips reattach, fingers slipping back in to curl right against your spot with absolute precision. sudden sweet pressure has your back arching up into him and your fingers pulling on his hair, hard, tearing a moan from him that immediately intertwines with yours.
maybe he‘ll consider postponing that haircut - just for a little while longer.
this is what i have in mind if you need a visual for the hair LMFAO
thinking about how satoru seems like such an indulgent type, esp with his sweet tooth and the fact that he’s so busy he rarely has time to stop and enjoy things properly. so when he does manage to catch a moment or two, he kisses you like he wants to savour it to the full, just like one would do with an expensive treat.
he’s slow and meticulous, taking his time, whether you’re cornered in an empty classroom for five minutes or home alone on a day off; it’s a hand grabbing your hip, gentle fingers on your cheek, a nudge against the tip of your nose. but don’t mistake that for some kind of restraint, he would never dream of denying you - or himself - anything you both wanted, not with your busy schedules and limited time. this was simply a different need; a need to push and pull, to trail light kisses up the expanse of your neck, the line of your jaw until one of you gives in to that little flash of impatience that makes you want to grab, hold and lean in.
and even if he’s the one to cave in, he kisses languidly, soft lips melting against yours like ice cream on a hot day. you’re a sugar rush to him and he would do this all day if he could. at this point, it all comes to him instinctually; the amount of pressure, the tilt, when to chase after your lips if you dare pull back for a breath, and most importantly - how to not miss the moment when it’s time to bite down on the hard candy he’s been sucking on.
this is where the thrill lies for him; when your lips part and his tongue slides against yours, when he gets to taste just how sweet you really are. it’s pure indulgence when he grasps your chin to pull you closer, hold you tighter, kiss you deeper. with every heated kiss you share, he feels hot blood rush through his veins, aiming for that familiar destination; soft moans pass between your lips and every flick of your tongue feels more intoxicating than the last. he pushes his limits to the max, lungs constricting with a lack of air before he’s forced to pull back, panting.
his eyes flicker across your face; pupils blown, lips red like a cherry lollipop - everything about you is temptingly delicious, so much that it takes everything in him to not overindulge. he’s an epicure at heart, knows he should always leave off with an appetite - except for the times when he’s not. when a smile cracks his lips and he decides to stretch the time you don’t have, his mind already wandering off to his office, that expensive chair and a locked door before he even grabs your hand to pull you along.
he still remembers the feeling of running his fingertips over the golden ridges of a certain vase back in the gojo compound. a rare, invaluable piece, passed down from generation to generation for several hundred years and decidedly off limits to tiny children’s hands. with every scolding it had become more irresistible to him, he was inexplicably drawn to it, the shape, the colours, the texture - so much that he still never visits his childhood home without sparing it at least a glance.
he doesn’t recall his first visit to the tokyo metropolitan art museum - he had probably been of primary school age, more interested in what the gift shop had to offer than whatever was hung up on the walls. but he remembers the first time a piece had resonated with him, shortly after graduating from jujutsu tech. he was quick to wrap one of the museum’s curators around his finger - a middle aged woman, wooed by nama chocolate and his eyes - granting him after hours access whenever he felt like it. he would go there, before or after missions, wandering through empty spaces or spending all his time in front of the same artwork until he was running late for yet another assignment.
but none of that is what he has in mind when he tells people about his love for the visual.
what he means is you, right now, sleeping in his bed.
the inward curve of the small of your back where he delicately runs his hand up and down, separated from you only by the alabaster coloured sheets you are wrapped in.
the shape of your spine that he traces all the way up to your shoulder blades, taking a detour to paint endless circles on your heated skin, his touch unhurried and light, careful not to pull you from your deep sleep.
the back of your neck where he follows the lines of your muscles, feeling the tension and stress before trying to soothe the exhaustion embedded in them with a gentle massage.
satoru can’t help the smile that tugs at the corner of his lips when he seemingly hits the right spot and you let out a deep sigh, melting further into the pillow you’re hugging to your face. his fingers brush up the nape of your neck and tangle in your sleep tousled hair that spreads out like brushstrokes against a canvas, his blunt nails steadily scratching your scalp and brushing back stray hairs that threaten to tickle you awake.
he freezes in place like a child caught in the act when all of a sudden your brows furrow and your nose wrinkles. his mother’s scolding words ring distantly in his ears again, the gentle timbre of her voice trying to make him understand that certain works of art are simply not made to be touched. only when you stir does he notice the sliver of sunlight that had crept through the windows of his bedroom right across your face.
you mumble his name like a question, voice heavy with sleep and eyes barely open to the sun-soaked sculpture of a man next to you.
“hey you,” he whispers, palm resting on your warm cheek. “finally you’re awake. i’ve been dying for some pancakes for hours now.”
you chuckle, wiggling closer to him and haphazardly pressing your cheek to his chest.
“not awake.”
“not awake?”
“mhmm.”
“and what about my pancakes?”
“yours always turn out better than mine anyways,” you grumble into his chest.
“that is so very true.”
there’s no need for you to see the faux smug expression on his face to know that it’s there when you instinctively go to pinch his side. he yelps, swiftly grabbing your wrist and holding it as far away from him as he can but you laugh like a cartoon villain, twisting out of his grasp and grabbing his wrist in turn.
he looks at you expectantly, ready for your next attack but you use your leverage on his arm to guide it to your waist. before you even manage to let go, his arm wraps around you, pulling you closer to him, open palm resting on your back.
you sigh contentedly, pushing your knee between his thighs and letting your eyes fall shut again.
“don’t you dare move your hand away for another hour.”
