#which on one hand… unfortunate because of the name

[shallow-between-stars]

When I grew up I spent a lot of time at my maternal grandparent's home in Victoria.

It was an old, brown two-storey that's since been demolished and subdivided because that is the way of things. After Pop died there wasn't much call for a house with that much space in a gentrifying suburb and it made more sense to knock the whole thing down than try and sell land with a two storey with a separate toilet, a garden, a detatched garage and another garden after that all on it.

Hey, something something property prices.

(Something something buying land in the 1950s and selling it in 2023.)

But next door to my grandfather lived a pair of 'brothers' and their 'live-in best friend.' By the time I came into this world only one of the three was still alive - Al. He was from Germany, I think his name was Alphonse? But to everyone he was just Al. His 'brother' was Hans, I don't know what their 'friend's' name was. I remember that Al's eyes used to go dark and distant if I ever asked him about Germany, and that I learnt to stop asking.

He used to say that he and his 'brother' and their 'friend' were Australian, in a German accent so thick I could only half-understand him, and as a child I did not understand the way I do now.

The thing is, up until the day Al died, he was one of my grandfather's best mates. Pop was around there nearly every day sharing the newspaper, sharing the spoils of the gardens, chatting and fixing electronics and generally just being great friends with this guy.

This had been going on for years. My mum tells stories of Al treating her and her siblings with the same love and kindness that he treated my brother and I with. He was a gorgeous, generous, dapper man with a thick accent and the ability to slip his neighbour's grandkids their bodyweight in chocolate when their parents weren't looking.

And apparently his 'brother' and their 'live-in best friend' were much the same.

Al never told Pop that his 'best friend' and his 'brother' were not his best friend and his brother. Mum clocked it, I have a feeling most of her generation did. I never did until a long time later, but Al was the last to leave us and even he left before I was old enough to realise that the photo on his dining room table that I flipped up once of the three of them with their heads pressed together and bliss on their faces meant what it meant. I never understood the kind way in which he took my hands away and pressed the photo back down.

I don't know if he kept it face down or if it was only down like that when people were visiting. I like to think that in his privacy he would flip the photo up, but I also understand as an adult that hearts sometimes do not heal from grief.

I don't know if Pop was letting him keep a polite fiction. I do know that Pop stopped talking to Cousin Louis when Cousin Louis brought his first 'close friend' home and Pop caught them kissing in the back garden. (He didn't disown Louis, with 27 of us grandkids running around, the only one of us who was left something was my brother and that was for the sole reason that my brother was the Favourite. Everything else was given to the eight children. So none of us grandkids were really in a place to be disowned.)

I do know when I was fifteen and reading terrible yaoi manga on the couch, Pop picked up the next volume I had next to me, flipped to an unfortunate page and told me, brandishing the picture of two anime men kissing, that he wouldn't allow this filth in his house.

I do know that every single family member (including Nanna) who knew that the three men living next door were not brothers and a friend never, ever mentioned that to Pop.

And I wonder sometimes how this story would have played out differently if Al had decided he wasn't going to keep the lie.

I do know that it would not have been kind.

We, in many ways, are moving slowly into a kinder world.

But we cannot forget that the world we come from didn't use to be the way it is now.

Every now and then some discourse pops up around a queer ship consisting of a pair of fictional characters who are not blood related, but refer to themselves as "brothers" or "sisters," or are in some way, according to the fandom, "sibling-coded."

Every time I see that discourse, all I can think about are the very real queer men I once knew, who, before their deaths, lived their lives posing as "stepbrothers." The only way to avoid suspicion for being two older unmarried men living together in a rural conservative area was to pretend they were from the same family, even though the truth was that they were lovers.

They were never out in life. Their relationship was a strict secret to nearly everyone. They never knew that I knew, and sometimes it fucks me up inside that they never got to come out to me. It fucks me up that they had to hide behind a fake "brotherly" relationship for their own safety. It fucks me up to look at a gravestone that reads "beloved brother" and know what it really means, and what it could have said if they'd lived under different circumstances.

In another world, they could have been husbands, but they never had the opportunity. The world will remember them as brothers, because, even in death, that is what was safest.

The freedom to declare queer love openly is something that not everyone has. And I think more people could stand to remember that.

[callahanisms]

going steady with ash

banner by @cafekitsune

personally i believe ash has probably like dated a decent chunk of the essex queer community.

does feature some nsfw headcanons. proceed with caution.

accompanying bot: 🪻

♡ ash liked to explore. she enjoyed the chase of a relationship, which included chasing a relationship with you. unfortunately it seems someone else caught her eye.

♡ for a few weeks, ash was focused on someone else. focused on chasing someone else which unfortunately left you jilted many times. you were upset at first because you really thought you guys hit it off. but you grew to feel numb about it. you wanted to go steady after dating for two months and she always gave you a flimsy excuse as to why she couldn't commit. if ash didn't want you, then fine. you will find someone else that wants you. after all, that's what you deserve.

♡ to your surprise, as midterms was beginning to bleed into finals, a stone lands through your window (r.i.p your housing bill). and to your shock, ash is standing out there, trying to grab your attention. your friends had essentially prevented her from coming into your dorm room because they knew she hurt you.

♡ "listen...(y/n)..." she sounds like she's out of breath. "i'm sorry. i was a massive dick." kind of an understatement, but you continued to listen to her apology. even when apologizing, she was a smooth talker. she was suave and earnest. and fuck, she was hot. so hot.

♡ so you decided to forgive her. reluctantly. but that's all ash needed. "i promise (y/n). i'll be the best girlfriend ever."

♡ going steady with ash was very surprising. she's a very loving girlfriend, always spending time with you. she walks you to class, walks you home. she generally likes to go to places, including into town where you guys grocery shopped so you can make the post-sex dessert you had planned.

♡ ash is a touchy person. she loves holding your hands, having an arm around your shoulder. she stays close to you to the point where you can feel her body heat. and it took some time to get used to it, but eventually you were able to move around smoothly with ash closely tailing behind you.

♡ she loves to use pet names. you rarely hear her say your name (so if you do hear your name, then you know you fucked up).

♡ ash is big into showing you off. after all, she had to work hard for you, had to work hard to gain your trust back after treating you like a basic situationship. so she likes to "mark" you through couple outfits. she's big into matching outfits in some way, whether it's through just color or wearing matching clothes. for halloween, she had ideas for a couple's costume.

♡ loves to lend you her clothes. she likes seeing you wear it. it's an extension of that marking that you're her romantic partner. she especially loves when someone asks where you got the jacket or hoodie or shirt you're wearing and you say, "my girlfriend."

♡ likes to nibble. likes to leave marks. loves your neck. probably her favorite part to kiss, honestly. she enjoys kissing down and letting her finger trace the constellation of marks all over your neck. better hope you or a friend have proper makeup and color theory knowledge.

nsfw headcanons below

♡ ash's voice is one of her most attractive features. so naturally, she likes to talk you through it. she enjoys telling you what to do. she enjoys telling you how to touch her, where your hands should go, how you should curl your fingers. and vice versa. she loves to check in on you, asking you "how does that feel?" and "is that good baby?"

♡ she's a switch. sometimes she likes to be on top. other times, she likes it when you are on top. it all depends on the mood really. if you're uncomfortable with being on top or on the bottom, she likes to ease you into it and build your confidence up if you want.

♡ she loves to make you flustered in public. she loves whispering in your ear, alluding to sex. you're pretty good at restraining yourself. but on the occasion, you like to indulge in the stacks with her. what? straight people do it all the time. you never bring up the time you ran into whitney

♡ one of her favorite things to do with you is mutual masturbation. it's a bonding experience and she likes to watch you get off to her. it makes her feel good that you find her so attractive that you're cumming all over your fingers.

♡ ash loves aftercare. she likes seeing you all sweaty and flustered and completely at her mercy and then pulling you close and cuddling you, pressing kisses on your face. she's always making you a cup of honey citron tea after the deed is done. "was that good baby? did i push you too hard? i'm sorry i did."

[audliminal]

It's Just a Game, Right? Pt 10

Masterpost

The thing is, Tim has a few more resources than the average person. And maybe it's cheating, but the names in the first video aren't exactly the most unique, and when he and Bernard google them, they get a lot of results, and nothing very obvious. Which means that Tim spends most of the night laying next to Bernard, staring at the ceiling as his brain spins in some extremely fruitless circles. And by morning he is unquestionably exhausted and annoyed. Bernard is as kind and empathetic as he ever is, and the moment he realizes Tim's insomnia had gotten the better of him, he goes about making Tim an absolutely delicious breakfast. And then Tim has to go to work, and deal with idiot business people who think nothing of tactics that would harm thousands of their own employees.

Being an absolute pinnacle of restraint, Tim does not throw a chair at the department head who tries to subtly suggest cutting down his department's bonuses to increase his own, and he goes through dozens of emails, but by the time it's late enough to get away with leaving for the day, Tim is feeling exceptionally irritated. So, maybe it's cheating, but it's not like anyone has to know. After all, he can always work backwards once he has the connection, and present Bernard with a more appropriate methodology. So around mid-afternoon, he heads to the batcave and plugs some parameters in, so it can cross-reference the results for him.

What he gets is interesting, to say the least. The program flags a handful of different individuals and documents, but among them is an article from the Gotham Gazette about a motorcycle accident. Listed as victims are two teens, named Katherine Taylor and Jonathan Woods, both names that were among the details of the first video. It seems too odd to be a coincidence, though, and when Tim searches for the individuals in question, he manages to find their obituaries, and the photos reveal a near definite match.

It leaves something of a sour taste in Tim's mouth when he remembers this is supposed to be a fiction thing. Unless somebody involved in this knows how to hack shit real well, then they're using real people who cannot possibly have consented to becoming part of some game. There's also implications in the fact that the date listed for the photos is well after their deaths. He knows enough to know ghost stories aren't exactly uncommon in these sorts of things, but trying to imply that real people have become ghosts? Especially when ghosts are usually antagonists in scary stories — Tim stolidly reminds himself not to jump to conclusions, and simply notes the connections and moves on.

The bat computer, unfortunately, doesn't pull up info about the three other names, and it pulls up way too many results when it comes to the listed locations. It takes almost an hour of fiddling with search parameters, before he finally managed to land on something that might be a match. It's difficult to tell, because the photo they'd used is definitely old, but it looks like the Carle Park in question is in Illinois, which ostensibly gives them a location, corroborated by the fact that a highway 49 runs not too terribly far from it.

It takes a while of debate, but eventually he decides to go ahead and run the other photos of people through facial recognition, in case the photos match anything. He feels kind of slimy about it, but these things are public record, and even if this research isn't supposed to be for anything important, and even if the circumstances aren't exactly ideal, he and Bernard don't exactly have to post any of this info.

He's not sure whether to be surprised when he gets a match on a third individual. This time, the person in question is actually misidentified as Amber McCall, when the girl's actual name appears to be Ember McLain. What's more, the photo they'd been provided with is one of her as a child, despite the fact that she apparently didn't die until 21.

It seems an odd combination of details to get wrong, especially compounded by the fact that she was apparently on her way to fame, with a burgeoning music career. Her death is similarly tragic, reported as an accidental house fire, though Tim finds a contemporary article speculating otherwise. The writing reads as nothing but gossip, though, so he promptly closes it, and at the sound of footsteps, he closes out his search and takes his notebook upstairs, before any of his wayward siblings can start asking him questions.

[aprillikesthings]

Okay so yesterday I did this with the first half of Promise let's see if I can manage the second half lol

and this is where I paused it lol (she just did the "teen self trying not to cry while leaning on the sink and failing, looks up and sees her adult self and is startled," and spiders are about to come out of the mirror)

I know we go on about the voice acting for this show a LOT but Catra's screams of terror are just really well done, okay

(hands)

It's always interesting to me that it takes her a solid like ten seconds from when the big robot spiders wrap her up in webbing, to when she remembers "oh wait I have claws" and frees herself. Like she has this moment first of still shrieking Adora's name even though her mouth is covered, and crying, and THEN she gets herself free.

They do take a split second to show us Catra intentionally making her claws longer, which is Nice. But it always cracks me up that the fandom as a whole seems to have mostly decided that she can retract them enough that it's safe to, uh, put them in sensitive places. Because y'all. They're pointy. She'd have to retract them SO MUCH. There's not room on that first knuckle of each finger!

It's fine, I decided to have that in my canon-based fic instead of having her cut any of them, I get WHY the fandom decided that even though it's not really physically possible lol it's still funny

ANYWAY

Adora's the muscular one but Catra's no weakling, she just fucking tears metal panels off the robot spiders and yanks cables until they snap

fangie!!! it took me four tries to get it without her blinking lol

Twice in this episode they show Adora putting her hand on Catra's shoulder, and Catra shoving it away--both as teenagers and as their current age

(I *know* I've seen/reblogged a gifset or meta post or both about every time Adora puts her hand on Catra's shoulder and how her reaction changes over the course of the story)

oh god. Adora's attempt at getting Catra to change sides is so painful. Because Adora's not wrong, but the way she says it ("I know you're not a bad person, Catra") is just guaranteed to push Catra further away. Well, that, and Light Hope then forces them into one of their shittier memories.

lol this is only happening for a split second before they stop and see the Black Garnet, but I caught it

Man. Adora's "You don't have to go in there." She knows what memory that is immediately, and she knows Catra knows, too. And it's interesting to me that she goes in anyway.

I say this knowing sometimes some memory of my childhood abuse will pop up in my head and I'll end up thinking about it for hours or days, letting myself get angrier about it, because the anger feels better than just being sad. So like...I get it.

I'm not screenshotting this scene. :(

"You've been never been anything more than a nuisance to me. I've kept you around this long because Adora was fond of you, but if you ever do anything to jeopardize her future, I will dispose of you myself." God. Not the first person to say it, but the degree to which Shadow Weaver made clear that her only source of safety was Adora liking her explains so much about how when Adora left, 1. It hurt her so much that it got twisted into anger and a desire for revenge, 2. Why she immediately started scrambling for the only other source of safety she knew of, which is power over others

"Adora, you must do a better job of keeping her under control." And THERE we have why Adora nearly martyrs herself trying to fight Catra and feels responsible for stopping her herself

"You never protected me! Not in any way that would put you on Shadow Weaver's bad side!" Yeah see that's what happens when you're both living under an abusive parent. Unfortunately. Speaking from experience.

Man this whole scene with them arguing has been picked to bits by plenty of people plenty of times lol but god it's just...so well done. There's so much character stuff here, so much that adds meanings to other scenes

"Why do you think I gave the sword back to you in the Fright Zone? I didn't want you to come back, Adora!" Yeah. She both means this and doesn't. Is the thing. I'll never be over the degree to which, from Catra's POV, Adora's actions just keep making her life harder, and so Catra is constantly frozen between missing/wanting Adora (a feeling that, especially after this episode, she's suppressing/denying), and hating her fucking guts.

ALSO I'm repeating myself but the voice acting

AAAUGH

Hah, I was joking about making one of those stretchy letter bracelets that says ilofyaylofmnrbchalawheoypip but my wrist might be too small

That shot of baby!Catra looking at her current self is such a gut punch. And then we see Catra making some decisions, and baby you are going to regret this

(did they run out of animation budget for this ep or did someone just forget to make the sword shiny? I always wonder)

The fucking speech she does. Aaaaugh baby you let that holograph manipulate you into seeing all your memories of Adora through the most bad faith lens possible

(man the music here is great. also side note I've only tried just listening to it on the soundtrack release like, once, because my brain often knew what was happening and it was Too Much)

I do like when she looks this deranged tho ngl

Can’t wait to engage in one of my fave midnight hobbies: get high as balls and rewatch bits of She-Ra and sometimes post screenshots with overemotional/horny captions

[luvzxr]

Little Pougie

Hello! Hopefully you guys are enjoying this story as much as I am. I noticed a mistake I made in the last with the MC name but it's fixed now!

Thank you to the people who reblogged, it means so much to me that people enjoy my writing and I hope you continue to do so! now onto chapter 3!

Warnings: Mentions of drug use and alcohol, mention of physical abuse, possible smut in the future throughout this book.

Thank you for reading! xx

Previous chapters:

Kegger

Agony

03. Jaw Breaker

JJ Maybank was trying his hardest to hold it together.

He cranked the wrench over and over again, tightening up a bolt on the inside of his bike. He was trying to find things to do to keep himself from going absolutely ballistic, But over time it was becoming increasingly hard to control.

Normally, he would have lost it by now. He would let his emotions get the best of him until that's all left to control him but instead of seeing different emotions; Sad, Happy, Anxious- But the only emotion that ever showed was pure rage.

Unfortunately, anger was the only thing he could ever show.

He was being evicted.

Usually, this situation wouldn't have remotely been something he was worried about since there were numerous occasions he was being thrown out, and then he'd work his magic like he always had and promised the property owner that he'd do some under-the-table work for them and that would help pay the bill.

But they wouldn't take that as payment this time around, unfortunately.

And what he truly felt the need to do was pummel someone's face in. He wanted to grab someone by the back of their head and slam it repeatedly into the ground. He wanted to feel the electricity shock igniting throughout his body, starting from his knuckles and ending up buried deep into someone else's cheekbone. He had nothing but the unkempt rage that he so desperately needed to let out in the form of violence.

He knew that John B would have no problem with taking him in and giving him a place to stay, for JJ was like a brother he never had- but John B didn't know, no one had. And he'd be damned if John B was going to have the opportunity to look at him like a charity case.

He grasped his chest, watching as his free hand shook from the amount of suppressed adrenaline rushing through his body like gasoline. And the longer he stood doing nothing was the exact moment he decided to change that.

He swung around to land the hardest punch he could on the closest firm object around him which just so happened to be the tree.

Two punch, three punch, four. His fifth hit the bark with a loud 'crack.' And with that, he knew he broke something- Was it his knuckles? or his hand? It certainly could of been his middle finger. But he didn't have the time or patience to care.

He turned his body back around and felt it slide down the bark. He glanced down at his fingers, a grimace working its way up his face once he saw the raw skin surrounding them. He used an old, grease-filled rag to wrap up his poor hand temporarily until he could use proper bandages.

Anger and violence were all that JJ knew. It progressively became worse over time. He didn't care what he broke. He didn't care how much blood was shed. He'd hit anything and everything that came into view.

The part he hated the most afterward was that he felt nothing but the antagonizing pain that came with busting his hand. That was the only thing he could feel, for the throbbing aligned with his heartbeat.

And this was the part where he'd crack open can after can until his liver was screaming at him, but at least he would have been way too intoxicated to feel a damn thing.

But he hadn't made that decision because he didn't want to.

A part of him hated himself. scratch that, he did hate himself but the part of him he hated the most was that he resorted to the same things that his own father fell back on, and that made him just as bad. But what should he care? The town had already seen him as the same piece of trash as they did his father.

He heard the rustling of someone approaching. He then began to find the figure to be a very familiar girl he's been trying so hard to avoid recently.

"JJ,"

"What do you want?" he barked, pinching the bridge of his nose before he decided to push himself up off the ground. He saw the person who stood before him was none other than, Kiara Carrera.

"We need to talk dude," Kiara said, approaching closer to him until the only thing separating the two of them was his bike.

"Do we really need to fucking talk right now?" JJ snapped.

"Yes. We do JJ."

"Then talk," He muttered. He loved Kie with every piece he had left of him, and he in a way understood where she was coming from- she just couldn't have been worse with the timing.

"JJ, something happened with us the other night-" She paused, noticing the dulled red cloth wrapped around his hand, "oh my god JJ, what happened?"

"Nothing that I haven't done before," He muttered unhappily.

"What was it this time?" Kiara asked, carefully.

For someone who wasn't born on the South Side of Outer Banks, Kiara Carrera was one of the most compassionate people JJ knew, other than Sophie. It was always one of the most amazing things to him how the girl managed to keep herself together; both around the Pouges and her own family.

"Don't worry about it."

"Please talk to me, JJ"

"What is there to talk about, Kie?"

"Us. What happened between us a few nights ago? It was weird but not a bad weird."

"No. It wasn't a bad weird." He was practically inches away from her now, glancing between her eyes and lips before he pulled himself back, "What are we doing? We shouldn't be doing this. Nah,"

"It would all blow up anyway, y'know. Like, look at you. You got your new Freds on,"

"Nah, y'know. You got parents that live on figure 8," His hand raised, curting in the direction Kiara came from.

"That's not my fault," her voice was soft, almost fragile as if it and her heart would break any minute. But perhaps her heart was already broken.

"You got that," His hands grazing through his hair before wringing his fingers together at the back of his head.

She sighed, "If you need us; we're gonna help you. I'm-" Kiara was on the verge of tears, trying so desperately to hold herself together, "I'll help."

"Kay, that right there!" He swung around, pointing his index finger in her general direction.

help. He's heard that word so many times that it was beginning to sound tedious to him, "okay. like, It's so easy for you to say that. You know why?" His voice began to break.

"Because you're a Kook. You're a Kook Kiara," He spat, referring crudely to the fact she never had to worry about not having somewhere to go or being able to have food on the table. She didn't know the true struggle of life that JJ had been hit with more times than he could count.

"JJ-"

"You wanna help?" He scoffed in disbelief, "Let it go. Because It's never gonna work, Kie."

(Y/n) could hardly keep her eye's open.

Despite the infinite amount of appreciation, (Y/n) had for Kie- she had been the one who got (Y/n/n) the job after all. The Wreck was completely desolated of Pouges, Kooks, and employees alike. Which only bored Sophie, because she couldn't stand how inactive and dead it was.

Actually, disregard that completely. She loved inactivity. Just hated it when she was working a twelve hour shift and had nothing else productive to do with her time.

She had hoped that maybe JJ or even John B would show to keep her company but soon came to realize that probably wasn't going to happen either, which was only more of a bummer. Usually, she'd be working alongside Kiara, and things never got boring. But Kiara hadn't shown up for her shift, which worried (y/n) a bit but neither of Kie's parents seemed too surprised about her absence at the restaurant, for they probably assumed she ditched to hang with JJ or the other Pouges.

She'd never worked this late before. John B would never let her. But (Y/n) had practically begged him and She pulled off the old-fashioned puppy dog eyes to let her pick up a few extra hours. John B couldn't possibly tell her no then- though now, she was slowly beginning to regret her little scheme against her older brother.

(Y/n) watched as it began to get darker with each passing hour and If it hadn't been for the fact that John B always picked her up after her shifts, she probably wouldn't even step foot outside.

She also could always just become a big girl and catch a ride in an Uber- but that required money that she desperately needed in order to help pay the bills, And the fact in general that catching a ride with a complete stranger scared her. Her whole life she was told not to trust strangers or Kooks, but she truly didn't trust anybody she didn't know. So getting into a car with a complete stranger wasn't exactly at the top of her bucket list.

Her shift was nearing the end and she was practically jumping for joy. Her feet felt achy and her eyes felt like ten pounds were added to them just on their own- she couldn't wait to kick off her shoes and crash on the couch watching a dumb cartoon play reruns as background noise while she dozed off.

She heard the single door to the small restaurant sliding open, catching her attention momentarily. She then saw an unfamiliar, masculine figure out of the corner of her eye, hardly being able to ignore it.

"Well, aren't you a pretty little dime."

She hesitated. Did she hear that correctly? Was this strange man talking to her? He had to of been, for she was the only one in the room momentarily which had only made her stomach churn. She was in this room- alone, with this much older man and she had no clue who he was.

He stood in the doorway, momentarily. And at first, it seemed that was as close as he'd ever get but eventually he staggered over- Inching closer and closer, shortening the space between (Y/n) and himself.

(Y/n) tried to disengage, she tried to keep to herself and not give the man even a smidge of attention- for that would probably only make the man stay for a much longer period of time and she certainly didn't want that.

She tried explaining that they were closing and he would have to come back tomorrow or another day but that didn't seem to phase him. He wasn't leaving.

"Come on, sweetheart. I just wanna talk to ya,"

"I'm sorry, sir. I'm just a bit busy trying to close up and my ride should be here shortly," She muttered back. She was panicking deep down inside and it only got worse the longer she had to stand and listen to the disgusting pet names. She simply wanted to slam her head face-first into a wall.

She took a few steps back from the man. He was practically breathing down her throat and it was beginning to make her increasingly uncomfortable; more than she already was.

The man made a swift movement, gripping her wrist, "Come on, I just wanna take you back to my place. We don't even have to talk because your pretty little lips would be preoccupied with something els-"

"You're disgusting," (Y/n) interjected, utterly revolted by the words slipping from this man's mouth and the undermining confidence in them. It was as if he personally convinced himself that there was a way of persuading her. It made her stomach churn even more.

"Ooh, look at the pretty girl finally gathering enough courage to speak up when only moments ago she wouldn't even look at me," He smirked. (Y/n)'s cheeks reddened at the way he mocked her; he didn't even know her but knew all the ways to make her feel so little compared to him. The fact he knew just the right things to say to make a girl feel so powerless, quite literally, unnerved her.

Her tone was soft and hesitant, "Please, stop,"

"I've heard those words a million times, love." His face crept closer to hers, and that was when she could smell the overpowering stench of alcohol on his tongue.

(Y/n)'s lips began to purse at his crude statement, the lump in her throat was threatening to choke her. Her heart was racing, and if it had a mind of its own; it probably would of chosen to kill her at this very moment. But at least it would save her from the horrid things this man had cooking up in his own head.

"The things I'm going to do to you, sweethea—"

Before the man could finish his sentence he was being ripped away from (Y/n), his grip on her wrist moments ago was no longer. A loud and elicited groan from the man fell from his lips while he now was being pinned against the brick wall behind him.

A loud yelp was earned by (Y/n). Neither of them was expecting the sudden switch- For as Sophie was expecting to be dragged out of there and all that would be left to find from her was her body; months later in a ditch somewhere.

JJ Maybank was standing before her, practically turning the man against the wall into a mixture of fear and confusion, and a part of him almost wanted to laugh, for it was something worth taking a picture of and framing. The man was trembling in JJ's grasp when moments ago he had ahold of a sweet, Innocent girl the same exact way.

JJ was ready to punch him- he wanted to. He wanted to beat the ever-living hell out of him until the man was begging for his life while laying in a puddle of his own blood. The veins in his arms protruded, his knuckles turning ghost white from the pressure he held with his balled-up fists.

"You want to finish that sentence, man?!"

"What the fuc-" The man's eyes grew frantic, desperately trying to wiggle out of JJ's grasp.

"What were you gonna say? You'd do what exactly to her?!" JJ shouted.

"No- No!- I was just leaving! Let g-"

"You like touching her and girls like her?"

"I- I didn't- I didn't touch her!"

JJ adjusted his grip, shaking the man with a voice of furious resentment.

"Ooh, you didn't touch her? It looked pretty clear to me that you were!" He bellowed, slamming the man harder against the wall, fury coursing through his own veins like wildfire.

This was the side of JJ that he rarely let loose. The side of him where he didn't care anymore, he didn't care how long he'd be in jail or if he'd ever get out cause he caught a case where the murder was what the trial was for. It was terrifying.

He was being blinded by vexation, exasperated to the point he couldn't possibly believe that a pervert like him would be so messed up in the head to even remotely try and touch an innocent girl like (Y/n).

Millions of thoughts ran through JJ's head, each one more crude than the last.

The things I'm going to do to you.

He could feel the man trying to escape him, trying to push JJ off or pull away from his grasp. He could see fear in the man's eyes as his grip only grew tighter against the balled up cloth held in JJ's fists.

Your pretty little lips would be preoccupied.

He wanted to take advantage of her. He wanted to use (Y/n), Innocent (Y/n), one of the only people who would trade her own happiness just so someone else could finally be happy.

I've heard those words a million times, love.

JJ lost it. He couldn't hold himself together anymore.

He retracted his fist, closing up the small amount of space between the man's neck and his forearm before clenching his jaw, pursing his lips, broadening up his stance, and striking the poor guy right across his jaw.

[abbyfmc]

Yandere story idea #?

A sixteen-year-old boy named Daniel (or whatever name he might have) arrives after a desperate call from one of the cleaning staff at the house where he lived. She told him that she found his mother (Y/n) lying on the floor, apparently from the second floor, amidst piles of glass shards, which was dangerous since she was seven months pregnant. Her husband, named David, was dead next to her, who seemed to still be alive.

Daniel entered shock to see how 911 took their parents. His mother was alive when he arrived at the hospital, while David was taken to the forensic immediately. The maid who had found them contacted the whole family, including Daniel's paternal grandmother, Margaret. That night, Daniel loses his parents and his unborn sister, because of a stranger. Margaret is also destroyed by the death of her son, daughter -in -law and unborn granddaughter; That is why Daniel stays with her. During and after the duel, Daniel does not understand how everything happened and intends to investigate everything thoroughly. This traumatic event left him marked, feeling that until he caught the murderer, he will not feel alive again. His grandmother, who is in charge of him, supports him on his purpose, because he is confident that David was not the culprit of everything and Daniel also trusts his father, since he always treated his mother with enough love and affection.

In his father's autopsy bruises and several serious bullet wounds were found. The footprints in his body were not clear (Y/n), nor of Daniel (obviously, since he was hanging out with his friends) or anyone who was in the house. In his mother's body there were signs of struggle and bruises who were not known or anyone known either. This gave the impression that both were attacked when they were alone, what Daniel scores as the first clue.

Daniel gives the police to the security cameras of his house through his father's laptop, and there he managed to capture himself as days before the catastrophe an unknown man dressed in black was around the house at night, which he reminded him His mother's constant concern after he told his father about having seen that strange subject, also remembering how she mentioned that he was felt persecuted by whom Daniel suspected that he was the same person.

The only one of the recordings Daniel could not bear to see was that of the death of his parents for obvious reasons, but managed to find out thanks to the officers that the first to be attacked was David, trying to defend (Y/n), and then She was the unfortunate that unfortunately was pushed from the stairs. The audio was clear and revealed clues about the identity of this murderer.

Among the discussion that stood out the most from the intruder against his father, was the following: "If it hadn't been for you, (t/n) and I would be very happy! But you got in the middle!".

And when the stranger struggle with his mother and tried to kiss her by force, the most striking phrase was: "If you had loved me, none of this would have happened" and after (Y/n) shout in despair that released her and tried to attack him, he pushed her sharply by the rail of the second floor, which could only break if it was forced by human hand, since it was replaced recently.

In addition to that, fingerprints have also been detected on the stairs of both the unknown person and the married couple. As far as we know, the intruder watched the house for a while, broke in, first attacked David and then tried to wrestle with (Y/n), ending up killing her and her baby in the process.

The police were unable to find the killer, as he fled the scene without leaving anything behind. That didn't stop Daniel from deciding to investigate what could have happened and he already had the first small piece of the story thanks to the key dialogues on the recordings.

1: This killer was already known to his parents, or at least his mother, and it seems that he was a stalker or an ex-boyfriend who hated David.

Daniel asked his grandmother not to bury his mother's body yet, and managed to convince her that it was to investigate more thoroughly what had happened. He even told her what he had discovered about the possible story behind it. This reminds Margaret of how David had told her years ago, during (Y/n)'s first pregnancy, when he worriedly told her how his wife was receiving calls from a certain Alex (that's what Margaret thought his name was) who was tormenting (Y/n).

Daniel convinced his grandmother to pressure the authorities into investigating the origin of the fingerprints, as well as the electronic devices of both parents (and she also convinced them with some money involved). Daniel also tried to remember, but he couldn't remember much more than his mother's mention to his father that the guy hadn't left her alone since he was in college.

Daniel decides to pack up his things and move in with his grandmother. After cleaning up with his grandmother's help, he finds documents from his parents, his personal documents, the will that put the house and the family money under Daniel's name when he came of age, and some torn and crumpled letters with very interesting content. Margaret gave them to the police in case they were evidence.

It turns out that they were letters where the crazy stalker described his hatred for David and his crazy obsession for (Y/n), except for one where he got seriously angry with her after finding out that she was pregnant again. He threatened her to abort the baby and leave David, or he would kill her family and force her to do it and then kidnap her.

From here I can think of several endings:

Case solved: The classic good ending. The police find the killer who turns out to be a yandere who was madly obsessed with (Y/n), to the point of having committed the severe crime. The yandere killer could have put up resistance; tried to flee or could have turned himself in to the police. * I also imagine that (your son/[Y/n]'s son) sold that house as soon as he could. He obviously wouldn't want to return to a house where his mother, father, and unborn sister were brutally murdered. * And if the yandere is sadistic and very vengeful enough to take it out on an innocent person (in this case, your oldest son), to the point of sending him sick letters describing his horrible feelings towards you and what he always wanted to do

Unsolved case: The police get nowhere (either because they are simply lazy or because the yandere killer escaped), which motivates Daniel to become a law enforcement officer (probably with another identity), to the point of becoming part of the FBI (or any institution in your country that resembles it) to investigate that case and bring justice for his parents. *Your son could end the yandere killer's life and use his influence to get his way. *Or your son could simply use his position to catch the yandere killer and watch him rot in prison.

-The End.

For a long time I wanted to explore the idea of ​​a yandere story BUT from a third party's point of view; in this case, darling's son (yours) who slowly finds out about the history between you and the yandere who killed you. He ended up seeing how an unrequited obsessive love (or the end of a relationship if the yandere is an ex) led to the massacre that changed him for life at such a young age.

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Counting Stars

Summary: Learning about each other's past leaves Joel and Mel to finally talk about their future.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Melanie Summer

Wordcount: 2.9k

Rating: T

Warnings: Soulmate AU, Angst, Pregnancy, talk about forced pregnancies, talk about childbirth, mention of child death, mentions of human experiments, character death, slowish burn, changing POV’s, TW: rape and abuse

Mel talks about her experience with the Fireflies and about the abuse she encountered so the Fireflies could keep her pregnant and experiment. I am not going into detail but please keep that in mind when you choose to read this chapter.

A/N: We are not going to talk about how long it has been since I updated this series. I hope the wait was worth it. I am planing on wrapping up this little series with the next chapter. And I vow to never start posting a fic series, without having a big bunch finished

follow @toomanystoriessolittletime-fics to get notified for updates

Counting Stars Masterlist

✨ four ✨

Unfortunately their plans of talking the next days had to be canceled by a big group of infected getting a little to close for comfort towards Jackson. 

Joel had left just after breakfast, telling both Ellie and Mel that he did not know how long he’ll be gone. 

And so they carried on with their routine. Mel walking Ellie to school. Mel walking back home, taking a nap because holy shit a half hour walk while growing a human is fucking exhausting. 

At lunch time there was a knock on her door and she was surprised to see Tommy carrying a rocking chair inside of the house. 

„Joel told me to bring it to you. He’d been working on it for a couple weeks. Wanted you to have it as soon as it was dry,“ he said and Mel let her fingers brush over the wood.

„He made this? For me?“ She asked and Tommy grinned at her. 

„He’s kind of into you. But don’t tell him I told you that,“ he winked and Mel chuckled, before she frowned.

„Why are you not out on patrol? Shouldn’t you be there with the group?“

„I’ll ride out with the second group in an hour. We should be back tomorrow evening if everything goes according to plan. Now, where do you want that chair?“ He asked.

There was a little room between her bedroom and Joel’s bedroom that had been used as a laundry room before the outbreak. She was more than surprised to find out that Joel had been clearing it out one evening. And when she asked him what he was doing, he told her that her baby will need a room and he thought this would make a perfect nursery. 

Mel might have cried a little, but she was sure she had hidden it quite well (she did not)

So now she was sitting in the rocking chair Joel had made for her, in the empty nursery that needed to be painted. She looked out of the window she had cleaned earlier that week, seeing down the whole street. 

With a hand on her belly she let her thoughts wander towards how her future could look here. 

Safe. 

In a warm home. 

With a family and people that she loved and that loved her in return. 

She knew she loved Ellie like family.

And she knew that even though the universe might have had a say in putting Joel Miller in her path as her soulmate, she knew even without all the marks and everything that was tying them together, that she would have fallen in love with him. 

Because she did love him. 

Which was silly to admit to herself, since she didn’t even know if he had a second name or how old exactly he was. Or if he had any allergies.

She wanted to know everything about Joel. 

With a smile she allowed herself another moment to rock in her new rocking chair, her hand rubbing over her belly before she got up with a groan and walked back downstairs.

Because it was time to pick up Ellie from school.

The next evening, she was back in her rocking chair in the future nursery, a whole bunch of books on the window still next to her, the pink lamp from Ellie’s room that she had personally carried into the nursery, eager to finally get rid of the girly shit in her room (her words), she read through a book with baby names. 

She had written down a couple, finally having the opportunity to name one of the children she had been carrying. It’s why she put a lot of pressure on herself to find the perfect name for her little girl. 

She was so invested in reading through the names she jumped when there was a knock on the opened door of the nursery, the book flying out of her hands and onto the floor as she clutched her chest. 

Joel was standing in the door, looking at her with wide eyes, though apparently fighting against laughing out loud. 

„I’m sorry, I’ve been standing here for a couple of minutes and you didn’t see me…“ he said and Mel closed her eyes, trying to calm down her beating heart. 

„It’s… It’s okay,“ she said after a moment, her eyes opening again. Joel chose that moment to walk over, getting on his knees in front of her to pick up the book. He smiled at her as he gave it back to her, catching the title of the book. 

„You’re looking for a name?“ He asked and she nodded. 

„Got another month to go. So I should at least have some ideas narrowed down I think,“ she said and he nodded. 

„Did everything go well?“ She asked, reaching out to touch his cheek. It was like she could see his shoulders drop in relaxation as she touched him. 

„Everything went fine. Actually been back for two hours already, but I had to pick up all the supplies we need for the garage and the nursery,“ he said with a tired voice.

„What supplies do we need for the nursery? I thought I’d do it all by myself,“ she mumbled and Joel shook his head before he took her hand. 

„I know we did not have a chance to talk yet, but if I had it my way, there would never be a time where you have to do anything by yourself ever again, because it’ll be you and me until the day I die,“ he said and Mel smiled at him.

„Really?“ She asked and he nodded. 

„How about I cook some dinner and we talk?“ He said and Mel found herself nodding.

„Gonna take a shower first though,“ he said and she giggled a small „Thank god“ under her breath that he looked absolutely affronted about before he winked at her, lips twitched into a half smile. 

„Keep reading through those name. I wanna hear the ones you like most,“ he said before he got up and walked out of the nursery.

She didn’t know how scrambled eggs, bread and some cucumber Salad could taste so good, but Mel found herself wishing she could have this everyday. 

Ellie was at a sleepover with Dina (no I do not have a crush on her, what are you talking about Mel?) and Mel was sitting in the kitchen with a freshly showered Joel who had cooked for her. He also told her that he had the next three days off from patrol and that he would start painting the nursery the next morning while she was out with Maria in the community garden so she would not breath any maybe toxic stuff in from twenty year old paint. 

She only had to chose a color. 

„You can never be too careful with things like this,“ he said and then told her he would look out for an air filter when out patrol the next time. She had no idea what that meant or what she would need that for, but she found herself nodding at him anyway. 

They were sitting next to each other, enjoying their little dinner, a candle lit on the table. 

„So… what names did you write down for your little girl?“ He asked after clearing his plate. 

„I like Ella. Imagine…. Ella and Ellie under one roof. Hilarious,“ Mel grinned and Joel chuckled. 

„Not sure if Ellie would hate or love it,“ he said.

„She would definitely love it,“ she said with full confidence. 

„Other than that I have Charlotte, cause I like Charlie for short, Aurora, Leah and Sarah…“ she read her list down before she looked up at Joel again. 

It was like he had seen a ghost. 

„Is everything okay?“ She asked concerned. She took his hand that was laying on the table, his hand clenched into a fist. 

„Joel?“ She asked and he blinked out of whatever spell he was under, looking at her. He cleared his throat before he took a deep breath. 

„I….I had a daughter named Sarah….“ He began. 

And then he told Mel. Everything. Starting from the moment he found out the girl he had a drunk one night stand on his 17th birthday was pregnant. How everything changed the moment he held his baby girl in his arms for the first time, already knowing he would be a single parent to her.

The mother, Susie, had been five months along when she found out that she was pregnant. And while her first though was to give the baby up for adoption, she couldn’t do it without talking to Joel first. 

And Joel?

Joel found himself agreeing to take the girl, his daughter, in and raise her by himself before he could question his decision. 

And it had been the best decision he ever made. Sarah changed everything for him. She changed who he was. Made him the best version of himself.

And when she died in his arms on outbreak day, she changed him again. 

Into a much darker and angrier version of himself. A version of himself he was even scared of sometimes. 

He told Mel about how he tried to end it all just days after Sarah’s death, the pain of losing his daughter and purpose in life making him hurt so badly, he could not take it anymore. 

And how after he flinched on that day, he just shut parts of him off to be able to continue to… exist. 

Because the moment his baby girl died, life was not worth living for him anymore. He had only existed to take care of his brother since Sarah was gone. 

He told Mel about the brutality of the life he lived. How he told himself the things he did were the only way to live in this world. 

He told her about Tess and how sometimes at night when he was alone he wondered if she knew how much she had helped him just by being there. 

He told her about Marlene approaching him to take a girl, Ellie, to the Fireflies, not knowing why. Joel never thought it would be Ellie who would be the key to finding parts of himself again, he thought died over twenty years ago. 

And he told Mel that thinking back he knew he was in love with her the moment he first looked into her green eyes. 

They had settled on the couch halfway through their talk. Joel with a beer, Mel with a tea.  She listened to his story, his life and she knew that now that she knew everything about him, she had to tell her about herself too. 

„I don’t remember much from outbreak day. I was 19 and visiting my dad. I had to… I was the one who had to kill him,“ she said and felt Joel’s arm wrap around her shoulders. 

„You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to,“ he mumbled against her temple. She looked at him. 

„You told me your story. You should know mine,“ she said with a sad smile. 

„I jumped around QZ’s for almost ten years before I met Caleb. Things…. I thought things were good with Caleb. And when I was sure I could trust him, I told him about being immune to cordyceps. He would see it sooner or later because I thought I was in love with him and I was a twenty six year old virgin during the outbreak so….“

„Is it… this scar?“ Joel asked, rubbing over his left thigh where Mel knew the bite was. He remembered the day he noticed the new scar almost two weeks after the outbreak.  

„Yeah. Can you imagine it was my Dad who bit me? Well the… infected version of my Dad. It took me a month to get to a QZ after it happened and it just healed without much of a scar. I don’t know why. Maybe because it was so early on but… yeah. Anyway…. I told Caleb about it and then we had sex,“ Mel shrugged, a tear slipping down her cheek. 

„It was the only time I ever had sex because I wanted to. Everything that happened after was… it was hell,“ she whispered. 

She didn’t look at Joel for the next part. 

When she told him about being taken to the Fireflies. About how they „tested“ if she really was immune by getting her bit repeatedly. She told him about only remembering little of the first months. She was on drugs almost all the time, only waking up when they used flaming hot metal to cauterise her bites. Her, and in return Joels body was littered with scars and she told him how sorry she was for that. 

She told him about Marlene and how she tried to make Mel see the bigger picture. How she and her sacrifice could be the key to getting rid of the Cordycep infection. 

Marlene was also there when she was raped. Over and over again until she was pregnant. 

„I never got to see any of them,“ Mel whispered when she told him about the babies. 

„As soon as I got into labour I was knocked out, waking up hours or days later with my baby gone and Marlene telling me that it didn’t work out. I…“ she sobbed and Joel pulled her into his lap. She didn’t see that he was crying too. 

He just held her as she cried, his hand rubbing over her back, his other hand on her belly. A place he found his hand resting on often lately. He felt a tiny kick and Mel whimpered before she looked up at Joel. 

„I can not go through that again. If I lose her, if I don’t get to meet her, it will kill me,“ she said. 

„You will not lose her. I will keep you and her safe. I promise,“ he said before he kissed Mel’s forehead. 

„We both sure are some fucked up soulmates, huh?“ She said after a while and Joel sighed with a sad smile as he reached up to brush her tears away. 

„Yeah we are,“  he shook his head. 

„Joel?“ She asked. 

„Hm?“

„Do you want to take a bath with me? My back is killing me?“

„You want me in the bath with you?“ He frowned, hands already getting sweaty just thinking about it. 

„Yeah. I want you to hold me like this. Is that okay?“ She asked. 

„But will you be… okay?“ His eyes pointed to his crotch and he swore he could feel her cheeks heat up with how close they were. 

„I trust you Joel,“ she whispered. 

„Because…. Because I think I’m in love with you,“ she added and Joel was sure his heart stopped for a moment, before a small smile sneaked to his lips. 

„That… Okay. That’s.. yeah,“ he blushed and Mel actually giggled.

How had he not taken a bath before?

This was heaven. He felt like he was floating. Everything smelled so good and Mel’s skin was so fucking soft as he held her in his arms.

Maybe it was weird to see each other naked before they even kissed, but he didn’t care. 

He could tell that she was nervous as she undressed herself, her body littered with not only her scars but his. Both of their bodies mirrored their journey to each other and even though he hated what she had to go through to get to him and vice versa, he wouldn’t change it if the outcome was the same. 

Because she was in his arms, safe and healthy and about to become a mother in an environment that was as safe as it could be nowadays. 

„Joel?“ She asked, head resting against his chest, her fingers playing with his hand on her stomach. 

„Hmm?“

„What do you think about Charlotte Sarah Miller as a name?“ She continued to play with his fingers. He was sure his heart stopped.

„Miller?“ He gasped out and she nodded. 

„You might not be her biological Father but… You have kept her safe by keeping me safe. You build a rocking chair. You’re building a nursery. I…“ she slowly turned around until she was kneeling between his legs so she could look at him. 

„I want us to be a real family. Now I know we’ve only known each other for like… a short time but with us being soulmates and all I like to think we’re in for the long haul.“

„We are,“ he agreed, loving how Mel’s face lit up. 

„Yeah?“ She asked.

„Yeah. And for the record. I would love it to be her dad,“ he said and she smiled.

„You would?“

„I already love her mom so much, how could I not love the daughter she’s gonna give me?“ He asked and before he had the chance to say something else Mel had leaned in to kiss his lips. Softly at first, before she moaned softly and climbed into his lap, Joel’s arms wrapping around her and getting her as close as her belly let him. 

„You love me?“ She asked against his lips. 

„Of course I love you. I think I loved you before I knew you,“ he said and she kissed him again. 

„Can I sleep in your bed tonight?“ She asked. 

„Always,“ he promised before he kissed her again. 

[dzvelinaskebiyars]

No because can we talk about team Sabbath? Not to say that they're hot and they're cool but like analyse them?

Can we talk about how they're different from others individually? How they're socially rejected as if they're fundamentally different from normals?

Firstly, Vinny Hong.

He was always discriminated for being different in every way one can be different from someone. His looks- red hair and Heterochromia which is said to be his albinism. He has been bullied for looking differently than what's beauty standard in Korea, for being different from normal people as he was convinced that he's abnormal one. He was also bullied a lot for being a poor, which sets his difference between rich or non poor people and him. He has been picked on a lot because of that and the fact that he was struggling with money affected his character a lot. We saw that society doesn't treat ppl with albinism and/or Heterochromia well, and plus poor people are often victims of bullying. On top of that, he got in troubles a lot and made himself a name "a thug" in school, which again set him apart from rest of students. He's called mad dog. Teachers can't deal with him, adults are having problems with him and etc. He's completely rejected by society. That's why he wants recognition so badly, so that he can deal with his inferiority complex.

Secondly, Hajun a.k.a Joker

Hajun is underground fighter, I think that already sets him apart from most people and most boxers (as they don't fight for underground fights) so that's one difference for you. Even his little brother hates that he's underground fighter, despite the fact that Hajun genuinely seems to like fighting just as cycling but despite that, his love for fighting isn't being accepted by his iwn family. He's also different from others as a character. For example, his attention span seems to be short and messy as he gets easily distracted. He's in middle of important race but he gete distracted and stop at red light when he actually doesn't have to. No one stopped in entire windbreaker serious at red light except Hajun. He akso stopped to save the puppy during the race and came in last because if that. People were confused because what Hajun was doing was not making sense for them, that it was actually very different from what kind of players they're used to. Plus Hajun, just like Vinny, is facing money problems.

Thirdly, Wooin Yoo

Wooin was rejected by his own family but I think it's also said how people, even now, refuse to admit that he's normal. But first of all, his main issue is his family. Wooin has been trying for years to get recognition from his family, some love and acknowledgement but he never got one, in fact he got redeemed as useless, disappointment, troublemaker punk. All he honestly wanted was recognition from his family, no one else. He was locked up, yes fucking locked up, by his own father and the freedom got ripped away from his hands. I doubt he had much freedom from the beginning anyway. He got locked up for assumingly long time and even if his house was big and even if he was rich, he was extremely lonely. Now, he's seen as weird by people but I honestly think it's because he couldn't develop well due to his abusive family.

Lastly, Hyuk Kwon

We all know why Hyuk us being rejected: his style. He's oro Cyclist, he's really good and talented but unfortunately, he can be aggressive. Like his jack-knife, or how he tried to crush team ghost's member's head with his bike while telling them to die. That's what he got expelled from his previous team.

"i heard Hyuk is kicked out."

"Finally. Everyone who races against him ends up injured haha."

So it's obvious he was rejectec by his own team. If it hasn't been Wooin, he'd probably be dealing with this problem again.

Team Sabbath is being rejected by rest if the teams as well, as other crews don't welcome their style of cycling. But it's like Hummingbird and Sabbath aren't that different, they're both similar to found family but they have different morals.

[cyborg-squid]

Just finished watching Nosferatu (2024), and one of the really interesting things about it is how it layers like multiple aspects of vampire 'history', from the original 1922 film to Bram Stoker's Dracula, and, it seems, to even early vampire myths. And the thing about the Dracula similarities, and this is odd to type out, but it's almost like they pared down some of the action-adventure elements from Dracula in favor of more horror elements, which is typically the opposite in book-to-movie adaptations. Gone is cowboy Quincey and the hyper-competent Van Helsing, replaced instead with an occult obsessed (yet still empathetic to the female lead's plight) Willem Dafoe (what do you mean that's not the character's name?!). No horse chases after Dracula's carriage in the Carpathian mountains either, which is good because that would have felt very out of place in this movie. Just very interesting to look and go "Oh yeah, huh, the book was the one with more action than the movie."

It also extends a lot more empathy towards it's female lead, Ellen, than I feel Dracula was to both Lucy and Mina, though since it's been a while since I read it, I may be wrong on those accounts. The most striking difference is the death of the vampire, and how in the book, Mina is on the brink of being turned and it is the combat efforts of the men that lay low the vampire, while in Nosferatu (2024), it is Ellen that kills Orlock, albeit at the cost of her own life, utilizing the connection that awoke him in the first place, and turning his own lust against him, keeping him away from his grave-earth until the sun comes up. And it's a little bit of a tricky read on the themes here for me, since she does unfortunately sacrifice herself to kill him and it was this supernatural 'thing' shes had since birth that woke him in the first place, this could read as a typical (of the time of Dracula and the 1922 Nosferatu) sort of 'complaint against woman sensuality and irresponsibility' of the time, but Ellen within the movie is consistently portrayed as a victim of Orlock's rather than his enticer, as he and others claim. She too confesses her own impurity and has that claim refuted by her husband (who is less interesting that Dracula's Johnathan), who himself has also been rendered 'impure' by Orlock's sexual assault of him. And her strengths are recognized by Dafoe, who on first meeting her rejects some of the methods used by not-Seward, like binding the limbs while sleeping and the heavy use of ether, which would have been rather common methods of the time (Europe in 1838) for subduing disorderly women, and it is he who does believe and validate her claims of a darker power at work, rather than mere melancholy or hysteria as others initially thought. And he recognizes that the men in the story are not, physically or supernaturally, capable of killing Orlock and that it must be Ellen and her unique connection who does it, but it is as a sacrifice, and that is where the tricky part lies. Because while it does have Ellen finally switching from prey to predator, from victim to victor, it is at the cost of her own life, and I don't like the idea of her mistake as a youth (which resulted in Orlock's pursuit of her) only being rectifiable through her death. But then on the other hand, this is a horror story, and frankly there is no way it could have had a 'better' ending.

As a side note, and this complaint really isn't with the movie itself, because it is a good movie. And that's all it needs to be. But it almost like... didn't need to come out in the modern day, if that makes sense? Like, to have trailers and a Christmas Day release date and a coffin shaped popcorn bucket and 1 million cast interviews, all that shit is unnecessary and doesn't really suit the movie that it is, though I can hardly blame the director and the other artists involved with it for that.

Also, I love this dumb fucking headline about the movie: me when I'm a fucking idiot who doesn't get it. Real "point and laugh mockingly" at it hours. fucking lol

[clouds-of-wings]

The charming and funny Gogol, with whom I am entirely enarmoured and whose short stories I keep reading these days, is worse than Pushkin (who was his friend! and got him a job he was 100% unqualified for and which he sucked at so, so much) after all. While Pushkin only roasts his main character for traits which he himself has given him, Gogol goes so far as to intentionally induce behaviour in the reader and then criticize them for it.

"These two servant characters are very unimportant to the story, but this author will describe them anyway in great detail because I unfortunately just really like to go into unimportant detail regarding everything ever, so here goes:"

[Long and off-putting description of the body odour of the first servant character who he SAID was unimportant to the story]

"The SECOND servant character, on the other hand..."

"Ah I think I'll skip the description of the second character since my reader probably has this common character flaw of not being interested in lower class characters. And as an author I really hate when my readers don't pay attention :("

This guy is just messing with the reader for fun smh. First he sets you up not to care about the servants by saying they're not important to the story and gives you an unpleasant description of one, then he calls you classist for not caring. Full quote below. It's from his book "Dead Souls", which is about a former bureaucrat setting up a criminal scheme by buying rural serfs who died recently and haven't been registered as dead yet.

The quote in full - sorry about the formatting, line breaks had not been invented yet in 1842!

In passing, the reader may care to become more fully acquainted with the two serving-men of whom I have spoken. Naturally, they were not persons of much note, but merely what folk call characters of secondary, or even of tertiary, importance. Yet, despite the fact that the springs and the thread of this romance will not DEPEND upon them, but only touch upon them, and occasionally include them, the author has a passion for circumstantiality, and, like the average Russian, such a desire for accuracy as even a German could not rival. To what the reader already knows concerning the personages in hand it is therefore necessary to add that Petrushka usually wore a cast-off brown jacket of a size too large for him, as also that he had (according to the custom of individuals of his calling) a pair of thick lips and a very prominent nose. In temperament he was taciturn rather than loquacious, and he cherished a yearning for self-education. That is to say, he loved to read books, even though their contents came alike to him whether they were books of heroic adventure or mere grammars or liturgical compendia. As I say, he perused every book with an equal amount of attention, and, had he been offered a work on chemistry, would have accepted that also. Not the words which he read, but the mere solace derived from the act of reading, was what especially pleased his mind; even though at any moment there might launch itself from the page some devil-sent word whereof he could make neither head nor tail. For the most part, his task of reading was performed in a recumbent position in the anteroom; which circumstance ended by causing his mattress to become as ragged and as thin as a wafer. In addition to his love of poring over books, he could boast of two habits which constituted two other essential features of his character—namely, a habit of retiring to rest in his clothes (that is to say, in the brown jacket above-mentioned) and a habit of everywhere bearing with him his own peculiar atmosphere, his own peculiar smell—a smell which filled any lodging with such subtlety that he needed but to make up his bed anywhere, even in a room hitherto untenanted, and to drag thither his greatcoat and other impedimenta, for that room at once to assume an air of having been lived in during the past ten years. Nevertheless, though a fastidious, and even an irritable, man, Chichikov would merely frown when his nose caught this smell amid the freshness of the morning, and exclaim with a toss of his head: “The devil only knows what is up with you! Surely you sweat a good deal, do you not? The best thing you can do is to go and take a bath.” To this Petrushka would make no reply, but, approaching, brush in hand, the spot where his master’s coat would be pendent, or starting to arrange one and another article in order, would strive to seem wholly immersed in his work. Yet of what was he thinking as he remained thus silent? Perhaps he was saying to himself: “My master is a good fellow, but for him to keep on saying the same thing forty times over is a little wearisome.” Only God knows and sees all things; wherefore for a mere human being to know what is in the mind of a servant while his master is scolding him is wholly impossible. However, no more need be said about Petrushka. On the other hand, Coachman Selifan—

But here let me remark that I do not like engaging the reader’s attention in connection with persons of a lower class than himself; for experience has taught me that we do not willingly familiarise ourselves with the lower orders—that it is the custom of the average Russian to yearn exclusively for information concerning persons on the higher rungs of the social ladder. In fact, even a bowing acquaintance with a prince or a lord counts, in his eyes, for more than do the most intimate of relations with ordinary folk. For the same reason the author feels apprehensive on his hero’s account, seeing that he has made that hero a mere Collegiate Councillor—a mere person with whom Aulic Councillors might consort, but upon whom persons of the grade of full General would probably bestow one of those glances proper to a man who is cringing at their august feet. Worse still, such persons of the grade of General are likely to treat Chichikov with studied negligence—and to an author studied negligence spells death.

However, in spite of the distressfulness of the foregoing possibilities, it is time that I returned to my hero...

I really like this thing that old Russian novelists do where they pretend the story they just made up is real and they just heard it somewhere. Or they act like they know the people involved in the story and comment on their behaviour. If they don't feel like continuing anymore they just claim it simply isn't known what happened next. I find it so funny. It makes me feel like a small child who is being told a story. I don't know if there's a name for this style of storytelling, but Pushkin and Bulgakov do it and today I read a story by Nikolaj Gogol where some dude's nose runs away and starts a life of its own (strangely reminiscent of the timeless classic Vagina Vacation), and he does it too. He even criticizes his protagonist for some of his less reasonable actions (bro he was in a panic! more important, you made him do it! total victim-blaming), though he doesn't roast him nearly as much as Pushkin roasts Mr. Onegin.

[daydreamerdrew]

The Avengers (1963) #4

[gibbearish]

oh psa but if you're in an industry that checks IDs and the person in front of you is clearly trans, don't make comments about anything on that ID. for instance saying "OMG your middle name's Danielle? that's my name too!!!" to someone 5 feet tall with a full beard is perhaps not the best choice one could make if one didn't want to put a neon glowing sign above that person's head saying "THIS IS A TRANSGENDER" to everyone they're with

[two-calicos-in-a-trenchcoat]

[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 sm��t 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.