death

[bleedfurme]

castiel 𐦍 twenty-one [ 21 ] . they / he .

info 𐦍 minors DNI . no requests, just thirsts . dark content friendly . don't like, don't read . utilize the block button . male/gn reader focused .

links 𐦍 masterlist . guidelines . tag system .

[bleedfurme]

puppy hybrid & kitty hybrid in heat together

[aystas]

[freyito]

ᴇxᴛʀᴀ ᴅᴏꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ʟᴏᴠɪɴ'

✭ pairing(s): boothill, gallagher, mydei, phainon (seperate) x reader

✩ in which: they give you some extra tlc

✧ a/n: hiii :,) i accidentally became important at work withiun the first motnh sofics are suuuper slow. ive also just been struggling with motivation AND my grandpa died and then not even a day later i was watching a tornado do its thing right infront of my workplace. so!

✦ taglist: @fffrost, @shinysora

🗒 cw: gn reader, just fluff, not proofread

✎ wc: 1.6k

⎯ Boothill

Usually, BOOTHILL is the one in need of a little extra love. Running across the galaxy for months at a time can take a lot out of him. Even with his impressive will, he can find himself drained sometimes. Sure, he’s always found peace out in the wild, under a star-painted sky, but he still can’t help but crave some sort of human connection, a way to recharge and remind him of what little humanity he has left. He won’t say anything, and he barely shows just how tired he is when he comes home, always wearing that damn smile. No matter if he had killed anyone on the trip, if he had been chased, if he had been damn near blown apart; he is never without that smile when he returns to you.

While he makes it extra hard for you to read him, he can read you exceptionally well. No matter how well you think you hide it, he always finds something. Your shoulders may be slumped, there’s a furrow in your brow, your voice doesn’t sound too confident… he knows. 

“C’mon, darlin’, ain’t gotta hide from me,” Boothill coos, coming up from behind you and wrapping one arm around your waist. “If somethin’s wrong, just say so.”

All you can find yourself doing is huff, and lean back into his chest. He laughs out a soft ‘awh’, before hoisting you up into his arms. He carries you off to the bedroom, setting you down gently on the bed.

Now, when it comes to TLC, Boothill practically has a checklist. The first task is to make sure you're comfortable, and happy, of course. The second task is making sure your wants are attended to. This usually manifests in him giving you a quiet space while he goes off into the kitchen to cook for you, usually something warm or sweet (or both!). The goal of this is to give you some time to decompress (whether it be in your bed, or on the couch), but if you choose to follow him to the kitchen instead, he’s quite happy with that, too. 

The third task is the most important (to him, at least), and that’s showering you with all the love he can possibly give. Aside from feeding you (which he will do, all you need to ask), he makes it a point to cuddle up to you and pepper your face with kisses. He makes it known just how much he loves you, with all sorts of sweet little praises and whispers. If you prefer spending a quiet night with him instead, he absolutely insists that you come out with him for some stargazing. A nice little night with your beloved under the star-painted sky is a wonderful way to remind yourself to take it easy, live in the present, and just a reminder that there is someone there for you. Even when you don’t want to admit that you need a little extra love.

⎯ Gallagher

Being a bartender, GALLAGHER can easily pick up on any little mood shift. He is also quite good at sniffing out the problem behind your moods, too. It’s actually kind of scary how well he knows you. Stressed? He’s taking care of you. Sad? He’s taking care of you. Mad? He’s taking care of you. Tired– Yes, he’s taking care of you any time he can, and any time you allow him to. Even when you’re being stubborn and trying to tell him you are totally fine.

So, when you come home, a couple hours after your shift was supposed to end, he already had a drink waiting for you. When you completely ignore the little glass and instead choose to practically fall into his arms, his disappointment is immediately replaced with a sense of happiness– Not that you’ve had a bad day, but the fact that you are openly seeking his comfort after one.

“Alright, well, let’s get ya all cozied up, hm?” He hums, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing just a little, then rocking you back and forth softly, while on large hand splays over the small of your back. 

Once you’ve relaxed, he guides you back to the couch, before fetching you a bunch of pillows and some blankets. He quite likes to get nice and close with you, but if you want to move to the bed, he’s happy to do that, too. He’ll still stay just as close, though. He also orders any food you want, those outrageous delivery costs be damned. Even if you want several different things from several different restaurants, he will cater to your whims. This spoiling is only the start, really. 

It seems he physically cannot leave you. He always has to be touching you in some way, even if he just has his pinky linked to yours. There’s always a warm hand on your hip or thigh, and if he can, he’s pulling you up to his chest. He has to be close, not just for the day but practically for the whole week. He always finds some way to come back to you, even if he’s working. He could be stationed all the way across the city and still come home to see you on his break, all for five seconds to hold you.

⎯ Mydeimos

‘Stress’ doesn’t exist in the Kremnoan language. Or so MYDEI says. That being said, his tolerance is much higher than yours. Something about being ‘forged in war’... But he never faults you if you’re feeling down. As much as he thinks a nice meal will make you feel much better, he understands that there is always more to it. While he chooses to neglect his own emotions, and ignore what eats at him, he is almost the exact opposite when it comes to you. 

Granted, he doesn’t like to let you know that he knows you are stressed. At least, not verbally. Something hidden deep within him, something cheeky, likes to keep things a surprise. As boyish as it is for a warrior like him, he truly can’t help it. There’s something about the way your eyes light up and the way you soften when he does anything for you, especially unprompted.

“Here you are, my love,” Mydei murmurs from behind you, placing a plate of soutzoukakia and rice on your desk. “You seemed hungry, so I made you something.”

It was true, you really were hungry. But, you found yourself so engrossed in your work, hunched over your desk as you stared at your laptop. You had long since lost the plot of the piece you were supposed to be editing, and in turn, that made you feel burnt out. The deadline was in a few days, but you were already on the last few pages, and really wanted to get it finished by the end of the day. In doing so, it seems you have worried your lover.

Before you get a chance to thank him, he places his hands on your shoulders, pressing into them. You can’t help but lean back into him, as he huffs out a soft chuckle. He doesn’t say anymore as his thumbs press into the back of your shoulders, but in the back of his mind, all he can think is ‘See? You overwork yourself’. 

He continues to massage your shoulders for another minute in silence, eyes heavy lidded as he watches you relax. He pulls away after a beat, leading you to look up at him. His smile is so gentle, so kind, something you know is only for you. Once he’s satisfied with how content you look, he leans down and presses a sweet kiss to your forehead, smoothing his hands down your shoulders to your arms. He then leaves you to eat, choosing to go about his day in the background. It’s a calming sort of ambience, the shuffling behind you and the grunts and sighs as he begins his afternoon workout. Sure, the noises could be a little more… quiet. But, at this point, you’ve grown used to it. So used to it, that it’s comforting.

⎯ Phainon

Oh, PHAINON, dear Phainon, nothing gets past him. He practically grew up comforting people, and as such, he understood all your tells before you two even started dating. Therefore, you get pampered before you even realize the stress is setting in. As such, with him, you truly never feel… down. He loves and dotes on you too much to feel like you need anything extra.

Sometimes, however, it does slip past him. He doesn’t beat himself up over it, really, he takes it as a sign to do better. Besides, who would be mad at a little more love? Certainly not you, with the way he cuddles up to you the minute you come home. He’s so damn close to just throwing you over his shoulder and throwing you in bed, keeping you there for a week tops. Probably more.

“C’mon, you and me are gonna hide away from the world for a bit,” He laughs, fingers linking with yours as he pulls you along to the bedroom.

You two lay in the bed, just simply staring at each other for a long while. At most, it’s only five moments, but it feels like an eternity. He holds you so close, legs tangled up, warm hands splayed across your back. He rubs soothingly up and down your spine, blinking slowly like a content cat (despite being more like a puppy at this moment).

For a while, he looks like he could just fall asleep then and there, holding you even closer like you were some plush toy. Then, just as you feel yourself getting sleepy, he presses a kiss to your shoulder. Then the crook of your neck, then your neck, and one, two, three more kisses to your face– a thousand more kisses to your face. He decides in that moment, when you finally look relaxed and calm, that he can’t let you end the day without laughing first.

© freyito, 2025 | masterlist | queue | kofi | star header by roseschoices DO NOT REPOST AS YOUR OWN OR USE FOR AI/AI CHATBOTS

[ilonanan]

chigiri hyoma — does the carpets match the drapes?

sypnosis: chigiri catches you taking care of your hair improperly, and you offer to brush his hair.

warnings: nsfw, aged up!chigiri (18+), smut, unprotected sex (p in v), slight hair pulling kink, light degradation, light humiliation, oral sex (m recieving/blowjob), sub!chigiri

you hum a soft melody, both quiet and effortless, as you pick up the towel from the metal bar. the towel is slightly damp from the humidity in the air from your shower, which your boyfriend always seems to complain is way too hot for your own good, and the fabric nestles in your hold as you bend over. you mindlessly straighten out the towel before laying it over the back of your head, just about to wrap it around your hair in order for it to dry. but before your hand can even begin to wrap the free-hanging cloth around your hair at the bottom, you hear the click of a tongue behind you.

your humming stops, but your actions don't, and you hear another click.

"tch, you know that towel is bad for your hair," chigiri points out, the sass so subtle that you almost don't catch it in his monotone voice. it's only natural that your boyfriend would catch you almost damaging your hair, and you roll your eyes fondly, but he can't see that with the way you're bent over and your hair shielding you from his gaze. "what happened to the towel that i gave you? y'know, the micro-fiber one?"

"relax, hyo, i've used regular towels for drying my hair since like—forever," regardless of you wanting to just wrap your hair and get it over with, you halt your hands and lift yourself up to face chigiri upright. "and to answer your question, it's been sitting in the closet for a while..."

chigiri shifts his weight to one leg, arms crossed across his chest as he lifts an eyebrow at you. his hair is already mostly dried, still damp as he just took his hair out of his micro-fiber towel. he was on his way to the bathroom, where you had just finished your shower, to blow dry the remaining moisture in his hair. before you, he flicks his head to the side as he says sarcastically, "in the closet? okay, i see someone doesn't appreciate my efforts."

you stifle a giggle as you practically throw yourself in chigiri's direction, and his arms instinctively uncross to catch you. his previous demeanor, sassy and bratty, dissipates briskly as he turns his head towards you again with a grin forming on his face.

"hyo, nooo!" you finally let out your suppressed giggle as you feel his arms wrap around the curve of your waist, your hands finding purchase on his chest. "it was just so soft... i didn't wan' ruin it."

your eyes trail up from his chest, meeting the gaze of his pretty pink irises. unsurprisingly, you find his expression to be content, but his voice tries hard to pretend that he's mad at you. "that's the point, pretty girl. the softness is supposed to be better for your hair."

you giggle in faux bashfulness, now focusing on the dampness of his hair. the violet-red strands of his are still slightly tangled, and you assume that he was just about to detangle it again before blow drying the rest. "hyo," you trail a hand up his face, pushing a section of hair behind his ear, "can i brush your hair?"

his prior confidence falters slightly, a blush dusting over his cheeks as he trails his eyes away from yours. in truth, he's unsure; his hair's a tender thing to care for. his lips curve into a pout, "sure," he mumbles quiet and under his breath. but he doesn't miss the way your eyes light up, immediately hoisting yourself up atop the bathroom counter.

"c'mere, princess," you joke affectionately. it earns a groan and a roll of the eyes in response, but he's not mad. chigiri could never be mad at you. the hair brush is already within your fingers' grasp as you reach for the pretty boy's hair. he steps forward with slight hesitation. once situated in front of you and between your legs, chigiri rotates with his back facing you.

the tip of your fingers reach forward to the top of his head, the bathroom counter aiding in reaching his height. chigiri shudders when he feels the warmth of your fingers ghost his hairline, lightly dragging the hair that frames his face back. only once all his hair is situated behind him, you take hold of the ends, a violet-red waterfall right within your hand. you fight the urge to smell his hair, hoping to catch the fresh-floral scent of his shampoo.

you're sure to brush his hair correctly and tenderly, fully aware of how much pride chigiri holds. you start with the ends, controlling the brush so the bristles carefully detangle without breaking the strands. once the ends are detangled, you repeat the process in horizontal sections of his hair until you reach his roots. then, you take a part of his hair and brush from root to end, the brush getting caught in a missed knot in his hair.

it doesn't break, but you hear a sharp inhale from the boy in front of you. "you okay, hyo? did that hurt?"

"no," he whispers stiffly, "kind of." his voice sounds a little strained—and you don't see the red that coats his cheeks. the color almost matches his hair. chigiri doesn't admit that he likes it—the sharp pain of his roots getting tugged at. but you get suspicious with the little grunts he lets out as you keep finding missed knots.

"baby, turn around," you say suddenly, hands dropping from his hair. you let the brush down on the counter and lean slightly back, hands now perched on your thighs. chigiri mentally curses himself as he processes your command—and he knows your suspicion will only grow if he chooses to walk straight out the bathroom. he sighs before turning towards you, tensed shoulders falling.

what meets you is the sight of your boyfriend blushing as if he's developed a fever—and a prominent erection beneath his sweatpants. chigiri groans as soon as he sees the corners of your lips tug into a smirk, hands coming to cover his face in embarrassment.

you're about to say something—mention something about the hard-on that he's obviously gotten just from the tugs of brushing his hair—until he presses a hand to your mouth. "don't. it's embarrassing enough."

he feels the grin that presses up against his hand, and he feels pathetic when he feels your hands reach around his wrists. you push him away slightly, enough so you can jump off the counter. but he's left no time to react when you suddenly switch standing positions, pushing him to lean against the bathroom counter. chigiri's left speechless when your hand travels up his shirt, pawing at the firm of his abs. "y'know, hyo, i've always wanted to see if down there's the same."

chigiri flushes instantly at your innuendo, hands finding the wrist that's currently trying to get down his pants. "you've seen it before, stop acting like you haven't."

"that doesn't mean i've taken the time to fully process and appreciate it," your words are innocent in form, but vulgar in nature; it has chigiri's mind spiraling. and he's rendered with the inability to move as he watches you drop to your knees. right there. on the bathroom floor.

once you're down and comfortable, your eyes shift. not only to look at him—but they actually shift—a hint of lust in your eyes. a whimper falls from chigiri's mouth when he feels your fingers dip beneath his waistband, nails softly raking against the skin of his lower abdomen and pelvis. your fingers hook on the bands, pulling both his sweats and boxers down in a smooth and swift motion. your mouth salivates at what greets you in return, not only chigiri's cock hard and twitching, but the field of violet-red that litters his pelvis.

the hairs are relatively short, no doubt that it's been recently shaved, but they're grown out enough to feel soft to the touch. touch. chigiri fucking moans when he feels your finger trail down. the sound shoots straight to your core, and you feel arousal pooling at your panties. he thinks you've already killed him—until your lips make contact just beneath his belly button.

you contract your tongue into a point, trailing down his happy trail just until you make contact with the base of his cock. chigiri hears the sound you make as you smirk, tongue still rested at his base. and he cries out when he feels your tongue lick a stripe back up. "s'pretty, baby. guess the carpets do match the drapes."

"please shut the hell up," he closes his eyes shut as he feels you repeat the motion. he keeps his eyes like that, feeling you tease his pelvis over and over again—until he can feel your lips enclose around the side of his dick, tongue poking between. your lips trail up the side of his cock until it reaches the tip, enveloping the head in the warmth of your mouth. chigiri's eyes are wide open, head snapping down to look at the pure filth that you have on display. your mouth feels so damn fucking good.

chigiri whines out your name as you take more of him in, and he feels how your tongue flattens out against his frenulum. his sounds are so pretty, and he's much more vocal than he'd like to admit. his voice is breathy, yet still raspy, and they increase in volume every time he feels you hallow your cheeks, walls caging around his cock. it's so good, and he barely seems to realize the little amounts of precum that ooze out of his cock and straight onto your tongue. the salty taste melts on your tastebuds, and you moan around his cock that has chigiri clawing at the edges of the counter.

chigiri's searching for anything that'll ground him to reality—anything that'll help delay his pending orgasm. the knot in his stomach has already formed and he's dreading how his cock twitches in turn, only signaling you further to keep bobbing your head on his dick. he's hyperaware of your hands now on his hips, keeping his body trapped between you and the surface behind him, and he's fighting the urge to fuck your face.

"ah—fuck—baby... think i'm gonna—" chigiri barely pants the words out before you pop your head off his dick.

"hold it."

you're so fucking cruel. your mouth slithers over his cock again before taking him in again, and the knot tightens. your mouth is so wet, warm, and fucking sinful. he throws his head back when he feels the tip of his cock meet the roof of your mouth, dragging against the jagged surface until he feels that knot about to break. "baby! gonna—gonna—c—cum!" you almost pity the boy with the way his words slur together as proof of his coming undone. but before he can reach that peak, you pull away from him completely, both your hands and your mouth.

chigiri is utterly confused, dazed and almost tearful at the loss of pleasure. he was so close. "wha—ah!"

before he can complain, you spin him around and you perch yourself atop the counter again. you drag your shorts off your legs, followed by your panties. they're both left discarded somewhere on the ground as you find purchase on chigiri's arm, pulling his body towards yours. he quivers when he feels the head of his cock poke at your bare thigh, and when he feels your hand grab the base, he lets out a laugh that's soon followed by a low moan.

chigiri wants to say something—anything that'll give him a break to regain some type of control over the situation. but that chance is stolen from him when he feels you guide his cock into your cunt, tip pushing past your lips and into you inch by inch. your hand ghosts over the line of his jaw as you direct his face to yours. but instead of kissing him right away, you bring his ear to your lips.

"do it fast, hyo," you purr, "i know that's your specialty."

the submissiveness that held his mind captive is overtaken by the rush your new command gives, and chigiri feels as if he's been repurposed with the opportunity to ruin you. and he wastes no time in doing so.

whatever that was left remaining of his dick to be pushed inside you disappears instantly with the thrust he sends you. he shoves his remaining length into your pussy in a swift thrust, and doesn't let you recover from the shock—he's already pulling back out only to dive back in. your whines in his ear mimic a siren's singing, and he's tempted to take you back to your shared bedroom and finish there. however, lust has exceeded his residing rationality; he's going to take you here and now.

chigiri doesn't half-ass your command either, he's following it down to the letter. his hips pound into yours with the same speed that he puts out on the field, and he has to shift his weight onto his arms that lie rest on the counter's surface. but despite the sheer speed he puts into his thrusts, they're still calculated, precise—hard.

"hyoma—doing s'good, yeah?" you moan into his neck, breath fanning over his flushed skin. "you're so dirty... following exactly what i say like this. ah—!"

chigiri lands a particularly hard thrust to that mushy spot that gets you dumb. "shut up, you fuckin' minx. you're the one who's dirty."

his prior subspace is all but gone, and he's filled with such pride. he feeds you with thrusts straight to that one spot, and you choke at how easily he finds it in each thrust. your walls clench around him, almost as if they're sucking him in for more. "acting as if you didn't provoke me on purpose... you're the one whose pussy is squeezing me like a damn vice."

you moan at the filth of his words. the crudeness, the venom, the vulgarity—it has you soaking his cock in arousal. he feels it—feels the way your pussy squeezes harder at each word that he barks at you, the way you're closer and closer to biting his neck in order to muffle your own sounds, the way your pussy gets wetter by the second—all because of him. it has chigiri intoxicated. he thinks you may as well be a fucking drug.

he thinks he's doing good, so close to breaking you—until he feels it. the knot forms up again, and it feels even more tight in his pelvis than before. the sensitivity from his prior climb to his climax returns, and you're not entirely dumb yet. you feel the way chigiri's cock twitches inside your walls, erratic and desperate. poor boy. he really thought he had control over you.

"baby... baby—! gonna cum! please lemme cum—please, i'll be good!" he whines out to you, begging desperately to chase his high.

you consider it for a moment, acting as if the knot hasn't begun to form inside of you as well. you smile with an underlying evil, "yeah? just a 'lil longer, can do?"

almost instantly, "no. no can do. please—!" you clench around him hard. "you—evil woman—ah!"

the tightness in his core finally unravels in a series of short, intense bursts. chigiri's cum pours into you in erratic, uneven beats as his climax hits him. he moans like a fucking dog in heat, and you bring his lips to yours. the kiss doesn't do much to muffle him, but you attempt to swallow his sounds regardless. his hips stutter, your pussy milking his cock of every last drop of cum he has to offer. and your climax follows shortly after, moaning into his mouth same as him.

the contractions of your pussy as you cum feeds into overstimulation for chigiri, and he cries into your mouth. but the two of you stay like that, on the bathroom counter, for a while, basking in each other's afterglow. the silence is interrupted by a chuckle from you.

"i think we need another shower."

a/n: this was written for one of my irl friends... i hope u enjoy my sweet girl hehehe (psa the actual smut was kinda rushed its 5am rn im sry...)

[gravelocked]

praising the boys ft. chigiri & isagi !

isagi yoichi

“you did so good in the match today..” you cooed softly, like syrup in his ears. your hips canted forward to rock into him, your tip kissing that spot deep inside of him which made him arch and grip your hair tighter.

“a-ah! t-thank you!” isagi croaked out tearfully, hole clamping tight like a hot vice around your length. you had him writhing and clinging to you on your lap, cock buried to the hilt inside of him, sweetly thrusting into him.

“i know baby. you looked so beautiful out there, making goals..” thrust “passing the ball..” thrust “winning.” thrust.

by now isagi’s brain had been turned to pudding between his ears, nothing except broken sobs and whimpers escaping his swollen lips.

he clung to you desperately, nails digging into your shoulder, fingers gripping and tugging your hair. “h-hah..please, g’na cum! i’ve been so good—let me cum!” isagi muffled into your neck, hot tears staining his flushed cheeks.

your palms gripped the plumpness of his round ass, squeezing it between your fingers.

“c’mon, be a good boy and hold it in a little more for me?” you used that tone again, that one which made isagi melt like putty.

“n-no fair..” he hiccuped, but made no resistance to holding it in anymore. he was your goodest boy after all..

chigiri hyoma

chigiri’s long red hair was fanned out over the pillows, his lean chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. his legs spread, and lips parted.

your fingers worked themselves in and out of his slick, lubed entrance. stretching the pink rim around two of your digits, “you know how pretty you are?” you mused, running a finger down his chest sending shivers down his spine.

“y-yeah..” chigiri nodded, fingers bunching into the sheets. “how gorgeous, beautiful, perfect you are?” you inserted a third finger alongside the two, eliciting a high pitch gasp from the man under you.

“i know!” chigiri cried out, tears pricking at his waterline. “oh i bet you know..” you leaned forwards, pinching one of his nipples between your teeth, rolling the perky bud between your lips whilst your fingers continued curling and pumping into him.

“h-hah..too much..” chigiri whimpered, sweat slicking every plane of his beautiful body. “you want to cum?” you laved over his nipple, eyes fixed onto his.

“i do! i do!” chigiri babbled, hips canting into your palm. “then, say you’re perfect.” you curled your fingers deep inside of him to mash against that plush bud inside of him, driving sparks up his spine.

“huh?” the redhead stammered, voice shaky. “you’re perfect. say it.” you repeated louder, one hand wrapping around his cock to jerk him off.

“i’m perfect! please let me cum!” chigiri screamed, tears rolling down his flushed cheeks. “good boy.” you smirked, “cum.” you ordered, taking his cock into your warm mouth.

a/n: i lav writing top m reader soooo much but i dont like topping hm

2025-2026 — @gravelocked ★ don’t copy/modify/translate/repost to other sites. also don’t feed my work to ai.

[generationalcrow]

prone bone with phainon early early in the morning, just waking up and processing the early light. the weight of him pinning you to the sheets, he's heavy and warm and his mouth won't leave the curve of your shoulder and neck, biting down when his hips rut up into your ass, grunting when that sleepy soft whimper leaves your lips. he loves having you like this, early before the rest of okhema wakes up. the times it feels like only the two of you are awake, so only he can hear how your breathing strains underneath him, the way you gasp when he wraps a bicep under your chin and just barely squeezes, how your hands tremble as he pins them to the sheets, how you keen backwards into him, seeking more even though you're mumbling about it being too early, how he's too heavy. if you didn't want it as bad as he did, you wouldn't be coating his cock with so much slick, now would you?

[umyflame]

A couple of super rough ideas for the Shiggy sticker set I'm working on!

I kinda really like HMPF#2 and Bunny Shiggy looking at Mon best but what do y'all think?

Let me know if you like any of them/if there are any specific expressions/poses/whatever of Shiggy you'd like me to do for the sticker set! (a blushing Tomu is a must. absolutely non negotiable for me)

♡(carrd/ kofi)♡

[umyflame]

A couple of super rough ideas for the Shiggy sticker set I'm working on!

I kinda really like HMPF#2 and Bunny Shiggy looking at Mon best but what do y'all think?

Let me know if you like any of them/if there are any specific expressions/poses/whatever of Shiggy you'd like me to do for the sticker set! (a blushing Tomu is a must. absolutely non negotiable for me)

♡(carrd/ kofi)♡

[tricksh0t]

★ eternal

☾ mydei x top male reader

𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘩0𝘵 ⛥ a bit messy (?) first half with the talking about the night might not connect well to the second half

𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘴 ⛥ 781

cw: should be nothing

Sometimes, Mydei does quite miss the night.

He is a warrior of fire, ever burning in Strife and frustrations and fighting and passion, but sometimes he yearns for its cold.

When his undying soul flickers back to life like an eternal fire, oft he is reminded that the heart in his chest is still very much mortal. His body is mortal; and yet he pushes past the idea, the reality, and always works himself to the bone. Always, he strides forward towards the next battle, for not even death is his limit.

Eternal, is the sun of Okhema, an ever burning symbol of refuge and safety and hope, but sometimes it makes him yearn for the night, anything to quell the flames of his restless body and soul.

So, when his duties are scarce, he slips away from Okhema. Sometimes he makes it as far as home, where he reminisces of what once was and what could've been. Sometimes he only needs the land beyond Okhema's walls.

There is still peace here, in the weeds he tramples beneath his feet and pioneer flowers he could easily crush between his fingers. Mydei is the demigod of Strife waging a neverending war against the Black Tide, a warrior since birth, but he can afford gentleness. It has never been beneath him.

It is hard for him to fall asleep in the everday without the exhaustion of his worked limbs. It is easy to fall asleep, however, under the night sky he has been familiar with since birth... but tonight is different. He needs more than the night sky, for it cannot quell the uneasy fire of his mind tonight, and he needs something more than the light of the crescent moon upon his flesh.

He needs something real, not the subtlety of temperature, the twinkle of the stars, or the sweet dream of what could've been his in Castrum Kremnos.

Mydeimos needs you, the man his heart yearns for, to let his fire and desire for you burn him into exhaustion one more time. It'll be heat that he'll find between your bodies, but it'll be love that extinguishes his anxieties.

The kiss you press to his knee, ankle hooked behind your shoulder, sinks him further into a dream of bliss. You make him feel like there's nobody else in the world–no pressing matters, no war to be fought–when you take him, all because you are so utterly tender with him.

You look good in the night, the blue hour upon your skin. He cups your cheek, you lean into it. He is so grateful for you.

By Mnestia's threads, you make him feel so good, with the way you thrust into him full and just, thorough; with all the care in the world to make sure you're rubbing against his prostate and pushing in as deep as he can take you.

With a groan, Mydei's leg falls from your shoulder, and though they ache because of how wide he has them to make space for you, and because he's been holding them up, it's not for the pain that it does so. He wraps his legs around your waist instead, pulling you closer, pulling you deeper.

It's intimate, the way you look into his eyes then. Mydei places a hand on the back of your neck and pulls you down. You indulge him, leaning down over him and to press a long, unrushed kiss against his lips.

"I love you." You kiss down, over his bottom lip and then his jaw, "I love you, Mydeimos."

"I love you too." Mydei groans in return, wrapping his legs tighter around you, pulling your hips firmly against his ass. Too firmly.

"Mydei, I can barely–"

"Shut up." Mydei cuts you off, closing his eyes and pulling your face back up to his. He presses his forehead against yours, the contact is hot and sweaty, but it's intimate. All he needs is to have you close. "I just... I just need you here, right now."

Your body stills, and neither of you complain, because this isn't fucking him.

This isn't fucking him, it's making love to him like he's fragile, like he'll break. It's the opposite, you know, that no matter what injury he sustains, he will survive... and yet, you treat him like gold, because everything you do to him will leave a mark. Perhaps he will not scar, perhaps he will always come back, but always, whatever killed him or whatever mistake he made, he will remember.

And so you'll keep kissing his knee, and you'll keep taking him slowly, and you'll keep caressing his skin, because it'll remind him that you love him.

[starstruckraqun]

I had a vision

Non-immortal Mydei in modern era enjoying the thrill of competitive boxing

[gojoest]

i think satoru is into brat taming but he’s the brat and you get to make him shut the fuck up and kneel in front of you

[gojoest]

it has a lot to do with the way he is as a person and how everything always depends on him, he’s always the one taking initiative so for once he does not want to make decisions, he just wants you to tell him what to do. and there’s something unbelievably sexy about watching a man made of pure mass of power crawl before you in submission

[loversmantra]

dead beat.

❝add this one to the pile.❞

synopsis. you're ripped from him. he takes you right back.

content. gojo satoru x male!reader. angst. canon-typical violence, gore and horror elements. major character death. curse!reader. some swearing. excessive use of em-dash because i love it and i refuse to let ai have it.

wc. 6.2k

message from noe. requested by @corsped-groom. i purposefully left curse!reader's design vague so you can imagine him however you want, but i was picture something like the xenomorph, the unknown from dbd, or the lickers from resident evil. anyway. this one is depressing af. blame it on the song of achilles. finally read that book and i feel like it shows a little bit in the style of writing in this one. don't read it if you value your happiness... although who am i kidding. we're jjk fans. we don't value our happiness.

The smell in the alley is the first red flag.

Metallic. Sticky like honey on the roof of his mouth. He welcomes like the old friend it is.

Blood. What else was it gonna be?

Satoru steps forward, slipping in the darkness. Not familiar — he’s got no need for stealth, usually, he’s too efficient for that. His style’s more ‘Now you see me, now you’re dead.’ But there’s no streetlights in the alley, so in the darkness he goes, eyes and ears wide open.

No traces of cursed energy except yours, so faint it must be only residuals. So you were here. It’s a start.

A big bunch of nothing, a sullen voice in the back of his head says.

A start, another, more reasonable one counters. It sounds like you. We can follow residuals. We can find him.

There’s a third voice. Louder than any other, so loud that it’s getting real hard to ignore.

It’s been too long. It’s been a few hours at most. Still too long. He would’ve never taken so long to return. He would’ve come back to lick his wounds. He would’ve called for help if he’d needed it. It’s been too long.

Satoru knows you inside out, by now. All your quirks and little habits. Like how you bite your cheek when you’re focusing on something. How you never sleep on your back because you’re scared shitless of sleep paralysis. How you make it a point to keep him in the loop when you go on missions, because you know he gets nervous when he doesn’t hear from you for too long.

It’s been too long.

There’s something in this alley. Something that makes his hair stand on end, an unpleasantly familiar shiver down his spine. Something that he’s missing, but he can’t tell what it is just yet.

Something’s wrong. No visible threat for now, but he’s learned his lesson when it comes to things he can’t see — learned it the hard way. Something’s wrong.

It’s been too long.

A moist sound. Soft and sticky under the sole of his shoe — the blood that’s been stinking up the alley. A lot of it, from what he can tell.

There’s a shape just ahead. Barely distinguishable in the darkness, but there. His mind assesses, quick as a whip. Unmoving. No immediate threat. He steps closer.

It’s a body.

𖦹

Humans are just meat that talks.

That’s what Satoru tells himself, when he looks down at the body laid before him. The girl was once a bright, living thing, full of hopes and promise. Now she’s a lump of meat on cold metal. She’s not the first or the last, and the casualness with which her body’s treated in the morgue is a painful reminder. It raises his hackles.

Add this one to the pile, right?

You knew her; he did not. You stand over her together anyway, both looking at her face silently.

You were the one who retrieved her body. For the occasion, Shoko allowed you to smoke inside. You’ve already smoked two in the hallway. You light the third one over her.

“Do we know if she had any family?” You ask quietly. As if afraid to disturb her rest.

Shoko takes a second to answer. Lights her own cigarette, pockets the lighter. Takes a deep drag.

“What was her name again?” She eventually says.

“Yumeko,” you reply. You take a drag. Shoko takes a drag. Those things will kill you, Satoru wants to joke. But you look a little too sad for that, right now. “Sawai.”

“Sawai Yumeko…” Shoko turns in her seat to type at her computer. “Found her dad. Should I leave you the honors?”

“Fuck no.”

No one says anything for a while after that. Shoko sighs, puts out her cigarette, and steps out.

“So, how’d this happen?” Satoru finally asks. His tongue was getting itchy.

“The intel was wrong.” You sound weary, but not surprised. He isn’t, either. This is commonplace. “It wasn’t a cluster of Grade Threes, it was a Grade One.”

A job for him. Or for you. But not for Yumeko. Poor kid.

Another moment of silence. Satoru’s never known what to say in those situations. Pretty ironic, considering he can’t keep his fucking mouth shut most of the time. Or is it fitting? Gojo Satoru, the guy who can’t come through when it actually matters.

He threads his fingers through yours and pulls you away from the table. Away from the body and the smell of formaldehyde. You put out your smoke as you walk out.

He knows what you’re thinking — he’s thinking it, too. How many more will have to die because the people on high can’t be bothered to do their fucking job right?

“You think they knew?” you ask when you’ve stepped outside.

He hasn’t let go of your hand. It’s starting to feel like he never will. “Oh, yeah. They knew.”

And they sent Yumeko to her death anyway. Add this one to the pile.

You won’t let go of this. Neither will he. It’ll fester and keep festering.

𖦹

He doesn’t recognize the body — it’s a relief until it isn’t. Intel said one curse user, one, and you don’t deviate from your mission. Ever.

It’s not pretty. You did a number on the guy, almost savage in the violence you’ve inflicted. Like a cornered predator that lashed out. Your residuals are all over him.

You would’ve wiped them if the job had gone right. Wouldn’t have left him in such a state in the first place.

There’s two more bodies— no, three. One is collapsed in a heap just two paces ahead in a similar pool of blood. The second is to Satoru’s right, flat on his back. This one, he recognizes. The curse user you were after. A gun rests loosely in his palm, coated in dark, flaky blood. The simple sight makes him shiver, brings back memories he’d really, really like to keep buried.

The third one is farther. Hunched against the wall, head hanging limp. Covered in blood, like the others.

Dead like the others, but different. Satoru feels it immediately. Your residuals are clustered there.

He ignores the alarm bells in the back of his head, the instinct screaming at him that this is wrong, wrong, there’s something wrong about that body—

He can see the fatal wound. An entry, on what was the temple, probably caused by a bullet. Might be an exit, too. Might not. Either way, it’s not nice to look at.

These kinds of wounds are ugly on anyone, but here it’s a whole other story.

His stomach turns. The world tilts on its axis, the ground drops from under his feet— that face, that body, it’s—

His brain simply refuses to process the information, at first. Can’t connect the dots between this lifeless lump of meat before his eyes and… and…

𖦹

“It’ll be easy. One and done. I’ll be home for dinner.”

Satoru hums skeptically, burrowing his face at the junction between your neck and shoulder. The gentle morning sun warms his back, feather light like the touch you ran up his spine to pull him from sleep.

At first he didn’t understand why you woke him early just to lounge in bed, doing nothing. Not like he dislikes doing nothing with you, the opposite really. Still, a couple of extra hours of unconsciousness before facing the world would’ve been nice. He woke up disgruntled, but settled quickly, warm and mellow with the sun and your arms around him.

It makes sense about an hour of lazing around in. When you break the news to him in the softest voice you can muster, caressing his cheek with your knuckles.

Emergency in Kyoto. Experienced sorcerer needed for a curse user hunt.

They could’ve called literally anyone. But no. They called you. It feels intentional. It’s probably intentional. You’ve been a little too open and vocal about your dislike for the higher-ups, lately — they can’t have that.

It was supposed to be just the two of you today. No interruptions, no obligations, just you and him and him and you, Netflix and chill both literal and figurative. Displeased, Satoru rolls over to his side, turning his back to you. It gets cold when he rolls into the shadow, when your arms slip from his waist.

He should’ve expected it, honestly. No, really, because after all why would he have been able to have a nice, relaxing day with his man? He can’t have nice things. Ever.

You don’t leave him in the cold for too long. You chase, shifting to press against his back, eager to leave no space at all between him and you. It makes him feel better. A little. Your arm wraps around his shoulder and you reach up to poke his cheek playfully.

“C’mon, babydoll,” you purr in his ear. Bastard. You know exactly what you’re doing. “Don’t be mad. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Hm.”

You chuckle, squeezing his cheek to force his lips into a deeper pout. “Swear. You won’t even realize I’m gone.”

“Whatever.” Satoru rolls his eyes, pushing your hand off his face. He stays silent for a moment. Then, “I just think it’s funny how you’re needed for a sudden emergency on our first day off together in, like, two months.”

You exhale a little sigh through your nose, softening. The teasing urge falls away as you press a kiss on his nape.

“Yeah,” you say lowly. “I know.”

“For each you see, there’s ten that you don’t. You know, like cockroaches. It starts with one and ends up with you gone three weeks trying to take down the whole shtick.”

“I know, Satoru,” you say again. Sharper.

He turns to brace himself on his forearms, narrowing his eyes at you. “What, ‘m I not allowed to be pissed?”

“You’re allowed to be pissed.” You roll to your back, running a hand down your face with a long-suffering sigh. “Just… please.”

Right. No, you’re right. He shouldn’t get pissy with you for something that’s completely out of your hands, especially when you’re clearly just as pissed. Even worse, because you just wanna enjoy the time you have left with him before you go. He’s horrible.

He settles back down, head nestled against your shoulder and a hand braced on your chest. He pats you gently to calm you down.

“We should go out tonight,” he murmurs to make amends. “When you get back. Himawari Ramen?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s perfect.” You lean down to kiss the crown of his head, and Satoru melts into you once more, closing his eyes. “Just what I need.”

You stay like that for a moment, basking in each other’s warmth. The morning sun warms his back.

Eventually, you have to get up. He feels you shift him off you, already half-asleep. Your lips kiss his cheek and your voice says: “Love you.”

𖦹

Most sorcerers don’t have the luxury of experiencing the five stages of grief. There’s too much death happening all the time, civilians and coworkers alike. If you want to live, you accept the death and you move on. Or at least you grieve in silence and keep doing your damn job.

It’s true for Satoru as much as anyone else. He’s been affected by deaths before, sure, felt sorry for the victim or angry that another life was snuffed unnecessarily. He’s been moved. Grieved? He’s only done that once. He’s a grief-virgin in that sense.

But of course, in his world no one is spared. He just hadn’t expected it to hit immediately.

Denial comes first.

First, his brain’s refusal to process the information it’s receiving. Your face damaged and covered in blood, the sheer wrongness of the bullet hole deforming your head grotesquely. Then, his mind’s inability to face the truth.

It can’t be. It just can’t. There’s… there’s no way, right? No way.

You said you’d be home for dinner. You said you’d be back before he knew it. You said you wanted to go out for some ramen. There’s no way you’re just… what you’ve been reduced to, what he’s seeing, it’s…

Just meat that used to talk.

He stays frozen, fingers trembling, eyes bouncing all over your body in a desperate search for life. He finds nothing, nothing but residuals of your cursed energy on your clothes, and your immediate surroundings. That can’t be, there’s no way, there’s no fucking way, there has to be something, anything.

He can’t move. Can’t think. Can’t breathe. This can’t be real. This is a nightmare. Just a nightmare, and he’s gonna wake up. And you’re gonna kiss it better, hug him and tell him you love him, and you’ll go out for ramen together and it’ll be just fine. He’ll forget about the nightmare eventually and… and…

He can’t bear to look away, but each new detail only serves to hurt him further. There’s more than just the bullet wound on your skull. Your knee is busted, there’s a dark stain on your side, one of your hands is missing—

The sight of you is gnarly, cruel in its honesty. This morning you were warm and soft. This morning you told him you loved him. Now you’re a fucking corpse left to rot in a dirty Kyoto alleyway.

Denial clings, still. Because there’s no way three lowly curse users did this to you, there’s just no way. The state you’re in, and the state you left them in — how could this happen?

His thinking becomes practical. He can’t stand to think of you as a person for too long, he needs to think about something else, needs to think about what he can do to… to fix this? Find the people responsible? He doesn’t know.

He scans the alleyway, looking for tracks, residuals that he missed, anything. He comes up empty. Either there were others responsible and they covered their tracks remarkably well, or… or maybe it’s just those three curse users.

Denial falls away and anger takes its place. Not at the people that killed you. At you directly.

How could you let this happen? You’re better than this. You’re stronger than those three curse users combined, you’re— how could you let this happen? What the hell were you even doing, to get jumped and torn apart like that? Were you admiring the view or something? Petting a stray cat? What the fuck is your problem? You were supposed to be home by dinner. You were supposed to go out for ramen with him. You swore you would. Did that mean nothing to you? Is that just the kind of guy you are — the kind that breaks his promises like that, like they’re nothing?

He feels guilty, but he also doesn’t. He means it. At least, part of him means it, all of it.

The thoughts don’t last. He’s angry because he wants you back. Nothing more than that.

He crouches beside you. The hand you have left is also spotted with blood. Do you simply have no clean skin left? He brushes your hand with his fingers all the same, wondering what the hell he did to deserve this.

Isn’t he good? Isn’t he always doing the right thing? He tries and tries and tries, he gives it all he has and what is he given in return? Resentment and adoration in equal measure. One blessing that gets torn away.

He calls your name, voice surprisingly steady.

He just wants you back. Isn’t that normal? He’d do anything to have you back. Just come back.

“Get up right now.”

You don’t move. Obviously. What does he need to do to have you back? He’ll do it. Whatever he has left to give, he’ll give it. Anything. Anything.

I love you. I love you. Please get up.

Stubbornly, you remain still, as corpses tend to be.

Please. Please. Get up. Just get up and come home.

He’s not sure how long he stays there, staring at your fingers.

Please. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me. You can’t leave me. You’re all I have. I love you. You can’t die. Please don’t die.

Hoping they’ll twitch.

Don’t leave me. I love you. Don’t leave me. Don’t do this to me.

Silently begging.

I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me. Please, don’t leave me. I love you. I love you. I—

At some point, he stands. He can’t leave you like this.

He reaches for his phone and calls the first person who’d be any help.

Ijichi’s voice is sharp and alert, even in the middle of the night. Up writing reports. Probably Satoru’s. Who fucking cares.

“G-gojo-san? It’s… it’s midnight—”

“Sent you my location.” He sounds so steady. So calm. Who even is he right now? “Call the Kyoto school and have them send a clean-up crew.”

“A-a clean-up crew? Why—”

Satoru hangs up. He doesn’t care to hear whatever Ijichi has to say. That call took all his energy. He feels drained, heavy. He needs to get out of here.

His feet stay glued to the ground.

He can’t leave you like this. He should wait for clean-up. Or maybe he should just… take your body himself. He doesn’t trust anyone to handle you right.

A sound in the alley tears him from his deliberating.

Sharp and wet, like a bone snapping. He hears it once. Twice. Then, just as he turns to see what the fuck is going on behind him—

Your body’s no longer collapsed against the wall. You’re standing, but…

He sees the wrongness of it immediately. It kills any hope that tried to flare in his chest, snuffs out the remaining light he had in him.

Your head is limp on your chest, still. It’s not like you’re standing; more like your body’s being held up on strings, like a puppet. All at once you drop to the ground in a heap, but something remains.

A dark shape, almost a silhouette. Darker than darkness, thick as blood, quiet like it’s not even there. Pure curse energy, he realizes instantly. Cursed spirit. Goosebumps run down the back of his neck, his mind assesses, quick as a whip—

Threat. Imminent threat.

He takes half a step back, ready to exorcise the curse, but— but then the weirdest thing—

“Satoru…”

It’s your voice, but it’s not. It’s wrong, off, distorted in the slightest way. A shiver runs down his back. It’s wrong. So wrong. It’s not you. It’s not you.

Except it is. It is you.

The curse lowers to the ground, slithers closer— he should do something, he should exorcise it, he should do anything other than just fucking stand there—

“Satoru, don’t go…”

He’s gonna throw up.

You push closer, blood and goo dripping from your still forming arms. You get close enough to touch him.

Your hand grabs his ankle, and his entire body tenses in revulsion. It’s cold, it’s holding him too tightly, it just feels wrong, but…

But it also feels like you. It’s still you. Isn’t it?

“Don’t go. Satoru, don’t go. Satoru, I love you...”

Satoru’s stomach lurches violently and he does the first thing he can think of: he slams his palms together and teleports the fuck away.

He lands hard on a wooden floor, tumbling to his knees immediately. He’s not sure where he is, can’t tell because the world just won’t stop spinning — it doesn’t matter. What matters is that he’s far, very far from that alley. Far from the bodies. Your body.

Your body.

He throws up everything his stomach has to give, shivering violently. Then, he simply rolls to his back and pants. Stares at the ceiling until the dizziness fades. Maybe it takes minutes, maybe a few hours. He simply can’t tell.

His vision evens out — his breathing doesn’t. At last he realizes where he is.

His apartment. In Tokyo. The one he shares with you.

He curls into a ball, trembling all over. Paralyzed with fear.

What did he do? What the fuck did he do to you?

𖦹

The next couple of days pass by in a blur. Satoru floats through the hours, like a passenger in his own body.

He knows he shouldn’t, but he pulls some strings and gets his hands on the report from the Kyoto crew. Reads it, again and again and again. To the point where he has it memorized. Masochism in its purest form.

Every building in an fifty-meter radius around the alley was reduced to rubble. Three civilians dead. Fifty-two injured, including thirteen in critical condition. The Kyoto sorcerers didn’t retrieve the bodies of the curse users — report states there “wasn’t enough left to retrieve.”

They found you, though. Brought you back to Tokyo.

Shoko covered your body with a thin, white sheet after the autopsy. She left him alone in the morgue, to take a breather, let him figure out what he wants to do with you.

Burn the body, don’t burn the body. In the end, it’s all the same to him. What’s this lump of meat good for? It’s not you. Just another corpse he can add to the pile.

You haven’t manifested since that first time. He can’t feel your cursed energy, and he can’t figure out why. It’s not like curses just vanish into thin air.

He can’t track you, and it makes him anxious. He can’t have you killing any more people, and if he can’t control you...

Better not to think about it. He’s great at avoiding tough topics, even in his own head.

Slowly, he reaches out. The sheet is thin, smooth to the touch.

The autopsy table’s sent flying before he has time to react.

Shit.

Satoru covers his head with his arm as you fly past him. The autopsy table hits the wall with a metallic clang!, and you grab your body midair, slamming it into the wall. Hard. Again and again and again, screeching in fury.

You’re fully manifested. On school grounds. You could not have had worse timing.

“Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue!”

You’re ripped away and sent flying to the other end of the room. You slam against the wall and crawl up to the ceiling, snarling at him. You almost sound offended.

“Whatever!” Satoru shouts back.

You try to jump past him again, but he’s ready this time, and he extends Infinity’s reach to push you back. With another indignant screech, you scuttle back up to the ceiling, pacing around like a caged tiger.

Shoko chooses that exact moment to burst into the room. Positively incredible timing on her part, too.

“Gojo, what is—”

She catches your attention, and your head snaps to her. He sees you bunch together to pounce and skids in front of her.

“No!” He points a finger at you menacingly, and crazily, it’s enough to make you back down. Like you’re a misbehaving puppy and not a seven-foot tall bloodthirsty Special Grade.

Because that’s what you are. He can tell, now that you’re fully manifested. Special Grade. His doing.

“No,” he repeats, low and firm. Great. Now he’s scolding you like you’re a pet. He’s lost it.

Behind him, Shoko clears her throat. Satoru turns halfway, to face her and still keep you in sight.

“Uh... I can explain?”

She gives him a sharp look. “You sure?”

She looks up to the ceiling. You’re pacing again, losing interest in the situation but restless with buzzing energy. Yeah, okay. He can see why she’s skeptical. Satoru rubs the back of his neck, feeling overwhelmed.

“I’m, uh. Maybe sit down?”

“I’ll stand.” Shoko reaches in her white coat’s pocket for her pack and a lighter. She stays silent for a moment. Takes the time to light her cigarette, take a drag. “...It’s him, isn’t it?”

Satoru doesn’t answer immediately. It’s one thing to know what he did — what he did to you. It’s another to have someone else say it. Be a witness to it.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, it’s him.”

They both look at you, pacing around on the ceiling, looking almost harmless in the cold light.

“I’m not gonna ask what happened,” Shoko says.

Of course she isn’t. She already knows. She’s had your body on the table, and looking at you now, it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. A curse as powerful as that? Yeah. Doesn’t take a genius.

Satoru almost thanks her for it. He’s not ready to admit it just yet. That he’s the one he put you in that state. That he’s the one who condemned you to such an existence.

“What are you gonna do?” Shoko continues.

The merciful thing would be to exorcize you, wouldn’t it? Or at least find a way to undo what he did. Let you rest in some way.

“...I dunno,” he replies, defeated.

Shoko looks around the room. Her overturned desk, the computer and files scattered on the floor. The blood you’ve left over the wall and the ceiling. And on the other side, the bloody mess against the white tile. “At least he listens to you, right?” She lets out, dry and dead.

Satoru follows her gazes. He crosses the room to inspect the damage.

There’s not much to look at. You haven’t left much of your body for him to scoop up. Guess he’s burning you after all.

He turns to look at you. “Why’d you go and do that, huh?”

You pause in your movements. Your head snaps towards him, with a crack, almost like you snapped your own neck to look at him faster.

“You were scared,” you say lowly. He can feel your voice in his chest, like a purr. “And sad. Angry.”

It stuns him for a moment. The tunnel vision you have when it comes to him.

You didn’t even recognize your own dead body. You just saw it as a threat to him.

“Well,” Shoko sighs. “Shit.”

Yeah. Satoru couldn’t have said it better.

𖦹

Another week passes without you ever manifesting. Satoru’s life goes on as normal as it can. He goes through the motions mechanically, like he did before. Only now he has no one to talk to. No one to curl up against at night. No one to brush his teeth with. He feels less and less like a person each day. Like he only existed because you were there to perceive him.

It’s the opposite now, he supposes.

At first he couldn’t figure out how you did it, simply disappearing into thin air at will. He thought you had to go somewhere. A curse like you would be attached to an object, something of significance to you while you were alive. He combed through your stuff about a thousand times, looking for the thing.

It’s nothing of yours. It’s his apartment key. The one you offered to him about six months into your relationship, just after you bought the place.

“In case you need a place to crash,” you’d said. In case you need a place to get away, was what you really meant.

It started as an occasional thing. He’d pop up for a night. Sometimes two. Then he started staying over after every date. Then he started leaving his things there. At some point he couldn’t recall the last time he’d gone to his place on the Jujutsu Tech campus.

He still hasn’t gone back to that place. The key sits untouched in his pocket. Your cursed energy is there, dormant; he couldn’t feel it because it’s too intertwined with his. He’s part of you. You’re part of him.

He barely sleeps these days, even less than before. He lies on his back and stares at the ceiling. He wonders what he’s gonna do with you.

Really, he’s just going in circles. He knows what he should do. He knows the practical, logical answer. You’re a curse. His job’s to eradicate curses. There’s only one way this can go.

But this is different. Isn’t it? You weren’t always like this, he’s the reason you’re like this. He should find a way to free you. Undo the curse. Let go of you.

Besides, doesn’t he owe it to you, who he claims to love? Shouldn’t he be merciful to the man he loves?

But Satoru’s never been merciful. Not once in his life. And he’s not about to start now, is he? Not even for you. Not when love is the whole reason you’re still here in the first place.

Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me. I love you.

Who’s the real monster here, you or him?

“Satoru...”

You sensed his distress, likely, and now you’re here to protect him. Funny. He’s the scariest thing in the country.

Satoru pushes himself up to a sit, keeping his back to you. He lowers his Infinity, still. Eager to feel your touch. Your hand slips up his arm, to squeeze his shoulder. You did that when you were alive. To comfort him, without overwhelming him. Is it muscle memory? The idea that you may still be as considerate now as you were then makes him want to throw up.

“You can go back,” he murmurs. “There’s nothing here, Y/N.”

Your hand moves to the back of his neck. Your claws graze the sensitive skin. He feels the sting. You cut him.

“There’s you,” you reply.

Is it because you understand that he’s his own worst enemy right now, or did you just want to see him? He couldn’t make sense of you before — great to see he still can’t. He thought curses were simple creatures. Easy to read, easy to predict. It’s always been easy for him.

Maybe you’re just hell bent on turning the world upside down for him.

“Why don’t you come back when I’m in actual danger?”

He meant it as a tease — you haven’t shown up once while he was fighting curses, though he thought you’d be eager to help him. But you take it seriously.

“You’re never in danger,” you say accusingly. “How would I see you?”

Satoru turns to face you. “It was a joke. Jeez, don’t you curses have a sense of—”

Your grip turns harsh, and you push him to his back, pinning him. Familiar, and not.

“You just don’t want to see me!” Your voice changes, becomes less human and more other. “Just admit it!”

“I’m not playing this game with you,” Satoru grits out, struggling against your grip. It’s instinct. Curse nearby equals danger.

“You said you loved me!”

“I do!”

And just like that, you calm down as quickly as you got angry. Your grip loosens, it’s less punishing. Almost tender. Satoru’s not sure why he still hasn’t shoved you off.

“I do,” he breathes. “Of course I do.”

You lean over him, pleased. Your tongue lolls out, far longer than a human’s. It slides over his jaw, up to his ear and back to his face, to run over his lips. Satoru reaches up to grab your head and turn it away. He turns his face in the other direction, almost coy. His chest is heaving.

You push his hand off you easily and return to him. Slower, like you’re afraid to spook him. As if. You’re far from the scariest thing he’s ever seen.

You lean down and kiss him, as well as you can with that mouth full of teeth. You bite at his lips, push your tongue in his mouth. He welcomes you eagerly. He doesn’t care that he’s bleeding. He has you again. His heart is racing.

𖦹

He found the curse users that killed you.

Not the perpetrators themselves, of course, you took care of them yourself. But he tracked down the organization they belonged to.

Because there is an organization. He was right, in the end. If you hadn’t died, you’d still be in Kyoto, chipping away at it to get to the core. Far, far away from him. Maybe what happened was for the best.

The building’s deceptively mundane. Three stories, all grey concrete and big, modern glass windows. Gleaming under the setting sun. Fits the surroundings: the more modern part of Kyoto, downtown. Easily glossed over. Easily forgotten.

Technically, Satoru’s off duty right now. But a guy’s allowed to have hobbies, right? It might be a little revenge trip for him, but at the end of the day, it’s about thirty less curse users that Jujutsu society has to worry about. A win-win.

He lowers a veil, because he’s not a complete maniac. Waltzes in like he owns the place. They didn’t even put up a barrier, choosing stealth over protection. Big mistake.

The lobby’s empty.

“Hey, baby,” he murmurs, clutching his key in his pocket. “You wanna come out? Have some fun with me?”

This time you answer immediately. The pressure of your presence is crushing, even for him — the curse users are bound to come running.

You prowl on all fours, rubbing against him affectionately. “Yes, Satoru?”

“You wanna help me clear out this place?”

You face contorts. You’re trying to smile.

“Okay!” You let out cheerfully.

Satoru catches movement in the corner of his eye. The curse users are starting to spill in. Two, three, four. They see him — see you — and step back warily, arms and weapons raised in self-defense.

Good, he thinks, suddenly thirsty for blood. You should be fucking scared.

Seven. Eight. Nine. They keep coming. He sees you bunch together, prepared to pounce. Anticipation buzzes under his skin.

“It’s Gojo Satoru!” One of them shouts. “Fall ba—”

He never finishes his sentence, because in an instant you’ve leaped and ripped his head off.

It’s a slaughter, to put it plainly. It’s his first time seeing you like this, feral and hungry and horrifying in so many ways. Not so different from when you were alive. Not so different from him.

He doesn’t step in. Doesn’t intervene once. He lets you have your revenge, lets you bite and tear and rip, lets you prowl through the building to find the rest of them.

Doesn’t let a single one of them touch you. Not like they’d ever come close to exorcizing you, anyway. You overwhelm them as well as he would’ve.

The walls are slick with blood, by the time you’ve killed the last one. You are, too. You prance back to him almost happily, crawling all over the walls and the ceiling. You even bring him back an arm, like a cat showing off its hunting prize. His heart is racing.

He doesn’t call clean-up when he lowers the veil and leaves. They can fucking rot.

𖦹

TWO YEARS LATER.

After swallowing a corpse’s mummified finger and a high school principal’s handmade doll coming to life, Yuji was convinced he’d seen the weirdest jujutsu had to offer. Monsters are real and they kill people, and he can do something about it? Okay, cool. He can do that. How weirder could it get?

Clearly, much weirder. Gojo-sensei’s full of surprises.

The first years’ first official training session as a class starts out nothing out of the ordinary. Some warm-up. Then, taking turns sparring against each other. Yuji’s in the middle of beating up Fushiguro when Gojo steps on the field, waving cheerfully.

“Hey everyone! How’s it going?”

Yuji waves back, just as enthusiastic. “Going great, sensei!”

Somewhere on the floor behind him, Fushiguro grumbles. Seems like he doesn’t agree.

Gojo steps closer, hands in his pocket, and as always when he gets close, Sukuna’s hackles raise, cursed energy spiking slightly. Yuji thinks nothing of it, neither does anyone else, but this time—

This time something pops up behind Gojo-sensei. Arms, legs, until a full-blown curse is leaping in front of his teacher, screeching at him.

Yuji leaps back, and behind him he hears his classmates doing the same.

“A curse?!” Nobara lets out. “Isn’t the school supposed to be protected?”

But Gojo-sensei doesn’t look the slightest bit worried.

“Hey, hey, everyone, let’s all take it down a notch!” He pushes your head down forcefully, and you relent, rubbing against his legs and— purring? “Everything’s okay, he’s just a little riled up right now!”

“Gojo-sensei.” Yuji tilts his head incredulously. “Why are you petting the curse?”

“Hm? Oh, right.” Gojo moves to grab under your chin, shaking your head affectionately. You smile. Or at least Yuji thinks it’s a smile? Maybe? “Everyone, this is my husband, Y/N! Don’t worry, he’s totally harmless! Mostly!”

Like they’re in each other’s head, Yuji and Kugasaki turn to look at Fushiguro. Fushiguro looks away. Shrugs. Then turns his back to them completely.

“Fushiguro!” Nobara grabs the boy’s chin to forcefully turn his head. “Give us explanations!”

“Ask him explanations, not me!”

Gojo chuckles at their antics, scratching under your chin. You roll over to your back. Like... a cat.

“Don’t worry,” Gojo says lightly. Like this is completely normal and he’s wondering why everyone’s making such a fuss. “Think he might’ve just sensed Sukuna and decided to come see what’s up! He won’t hurt you. I think.”

Not too reassuring, but... Well, if Gojo says it’s fine, then it must be, right? Yuji gives a salute. “Got it, sensei! I won’t attack your curse husband!”

Behind him, Fushiguro and Kugisaki both sigh.

“You’re way too easy-going, Itadori.”

“I have a feeling this teacher is a problem...”

this one was a delight to write, honestly. it flowed really smoothly. also i genuinely had to stop myself from writing a full blown smut scene between satoru and curse!reader. anyway thanks for reading!

requests are open!

[generationalcrow]

if you mention PRONE BONE and PHAINON in the same sentence to me you’re getting BLOCKED

[no-fucks-left-in-inventory]

Sampo looks so serene and calm when he sleeps, hair messy, mouth slightly open as he snores softly, that guard is no longer up, that mask no longer on, it's very rare you get to see such a show of vulnerability from him

[slutreputation]

they realize they like a boy

It hit Isagi during something completely ordinary. He was laughing with a teammate, shoulder brushing shoulder, and suddenly realized he wanted the moment to last forever. He liked him! Liked him. Isagi spent three days staring at his ceiling before quietly concluding, “oh. boys are an option too.” Then immediately started overanalyzing every crush he’d ever had.

Bachira figured it out in five seconds. He developed a crush on a boy, blinked once, and went, “oh, cool.” Then he skipped off to tell someone with the same excitement he’d use to announce he’d found a particularly interesting bug. The crush itself turned him into a smiling disaster though.

Rin’s first reaction was irritation. His second reaction was more irritation. Why was this specific boy constantly on his mind? Why did he care what he thought? Why did his chest feel strange whenever he smiled? After weeks of being unbearable, the truth finally clicked and somehow that only made him grumpier.

Sae wasn’t surprised by the fact that he liked a boy. He was surprised that he liked this boy. The realization arrived quietly one day and he accepted it with the same calm certainty he approached everything else. The difficult part came later when he realized feelings couldn’t be controlled as easily as football.

At first Nagi thought he was just unusually interested in one person. Then he caught himself fixing his hair before seeing him and realized that was deeply suspicious behavior. After a week of denial, he sighed dramatically into his pillow and accepted that apparently boys could make his heart do weird things too. What a pain.

Reo researched it thoroughly. He spent an entire night reading articles, forums, and personal stories because surely there had to be another explanation. There wasn’t. By morning he was sitting in bed thinking, so that’s why he’s pretty. The realization was oddly freeing.

Barou was convinced he was irritated. Why else would one specific boy constantly occupy his thoughts? Why did he notice who he talked to, where he sat, whether he was looking at him? The realization hit like a truck when he caught himself feeling jealous. Barou spent several days being furious before finally admitting the truth : he liked him. Once he accepted it he became terrifyingly devoted.

Kunigami realized it during a quiet moment. A just a sudden understanding that the warmth he felt around one particular boy wasn’t friendship anymore. He found himself looking forward to seeing him, worrying about him, smiling whenever he was nearby. When the realization finally clicked, Kunigami simply sat with it and smiled.

Chigiri knew immediately when he fell. The problem wasn’t realizing he liked a boy : it was admitting how much. He’d spent years protecting his heart, so discovering someone could slip past those walls so easily was terrifying and exciting. Mostly terrifying tho.

Shidou was like, “oh, he’s hot.” That was it. That was the realization. No crisis. No confusion. No soul searching. Just immediate acceptance and an absolutely shameless pursuit of his new crush.

Aiku noticed because he stopped flirting. Usually he could charm anyone without thinking. Then one particular boy walked into the room and suddenly all his smooth lines disappeared. He spent ten minutes stumbling over his words before realizing he had a genuine crush and nearly laughed himself sick.

[mewnbuns]

( modern au. ) Your neighbour, Mydei, who mistakingly receives your mail one day and drops by your apartment after working hours to hand it over. You get into polite and casual conversation after that, discussing the odd things like the weather and what you’re having for dinner.

“Oh, I don’t really cook for myself. It’s not really my strong suit.” You say, a little embarrassed about the financial strain your habit of take-outs has become but honest, and although Mydei crosses his huge arms over his broad chest and huffs about it, he doesn’t judge.

It begins after that, hesitantly at first. Mydei begins dropping by your apartment with leftovers from dinner, claiming “He made too much to eat it by himself.” like he’s not made of pure muscle or doesn’t prep most of his meals in advance. You’re polite about it at first, you even try to turn him down, but with some convincing you accept the offering and he appreciates the compliments that come after that.

It continues, with every dish you return to him— sparkling clean and smiling, he replaces it with a fuller one. Mydei begins to pick up on your preferences in food pretty quickly; your favourite proteins, the vegetables you enjoy, your preferred source of carbs and he caters it to you.

“I’d love to try it fresh one day.” You say off-handedly one day as he hands you another tupperware, and he only eyes you for a few moments before shrugging.

“Alright then.” Mydei huffs, his voice relaxed and gentle.

And so it begins. Your usual routine of eating dinner together every night, Mydei comes over after work because you insisted on him using your kitchen and he quite enjoys the company. You take turns doing the groceries and you insist on doing the dishes. It’s a comfortable push and pull. You get to see your handsome neighbour in your kitchen in an apron and he gets to see you enjoying his cooking.

The start of something equal parts beautiful and delicious.