#x: i love you more than god ever will

[jamessunderlandgf]

have some tragic lesbians in this picrew 🫶🏻🩷💎

ཐི♡ཋྀ perpetua & faustina (blasphemous) | ཐི♡ཋྀ anarietta & sibyl (tw3)

—tagged by @pavus 💎 @jacobseed 💎 @loriane-elmuerto 💎 @a-treides 💎 @risingsh0t 💎 @leviiackrman 💎 and @tacticalhimbo 💎 my angelings thank u all 🩷

tagging— idk this has made the ROUNDS already but @bearsgrove 💎 @pitchmoss 💎 @avallachs 💎 @scalpelsister 💎 @shellibisshe 💎 @florbelles 💎 and you 🫶🏻

[the-one-that-weeps]

I know the fandom loves making Rui cry. Hell, I love making Rui more than anything. But I think we're also missing that Rui— never cries.

I think it adds onto the subhuman factor. After all, monsters don't get to have emotions, was there ever a story where a monster cried? Exactly.

I think it's also remarkable that the time we see Rui close to breaking into tears — Curtain Call — he does NOT cry. In fact, Asahi describes it as "a weird face". suits him quite well, doesn't it?

Rui doesn't know how to cry. He can scrunch his face but... He just doesn't know how to.

And then we arrive at Our Happy Ending and he's laughing and crying with all his friends, a messy pile of hugs and arms and warmth and utter desperation for the lost. And he cries, and there are little tears in the corners of his eyes when he leaves the Wonder Stage. He doesn't realize it at first, but when Nene sneers at him and Tsukasa gives him a tissue he suddenly does.

Maybe monsters can cry too.

[goldengirlgalaxy]

You know how there's a whole thing about how DC superheroes die and get brought back a lot? Well, for DPxDC, how about this?

Every time a Justice League member gets resurrected, their ghost remains in the Ghost Zone.

So you'll have a member of the Justice League bite the bullet for whatever reason, they'll form as a ghost in the Ghost Zone. They'll make themselves comfortable, maybe they'll even becoming defenders of peaceful ghosts who have no experience fighting or no desire to fight. Maybe they'll find dead family members and re-establish their bonds. Maybe they'll find other dead members of the Justice League and make and undead branch of the Justice League. Maybe they'll meet Danny and either help teach him how to be a hero (if he's still young) or become a hero group supported by him (if he becomes the king).

And then, for whatever reason, someone found the magical amulet that can revive a person, they somehow developed 1-Ups for a limited time, the revival machine finally got a tune up, the hero gets revived. But the ghost doesn't leave the Ghost Zone. Because of this, the revived hero doesn't have any memories of their time in the afterlife. The ghost probably doesn't even notice something changed and that their old body is up and running again.

This all ends up coming to a head when the GIW decide to push the manhunt for Danny Phantom and all other ghosts, lying to the Justice League in order to convince them to help. They eventually decide to hunt down Danny and corner him, ready to capture him...

… And suddenly he's saved by a bunch of ghosts that look identical to them.

[gothicmatter]

it's been a few days and i still feel like i just found out akutagawa's alive

[gingerhastoomanyobsessions]

for a webbed site that claims to love rehabilitative justice tumblr sure has a love of vengeance huh. somehow we’ve created a digital atmosphere where literal murder is less bad than (checks notes) not emerging from the womb with a perfectly calibrated moral compass and the Correct Political Opinions

I’ve seen people on here say that, not only can people Not Change, but that people who try to change are a) lying b) manipulative and c) undeserving of the chance to change. besties…becoming a better person isn’t about whether or not you deserve to become a better person, it’s not even about becoming 100% perfect, it’s about doing damage control after you realize you fucked up. like yeah people you’ve hurt aren’t obligated to like you/forgive you/interact with you, but tumblrites seem to think that anyone who’s ever made a serious mistake should be exiled from society and/or guillotined. we’ve gone from reasonable and correct takes about how people change (ex. “it’s not my responsibility to teach you”— yes! of course it shouldn’t be up to underprivileged random people on the internet to educate the uninformed!) to utterly deranged ones (ex. “nobody with privilege will ever realize that they’re doing harm and the ones who claim to be in the process of learning are just virtue signaling and should be punished for it”— a take I’ve seen applied to men learning about feminism, cishets becoming allies, white people learning about antiracism, relatives of shooters who go on to advocate for gun control, etc)

you do realize that people can genuinely change for the better, right? I’ve seen my parents un-transphobia themselves firsthand, going from thinking that my sibling came out “for attention” to wholeheartedly believing in trans rights. my grandma’s father was every kind of asshole imaginable and she grew up indoctrinated, but as an adult she broke away from him and has spent the rest of her life working on unlearning stuff. my cousin grew up in the rural south and parroted his rural southern dad’s opinions until he was thirteen and started actually thinking for himself, at which point he did a total 180 and is now studying history with a focus on the evolution of the rights of the underprivileged

so when I see people on here say that people shouldn’t change because they don’t deserve to change it rubs me the wrong way. cause at that point it sounds like you’d rather have that person stay harmful so you can stay mad at them, instead of letting them change and gaining yourself an ally. again, you don’t need to interact with them, but. at this point it kind of feels like you care more about hating The Oppressors than about protecting The Oppressed.

[regulusrules]

Internally screaming and crying in awe from my friend who sent me this fanart telling me how much it screamed My heart is readily yours for her. Like imagine you find a brilliant mind out there thinking of something so similar to your fic, but they're just so much more talented because they described it in imagery rather than in words🥹

Art: He's my friend by kneelmortals @writingupsidedown

[rometabss]

girl who has a romencken playlist that consists of 50% religious songs

[hopecomesbacktolife]

crying weeping. this book was phenomenal. 100/10 magnificent and soooooo intense and vast and searingly intimate and heartbreaking and swoops of joy and I just. Katherine x Zera 5ever I love them so much

(possible spoilers in the tags even though I redacted the most spoilery bits)

once I’m a bit more coherent I plan to write an actual legible review (a glowing one, of course!) but I had to scream about all my feelings for this book here 😭❤️

[spaciebabie]

The only question I have is kissing Daycare Attendant's teeth.... Or Peepaw's Teeth?

ohhh thats a good question. tbh it depends. if springtrap washes his stupid mug i would b all over those chompers. im tellin ya i would sprint and smash my face inta his at the smallest inkling that hes clean. but if he doesnt he gets no kiss kiss. that will hafta go 2 the dca

[jamessunderlandgf]

—OCS AS TRAGIC LOVE ARCHETYPES.

tagged by mine angel @unholymilf to absolutely ruin my life some and psychoanalyze myself through my oc’s relationships and what i did to them so uh. you know. slay. tagging @oc-musings 🩷 @risingsh0t 🩷 @florbelles 🩷 @ghostfvcker 🩷 @shellibisshe 🩷 @kyber-infinitygems 🩷 @socially-awkward-skeleton 🩷 @loriane-elmuerto 🩷 @teamhawkeye 🩷 and you 🫶🏻

—04. SUB ROSA

Love is a game of here and there to you. Whether catching glimpse of another's neckline or grazing a knuckle between knocking shoulders of passing by. You have learned to adore in secrecy, the rawness of an outright confession to be spoken a foreign terror. There is ease in pursuing the unavailable, to remain within the space of possibility and nestle the fuzzy words another could say to make or break your day. Instability spun itself into mysterium and while the certainty of love in aging isn't to be forced upon anyone, there is a miniscule part of you testing the limits of ambiguity. Hold down the feeling and settle in the leather seat of a car, kiss the corner of a mouth and say how you feel. Your affection in its vulnerability is to be seen, lift the veil and do not fret when an honest word turns into all you have secretly yearned for. You are meant to be noticed and openly loved.

—03. CUPID'S BROTHER

You have been love adjacent all your life. The faint spill of another story that softly grazed your shoulders when stood too close. Whether by design or not, you have yet to build a clear image of what love means to you. The interlocked weaving of a picture locket bound to strand of hair when hugged to tight, the sunpatch that meets your soles in glaring sun dried fields when running with a friend. You are not far from love, but moving between line of collision and avoidance at all times. A faint glimmer on sea lake surface of what could be. There is time to find what you want, find whether it's enough as is. Love is in you, breathing in another day. Continue as you are, realizing the love that is slowly blossoming in your life as it sharpens and clears in brushstrokes.

—07. FATHER'S SON

Breathe down your own neck, it's the sound of smashing fist against furniture in another room again. The wringing hem of cloth and pattern of an escalating heart. Love is tumultous to you. There is grief and disguised forgiveness to damp down the yearning. A permanent fear of tender flesh spilling out, still- you must refrain of growing attached to the fear you had installed into you. Let go of the notion that love is still to be cherished with a hole in the head. Scrub crimson ancestry off wooden floors and try again tomorrow when your hands don't shake cold from the blood loss. Love isn't a fist to escape. Fill the hole in your head with cotton and know you are to be adored. You are deserving of an embrace without flinching.

[izacore]

.

[tonycries]

Unmistakably Yours - G.S.

Synopsis. In which the strongest bends space and time - literally - after coming back from deatḣ, to do what he’s always wanted to do - you.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, best friends to lovers, Satoru goes a little (very) INSANE, oral (fem receiving), fíngering, manga spoilers, use of jujutsu powers, unprotected, créampie, spitting, overstim, féral Satoru, heinous things, happy ending, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.5k

A/N. Yeahhh that poll was cooking up something devious heheh. Gege give me back my man.

Gojo Satoru was going to kill someone.

He was going to kill someone and it didn’t matter who. It didn’t matter how. It didn’t even matter if he had to haul his broken body - scarred and barely-healed - out of this stiff infirmary bed, because the great Gojo Satoru awoke and the world shook.

Because you weren’t here.

“Ah. The oh-so deadest one, I see you’re awake.” Satoru flinches at the sharp, exhausted drawl from his left. 

Slowly, he blinks away the haze in his aching eyes, desperately trying to adjust to the cold room. Shoko’s voice was too loud. The lights too bright. His waiting arms too empty - where were you? 

With a low hiss, Satoru’s body is moving before his mind, sitting up like a man possessed. Goosebumps prickle his skin as the thin blanket falls off his shoulders. Temples throbbing because the world was spinning and spinning and you-

“Calm down, Satoru.” Shoko sounds almost panicked now - as much as she could, anyway. Uselessly trying to push him back onto the mattress. “I don’t care if you’re the ‘strongest’. Sukuna did a number on you and you have to rest-”

“Where is she?”

---

It was the final nail on your coffin - that slight, steady rumble beneath your feet. So fleeting that you’d written it off as your weary brain, too goddamn tired from today. Heaving out a sigh, you rub your eyes in frustration, so fucking alone in this too-large penthouse. 

Fingers jittery, you rifle through your best friend’s closet for his box of blindfolds, because you knew he’d be complaining about the sensory overload at the infirmary if- when he woke up. Though, you think that was more an excuse for Shoko to send your wrecked self away than anything. 

Grabbing a few more than necessary, your heart lurches as you eye that dusty framed photo by his bedside. A much younger Satoru, Suguru, Shoko, and you - probably the last time any of you smiled so carelessly. 

One dead and the other just on the cusp of it.

He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He’s the strongest, right?

Swallowing heavily, you try to put your mind to something - anything - other than the memory of that battlefield and the blood. So much blood. Everywhere. 

God, you should’ve stayed. What if Satoru-

That was when you felt it. 

The tight, uncomfortable feeling of atoms standing at attention all around you. The air was so stagnant and heavy that it was almost hard to breathe. 

You don’t know how you realize what it is - but you don’t get the chance to wonder about it either. Because the thought has barely even crossed your mind before everything else is thrown at the window at those two words. 

Hoarse, and whispered, voice ever-so-slightly cracking at the end. One you recognized, one you knew you always would.

“My love?”

Satoru.

It was a miracle that you didn’t get whiplash from how fast you whirled around to face the doorway - and it was an even bigger miracle that you didn’t trip at how your legs were carrying you to that tall, familiar flash of white hair without a second thought. 

Hell, you don’t think you’ve ever run this fast in your life, and it still wasn’t quick enough when Satoru engulfed you in his arms. Letting out a soft sigh as he hugs you tight enough that it hurt, like he never wanted to let go. 

All familiar warmth and a rapid heartbeat that matched your own. 

A shiver runs down your spine at that scent of the infirmary, tinged with something so dangerously metallic, miles away from the usual hints of pine and candy. But you only pull Satoru closer - not even realizing the tears staining his snug t-shirt, nails digging into his sculpted back. 

“S-Satoru?” you murmur wetly, as if you still couldn’t believe it - even when you were in his strong arms. 

It killed you to pull away, and Satoru wasn’t any better, pulling you firmly to his heated body with a guttural grunt as soon as you showed any signs of shifting away. Grip almost bruising, fingers tight on your hips. But you didn’t mind, why would you? 

Because the strongest was nothing under your will - he always was. And it’s only once you break the embrace just a fraction of an inch that you confirm that this actually was Satoru - your Satoru. 

“You’re here.” you breathe out unsteadily, not knowing where to look first - his heaving chest, as if he’d run all the way here, or those faint scars along his exposed skin. Jagged, running down his pale skin like he was too impatient - too distracted - to let them heal properly. Satoru’s face was scarily blank, pretty lips set in a tight grimace like every second you weren’t locked in his arms killed him. 

He doesn’t answer - like he didn’t know himself. Nervously, you raise your eyes to meet his and-

Oh, Satoru, he was here. Alive.

Looking like he was ready to make sure that no one else was.

You just wondered where they’d pile all the casualties. Too many to bury at Jujutsu High if those tiny blue flickers of lightning at the corners of Satoru’s eyes were anything to go by. 

Gaze hooded, pupils blown, he didn’t look at you with that usual warmth. No, he looked at you like a man that had crawled back from death just to rip you apart. And you had half the mind to wonder whether this was some special grade curse that had just come disguised as your best friend. 

“Are you okay?” you try again, raising a hand to cup his cheek. “Toru?”

Oh, you might as well have just signed your own will, because no sooner are the words out of your mouth before Satoru’s jolting. Like the mere sound of that stupid little nickname from high school was enough to shock him to his very core. 

Electrify him just enough to finally look at you like it was the first time. Like he was seeing you after a thousand years. “My love.”

There it was again, that quiet, strained little mantra. 

Followed very closely by the deafening slam! of the door behind him, so hard that you spy one of the hinges rattling off. Startled, you look over Satoru’s broad shoulders just to catch a glimpse of the single, large handprint charred into the wood, slight steam wafting from his hand.

Shit. He’s lost it.

Almost like the strongest has forgotten his restraint - or didn’t care about it either way. Heated, you wondered what this boded for you. 

Will you be lucky number one on his kill list? You wonder, as Satoru presses his mouth right above your pulse. Racing. Dangerous. Feeling the rapid thump! thump! thump! under his lips.

Breathing you in, dragging his nose up, up, up- He mutters into your skin, ���Y’can kill me if you don’t want this.” Will you go down - if there’s anyone left to remember, that is - as the casualty that surely and officially signaled the honored one’s descent into madness? Only the second best friend he had to kill?

Or, Satoru pulls away slowly from his little haven, breath ghosting your lips as he gasps out a shaky, “No God can take me away without doing this.” Will it be something else entirely?

And then he’s kissing you - and you’re kissing him. 

Because fuck, how could you not? This is Satoru, and this is all you’ve ever wanted since those late night convenience store runs in high school, hand-in-hand and teleporting away from a furious Yaga.

The same Satoru that had cockily winked at you goodbye before facing Sukuna - leaving you crying with nothing to hold onto but those cold, cold hands and wishes that you’d have just fucking kissed him before. Maybe even put aside your pride to just tell him.

But none of that mattered now, because Satoru was so desperate - drinking you in like you were the last breath of air on Earth. Like it hurt more to part with your lips than it was to be cleaved in half.

Such a mess of teeth and saliva, and you were addicted. Drunk off his sweet taste - like candy, almost, and those cheap mochi he always got from downtown - and the electricity pricking at you each time your skin grazed against his.

It almost hurt - but it hurt so good.

Gasping, you pull away for air - impossible with the way Satoru was like a madman, kissing your swollen lips again and again and-

“Toru!” you squeal, muffled through his lips. “Aren’t you-” His mouth drops into a soft oh! at the delicate strings of saliva snapping in the non-existent space between you two. Surging forward like he couldn’t help himself. “Battlefield- mmpf- now?”

With a pained grunt, Satoru finally halts, just a hair’s breadth from your lips. And if you were in any better state of mind, maybe you’d have noticed the brief flicker of blue lightning all over his body. The way the lights flicker. 

“Special curtain.” he pants against your open mouth, a muscled thigh shoving between your weakening legs. “Time barely passes in here.”

You don’t know what your head is reeling more from his words or his hands - hands that kill - caressing you like a lover everywhere. Unable to decide between your hips, to your ass, to your pretty pretty face. Kiss-bitten lips uttering, “Everyone’s waiting for you.”

“So?” Satoru lets out a humorless laugh. About an octave higher than usual, like he was at the end of his rope now. Eyes hazy and glowing, looking as if it took everything in him to not just tear off that uniform and take you right now. 

“But-”

“Shut up and let me ruin you, my love.”

Your back is hitting the mattress before you can even start to wonder what the fuck is happening. One second standing at the doorway and the other all sprawled out on Satoru’s bed.

Besides yourself, you blurt out, trying to make sense of the situation to both of you two. “Did- did you just teleport us?”

“Don’t know.” he answers. And Satoru sounded like he genuinely didn’t know, as bewildered as you were. Powers acting before him - way, way before he can think - as he fists your shirt in his hands. “Don’t care.”

And you half wondered whether Satoru was even aware of what he was doing as he pulls, down, down down. 

Rip!

It tears through the air - both the sound, and the way he’s just pulling your shirt to shreds. All depravity and no repentance as Satoru throws it behind God-knows-where. Buttons hitting the floor at a maddening little rhythm to which he was slowly losing his sanity. 

He was kissing you like he was angry - taking it out on your poor clothes. Because before you know it, he’s pulling your bra off. Fingers searing on your skin, skirt just tatters on the floor. 

“Waited too long.” he groans, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. “Always wanted to do this.” And once he started, it was like Satoru just couldn’t stop, rambling into the valley of your breasts, “Ever since I first saw you and oh-”

That was it - only one look at your panties, all flimsy and drenched - and you’re back to wondering what Satoru’s kill count would be. You shudder as his eyes widen, letting out a strangled gasp from some deep, primal part of himself. Voice so broken and starved as he muses, “-can’t believe I waited this long.”

Shit. You weren’t making it out alive.

Immediately, Satoru’s dropping further down the mattress, easily pushing your knees up all the way till they were at your breasts. 

And it was so unfair. 

Unhair how he was still fully clothed, while you were spread so shamefully. Unfair how he was sliding his underneath your panties up and down, grazing your swollen folds. Up and down, up and down up and- Pooling your sweet sweet juices on his fingertips before pulling, marveling at how sinfully soaked they were. 

And it was like something snapped - maybe his whatever restraint he had left, probably you by the end of this. Because just a split-second later, Satoru’s tearing right through your panties. Not even taking a second to breathe before burying his pretty face into your dripping cunt. 

Unfair how you were liking it so dangerously. Being so used. 

And Satoru knows - he thinks, with whatever rationality he has left intact - that he wants to admire your pretty lil’ cunt. To finally drink in what he’s been dreaming about for years all these lonely nights. But, no, that’s for later - for a different Satoru, one that didn’t feel like he was going to fucking die if he didn’t taste you right now. 

“Ah! Hngh- T-Toru-” you arch into his hot tongue, as he licks erratically up your folds, long, sloppy movements of his tongue all the way from your base to your swollen clit. Lapping at your juices like he couldn’t stop.

“Tha’s right.” words muffled into your cunt. Throwing your legs over his sculpted shoulders. “Gimme more, use me. Use me- fuck fuck fuck- yeah.”

He sounded as delirious as you were already, flinching with each word spat into your sensitive cunt. Drunk off your pussy and so messy, like he was well and fully intent on ruining you. 

And it’s all you can do to sob so needily as he swirls his tongue around your sensitive clit. Seemingly unable to decide between sucking on it harshly and dipping into your sloppy hole. In and out. Wanting everything. Anything. 

“Fuck. S’too deep. Sh-shit.”

“Oh yeah?” he’s grinning, a cruel, cold little grin. You can feel it as he rolls his tongue against your clit over and over. “S’not deep enough.”

You pathetically try to close your legs around his head in shock, as the tips of his long fingers spread open your pussy further, teasing your entrance. 

But who were you against the strongest? The one that got everything handed to him on a silver platter since birth? Except you - until now, that is.

Because Satoru’s swatting thighs back open like it was a mere inconvenience, and feel your cunt clench in- fear? Anticipation? as you realize how gently he was throwing you around like a ragdoll, in comparison to that door from earlier. 

“No.” he sounds absolutely wrecked, babbling around your throbbing clit. “Need this- need you.”

And then he’s plunging knuckle-deep in your plushy pussy, so greedily that your slick is trailing down his wrist. Drinking in your pretty gasps of his name as he roams for that one spot he knows will have you seeing stars - only the best for his girl, right? The only thing on his mind right now, like a predator starved.

You can only tug on his hair and buck wildly underneath him, inching Satoru closer to where he was desperately searching for. Close - so close. 

“Toru-” you moan, like a prayer. 

But it wasn’t fast enough. 

Not for Satoru, at least.

Even through the haze in your eyes, you could make out that brief flash of electric blue in-between your legs, eyes widening as ah-

That cheat. 

You wondered if he even knew he was using his powers right now. Or whether Satoru was too far gone at this point. Way too smug with the way he hits that one spot. Hard. 

Ah, you quiver as something so dark sparks in his eyes. Looking like a man starved, that had finally come across his favorite meal. Moving with frightening accuracy as he pumps his fingers in and out, hitting it each and every time. 

“Shit, ngh-” you let out a shrill moan, “It’s too good. You’re so fucking-” 

One hand was so messy toying with your dripping entrance - the other digging into your hips. Dragging your sloppy pussy senselessly all over his mouth. 

Hard enough that you were sure it’d leave marks for tomorrow. If you even made it that long, that is, if the tiny shocks of electricity at his fingertips told you anything. 

Desperate. Violent, even.

So it only makes sense that your orgasm was the same. “Fuck- m’cumming m’cumming, fuck fuck fuck-” You’re shaking as you cum, crying out Satoru’s name and delirious little moans that you’d otherwise be embarrassed of. 

And he doesn’t stop. Not when you’re blinking your vision back. Not when you’re shying away from his tongue, the stars behind your eyes too much with each flick of his tongue. 

“S’too much- too- fuck, sensitive, Toru.” you whine, big fat tears clinging to your lashes. 

Ah, there it was again. Just when Satoru was beginning to think that he might just be veering into a state of mind that could be considered sane - you have to call him that goddamn nickname again. And it’s only driving him wild. 

Well, he muses, fumbling with the hem of his t-shirt, it’s really on you then. 

You let out a fucked-out little whine as Satoru finally takes his shirt off, revealing such milky, toned skin. All sharp curves and dips like he was sculpted so meticulously, going down, down, down and- Your breath hitches at the large, pink scar standing out of his torso, so uneven and fresh that you feel a fresh wave of tears - different ones, this time. 

You take a steadying breath, eyes unmoving from the injury. “Satoru-”

“No.” Satoru’s tone is firm, so different from the metallic tinkling of his belt. He was moving now, shifting in between your legs to kiss those tears away. “Need this. Need you. Need you need you need you so bad-”

“But your…” you trail off. The words catch in your throat as he finally unbuckles his belt, pulling down his pants just enough that his throbbing cock springs out, hitting his sculpted abdomen. Red, and so so angry, soaked in precum. 

He was so…massive. Now, you expected your best friend to have a big dick, but this was ridiculous. He was so intimidatingly long, thick enough that you could feel the slick beading out of your sloppy hole already.

Yeah, you definitely weren’t making it out alive. 

Satoru sees it too, of course, because his cock twitches furiously. A low hiss leaving those pretty pink lips before he’s spitting on your quivering cunt. Once. Twice. 

And you know that if this shameless bastard could use six eyes to find your g-spot, then he could’ve done the same for this. But, no, he lets some of it miss, splattering against your inner thigh, smearing all over as Satoru thumbs in his saliva with your slick. 

God, he was treating you like some object. Wordlessly throwing your legs over his shoulders, dragging his weeping tip down your swollen folds. So fucking filthy. 

And then you feel like you’re been split apart - because Gojo Satoru was unforgiving. As was his aching cock. He’s barely even pressing through the first ring of muscle, and you already feel like he’s pushing all the way into your lungs. 

“T-Toru.” you yelp, glancing down at the way your pussy was stretched so lewdly around his thick cock. Quivering as he keeps pushing and pushing and- no mercy. Absolutely none at all. “Can feel you so deep inside ngh- I don’t think I can…” 

“No no no no no-” he’s panting into your open mouth. Fucking into your heavenly cunt in mindless, shallow little thrusts just to squeeze deeper inside. “Need this. Want this. Always did. God, fuck fuck fuck, you can do it-”

“But-”

God, Satoru can’t help but kiss you - to shut those cute lil’ whines up more than anything, he’s sure he’ll cum right there and right now if he didn’t. 

Because Satoru wasn’t any better. Body bowing into yours, eyes rolling to the back of his head, mouth falling into a delirious oh! as he finally bottoms out. Balls smacking your ass too hard, your pussy too tight, you too beautiful underneath him. 

Blindly, he reaches for the headboard - white-knuckling it so hard that it’s a wonder it doesn’t break. 

It does - and later you’ll find a pile of splinters behind the bed. It’s just that neither of you notice. Too high off the feeling of Satoru’s cock pushing inside you. You’re clawing at his back now, gasping for air. Letting him fold you in half to filthily lick away the tears pooling at your cheeks. 

“Shit- y’got this, my love. You gotta- ah- Breathe-” he can’t even speak properly, sharp tongue so heavy. Eyes glowing with such insanity as he rocks his hips harder into yours.

He was right - you needed to breathe. To finally wrap your head around the fact that this was Satoru - your best friend - the same one that binge-watches sappy rom-coms with you after every breakup. Every. Single. One. Somehow, you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Both of you were barely-lucid at this point. And he was out of control now.

Funny, how in all his dreams when you were screaming his name - Satoru was always suave, methodical, playing with your pretty pussy like a fine instrument. Right now, he was anything but. Sloppy - like he didn’t have enough time, never would, even in this room where time slowed.

“Don’t you run away.” he grunts at the way you’re so adorably torn between running away from his cock and bucking for more more more- “Waited twelve fucking years for this. N’ m’gonna take it.”

You almost sob at the pressure as he laces his fingers on top of your head to slide you impossibly deeper. Down, down, down. “S’too good, Toru. Wan’ more-”

“More.” Satoru breathes, more to himself than anything. Eyes widening almost comically, a fucked-out smile spreading all over his face. “Y’want more even when you’re filled to-” He traces an invisible line halfway down your tummy. “Here?”

“Yes.” you gasp as he reaches down to toy with your throbbing clit, drawing tight, frenzied little circles. Balls smacking your ass so painfully, thumb pressing down right where his tip was hitting your cervix - as if he used six eyes to see. “Always wanted more. Always have, Toru.”

And you swear you could see something physically snap inside Satoru. Because his eyes glaze over, grin dropping instantly from his face. 

If you weren’t so cockdrunk maybe you’d have caught the way the bedroom lights flicker, the one down the hallway bursting. 

“Always, huh?” he’s muttering, grip on your body tightening like a vice. “Wanted more like me?” Rocking into you so sloppily, cock twitching so painfully as he speeds up. Fingers just as desperate - as depraved as his hips.

And this time, he doesn’t even have to use six eyes to find that one spot. Knowing your body well enough to hit it over and over until you were sobbing. “More more more more- fuckin’ take it then.”

At this point you didn’t know whether Satoru was always this ruthless in bed or you’d just broken him. It felt so good that it was almost scary. And your delirious mind wandered into the thought that maybe the bed would break - and your bones to follow. 

Well, they would have if Satoru hadn’t been using reversed cursed technique. But you didn’t need to know that just yet. 

“Satoru-” you squeal as he only gets more erratic.  “I’m…”

“Close?” Satoru’s grunting, smacking his lips against your own.

It’s laughable, really, that muffled question - because Satoru knew you were close. Losing his fucking mind, actually, at how you were squeezing so hard around him. Balls squeezing so painfully right now, but he wanted you to cum first - needed you to cum first.

“Yeah, so close. Wan’ cum- Ah! Please-”

“Then cum. Fucking cum, wan’ed this so bad.” he’s babbling deliriously. Little sparks of lightning visible even to your glassy eyes, fingers humming with a dangerous little energy that stimulated you so good. “Yeah, yeah yeah yeah fucking cum, wanna hngh-”

And then you are. So sudden and hard that you don’t even realize it at first. Just that you’re seeing stars behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears. Rocking your hips into Satoru’s like such a slut. 

Oh, if heaven was really then the part of Satoru that can still form coherent thoughts thinks this just might be it. 

Because only the sight of you creaming all around his swollen cock and he’s cumming and cumming so hard that it hurts. Thick, hot ropes of cum that he can’t seem to stop. Doesn’t want to stop, and God he thinks he could cum until you beg and beg and beg it’s too much. Until you’re yelling for-

“Mercy!” you moan, head spinning with how fucking overfilled your pussy was. “Please, Toru-”

Satoru lets out a slight gasp, “Mercy?” Chuckling so cruelly at your dazed nod, “No mercy, my love. None at all.”

And God, it was so fucking hard to look at him too - eyes half-lidded and miles away, flushed and looking like he was anywhere but laid out on a hospital bed just a few minutes ago. In fact, Satoru looked like he was in heaven on Earth as he only milked his painfully hard cock on your snug pussy.

Pretty. Always so fucking pretty. 

And he kept whispering that, over and over in your ear as you both ride out your highs. Oh how he loved you.

Your eyes fly open, and Satoru knew he’d said that out loud. Shit. But, well, with the way you were immediately pulling him to collapse into your arms, he thinks he really doesn’t mind.

“Love you, love you. Love you so much. Always did, always wanted to love you- to fuck you.” You barely even notice him marking down your neck, sharp canines digging into the flesh like he wanted to break something. Hard enough that you distinctly wondered whether he was out for blood. “To ruin you.”

It was oozing out of you, both Satoru’s cum - dribbling down your legs in thick globs, pooling on the overpriced sheets below - and his power. Jolts of electricity running down all the way from your poor, abused cunt to your hazy mind. 

“So do it.” The air was crackling - crackling with intensity and the smell of jujutsu. It was in your veins, in your words as you whisper, “Ruin me. You’re the- ngh- only- one f’me, Toru. Always was.”

The lights go out. All of them - all across Tokyo, in fact. Shining so bright that it was blinding, until they burst. The last thing you see are his eyes - electrified with blue lightning, burning into your brain. 

And then it’s black. 

---

“I’ll be back before ya know it, my love.” he whispers against your forehead, cooing at the way you stir sleepily. “Gotta pest to take care of.”

Taking down that curtain wasn’t the hard part, the hard part was actually fucking regaining his senses enough to do so. 

And now, all cleaned up and fucked to sleep on his bed, you were looking so unbearably delectable that it made some part of Satoru just want to stay behind this curtain. To forget the waiting sorcerers on the battlefield. Saving the world be damned.

Well, no matter, Satoru had time. He was the strongest, right? After all, how could he give you the world if there was no world to give?

“N’ when I’m back, m’gonna kiss ya to death till you go out with me. Till everyone knows you’re unmistakably mine.”

A/N. GET IT - that unmistakable bit from the panel? 

Plagiarism not authorized.

[baldrickwhethers]

Posting here to mark down the day that I've finished 20020: The Future of College Football!!!!!!1! !1!!! :D

i will never emotionally recover

[imthegayone]

I LOVE THEM SO MUCH 😭😭

The build up of her saying love instead of adore 😭🥰

movie night viii

Summary: Tara finally starts to believe that it's possible to heal and move on.

Word Count: 6k Warnings: swearing, injury mention, Scream typical violence, scars, trauma Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader (pt.i) (pt.ii) (pt.iii) (pt.iv) (pt.v) (pt.vi) (pt.vii) (pt.viii)

It had become apparent to Tara over the past two months that you were impossible to deal with.

She knew she couldn’t be too frustrated with you. After all, your nonstop talking had been put to a halt by whatever injuries had been inflicted upon you. The frustration was evident in your eyes when you would try to write down a response to something before the topic changed. More often than not, you never got a word in.

And, Tara would admit, she felt for you. Not only had your regular life been turned upside down because you couldn’t bicker back and forth with your family, but now? Now you had to deal with the fallout of Ghostface. A fallout that not even she and Sam had gotten over, and their initial attack was over a year ago. She distinctly remembered her own feelings immediately after, and now you had to deal with those feelings without even being able to tell anyone about it.

You tried. God, Tara knew you tried. You would do your best to write how you felt, or even draw a picture, little kid style. But it never worked, and you got more frustrated than she did about the whole thing. You would get irritated and storm off, locking yourself in the bathroom for hours at a time on bad days.

There were days Tara tried to help you act like everything was normal. Yes, you still had wounds you were recovering from, but she tried to act like nothing had happened. Putting on your favourite movies, playing your favourite scores when cooking, whatever she could think of. During late nights of studying or working, she would make sure to leave plenty of kisses on your cheek, the top of your head, your hands, everywhere she could reach.

She didn’t know what you two were exactly, but she tried.

It didn’t stop you from hiding away from her. Mercy had told her to help you change your bandages, especially before you had the stitches taken out. Yet every time she offered, you quickly shut yourself away and didn’t come back until everything had already been cleaned and changed. It made her feel like you didn’t want her around, like you didn’t want her help. Tara knew that wasn’t the case, but it very much felt like it.

The only thing you let her help with was cleaning all the damage from the gunshot. The gunshot that Gale still couldn’t talk about, and that you pretended didn’t exist. Hell, if Tara and Sam didn’t practically force you to let them take care of it, you would’ve let it fester. All in all, Tara felt utterly and completely useless.

“Give ‘em time,” Martha had said one night while you were all at your parents’ house for dinner. “They’re a bit too proud to accept help.”

And she was right. You didn’t ask for help. Not even when you started dragging Tara with you to your last appointment with Mercy. She knew it was about time for you to remove the bandages once and for all, but after how you had hidden from her? Well, even Sam agreed it was fair to assume you wouldn’t be bringing company. But then you had practically refused to let go of her hand the entire trip, and Tara was more than happy to stay.

“You sure you want Pipsqueak here?” Mercy asked. The wink eased the slight annoyance bubbling in Tara’s chest.

Your eyes darted to the side before you nodded slowly.

“Then here we go,” Mercy said.

Tara tried not to stare, she really did. After all this time, she knew it would be a sensitive topic for a while. But she hadn’t seen your smile in weeks. She hadn’t been able to see your crooked, toothy grin after a battle of wits with your family. There had been no closed-mouth smile when your favourite movie score surged through the speakers.

You hadn’t even been able to kiss her.

Okay, that last reason was a little selfish, but Tara didn’t really care. She had been through hell and back not once, but twice. Her first real girlfriend had tried to kill her before then attempting to kill her sister and Sidney fucking Prescott. If anyone deserved to be a little selfish, it was her.

At least that’s what she told herself as she tried to keep her eyes off of the slightest glimpse of scar tissue. Don’t humiliate them, she thought to herself as she waited patiently - or not so patiently - for you to turn around. The small smile on Mercy’s face when she tossed the bandages was comforting.

“See?” Mercy said. “Still as fetching as ever.”

Tara didn’t have to see your face to know the exact look you were giving Mercy. Judging by the set of your shoulders, you were giving her your best, most unimpressed look that you could muster. Complete with a downturn of your mouth and a single raised brow that was convincing enough to get even Sam to hush at least once.

“Don’t give me that look,” Mercy said, confirming what Tara already knew, “I’m sure your little girlfriend would agree too.”

Now that. That had your entire body stiffening almost painfully. There was an instant, immediate tension in your back. Tara knew if she simply walked forward and touched you, there would be nothing but the hard surface of muscles that wouldn’t, or couldn’t, react.

Would you ever be okay with her seeing you again? She hoped this was temporary but… what if it wasn’t? What if you realised all of this was too much and she wasn’t worth it? Tara had only truly had you for a short time, she couldn’t lose you to Ghostface. He had taken too much from her already.

“I’ll leave you two for a bit while I finish your paperwork,” Mercy said with a smile that was directed at Tara.

She left the room swiftly, leaving you and Tara alone. It wasn’t the first time she had been left alone with you since the incident. But it was the first time she had been left alone with you without the bandages as a barrier. She wanted to see you, to see what carnage you had endured for the simple sake of keeping people safe. Did you know that just the fact you had done all of this for everyone else made her feel so uncomfortably warm that she wanted to scream just to feel something different?

“Do they hurt?” Tara asked after a little too much awkward silence. Her footsteps were the only thing echoing through the room as she stepped closer. Hopefully not too close to make you uncomfortable.

She heard your squeaky attempt at speaking. In any other situation, she would have laughed first. Teased you, “just now going through puberty?” Part of her wished she could tease you about it; at least that would mean you were okay and back to normal. You cleared your throat.

“Not much.” 

The first words Tara had heard you say since she had bid you goodbye outside the abandoned movie theatre. Your voice was weak, croaky, almost even painful sounding. But it was you, and the fluttering in Tara’s chest had her trying to catch her breath.

Just her luck, she had left her inhaler at your apartment.

“What are you thinking?” Tara asked when you stayed silent and still didn’t turn around.

“I think,” she heard you exhale. “I think I’m nervous.”

Nervous. A feeling Tara knew all too well even if she managed to hide it. It wasn’t something one could just look past, not when the underlying cause was Ghostface. What would other people think? Would they look at you and see nothing more than scars and trauma? It sat in the pit of your stomach, festering until you wanted nothing more than to crawl into a ball as the world passed you by.

But it was also a feeling that she had managed to keep under control when you were around. Even before Ghostface. She would never have admitted it, of course, but you always made her forget, even momentarily, about all the scars, and trauma, and insecurities left behind. You had made her feel like just a normal kid again.

Wait. That gave her an idea.

“Remember that first date in my apartment?” She asked, stepping a little closer. Not in front of you, not yet, but behind you so she could brush her fingers against the back of your arm.

You shivered.

“When Sam walked in on us?” You asked. It almost sounded like you were smiling.

“No,” Tara said with a huff, “when you cooked and pretended to watch Pearl with me.”

“Oh.” You nodded your head slowly. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Remember what you said to me?” She asked. She inched closer and slid her hand up, resting both on your neck as gently as she could. “On the couch?”

You sighed heavily. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

“Do you trust me?” 

There was a moment of hesitation, and Tara’s mind started running through every possible way to backtrack and act like this hadn’t even happened. But then you nodded slowly, once. It was like all the pressure around her heart lessened and she could breathe, at least for the moment.

“Then close your eyes.”

Tara couldn’t see your face from her current position, but she gave you more than enough time to close your eyes. Only when your shoulders relaxed under her hands did she try to shake the thoughts out of her head and maneuver herself until she was standing in front of you.

She didn’t know what she had been expecting. Maybe some deep, horrific, dark scarring that covered your entire face. For all she knew, maybe you didn’t even have a bottom jaw anymore. Each thought that crossed her mind was worse than the last. What she saw, the fresh scars stretching from the corners of your mouth to the middle of your cheeks? It wasn’t as gruesome as she was expecting.

That didn’t mean her heart didn’t break inside her chest at the sight of the still-irritated skin. Underneath her fingers, your pulse raced; she understood that too. Slowly, gently, she let her hands move up your neck, feeling every inch of skin she could. If she really focused, she could almost feel your trembling. Her hands stopped their short journey when they cupped your jaws, holding you carefully even though she was still worried you would break.

How could she possibly convince you that the scars changed nothing about how she felt? You were still hers. Someone she would trust with her life. That she had trusted with her life. How she admired you for staying with her even through the literal threat of death? That she was in- that she admired you so?

There was only one thing that she could think of that would possibly convey everything she was feeling. Tara exhaled slowly before she leaned forward and ghosted her lips over yours. You stiffened under her hands, but she didn’t move. She wanted so desperately to kiss you until you couldn’t think, but you had to make the final move.

You exhaled sharply through your nose. It tickled her cheek. But then you relaxed, and your hands grabbed her by the waist and pulled her closer until you could return the kiss. Genuine, almost hungry, like you were letting out all the pent up emotions from the past six weeks. Like you were trying to convey everything you hadn’t been able to say.

“Don’t fuck in my office,” Mercy said, appearing almost out of nowhere.

Tara jumped, but your grip on her waist stayed firm. She quickly hid her head in the crook of your neck when you turned to face Mercy to do… well, honestly, you probably flipped her off. If Tara knew anything about you, it was that you would jump at any opportunity to harass your siblings, and now? Oh, now you had free reign again.

“Told you she’d still like you,” she heard Mercy said.

You simply pulled Tara closer.

—---

“What happened to your back?” Tara asked.

You froze with your toothbrush hanging out of your mouth. There was a single speck of toothpaste on the corner of your mouth, and she wanted to reach forward and brush it away, but she knew the scars were still sensitive. Thankfully, you did it yourself and licked it off. Which then left more toothpaste, but she wasn’t going to mention it.

“You said only girlfriends got to know that information,” she continued, “and I’m very much a girlfriend now.”

“Are you?” You asked. That stupid smile gave you away, but she made sure to elbow you in the side for extra measure.

“Your side bitches don’t count,” Tara said. “They’re not girlfriends.”

“I can barely keep up with you,” you chuckled, “how am I supposed to keep up with multiple?”

“We’re getting nowhere,” she mumbled before continuing to brush her teeth.

Your body shook with silent laughter, but you otherwise stayed silent. It was a peaceful evening routine that you both knew not to interrupt. Tara did everything she needed to, you almost did more than her, and it was nice. Comforting, even. You both moved around the small bathroom in sync, never getting in the other’s way. Something that, surprisingly, hadn’t taken long to achieve.

But the question kept nagging her.

“Tell me what happened to your back,” Tara demanded again even as she crawled into bed beside you.

You lifted your book just high enough for her to wrap an arm around your waist, being careful not to jostle you too much. As much as you claimed the mostly-healed injuries didn’t hurt, she knew better. Especially when you flinched when she got too close to the scars.

“You really wanna know?” You asked without taking your eyes off the page.

“No, I’m asking because it’s funny,” Tara said with a huff. “Yes I want to know.”

“You’re so aggressive,” you said. Tara wasn’t looking up at you either, but she heard you putting the book down. “It’s not even that exciting.”

“I don’t care,” she said, shaking her head. “I just want to know now.”

“It was just a meet-up gone bad,” you said. Your hand rested on top of hers; it was warm. “I followed Martha to meet a client who turned out to be a narc.”

“And you got shot,” Tara mumbled to herself.

“I’ll admit,” you continued, “I don’t think he meant to actually hit me.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’d be committing career suicide,” you chuckled. “No one survives shooting a 10 year old.”

Tara didn’t find it as funny. In fact, she didn’t find it funny at all. You were a child; hadn’t even hit puberty yet. And you had already been making runs with your family? She knew your family, there was no way in hell they had known you were following. They weren’t stupid, they took everyone’s safety seriously. If Martha had known you were following, she wouldn’t have continued.

You were young, you could have died. Did you ever stop to think about that on those nights when you were uncharacteristically quiet? Did it ever haunt you that just one wrong decision, one case of curiosity had nearly gotten you killed? Because it would haunt her. It would haunt her until the day she died that she could have missed out on having you around, simply because you had been curious.

“It doesn’t hurt,” you said as you pulled her closer into your side.

It didn’t matter. The scar hurting now didn’t matter because it had happened anyway. You had gotten hurt anyway. She could feel you moving with each breath, but you almost hadn’t had that. You were alive now but what if?

“I’m not goin’ anywhere,” you said softly. She felt you kiss her forehead and closed her eyes. “I promise.”

That was a rather bold promise to make. Especially because she wouldn’t let you go anywhere even if you wanted to. You were hers, and she was yours, and nothing was ever going to take that away from her. Not again.

—---

“They got blood on my new shirt,” you whined for what was probably the 10th time since you had started the walk from your apartment to Sam’s.

“I told you not to wear it to work,” Tara said even as she smiled at your ridiculousness.

She knew you had known better, because she had gotten you the shirt. A fresh, pastel pink button up that looked rather stunning on you. But you had decided to wear it to work because “I don’t want to come home and change,” and what happened? Dicky got you into a scrap and now you had blood on the cuffs.

“It was Dicky’s fault,” you mumbled. “I had it handled before he butted in.”

“I’m sure you did,” Tara said, reaching over to grab your hand in a half-hearted attempt to stop you from fidgeting with the cuff of your left sleeve.

The rest of the walk was spent in a comfortable silence. You kept squeezing her hand, pulling her this way and that to keep her out of the way of most pedestrians. Granted, it helped that everyone gave you both a wide berth; your scary dog privileges had increased tenfold thanks to the scars. At least it gave you a bit more confidence in them.

“So,” you said as you knocked on Sam’s door three times. Always three. “Who is this new boo?”

“Someone from back home,” Tara said with a shrug. “I think they went to school together?”

“Sounds suspicious,” you said with a frown and your arms crossed over your chest. “Sure they can be trusted?”

“Without a doubt,” Tara said.

You hummed in reply before the door opened. Sam gave you the most polite smile she could muster before pulling Tara into a hug. If she heard your grumbling complaint, she didn’t say anything. But that was okay, because Tara got a little tighter squeeze before she backed away.

“Give us one second,” Sam said.

“We’re gonna be late,” you called through the door that Sam had left open. “If Ma interrogates us, I’m throwing you under the-,” you froze when they both came back. “-hey!”

You pointed directly at Kirby, brows furrowed and your mouth practically hanging open. Tara couldn’t tell if you were surprised, angry, excited, anything. She just knew you were feeling something. At least until Kirby smirked at you as she pulled her jacket on, and your expression turned into a pure frown.

“The hell are you doin’ here?” You asked, your accent coming out in earnest. “You can’t come.”

“Yes she can,” Sam said as she ushered everyone out of the apartment and locked the door. “You already said we’re late.”

“How you doin’, Vitale?” Kirby asked.

“You better put that badge away, Reed,” you said. Tara felt your hand grab hers and give it three squeezes. “This is a family dinner.”

“This is pleasure, not business,” Kirby said as she similarly took hold of Sam’s hand. “If you ignore the badge, I’ll ignore the blood on your sleeve.”

“I really liked this shirt…”

Tara tried not to laugh as you looked down at your sleeve, that frustration instantly transforming into upset. You chewed on your bottom lip until you were all back on the street. But you regained your composure quickly and pulled Tara forward until you could lead the way.

Everyone was, quite frankly, glad that you were leading the way. Sure, Tara and Sam had been to your family’s house a few times, but that didn’t mean they could tell anyone how to get there. Which was probably due to the fact that you took them in a different direction every. Single. Time.

“You are a guest,” you said when you finally marched up the steps of an indiscriminate brownstone. “Everything said in this house is sacred.”

“I’m not here to learn your sketchy family secrets,” Kirby huffed. “It’s a safe zone.”

“Damn right it is,” you said definitively.

But you continued to stand there, scuffing your shoes against the ground. There was something else you wanted to say, Tara could feel it in the slight trembling of your hand in hers. You were turning clammy and your tongue impulsively licked out to the corners of your mouth. A habit you had picked up on once the bandages were off for good.

“Thank you,” you said softly, “for coming with Sam.”

Tara’s head tilted slightly. That was rather big of you. Not that you hated Sam, quite the opposite actually. But you both had this predestined sibling feud going on that neither one of you was willing to budge on. And now you were being nice? To Sam’s girlfriend, of all people?

“Thank you for having me,” Kirby said with a kind smile that you made a point to reciprocate.

“If any of you mention that again, I’m killing someone,” you said quickly before turning around to open the door.

That was much more like it.

The house was pandemonium, as it always was. Kirby seemed hesitant, but everyone else acted like they practically owned the place. Thankfully, Sam was wise enough to keep hold of Kirby’s hand and guide her around the house to find Ma and Pop. You, on the other hand, pulled Tara with you to the kitchen where Martha and Mercy were cooking.

“Thought you’d never get here,” Mercy called out. “Hey, T.” A smile in Tara’s direction.

“Did you know Sam’s dating a fed?” You asked immediately, letting go of Tara’s hand to start helping. “She could do so much better.”

“You know, Sam said the same thing when I brought you home,” Tara teased.

"Us too,” Martha said. She looked so much happier now that she was no longer pregnant. Tara couldn’t really blame her.

“You love me,” you said with a smile before planting a quick kiss on Martha’s cheek.

“More and more each day,” Mercy said.

Tara enjoyed spending time with your family. She loved the chaos that came with it, even as she listened to the children screaming and running around upstairs. You all gave each other hell for every little thing, digging into the little wounds that you all left open for the intent of digging. Your brothers were the worst offenders, and you gave it just as ruthlessly.

But she couldn’t deny, it was nice to hear them remind you that you were important. Their tones had changed quickly after the whole Ghostface incident last year. They had tried to tease, to keep up the image. All it took was one poorly timed joke for you to practically explode, practically devolving into tears.

Now, they made sure to remind you how much they cared for you. They would still tease, sure, and they still took it a bit too far at times. Tara couldn’t complain, you started it just as often as they did. But no one could deny that you just seemed all the happier when you were occasionally reminded of the fact that yes, they loved you. Yes, they had played it off well, but they had nearly lost their minds when you had been hospitalised.

“You two go set the table,” Martha said, pulling Tara out of her thoughts and back to the present.

"Come on," you said softly. You handed her half the plates before walking past her. And of course, as usual, you kissed the top of her head on the way.

Tara would be the first to admit she hadn't given you a proper chance in the beginning. Yes she had her reasons, and no she wouldn't go back on them. Even now, the aftermath of Amber would have her waking in a cold sweat, pushing you away in case it happened again. She couldn't be hurt like that if she kept you at arm's length. It was something she was working on with her therapist.

But now? Now that she had given you a proper chance to show her that you were both more than just each other's drunken hookup? You were extremely physical. Not inappropriately so, but always holding her hand, or touching her back, or sitting so close your thigh pressed against hers. You talked a lot of shit, but you showed your affection through touch.

And Tara? Oh, how she lo- adored you for it. Every time she was stuck in her darkest thoughts, with her biggest fears, all it took was your touch to bring her back to the surface. To know that she wasn't alone, and you weren't going to leave. All her fears and worries and insecurities were nothing you weren't willing to help with. You showed her what Amber never could.

You truly cared for her.

“Hey T, I think your chair’s over there,” Joel said with a pointed finger. Tara followed until she saw exactly where he was pointing.

“You’re a dick,” she said as she did her best to shove him aside.

“The kid’s table is perfect!” He called out. “It’s your size!”

“Yeah, come on, Auntie Tara!” More than one kid cheered. 

Tara would be honest, she didn’t even know which one it was, she was still learning everyone’s names. All she knew was that there were five kids, one of which was too young to talk. Three spouses that she was friendly with, but didn’t talk to. Except for Linda, who always kept her updated on if you had been into the police station again or not. You always let her know, of course, but it was nice to hear someone else say you were safe.

Slowly, and with no one stopping their conversations, everyone sat down at either of the two tables. She made sure to smile and wave at Chad, Anika, and Mindy, who were thankfully being watched after by Gale. You frowned when Gale sat as far away from you as possible. Gently, Tara placed her hand on your thigh and gave it a comforting squeeze.

She didn’t even try to keep track of all the conversations going on around her. The kids were, thankfully, too busy eating, but everyone else continued. You managed to hit up a conversation with everyone at the table, sometimes even yelling to the other table to include them too. Hell, at one point, you even struck up conversation with Kirby, who was sitting directly across from you.

Even though you had made it a point to harass Kirby, Tara could still see the slightest upward tilt of the corner of your mouth. Most had admitted - without you around, of course - that they couldn’t detect your teasing as accurately anymore thanks to the scars. They gave you a perpetual smirk or smile that was hard to look past. But she could tell.

And you were finding clear joy in teasing Kirby.

Tara had to look away to stop herself from laughing with you. She looked down at her plate and pushed a few things aside; as delicious as it was, she wasn’t exactly in the mood. Something warm brushed against her knee, but she settled quickly when she realised it was just your hand. Oh, the embarrassing comfort you could give her with a simple touch.

“Anyone ever call you Joker?” Kirby asked.

Oh no.

“Not twice,” you said with a raised brow as you took another bite of your dinner.

“Only to scare the kids,” Dicky chimed in with a full mouth.

“Or threats,” Alfie mumbled with a nod without looking up.

“How’d you get them?” Kirby continued. “Deal gone bad?”

The few of you at the table slowed down, heads turning slowly to look at Pop. He was sitting in his usual spot, with the usual cigar hanging from the corner of his mouth. The look he gave Kirby was scrutinising and, even though it wasn’t directed at her, even Tara felt herself shrink under his gaze. You squeezed her knee again, and she quickly reached down to grab your hand.

“Are you asking as a fed?” Pop asked slowly. “Or family?”

“You’re Sam’s family,” Kirby answered without hesitation. “Which makes you my family.”

“That’s so gay,” you mumbled. That stupid, endearing smile was back and you didn’t even try to hide it. Tara did her best to kick you under the table, but you just smiled even bigger.

Pop nodded slowly before raising his brows at you and gesturing toward Kirby with his head. You cleared your throat and sat a little straighter in your chair. With a roll of your shoulders, you looked back at Kirby.

“It was Ghostface,” you said with a shrug that tried a little too hard to be casual.

“What?” Kirby asked, her head quickly turning to look at Sam.

“Last year?” You continued. “Surely you knew.”

“You kept that from me?” Kirby asked.

“Oops,” Dicky said before trying to choke down his laughter. Which he failed miserably at.

“I wanted to leave it behind,” Sam tried to explain.

“You are in so much trouble,” you mumbled.

“I’m guessing you caught him?” Kirby asked, slowly turning to look back at you.

“Caught him?” You asked. Underneath her fingers, Tara felt your thigh tense up.

“We don’t catch criminals,” Alfie said.

“Plata o plomo,” Dicky said.

“Okay, Escobar, calm down.” If there was one thing Tara appreciated, it was your insistence on turning things into jokes even after the incident. “We killed the sons of bitches.”

“You shot them really quickly,” Sam said.

A question popped into Tara’s head as the entire scene replayed through her mind. She had done her best to act like it hadn’t happened - outside of therapy, at least - but Sam brought up a good point. You all had shot them almost immediately. That wasn’t how it usually went.

“Why did you shoot them so fast?” Tara asked.

You inhaled as if you were going to answer, but quickly shut your mouth and looked back down at your plate. She squeezed your knee lightly before your leg started to bounce. It was a nervous habit that you rarely displayed, at least out in public. Usually you kept it reserved for the apartment where no one could see the internal turmoil you so desperately wished to hide.

“Your little “movie algorithm” says to hear ‘em out, scuffle, and win, right?” Alfie asked.

Sam, Tara, and Kirby nodded slowly in response.

“This ain’t a movie,” Dicky said.

“Because the movies don’t matter,” you said.

Kirby pointed in your direction. “No they don’t.”

Your leg slowed its bouncing before coming to a restful stop as conversation turned back to normal. The frown that had attempted to make an appearance turned back into a hesitant smile as everyone started to laugh and talk and scream once again. And the entire time, Tara could do nothing but look at you with only a single thought in her mind.

—---

The sounds of your movie came through the shitty little speakers you had hooked up to your TV. Martha had brought the kids over so she could do some work, and you had agreed in an instant. Without consulting Tara, who had planned on having a wonderfully exciting evening in.

She shouldn’t have even been surprised, being interrupted was basically foreplay for you both at that point.

“Why is Auntie Tara so grumpy?” The oldest asked. Which in turn made Tara even more grumpy. She was starting to hate these kids.

“Because she didn’t get what she wanted,” you said with a poorly concealed smile. “So now she’s upset.”

“Do you need a hug?” The middle one asked.

She knew she had to be nice to the kids, she knew she did. But she very kindly wanted to tell those kids to fuck off. What she needed was to resume your previous activities and to have your hands on her skin. She needed a kiss and a genuine fuck.

But no, that wasn’t allowed, she had to babysit a bunch of kids that weren’t even hers. Meanwhile, Sam and Kirby had forever been excused from babysitting duty because they were… well, they were honestly shit at babysitting. Which was rather ironic considering Sam used to babysit as an actual job back in school.

Clearly she had played the system better than Tara had.

“I would love a hug,” is what she ended up saying.

She was glad she did, because that kid? Gave amazing hugs. Clearly he had learned from you, because he hugged the exact same way. Arms over the shoulders and chin resting on the top of her head. She couldn’t help but smile into the kid’s chest when he squeezed her a little tighter before letting go.

“Better?” He asked.

“Much,” she said.

The movie continued to play on, and the kids moved from the couch to the floor. You had both decided to play it smart and make a pallet in front of the TV. It wasn’t anything big or special, but some blankets and pillows? Oh man, the kids ate that shit up, they almost didn’t want to be anywhere else.

Which left plenty of space for you to lay down on the couch and pull Tara down with you. Your chest pressed against her back while your arm snaked around her waist. It left her with a comfort that she couldn’t quite place. She felt safe when you held her like that, like nothing could get to her because you were there with her.

The whole situation was entirely too domestic. You were holding her, the kids were nearly asleep on the floor, and she felt safe. It made her feel like she was home. A warmth spread through her chest and she could practically feel her heart beat in rhythm with yours. Was that what it felt like? Was that what it really was?

Should she say it?

“You’re thinking really loud,” you whispered into her ear. The kids were completely passed out. “What’s in that pretty head of yours?”

She shouldn’t say it.

Maybe she should.

It could backfire.

But what if it didn’t?

“I love you.”

She thought she would have to wait for a response. That you would stiffen, back off, try to play it off like you either hadn’t heard her or you wanted to change the topic. But you giggled - practically giggled - and shifted behind her. You pulled her just enough so she could look at you and that stunning smile of yours.

“Oh thank god,” you said. “I thought I was going to have to say it first.”

“What?” She asked.

“I was gonna tell you ages ago and got cold feet,” you continued.

“And you just didn’t tell me?” She asked. You both fell silent when the kids shifted, but they quickly settled once again. “What is wrong with you?”

“I can’t let you win,” you answered quickly. “I need you to chase me back.”

“I-” she closed her mouth quickly. She supposed you were right; she had let you make the first move time and time again. But no way in hell was she going to admit that to your face. “You’re a dick.”

“I love you too,” you said, your smile impossibly bigger.

Tara rolled her eyes. Of course you would turn this whole love thing into a competition. Maybe it was one of those things she loved about you. Instead of letting you know, she just grabbed you by the face and pulled you down into a kiss that tasted of the capri-sun you had stolen from the kids.

She was glad you were the one she loved.

[redflannelsheets]

What I need from you: a long hug, like 19 hours long; your fingers entwined in mine; to hide my face against your chest and to apologize when my tears soak into your shirt and for you to kiss the top of my head and breathe into my hair and tell me it’s okay, I never ever ever need to apologize for that

[sttoru]

𝝑𝑒 synopsis. after being married to satoru for two years, you still giggle and (secretly but not so secretly) fangirl about him whenever given the chance. your husband absolutely loves indulging you.

tags. husband!gojo satoru x wife!female reader. fluff, sfw, tiny bits of angst. tooth rotting fluff yeah. reader gets called ‘princess, baby’. inspired by this ask.

“and and and, his smile ‘s just so beautiful,” you sigh dreamily, resting your head on satoru’s lap. you’re both enjoying the cozy night in your shared apartment. with no one bothering you—with no regards for the world that’s continuing its cycle outside.

satoru chuckles as he pats your head slowly, taking his time to appreciate every feature of yours. from your pink-ish lips to your pretty eyes. he’s so in love with the creation god has gifted him. he nods attentively, “yeah? what else?”

you giggle as he indulges you. it’s a habit of yours, to fangirl over your husband like you’re not literally his wife. satoru finds it absolutely adorable. plus, it boosts his ego. in a very good way.

“aaaand, he’s caring. that’s the one thing i love most about him,” you continue to ramble about your little ‘crush’ on that so-called mysterious white-haired sorcerer. satoru wishes he could capture this moment and keep repeating it over and over in his head.

the way you talk about your crush - him - is filling his stomach with butterflies. the tall man can’t deny the faint blush on his cheeks and the fuzzy feeling in his chest. you keep getting cuter and cuter the more time passes.

when he thinks you’ve reached a state of perfection in his eyes, you once again prove him wrong and go beyond that. “caring, hm? he must treat my princess real good then,” satoru hums and continues petting your head. his other hand rubs your stomach—fingers creeping under the material of your nightgown.

“he does,” you nod in agreement, “he treats me so well. i don’t know how i got so lucky to have met him.” you squirm a little as you feel satoru’s slender fingers graze your midriff, going back down to your belly and then back up your chest again. his touch is so intimate and loving. you’re spoiled. spoiled rotten by his affection.

satoru sighs. his white lashes flutter shut for a second. hearing you say such stuff makes him want to check if it’s reality he’s in. if it isn’t another too-good-to-be-true dream of his. no one had loved him as much as you did.

it feels good to know that he’s wanted. needed.

“no, i think he is the lucky one,” satoru continues. his hand petting your head stops and he moves it to rub your cheek tenderly. he leans his head down, the tips of your noses touching. he whispers, “having a pretty girl like you love him so dearly… yeah, he’s won the lottery.”

your heart skips a beat. satoru’s words leave you speechless. you don’t know if you can keep up the little silly act anymore. his flirting, the teasing and the genuineness behind his words—it’s all too much.

you grab the back of his head and push his lips down against yours. satoru’s breath hitches for a second before he gives in to you. he visibly melts, eyes closing and hands tightening their grip around your body.

“mmh,” satoru lets out a content moan. he loves you. he’s glad he’s met you and he’s glad he made you his wife two years back. you’re the only one for him. death won’t do you apart—no—he promised you on your wedding day that it wouldn’t.

you kiss him like it’s your last kiss on earth. the spark between you is still as warm and strong as it was when you met. the people who’ve warned you about the ‘honeymoon phase’ are clearly all wrong. they aren’t aware of the strength your bond with satoru has. you’re inseparable.

“i love you,” you sigh against satoru’s glossy lips and he deepens the kiss after that.

somebody loves him. somebody cares for him. that’s all he needs in life. his life is complete with you in it. he smiles against your lips and says the three words back, with more passion than ever before, “i love you too, my angel.”

nothing will ever separate you. not fate. not anyone.