Feeling Many Feelings - Tumblr Posts
HEYY IM SORRY I DIDNT SEE THE CHARACTER OF YOUR CHOICE PART BUT I WOULD LOVE
53. Take off your shirt
34. Hugging while grabbing butt
With SUNAAAA❤️❤️
AHHHH THIS IS SO CUTE🥹💖
tw// butt grabbing. Ending of the post got a little suggestive, so this is your suggestive content tw
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Arguably, this is when Suna thinks you look best.
Dopey in your own love for him, gazing at him like he’d sewn the stars in the sky by hand for you. It’s been a long day, a day filled with arcade games and picnics and Polaroid pictures to mark it all; a day out of a shitty, yet craveable romance movie, a date you haven’t been able to have since he started playing for EJP.
But now that you’ve had a day all to yourselves, it’s a mystery how you two could go any length of time without each other.
Even now, clad in his shirt and sleep shorts, pinned between himself and the countertop, your paws can barely keep off each other, a desperate dance over skin and muscle to keep each other as close as possible. You sneak kisses with each other as if to do this in secret, a matter of teasing, and god as if you two weren’t obsessed with each other enough, this has you in a spell that keeps you both in a heat.
“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he mumbles into your skin, sponging kisses over the delicate muscles of your throat. “Don’t know what you’ve done to me, but I love it…”
“Ew,” you tease, caught up in your own affection to come up with any other cheeky response. You nudge your nose with his and cradle his jaw with your hands, the hands he wants to hold forever, and he turns his head slightly to press a kiss to your palm. “Really got you to fall in love with me, didn’t I?”
As if the feeling isn’t mutual.
“You’ve completely ruined me,” he lies, hands traveling down to the curve of your ass before gripping softly, pulling back when you giggle into his mouth.
“Sorry,” you titter. “Tickled.”
“I cannot stand you,” he snorts, but he does grab the meat of your ass firmer, smirking at the soft purr slipping past your lips. “That better?”
“Much,” you assure. The hand cradling his cheeks drags down his body to tug at the loose collar of the tank top he was wearing. He cocks a brow curiously, but makes no moves to still your hands.
“Take off your shirt,” you whisper, teeth sinking into your lip cheekily.
“You take off your shirt,” he says, rolling his eyes at your demand. “What do you think this is?”
“I want to see your stupid, hot, dumb abs.” You tug at the collar again, and prompt it with a gentle bite to his lips. “Besides- don’t you want to take off my shirt for me?”
He grins, grabbing your thighs and tossing you onto the counter, relishing in the squeak you give him.
“Why didn’t you start with that?” He teases, slipping of his tank top and tossing it carelessly on the kitchen floor.
“Love tearing clothes off of you.”
MY ONLY ONE
gojo satoru x gn reader based on this tweet <3 pure fluff
i’m such a loser for him !!! sorry if this is cheesy LOL
“Can I ask you something?”
Perched on the edge of your bed, Satoru’s thumb beats percussively against his thigh, eyes sparkling with an anticipation you can practically feel vibrate off of him as he awaits your response.
The tone of his voice is far too exuberant to not be considered suspicious; you find yourself raising an eyebrow in question, curious and skeptical. Granted that his long history of inquiries have towered over concerning more than they have entertaining, his excitement, to say the least, is a bit unsettling.
But still, he is Satoru, after all — your satoru, so while you know better than to trust that soft, soft smile of his, pulled tight at the corners of his mouth — the same one he wears when he’s only seconds away from getting himself into trouble — you choose to indulge him anyway.
“Of course.”
He perks up even more, like a dog wagging its tail in front of its owner. It’s more adorable than you’d like to admit to yourself. “Do you know how to whistle?”
“Whistle?”
“Yep!” he singsongs, leg bouncing incessantly against the hardwood floor, the action only proving himself to be a restless bundle of energy. “Just learned Geto could do it, so I was curious about you.”
Knowing him, this is much more innocent than you thought it would be. Your shoulders, which have stiffened unbeknownst to you, immediately deflate as you feel every trace of unease withdraw from your body. You’d expected something a bit more worrisome or horrific, since he’s always had a knack for following his sporadic impulses, but this is a pleasant surprise.
“Can you not whistle?”
From beside you, Satoru huffs, movements put to a halt as he whines: “I can! I never said I couldn’t!”
You laugh at his defensiveness, full of mirth. “Why are you asking me this?”
“Can’t a man be curious about the love of his life?”
“They can,” you confirm with a shake of your head, though it comes out sounding more of a question than an answer. “It’s just a little scary when it’s from you.”
Any normal person would have stomped a foot down, would have jut their chin out indignantly before leaving the room, vexed and seething. But Satoru is Satoru, and he’s always had an awful habit of using statements like this as fuel for his bottomless pit of an ego, so he only grins.
“Oh god,” you groan upon seeing his expression.
“Answer my question pleaseee,” he says, voice reedy.
“Satoru,” you huff, eyes rolling in exasperation. “I’m pretty sure everyone can whistle.”
“Prove it,” he challenges.
“Prove it?”
“Or else I won’t believe you.”
“Are you a child?”
He giggles in response. “Maybe. I wanna see.”
So you prove him wrong; you pucker your lips, leaving just enough space for air to pass through. But before you can let out a sound, he leans in, gently pressing his lips against yours to give you a light kiss before pulling away and batting his lashes triumphantly.
You blink, taken aback. Once, twice — slowly, as if those milliseconds of darkness would somehow provide you with clarity once you opened your eyes.
It was so quick, akin to the strike of a match against a lighting strip, so brief yet so explosive. It felt like a million things all at once, his lips on yours, like fireworks. There, then no longer, but still remaining all the same. You wonder how any of that is possible, but this is Satoru you’re talking about — the same man who blithely takes selfies after beating the shit out of anyone who needed to be handled, the same man who sulks like a petulant child when you deny him his kikufuku mochi before meals, the same man who always, always draws out the best from you even when you don’t believe in yourself.
Oh, you think. Oh god. Him and his dumb tactics.
It’s adorable. He’s adorable. You hate him.
He’s biting on his lip, trying to fight back a smile that falls somewhere in between bashful and thrilled. You know better, though. Know that even amidst those two emotions, he’s also nervous. Incredibly so. Those soft strands of hair you’ve carded a hand through several times do nothing to conceal the faint pink dusting the tip of his ear, neither does it hide the spreading flush on his cheeks. “Oh, Satoru,” you croon, melting.
“That was good, right?” He fiddles with his fingers, eyes wide and expectant. “It was cute, wasn’t it?”
“It was,” you assure, reaching over to cup your hands around his face, thumbs brushing over his cheeks. You resist, only slightly, the urge to pinch him until the butterflies in your chest disappear. “You’re so cute. So cute, Satoru. I love you.”
“I’m so cute,” he repeats after you, beaming with pride at your approval. “I’m so smart too. You hear that, baby? Your boyfriend is the smartest person alive. He’s the strongest too. And you love him! Me! I’m the luckiest man alive.”
You laugh in return.
You want to tell him that — for one, he’s actually the dumbest person to ever exist, in your humble opinion. There’s not a day that goes by without him wearing your patience thin or asking you how to do the simplest of tasks. But that isn’t really important, since you love him all the same. Though, for two, and most importantly, you want to tell him that it’s not him who’s lucky. It’s you.
You’re the lucky one. The luckiest, really. You don’t think you could ever find love with someone other than Satoru. He’s the only one who could ever define that conflicting concept and make it make sense. He’s the only one who could build apart your broken heart and turn it into something more beautiful than just fragmented pieces. He’s the only one. He’s it for you.
In the end, you don’t tell him either. It’s not like he’d ever entertain any possibility of you loving him more than he does you anyway, so it’d be a losing game. Instead, you tap a finger on his nape three times, gently, to redirect his attention to you. When his eyes meet yours, crystalline blue irises gazing at you with so much love that it unravels you, you tell him, “you really like your kisses, huh?”
“I’d die without them,” he states dramatically.
You chuckle lightheartedly. “Next time, you can just ask,” you begin, leaning towards him — closer and closer until you two are only a breath apart. “But honestly, you don’t need to. You never have to.”
Then you close the gap and kiss him, slowly, because there’s no need to rush when you have all the time in the world. This too, feels like a million things all at once. It alchemizes you. Turns you into a lovesick mess. Has you grasping at his hair for more — more, more, more. And then you think that, maybe what Satoru said moments prior to this wasn’t so dramatic after all, because with his lips on yours, you’re sure you’d die without his kisses, too.
