#which is tragic I have tried everything

[vulcanette]

gonna try to sew something this weekend, I haven’t had the time and it’s been bumming me out

[bacchuschucklefuck]

love thinking kipperlilly spends her afterlife looking for lucy in a familiar forest

[snails-in-spaceships]

[nerosdayinanime]

drawing my au sabitos- this ones swap au :)

I only really have 1 full scene for this au- and it started from me thinking him & Shinjuro both being depressed drinking buddies, lamenting about their deceased dark-haired beauties

When Sabito became a pillar he turned the water estate into a sort of training hub for all breath of water users, to try and help more people to mastery. He pretty regularly spars with people in his downtime, makes comments and tries coaching people from the sidelines very often

Most people are kinda weirded out by him- hes aggressive and stern, very snarky, but he never takes off the mask and it makes him look perpetually sad- sometimes he has this air of melancholy around him, listless, the mask fits in better when hes in those moods. But aside that hes usually very kind and genuinely tries to look out for the skayers under his roof, very hospitable as long as they stay out his shit.

So hes very well received, but no one has seen his face- ever. They have all kinds of rumors and theories about why he wears it, what his face looks like, what the mask is even supposed to mean. Some of the more daring(/disrespectful/immature) inahbitants try to sneak a look in the mornings before he puts it on- but he's always wide awake, sightless blue eyes of the mask staring them down from an inch away the moment they open it

Anyways, one day he's out in the yard sparring with a higher ranked slayer in front of a group doing their own training and whatnot too- theyre both intensely into it, movements hard to keep track of and training swords clashing so loud it echos in the area. The slayer accidentally aims at his mask, the mood changes with a sudden pressure in the air when Sabito deflects the swing and reaches towards them in a flash- a harsh grip in their hair and yanking them so theyre centimeters from his face

"Don't touch the fucking mask."

Everyone drops dead silent at the utter malice dripping through his tone, a moment passes as Sabito realizes what he did and lets go of their hair. He gently ruffles it and straightens his back instead of posturing over them

"I deeply apologize. ...I think i should call it a day." he says in an uncharictaristically quiet voice before putting his training sword up and going to his room

NO ONE bothers him for the rest of the day, or the day after, they give him plenty of space and try their best not to prod at him or tick him off like they usually do- the slayer who was sparring w him was scared shitless and tries their damndest to stay out of his way and not piss him off again. They've never seen him genuinely angry like that- he gets pissed off and annoyed plenty, daily even, but that sudden cold fury over the near hit of his mask was terrifying to witness.

[rawliverandgoronspice]

I have done a full lineart pass for the big scene of my animatic!!! I think the tension works!!!

Now I need to do all the shading, and then. Start to plan the next (and final scene of the animatic --not the final scene I'll have to do), which involves. Action.

this situation is entirely my own fault, but. Intimidated.

(also I'll probably need to severely slow down my work for the next couple of months since my professional workload is going to be hell on earth, but after winter I basically don't have a job anymore!!! which is both very bad news I have to accomodate for/decide what to do about, but also good if I want to keep indulging in this stupidly ambitious project!! y-yyyyay or something)

[bloomfish]

Be prepared for a fair amount of Buffy analysis since I'm rewatching (I'll tag this 'btvs thoughts' if anyone wants to blacklist) and it's simply that few other Medias have ever had such a grip on my brain and to me is Most Analysable Series of all time. I have so many thoughts about it, so many intense mixed feelings about it, and for all its flaws (which honestly make it MORE worth thinking about imo. It's like a toxic relationship lol the highs are so high and the lows are so low) I just think there's nothing else like it. Even other whedon shows, firefly is good and I love it but not nearly as much, which tbh just proves to me that Joss Demon wasn't really the sole driving force behind Buffy's unmatched brilliance although obviously he was a major factor. anyway. Truly the most intense love-hate relationship I will ever experience

[yo9urt]

horse!!!!!!

[tonycries]

The Way You Kiss Me - G.S.

Synopsis. The four times Satoru tries really hard not to kiss you - his best friend’s pretty younger sister. And the one time he doesn’t.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! Suguru’s sister! reader, childhood enemies to lovers, PINING Satoru, like really really disgustingly down bad, creampíe, oral (fem receiving), pússytalking, needy JEALOUS! Satoru, running away from it, spítting, punching is Suguru’s love language, mentions of aIcohol, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 7.4k (That’s wild)

A/N. BOO! Surprise upload. This was so fun to write omg.

“You sure this is how the grown-ups get married?”

“Duh, I know everything.”

“Nuh uh, Toru.”

“Yuh uh!”

The first time Gojo Satoru kissed you was underneath that dingy playground slide that the two of you always raced to after elementary school. 

Usually, your older brother, Suguru, would walk home alongside you two - but this time, he’d just so happened to have been held back for throwing paper planes at the teacher that day.

A sign from the universe, Satoru internally celebrated, something he’d learned from those sappy romance novels his mother left lying around the house. No matter that he was the one that made those planes.

You were six back then, standing in front of a determined Satoru - reaching up on his tip-toes, face pink, smelling of those cheap strawberry lollipops he’d sneak into class and taunt you with. At the much older and wiser age of seven, he’d insisted on being the first one to lean in.

Just barely even grazing your dramatically puckered lips before-

Satoru learned two things that fateful afternoon:

Even as a seven-year-old, Suguru’s punches really hurt. 

Never mess with you. Anyone but you. 

Life only seemed to go downhill from there - because that last lesson was proving to be hard along the years. Really. Fucking. Hard.

Little did Satoru know that this would be the start of some strange, unpredictable little dance of push and pull. No, you definitely weren’t his wife. Nor were you exactly best friends - not really, that spot was reserved for your brother. But you didn’t think you could ever be just that either.

And the punch that’d knocked his wobbly tooth out onto the playground floor that day was a painful reminder that whatever that was - whatever weird thoughts he had later in middle school about how you’d tasted like candy - didn’t matter. No matter how part some tucked-away little part of him wanted it to.

Hell, eleven years later and Satoru still can’t walk around that familiar block without feeling slightly queasy. Which is why, after that failed first kiss, he knew there wouldn’t be a second. 

Instead, he settles back to teasing your pouty self, pushing all your buttons, tugging on those cute dresses you wore. Face burning so strangely with- humiliation? when you bickered right back, calling his haircut a “tragic attempt at modern art.”

“So you’re saying I look like art?” A gangly, now-seventeen Satoru blocks the bustling high school hallway, ignoring the bell. Grin only growing at your frustrated huff, he half-jokes, “Aww, if you’re that soft on me, sweetheart, maybe we should go to prom tog-”

You slam your locker, effectively shutting both it and Satoru at the same time. “I’d rather go with Yaga.”

“...you would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would- Sugu–!”

And all Suguru can do is wrap two hands around his neck, mock-choking himself, wondering if it was really too late to embrace a quiet life as a monk. “You’ll both be MLA cited in my farewell note.”

He was used to it, though, forced to watch all this chaos since quickly mending his friendship with Satoru over ice cream the day after the punch. Convinced that this was some punishment for a past life’s misdeed.

With a squawk of protest, Satoru’s turning back to you, eyes crinkling with a hint of mischief you knew too well, “Would not.”

Your face burns, “Would to, Toru.”

You didn’t go with Yaga. but Satoru didn’t exactly count that as a win in his books, either, because you did show up that night hanging off the arm of some jerk from the football team. 

And there you were, all dolled up - which he very objectively noted - way too prettily for some bastard like him. Stars in your eyes, and everything he couldn’t have in that smile. 

Everything. 

Way too gorgeous, even when he finds you sitting outside the gymnasium later on in the night. Too busy bawling your mascara off to even throw out your usual greeting insult his way. Murmuring out wetly about “that asshole” and how he humiliated you by stranding you in the middle of the dance floor for someone else. 

“Well, he was a jerk anyway. Even Yaga would’ve been better, hell, I-” Satoru stops short to his horror at the way you only cry harder.

Way too irresistible, especially as his body moves before his mind - holding out an open hand before he knows it. “I’m a much better dancer than him and you.” And oh Satoru will forever remember the way his heart lurches as you blink your teary eyes up in confusion, “Well, aren’t ya gonna take up the challenge?”

Weirdly, it wasn’t weird at all. 

If anything, you had to hold back your laughter the entire time at the way the great “campus sweetheart” Gojo Satoru was so on edge.

Just a friend comforting a friend, right?

So why was he avoiding your gaze with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, summer blue eyes pointedly trained right over your head. That pretty pink blush dusting his cheeks reflecting the hands hovering in midair over your waist. So close - and yet, fear in each and every turn and swirl.

Yours were searing into his broad shoulders as you tried to guide him to the muffled music from inside. And shit.

That night ended with a second kiss. 

You don’t know who leaned in first, just that Satoru’s soft lips were just fleeting on your glossy ones - barely even a touch. And that shit shit shit- this was Satoru. This was you. 

Everything. 

But it seems that every time Satoru was about to kiss you dangerously close to the way some tiny, forbidden part of his heart wanted to - the universe throws an obstacle at him. An obstacle that was six feet and named “Suguru”, currently running at break-neck speed out of the gym.

“MOVE YOUR ASSES!” he cackles, “THE FOOTBALL TEAM ISN’T TOO HAPPY ABOUT ME BREAKING THEIR STAR PLAYER’S NOSE.”

And not a word is uttered about the kiss as the three of you speed out of the school parking lot in Suguru’s busted-up black hellcat, the wind mussing up the hairstyle that took Satoru over two hours to perfect. Sneaking in glances at the sight of you singing along at the top of your lungs to some overplayed pop song on the radio. 

He learns another two things that night:

Apparently, Suguru’s right hook still really fucking hurt. And thank god for tonight’s casualties of noses, because it was a wonder that he didn’t look too hard at how close Satoru was with you. 

He didn’t…dislike the feeling of your lips on his. And judging by the way you meet his eyes in the rearview mirror - you didn’t either.

It’s mainly that last one that makes him gulp.

Neither of you remember the third kiss - though, Satoru’s sure that at least 80% of Shoko’s instagram followers did.

According to a very hungover Shoko, and the many, many forms of documentation, it had happened on the New Year’s eve during your third year in university. In which you were much more used to the raging parties that would be hosted at Suguru’s apartment, and only slightly less intimidated by them.

“And you’re a lightweight too, dumbass. You were gone.” Shoko sighs from across the café table, eye bags deeper than the last time he’d seen her. “Like gone gone.”

God, what a way to start the year.

Satoru bites back a remark about how “gone” Shoko herself had been. Sitting up straight in his seat, regret immediately hitting his senses faster than the guilty throbbing at his temples. He winces, managing out a semi-disbelieving groan of, “Gone gone?”

And she’s only nodding wearily, subconsciously tapping out the rest of her cigarette ashes onto his untouched plate of sweet pastries. 

“I’m talking dancing on expensive coffee tables and fighting to stop you from giving everyone there a strip show.” She cracks a smirk through a waft of smoke, “Though, she would’ve loved that I’m sure.”

“Har har har, you’d make even Nanami laugh with that one.”

“Eugh, gross.” Shoko taps through her phone briefly, swirling it around to show Satoru a few pictures that definitely gave him a mini-heart attack at 8:57 in the morning. “You look like you’re about to pen really bad poetry.”

And perhaps this was Shoko’s plan all along - to shock Satoru to the core hard enough that she can note it down as one of her sketchy psychological experiments. 

But he knew. Could feel it in the hazy fragments of memories - or, at the very least, in that entire highlight that Nanamin had oh-so-conveniently put up on Instagram titled, “Blackmail.”

You knew. 

You’d kissed him back. 

“I don’t have a-.” you slur, stumbling ever-so-slightly as you try to meet Satoru’s glassy eyes. Because shit the years have had him shooting up faster than you could look up. “-a New Year’s kiss, y’know.”

You were older - more gorgeous, if that was even possible now. That tight dress hugging your body so unfairly in a way that had him forgetting you were his best friend’s sister. 

The one person in this whole world that he couldn’t have.

But Satoru leans in closer, more because he wants to than anything - he could pick out your voice anywhere let alone over the thumping music currently filling his crowded living room. Lips loose as he tries to play up the cool-guy facade he’s been dubbed with since freshman year, “Hah, loser. Because I do.”

“Where?”

At this, Satoru is stumped - damn, you were good. 

“Not- uh here?” If he was in any clearer state of mind, he’d have been embarrassed at the way his voice cracks so traitorously as your unsteady hands pull him in closer by his overpriced button-up. 

Your body was flush against his now, so addictive. Gaze half-lidded and flickering between the sliver of milky skin exposed on his chest - from that impromptu striptease he’d almost started earlier - and the blue eyes that were currently locked you. You whisper a strained, “Liar.”

Close - too close. So dangerously close.

He breathes out against your lips, the smell of booze and you so heady in his mind. And the heavy words falling from his lips sound like lies, even to him. “Not.”

“Toru?” you hum, a sound that has him gasping. “Shut up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And there went your New Year’s kisses. At exactly 11:37PM, if the photos were anything to go by. 

And holy shit were there many. All of which showed your arms looped around Satoru’s neck, crashing his lips to yours. His own, resting against your waist, a scandalously red blush - whether from the alcohol or you - adorning his cheeks. Looking more blissed out than he ever remembers feeling. 

“I’m a dead man, Shoko.” 

There’s a lengthy silence, leaving Satoru stewing in thoughts of how Suguru would react once he finds out. And whether or not he’d be able to rise from the dead just to see how pretty you’d look at his funeral.

Morbid thoughts broken only by Shoko’s cough, “Hey, can I keep your eyes for experimentation if he actually catches you?”

Subtly, he sends himself those photos from last night.  

Luckily for Satoru’s eyes, they never ended up being donated towards Shoko’s questionable contributions to the world of medicine. 

And by some grace of the gods above, Suguru never mentioned a word about the kiss that would’ve inevitably made its way to him. Or maybe it was because Satoru stole his phone until he managed to pester Nanami just enough to take down that highlight. But, semantics. 

His heart, however, might as well have been part of some experiment.

Because it’s been working overdrive since that night - mind reliving that moment over and over and over and- shit, he’s fucked. So, so fucked. 

Fucked enough that it took Satoru months just to muster up to even look in your pretty eyes once more, unless he wanted to get lost in them forever. Fucked enough that he dared to wonder again and again when there might be a fourth kiss - if there would be a fourth kiss. 

He just never thought it would happen the way it did - with you, standing outside his front door. 

“I’m sorry, Toru.” you mumble, “It’s just- I think we both need to grow up.”

You’ve freshly graduated now, looking more and more irresistible each time he sees you - even when you’re looking at him like that. 

Rolling his eyes, “Ha, is this another way of saying you want my secret to getting taller? Because the first thing is to-”

“I’m serious, Satoru.”

And oh how he wished you’d say something - anything - else right now. Call him anything but that. Maybe even throw an insult his way, tell him those new sunglasses look ugly, or about how you got that internship he would’ve died for. 

Satoru manages to choke out a heavy, “I don’t understand.” But that uncomfortable coil of something curling at the pit of his stomach said otherwise. And it causes him to finally breathe out a hesitant, “Maybe you’re right.”

As if that was all the answer you needed, you’re stepping out of the front door. Slow, and deliberate like you were giving him another chance - a thousand more. Sighing out a defeated, “It’s been years.” It has. “And we’re just running in circles.” You have. “I’m starting to think this is just some game to you.” It wasn’t.

“Wait!” he grasps your hand - soft. The look in your eyes even softer as you turn around to face his desperate face. “Please, sweetheart.”

Satoru doesn’t even know what words he wants to say - let alone whether they’d come out of his heavy mouth. 

So, instead, he’s crashing them into yours. 

Brief. Fleeting. Like each one before this. Too addictive, too short, that he thinks he’s almost imagining it as you pull away gently, until he sees that look in your eyes. 

“Toru, I have a date.”

The fourth kiss.

Satoru’s letting go of you like it burned - and, truly, it felt like some deep, dark part of him was burning down right now. “Great.” That should be hm that should be him that should be- “I’m…happy for you.”

And the last.

He fucked up.

He really, really fucked up.

That first date turned into a second. The second into a third. And unfortunately for Gojo, eventually, you were nearing your one-year anniversary with that asshat you’d met during the early days of your internship. 

He’d seen the man himself once, briefly at another one of Suguru’s famous parties. Ducking out of sight before he could be introduced, yet long enough to know that he wasn’t as tall, or as handsome, or as absolutely fucking hilarious. 

What did he have that Satoru didn’t? 

The answer to that, Satoru’s reminded of every time he’s causing ruckus over at Suguru’s apartment, and sees you walking out of your room, tittering on the phone to none other than your boyfriend. So gorgeous. So not his. 

You, that loser had you.

“If you sigh again I swear I’m shoving this popcorn up your a-”

“It’s a sad movie, Suguru!” he defends, draped across your couch at another one of those movie nights you loved to organize. As usual, there was the popcorn, the god-awful movie (if Satoru picks it), and the arguments. The only thing missing, however, was you. Ugh, something about an “anniversary” and a “seafood date”. Seriously, it’s not like you even enjoyed that new seafood restaurant in town, and he’s sure that bastard didn’t know-

“Satoru.” his best friend’s deadpan voice cuts through his little reverie. “We’re watching Mean Girls.”

And he’s barely even opening his mouth to snark back before-

SLAM!

Suguru pauses the movie almost immediately, turning to the direction of the front door. “Uh oh.” 

And lo and behold - there was you in all your pissed off, beautiful glory. Throwing your keys on the table, your fiery glare passes over the two men as you stomp to your bedroom. 

“Seafood wasn’t that good, sweetheart?” Satoru calls out behind you, eyes sweeping down your figure. Heart stuttering in his chest when you turn around with your fists clenched, lower lip wobbling in a way that Satoru would both kill whoever made you feel this way and die to be on the other side of those daggers in your eye. 

Sniffing out an icy, “Fuck off, loser and loserette.”

Then in a whirlwind of rage, you’re gone - your bedroom door slamming only slightly more gently than you’d done with the front door. Leaving a deafening silence, and Satoru whining, “Why am I the loserette?”

“Deserved.” Suguru shrugs. Warily eyeing your door, as if it was about to pounce at any given second, “Let her cool down before you give her an aneurysm at least.” Unpausing the television, propping his feet back up, “S’enough having to deal with you on top of a boyfriend like that.”

And that has Satoru perking up in interest - both figuratively, and literally as he snatches the remote and pauses the movie. “Wait wait wait what-” Holding it way out of Suguru’s reach, “What do you mean a ‘boyfriend like that’?”

Scoffing, “Funny. Now give me back the remote.”

A beat of silence passes. One. Two.

Only then does it dawn on Suguru that this might just not be some strange prank to stroke Satoru’s ego, and he was actually  more serious than he’d ever seen him. Damn. 

“Bro, have you really never met the guy or something? He’s a complete tool. I don’t know what happened, but this breakup was a long time coming.”

Satoru blinks, feeling a red hot surge of anger. “What? Seriously? Why didn’t you do anything about it?”

“You think I didn’t try?” he sighs, running a hand through his hair at the other’s uncharacteristic silence. “Hah, and just imagine, the man was talking about marriage, too. As if.”

And suddenly, Satoru’s hit with an image of you walking down the aisle. Not something he was a stranger to, but it still takes him aback. The sway of the fabric beneath his fingers, your lips against his. Hell, in that split-second he even dreams up how Nanamin would be crying very reluctant tears of joy. 

Everything. Everything that wasn’t his.

His fist tightens around the remote, until he could hear the cracking of plastic. Mind whirling with the thought of you and him and you. How he wished it was him and you. “I would’ve been better.”

Oh. 

Shit. 

“I- fuck this. Suguru, since elementary school I…”

And, well, Satoru’s so busy putting that extra physics seminar he took in university to work - trying to calculate the odds of surviving a jump out of this seven-storey window - that he almost misses Suguru’s low hum, a distant, almost barely-audible little interruption, “Well duh.”

“Hold on.” he’s snatching away the remote that had somehow slithered its way into the other’s hands once again. Ignoring his best friend’s croak of protests to pause in the middle of Regina George being hit by the bus - which, he felt was strangely enviable right now. “That was- what? YOU KNOW?”

“Huh? Even my parents know, the only one that doesn’t is her.”

“...”

Satoru didn’t know how Suguru seemed so calm, but he felt like he was about to spontaneously combust. Heart stuttering in his chest as he sideglances at your firmly shut door - like he was just waiting for you to jump out and tell him this was some elaborate prank. 

Begging for you to come - it would’ve hurt less.

But you don’t.

Fuck. 

And the only response he gets is a low whistle, before a phone is being shoved in his face - flashlight illuminating that crimson blush. “Damn, the great Gojo Satoru speechless? The groupchat is gonna love this, might even send it to my sister, y’know.” 

He didn’t care - didn’t give a shit if this video made rounds to Gakuganji himself. Only one thought racing through his mind right now. 

“But why aren’t you punching me like in elementary school?” 

And Satoru knows he’s smart - intelligent even. Hell, he was the valedictorian, the youngest employee to claw their way up to being on the board of directors. But he’s never felt more stupid when Suguru breathes out a bewildered, “Dude. That was for blaming me for the paper planes.” 

“Oh.”

Then the movie is unpaused. 

---

The last time you kissed Gojo Satoru was at the doorstep to that overpriced penthouse of his, exactly a year ago today. 

The last time you saw Gojo Satoru was just a few hours ago, lounging around your living room like he owned it. Honestly, he might as well have been part of the furniture at this point - like some expensive, fluffy couch. One that prattled on about your “dumbass boyfriend” and god-knows-what else to rile you up just for the fun of it.

Which is why it was odd to step out of your bedroom - eyes just a bit puffy, throat still tight - to a suspiciously quiet hallway. 

The lights were turned off, nothing but the pouring rain sounding from outside, television paused on some rerun of The Princess Diaries. Damn, you told those idiots not to start that one without you.

“Sugu?” you call, finding his bedroom empty. “Thought tonight was movie night?” Padding across the empty apartment, contemplating whether or not to get your phone and call him when-

Ding!

Ah, there. 

You roll your eyes as you head towards the front door, ready to give Suguru a piece of his mind for going out at this ungodly hour and forgetting his key. Seriously, what if you opened the door and he was hurt, or worse, or…

Satoru. 

Speaking a mile a minute.

Satoru.

“-florist was closed and the store clerk looked at me like I was crazy but I got this for-” he pauses abruptly, as if realizing something with a jolt. “-you.”

“You- what-” you don’t know where to look - at the drenched, disheveled Satoru filling your doorframe - rain in his hair, curtaining his frantic eyes, drenching his snug t-shirt. Or at the obscenely large bouquet of cheap strawberry lollipops being placed gently into your arms. 

What follows was an electric silence - and you have half the mind to tease Satoru for finally shutting the fuck up for once in his life. 

But, no. Instead, you eye the way he stands stubbornly at the doorway, fists clenched, blue eyes locked so intensely on yours that it was like they burned. 

Face flushed a familiar pretty pink that makes you realize that shit, he might be taller, voice deeper, broad shoulders tight against his t-shirt - but this was still the same boy that cried when you stole his favorite Digimon card in middle school. The same one that kissed you underneath a dingy slide, smelling of strawberry lollipops.

It’s the steady tap! tap! tap! of the water droplets from his hair that have you tearing your traitorous eyes from his see-through white t-shirt.

Guess you’ve both done some growing up since then.

“You loser.”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

The pink wrapping of the bouquet rustles as your grip tightens. “He proposed to me today, y’know.” and yet, your quiet, even voice was the only thing ringing in Satoru’s ears. He jolts, as if some visceral, primal part of himself had been poked awake. Breathing heavy, fists clenching until he could feel the neat indents of his fingernails on his palm. Of course. He’s late. He’s late he’s late he’s late-

That is, until you’re plowing on, “I said no.”

“Huh?”

You think back to the stuffy restaurant, the man sitting from across from you - how wrong it felt. And all it took were those four words for you to realize that. “I said no.” 

Satoru snaps his head up, stepping close - so close. Voice strained like he wasn’t asking - begging. Praying, “Why?”

“We…” you raise a brow at the way Satoru flinches as you trail off. So desperate. A smirk makes its way onto your face, “...we haven’t divorced yet, right?”

And then you’re kissing him - or maybe he’s kissing you. 

Fuck, you don’t know - nor do you really care right now. Not when Satoru’s got his lips crashing against yours for the fifth time in your life, kissing you like it would be the last. Big arms dipping down to your waist, pulling you so tight against his muscled frame that he had half the mind to wonder whether it hurt. 

“Love this. Love the way you kiss me- fuck-” he’s spitting against your lips, kicking the door shut behind him. “Oh- would ya get mad if I-” he tries to get out through kisses. Only to suck on your pretty lips with a pained grunt. “If I-” Again and again, like it killed him to part. “-hah- celebrated right now?”

“Yes.” You’re letting the bouquet fall to the foor, white-knuckling that useless, drenched excuse of a shirt. “Now kiss me properly, Toru.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Such a sloppy mix of teeth and hands and him. Shoving a knee between your legs, making up for years and years of late nights with nothing but his fist and the pretty thought of you. 

“Yeah, that’s it, sweetheart.” Satoru breathes out, as your urgent fingers that dispose of his shirt, feeling the gorgeous dips and curves of years of hard work to impress you. “Suck on m’tongue pretty- fuck-” His own fisting your shirt, pulling. Ripping.

“Toru!”

“I want you.” He’s letting the poor, tattered pieces drop in a pile on the floor, trailing a hand between your damp thighs before he can stop himself. “Oh how I’ve wanted you. And I don’t care if I have to buy fifty new outfits to make up for it.”

And it’s the feeling of his long index stroking up your sopping slit through your shorts that has you pulling away with a gasp. Delicate little strings of saliva snapping from Satoru’s kiss-bitten lips. “If we continue like this…” your voice wavers as he presses hot kisses along your collarbone. “-my brother’s gonna walk in.”

“...wouldn’t wanna relive that playground kiss, huh?”

It’s all he says before picking you up so easily, hands resting on your ass. Giving a playful spank ass you wrap your legs around his toned waist. 

And it’s sloppy.

Both his lips still hotly on yours and the way he’s stumbling urgently to your room through pure muscle memory. Pulling away only when you’re all splayed out so prettily for him on your mattress.

“Blue?” he breathes, pulling your shorts off. And it comes out strained - like the very sight of your panties - all soaked and flimsy with your slick - has whatever’s remaining of Satoru’s sanity flying out the window. “Blue? Oh, you’ve gotta have planned this, you little minx.” his hot breath hits your cunt as he shifts down the bed, tongue drawing languid, wet little circles on your inner thigh. “Because don’t tell me this was all for him?”

It was coincidence - or maybe fate - but that doesn’t stop you from giving Satoru a slow, teasing nod. Muttering out, “So what if it was?”

The only answer you get is thumb hooked around your shorts, pulling it just enough so that your brother’s best friend can spy your pretty pussy.

“Well then.” he chuckles at the way you jump when his fingertip just barely grazes your clit. “Guess I jus’ hafta prove m’better.”

A low groan is falling from his lips as soon as they meet your puffy ones, giving your pretty clit a chaste peck. Lingering long enough that he’s sure your sweet sweet juices cover his mouth.

And oh Satoru’s sure he’ll never forget the way your jaw falls slack, glassy eyes following his every move as he runs his tongue along his glossy lips. Savoring your candied taste, “Never kissed you like this before, huh?” 

Fuck, you’re sweeter than he’s imagined.

You whine desperately, something that has him smirking smugly, “Hah, what? Cat got your tongue?”

“You’re better when you shut up.” It’s all you can do to buck your hips into Satoru’s pretty face - not that you had to, because one taste of your dripping cunt and he was addicted. Surging forwards until he was nose-deep, locking your ankles around his head with a firm yank.

And you can’t lie - maybe you’ve imagined this exact scene a few times before on those lonely nights. But you just never expected Satoru to be so depraved. Desperate.

“Ngh- fuck, Toru-” you reach a hand down to thread your fingers through his hair, tugging his face up. But Satoru doesn’t stop - not even for a second. Tongue still dipping to spread your swollen folds with his tongue, looking you right in the eyes as he murmurs a strangled, “Mhm?” 

“Thought you were gonna prove you’re better, hm?”

So goading. So like you. 

At this, Satoru pulls back ever-so-slightly to laugh - laugh. His plump, glistening lips curling into a humorless little grin, “Oh I will.” Thumb circling your throbbing clit. Just dragging your twitching body across the silky sheets close to his, one hand pinning your hips down. Hard. “I will.”

Loving his new favorite place between your legs one hand toys with your clit, quick, messy little patterns. Tongue even more so. 

“Not just better.” he grunts, “Gonna make you cum so much harder, too.” Having your thighs shake with each word hissed out into your cunt, each turn of his deft fingers. “Till I’m the only thing on your mind. Me.”

And it’s all you can do to let out choked up groans of his name, back arching off the plush mattress to let him make out with your cunt deeper. Sloppier. So, so starved with the way he’s speeding up, tongue dragging across your walls. In and out in and out in and-

“Fuck! Hngh-” you angle his head - and he lets you. “There- Toru-”

Honestly, you didn’t even have to tell Satoru - he could feel it. Could feel it in the way your plushy walls are squeezing his hot tongue so harsh, until it was almost difficult to fuck your pussy so sloppily. In the way you’re letting out such delicious whines each time he grazes against those sweet spots. 

“There? Hah- I know.” he pulls away to muse, and your cute, disappointed whine goes straight to his already rock-hard cock. “Did he?”

He didn’t. And you’re shaking your head so pathetically - in a way you’d be embarrassed about usually. 

But that’s the last thing you’re thinking bout because you feel it - the cold, sinful feeling of Satoru spitting on your filthy cunt. Once. Twice. Blue eyes widening in delight at the way the mess of spit and slick drip down your slit. 

“Cute.” his tongue smoothes over the slutty pool, and the only thing your delirious brain can make out now is a low moan of, “So? Who’s better?”

It’s all you can do to choke out a broken little, “T-T-” Face burning at the way he was so clearly enjoying your struggle. And, well, no matter painfully hard it made his dick - he had to go just a bit easy on his girl, right?

“Shhhh, s’alright.” you flinch as he shoves two absolutely drenched fingers into your mouth, making so much more of a mess of it than necessary. Drinking in your cute gags, “I was asking her.” He’s making your head spin with the way he’s speeding up. “N’ she’s hah- very talkative.” Words muffled, and slurring together - like he was drunk off of you and your cunt. “Let’s hear what she has to ngh- say, huh?”

And with that, he’s alternating between lapping at your clit and squeezing into your sloppy entrance - like he couldn’t - didn’t - want to make up his mind. Oh, with your teary mewls strangled, the sound of Satoru making out with cunt is so loud. The squelches so obscene. 

“Fuuuuck.” he drawls. “Louder than I thought. I think she says I’m better, don’t you think?” 

You angle your head just right to catch the way his jaw grinds deeper into you, eating you out like his last meal. Your slick drooling down his chin so sinfully. 

“Ngh- fuck fuck fuck- ngh-” your yelps are dreamy, feeling like you were losing your mind with the way he was stretching you out. 

Like you were about to snap. Any second now. 

But Satoru’s only increasing his movements, drawing out your little moans. “And I think she’s saying…”  Getting sloppier. More erratic - and it didn’t matter if his fingers were cramping up now, cock aching with the need to be inside you. “-that she’s about to cum.”

You do - so hard and loud - both you and your cunt. 

You’re shaking, all but gushing all over Satoru’s mouth, tight pussy squeezing his tongue so hard. Barely even realizing the searing grip you’ve got on his hair as you drag your sloppy pussy all over his mouth.

But Satoru doesn’t mind - he gladly welcomes it, in fact. Tonguefucking your snug cunt senselessly, letting you chase your high as roughly as you wanted. Over and over.

Even when you’re vision isn’t as spotty as before, even when nothing’s coming out of your mouth but little whimpers. Your breathing dying down until all that rings in your barely-lucid mind were those obscene noises of Satoru’s lips all on yours. 

“T-Toru-” you whine, big fat tears pricking at your hazy eyes. “M’so sensitive.”

And of course this is Satoru, the same boy who’s been pushing your buttons for years just to giggle at your adorable reactions. Which is why he grins against your twitching cunt, “So?”

It takes everything in you to raise your head off the pillow that just seemed to be swallowing you whole, and even more to shoot Satoru a half-hearted glare. “So m’gonna ngh- assume you’re jus’ a pussy with a s-smaller dick than-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence - he doesn’t let you. Because Satoru’s fumbling with his belt, peeling off those still-drenched pants just enough for you to admire his clothed erection. 

And, shit, admittedly you expected him to have a big dick - having been subjected to way too much locker room talk with your brother - but this was ridiculous. 

“What? Too big?” He flashes you that infuriating grin. Palming his rock-hard cock through his boxers at the way your beautiful eyes trace the outline of his cock, all swollen and big. So intimidatingly big. “Damn, sweetheart, if I knew that this was how I’d get that feisty lil’ mouth of yours to shut up then I’d have done it a lot sooner.” 

And you don’t even know if you’re breathing, the pads of your fingers dancing along his bulge. Tracing those prominent veins. Thumbing that little damp spot at his fat head. “You wouldn’t have.” 

He hisses as your soft hands dip into the hem of his underwear. Voice cracking slightly, “I wouldn’t.”

Then you’re gasping - in sync with Satoru’s low moan - as you finally let him spring free. Thick cock hitting his sculpted abs, red tip smearing precum in a lewd little pool. Weeping and so so angry at the sight of you.

At the heavenly feeling of your thumb teasing under his sensitive slit, “Oh, shit.” 

He’s throwing his head back when you give an experimental pump, all the way from his pretty tip to the tufts fo white at his hilt. Fist gliding all over the thumping veins. Bucking his hips up like such a slut into your touch. 

“O-oh fuck.” he cracks an eye open at the way your hand looked so small compared to his dick, how well you were taking care of him. “Been ngh- dreaming of this since I learned what handjobs were, y’know? Hah- shit- ya gotta stop before I fuckin’ pass out.”

And Satoru thinks he could cum right then and there at the way you’re bringing your soaked index up to your mouth. Batting your lashes as you suck on them with a lewd pop! “From jus’ that?”

“You have no idea.”

That’s all it takes for Satoru to throw your still-quivering thighs over his shoulders, effectively shutting up whatever tease is on the tip of your sharp tongue by kissing your swollen folds with his fat head. Giving it one, long drag. 

Your mouth is sagging open at the slow, torturous teasing. The sheer anticipation that had your mouth running, “S-so much for ah- jus’ being ‘friends’, huh?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” And you’re flinching from Satoru’s deep, dark tone. The way he’s bracing his fingers so bruisingly on your hips, reeling all the way back till his tip was just kissing your hole. “We stopped being friends the day you married me on that playground.” 

And then he’s slamming in - pushing past that first, feeble ring of resistance, gummy walls stretching out so perfectly for him. As if he fit right in - and he tells you that. Pants it into your open mouth a little over fifteen times, in fact. 

“Shiiiit, look at you.” he can’t tear his eyes away from the side of your lips stretching so wide to try and milk him. Sloppy entrance stretching out like magic. “S’like you’re made for me, huh? This pussy is made f’me?”

“Ngh- fuck, Toru! S’too big-” you keen, feet flattening on the mattress. As if to escape. To maybe fucking breathe.  

Not even half-way in yet, but aleady torn between pushing away and sinking yourself down on his swollen cock for more more more-

“Don’t you dare run away.” he warns, looking up at you through his long lashes. “I’ve waited too long for this. N’ you’re not taking this pretty pussy away any time soon.” Inch by fucking inch. Grinding in short, sharps jabs - no rhythm of rhyme, like they were genuinely out of control. “Way too f-fuckin’-” All the way until your puffy folds was meeting his hilt. Finally. All the way in. “-long.”

And once Satoru had you split apart on his dick - had those tears rolling down your cheeks, cunt swallowing him so sluttily - it’s like something snaps. 

Because he doesn’t waste a second - he’s already wasted almost two decades, anyway - filling you up with his mean hips. Not fucking easing you into it because you always did bring out that part of him, the part that him looping two strong arms around your waist. Pulling. 

“Oh- f-fuck c’mere.” Satoru gasps, pressing your body so crushingly against his. Kissing your shaky shoulers, your sweaty forehead, the gentleness so contrasting to his hips.“God I’ve missed out- fuck fuck fuck-” 

You’ve never seen the great Gojo Satoru - campus sex symbol - so uncomposed. Eyes half-lidded, just boring into yours, mouth slack in a soft oh! as he drags his cock all over inside your gummy walls. And the sight is so heavenly that you make the mistake the mistake of cracking a minute smile.

Just barely curling your lips before - “Don’t smile at me like that.” He’s dipping down a hand to roll your ravaged clit between two bullying fingers. “Fuck, she’s gonna be the death of me. Right?”

You keen at the- stimulation? The strech? The sheer embarrassment as you realize that Satou’s still talking to your sloppy pussy? Nodding so mockingly up at you as he plows on, “Mhm, she says you needa be ngh- knocked down a god, you’re tight- peg or two. So- get- ready-” 

He’s using this as an excuse to sit up on his knees, dragging you onto his lap so easily like some ragdoll. 

“That’s more like it.”

You’re sliding deeper down his painfully hard cock - all the way till his heavy balls rest beneath your ass, clit rubbing against his pelvis every time he bounces you like some slut.  

Deep. Ruthless.

“Keep your eyes open, sweetheart.” He chuckles, and you’re screwing open your eyes that you don’t even remember shutting. Trying so hard to stop crying out at the feeling of the curve of his dick massaging your walls. “Ya gotta hngh- see the o-only one who’d fuckin’ you properly, right?”

You squeal when he’s taking your clit captive once more. Finger quick, deft. “Y-yes.”

But that wasn’t enough for Satoru - it might as well never be. Because he’s only ramming his hips up further. Like he’s pushing into your stomach, your lungs, all the way into your cockdrunk brain. Fat head alternating between kissing your poor, abused cervix and all those sweet spots he’d mapped out with his tongue.

“Sounded unsure to me.” he’s pouty against your hardened nipples bouncing enticingly in his face. Fingers quirking faster on your clit, “Maybe I should ngh- stop then?”

“No!” Your hips stutter against Satoru’s. Nails clawing down the sculpted panes of his shoulders, leaving red angry marks for him to take as a sign tomorrow morning that no, it wasn’t just one of his dreams this time. “No no no- m’sure. You’re the only one makin’ me feel this way.”

You can feel the way he’s twitching wildly at your words, dick thumping harder inside your sensitive cunt. 

He punctures each word with a heavy, calculated thrust. Hand stretching and squeezing open your cunt from behind to let him slide impossibly deeper. “Hmmm, I’m not convinced.” 

Your stupid mouth is only capable of letting out broken, choked-up little moans of his name, ankles locking around those dimples at the end of his spine. “S’you–”

“Still not convinced.”

But he’s still speeding up his movements, just dragging you up and down his cock. “Who else made you hah- feel this good?” Sure to claim you from the inside out - to leave marks everywhere. Heavy balls on your ass, weeping tip on your cervix, lips bruised as you whimper at his murmured, “That ex of yours?” Biting down your neck, “That barista that always flirts with you?” Pulling away only to breathe into your lips, “Who?”

“ I- fuck it’s only you, Toru.”

“Sound convincing to you?” Satoru hums down at your cunt, biting his lower lip at the way you were milking him so good. Your slick soaking him all the way down to his balls - so needy in a way he never thought he’d see. “Yeah-” be breathes, nosing at your neck. “She agrees- fuck does this tight lil’ pussy of yours agree.” A few tears, a few gorgeous marks down his back, and he was finally convinced. “You’re mine.”

You don’t even realize it when you’re cumming, and Satoru doesn’t either.

Both of you too caught up in each other to recognize that familiar, white-hot pleasure running down your spine - all the way down to where he was so mercilessly buried in your cunt.  

And you’re well into the blood roaring deafeningly in your ears, the sight of Satoru - all wrecked - blurring as he fucks his hips up. Harsh. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as he paints your quivering walls white. 

Cumming and cumming so hard that you can feel his seed dribbling down your thighs, making such a mess all over Satoru’s lap. Your poor, overfilled cunt soon bloated and unable to keep up with it.

“Toru–” you whine, like a prayer. Milking the fucking soul out of him while he gently paws at your messy hair.

“Shhh, I know I know, sweetheart.” Such a stark contrast to the way he was filling you up like his favorite sex toy. Not even bothering to move anymore, one hand on your hip, moving your limp body up and down his sensitive cock to fuck it deeper. The other still playing with your clit, “S’alright, my girl”

Satoru’s hands never leave you, and he prays that now that he got a taste - well, you better be alright with them not leaving you for as long as he lives.

“As long as you live, huh?” you chuckle groggily, a noise so dreamy that Satoru can’t even be mad that he said it out loud. “And all that riling me up these years. Do you have a degradation kink or something?”

“Well, only one way to find out~”

“Oh shut up you-”

SLAM!

“Yooo, I bought dinner from that- WHAT THE FUCK?”

There were only two more lessons to be learned:

Always lock the door. Always. And in case you don’t, a bouquet of lollipops will do the trick to a Suguru reeling from the newest addition to the family. 

Cheap takeout tastes better with an apologetic Suguru, and an ice pack to his cheek - and you to kiss it better.

A/N. Can you tell I kept listening to that one Artemas song while writing this?

Plagiarism not authorized.

[nightswatchdisbandmentera]

I won’t start doomposting yet….but Gojo and Sukuna wasn’t just a clash of the strongest but also two opposing world views in a way. But now we have the prospect of Sukuna’s being validated and Gojo being the victim of that, which is erm…..

[mahgyu]

JJK Men: Dreaming about you after your death

· — Even months later after your tragic death by a cursed spirit, they still dream of that terrible day.

๑ Featuring: Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Kento Nanami, Choso Kamo, Toji Fushiguro and Ryomen Sukuna.

๑ Content: Fem!Reader, established relationship, angst, A LOT of angst (*evil laugh*), mention of panic crisis (Choso)

๑ a/n: I enjoyed writing this so much, even though it was really sad. Ah, unlike the others, Sukuna didn't have a dream but rather flashbacks, you will understand when you read.

⸺ㅤGOJO

Gojo woke up startled, trying to grasp something that was no longer there. He barely noticed he was already crying when he woke up, the eyes you used to love and appreciate were now crying for your absence. That man who once laughed and smiled genuinely by your side had once again lost the reason to laugh and smile truly. Gojo sincerely couldn't bear to maintain that facade of a strong sorcerer, physically and mentally. He was tired, he was alone. He promised, he promised to protect you, but he failed. Now he promises that, one day, he will find you again, but for now he would just embrace the clothes you used to wear to feel your scent while he cries. Unfortunately, those clothes were already losing your scent.

⸺ㅤGETO

Geto absolutely refused to accept what had happened. He convinced himself that you would suddenly walk through the door with that smile he loves so much. He would wait however long it took for that to happen, but deep down, he knew it would never come true. That's why Geto woke up already staring directly at the door. In the dream, you walked through that door smiling, just as he had been imagining lately. It seemed so real that he could swear he smelled your scent. But the scent didn't actually come from you; it came from the stuffed animal you cherished, which Geto now slept beside every night to catch a glimpse of you being with him.

⸺ㅤNANAMI

Nanami had just returned from work. Sitting on the couch, he ended up dozing off and had that same repetitive dream about you. The day he proposed to you was certainly one of the most memorable days in Nanami's life. But that dream always ends with that cursed spirit sneaking up from behind and dragging you away from Nanami. Kento always screams and tries to run towards you, but for some reason, he never moves from his spot. Nanami opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling for a few minutes before sighing. He glanced down at his own hand, where he still wore the engagement ring on his finger. He wouldn't dare take it off for anything, even though you're no longer physically there with him, even if the image of you looking beautiful in a white dress is now nothing more than a dream never realized.

⸺ㅤCHOSO

Choso woke up totally bewildered, panting, and in a panic. He sat on the bed while looking around, processing where he was and searching for you, but found nothing, nothing but a photo of you next to the bed. Choso couldn't take it anymore, couldn't bear to have so many panic attacks for not being able to save you that day, he wasn't there to protect you as he had promised. He failed you, and it tore him apart. He hated having to deal with these daily crises; Choso knew it was exhausting to help him in these moments, he hated worrying others. But the moment he promised to avenge you, he would fulfill it, even if it cost him his own life.

⸺ㅤTOJI

Toji woke up slowly, taking a moment to fully open his eyes due to the brightness and gradually realizing that everything he had witnessed was just a dream. In this dream, he saw you humming softly a song he already knew entirely because of you, but before he could touch you, he woke up. Toji realized he wasn't in the place he used to call home, it wasn't a home without you. He was in another one of the places he rented to spend the night. Going back to that house no longer made sense without you to welcome him with your sweet kisses and bright smile. Toji completely lost his way, delving back into the bad paths you fought so hard to steer him away from, but you were no longer there to stop him. He no longer cared about himself.

⸺ㅤSUKUNA

Sukuna closed his eyes for a few minutes when he had the vision of your face in your last moments of life, the life he himself made a point of taking, just as he had promised from the moment he first found you. For some reason, the image of your face wouldn't leave his mind anymore, and he hated it. He hated how you looked at him so tired and exhausted from everything, just accepting what was to come, how you seemed so vulnerable and fragile. No, that wasn't right. Sukuna opened his eyes as he clenched his fists, digging his nails into the palm of his hand, while frustration flowed from within him. He should have been satisfied for having fulfilled what he promised, but no, he was dissatisfied, frustrated, and didn't know if it was because you didn't even try to fight him and just accepted your end, or if it was because he had really ended you. It made no sense to him, but still, it ate away at him.

Thanks for reading, I hope you liked my first work here 🩶

ㅤㅤㅤ

[sp0o0kylights]

Indie horror filmmaker Eddie Munson, high off his first big (underground but notable) success, knows the movers and shakers of the film world have their eyes on him. 

They're just waiting to see if he was a one hit wonder before they open all the doors he's been trying to kick down. 

His next upcoming film is his chance, his shot at finally making it. Of being like Rob Zombie and the other creators he looks up to that masterfully blended metal and horror. 

This is his golden ticket. 

The project starts off smooth. His last success has greased the wheels, and things fall into place faster than ever before. 

He's got the best idea for this insane haunted house story, a true "mazes in mazes" type of deal with a queer twist. A real look at how a place can haunt a person just as easily as a ghost can.

 Everything's going swimmingly--until one of his leads drops out the day they're due to start shooting.

No call no show's, and later, Eddie will find out the guy got a last second call back to be a contestant on one of those Love Island bullshit romance gigs (and laugh his ass off when the main love interest takes one look at Billy Hargrove and goes on a five minute rant about ugly mullets on national television) but right now? 

He's fucked. 

He's called in every favor he has for this film. Maxed out every credit card he owns, tapped every contact, got on his hands and knees and begged his rising star journalist best bud to help him market it. (Which Nancy agreed too, for way less cash than she should have.) 

 Eddie can't get anyone on the phone, much less find a replacement actor and the amazing place they rented, that is so dark and wonderfully eerie, is booked out the rest of the year as an AirBnB. 

If he doesn't film now, he loses it all.

Cue the other lead, unknown theater actor Steve Harrington, watching his hair pulling, tire kicking, 'cursing and hopping while holding a toe' mental breakdown and asks why Eddie himself doesn't act in it. 

"Just go full Kevin Smith man. Act and direct." He says, with an easy grin. 

Jeff, Eddie's tried and true videographer, trades glances with Gareth and Grant (Eddie's long used special effects and makeup team, who double for about twelve other jobs because they're also his best friends and they're all in this together, make or break.)

"We don't really have a lot of other options." Gareth hedges. "You're already using me and Grant as background characters." 

Eddie, hands fluttering around his face as though trying to wave away this entire situation, squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a pained hiss. 

"Fine, fine!" He announces with the air of a man running towards a fire. "Fuck it, this is our one shot and so help me I will be shooting it!" 

Steve politely hides a laugh with a cough. 

"Chuckle all you want big boy, I'm going to tragically romance you so hard people will forget both of our characters actually live." Eddie snarls.

Steve, the handsome bastard, just winks.  "Looking forward to it." 

Eddie blushes, but hides it with a surge of frantic energy, conveyed by lots of yelling and moving and getting the ball rolling. 

Two days later, Steve would give the performance of a lifetime down on his knees, covered in a literal pound of fake gore, booty shorts and nothing else as he sobbed about how a lover could become a home. His hands clawed at Eddie's jeans before resting a tear stained face on a slim leg as he bent his body towards Eddie like it hurt to be away from him. 

Eddie would later receive equal praise in his own acting during the scene, with the world and every reporter in it asking how he conveyed an otherworldly panic so beautifully throughout Steve's performance. What was he thinking, to evoke those expressions on his face? 

The way his own pale hand, unmarred by blood and acting as a metaphor for the plot, would come to stroke Steve's cheeks.

Eventually he'd come up with a smooth polished answer that cheekily pleased his audience, but nothing would ever come close to the truth. 

("Eddie I've known you since grade school." Jeff said that night, a scant few hours after they'd wrapped. "You can act man, but not like that." 

Eddie made a wild "shut up" gesture, looking frantically over his shoulder before admitting; "You saw how close his face was to the prince of darkness!? I was seconds away from popping a boner next to his lips, in front of the 4K camera!” 

Eddie bounced into Jeff’s face so he could hiss: “He fucking had his chin on my thigh, Jeff, and I am only a man. A mere mortal!" 

"So we're gonna unpack all of that later." Jeff said finally, when he'd managed to get his mouth working and Eddie back out of his personal space. "But dude, we've talked about you calling your dick the prince of darkness." 

Eddie flipped him off.) 

One year later and critics named Corroded the best horror film of the year, praising the camera work, practical effects, and how there wasn't a soul alive who was surprised to hear Eddie and Steve were dating after their explosive on screen chemistry.

No one ever quite understood the prince of darkness jokes or why Steve mentioning it made Eddie blush, but that was a secret to find out later. 

Today on WIP’s I have no intention of writing, indie horror movie AU!

[hedgehog-moss]

Ant lovers, this is not the post for you, I'm sorry.

I have a big anthill in the worst location, between my house and the greenhouse, so that the ants are invading me on two different fronts! Over the past two months or so I've tried a lot of methods to make the ants feel unwelcome, from the humane Earth Mother approach to more aggressive ones, but nothing worked. Flooding them with water. Then boiling water. Dish soap. Vinegar. Diatomaceous earth, which usually solves just about every problem. The ants did not care. I tried asking, then suggesting, then bargaining, then insisting, then threatening, then

Sorry, ants. You should have taken my threats seriously.

I meant to wait until everything was fully consumed before extinguishing the fire, but then I realised I was out of dog food (when you buy one of these 20kg bags of kibble you always feel like it'll never run out and then it does in the most unexpected and untimely manner, every time). I had time to pop by the store before it closed, and by this point the fire was just a few embers left at the bottom of the tragic moon crater that used to be a magnificent ant palace. You can see my chickens keeping an eye on it from above:

I fully trust my chickens but still, before I left I went to tell the carpenter working in my barn today that I've been burning an anthill, the fire is almost out but could he glance out the window every now and then while I'm in town, and maybe go and throw a bucket of water if he sees my house engulfed in flames? I'm just going on a quick, half-hour errand.

He agreed, so I left.

I ran into the librarian at the grocery shop, who of course invited me over for a cup of tea. It's genuinely impossible to say no to such offers—I mean, you say no and then you end up at the librarian's house having tea anyway. You'd think the possibility of my house and llamas going up in flames if I don't go home to monitor the embers would be a foolproof excuse to get out of a tea invitation, but there are no excuses. The librarian wanted me to taste the giant cookie she baked and she wanted to talk about something stupid our president said or did recently and I had no choice but to follow her.

But it's okay, the carpenter and the hens are on top of the situation!

Still, I felt antsy (sorry) as I sat in the librarian's kitchen and watched her feed Pandolf cookie crumbs. (She had some crumbs set aside for her own dog, but her dog is tiny and scared of Pandolf so she remained at the other end of the kitchen, intensely interested in the unattainable cookie crumbs, mentally willing Pandolf to disappear from her kitchen, vibrating with despair, the picture of anguish.)

I tried to use Pandolf as a pretext to cut my visit short, but I had zero cooperation from my traitor dog. "We've been gone a while, he probably needs to pee!"

The librarian asked me about the carpentry stuff going on in my barn right now and I didn't want to start a whole new conversation which would inevitably lead to half a dozen anecdotes about construction work, when I'd already had such trouble wrapping up the let's-trash-talk-Macron conversation (it's not that I don't want to trash talk Macron. But my house was burning, maybe.)

I tried to point out again that my house was probably ashes by now and the librarian said serenely, "Well, your carpenter will feel obligated to hurry up and finish the job much faster if you have no house anymore and must move into the barn."

I agreed that there's an upside to everything, but still. I had to go.

Just as I was leaving the librarian's house, I saw the carpenter's car entering town. I waved at him and he stopped and opened the window and told me everything was going well, and I said, "And the fire? It must be out by now."

"What fire?"

He had absolutely not checked the fire. (He was standing next to a noisy machine when I made my request so it's possible he didn't hear me well and figured I was checking on his work and just went "Yeah, all good!") (I'm trying to be fair)

And yes, okay, it was just a few embers at the bottom of a pit with heavy, wet winter earth all around, but I'm a pessimist so I threw Pandolf into my car and drove home at full speed. For some reason what I pictured during this quick, worried drive home was ant payback. A long line of determined ants stretching from their ravaged anthill to my house, each one of them carrying a tiny burning twig. I don't think two chickens would be enough to suppress that.

When I reached my dirt road, I couldn't see my house from afar but could see a plume of smoke in the middle of the woods. It looked pretty small, but still, I was relieved when I got closer and found that the smoke rose from the exact location of the anthill and nowhere else.

I'd taken precautions, like wetting the earth around the pit and choosing a day when some rain was expected in the evening, but a lot of forces conspired to ensure the embers were left unattended, from a forgetful (or confused) carpenter to Pandolf's love of cookie crumbs and the librarian's inescapable friendliness. (She whatsapped me to ask if my house was on fire and I said (jokingly) no, but no thanks to you!! And she was a bit contrite and said, it's Macron :( we spent too long on this topic... And I said no I know, of course I blame Macron and she sent me a handshake emoji)

The ants were not in an avenging mood btw, they were teeming around the crater looking quite defeated, it made me sad. (But I hope they're defeated.) I didn't throw my bucket of water over it straight away because I was a bit fascinated by the inside of the anthill, from up close it looked like the Mines of Moria.

I crouched down next to the ants and we wordlessly watched the last embers slowly die as night fell over the pasture. It was very atmospheric until Pirlouit started braying with absolute fury because it was almost dark and his evening hay was still nowhere to be seen.

[hikarry]

I'm not really on the team that swears to Jesus and beyond that Crowley lost his memories after the Fall. Yes, of course, he forgot some stuff because, ya know, he has been alive for more than 6000 years and if I don't remember what I ate for lunch yesterday, Satan knows he won't remember every single second of his life, but he remembers the important things

"Ah, but what about him not remembering fighting alongside FurFur or building the thingy with Saraqael?"

Love, I give you two options:

Those are either some of the stuff he didn't consider important enough to remember OR he is just straight up fucking with them. He does remember, but why reveal it if playing dumb sometimes is good in the long run? Might be useful

Alas, I don't know, but I will die on the hill that he does remember

Which means he most probably remembers meeting Aziraphale. Not because Aziraphale was "important" at the time per se, or because it was love at first sight (because it wasnt, not for him. Bro was so focused on the nebula he didnt even introduce himself when Aziraphale did. He threw him a "Right. Nice to meet ya. Anyway, nebula time!"), but because he was there when Crowley created the nebula and, as he said, he had been waiting for that moment since "well, always". It's an important moment for him, so he remembers. Aziraphale just so happened to be present

I don't know if that was the only interaction they had in Heaven or not (and that's not the point I'm trying to get to so I will ignore that problem for a later post, maybe), but when the now Demon Crawley was sent up to the Garden, he did remember Aziraphale. That's why he approached him

Cmon, Crowley isn't stupid. Of course he wouldn't approach an angel on the wall just willy nilly and make conversation. He didn't know Aziraphale had given away the flaming sword yet. Just approaching an angel from behind and morph into a demon next to him out of nowhere could be a death sentence. Or at least an A Line for a good smitting

Yet, he did it. He had at least 3 other angels to choose from but he approached the angel that he remembered from back in the beginning that was kind enough to help him with the engine of the nebula. Hell! I even bet this was not the first time they saw each other in the Garden!

Bet they've seen and observed each other from afar a few times while they interacted with the humans (yes, cause I believe Crawley, before tempting Eve, tried to gain her trust. It's easier to listen to a friend than a random snake) or just around the Garden really.

That's why Aziraphale didn't get surprised when Crawley showed up at the wall, because he knew the demon snake had been around the Garden for a while. He probably even recognized him as the former Star Maker and hoped he was still a little bit of his old self so he allowed himself to engage in conversation

Anyhow, another clue? This:

He remembers how Heaven works. He remembers he was a high ranking angel. Satan, he remembers the bloody passwords!

Do you know what else he remembers?

Cause they didn't throw that line in there for nothing. No, gents. Cmon. Nothing is random in Good Omens

He knows who he was. He remembers being the Star Maker that hung the stars in the sky

He remembers why he fell, for goodness sake

And the fact that he remembers everything makes all of it so much more tragic, doesn't it? He remembers his life before the Fall, his supposed friends that dragged him into the pit with them, what Her love felt like, the "mistakes" he made that led to his Fall

And it must have hurt. It must have hurt so much when he found himself in a pit of boiling sulfur with his wings completely burned and without Her love because he remembered it all. He must have been so bloody confused for so long

He might have regretted it. All the questions and the company he kept that made him Fall. But he doesn't anymore.

He knows he doesn't need Heaven, he doesn't need Hell. They are toxic. All he needs is his pacific fragile existence on Earth with Aziraphale and yet...well, that's something else he won't forget now, is it?

*clears throat*

I rest my case

[00-jammy-00]

Helloo!!^_^

Could I request a yan who everyone likes? Like nobody would suspect yan!

I guess golden retriever!yan? Maybe darling tries to say something but nobody believes them because they think darling is trying to ruin yan’s reputation ? :33

Btw could I be 🍯 anon?

Yan!GoldenBoy HC’s

Yan!GoldenBoy x GN! Reader

Content warning - Yandere themes, obsession, murder, nsfw mentions, possessiveness, stalking, yan has mood swings, he’s a little bitch.

—————————————————————————————————

Yan!GoldenBoy who was good looking. He could get anything he wanted with a hand through his hair and a flash of his charming pearly whites. He knew he was handsome, he knew people trusted him, he knew all this and he knew it would only make it easier to get you.

Yan!GoldenBoy Who has been obsessed with you for months! He was playing basketball for his school when he saw you for the first time. You were just sitting on the benches, none of that cringe ‘they were reading a book instead of paying attention.’ you were simply watching the game but you looked so radiant while doing it, he couldn’t help but rush over when the game finished.

Yan!GoldenBoy Who tripped over his own feet to chase you down near the exit, he put an arm around your shoulders and flashed that charming smile. He talked to you for a few minutes, making sure to totally not brag about the fact he was the captain of the basketball team, he was really humble you know?

Yan!GoldenBoy Who offered you a car ride home with those gorgeous honey coloured eyes yet was completely shocked when you said no. You said…no? What the fuck does no mean? Who the fuck do you think you are?! You’re lucky he doesn’t fucking kill you!

Yan!GoldenBoy Who just gives you a sweet smile and insists only to clench his jaw when you refuse again. God you’re making this so fucking hard, you’re gorgeous, you’re everything, which means you’re meant to be his for fucks sake.

Yan!GoldenBoy Who vows he’ll never leave you alone. You’re destined to be his, you’re perfect, he’s perfect, so you have to be together, you’re soulmates! He uses a few favours to find out everything about you. Your address, who your family is, where you work, your favourite brand, what your favourite scent is, your zodiac sign, blood type, what hospital you were born at, what cemetery you might want to get buried at. You know, the usual stuff.

Yan!GoldenBoy Who is practically drooling as he jerks himself off to your underwear which he had…borrowed…from your house on his last so called visit. He had cum so much he was having dry orgasms babe! Why do you still not want him?! He could be so good for you!

Yan!GoldenBoy Who sits in his nice car with a pair of binoculars to make sure nothing strange is happening in your room. He’s just keeping you safe, what if someone comes around and tries to steal you?! Don’t worry, your boyfriend is here for you, he’ll protect you. Your boyfriend…god just the idea of being your boyfriend makes him hard all over again.

Yan!GoldenBoy Who doesn’t care if he has to beat the shit out of some people. Your classmate was found with a ripped open chest and a missing heart? That’s terrible babe, but he can be your lab partner now! That one annoying bitch in your class had a bullet between her eyes and her heart missing just like your classmate? How tragic! Don’t worry, you’re safe with him.

Yan!GoldenBoy Who delivers special presents to your door every time a little rat decides to try and ruin his plans. Maybe if he gifts you the hearts from his victims, you’ll let him into yours <3

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Likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated, requests are open <3

please do not copy, repost or translate any of my works on other platforms without my permission.

[visionsofmagic]

✧˚ · . mk1 men with villain!reader [bubbles] ˚ · .

tomas, kuai liang, bi han, raiden, liu kang, johnny cage, kung lao, syzoth, shang tsung

—⭒ intro. dialogues, fluff, spicy, crush!mk1 men, crush!reader, pet names, hurt/comfort, flirting, power play, 's all? • came to my mind & I wanted to write but it's my first time to write this kind of work [intro. dialogues], so, take easy on me please. enjoy!

y/n: oh hi pretty boy! already missed me? tomas: what would I miss? you tried to rip my heart last time we met!

y/n: c’mon tomas, be a good boy for me and maybe I will let you come and take a look up close. tomas: I prefer not to get so close y/n. I don’t want to end up like the last time.

tomas: it's tragic to see you as an enemy of mine, y/n. I wish we met before all the bad things happened in your life. y/n: don't, tomas, don't give me hope of having someone who understands me truly.

kuai liang: don’t play with me, y/n. y/n: what would you do? burn me alive? well, that kinda sounds sexy.

y/n: well well, it's good to see my favorite boy. kuai liang: favorite boy to kiss or kill?

kuai liang: you should join me y/n. together we can protect the earthrealm. y/n: it’s a bit sad how you chose to protect it when you can simply - burn it to the ground.

bi han: you were so much more fearful in my dreams. y/n: you dreamt about me? oh, so cute!

y/n: c’mon ice boy, I bet you need someone to warm your bed. bi han: I take this as an invitation, y/n. are you so needy for me?

bi han: together we can reach the power we need. y/n: baby, I can’t decide which version of you is sexier; evil or good boy. so, I would say; both.

liu kang: don’t play with this timeline, y/n. keep still. be good for once. y/n: but where is the fun in that?!

liu kang: for what you have done, I should punish you. y/n: it sounds kind of hot when you say it like that fire god.

y/n: I bet you would look so good on your knees before me. liu kang: you always have a side that is hungry for power, aren't you, y/n?

raiden: I wish you were on our side, y/n. y/n: it’s not my way to be a gentle farmer boy. I like it rough.

y/n: oh, is that blush on your pretty face? raiden: don’t even start again!

raiden: liu kang says we once were lovers - in previous timelines. y/n: you sound excited raiden. it’s a matter of time before we become one in this too.

johnny cage: oh, where have you come from? hell? because you’re burning like one! y/n: after this fight, I will not be the only one who’s burning, cage.

y/n: no one can replace me, so, I can choose to play in your movie, johnny. johnny cage: really?! baby, you even deserve your own movie! with me, as your partner.

johnny cage: you have all villain types baby; power, rage, a bit of sexy energy. y/n: and you have everything to be thankful that I will go easy on you, star boy.

kung lao: you should be on our side, miss. y/n: it’s boring, but I can let you be on mine farmer boy.

y/n: I like your hat much more now. how about we make a good use of it? in bed. kung lao: oh, right? thank you for the - wait, what?!

kung lao: liu kang warned us about you; about how bloodthirsty you can be. y/n: you shouldn't worry too much cutie, I will be gentle with you.

y/n: can you really shape-shift into a human and a reptile? it’s fascinating! can I have a close look? syzoth: don't even think about it y/n. the last time's marks are still on my tail.

syzoth: why do you keep fighting with me? y/n: because I wanna see the beast inside you. it’s mesmerizing.

y/n: you should be my assistant instead of milena’s. we can have so much fun together. syzoth: a voice in me says that the fun you refer to is not what I think it is.

y/n: don’t think I am at your side shang tsung. it’s just business. shang tsung: such a shame my lady. we could have been a great couple.

shang tsung: I wonder what you looked like in previous timelines, darling. y/n: curiosity killed the cat, sorcerer. focus on me instead.

y/n: you know, I kinda like seeing you on your knees shang tsung. no one can even guess how pathetic you’re for me. shang tsung: I don’t care my love. satisfying you is my priority.

💛

[the-modern-typewriter]

Hi, I love your writing! Are you still taking requests? What about a villain finding out his fav hero is actually an robot?

The hero went missing briefly and in their reunion his systems start to panic, the villain attempt to help? And finds out there is grey metal under his mask? Not skin?

"Oh," the villain said, soft. "Oh, I see."

"See what?" The hero stayed turned away, head bowed, frantically trying to shield his face. "Don't look at me. Just - what are you doing here?"

"I came to rescue you."

"R-rescue me?"

The villain stepped closer into the hero's cell. Heat radiated off the hero's back and, well. The villain pressed a finger to the back of the hero's neck; where the skin had burnt away, revealing the cold grey of metal and circuitry.

The hero gasped and whirled.

His face was - well, it was fried from the few short days he'd spent missing, captured. Where his enemies had tried to bruise him, bleed him, there were caved in spaces that revealed yet more metal. The hint of a perfect silver skull. Veins which throbbed with electricity instead of blood. Even one of the hero's eyes were gone, replaced by the startling blue of a machine staring back. Well, they were always blue but...so muffled, before, compared to what the villain looked at then.

The two of them stared at each other.

"You can't tell anyone," the hero said.

"I always thought you were too impossibly good to be true," the villain replied. "Too flawless."

"Don't," the hero whispered.

The villain took the hero's jaw, carefully, tenderly, in their hands. "Look what a mess they've made of you. I'll kill them for it."

The hero closed the one eye that he could. He trembled, so exquisitely life-like, so exquisitely alive, in the villain's palms.

"They must have been so angry when they found out what you were," the villain said. He let his finger stroke over the ruined curve of the hero's cheek. "I'm glad I got here before they destroyed you completely."

"Why? What are you going to do with me?"

The hero took a step back.

The villain let him go, for now, studying him with fresh eyes. More and more puzzle pieces clicked into place. "Do with you?"

"I'm not human."

"You're beautiful."

"I'm not - if people know -"

"I've never heard you talk like that before. System overload?"

The hero shook his head. Something sparked. "You're d-dodging the question."

"Well," the villain said, evenly. "I was going to take you out of here. Clean up your wounds at my place. That sort of thing. I could probably makeshift the kind of specialist support you currently need in my lab, but I imagine you have a much better set up at home. So I guess I'm taking you home. If that's okay with you."

"Home," the hero echoed. He stood frozen.

"Home."

"You're not mad? Mad? Mad?" The hero managed to jerk to a halt. He heaved a ragged, shuddering breath.

"No."

"I'm not human. You came to rescue a human. Human." The hero shoved a hand over his mouth. The tremors were more forceful than before.

If the villain touched him again, he would be fever hot, wouldn't he?

The villain shrugged.

"I don't understand," the hero said.

"Unsurprising. You're not running at full capacity right now, are you? So shall we pick this up again when you're out of here? And feeling a bit better? It would be tragic if I came all this way just for you to overheat in front of me."

The hero stared some more. The blue eye contracted and expanded, whirring noiselessly. The villain wished he knew what kind of diagnostics the hero was running. How it all worked. He wanted to know everything.

His brain, such as it was, must surely be the most gorgeous thing.

He'd always wanted to know how the hero ticked but this...oh, this. He held out a hand and smiled.

"It's a relief, actually," the villain said. "I'm not mad. Now. Let's get you back in your mask, shall we?"

By the time the repairs were done, it was impossible to tell. It was extraordinary. Giddying. A love letter to the best that people could be.

And the hero looked shattered by the truth of it.