𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕟𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕔𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕕 𝕚𝕥 𝕨𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕚𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕤 | gojo satoru x reader

18: "Practice With Me."

warning: sexual content
- - - - -

Gojo had waken you up at the ass-crack of dawn.

Not in a polite way.

Not in a kind, loving way, as every partner should.

He had suddenly starting jumping on your bed with a full bowl of cereal. And milk.

"Gojo!" you shouted, with as much anger as a grizzly bear. "You fucking— You—"

"Get up, it's Christmaaaas!"

"It's fucking JULY."

He gasped as his jumps stopped. Somehow, he hadn't spilt any milk on your bedsheets. Not that you were complaining. He had his sunglasses on as he looked down at you, mouth open full of cereal as he spoke around it, "It's the fourth of July!"

"We're in Japan," you groaned out, dropping your head back against your pillow and shutting your eyes. "Go back to sleep."

"I wanna make pancakes. It's Sunday morning!"

"It's Thursday, we're not making pancakes, and you're going to get off my bed and let me sleep before I knock you into next week."

"Listen," he cleared his throat, putting his bowl of cereal on the shelf that was nailed into the wall above your headrest. He stumbled as he dropped down to his knees, the mattress dipping in next to you. You kept your eyes shut as he said in a lower tone, "Hear me out."

You sighed, opening your eyes and looking at him. You frowned, noticing his neatly brushed hair hanging perfectly over his face, the sunrise shining through and tingeing it a light orange. Some strands were flipped over in another direction, and you were almost angry how good he looked at god-knows-what-time in the morning. He was wearing the sweatpants you had lent him the night before, them hanging lowly on his waistline and revealing his v-line.

You froze, blinking and lifting your head up, now more awake.

His shirt was off. Where was his shirt?

Your face heated up. "Dude, go cover up."

He frowned, looking down at himself. "I'm covered."

You glared at him, not breaking away for a moment. You had to admit it was a good look. The black sweatpants and lack of shirt revealing how toned his body was. The round sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose and his hair flipped. He looked like an honest-to-god model, which unfortunately was something you had admitted long ago. But for some reason, it was really emphasised this time. You took the time to admire him a little more as he rested his weight back on his legs, scrolling through his phone.

Your eyes fell to the black ink on his chest over on the right side. The trees branches began from behind his shoulder, bleeding out onto his collarbone and a little further down. The flowers growing on the tree branch were red, little flecks of gold in their centres. The gold shimmered in the light of the rising sun, and you couldn't help but realise that the tattoo wasn't too old, the ink not having faded much at all.

When you spoke, it was soft. You were almost nervous to ask. "When did you get that?"

He looked up from his phone, eyes peeking over his sunglasses as he looked at you. "Hm?" He looked where you were looking, lifting his arm a little bit. "Oh, that."

Your head dropped back against the pillow as you snuggled into your duvet more, eyes scanning the artwork. "It's really pretty."

The corner of his lips lifted as he also eyed it, nodding his head. "Yeah, it is. I got it three years ago."