#this is way more than six sentences

[roomwithanopenfire]

Happy Sunday everyone!! Thanks for the tags @hushed-chorus @monbons and @aristocratic-otter <3

In case you missed it, I posted the first chapter of The Way We Are, my COBB with @alexalexinii on Friday!! This was the first collaborative event I've done for this fandom and it's been so much fun. I'm so excited to share the upcoming chapters and art of this fic 💗

It'll be a while before I post this as I want to finish drafting the whole fic first, but here's a snippet from the upcoming second chapter:

Nico's complexion is pale—but not ashy like mine. As I size him up, he does the same to me, running his eyes up and down. He snorts. “What?” I say, then instantly regret it. I can’t let him get to me. “You look like a vampire.” “No, I don’t,” I snap—it’s a knee jerk response really. “Oh come on,” Nico says. “Widow’s peak? Dark hair? Even the shape of your nose screams Dracula. Not to mention how grey your skin is. You’re already failing to convince me.” “Convince you of what?” I ask, crossing my arms.  Nico narrows his eyes. “You’re Fiona’s boy, yes.” I grimace—I’m not Fiona’s anything—but I nod anyway. “Here to convince me I can be just as healthy drinking rats and deer?” Nico asks. “You’re off to a bad start.” “I haven’t even said anything yet,” I say, drawing up defensively. “You’re grey,” Nico says, looking me over again. “Why would I want to be grey?”

Tags and Hellos:

@angelsfalling16 @arthurkko @artsyunderstudy @beastmonstertitan @blackberrysummerblog

@bookish-bogwitch @brendughh @brilla-brilla-estrellita @cccloudsss @cutestkilla

@drowninginships @emeryhall @facewithoutheart @fiend-for-culture @hertragedyconnoisseur

@horsesarenotdeer @iamamythologicalcreature @ileadacharmedlife @larkral @m1ndwinder

@nausikaaa @noblecorgi @onepintobean @prettygoododds @raenestee

@rbkzz @rimeswithpurple @run-for-chamo-miles @shrekgogurt @skeedelvee

@supercutedinosaurs @talentpiper11 @thewholelemon @valeffelees @you-remind-me-of-the-babe

[smoosey]

Unseasonable, for your prompts. <3

"It wasn't supposed to rain today," Obi-Wan comments, but in truth it's lovely, lovely, the midsummer rain light and cool and misty where they walk under the wide sweep of the stars, belly full, warm and tipsy and flushed and alive.

"We've had worse surprises," Cody says from beside him, and Obi-Wan laughs, because the Force is singing all around him, and Cody is beautiful in the rain, and there's something buoyant in his chest that makes him feel young again and quite in love with every star and raindrop, the wide galaxy and every soul that shines in the Light of the Force.

Cody's watching him laugh, eyes warm and dark, and then he's taking his hand, leading him into an alcove where Obi-Wan lets himself be sheltered by his heat. Obi-Wan raises his robe over them, and kisses him in a hallowed space, alone with Cody's smiling lips and reverent hands and his good, good heart.

(AKA: I saw this gif and lost by entire mind...)

[flowercrowngods]

the ever lovely @cuoredimuschio tagged me in six sentence sunday

and i’m half passed out in bed already but i gotta do what i gotta do 🤍 some time travel au words with double/triple sentence count bc lord have i been tagged a lot in those lately 🫶

Owens wants to talk with him — well, as much as the scientist leader of a secret government project that makes political super weapons of unborn children can ever just want to talk with someone like Steve. It makes him shudder every time Hopper mentions it in an off-sentence, just a side note over the sizzling food on the stove, just an afterthought when he grabs a beer for himself and a coke for Steve.

And every time, Steve freezes with the ice cold rush of panic, his jaw clenching shut and the nausea he’s been fighting all day crashing on him tenfold.

Steve knows what they do to helpless children and their mothers; he knows what they do to people who ask just the wrong question, or who know just a bit too much. He doesn’t even want to imagine what they’d do with him if they find out what he knows. If they get it in their heads that he knows everything; if they make him out to be someone who’s a lot more than a scared, confused teenager who got wrapped up in some bullshit that’s so much bigger than him.

Owens wants to talk with him. It didn’t go so well last time — images of broken skulls and bodies ripped limb to limb come back to him, swirling in nausea and feverish fear that leaves him immovable and deaf to the world at least once a day.

“Told him I’d put a bullet through his head if he tries,” Hopper adds that night, and Steve, still frozen and suddenly feverish, lifts his eyes away from the nothingness to look at him. Hopper is looking at him, too — because they do that now — and there’s something in those eyes. A surprising genuineness. Fierce. Familiar.

And suddenly it’s like the walls are extending around him, the ceiling ascending as the world outgrows him and leaves him tiny and pathetic and with one more reminder that he doesn’t belong here. Now. It’s pathetic, how much relief it brings to hear Hopper utter such a direct threat, announcing he would kill someone for Steve like he’s talking about the weather.

It’s twisted, the feeling of security so wrong in its nature, and yet so pure. It battles all the other things he’s feeling; all of them leaving him without the energy to speak.

So he remains still, tempests of emotions and thoughts and memories warring inside him, and all he can do is hope that Hopper understands his silence for now.

Please don’t kill anyone for me, he wants to say, but also Yes, please and Thank you.

With a grunt and a nod, Hopper turns back to his food, and Steve envies him for his ability to move right now; for the ability to eat anything at all. He envies him for not knowing.

But he takes that envy and shoves it into the tempest, feeling only tendrils of it lingering in his mind, and adding to the mess of things he carries inside his chest.

It will burst one day, he knows. It already feels too tight to breathe.

[wordsofhoneydew]

happy sunday <3

i’ve been so terrible at checking my socials lately, but i have come here to serve more of my soulmates AU !!

thank you to @nocoastposts @littlemisskittentoes @hgejfmw-hgejhsf for the tags <3

a little dream snippet from “your body comes back to me in dreams”

Fire. That's all Henry felt as his body was flush against the other’s. Their naked chests rubbing up against each other feverishly and slicked in sweat. It felt so real, the burn, the unbridled passion that emerged between their bodies. The exchange of their energies to each other.

There were no words shared between them—there didn’t need to be. Henry looked into his brown eyes, relishing in the attention of them. Those eyes that he has seen in his dreams so many times before they’ve become almost as familiar as his own. That’s what they felt like in a way. His own.

Henry threw his head back as he felt the other man lick down his neck and over his pulse point, while his hands were firmly wrapped around both of them, pumping their lengths furiously. The movement of his hands and the thrusts of Henry’s hips both sloppy and inexorable.

open tag to anyone who sees this and @anincompletelist @bigassbowlingballhead @happiness-of-the-pursuit @dragonflylady77 @sparklepocalypse @kiwiana-writes @bitbybitwrites @read-and-write- @inexplicablymine @magicandarchery @firenati0n @daisymae-12 @affectionatelyrs @indomitable-love @suseagull04 @indestructibleheart @matherines

[hirazuki]

Six 'sentences'

Thanks for the tag again, @ruiniel!

A little WIP snippet from a future chapter of my Naruto series, A Straight Way:

‘Efficient’ is how Itachi describes Sakura’s kill, once the meeting commences and everyone reports in. “She stopped his heart, in his sleep,” Kisame elaborates, when asked to provide details. “Cleanest kill I’ve ever seen; no one will even think to call it a kill.” “Pah!” the voice next to him remarks. “Uninspired, hm.” “Unobtrusive,” Itachi corrects. “Lame!” Hidan counters. “Satisfactory,” Kakuzu declares, effectively ending the exchange. “The client paid us an additional bonus, as the request was completed in half the expected time.”  No wonder he’s pleased, Sasori thinks.

Tagging, no pressure: @cilil, @melkors-defense-attorney, @celebbun, @mirkwood-hr-department

[trippedandfell]

seven sentence sunday

tagged by @henswilsons @thatbuddie @clusterbuck thank you beloveds!! i am not, as the kids say, writing at the moment, at least not anything that'll ever turn into a fic, so have this lil blurb i wrote as a warm up last week:

Eddie frowns. “The couch give you trouble?”

“Nah,” Buck waves him off, but Eddie can see it now, the line of tension across his shoulders. “Just not as young as I used to be. Want syrup with this, Chris?”

Chris yawns from his spot at the table, half-slumped over his glass of orange juice. “Yeah. Uh, yes, please,” he amends, as Eddie raises one eyebrow. “Thanks, Buck.”

“No problem.” Buck turns back to the stove, whistling. “Eddie, what’d you want on yours?”

“You can take the bed next time,” Eddie blurts out, which isn’t at all a response to Buck’s question and leaves both Buck and Chris staring at him like he’s got two heads. He shifts a little, awkward. “I mean. If the couch isn’t comfortable.”

“O-kay,” Buck says, slow, as if Eddie’s just proposed running away to the circus and taking up juggling. “That’s really nice of you to offer, dude, but I’m not going to kick you out of your own bed. The couch is seriously fine.”

“The couch isn’t fine, though,” Eddie persists, and he’s not sure why he’s being so stubborn about this, except for the fact that Buck’s still holding his body like it’s in pain and it’s making something in his stomach clench. “We could get one of those foam toppers, or something. Or-" he cuts himself off, flushing guiltily. Or we could just share, he wants to say. It’s not like it would be the first time.

tagging uhhhh @buddiefication @buckleysibs @wolfnprey @achillesbuck apologies if you have already done it!!

[queenofbaws]

thinkin about the au where the ud kids are also councillors at hacketts quarry..... wouldnt it be just Such bad luck if one of Them got werewolfified?? dealers choice who, i just thought it would be fun :]

((uh oh, this was just supposed to be six sentence sat(or)sunday!!!))

“So…anyone else getting mad déjà vu right now, or is that just me?” Save a few furious glares shot over shoulders, no one seemed especially interested in dealing with Mike at just that moment. He shrugged the worst of it off, then went back to circling the lodge, rattling doorknobs and window frames to make sure everything was locked up tight. “Just me then. Cool. Cool, cool, cool. Good talk, team.”

One might’ve expected that the lodge would feel empty with all the campers gone for the season, that the railings and dark eaves above them might’ve given the place a hollow, echoey feeling…but empty tables and vacant coat hooks be damned, the lodge had never felt smaller. Panic and confusion had narrowed the space until the woodgrain became smothering, choking, a prison smelling of pinesap and industrial grade disinfectant and, now that they’d gotten Nick laid out, blood. It was a madhouse. A charnel house.

Or it would’ve been, had the older counselors not been so nonchalant.

Sam was the first to step forward (surprising no one), tying her hair back out of her face with a few snappy twists of her wrist. The Hacketteers had seen it happen a few times during the summer, the imaginary switch that occasionally got flipped inside of her, transforming her five-foot-nothing frame into the towering presence of a military official; she knelt down beside Nick alongside Abi and Kaitlyn, and as she got a better look at his leg, her cheeks hollowed in thought. When she spoke, it wasn’t with the calm, sunshiney voice they’d all grown accustomed to, but an authoritative snap that left little room for argument. “Nurse Kelly’s office,” she said to Kaitlyn, making sure to hold her gaze as she gave the assignment. “Hydrogen peroxide from the cabinet, gauze from the bottom left drawer, and then bandages. If you can’t find bandages, get tape. Go.”

After one last sympathetic look towards Abi, Kaitlyn was off, bounding towards the nurse’s office with force enough to make her sneakers squeak on the hardwood. Sam wasted no time; she turned first over her right shoulder then the left, her lips tracing the silent headcount she was running. “Eleven,” she muttered, tapping her own chest before running the count again and coming up with the same thing. “Eleven? I—okay, wait, who’re we missing?”

“Um, um Emma,” stammered Abi, her voice shaking like a leaf in a windstorm and her body not much better off. Her bare knees poked through the tears in her tights where she knelt on the floor, the skin red and raw from where she’d fallen, though that seemed to be the worst of her injuries. “E-Emma’s down at the…at the lake, and Jacob went to get her. I…right?” Her stare had been so far-off when she’d come tumbling out of the woods and into the circle of the firepit, and only now did it seem to focus, or sharpen at the very least, as though having four walls and a ceiling surrounding her was what it had taken to wake her up. Even though she kept both of her hands tightly wrapped around one of Nick’s, she wrenched her eyes away from him to look at Ashley instead. “Right?”

At first, all she could do was nod, her lower lip was so deep in her mouth. When she let it go (with an almost audible pop! at that) it was red and inflamed from her biting it. “Right,” she picked up, nodding with a tense sort of precision. “Jacob went to get Emma at the lake, and Matt and Jess went with him just in case he ran into that…um, guy he was talking about. The hunter, or whatever.”

His circuit complete, Mike gave the front door one last heave-ho before joining the rest of them. “So I’ll say it again: Déjà vu, table for however-the-fuck-many?”

From one of the tables, Chris lifted his head out of his hands. “Dude. Let it rest, okay? A-a-and that’s coming from me, all right? Just…drop it. Seriously.”

“This is bad.” There was the sound of footfalls as Kaitlyn came running back into the main room with her arms full of supplies, and even still it was Dylan most of them turned towards, Dylan who had been hanging back near the fireplace since they’d gotten in. “This is bad, bad, bad…look, I’m telling you guys, okay? You can call me crazy, whatever, I don’t care, this?!” He stopped his anxious pacing long enough to slice a hand through the air in Nick’s direction. “This isn’t normal. Guy gets attacked in the middle of Buttfuck, Nowhere by some…thing Abi draws to look like my sleep paralysis demon on steroids, it’s oozing black shit, and we’re just…what? We’re just not gonna say it?”

“Dylan,” Sam and Kaitlyn warned, sounding less a Greek chorus and more a couple of exasperated mothers.

He held both his hands up as if to acknowledge their scorn…and continued anyway. “This is horror movie shit. Legit fucking horror movie shit, and I don’t care if you guys think I’m a maniac or whatever, but I am telling you, we shouldn’t be bandaging that, we should just be cutting it o—”

“Dylan!” Kaitlyn snapped a second time, throwing him a frantic glare from where she bent over Nick’s leg. “You’re not helping!”

“No one is cutting anyone’s anything off,” Sam piped in. “Completely glossing over the fact Nurse Kelly never stopped to give any of us pointers on impromptu amputation, I’d just like to go on the record as saying immediately chopping body parts off when freaked out is a bad idea in general.”

She wasn’t looking anywhere near him, but Mike was more than happy to take the opportunity to flip two of the fingers he did still have Sam’s way.

“Fuck,” Nick breathed, his spine arcing impossibly when Sam splashed the hole in his leg with peroxide. He grit his teeth, squeezed Abi’s hands until she squealed – though from shock alone or pain, none of them could immediately tell – and screwed his eyes shut tight as the blood and tissue exposed to the open air sizzled and bubbled and foamed. “Fuckin���…I’m right here! Don’t talk about this shit like I’m not here!”

The pain in his voice should’ve been enough to end the conversation full-stop. It would’ve been enough, had it only been the younger counselors in the lodge.

He hadn’t said much since the firepit, and for that most of their number were grateful. When Josh did deign to throw his two cents into the mix, though…gratitude was the farthest thing from anyone’s mind. “Ives is right.”

“Shocker,” Mike muttered under his breath, joining Emily over near the windows.

“Josh. Don’t—”

“No, shut up. The facts of the matter are these: One.” And because he was who he was, he took two steps up onto one of the open tables, somehow managing to bring the audience’s attention to himself despite Nick bleeding out on the floor. “There’s something attacking people out in the woods. A bad start, I think we can all agree. Two. Whatever it is, it’s hungry, or at the very least, it’s teething. Now I don’t know about any of you guys, but I’ve seen my fair share of hickies and love bites in my time, and whatever the fuck did that…” As Dylan had before him, Josh pointed towards the wound Kaitlyn and Sam were trying (and failing) to dress. “…its mouth was a little bigger than we would like. Fair to say? Three. I’m sorry Nicky-baby, but you’re not looking so good right now.”

“Josh!” That time Sam got up, pushing herself from the floor to stomp over towards him. She grabbed the hem of his shirt and tugged, throwing off his balance and causing him to stumble to catch himself before he fell off the table entirely. “This is so not the time for – ”

“So you’ve got an explanation for all the black gunk, then? That what I’m hearing, Sammy?” He lifted his arms in a theatrical shrug, then let them drop to his sides. “Look at him. Look at him. We can see every vein in his goddamn body because of that crap. He looks like an anatomical model of a zombie plague victim. What’s the point in pretending – ”

“The point is,” she interrupted, each syllable clipped and final, “until we know what’s going on, we shouldn’t be scaring people.”

For a moment, brief and shining, it seemed maybe Josh was going to back down. Then he held up another finger. “Four,” he continued, looking away from Sam to search out all the others’ eyes instead. “Any of you aspiring astronomers take a gander up at the sky tonight, perchance? Notice anything…interesting, maybe?”

On the floor, Nick thrashed, succeeding in shoving Abi away from him, but not quite managing to throw Kaitlyn from his leg. Other than that, there was silence as the counselors fought to make sense of what Josh was saying.

“I mean…it’s a full moon,” Ryan offered. “But I don’t – ”

“Oh my God, it’s a full moon!” Like someone had stuck her with a pin, Ashley’s whole body shot back, back, back and away from Nick. She moved with the lightning speed of the truly panicked, nearly jumping the full length of the lodge to join Chris, Josh, and Dylan over by the fireplace. “It’s werewolves. Oh my God, it’s werewolves. It’s…oh jeez Louise, this is…” Only once she’d been enveloped by the guys did she stop raking her fingers down her face. When finally she spoke again, her voice had taken on a terrifying calmness. “We’ve got to cut his leg off.”

“Thank you! This is what I’m saying!”

“I—will you guys shut up?” Pushing himself away from the far wall, Ryan threw his arms out wide. “Do you hear yourselves? Werewolves?”

There was nothing especially friendly in the look Josh leveled at him as he asked, “What? Not, uh…bizarre or bona fide enough for you? Is that it?”

Nick’s injured leg spasmed as if it were a dying animal struggling to fight off a hunter, and the impact knocked Kaitlyn’s breath from her lungs. She went sprawling, moving her hands towards her ribs as if to grab at them, but hesitating to actually touch them once they began to throb. “Jesus Christ, Nick!” she gasped, using the rubber soles of her shoes to push herself along the floor, putting more distance between them. “I’m trying to help! I know it hurts – you gotta…”

He didn’t have much to say to that, it seemed, except a succinct, “Fuck off, Kaitlyn!”

As Sam and Abi both rushed to help her up, the others continued their grim debate; unfortunately for Ryan (and, in all honesty, Nick), one side was clearly louder than the other.

“In what world do you think werewolves – actual freaking werewolves – are real?”

“Uh, point of order,” Chris interjected, “you seem to be forgetting who you’re talking to, so hey, just real quick, ahem…hi, I’m Chris, this is Josh, this is Ashley, and we survived a cannibalistic monster attack back in 2015! Jesus Christ, did any of you guys listen to a word we said during ice breakers? Holy shit.”

“Not to take away from the argument or anything, buuut just FYI, we were all very much in agreement you guys were making that shit up completely.”

“…you what?”

“Yeah,” Dylan nodded. “We laughed about it after lights-out and everything. I mean…whoops. Obviously, whoops. I’d like to go on the record as saying I owe you guys a big old ‘my bad’ once we’re out of this shitshow, but…yeah. Definitely…definitely thought you were making that stuff up.”

There were a million things they could’ve said to that revelation. A million things between them. And still what ended up actually coming out was: “Mike cut two of his fingers off!”

“It’s true. I did. And look where it got me.”

“Really moving up in the world, aren’t you Michael?” She hadn’t had the slightest desire to join in the reindeer games, but there was only so much theatricality and tension Emily could resist. She turned away from the window and took the scene in with her arms folded tightly across her chest, one of her hands tucked neatly away beneath the crook of her elbow. There, near the fireplace, was the witch hunting committee; there, in the middle of the blood-streaked floor, were Nick and his three would-be nurses; and smack between the two factions was Ryan, dour and exasperated as always. “Mike’s right,” she said, and was then forced to deal with the indignity of him grinning and pumping his fist beside her. “This shitty one-act is familiar. And I for one am not dealing with it a second time.”

“Emily,” and man oh man, Sam was wondering if she was going to get to say anything tonight that wasn’t just her sounding out her friends’ names in increasingly frustrated tones, “look, I know things are weird right now, but – ”

“It’s not werewolves.”

Josh’s eyebrows went up. “Oh? Oh! Well, by all means, your majesty, please! Inform us lowly peons of the esoteric knowledge you’ve been withholding from us. I mean, after all, it’s not like any of us are experts on the subject or anything. Not like anyone in this room was literally raised on horror lore.”

They were too far away from one another to do anything about it, but when Sam and Mike locked eyes, it was immediately clear they both knew what was about to happen. There was no reason for that, nothing that could explain the bolt of understanding that ran through them, and yet there it was, plain as day – déjà vu, serendipity, kismet, fate, bad luck, whatever you wanted to call it, they both saw it rear its ugly head at precisely the same moment.

The moment, as it turned out, where Emily pulled her hand free from under her arm. “Whatever that ugly motherfucker was, it got me too.” The lights were off, there was hardly any illumination to speak of, and even so, there was no missing the jagged, shallow teeth marks jagging across her hand. There wasn’t as much blood as there had been on Nick’s leg, though there was a fair amount, and whatever that black stuff was, her wrist seemed to be shot through with it too.

“Guys.” It was only the stunned silence that had come over them at Emily’s admission that allowed Nick to be heard; his voice was a wet, phlegmy gasp caught deep in his chest. “Guys? I don’t…”

“It got me too,” Emily continued, “and look at me! I’m fine! I don’t feel sick, or infected with anything, or – ”

“Oooh no. Oh no no no no no! You are so…no!” As quick as she’d been to hide herself behind them, Ashley burst out from behind the guys to round on them instead, pointing frantically towards Emily as her words spilled out of her. “This is what I was trying to keep from happening last time!”

“…last time?” Ryan asked, only to be spoken over.

“They’re both bitten! They’re both infected! They’re going to change, or turn, or…or whatever, and when they do, you know what’s going to happen? They’re going to kill us! They’re going to kill all of us, and I didn’t make it off that stupid freaking mountain just to die here in the middle of some awful, sweaty, mosquito-filled woods!”

“Ashley…”

“You. Have. Got. To. Be. Kidding. Me.” Mike made a swipe for Emily, meaning to hold her back. Whether it had been a real effort, though, or one just meant for show…that was anyone’s guess, because she easily evaded him and marched her way over to the others, countering each of Ashley’s moves as though trying to bully her in a narrow school hallway. “How many times do you think you get to spearhead the ‘Let’s kill Emily’ committee before I haul off and wipe the ground with your sorry ass?”

“I really, uh…” Nick’s gasps had turned to panting, each breath uncomfortably wet on the inhale. “I really don’t…feel good…”

Ashley took a step back towards the guys and Emily took two forward; she sidestepped and Emily turned with her. “I-I was wrong last time,” she admitted, and while her eyes were huge and glassy with fear, her chin was high and her voice was resolute.

“You don’t fucking say.”

“But this is what I was afraid of! You become a werewolf when you’re bitten by one! That’s how it works! Everyone knows that’s how it works!”

“Oh yeah?” And before anyone could react, even to breathe, Emily lashed out with her uninjured hand, grabbed Ashley by the wrist, and brought her hand to her mouth. She bit down once, hard, letting go before she could taste blood but well after she felt the meaty crunch of tissue damage. “Then welcome to the party, bitch.”

“Déjà vu check?” Mike asked the room, and that time, Chris raised his hand. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s what I thought. Okay, look, shit’s…shit’s pretty fucked right now, I’m not even gonna lie, but Sam has a point, all right, you guys? Until we have some kind of proof that something spooky’s really afoot, then I don’t think we should – ”

It was Abi who screamed first, bringing their attention back to Nick. By then, it was too late. They turned just in time to see a tear, then two, then three, open in his skin, stretching wide to show the wet, raw muscle beneath as though he were simply wearing a human-suit several sizes too small for him. With one final heave of his body (and the horrendous sound of gore hitting the floor and walls and, God help them all, ceiling), something hulking and monstrous and sharp burst out of him like a moth from a cocoon, spreading not wings but limbs so long and so large as to defy all logic. It stared at them with eyes that winked gold and red in the darkness, then threw back its head and let out a sound like none of them had ever heard before.

Only then did Sam raise her hand, already starting to walk backwards. “This is starting to get familiar,” she admitted, grabbing Abi by the back of her shirt and hauling her to her feet, “this is starting to get really, really, really familiar, now that you mention it.”

Shock alone rooted the younger counselors to the spot, the older ones held still more by muscle memory and the hope what had kept them alive before would keep them alive now…but then Emily snatched Ashley up by both of her wrists and yanked her close enough to act as a human shield, breaking their stunned silence with a shrill, “Someone shoot her before she turns into one of those things!”

“You bit me!” she shrieked in response, struggling to reach behind herself and get a handful of Emily’s hair. When she couldn’t wriggle out of her grasp, she settled for stomping down on her instep as hard as she could, and if it hadn’t been for Mike and Chris both grabbing them and physically dragging them away, the thing that had very recently been Nick would’ve likely sliced through them both with a furious swipe of its claws.

“Holy shit, holy shit!”

“Yeah, welcome to our world,” someone said glumly, either Chris or Josh, it was honestly hard to tell.

“There’s a…there’s a fucking monster…right there!”

“Wow, gee, thanks!”

“And they’re just…going to fight each other?! Even though it’s…it’s right…”

“Like we said,” and that time it was Chris, his voice strained as he tried to physically slide himself between Ashley and Emily to keep them apart, “welcome to our fucking world!”

“Fuck me, I sure hope Mr. H has this place insured,” Mike said, and though he knew it did more harm that good, he let go of Emily to let Chris deal with her, choosing instead to pat himself down until he found the lighter stashed in his pocket. “Because I don’t know about you assholes, but I sure remember how this part goes.”

[echo-bleu]

Seven Sentence Sunday

I was tagged by @loki-is-my-kink-awakening (thank you!)

I have new WIPs growing like mushrooms currently, so here's a brand new one. It's a Silm canon divergence that starts at "Maglor tries to rescue Maedhros from Angband", but here we're long after that:

“We need help. We need the Valar.” It tears at Maedhros’s throat to even say it, though it’s far from the first time. It feels like a betrayal of all his father stood for, to go begging for the Valar’s help, but they’re out of options. “All the expeditions have been lost,” Elwing points. “What hope is there?” Maedhros reaches into the folds of his gambeson, between the armoured plates. He holds out his hand to her. “Take this to your husband. It might tip the scale.” Elwing stares at the Silmaril glowing in his hand. “You—” “They are good for nothing if we’re all dead. The Valar wanted them once. Maybe if we’re willing to negotiate…” Maedhros stops. The last tendril of the old Oath pulls at his vocal cords, powerless but nonetheless present, as if screaming for his betrayal. “Take it to Eärendil,” he repeats. “Sail to Valinor. Do what we could not.”

tagging @emyn-arnens @polutrope @camille-lachenille @xianvar @pherryt

[j-nipper-95]

(Not even close to Six) Sentence Sunday

I’m back! Finally, I have new ASR stuff to share! Thank you to everyone who’s been tagging me recently @larkral @hushed-chorus @cutestkilla @blackberrysummerblog @aroace-genderfluid-sheep 

I’ve finally managed to get past an action sequence, so we’re back into ‘Jess writes angsty dialogue heavy scenes’ mode once again. And if they’re queer, all the better.

This scene is between two characters who I have big plans for, but in book one are slightly less front and centre because, let’s face it, Lauren and her dilemma are taking the spotlight at the moment.

Aira shrugged, and for the first time Rachel saw the bandages covering her hands. Aira noticed where her gaze had settled and lifted her hands out of her lap, rotating them so she could see the full extent of the gauze and bandages.

“I’d forgotten how painful it was to use my power, but I’ve had worse.”

“What do you mean?”

“My skin isn’t used to it.”

The skin around the edge of the bandages was pink and inflamed, and it looked incredibly sore. Rachel could only imagine what it was like around her palms and fingers, where the plasma had clung to and dripped from.

“Did anyone else ever suffer like this?” Rachel asked, before she could stop herself. She and Aira looked up at the same time, and she started to back-peddle. “No, don’t worry, you don’t need to—”

“It’s fine, Rachel, really.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Rach,” she said, and laid one hand on her arm, wincing slightly as she did, “it’s fine.”

At a loss for what to do Rachel just nodded, her other hand falling on Aira’s arm, mirroring her. Subconsciously her thumb started rubbing in slow circles, as though that would take away the pain from Aira’s hands.

Tags for today: @artsyunderstudy @aristocratic-otter @palimpsessed @hushed-chorus @confused-bi-queer @fatalfangirl @cutestkilla @ileadacharmedlife @larkral @orange-peony @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @stardustasincocaine @prettylightsbigcity @chen-chen-chen-again-chen @ileadacharmedlife @martsonmars @ebbpettier @erzbethluna @bookish-bogwitch @dragoneggos @writer-nori-bard @frjsti

[nausikaaa]

More Than Six Sentence Sunday

hello again! i have some of my original wip to share again this week. thanks for tagging me @letraspal last week and @forabeatofadrum today!

here's some Astyanax POV, more than six sentences today because i didn't want to cut any of this

"Where are you off to in such a hurry?" A voice behind me startles me, and I turn, hand already on my weapon, to find Odysseus leaning against a wall, peeling an orange and looking at me with an expression of mild amusement.

I scramble for a moment, then realise I actually have little to hide.

"I'm taking my sister some food. She isn't feeling well." Only one word of that is a lie, I suppose.

"Hm." He responds, picking at the orange with apparent disinterest. "You know, you're a pretty good liar."

"I'm not-"

"I should know." He interrupts, then looks up and smiles. Again, I'm reminded of a fox. "The only problem is, I'm better."

not too much background feels necessary here, basically: Astyanax is supposed to be dead, Odysseus was supposed to kill him as a baby, they both know he didn't do what he was supposed to do, and now 18 years later Odysseus has to deal with the consequences of not doing his job.

and on that note, here's this snippet's relevant song from my Astyanax playlist

and i tag @ileadacharmedlife @martsonmars @imagineacoolusername @confused-bi-queer @ic3-que3n @forabeatofadrum @tea-brigade @bazzybelle @aroace-genderfluid-sheep @theearlgreymage @aristocratic-otter @facewithoutheart @otherpeoplesheartachept-2 @whogaveyoupermission @shemakesmeforget and @larkral

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

Some Sentences Someday

Tagged by @funkypoacher

Tagging: @noetikat @direwombat @purplehairsecretlair @strangefable @adelaidedrubman @marivenah @roofgeese @natesofrellis and anyone else who might have something to share

following up from this snippet I shared yesterday:

“I don’t know man, maybe she’s on her rag? Do you see any bears around? They can smell the blood, you know?”

And just like that the dam was ruptured, in fact it was annihilated completely. Her hands collided with Hurk’s chest, wrapping her fingers in the material of his ripped and beer-stained shirt. Despite his overall size and weight she easily tossed him back against the wall of the old steel mill. She bared her teeth like an animal ready to go for the jugular, seething. Her will to hold the reins had crumbled. “You wanna know why I'm pissed, Drubman? I’m trying to do a job here and I’m surrounded by a collection of fuck ups!”

“Fuck ups? I ever tell you about the time I -” He was completely unfazed by her hands sliding ever closer to his throat to choke him out. Almost as if this wasn’t the first time someone had reacted this way around him. 

“I really don’t give a fuck. I just want to get back home. This mill is useless and if we leave now I can rest knowing I’ll never have to work with you again.”

“What do you mean?” His eyes grew wide with genuine surprise. He’d never been cut from the team before, left to sit on the sidelines. 

“I’d like Hope County to still be standing when all is said and done, you fucking moron!”

“Hey, Dep, that ain’t very nice.” Sharky placed his hand on her shoulder and she flinched out of his grip. “We were just trying to help.”

“You wanna help?” She eyed Sharky over her shoulder, letting her hands slip from Hurk’s shirt, poking her finger into his breastbone instead, her attention returned completely to the dimwit in her clutches. “Stay out of my way and stop using that fucking rocket launcher!” Each poke was harder than the last accentuating her point. 

Kit stormed away, not wanting to hear whatever dim witted retort they might come up with. It was going to be an awkward ride home, and she knew she’d just made it worse, but anything was better than leaving those two with the idea that she’d work with them in any sort of capacity ever again.

Hurk looked to his cousin who merely shrugged, neither could tell what made her snap, even with their shared brain cell working overtime. They were doing what she asked, helping her deal with Peggies the best - and only - way they knew how. 

Tulip’s rotor began to spin as Kit’s sullen face came into view. She opened the door and climbed into the chopper, looking less than enthused.

Adelaide looked her over while Kit began to drum her thumb on her thigh, her knee bouncing as she began to chew on the thumbnail of her other hand. She wasn’t going to mention the fact that it looked like the Deputy had just been through the wars and instead casually pointed to the redhead’s cheek. “Hey Kit, you got a little soot on your face there, sweetie.”

It was enough to snap her out of the hole she had sunk into. Leading her to rub with the palm of her hand against her face as she sat back in her seat. 

She was thoroughly unimpressed with how the day had turned out. She had never failed so badly, not since…well she’d rather not think about that right now. Better to swallow that down and focus on the here and now. God, if her father was here he would have chewed her out. People like Hurk and Sharky were meant to be kept on a short leash, they couldn’t be trusted to follow through and she gave them too much slack. It was her fault that the steel mill was gone. It was her fault that they had lost an important outpost. It was her fault that she and the rest of Hope County were stuck in the middle of all of this. 

“Are we still waitin’ for those two idiots to climb up? Or would you prefer I took off without ‘em?” Adelaide asked with a shrug of her shoulder. 

“You really want to leave those two alone out here?”

“You’re probably right, cult’s enough of a problem, don’t need these dumbasses burning down the forest around us while we’re at it because of a fuckin’ wolverine or something.”

[strideofpride]

Six Sentence Sunday

I was gonna share something from the next chapter of like a rolling stone but then I decided to be mean and share something from a work that won't be ready for many months

“Oh, you’ll never guess who reached out to me and Nate today.” “Who?” “Blair.” Dan raises an eyebrow at that. “Blair Blair? Your Blair?” “No, Tony Blair. Yes, my Blair.” “Wow. Chuck letting her off the leash?” Serena looks back at him, suddenly puzzled. “They got divorced months ago. How’d you miss that?”  “I don’t know,” Dan shrugs. “I haven’t really been keeping up with the goings-on of Blair Waldorf Bass.” Serena can’t help the little thrill of satisfaction that goes through her hearing that. “Who’s Blair?” Amelia asks her. It’s the first thing Amelia has said to her all day. “What do you mean, you don’t remember your Aunt Blair?” An uncomfortable feeling settles in Serena’s stomach. Even at their worst, Serena never thought there’d be a day when her children didn’t know who Blair was.

[sansbanshees]

Six Sentence Sunday

Untitled hellcheer WIP

Not smutty exactly but under the read more for smut adjacent reasons

God, the noise he made—

She can’t stop thinking about it. Hearing it. Replaying it again and again.

Another shiver rolls down from the back of her neck.

She has to stop. She’s going to end up dragging him back to his van and then they’ll never get what they came here for.

She lets out a slow, shaky breath and turns to press her face into his shoulder. The ends of his hair tickle her cheek. He smells like smoke and worn leather. Like sweat, a remnant of the crowded club they’d been at not an hour ago. Still a little like the soap from their shared shower this morning.

“Can you show me?” Chrissy asks quietly, pulling away from the relative safety of his shoulder to look up. “The stuff you—what you’ve been here for before?”

He gives her an indulgent little grin, dimpled and affectionate. The one that never fails to make her heart beat a little faster. “Like the weird stuff or the regular stuff?”

“Um. Regular.” She squeezes her eyes shut, scrunches her nose with a shaky little laugh. “Just, um…let me adjust.”

He wraps an arm around her shoulder. “Come on.”

His hand comes up along the edge of her face to shield her peripheral view as they walk. It’s weirdly sweet, very him to do something like that in a sex shop, just another moment that brings about a rush of affection, gratitude that he knows her so well, that she’ll get there in her own time.

She wants to be here. Wants what they came for. It’s just—a lot to take in, all at once.

[greyias]

Tagged by: @captainderyn -- thank you for the tag! Tagging: @meanbihexual, @keldae, @queen-scribbles (no pressure!) From the little au that could...

—

Valkorion had looked down at his progeny with ill-disguised contempt, lightning dancing at the tips of his fingers as he attempted to silence what he saw as the only threat in the room. He didn’t even look up until the cold barrel of a blaster buried itself at the base of his skull.

Which brought Theron back to where he wasn’t supposed to be.

Here.

Standing in someone else’s moment, stepping into a destiny that wasn’t his, and about to set into motion a cascade of events he had no hope of understanding. He was a disgraced spy. A Jedi washout. The Force-blind son of someone else’s greatness. A man always destined to live in the shadow of others.

“Do you really think that pathetic toy will hurt me?”

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

I find it funny that when you draw Six he has his plush version next to him. Another thing, how would your Six Headcanon be?

I just like doodling the plush too.

Also, for my six headcanons, I’ll try and be brief in order to not post like five paragraphs-

I like to think he’s a Tulpa alternate manifested by young Mark, after he saw a creepy looking police sketch on TV once. Mark was super freaked out by the sketch that he thought he was in his closet or in the hallway, and thus Six was manifested. Not a whole lot of evidence for this hc, but I think it’s cool

Six is like. Impossibly flexible, and can hide in cupboards and closets when someone’s nearby and he doesn’t want to get caught. He can also stand completely still and stay quiet. He also doesn’t have fingerprints, so he can’t be linked to certain crimes easily.

He absolutely hates Gabriel. Despises them. And he works alone from the rest of the alts.

[tonycries]

Something Stupid - G.S.

Synopsis. Five times the strongest would rather díe than tell you he loves you, and the one time he almost does. Almost.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, friends-to-lóvers, canon fix-it, PINING, dry-húmping, face-sítting (fem receiving), creampíe, overstím, PÚSSYDRUNK GOJO, ríding him until he whínes, no smút until they’re adults obvs, slight ángst, manga spoilers, found family, THE HAPPY ENDING WE DESERVE, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 9.6k

A/N. Tumby lemme post this pwease? What canon? This is the only canon I know.

“Catch me if you-”

Sixteen-year-old Gojo Satoru doesn’t have the privilege of finishing his sentence - hell, he doesn’t even have the privilege of standing, apparently.

Because in the blink of an eye, his back is hitting the soft grass of Jujutsu Tech, followed very shortly by a bewildered you. Foreheads knocking together, your hands grabbing at his broad shoulders, his own wrapping around your waist for some sense of stability.

Years later, Gojo tells everyone that would listen - and anyone that won’t - that life became just a bit brighter ever since you crashed into his life that day - literally. 

But right now, he’s opening his mouth to spit an irritated, “Watch it!”

It’s the first words you ever say to him, a shrill - almost hysterical - “Huh? No, you watch it-”

“Nuh uh, you-” Head spinning, shades skewed, it takes Gojo a few seconds to screw his bleary eyes open to the sudden newcomer straddled on top of him. And a few more to register that no, he wasn’t in heaven and hey, that uniform looks familiar. And, unfortunately, not even a split-second longer to breathe out something stupid, “I…I think I love y-”

“You stupid, moronic- wait what?”

The next few words out of his mouth are just as bad as the last ones, if not worse. Because yes he knows - for once in his life - that maybe he should just stop talking. He knows that even a moment longer with you is gonna turn his mind into more of a melty, honeyed mess than Six Eyes ever could. 

Which is exactly what he blames when jumbling out a garbled, “Dinner tomorrow?” Wincing, Gojo swallows them back almost as quickly as he wished he was swallowed up by Geto’s rainbow dragon instead. 

To your credit, you look a lot less bumbling than the strongest currently pinned underneath you. That look of annoyance on your pretty features melts into something of concern. And before he can dig a deeper hole for himself, you’re raising the back of your hand to splay out across his forehead.

“I didn’t think you hit the ground that hard but-” you raise a brow, head tilting to the side. “-I think you’ve got a concussion.”

Oh, yeah he’s definitely in heaven - that or actually concussed. Maybe both.

A low whistle sounds from his right - and soon enough he’s staring at the shoes of the other first-year he’d met just today. Low bangs hanging over his face, jostling with light cackles, “Haven’t they told you not to confess your undying love until at least the second date, Gojo?”

Nevermind, he was in hell.

“Ieri!” Geto turns towards the other girl, who was busy typing away on her phone. But Gojo could’ve sworn he heard the shutter of a camera coming from her way. “He was flown out of bounds, that’s gotta count as one point for me, right? And another for the pretty girl. You keepin’ score?”

She only sighs, “No.”

What’s a first day at high school without a duel between two of the proudly self-proclaimed strongest? And, of course, you - the fourth addition to their little group, hastily scrambling off of Gojo’s lap at the jeering laughter from above. 

Dammit. 

Later, he might apologize for running headfirst into you - might. Ignoring the pointed giggles, and the burning rouge at the very tip of his ears, to find out your name. And to make up some stilted excuse about how that was completely the concussion talking and he totally wasn’t serious about having dinner so please, please, please don’t snitch to Yaga about the impromptu matches taking place on school grounds…unless? 

But for now, Gojo’s only lazily turning to look up at Geto, bringing a hand up to squint against the harsh sun beating down. Or, at least, that’s what it was meant to look like - “Technique amplification: Blue!”

He only hopes the property damage isn’t as high as what his poor heart had just gone through. Detention with Yaga be damned - and if by some grace of the universe he actually does end up escaping before he’s caught then, well, he’ll actually ask you out to dinner tomorrow. 

---

Gojo Satoru is almost eighteen when he thinks that not even the Gojo family’s most expensive insurance will cover whatever curse you’ve casted on his poor heart.

You’re both well into the second year, and by now he’d been to twelve different doctors, five shamans, and Principal Yaga himself before Geto smacked him upside the head. 

“Satoru, you complete imbecile-”

“Hey!” He fights out of his best friend’s grasp around the scruff of his uniform, crossing his arms over his chest with a whine, “I’ll have you know that I got the highest exam score last week, and I cheated only a little bit-”

Geto cuts him off with a sigh, wearily pinching the bridge of his nose, “No- you idiot. What do you mean you went to Yaga to girl-talk with him about your crush.” And when Gojo’s mouth falls slack, he’s smirking, “Oh- my bad, I meant your love-”

It’s said that Gojo’s gasp echoed all throughout the wooden corridors of the school - maybe even the entire grounds. Hotly, he’s sputtering out broken little excuses, “I don’t- what do you-” Before turning away to cool the burning of his sweetly rosy cheeks, “You’re the imbecile for spewing out such nonsense, Suguru.”

“Are you sure?” Geto turns to get a better look at the way those pretentiously expensive glasses fail to cover even the half of it. He’s never been able to, when it comes to you. “Because that’s quite literally the first thing you said to her-”

“I had a concussion!”

“After she touched you?” 

And for perhaps the first time in the years he’s been wreaking havoc on Earth, Gojo is speechless. A welcome change for Geto, who mulls over in the silence while they loiter - very much missing whatever mission was assigned right now. 

“I…” he starts, voice small. Pathetic, even. “...was concussed.” And before Geto can let out the same frustrated, dragged-out groan he often does whenever he’s around the two of you, Gojo’s plowing on, “But if I did lo- like her - hypothetically speaking - how would I even tell her?”

Usually, the other’s first reaction would be to tease his best friend. But at this moment he sounded so…young, painfully sincere in a way that was so disgustingly un-Gojo-like that he can’t help but cringe.

“Well, Satoru.” he muses, throwing a hand around his shoulder. “You just gotta…tell her my man. Preferably before that big mission coming up because I am not dragging your moping self around.”

He rolls his eyes, scoffing, “Gee, thanks. I’ll totally get on that tomorrow.”

“You’re welcome.”

BANG!

Yaga’s voice bellows, “Can you two stop doing this outside my office!”

And as much as Gojo hates to admit it, Geto was right - he usually was. 

Well - perhaps not about the love part, but subconsciously, he found himself seeking out every tiny moment with you. Every second by your side - ignoring the other two bothers - was a new opportunity to just tell you. To break that thick solitude inside your little bubble with those little words. Ones that would go and spoil it all. 

Not to be dramatic, but Gojo almost made a game out of it. Mouthing out the words whenever your back was turned - it started from “Dinner tomorrow?” to “I like you.” to something stupid that only gave Shoko aneurysms. 

And, expectedly, “tomorrow” doesn’t happen to be tomorrow. 

Tomorrow isn’t in your next class, or whatever mission Gojo tags along with you for “moral support.” Tomorrow isn’t the cozy little detention the two of you attend after catching Yaga’s interpretive dance routine - “that’s the scariest thing I’ve ever seen- even more than any curse.” you whisper fearfully to him, and he thinks he might just blurt it out right then and there.

Tomorrow isn’t when he’s just about to leave on some confidential mission with Geto, bidding you goodbye with a roll of his eyes and a hug he pretends he doesn’t like as much as he actually does. Tomorrow isn’t even when he’s baking in Okinawan sun, or strewn out bloodied and left for dead on the very grounds he met you on. 

But oh how he wishes it was.

In that moment, incapacitated by Toji Fushiguro, and wondering where it went wrong, he thinks of you. Gojo thinks he’ll always remember you in every moment, and especially when they’re his last.

The Star Plasma Vessel mission and its aftermath takes up most of his mind afterward, even when he didn’t want it to. And all he can remember about tomorrow comes only a few months later, when an ashen-faced Gojo Satoru slams open the rickety door to your dorm.

“G-Gojo?” you sputter, sitting up in your bed. But before you can even think of reaching him, he’s crossed your floor in a few long strides. “Are you ok- mmpf!”

In an instant, he’s splaying out on your mattress, legs dangling off the end, strong arms wrapped tightly around your waist. 

Your first instinct is to snap something snarky - but every tease at the very tip of your tongue vanishes when he buries his head into your lap. And you feel something wet, something drench though your skirt heatedly. 

“Is…” you’re gulping thickly. “Is everything okay, Satoru?”

Ah, his name sounds too perfect on your tongue. 

“Suguru…” Is all he shudders out wetly, jittery hands looping even more vice-like around your figure. “He-”

It’s just about the only thing he can get out, and it’s just about everything you need to hear before bringing his shivering body closer. Quiet. Steady. Rocking the strongest gently, while you hum a wordless melody. “S’alright. S’gonna be okay.”

Now, he thinks. Now now now now - tell her. Tell her. But when a tear of your own stains his shirt, he knows. Hauling you in even deeper to his chest, he prays you don’t hear his thundering heart. Perhaps tomorrow. 

---

Gojo is twenty-one by the time he’s dragging you hand-in-loveable-hand through the winding hallways of an apartment in the heart of Tokyo. Mumbling excited little mutters, and almost tripping over his own feet with how fast he was navigating the corridors. 

“Sato- S-Sato-” you’re squealing out, grimacing at the tugging burn of your hands in his. “Toru! Where are you- taking me?” 

Sheepishly, he looks at you over his shoulder, “Whoops, did I forget to tell you- I have kids!”

He doesn’t know what’s louder - your shocked shout of “What? When?...By who?” or the screeching of his own two shoes skidding to a halt in front of that familiar door. 

“Well, they’re not mine.” Gojo sighs ultimately, with a hand at the door. And that makes you quieten down just enough to hear his barely-audible little whisper. Determined. Reverent, almost. “But they’re mine.”

And when he finally opens the door, just one look at the tiny, black-haired little boy and his sharp scowl is all you need to understand. You’re whirling your eyes back to his beaming gaze, oh, Satoru.

Only mere moments later the two of you - accompanied by a very begrudging Megumi, and his sister - sit by the booth of one of your favorite cafés. Embarrassingly, he finds himself sighing while watching you crack jokes with the little girl. Turning to the server to order for her - it almost felt like a little family. Oh you’d make such a perfect mother. A completely objective observation, of course. Completely. Unless- 

“You’ll never do it.” a tug on his sleeve has him facing Megumi’s leveled stare. How the hell does a kid manage to look like he’s seen the monstrosities of the world already? Gojo blames the father.

Baring his teeth, “The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

Little did he know that all it took was watching him seethe whenever the waiter by your side was just a bit too talkative, a bit too lingering with his gaze. In his little reverie, Gojo had accidentally croaked out a low, “I-” before you’d turned those pretty eyes his way, only to choke back embarrassingly on every syllable. Gesturing at you to ignore his little mishap. 

“Tell her, I mean.” Megumi hums. Taking a wizened sip of his milkshake, “She’ll date that waiter before you if you don’t tell her.”

“That’s so…so stupid.” Gojo whispers back hotly. “I will tell her.”

“Will not.”

“Will too.”

“Will not.”

“Will-” 

“Boys!” Your scolding tone makes them both jump - mainly Gojo, however, caught off-guard. Who scratches behind his neck when you wag a finger admonishingly, “Stop arguing, we’re in public. Now, as for payment-” Before turning back politely to the waiter.

“See?” Megumi counters, back to appraising the last of his cupcake. “You’re such a loser.”

Gojo’s gaze, however, stray back your way, as he found them often doing these days. Only to find them already on him, scrunched into crescents with a smile and twinkling so bright that he could almost catch his idiotic gawking in them. 

Very pointedly he ignores the knowing roll of Megumi’s eyes, the exact type he’s seen too much with Shoko, and Nanami, and Utahime, and Yaga - and every single being to come into contact with his almost-tangibly hopeless feelings for you.

Instead, slamming that shiny new black card of his down in front of him - with enough fervor that the tabletop jostles, and you jolt out of your conversation with the waiter. 

“I’ll be the one paying for myself, and my two kids and-” His burning eyes drink in every shred of surprise on your features. “-my wife.”

Somewhere in the distance, Gojo can hear Tsumiki giggle, and Megumi smack a hand onto his forehead. But right now he’s too busy remembering the exact degree to which your lips curl up, the way you hold back a laugh at the waiter’s jaw dropping. Nevermind the fact that the two of you were way too young to have two kids of this age. 

“He was getting a bit pushy.” you’d conspire afterwards, now completely full and fatigued after a long day. “Thanks for that, Toru.”

Gojo sighs, flashing you a megawatt grin. If there were ever a time he thanks his Six Eyes for being able to memorize every little detail - every little feature in this picture - then it would be right now. He’s reveling in the bittersweet perfection. Yeah, he thinks, holding up a sleepy Megumi in his arms, maybe tomorrow.

---

There’s actually been about sixty different times over the years that Gojo knows you’d wanted to punch him straight in his face - and he’s sure, at the age of twenty-seven, that this is the very latest one. 

“How did you get hit, don’t you have limitless?”

He shoots a wink your way, “Maybe I wanted you to patch me up?”

You scoff, “You stupid, moronic-”

“-no-brained, glasses-wearing dumbass.” he finishes for you, flashing you a cocky smirk that wouldn’t have been endearing for anyone but him. Gojo makes himself more comfortable on the hard infirmary bed, “You know, you’ve really got to update your list of insults, sweetheart. I don’t even wear the shades that much anymore.”

It was new - as soon as you’d cackled at the idea of him being a teacher with perpetual sunglasses, he’d wrapped that blindfold around his head. It was a slight shame, frankly, he was always honest with his eyes - but what was more important was that change.

Sweetheart.

Sometime after you’d intertwined seamlessly into Gojo’s mishmashed little family, he’d taken to calling you syrupy sweet nicknames. It’d started out as a joke, you think - with “sugarplum” and “honeybuckets” and whatever grocery item he could think of, before turning into something very, very real. 

Though, they still made poor Megumi grimace in disgust just the same.

“Zoning out on me, babygirl?” 

Yeah, sometimes they made you grimace in disgust, too. 

“No-” you’re rolling your eyes, putting a little bit more force than necessary when you dab the warm napkin at those tiny specks of blood on his lip. “Just hoping you’d shut up.”

Gojo hisses, eyes crinkling at the edges - and you can’t help but think of how much older he looked than the disgruntled sixteen-year-old that swore at you on your first day. 

“What?” his snowy brows raise, catching the hints of your laughter. 

You take a moment longer to bask in the memories, before sighing. “Nothing. Just thinking about when we first met, s’been ten years already, hasn’t it?”

Of course, it has - it’s not like something the great Gojo Satoru could ever even think about forgetting. He remembers it in every cheesy selfie from high school you show him, he remembers in each and every one of your laughs at his overused jokes - the same ones he’d cracked way back then. 

“It has.” he’s settling on after a few rare beats of silence. The thick white sheets on the bed rustle as he grasps your hand in his, “And I think I remember that today more than any other.”

It was impossible not to, when you’d just met your best friend after ten years. When you’d just killed your best friend with your own two hands.

Your pretty eyes shine with all the tears you’d been hiding, “Yeah? Guess so, huh?” Without warning, you bend down to meet your forehead with his, gulping back heavily. You knew he didn’t just want to be patched up, you knew better. And you knew that even the strongest gets lonely. Especially the strongest. Your voice is strained, quiet. “Do you think he’s happier now, Toru?”

Truthfully, Gojo doesn’t know. 

But he whispers anyway, “I think so.”

To soothe you - and himself - if anything.

His eyes burn, and he’s scrunching them shut. A lump forming in his throat, Gojo can feel his entire being just rattle with the sudden wonder whether you’d feel it just the same when - if - he dies. Would you ask if he’s happy, too? Thinking he did and had everything he wanted in this life - not knowing he’s searching for you in every one? This life, and the next, and each one after.

“Sweetheart.” Gojo mumbles, eyes widening when you’re raising your head to look back at him, as if he didn’t even expect the words to fall from his lips. His jaw clenches, eyes flitting between your eyes and your lips like the rest of it was just threatening to wrench from his throat. “He- Suguru. Back in high school - before he…left- he told me-” 

“Gojo sensei, where is the- Oh!”

The two of you jump apart as if it burned, and for Gojo, the angry split on his lower lip hurts infinitely less than losing your touch. Holding back a silent whine, he turns towards the dark-haired boy fretting by the doorway, “Yuta? Something wrong?”

“Oh, you’ve done it, newbie.” Panda’s deep voice sounds from behind the doorway, and he peaks his large head in. “Gojo’s got his serious voice on, should’ve just spied silently like me. I told you not to interrupt him and his wife.”

“You’re married?!”

“We’re not married!”

“Tuna.”

The room erupts in far too many voices, and before long you’re clapping your hands in that strict teacherly manner that Gojo teases you always learned from Yaga himself. 

“Okay, that’s enough.” you call out, before turning to the newest first year. “Okkotsu, do you need help with anything? I’ll be right with you.” 

“I…I really didn’t mean to interrupt.” he’s bowing with apologies, ones that you only wave away with a chuckled-out, “It’s okay, Panda’s joking. We’re not married or anything anyway.”

And Gojo doesn’t know whether the look Yuta gives him is more akin to pity or understanding - he prefers it be neither, which is why he’s covering his head with the blanket. Groaning dramatically until you’re turning your attention back to him. 

You ruffle the amount of his hair peaking, and he has to screw his glassy eyes shut. “Toru, what is it that you wanted to say?”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s stupid.” His tone is unreadable, “I’ll tell you, hope- hopefully tomorrow.”

---

“Stay.”

“Sweetheart-”

“Stay.”

“Sweetheart.” 

You’re barely holding up the clingy mess that is a twenty-nine-year-old Gojo Satoru. Huffing and puffing in a way that makes his heart and his arms around you just squeeze, “It’s not an option. You know I have to do this.”

How he wished he didn’t.

How he wished he could grab your hand and run away from the fight with Sukuna, hide in the countryside of his hometown and build a new life with you.

It’s already been a hellish few weeks trying to get Gojo unsealed, and you can feel the last few months pounding at your temples. You let out a sigh, one that has him holding back a strangely giddy laugh. But before you can open your mouth to yell at him to not go - or more accurately, beg him until he doesn’t - there’s a tentative voice speaking up from behind you. 

“Um…sensei?” Yuji’s wide eyes sweep over his two teachers, being at Jujutsu Tech for a few months, he’s seen everything there is to see about the two of you. He saw the way you smacked the strongest when he got too mouthy, the way he let down limitless just so you could smack him. He saw the laughs, the looks, the way you’d flown into a frenzy when Gojo was sealed. 

Everyone saw.

It was like you were crazed, and right now, only a month after his return - you were gripping onto Gojo like he was the only thing keeping you anything but. 

So, it shouldn’t be new at this point. But he still can’t hold back the wonder in his voice, “I uh- wanted to ask about your robes for tomorrow- but maybe I can come back another time?”

“Yes yes, come back another time-”

“What robes?” 

You narrow your eyes at the man, and that sheepish little curl of his lips does everything but soothe your worries. He knew you saw right through him, you always did. 

Gojo’s exclaiming out loud, “Well- remember Toji-?” He waves his hands around, trying for a slightly softer way to say ‘the sorcerer killer and father of our honorary kid, who just-so-happens to be on a rampage right now’, before ultimately settling on, “-the worm guy? Well, I just figured I might as well take a page out of his book and dress like him, y’know since I’m fighting…Megumi after all.”

It takes a few seconds of stunned silence for you to find your voice, “You stupid-” 

“-moronic, no-brained, blindfold-wearing-”

“-dumbass! You remember what happened to him!” 

He bats his long, long lashes at you, “Why? Would you get this heated if I died just the same way he did?”

“No!” Your voice makes even Yuji flinch, which in turn has you reaching over to pat his head, “This is not on you, darling, of course. But your teacher here-” And it was comical, almost, the way the strongest stands up ramrod straight at just a leveled glare from you, “-will be getting it when he comes back from the fight.”

Comes back.

Oh, as much as Gojo throws his head back with chortles, he can’t help the way his heart twinges at the very thought of leaving you. 

And he can’t be sure of just how long.

“Ah, you talk too much, pretty. I’ll tell Megs how much you miss him.” You’re not given a second’s warning before you’re back in his embrace - more steady, this time. His arms securely around your waist, like they’d been twelve years ago and never wanted to leave since. Lips pressed up against the thundering pulse at your neck, Gojo’s voice dips just a bit lower than you’re used to. Breathing you in, “I will, too, y’know? Very much.”

Jittery, he could feel every slight tremor in your nervous fingers when you run them through his hair, dipping into the ends of his black blindfold. 

“Wh-what do you mean? S’only for a few hours, Toru.” you hum. “You better be back or so help me.”

“I know…” he heaves out, only pressing you close up against his broad frame. “But just in case- I-” Gojo’s voice cracks pathetically at the end, and he’s instantly too aware of Yuji’s keen eyes still watching. Edging up against the corner of the room like he wished he could have Gojo’s teleportation powers right about now. “-have something stupid to tell you. So I’ll hurry home anyways.”

You’re pulling back to quirk a brow, “Why not just tell me now?”

How he wished he could.

“Because it’s stupid.” 

Later, Gojo will find himself strewn across jujutsu hall with Yuji himself - the only one, other than you, he thinks, that can stand to be around a weapon like him right now. Listening to the hum of cursed energy in the air, he gets himself ready for the fight.

“Why didn’t you tell her? Especially now?” His student pipes up, suddenly, and Gojo remembers with a sigh just how uncomfortably in tune he is with everyone around him. Fearfully, so. “That you lov-”

“Because it’s stupid.” the older one grins. Such a sad, warmly smile - and for perhaps the first time, Yuji thinks that Gojo Satoru looks his age. “And I don’t think she’d want to hear it if I don’t make it to tomorrow.”

---

“Stupid.” you mutter, biting angrily at your nails. Hot tears burn behind your closed lids, and you can’t help but tighten your hand even more around his cold, cold ones. Limp. Like death. “You’re so, so stupid.”

There’s no response. No sing-song voice finishing off your insults, no large and ruffling your hair until you have to bat him away. 

Gojo Satoru was deathly still. 

Laid out on the cold mattress of his room, you’d bugged Shoko enough to let you move him here, knowing how much he hated the infirmary. 

“Being so reckless- having Yuta use your body-” in your fit of anger, you’re whirling your head up. Only for the pang of regret and grief to hit you tenfold all over again - because like this, he was too statuesque. A pretty mask of pale, what you’d give to have those eyes wink at you once more. “-if- when you wake up, I’m gonna kill you all over again.”

They told you he was dead - there was no point in waiting. In fact, you were sure there was a grave dug already, it was just a matter of how soon they could get to you. 

It was a strange thing, to be loved just enough to get a burial. In the end, it was lonely.

And so stupid. 

And at times, you felt that way, too. But all it took was one visit to where Geto’s grave was, a few long hours sat by his side, and you knew you couldn’t let Gojo escape you that easily. Not after everything, not after what he hasn’t told you, yet.

“Just wake up.” you sigh, the defeat bleeding into your every word. You run your thumb over the pronounced knuckles on his hand, calloused and scarred from his fight. “There’s so much to hear about. Higuruma’s alive, Nobara’s alive, pulling off that eyepatch. Like father, like daughter, huh? And Megumi- I saw Megumi laugh today. Yuji, too.”

Silence. Only stone-cold silence. He didn’t even move - not even the barest twitch of a finger.

“I just need you to wake up.” Your words are tumbling out a mile a minute, distantly, you wonder whether this was how Gojo felt when he first met you. How he couldn’t stop talking. Couldn’t stop wanting. “Shoko’s mad at you, y’know? But I know she misses you, no matter how much she pretends not to. I know that Jujutsu Tech can’t go any longer without Yaga, we- I need you. Didn’t even get to tell you-” 

It’s all croaked out into a deafening silence, at least if you were in the hospital room then maybe the pinging of the heart monitor might’ve accompanied you. But they’d pulled him off that, too. 

Unmistakable. 

“And I know that I…” You bury your face into the now-damp blankets, “I love you.”

“And I love you.”

There’s only the split-second you take to snap your head up before lips are crashing onto yours - plump, slightly-chapped but something so sweetly Satoru. Before you can even think about kissing back, however, he’s pulling away. 

Only to press hasty, chaste pecks again. And again. And again and again and-

Gojo kisses your wet eyelids, “I love you.” Your forehead, your cheeks, the corners of your lips. “I love you I love you I love you- and you beat me to it.” Those strained little words strike your very core - because it’s unmistakably Gojo. Sounding anything but, they’re broken and wrenching painfully out of his wracking chest. “So I just- I just had to-” Big, strong arms wrap around your middle - when did they even get there? It pangs somewhere in your hazy mind that you’re basically hoisted up on Gojo’s bed now, “-to do exactly what I’ve been wanting to since we were like this, thirteen years ago. Everything I’ve ever hoped for.”

“Everything?” you whisper.

“Everything. Even the strongest has dreams, y’know?” And he flashes you that smile you’ve missed so much, one you don’t think you’ve quite seen in years. “Even something stupid like ‘I love you.’”

That makes you cautiously glide over your palms onto the planes of his muscled chest, lightly pushing away to take in all of him. 

It was him. Alive. 

Really alive.

“Gojo…” you whimper, tears welling up behind your eyelids all over again.

“Ouch. Really?”

“Satoru.”

“Hmmm…”

“Toru.”

“That’s more like it.” The circled warmth around your waist crashes you even closer onto every ridge and divot of his hard chest, into the sweetest embrace - the kind you really couldn’t be mad about after your best friend had almost left you forever. “Told ya I’d come back, sweetheart.”

You could practically hear the sunshiney smile in his words, and his entire hulking body shook with emotion. 

“You’re back.” you breathe, dancing your arms upwards to wrap around his neck. “You’re here.” It takes only a second longer of being in his burning proximity, to catch that pearly white smile - tired, and infinitely harder than before - to have some semblance of rationality dipping into your mind. “-and- and we have to tell everyone!” you’re yelping. Moving to scramble off of his lap, “Oh- fuck, and they thought I was crazy. We have to- have to have Shoko give you a check-up and have Kusakabe finally ditch those funeral plans and-” 

You’re being shut up by Gojo’s lips on yours again, slow and sensual. It’s deeper this time, and he’s taking the time to part those candied lips of yours, sucking gently on the very tip of your hot tongue. 

“My funeral is the last thing I wanna think about right now.” he chuckles against your lips.

“But-”

“Tomorrow.” Gojo soothes, craning his weary neck to kiss your forehead. “We can do all that tomorrow. But right now, I just want to spend time with the love of my life.” His cerulean eyes just gleam with unshed tears and even more unspoken words, “Doesn’t have to be forever. Just right now.”

As promised, he’s petting up and down your body lazily. Kissing you until even smiling felt bruised and raw. But it’s only when the air grows thick, when the slight jostle of your body on top of his becomes hot, his own skin burning soon after that Gojo lets out a sullen hiss. 

“Toru-” you pull away panickedly, delicate strings of saliva snapping in the nonexistent air between you two. “We should really-”

“No- no no no no. Please wait-” Hastily, he’s bringing down a jittery hand to his hip, the buzz of reversed curse technique flowing through his thrumming veins. Meeting your uncertain gaze, “I’ve waited so long. Wontcha just let me worship you right now?”

As if to prove his point, he’s bucking upwards ever-so-slightly. The momentum teetering you precariously on his lap, dragging the heated core between your legs down in such a sloppy drag.

You’re gasping when the very outer edges of your panties rub up against something so hard, and rotund. Feeling the wet squelch of his angry tip gush out in a dripping wet wave at the friction. “A-are you sure?” you’re stammering, trying to hold back the way your greedy thighs were trying to rub together. Only achieving heavy, languid gyrations on top of the rock-hard outline of Gojo’s cock. “How about tomorrow? When you’re feeling better?”

It’s a slow, steady rhythm. There’s a ringing schwf! schwf! schwf! of sopping wet fabric, and it was driving him crazy. 

“Right now please- haaa-” Gojo’s tongue lolls out so sluttily to graze against your own, dazed blue irises rolling to the back of his head. His spine curves upwards, abs rippling with a harsh drag of your clothed pussy down his weepy shaft. “Whenever you’d have me.”

Almost tentatively, your hips roll forward. That flimsy excuse of your panties bunching up with each grazing rub, it’s all you can do to not just keen at the utterly delicious curve of his thick girth. Throbbing and twitchy under each of your motions. 

He’s hissing when your underwear snags on the very divot at his thick head, sitting up on two elbows, “S-sweetheart.”

“No, Toru.” your palms are back on his pecs, easily pinning the strongest down with a gentle push of your own. “Jus’ let me do all the work, m’kay?”

Gojo wasn’t all too happy - and the sullen pout jutting on his spit-glossed lips told you more than enough. But he wasn’t going down without a fight - that was for sure. 

“F-fine.” he grunts at a particularly harsh grind of your hips. Fuck, he felt like some animal, humping up into you like he was out of control. He could practically feel your puffed-up pussy lips through his pants, he could almost taste it. Two rough hands come to rest on your hips, grabbing and kneading a handful of your ass. “But then you’re not just hah- sitting there, pretty.” 

And, shit, even like this, you should’ve known better than to underestimate Gojo Satoru himself. Because whatever he wanted, he got. The one thing he didn’t was you - and now, since he had you, too, fuck- he might just be going insane. 

Not a moment’s wasted before you’re being so easily hauled up, up, up the entire expanse of Gojo’s body. Jittery body being balanced easily as if you were some type of toy, up from the slender curve of his toned hips, up around where his broad deltoids were spread, all the way until your cunt was hovering over his needy mouth. “Can’t believe I hngh- almost died without havin’ a taste of this pretty pussy.”

“Toru.”

“Sweetheart.” he mocks.

You shiver with each feverish puff of hot breath blown right onto your clothed cunt. And even more so when you’re feeling such a long, slender finger slide in through the translucent fabric. 

Fuck, Gojo swallows thickly, bunching up your skirt. You were so sopping wet he could almost see the outline of his index through your panties. He slides the back of it slowly up and down. Heavy balls squeezing painfully at the volume of your saturated slick collecting on his digit, just trailing glossily down to his deft wrist. 

Mesmerized, your jaw falls slack at the sight down below of Gojo - cloudy hair mussed, cheeks all pink and burning a blushing rouge, tongue darting out to catch each stray drop of your sweet sweet juices. Drip! Drip! Drip! 

“Oh- sh-shiiit-” he rasps, lowly, mulling over your honeyed taste. Sounding so awed, breath hitching when Gojo tugs your panties just enough to the side to catch a mere glimpse of your messy cunt. Glistening and winking down lewdly at him. “S’jus’ you n’ me right now, huh?”

You don’t know who exactly he’s talking to - and you don’t get to find out, because that’s all it takes for Gojo’s kiss-bitten lips to clash messily against your cunt - panties and all. 

A soft swipe of his tongue glides the fabric to the side, so depraved, so needy that for that split-second he’s tasting you, he can’t even think of removing it. One taste of your sweetened pussy and he can’t even bear the thought of breaking apart, licking up in long, languid stripes that wet the very front of your swollen folds. 

Just the taste of you had him palming desperately at the tent in his pants, rubbing up and down at a pace that matched his rummaging tongue.

The very edge of your tastebuds rub so deliciously in teasing circles around the corners of your dripping silt, your inner thighs. 

“S-s’toru-” you’re letting out such throaty, dragged-out groans that send every drop of blood in Gojo’s body thumping to his achy cock. “Don’t be such a- a tease.”

You’re locking your glassy eyes with him and he feels like he could pass out. Groaning and smacking into your cunt, “Tell me- fuck fuck fuck- tell me what you want, sweetheart. Anything.” Your entire body arches into his hot mouth like such a slut, when he bullies between your folds. Barely flicking against the sensitive nub of your clit. “Everything. Anything for you.”  

When you’re weaving your fingers deliriously through his silky soft strands, he babbles, “Oh fuck- yeah, pull on my hair.” One of his hands come down to grip onto your panties, pulling the fabric so that you revel in the filthy friction. “Use me while you ride m’face, okay?”

With that, his mouth is sagging open even further letting your thighs straddle the entirety of his face so easily. So close. So messy how he was carding his tongue from the very base of your pussy, up into your quivering entrance.

“Fuck–” you’re whining, grinding into his touch when he wraps his soft lips around your clit. Barely even easing you with syrupy, wet circles of his heated tongue before sucking. Harsh. Depraved. But so, so him. “Don’- don’ stop, feels too good–!”

You didn’t know if he heard you, fuck you didn’t even know if Gojo was even breathing. 

Even if he wanted to stop - he didn’t think he could. Because he was so ravenous between your legs, forcing your pliant body into such smooth gyrations on his tongue. Silken, soft, such sultry licks of his tongue on your clit. 

Electricity sparks behind your eyes when with a wet slurp! he smacks away from your pretty pussy, “You think- you think I can stop?” And he sounds so genuinely in disbelief, as if the very thought of it was appalling. Through heavy, lingering kisses and sucks onto your clit, Gojo’s managing to get out, “I can’t have enough. Fuck- please.” The very rounded pads of his fingers dig so bruisingly into the flesh of your ass, jiggling and kneading with every drag of your hips. He’s begging at this point, “Fuck yourself on my face. Rougher, faster, c’mon now. You can do it, my sweetheart.” 

He was so fucking desperate, big fat tears almost welling in his eyes while he whined underneath you. Groping so obscenely at his sweltering hot erection. How could you not listen?

“If you say so.”

Using the vice-like grip on his locks, you’re managing to leverage your motions even deeper. Rougher, like he’d wanted. Every protesting creak of the bedpost was accompanied by a synchronized whimpering of ah! ah! ah! coming from both your mouths. 

“S’it good?” he gasps, and all you could see was the flushed upper half of his features. And the lower half - fuck, though the peaks and cracks you could make out just how glisteningly wet it was with all of your messy cunt. His lips were just drenched, slick-soaked mouth making out harshly with your pussy through your panties. Trailing all the way down in a glossy sheen over the lower half of his face, dripping off his chin, fuck- up to his cheekbones- 

As if that wasn’t enough, the massive palm resting at your thigh comes dancing down to tease around your sopping wet entrance. 

If you were in the right state of mind, you could’ve sworn that you heard a sharp rip! coming from that poor tattered fabric of your underwear right then and there. 

“Tell me- fuck fuck fuck- use that pretty voice of yours please.” Still suckling lewdly on your clit, his cheeks hollow out . Entire body just jolting upwards, forcing you to press down harder with your motions. “Use me. Use me.”

“S-so–” you mewl when his slender fingers bully easily past that first ring of muscle. So many cold inches of his digits, feeling around determinedly inside your heated, gummy walls for those sweet spots that will make you whine. “So loud, Toru-” you’re spitting, meshing his mouth even harder with yours down below. And you can practically feel him smirk against your cunt. “For someone that wants this s-so hngh! bad you sure are-”

There.

Right there.

Gojo Satoru had just crashed into the spongy cavern of your g-spot - easily, at that. And there was such a crazed, sloppy sting to each of his movements. Smashing in over and over-

“Heh…tha’s how I l-like it.” he’s spying up at your trembly thighs, the way his overworked lips were being coated with a fresh wave of our honeyed slick with each passing second. “Good girl- gooood fuckin’ girl–” 

Hazily, you’re wondering whether it doesn’t hurt. Whether his weepy cock ached just as badly as it looked, how his tongue isn’t fucking cramping up by now. 

But he goes on - like he couldn’t stop, like he was out of control. A greedy little push and pull, dragging his tongue all over until you saw flashes of white. Until you could only scream out his name like a mantra. Until you were cumming. 

“Fuck- fuck fuck fuck- Toru!” your slurring out a mile a minute. Both of your hands now steadfast on his head, riding out your high all over Gojo’s pretty, pretty face. And he let you - fuck, he let you. “M’cumming- shit, feel so good. M’cumming-”

So good, so filthy that it made your toes curl, your hips stutter sloppily. Arching like such a slut, you could barely even see properly. Your breath was coming out in such labored heaves at this point, and Gojo wasn’t any better. 

It was like he couldn’t stop, happily drinking up every single, sticky drop your cunt had to offer. Pussydrunken eyes drooping shut, unable to let out anything but satisfied grunts. The muscle of his tongue is just frenzied in eager slips and slides along your cunt - absolutely no rhythm or method right now. Sucking, licking, biting anywhere he could possibly reach. 

“F-fuck–” you’re crying out tearily once the very peak of your orgasm fades, and all that’s left are a few overstimulated tingles being wrenched out by a greedy Gojo. “Toru, m’done.” You tug desperately on his hair - but even that doesn’t bate him the slightest bit. “S’getting too much- fuck-”

“Awww, too much for my girl?” he’s cooing, the words jumbling together in his drunken state. There’s a glossy mess of spit and slick drooling down the corners of his smirk. “Does this cute cunt of yours need a break?”

At your barely-lucid nod, it only grows wider. Smugger. “Too bad-” And Gojo’s just taunting you with a final, long lick up the very core of your pussy, “Because if I almost hah- died without her once, then you best believe m’gonna c-crawl back from death for ya each and every single time.”

It takes his strong arms - even bruised and battered through battle - only two whole seconds to plop you back down prettily onto his lap. Right over where his angry cock was just weeping for attention. And suddenly, it hurts without you. “So you’re not getting a break anytime soon. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Ha ha.” You’re rolling your eyes, “Very funny.”

“Mhm.” Gojo looks up at you through his white lashes, and you can only watch when he brings up his syrupy-sweet, glossy fingers up to his mouth. One by one. Sucking. Slowly, looking right into your eyes. It makes your mouth just salivate. “Got that right.”

The sheets billow behind you when you’re fumbling deftly with his shirt, all but ripping - tearing that stupid thing off of his form. Your skirt and top are soon to follow - his jaw clenches with the slight strain, leaving it in poor tatters on the floor.

“Shit- shit you’ve been-” his mouth just waters when your tits are released from your bra. Jiggling tantalizingly in his face in a way that makes him bury into it. “-been holding out on me.”

“Oh-” you let out, traitorously, at the first sight of each curve and divot along his milky sculpted body. Gojo Satoru was serious about dressing up like Toji, and no matter how much his t-shirt looked so sinfully painted on - actually seeing it was something else. “You’re so pretty, Toru.” You smooth your palms down his large shoulders, the faint scars between his pecs, his abs - that scar. Stark and large, Shoko had done her best work, but it still looked so painful. It must feel so, too, being sewn back together like some ragdoll. He catches the way your expression dampers - of course, he does. “Toru…”

Gojo winces when your fingers glide over that jagged scar. But if that was pain, then it was absolutely nothing compared to the pure, unadulterated fear when you abruptly pull your hands away. 

“S-sorry- I didn’t mean to-”

“No!” he cuts you off, wrapping his long fingers around your wrist. All but dragging it - right along with you - to his still-healing body. “Touch me. Hurts more when you don’t.”

You’re batting your lashes up at him in a way that makes his heart stutter, and his poor, angry cock twitch. “Hurts me when you lie.”

“M’not lying, see?” With a low nod of his head, he’s gesturing you to look down - where it was unmissable. 

Because straddled right in-between your pussy lips was Gojo’s erect cock - proud and so prominent, even through his pants. With the sheer girth bulging upwards you could feel your greedy pussy dampen over the cloth in anticipation. 

“Well…” He’s throwing his head back when you knead your palm over the very end of his print, “I can’t quite see-”

Gojo takes the hint - and you have to bite your lip from teasing that it was quite possibly the only hint you’d thrown his way that he’d actually understood. But it was so hard to - not when he was this eager. 

And, on those long, lonely nights, you’d imagined that your best friend would be suave, infinitely collected with things like this. 

But, no, he was fumbling and jittery with his movements. So needy to please you that it takes you to help him pull down his tight, sticky boxers over the curving muscle of his thighs. 

“O-oh fuck–” you breathe out, when he finally springs out. Sweeping up and down each and every long, thick inch of him - Gojo was as hard as if he was carved out of fucking diamond. Such a furious, rosy red at his leaky tip, glistening down, down, down into the most mouth-watering shade of creamy pink at his thick hilt. He was so big. Your thighs squeeze together in sultry need - with a slight tinge of fear. So unfairly pretty - even like this. “You’re- you’re so much bigger than I’d imagined, Toru.” 

No sooner are the words out of your mouth that you’re being flashed with his dark smirk once more, “You imagined this?” There’s a slight reverence to his voice, scared. 

It almost makes you shy - and Gojo can practically sense the waves of embarrassment rolling off of you. 

“Awww, come back to me, please, pretty- Please-” he purrs, cupping your cheeks. “I came hah- back, didn’t I?” You’re being jostled to and fro when he rests himself more comfortably on the bed, leaning back to admire you further. “And now-” Your breath hitches in your throat when he situates himself right in-between your thighs, the fat curve of his head so swelteringly kissing your folds. Drenching it in his thick precum, “-now m’never gonna let ya go.” 

Fuck, you know you should heave in a few gasps of hair, you know you should relax, maybe even stretch your legs wide open.

Because Gojo was so fucking big, it felt like he was splitting you from the inside out. Just the slight push of his tip bullying between your folds has you moaning - crying.  

“You- you’re so big-” Your nails dig into the plush of his pecs for stability, leaving neat crescent patterns that stand out redly. “S’like you’re reaching into my hngh- l-lungs-”

Just those words have him expanding even deeper, ruddying even more furiously. Gojo gets so much bigger that you just can’t help but sink yourself down his shaft, feeling your elastic walls contort so easily around his length. 

“H-heh– ohhh-” he breathes out - baritone voice lilting a few pitches higher than usual. The hands around your waist grab you even harsher, feeding you each inch by fucking inch of his fat, pulsing cock. “You got me- so–” His hips thrust upwards in mindless little jabs, “-fucked up, right now, sweetheart.”

And while all you can do is whine and moan around his unforgiving cock, Gojo babbles on, “B-better get ready ngh- because I’m gonna be riiiight-” His thick index draws and invisible line up, up, up to somewhere midway up your stomach. Before pressing down. Brandingly. “-here.”

The pressure is enough to have your hips just slamming down with a wet smack! all the way to his hilt. The slap of skin-on-skin rings through the heady air and into both your drunken brains, making him just throw his head back into the plush pillows. 

“Yes-” you’re keening, your fingers wrapping subconsciously around Gojo’s pretty throat to have him facing you once more. He was so gorgeous this way - blue eyes falling shut with pleasure, mouth bitten raw and parted into a soft oh! pale muscles twitching with each breath. So fucked-out already that it almost made you think the sight alone could have you cumming. “Look at me, Toru- hah- gonna make up for lost time, right? Gonna fuck me good?”

His answering nods are more than enough, but Gojo doesn’t just stop there - no, he’s putting in every bit of last strength he has to just hammer into you upwards. Meeting every one of your relentless bounces down on him, he just clashes into your ravaged g-spot.

“Oh yeah, my girl.” he spits, a twinkling trail of drool dripping down the side of his lips. Crushing you so tight to his hardened front, “Ride me- ride me jus’ like that. Fuck- thought I saw heaven on the battlefield but it might jus’ be this pussy-” Over and over.

The back of your hand ends up on his forehead, “I think you’ve got a concussion.” It was in every little touch - that “something stupid.”  

At your surprised giggles, he’s rummaging your insides even more ferociously. Smushing the very end of his thick head against your spongy cervix. It was so soft, so swelteringly hot having him inside you. Clashing in long, wet glides against every inch of your pussy. 

The stretch was dizzying - and if it hadn’t been for Gojo’s lips attacking yours, then you’d have let your head loll backwards. It’s like he was marking you from the inside out, bruising the plushy insides of your cunt to every ridge and thumping vein down his possessive cock. 

“Spit on me.” 

His sudden plea puffs out of his plump lips, startling you out of your cockdrunk little reverie. “Spit on me, please, pretty. Mmpf-”

Gojo whimpers - whimpers - when the thick wad of your saliva hits his pink tongue, and the action has him delving into you impossibly deeper. Planting two feet onto the mattress, he angles his hips into your tight channel even harsher. Grimacing at the slight twinge of pain, “Shit-”

“Toru–”

“Wait wait- please- let me-” Expectedly, he’s cutting you off frantically. Begging, pleading with everything he had before activating reversed curse technique more. “Wanna fuck this gorgeous cunt so bad- fuck fuck fuck-”

But you’re only grinding your hips down faster - all the way from the pretty pink tip of his cock, until your ass massages against his tight, cum-filled balls. Thwacking! against your skin deliciously, pushing you up to scratch your clit against his snowy pubes. 

A few more unapologetic kisses up against your sweet spots have you blinking back stars, “Toru–” Your swiveling motions have him so hypnotized, following every move where his massive cock was disappearing in and out of your snug hole. “Kiss me-”

Oh, you didn’t even have to ask.

It’s such a sloppy kiss - all teeth and lips and Gojo grunting gutturally into your mouth. Letting you just use him like your favorite toy, fucking him until the bed creaked with effort and Gojo’s balls just smacked! angrily.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he whispers. Drinking in your saccharine sweet gasps when he dips down one of his hands to your puffy clit, rolling the soft edge of his thumb in slow, methodical circles. “You’re gonna be the ah- d-death of me.”

Your hand around his throat tightens, making his eyes just roll back in ecstacy. “Better not die on me just y-yet, Toru. Not now, not tomorrow.”

For this, you’re being gifted with such a tight squeeze of his two fingers around your sensitive nub. Wracking your body forwards - exactly where he wanted you, exactly where he needed you to smash his sobbing tip into your g-spot. 

The stimulation is too much, and each of your pressurized slams down onto the sharp bones on Gojo’s v-line have him moaning. Bucking up helplessly whenever your heavenly walls drag sloppily up his shaft, like it hurt to not have each and every one of his heated inches buried inside. 

“Well- then-” You’re riding him now just as much as he was fucking up into you, leaving a damp puddle of slick and dredges of precum on the sheets below. Gojo’s punctuating each word with a harsh battering ram, “Better- cum f’me soon, huh? Because m’not gonna- fuck-” His nagging tip jolts into your sweet spots as if being zapped with white-hot electricity, in such a sloppy staccato with his feverish fingers. “-fuck I don’t think m’gonna last long.”

You’re nodding your head, clinging onto him like a second skin. “Mhm- m’so close, Toru.” Biting down wetly on his lower lip, “-gonna cum soon.”

Just the thought of it has him keening, stuttering up so messily. His precum coats your insides even more slippery slick, so heated in a way he thinks he might just explode. 

“I know, I know, sweetheart–” he’s simpering down in your tone, though his hips were anything but. Letting out some of the lewdest slurps that made your ears ring. “I got you. I got you, cum all over my cock, yeah?”

It only takes a few more mess strokes from both of your sweat-sheened bodies before you finally reach your high. Electricity thrums down your veins, your body arches so deeply into his. Bending into the perfect bow that has him spying down at your quivering folds, the way your gushing cunt expands and contracts through each and every one of your waves of pleasure. 

And he’s fucking you through it so filthy, fingers toying so erratically on your clit. Still reeling, still smashing the very divot of his cock into your bruised g-spot. Again and again.

“Ohh- fuuuck—” Gojo whines, eyes scrunching shut. Strained. Depraved. “Fuck fuck fuck me- please, please m’gonna-”

He doesn’t even get to finish his sentence before he’s stuffing your snug pussy full with ribbon after ribbon of thick, velvety cum. Potent seed coating your gummy walls in such a milky sweet gloss, the squelches from below are so loud. So soppingly wet. 

The hand at your waist moves down to where your poor cunt was just bulging with all inches of his spazzing cock. Gojo’s thumbing apart the corners of your slit just enough that his swelteringly hot cum oozes out of you in a slow trail. Sinful. 

“Oh my god-” he breathes, eyes unwavering. Hips thrusting upwards to push his cum up into you even deeper. It glistens opaquely down his length, forming a creamy ring at his thick base. “Oh my god love you- fuck!”

“Toru- m’so full-” you whine. A hand of yours coming up to press exactly where he had before, except now you could feel the nudging pace of his ruthless cock, the sloshing of Gojo’s seed all up inside you. “-really can feel you right here.”

“Tha’s the point, girl - my girl, should I say.” he’s pressing such a chaste kiss to your lips. And it would be swee - almost - if it wasn’t for the way Gojo’s greedy fingers soak themselves in the obscene mess from your cunt down below. Bringing them all the way up, up, up to his mouth. Suckling gently, “But…but you wanna hear something stupid?”

Your eyes widen, “Wh-what?”

And he only grins,  “I hope you know I love you, sweetheart. Because you sure as hell aren’t walking tomorrow.”

A/N. Can y’all tell I’ve been widowed not too long ago? Anyways, last post before kínktober! I tried posting this on Sunday but it refused to work so pray for me this time y’all *SOBS* <3

Plagiarism not authorized.