As Traumatizing As Shibuya Arc Was The Intro Goes Hard Af.

as traumatizing as shibuya arc was the intro goes hard af.

reblog if you’ve read fanfictions that are more professional, better written than some actual novels. I’m trying to see something

this is so cute i love domestic toji sm😔💗

toji realizes he’s in love with you when he lets you shave his face for the first time,

he’s got the biggest grump of a scowl plastered on his naturally crooked lips. as he’s glowering, he’s also trying to prevent himself from smiling because you looked so cute. your touch with him was gentle—like it always was. after you wiped his face with a dampened face towel, you rub your hands against the lower part of his jaw. “soooo,” you utter, breaking the dead silence as he’s just peering down at you. “tell me ‘bout your day, toji.”

with the palms of your hands tenderly caressing against his chiseled jawline—you smear every part of his chin and cheekbones with shaving cream. even the secluded areas underneath his nose. as you do so, toji tchs. “day was fine, baby. ‘n i told ya i can shave myself.”

“i know i know,” you hum, creating a circular motion with your hands before gently making sure every sector near the lower part of his face was lathered with nice frothy amounts of shaving cream. “wowww, you’ve got such soft skin. skin routine when?”

“ugh, y’er insufferable,” he rolls his eyes. although, his skin was surprisingly clear. toji only had a bit of a stubble, hardly any facial hair but it was growing the more he aged. you took it upon yourself to ask to help him shave and he said yes, not realizing how much he’d soon grow to like it. the feeling of your delicate, warm hands rubbing against his face was somewhat . . soothing. with a deep, heaving sigh, toji’s hooded jade eyes meet yours. he spots your pout and his shoulders lower. “alright fine, i’ll teach you one day. only if ya stop poutin'..”

with a cheeky grin, your little pout falters and you smile. “okay,” and you wait for about a good three minutes to allow the spumous cream to souse everywhere on his pores. it takes a while—and as you wait, you take a moment to stare at his features. toji was definitely easy on the eyes up close. naturally long black lashes of his flicker as he returns your loving gaze, and he avoids eye contact for a moment. perhaps you were making him a bit . . nervous. darkened eyebrows of his arch into an almost sheepish raise while he watches your adorable curious simper stretch further. “don’t be so stiff, what are you, nervous?”

“not nervous. jus’ don’t want ya to cut my face off.” he grumbles in a hoarse tone, ogling intently at you opening the bathroom cabinet for his razor. “you know what y’er doin’ right? i’d like ‘ta keep my face.”

“oh, don’t be dramatic,” and now it’s your turn to roll your eyes. toji’s got a growing smirk tugging against his lips as he gawks you carefully start to shave in the exact sectors of where his facial hair resides. you did lots and lots of research—he knew this because he caught you reading various wikiHow articles on how to shave a guy’s face correctly. toji would never in a million years tell you, but he found that fact entirely adorable. you made sure you knew how to avoid burns and razor bumps. as you’re fixated on his chin, you mumble, “you’ll keep your pretty face, don’t cry.”

“aw, think ‘m pretty?” toji says, and you see the playful glint in his eyes. he’s easing up a bit, and he acknowledges that you were right. right about his stiffness, he was a bit tense. shoulders raised and all, but now—as of late, he’s starting to calm down a bit the more you talk to him. “i’d prefer the term 'handsome' but that works too, i guess.”

you deadpan, continuing your trail against his face—the razor sings out a shrieking tiiiing the more you gingerly shave with soft, gentle strokes.

it’s somewhat relaxing with the way the edges of the instrument adapts to the chiseled contours on his face. the foam starts to come off within each downward stroke and you’re very slow and precise. “okay, don’t be cocky,” you titter, and he feels his heart flutter a bit at how you’re just so dedicated. you’re so focused that your tongue briefly sticks out of your mouth, trying to make sure you do it perfectly. you tried your hardest not to cut him—you were so careful and that simple detail alone could have been enough for him to propose. “you should let me do this more. ‘s kinda fun.”

“eh. maybe,” toji shrugs, his voice coming out in a rough rasp. he doesn’t even realize it but his expressions significantly soften. he was only this way around you. to him, the thought of that was kind of scary. after you start to edge with the precision trimmer and reach underneath his nose and chin, you wrap it up. successfully discarding all of the foamy cream from his face, spotting his now clean jawline, you break away to rinse off the now grubby blades in the sink. “all done?”

“wait— don’t look yet,” you gasp, preventing him from gazing at himself in the mirror. “i still have to do the uh . . what’s it called again?”

toji snickers. “aftershave, baby.”

“aftershave,” you repeat. “right right,” and you’re so cute, kneeling down towards the wooden cabinet directly underneath the sink. you take out the mini bottle, pouring a nice goopy amount into your palm. you let toji wash his face with cold water first, patting it dry, and then you start to bedaub the facial balm in all the sensitive areas against his skin. he adores the mushy texture of your hands making contact with his face as each second passes. toji’s eyeing you, an almost grunt leaving his lips as a thumb of yours gently tickles against his infamous scar. the scar that slants itself near the right side of his lip. “thereee we go,” you give him a soft smile, the aromatic scent of tea tree oil setting against your nostrils. up close, his pores were now all so clear and you stare in awe for a bit at just how charming he was. the moisture that lays against his skin feels a lot more smooth. you grow silent for a moment before your own face softens. “okayyy, ‘m done.”

toji finally glances into the mirror, seeing his freshly new spotless face and he sees your proud toothy grin in the mirror’s reflection behind him. he cranes his neck to the side, feeling the once rough texture of his jawline now soft. he then lets off a tiny exhale. “looks good. y’er a natural,” and he turns to face you, he’s pondering on what to say. oh, your eyes sparkled with such admiration from his praise that it was just adorable. “thank you, sweetheart. for y’know . . takin’ care of me. y’er really . . sweet.”

and with that, his lips inch down to press a warm kiss against the crown of your head. your heart immediately swarms up with a frantic school of butterflies and so does his. toji prepares speak again and it’s an almost inaudible mumble. you could barely even register what he said at first because it was so hushed, but toji gruffs in a low tone. “i … love you..”

“h- huh?”

scoffing, he hides the burning embarrassed flush against his face by pulling you into his broad chest. you giggle at how he just abruptly snatches you close into his warm body before he slings a beefy arm around you. “i said, let’s uh.. do our skin care together later t’night.”

“awww i love you too toj—”

“oh my god, s-shut up..”

Gege saying he can’t see Gojo being honest/loyal to any woman and then making him devoted, faithful and loyal eternally to Geto…y’know what I think? Happy pride month to Gojo Satoru

Geto tradwife cult pt.2

nightmares, geto blurb

“can i come in?”

suguru stands naked in front of you, well not naked but you could practically see the smudges in the brushstrokes that painted him whole. he had tried to hide that side from you, the places of him that weren’t flawless to the eye but would shatter to pieces if you touched them.

“yeah of course.” you say carefully, letting the invisible light he carried with him pour into your dark dorm. the warmth and brightness he carried spilling out onto your floorboards that would creak with the times you circled your room confused with the thought of how you felt about geto.

you softly closed the door as he walked in, taking his pillow from his hands and throwing it onto your bed. this was a common occurrence for you. geto would show up at your door with his pillow and eye bags progressively getting worse as his nightmares went on. you wanted to wrap him up in all the warmth he had radiated on to you and cover him in the comfort of silence just being silence instead of the absence of rikas heartbeat.

“c’mere.” you softly murmur as you lay on your bed, motioning for geto come and lay next to you. it was hard to not pretend that you couldn’t notice getos deterioration, the same eyes that you once believed could light up a pitch black room had dimmed out. carrying less of the anger he held and more of a heroic grief that was too painful to even think of. you couldn’t not pester him, inviting him to outings or to silent walks that would say so much more than he would. you couldn’t pretend that you hadn’t memorised his outline, the lines in his palm and the creases that would show up whenever he would smile.

that smile.

“wanna talk about it?” he shakes his head no, moving his body closer to yours and resting his head on your chest. you hoped that he couldn’t hear your heart going at hundred miles per second or the hitch in your breathing pattern that matched his whenever you were together. (he noticed the skips in your heartbeat and thought of how the sound of the rhythm was worth holding on a little more for)

but what geto didn’t know was that you would stay up and count his breathing pattern. he didn’t know that you would grow daises in your lungs if he had told you that they were his favourite flower. he didn’t know that you would do anything that would make him feel okay again, because you didn’t know how to feel okay without him. but he was scared. he was scared that if he let you in he wouldn’t stop pouring, turning into an ocean of his memories and waves of the weird feeling that he disguised as being sick. but you wanted him to engulf you like the waves did once to you when you were young, you wanted him to soak you in the crimson liquid that he felt seeped from close wounds whenever someone would ask him how he was doing.

“why aren’t you tired of me yet?” he asked confused.

“how could i ever be tired of you?” you replied with the same amount of confusion, but this type wrapped around his cold bones and brushed a thumb over them; assuring them that you weren’t going anywhere.