grace - 20 - aggressive yumeshipper
i'll write for any fandom!!
currently really into ohshc, jujutsu kaisen, mermaid melody, invincible, the boys/genv, bayonetta
reqs open (◡‿◡✿)
i'll write about any fandom as long as u ask me to. i love taking requests, but i wont take nsfw. i love writing angst and general sadness ♡ spam liking is fine to a degree but pls pls pls reblog too ♡
a collection of my favorite geto suguru fics i’ve read over the years that i want to spotlight, consisting of pieces that include fluff, angst, smut, and more. fics are divided by series/oneshots/drabbles. please heed all warnings & give all included authors their very much deserved flowers! shamelessly plugging my own geto fics as well :p i’ve marked superscript next to authors to indicate if they’ve been included multiple times in this post! will be updated regularly-ish with new recs
series:
best friend!geto (ongoing?) by @fricks ; i’ve reread all of the entries in this series so many times that i could beam this shit onto the back of my eyelids and reread them all over again just like that. i adoreeee geto’s characterization here (fricks is a geto expert truly) he’s such a charming little shit and the witty convos between him and reader are just tew good. i can’t decide on a favorite part cos they’re all amazing IM SERIOUS. THIS IS MY LIBRARY OF ALEXANDRIA PLEASE DONT BURN IT DOWN!!!!
dishonorable (complete) on ao3 ; regency/bridgerton aus are always divine and this fic is no exception. duke geto and reader’s chemistry is too good 🚬 love how they want to strangle each other yet they flirt with each other in the same breath. duke geto take it out its hurtingggguuuhhhh
six degrees of separation (complete) by @starmapz ² ; i read this yeaaaars ago so imagine my surprise when i dug this fic up again and realized trish wrote it 😭 the angst in this has stuck with me for YEARS . geto loves so hard and that facet really shines in this fic. the entire thing is incredibly true to his character as a whole and serves as an amazing analysis of his character. how am i even allowed to read this masterpiece without a price? like wdym this is FREE?
strangers (ongoing) by @yenayaps ; this fic will hit you hard cos jfc this is a truck of ANGST. i’ve never wanted eternal happiness and peace for two people so badly in my life. geto and reader have grown distant after a miscarriage and are in the process of learning & choosing to love each other again, and it makes me wanna bawllll. their arguments and thoughts are so grounded and feel incredibly real, making this fic all the more immersive and making the angst pack a few extra punches. i think about the diabolical restaurant scene once a month at least 😭
no. one party anthem (ongoing) by @indiewritesxoxo ⁴ ; this rockstar suguru right here is one i would suck right off the bone like hes a box of chicken wings. girl dad? charmer of the year n hes slick wit it too? THE PINING THE CHASING THE GROVELING THE TRYING TO BE BETTER FOR READER??? top tier truly. indie always shows out with her various geto series and this has gottaaaaa be one of the best. the angst and smut here are unparalleled. that hotel sex scene STAYS living in my head (gif of the duck smoking and shaking its head with a satisfied smirk). im forever rooting for geto in this fic IDGAF!!!!
meow or never (complete) on ao3 ; geto’s little shit of a cat (aptly named gojo) gets reader’s cat pregnant and chaos ensues. geto wants reader’s cookie so bad lmfaoooo just like gojo with reader’s cat… this whole fic is genuinely SO hilarious. super domestic, fluffy, and very slice-of-life too!
fwb!suguru (ongoing?) by @eraserbread ² ; elly’s prose is to die for and her word choice is so unique too so her works are always a treat to the soul. the way she writes geto.. mm… truly a five course meal. need geto and reader to communicate and stop trying to win the nonchalant-off (they’re both failing to be nonchalant). i’m shaking them. god i wanna smash these two together like barbie dolls 😢 (😏). let me get my wallet because it must be illegal to read this piece of art for FREEEEE?
lazy sunday morning and whispers in the library (complete) on ao3 ; going from domestic intimacy and first times in the first fic to some freaky exhibition shit in the second fic… yeaaaah this is my bread and butter. geto is SO romantic and sweet in these installments, especially the first part 😪 this geto needs to be in my bed by yesterday or i’m hanging myself by the ears on the nearest tower
smoking with stoner!getou suguru (complete) on ao3 ; been a while since i’ve read this but geto is slick and sexy ass motherfucker in this fic. his dialogue had me cheesinggggg I WANT HIM BAD BRAH! the exposition here is so lively and perfectly immersive, idk how to explain it but its SUCH a vibe. gojo and toji are total clowns in this fic lmfao the shit they were pulling in the background had me ctfuuuu. this fic is a certified fave
the roommate part 1 & part 2 (ongoing?) by @kenzieluvsnanami ; call this puth british with the way roommate geto is innittttt 🇬🇧 the way geto is written in these makes me nut untouched and on the spot… this man is a sexy ass fiend and ykw i like them crazy just like this. ESPECIALLY when it’s geto. love his cheekiness and tomfoolery here lmfaooo he’s entertaining asf
sometimes i peep on the handsome dad next door (complete) on ao3 ; the dilf suguru to beat all sugurus 🙂↔️ every time there was so much of a mention of either 1. his gray streaks or 2. how he interacts with nanako and mimiko, i started shaking like a little rabid dog on steroids. reader is such a freak in this LMFAOOJTKWHR just like me fr… i too would wake up at 5am just to watch geto get dressed 🤤 he’s so hot and assured and confident in this fic and it makes me wanna jump his bonessss. his and reader’s relationship and build-up is something you don’t wanna miss out on!
darling (complete) on ao3 ; the second i saw black reader x musician geto i knew this would be amazing. AND IT IS! op did such a lovely job of portraying the hard of hearing reader here. i adore how geto and reader use each other as inspiration for music and for writing, and seeing their arrangement develop into a relationship is so worth the read c:
breathe me in on ao3 ; fwb!suguru in this fic… i gotta light a blunt every time i think of him. i was sold the second he asked reader to come over not for sex but to cuddle and to have someone simply there with him. geto is soooo sensual to his core here like every thing he does and says feels like honey… and he’s SO smooth jfc. so fine. my sweetheart AND my little shit :,) the smut here is toe-curling
the ethics of relationships (complete) by @gojonanami ; i typically don’t read prof/students but this fic is just one of those onessss and if you haven’t read it then you’re missing out 🙂↔️ that’s how yummy this whole five course meal is. i’ve harassed so many friends with the link to this fic LMFAO i just want everyone to read this BAD… i’m due for a reread because it’s been a WHILE but so many scenes in this fic stand out in my memory. super good overall!!
brat (ongoing) by @kunareads ; producer geto and pop star reader you are so very famous to me! reader is such a vibe in this fic and it makes her relationship with geto all the more fun & enticing. their dynamic feels like snorting a line of coke in the best way possible but also i need these fools to communicate asap 😣 the formatting of this fic is SO fun and feels super interactive/immersive!!
vault boy (ongoing) by @indiewritesxoxo ⁴ ; fallout/apocalypse au!! if u havent gotten into fallout, indie makes the universe easy to understand. geto is such a sweetie pie in this fic and his humanity is devastating… MY POOR BABY :( i wanna hide him away in a bunker. speaking of bunkers, give me one to shack up with him in and we’d repopulate the entire world in just a few years TRRRRUST 🤣✌🏽
oneshots:
#INTRO2MUNCH101 by @satorena ; another situation where i read a fic years ago and became mutuals with the author later on (haiii serena). this fic is comedy fawking golddddd no joke but its also hot as hell. serena is too good at building up the chemistry between geto and reader (#welovemeanreadersbtw) and i love how desperate geto is here, he wants that cookie BAD. his fake nonchalant shit had no one fooled and every time reader called him out i was ctfu. the smut had me writhing brah WRITHING (and giggling profusely for many reasons)
rock you up on ao3 ; TA geto and professor reader is an unmatched dynamic brah YALL DONT EVEN GETTTT HOW MUCH I FUCK WITH THEM ANDDD THIS FIC… submissive geto was a very exciting surprise HEHEHEHEEEE i love seeing my man getting his shit rocked <3 the banter here is too mfing good and is something this writer very much excels at!!
why suguru’s wife is the best cook in the world! by @yunamoona ; a super good take on geto and his relationship with food AND the cutest meet cute to ever meet cute… yeah this is a banger. repeating what i said in the comments but when geto ate reader’s cookies i was smiling at my phone like a freak, because sometimes all it takes is just the act of kindness/love to be able to guide you down a path of healing :,) i love this fic sm. it’s one of a kind
what if you’re just someone i want around (i’m falling again) on ao3 ; post-jjk0 fix it fic where reader is assigned to watch over geto 😣💔 < the sound of my heart shattering. you can feel geto’s jadedness and bitterness radiating through the screen due to how vivid and deeply thoughtful each scene is written out. but despite it all, geto is such a sweetheart and lover to his core 😢
i’m afraid that’s just the way the world works (but i think that it could work for you and me) on ao3 ; an au where geto never defected and years later, reader and geto take in nanako and mimiko. such a heartwarming fic all around. i love my miminana forever and ever and they deserve the world
bed chem by @nanamiskentos ; this is sexy AND fucking hilarious, what MORE could you ask for. suguru had me curling my toessss in this fic jhtjwhrjsi his dialogue has me hot and ready like lil caesars. the descriptions here make me wanna lick my screen and digest every single word. best believe i’m cleaning my plate every time i reread this
the haunting by @starmapz ² ; if you like horror fics this is absolutely the fic for you :3 if geto were my ex… shittttt i would crack him again and take him back too. this fic is a perfect blend of hot smut, angst, and unsettling horror. i can’t say much else cos of spoilers but the ending had me GAGGED
it will come back by @hellowoolf ; ballerina au with instructor geto and ballerina reader!! their push and pull in this fic had me reading with my hands (and puth 😣) clenched… the chemistry is SO buzzy and so loud. the smut is mfing fantasticcccc and the build-up to it is EXCELLENT. dialogue is on point toooooo everything geto says makes me giggle
top of the class on ao3 ; if my TA was as pretty (and pathetic) as geto in this fic, i’d crack tf out of them too 🤭 love the switch-up in the power dynamic here and how reader sooo effortlessly has geto wrapped around her finger
ghostface pussy killer by @saintkaylaa ; one thing about me is i loveeee a good fic where one chases the other and then they fuck nasty 😣 the aphrodisiacs being involved makes the stakes sm more intense (and hotter 😏). i’m obligated to reread this everyyyy october because this fic is peak
the best kind of remedy by @reignpage ; santa can i please get herbalist geto under my tree for christmas 🙏🏽 preferably naked and already oiled up 🙏🏽 stoner geto is absolutely and 100% my kryptonite everyyyy time and he’s extra sexy asl in this fic. DREAMY SIGH. the smut is so buzzyyyyy
one night only? by @meowharaga ² ; this is a certified hood classic iykwim. every time this fic pops up on my dash or in my memory, i just HAVE to reread it. jade is really and truly the god of managing to make fics perfectly fluffy, hilarious, and smutty like whewwwww… geto and reader here are so special to me I LOVE THEM DEARLY 😣😋
how to baby trap marry your best friend! by @indiewritesxoxo ⁴ ; FUCK MY BABY DAD ALRIGHT!!! i love idiot best friends in love bro like just put the crush in the bag and pop the questionnnnn, the yearning in this kills me in the best way possible! the first time they have sex and take pictures of each other is forever branded in my head cos its tooooo hot 🚬
lessons in love on ao3 ; oh to fall in love with dilf geto and to retire with him… whimsical sigh. such a comforting slice of life fic. if my future partner isn’t this sweet and devoted and understanding, i don’t want em! geto here is really the perfect husband 😋
cry for me by @bunnieeteeth ; coach geto and figure skater reader! really cannot say much about this fic for the sake of spoilers, but also because i genuinely have no words for how this fic makes me feel. just wow. trust me when i say that this fic will have you sitting up in your seat and staring at your phone in shock. i want geto and reader to get together so bad but at what cost 💔
the torture of small talk with someone you used to know by @betterinvienna ; rockstar geto (and your ex) and photographer reader how you’ve both moved me and changed me irreversibly. geto is a first class yearner with a ticket straight to piningville because ohhhh my goddddd he wants reader back so mfing bad . he’s losing the nonchalant war #chalantking and i’m happy about it! such a good angst & hurt/comfort fic. i love exes fics. EVERY SINGLE SONG IS ABOUT YOU… WAH…. 😢😢😢🥺🥺🥺🥺
the practice of kissing by @lovelivision ; we all cheer for kissing practice fics!!! geto is such a mouthwatering tease in this fic ughhtksjrns i have got to fuck him . he’s such a cocky little shit but also sososo sweet with reader and so accommodating… his duality is unmatched!
ghost of you by @suguruss1ut ³ ; this fic is my 13th reason ☹️ post-defection geto and reader who still love each other despite geto’s actions/ideals is lethal. so lethal. this fic had me rolling around in bed thinking about it for dayssss after finishing it… it’s so heartbreaking UGHHHH 💔
#THE PARTY AND THE AFTER PARTY by @screampied ; lock me in a room with stripper!geto for about an hour (please trap us together longer though.) and he’s walking out pregnant god willing. whole fic had me twirling my hair and checking my wallet for extra cash to toss geto’s way
you & me by @getosurya ; perfect perfect perfect hurt/comfort after an argument between geto and reader. despite everything, they love each other sm and it bleeds through each and every action of theirs… this fic is so tender and reassuring that it makes me melt :,)
maw on ao3 ; there are no words to describe this fic or how it makes me feel without my description/thoughts majorly falling flat. i simply cannot do this fic justice… PLEASE READ IT.
ask me to bleed (for you i will) on ao3 ; post-defection geto and non-sorcerer reader who works at a bakery… another fic that is my 13th reason lowkey. this is another fic that i cannot do justice nor summarize my feelings for properly but i am once again urging you all to read this
geto’s bride by @meowharaga ² ; the effect that this fic has had on me actually needs to be studied because why am i so charmed by chucky doll geto to the point that i’ve sent this fic to multiple friends individually 😭😭 this shit had me CRYINGGGGG cos of how fucking funny it is alllll the way through lmfaooohtkwhrj and imagining certain scenes had me cracking up. i am such a sucker for sub geto in this fic… MAKE HIM WHIMPER!!!! (will update with new link when i can!)
simply ear-resistible! by @indiewritesxoxo ⁴ ; bunny geto is the cutest fucking thing to ever existtttt 🥺😭 even if he has a massive attitude LMFAO. him retaining a few bunny traits/habits after returning to his original form actually makes me want to chew on his cheek. reader and geto are TOOOO cute here and i want the best for them :]
purrrfect surprise by @suguruss1ut ³ ; do you like men who crawl on all fours while wearing cat ears?? look no further cos this is the fic for YOU!!! THIS IS MY SHIT!!! I love me some sub geto and this fic is pure peak. need him desperate justttt like this
STILL CANT HEAR ME? by @forgiven4u ; ive never liked a fic so mfing fast in my goddamned life . Wdym this is funny, sexy, well-written, prose is on point and the author’s voice in the exposition is hilarious… wdym i could read this fic for free brah!!! if geto ragebaited me this hard i too would start bouncing on it like crazy and making him empty his balls just to hear him whimper loud ad hell (added on 4/23!)
the failing grade by @macbethinchains ; phy’s prose and exposition and word choices hit differentttt every time. she’s fr the type of writer that makes you wanna sit in silence and hold your head and just marvel in silence over how she creates her scenes in such a beautifully descriptive way… and ohhhh how that talent shines in this fic. again i’m not usually one to read prof/students so you know i’m #moved by this fic. the writing is just SO beautiful bro i wanna marinate in phy’s fics 😭😭😭 UGHHH AND THEIR DYNAMIC MAKES ME FEEL COO COO FOR COCOA PUFFSSSSS reader’s chasing… suguru’s restraint (until it snapped crackled and popped 😋)… reader being a freak (#real)… the i love you… OUUUUHHHHH. 20/10 as always (added on 4/25!)
drabbles:
(i’ve written so many summaries/thoughts already that i won’t be doing so for these fics. titles are all pretty self-explanatory for the most part, and these are all super good short reads!! 🫶🏽)
emo!suguru and his pretty pink princess by @epicderpface
suguru + independent gf by @satoruined
mornings with suguru by @hayajiku
sub!suguru wax play by @bluukive
arcturus beaming by @oporotheca
love, as if it were carved in stone by @go6jo
tutor!geto getting overwhelmed by @eraserbread ²
suguru volunteers to model for your art class and you didn’t expect him to have such a perfect dick by @gojosconsort
afterglow by @feyrinnn
kissing suguru by @sugurusbadhabit
binded bunny by @meowguru
domain expansion: unlimited creampies by @suguruss1ut ³
lost in the sauce (you) by @fushiguho
childhood friend!suguru by @digitalro
guy next door by @seraphicsuguru (added on 4/17!)
stress toy!suguru by @fushi6oro (added on 4/23!)
tongue split by @sugurusbadhabit (added on 5/14!)
suguru is obsessed with aftercare… and you apparently by @princeable (added on 5/21!)
boyfriend!suguru by @jumpjo (added on 5/25!)
hungover breakfast with bf!suguru by @diaafterdark (added on 6/3!)
just watched the final episode of tadc at the cinema. 10/10 experience. cried. fuck the guy behind me who laughed at the emotional moments. other than that it was amazing thank you for this show even if i never interact with the fandom.
i hate that when you try and look up shit for writing purposes it starts linking suicide hotlines and addiction advice articles like bro i just wanna know the information im not killing myself i promise. now tell me what i wanna know
There's holographic bookmarks, but there's a lot more non-holographic ones that I hadn't posted yet! I'm slowly going through the episodes, trying to find moments that feel special or iconic to me!
Each bookmark comes with a random colored tassel, though I'll give you whatever color you want if you ask! They're laminated on both sides, too! Any orders over $25 gets you a free bookmark (and some free stickers, too!)
Yaga x streamer!reader ૮ ྀིᴗ͈ . ᴗ͈ ྀིა
cw: father figure!Yaga, streamer!reader, closedoff!reader, dissociation, loneliness, unhealthy coping mechanisms, swearing, implied daddy issues, Yaga is old but that’s okay, me trying to keep up with slang, cringe alert
note: pardon my parental issues
What the fuck is this kid doing again? is the question that often pops up in Yaga’s head each time he enters your stream to watch you do whatever students these days do in their free time. Which, in your case, is playing video games while random strangers can watch you do so.
Yaga has no idea what the appeal of this activity is, and the reason he still joins the stream is because, quite frankly, he is a bit worried about you, and this is the only way to keep an eye on you. Because, apparently, you’re more honest with strangers on the internet than the people around you in real life. You’re one of those suffering-in-silence types.
“Chat, this is the average high school experience,” you mumble into the mic, your chin propped up on your knees while you click away and your character tries to sneak around corpses without getting noticed.
“Real,” someone comments, and Yaga has truly no idea what the hell the words you’re saying mean, but he supposes it’s some kind of complaint about social events, packaged in dry humour.
Truly, he never stays for longer than fifteen minutes, never interacts, like most viewers.
Your character walks into a wall and keeps walking as you stare into nothing rather than the screen itself.
“Bro is dissociating on stream”
“girl where’d you go come backkk”
“nurse she’s doing it again”
What the hell do these comments mean?
You snap out of the trance you were in and position your avatar correctly. Yaga doesn’t even really watch what you’re playing; he’s looking at you, filing away every little tired movement and detail in his mental “things that worry me” file.
How you rub your cheek with your hoodie’s sleeve, how you curl up in the chair, how soft-spoken you actually are.
Usually, you can’t afford to be like that around classmates like Satoru and Suguru, they’d eat you alive at the first sign of weakness.
“Mh…” you hum as you squint at the screen, reading the chat. “Your room is giving femcel… uh…” you glance around in the mildly messy room. Like, one loose jacket on the bed, an empty coke can on your desk. The internet loves to take every imperfection apart. “Sure. I love me some femcels.”
Once again, Yaga has no idea what these words mean. He sits there at the small dining table, reading glasses low on his nose, and leans away from his phone in that old-person way as he googles the word. Gotta keep up with the youth.
The teacher is well-acquainted with the urban dictionary websites by now.
“Yeah, guys, did I stream Lisa the Painful already?” your quiet voice keeps coming from the phone’s speakers. Yaga looks through the comments for context.
“ok niche queen”
“respectfully, it’s going to make you worse🥀”
“you’ve played The Joyful i think”
These do not provide much context. However, just the name sounds depressing. It’s not good for you to be cooped up in the dark, inserting yourself into sad little stories. Yaga is tempted to make up a mission you’d have to take care of at night, just so you come out of that damn room.
Would be a little hard to explain.
He sighs, putting the phone down to rub his face, not exactly in frustration but something similar. The comments keep rolling, you continue doing whatever you do with the controller.
“I almost got caught wearing cosplay today. Imagine that. It’s so silly how I put on the tough-girl act, meanwhile… well, you guys know me.”
The conversation derails into whatever kind of cosplay you were wearing, but Yaga’s mind gets stuck on the ‘you guys know me’ part. Because, yeah. There are like five hundred people online who seem to know exactly what kind of cosplay you’re talking about, who probably know your favourite anime and what games you like and what keeps you up at night enough to be letting strangers watch you play.
It hurts. Yaga feels like he’s barely scratching the surface with you. In real life, you’re as talkative as a tree. Sometimes, he can’t even blame you. Being classmates with two Special Grades must have some kind of psychologically stunting effect. They’re basically celebrities in the jujutsu world. You fade into the background next to them.
“Do you guys have any ASMR recommendations to fall asleep to?” you ask, snapping Yaga out of his thoughts. “Oh, yeah. Caring and loving father comforts you after a bad day. That one’s pretty good. The dude’s so good at layering sounds.”
This time, Yaga mutters a small “for crying out loud” under his breath. It’s time to come up from the rabbit hole his thoughts went down, for his sanity’s sake.
A weird silence settles in the apartment as he exits the virtual room and locks his phone. For a while, he just sits there, elbows propped up on the table, one hand covering his forehead, a weary expression on his face.
He always had a hunch that that’s where the wind was blowing from. Yaga can only hope you don’t talk to old men online on top of your usual nightly activities.
He picks up the phone again. Types.
Search results for K-On.
And he’s going to sit there and watch that shit so he at least knows what you’re talking about half the time. Then, he’ll take you to the stupid gacha stores to buy your weird little trinkets. This is the best bonding plan he can come up with.
You have daddy issues? Well, he has daughter issues. And he’s going to fix them.
૮ ྀིᴗ͈ . ᴗ͈ ྀིაall rights reserved. no translations, plagiarism, modifications, reposts, or ai feeding. disturbing comments will be deleted. english is not my native language.
PAIRING: S. Gojo / Reader
WORD COUNT: 3,939
previous ― next ┆ series m.list
You are a Special Grade sorcerer, and you hate your own Innate Technique.
Not because it is weak.
Not because it fails you—it never does.
You hate it because it works too well.
Your technique does not discriminate. Your cursed energy does not pause to ask questions. It doesn’t care who deserves to die.
One touch—that is all it takes; your fingers brush against skin—curse or human—and life simply… stops. There's no struggle, no lingering screams that could echo in your mind, haunting you, no dramatic collapse or writhing on the ground in pain.
The thing you touch just crumbles, like a statue made of ash. Its cursed energy unravels beneath your fingertips. Bones powder. Flesh withers.
Curses implode inward, their malformed bodies folding like rotting flowers before disintegrating into black dust that scatters in the air; it smells like burnt rot, iron, wet mould.
Humans are worse, because their bodies don’t dissolve.
They succumb to gravity, their faces frozen, eyes wide, glassy, but dead—nothing behind them. Their bodies slump like puppets with their strings cut, muscles losing tension all at once.
The last emotion on their face becomes permanent.
With curses, your mind can pretend nothing happened. With humans, the evidence of your actions lingers, forcing you to see it, to torture yourself for doing something so vile as taking a human life.
Your technique is clean. Efficient. Absolutely terrifying.
Most sorcerers spend years fighting, bleeding, clawing their way through missions they might not survive.
You don’t.
You walk up. You touch. It ends.
In theory, it should make your life easier.
Special Grade missions arrive like clockwork. You complete them faster than most Grade 1 teams combined. The higher-ups praise your efficiency, but their calculating eyes watch like hawks, and you know what they really see when they look at you.
Not a person—a weapon. A weapon that leaves no mess. A weapon that can walk into a nest of Special Grade curses and come out untouched.
It wasn’t always like this.
You didn’t used to wake up thinking about every move, every little thing you did. You had life. Friends. Fun.
When you were younger, just a student training to become a sorcerer, your technique was manageable.
Dangerous, yes. But manageable.
Back then, a single touch only knocked your target unconscious; their nervous system collapsed under the surge of your cursed energy.
It made missions easy. You’d tap a curse—it would drop, and you’d finish the job with cursed tools.
Then it changed.
Innate Techniques can evolve. Everyone knows that. But yours didn’t just evolve. It mutated.
The first time it happened, the curse you touched didn’t collapse unconscious. It died. Its body convulsed for half a second before decaying into chunks of gray sludge, steaming on the ground like melting tar.
You remember staring at your shaking hands because your nails turned black.
When you got back to school, you spent hours scrubbing the color away, trying to peel it off like old nail polish. It never came off. You might have continued to ravage at your hands and nails if you hadn’t gotten chemical burns from trying every liquid that shouldn’t have touched your skin.
You trained after that. Obsessively. Hours upon hours of cursed energy control exercises. You tried everything the teachers suggested. Anything your mind could conceive, even if it was stupid or obviously impossible.
Nothing worked.
Your technique was absolute.
Once your skin makes contact with a living target, the process triggers automatically. There is no pulling back. No stopping it. No undoing it.
Then came the mission that changed everything.
It was only the second one since your technique had evolved.
It was supposed to be simple. An abandoned building crawling with low-grade curses. You moved through the halls like a ghost, bare hands brushing against grotesque limbs and twisted faces.
Each touch ended them. Each one dissolved. Quick and quiet—until one of the many doors lining the hallway opened.
A civilian, some maintenance worker who wasn’t supposed to be there.
He stumbled into the hallway clutching a toolbox, his flashlight shaking in his hand as he looked around in panic.
You turned the corner at the same moment he did. Behind him, something moved.
A curse. Massive. Its maw split open behind the man’s back.
He didn’t see it.
But you did.
You reacted on instinct.
Your hand shot forward. Your fingers wrapped around his arm to yank him back—to save him, to put him out of harm’s way. But in your misjudgment, it only put him in your way.
Your skin touched his.
You still remember the way his expression changed: confusion. Pain. Then a strange emptiness, like someone had blown out a candle behind his eyes. The light in his gaze gone.
The life drained from him so quickly that there wasn’t even time for a scream. Your cursed energy devoured everything that made him alive before you could even think to pull away.
His body hit the floor with a dull, heavy thud.
You just stood there, staring. Your hand still reaching toward him. Your fingers still warm from the contact.
After that day, something inside you broke.
You stopped trying to live like a normal person. You stopped trying to make friends. You stopped letting anyone get close enough to touch you, because you were dangerous. Because it was easier, simpler, safer to isolate yourself than to pretend you could play with fire.
You would be bound to screw up. One mistake, one second of carelessness, and someone else would die. You didn’t want more blood on your hands than you already had.
Your life became routine.
Wake up. Train. Go on a mission. Come home. Sleep.
Repeat, repeat, repeat.
Day after day after day.
The higher-ups stopped pretending to treat you like a student even before you graduated.
They spoke about you in quiet meetings behind closed doors. You heard the rumors anyway. They debated killing you. Some argued that your technique was too dangerous. Others argued you were too valuable to lose.
In the end, value won.
They told you to be grateful you were still alive after killing a civilian.
It didn’t matter to them that it was an accident. That you had been trying to save him. All that mattered was the result: a dead non-sorcerer, and your hands that had done it.
So you owed them obedience.
They deployed you like a Special Grade curse-extermination unit. You were sent where things were worst, where casualties were expected, where it wouldn’t matter if you ended up as one of them. Where a weapon like you could clean up the mess quickly.
And you let them treat you like that, like you were expendable. It was easier than fighting them. Easier than pretending you could have a normal life.
Sometimes you feel like a hollow shell wearing human skin.
A body that walks, a mind that moves mindlessly through routine. A voice that answers only when spoken to. A pair of hands wrapped in gloves.
Always careful. Always aware.
When you walk through crowded streets, your arms stay folded tight against your body. When someone gets too close, your stomach twists with quiet panic.
You think constantly about where your hands are. If you have gloves on. What they might touch. Who they might kill.
Power like yours should make you feel unstoppable.
Instead, it makes you feel alone.
… ... ...
You have lived and worked in Kyoto your entire life. Yet when the order came that you were being transferred to Tokyo, you didn’t question it.
You didn’t question orders anymore—not from the people who decided whether you were useful enough to keep breathing.
The message was formal and short. A relocation notice stamped by the administration of Kyoto Jujutsu High and countersigned by the elders:
Transfer to Tokyo Jujutsu High. Effective immediately.
No explanation. Not even a request for confirmation. Just an instruction printed on thick paper that you were expected to follow.
You packed that night. It took less than an hour—a detail that might have been funny if it weren’t so pathetic: your entire life fit into two bags and one cardboard box.
The train ride to Tokyo was long enough for most people to feel sentimental. You didn’t.
You watched the landscape blur past the window, expression blank, gloved hands folded neatly in your lap.
Kyoto disappeared behind you without ceremony. No goodbyes were said. No one left there to miss you. No one would probably even notice you were gone.
The transfer made sense anyway, even if no one bothered to explain it to you.
Most of your missions had been in Tokyo for the past year. Curse activity had exploded—clusters of high-grade manifestations appearing faster than they could be eliminated. The higher-ups needed their most efficient, obedient weapon closer to the problem.
Why waste hours making you travel back and forth when that same time could be spent assigning you more work?
Tokyo was louder. Bigger. Dirtier. Busier in every way.
Cursed energy seeped through the city like rot through damp wood. You felt it the moment you stepped off the train—the thick, greasy pressure of negative emotions clinging to the air: anger, fear, loneliness, resentment—all feeding the curses lurking in the shadows.
For a moment, you almost smiled. Work would never run out here.
Besides the location, nothing else has changed. Your routine stayed exactly the same—only the workload increased.
On rare free days, you trained. Alone, of course. Combat drills, endurance exercises, weapon practice—even though your technique rendered most tools irrelevant.
You trained because if you stopped moving, stopped exhausting your body until your muscles burned and your lungs ached, your mind would start wandering.
And wandering meant remembering. Remembering meant regret. Regret meant pain.
Sometimes, in rare moments of strange optimism, if you woke more rested than usual, you tried to work on your technique again.
You stood in empty training halls, staring at your hands. You tried to control the cursed energy circulating beneath your skin. Tried to imagine shutting it down, containing it—not letting it act on its own, not letting fear spread through you.
You tried to convince yourself that maybe—just maybe—you had missed something all those years ago.
Every time, the result was the same. Failure.
Despite having enough money to buy a place of your own, you moved into the dorms at Tokyo Jujutsu High, just as you had in Kyoto.
People thought it strange—a Special Grade sorcerer choosing to live in a student dormitory. But you liked the noise: quiet hallways filled with footsteps, voices echoing from common rooms, doors opening and closing, students arguing, teachers reprimanding, the faint smell of instant ramen drifting through the vents late at night.
You never joined the noise. Never stepped into the rooms where people were. Never sat with anyone during meals. Even the conversations you had were short and strictly professional: mission briefings, reports, occasional clipped responses to greetings.
You stayed at the edge of everything.
But watching people exist—hearing the messy, normal chaos of other lives—kept something inside you from completely collapsing.
Living in the dorms meant you were at least around other people. Even if you refused to touch them. Even if you never really spoke. Even if they instinctively stepped away when they noticed you approaching with a blank expression.
If you lived alone, it would be worse.
Days might pass where the only things you see are curses and your reflection in the mirror. You would go weeks without hearing another human voice. The silence would swallow you whole, eating at your mind and sanity.
So you stayed in the dorms. In the quiet margins of other people’s lives, where you could see them, but where they didn’t really pay attention to you.
You only leave campus when a mission requires it—or on the rare days when the silence of your own life becomes unbearable.
When the dorm room walls feel too close. When the air in your lungs feels heavy. When the thought of another day alone with your own thoughts makes something deep in your chest twist too tightly.
Most of the time, though, you stay.
You rarely leave the grounds of school—it’s the safest place for someone like you. Monitored. Controlled. Full of people who know exactly who you are—people who keep their distance without you having to push them away.
Outside the school walls, the world is full of fragile, soft things. Things that can die far too easily beneath your hands.
Since most days your routine never changes—training halls, mission briefings, empty courtyards after sunset when the students have already gone back inside—you know you are bound to run into Gojo Satoru, no matter how much you try to avoid him.
Like anyone even vaguely familiar with the world of sorcerers, you knew who he was long before you ever saw him in person.
The strongest sorcerer alive.
The man born with both the Six Eyes and Limitless.
A walking disaster the higher-ups simultaneously relied on and feared.
But knowing of him and actually interacting with him were two very different things.
When you lived in Kyoto, there had never been a reason for your paths to cross. Even after transferring to Tokyo, you didn’t see him much at first. He was a teacher—busy with his students, missions, politics, and whatever other chaos he liked to stir up in his free time.
Sometimes you caught glimpses of him across the courtyard.
White hair bright against the sunlight. Blindfold tight around his eyes. His tall frame slouched lazily against a railing while he talked.
Sometimes you heard his voice.
More than once he spent an early morning knocking on Kugisaki’s door—who happened to live on the same dorm floor as you—because she had overslept.
Your plan for dealing with him was simple: ignore him like everyone else, and hopefully he would do the same.
That plan lasted about a week because being the new Special Grade on campus meant attention, whether you wanted it or not.
Students whispered when you passed. Other sorcerers watched your gloved hands with thinly veiled curiosity.
Some looked afraid.
Others looked impressed.
Most just stared.
You were used to that.
Curiosity was easy to ignore.
What you weren’t prepared for was Gojo’s curiosity. Unlike everyone else, he didn’t just watch. He dared to approach you.
At first, it was subtle.
You’d be crossing the courtyard and suddenly he would appear beside you.
“Morning.”
That was it, Just a casual greeting. Then he would walk away before you could respond.
The first time you thought it was a coincidence, maybe he mistook you for someone else. The second time, you were suspicious. By the fifth time, it was clear he was doing it on purpose.
He treated you the way someone might approach a feral animal: slowly and patiently, testing boundaries.
He would stop you in passing to greet you. Never forcing a conversation you clearly didn’t want to have. Never lingering long enough to make you uncomfortable.
Just a small, polite acknowledgment of your existence.
Then he would leave.
Again.
And again.
And again.
In the beginning, you ignored him completely, but Gojo was annoyingly persistent, and, eventually, you realised something: the moment you responded—even with something as small as a quiet “hi”—he would leave you alone for the rest of the day.
So you started doing exactly that.
Offering him a single word.
You never stopped walking. You rarely looked at him. Your mouth would open just enough to answer.
He would hum in satisfaction, grin at you, and disappear.
It felt less like casual, passing conversation and more like he was training you to tolerate his presence.
... ... ...
The first real conversation you have with him happens near the cursed tool storage shed.
You’ve borrowed a few weapons earlier for training, and now you’re returning them. The morning air is cool, the gravel path quiet beneath your steps.
Halfway down the path, Gojo appears as if he’s been there the whole time and simply chose the moment to become visible.
He falls into step beside you.
You don’t look at him.
By now you’ve learned that acknowledging him too much only encourages him.
But this time, he doesn’t leave. Instead, he watches you with that unsettling focus of his. Even with the sunglasses hiding his eyes, you feel it; it makes you feel like you're standing under a spotlight.
“You know,” he says, voice light, hands tucked lazily into his pockets, “I’ve been wondering something.”
You don’t respond.
The door to the tool shed creaks as you push it open and step inside. The smell of oil, rust, and old cursed energy fills the small room.
“What?”
Gojo leans against the doorway.
He isn’t wearing his uniform today—just dark jeans and a loose shirt, sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose.
He probably has a day off, which explains why he’s using the morning to bother you.
“You think your technique would work on me?”
Of all the things you expect him to ask, that isn’t one of them.
“I don’t see why not,” you say, sliding the blade into place. “If you lowered Infinity, that is. It requires skin-to-skin contact.”
Most people react the same way after hearing that: they immediately step back. Their bodies instinctively put distance between you and them, because the horrifying realization always lands the same way.
You could kill them by accident.
Something as simple as holding hands would be lethal.
Gojo doesn’t move. He doesn’t even flinch.
Of course, he doesn’t.
Only someone like him could hear a statement like you will die and treat it as a challenge, rather than a threat.
He rolls his eyes dramatically. “I know that.”
You turn to face him fully now, though you don’t move toward the door he’s blocking.
He pushes his sunglasses up, revealing a glimpse of bright blue behind the lenses. His expression is too amused, his grin too sharp for your liking.
“But what if I leave Infinity on?” he continues. “Technically, you wouldn’t be able to touch me at all.”
You stare at him for a moment. Then you nod once.
“Yes.”
You don’t elaborate. You don’t argue. You already know where this conversation is heading, and you absolutely are not going to participate in whatever stupid experiment he’s clearly imagining.
Gojo tilts his head, studying you carefully, his gaze pinning you to the floor.
“You’re not curious?” he asks.
“No.”
You definitely are not going to consent to testing that theory.
Because what if it fails?
What if you actually kill him?
It would be kind of funny, in a twisted way, but you are not ready to be sentenced to death—no matter how little you value your own life—just because an overgrown idiot decided to gamble with his.
“Find someone else to gamble with,” you say, hoping he’ll drop it and leave you alone.
To your surprise, he steps aside.
“Wow,” Gojo sighs. “You’re no fun.”
He shifts out of the doorway, leaving the exit clear.
For a second, you just stare at him—suspicious, waiting for the catch. He only waves you off lazily, like he’s already lost interest.
You don’t wait for him to change his mind.
You step outside immediately, warm sunlight hitting your face.
You take one step. Two. You don’t get to take a third.
Suddenly fingers clamp around your wrist like a vice. The grip isn’t rough, but it’s firm enough to stop you cold.
Your entire body jolts as if someone dumped a bucket of ice water straight down your spine.
You twist around instantly, eyes wide.
You haven’t felt fear in a long time. Your emotions have been dulled for years now—like the edge of a knife worn smooth from too much use. But suddenly that dull blade sharpens.
Fear floods your chest, spreading outward in a hot, suffocating wave—someone is touching you.
Your body tenses, muscles coiling tight. Your free hand curls into a fist as your gaze snaps down to your wrist, then back up.
“Let me go, Gojo,” you hiss.
Your voice comes out low and sharp enough that most people would step back.
He doesn’t.
“No.”
His thumb slides slowly along the inside of your wrist in a lazy stroke, deliberate enough that you feel every millimeter.
Your stomach drops.
“Come on,” he drawls, giving your arm a small tug as if trying to pull you closer. “Relax.”
You don’t.
Your shoulders lock even tighter.
“Just one itty-bitty little touch.”
“I’m serious,” you snap.
Your composure is already cracking, and you hate that he can see it.
“This isn’t a joke.”
“I won’t be mad if you off me,” he grins, teeth flashing like he isn’t asking something completely insane, like he isn’t casually inviting you to kill the strongest sorcerer alive.
When he still refuses to let go, panic spikes hard in your chest.
You yank your arm back with all your strength.
Your body thrashes, twisting your shoulder, trying to rip your wrist free—but Gojo’s grip doesn’t budge—the movement pulls your muscles painfully tight, a sharp ache shooting up your arm.
You’re in full panic now.
Heart hammering.
Breathing too fast.
You try to get away while also keeping track of your limbs, terrified that in the chaos, you might accidentally touch him somewhere.
You don’t even realize what he’s doing until it’s too late.
Your glove slips off.
You feel it before you see it—the cool wind brushing against your bare skin.
Your head jerks down.
The black sheen of your fingernails glints faintly in the sunlight.
Then Gojo flips your hand over.
His index finger presses into the center of your palm. Your skin dents around it as he drags the finger upward until it reaches the tip of your index finger.
Your chest locks so tightly it feels like your body forgets how to breathe. Air burns in your lungs. Your vision blurs.
You’re too emotionally distressed to notice something strange.
You don’t actually feel his skin.
There’s no warmth. Only a cool, distant sensation—like holding your hand just above the surface of water, feeling the movement without ever getting wet.
“Hmm,” Gojo hums.
He pulls his finger back, waiting a few seconds. Nothing happens. So he presses his palm against yours.
Flat.
Full contact.
His hand is larger than yours, engulfing your palm as he threads his fingers between yours, forcing your fingertips to graze him at multiple points.
Your knees nearly give out. The world tilts violently. Black spots flicker at the edges of your vision.
If his other hand wasn’t still wrapped around your wrist, grounding you, you’re fairly certain you would collapse right there.
Because this is wrong.
Everything about this is wrong.
Someone is touching you.
And they are still alive.
You stare down at your joined hands, as your mind refuses to process the image.
Gojo’s palm resting against yours. His long fingers stretching across your smaller hand. Your black nails stark against his pale skin. Except… not quite because there is still that invisible barrier between you.
You can feel it now if you focus—a thin, endless space.
The sight feels surreal and foreign. It’s like watching someone else’s memory.
You honestly can’t remember the last time another person touched you. Years, probably. Maybe longer.
The image feels wrong in a way you can’t fully explain: your hand. someone else’s hand. fingers intertwined.
“See,” Gojo says, voice softer now, quieter than before. “Not even a Special Grade sorcerer like you can kill me that easily.”
You’re a suicide prevention operator and Satoru Gojo is a serial killer who calls to confess about his murders. But why you?
TW : MDNI, 18+, Dark romance, mentions of suicide, serial killer, death (of side characters), morally grey characters, stalking, yandere,
Part 1. Part 2 is —> here
You work the suicide prevention hotline from 10 PM to 6 AM, which is exactly as depressing as it sounds. You’ve talked down jumpers, talked through overdoses, talked people out of garages with cars running. You’re good at it… great, even.
It’s 2 AM on a Thursday and you’re three hours into your shift.
“Suicide prevention hotline, this is (name). How can I help you-“
“I killed someone tonight,” a male voice says.
You sit up straighter. “Okay. Can you tell me your name?”
“Let’s go with… Satoru.” He sounds young. Maybe late twenties. “And before you ask, no, I’m not suicidal. I’m just bored and you guys are the only thing open at 3 AM that isn’t a Denny’s.”
Great. A prank call. You shouldn’t engage. This is clearly someone fucking with you, trying to get a reaction.
“Sir, This line is for people in crisis…”
“I am in crisis. I have blood under my fingernails and I can’t decide if I should get McDonald’s or Taco Bell. That’s a crisis.”
You should transfer this call to 911 or flag it. Why are you engaging?
“You said you killed someone,” you ask.
“Businessman. Late fifties. Was embezzling from a children’s cancer charity.” Satoru sounds like he’s smiling. “Someone paid me to make him disappear. So I did. Made it look like a heart attack. Very clean.”
“You’re confessing to murder.”
“I’m confessing to pest control.” He yawns
You’re legally obligated to report this. But something stops you… maybe the way he sounds so calm, so certain. Like he genuinely believes he did the world a favor.
“the body?” you ask.
“Nice try, officer. But I’m not stupid.” He laughs. “God, you’re actually engaging with this. Most people would’ve hung up by now.”
“Most people are boring.”
“Exactly” He sounds delighted. “See, I knew you’d get it. You’ve got that voice… like you’ve seen some shit. Like you understand.”
You shouldn’t encourage this. You really, really shouldn’t.
“Tell me about the businessman,” you say.
He does. In detail. The surveillance, the planning, the execution.
You’re not horrified. You’re interested.
***
Satoru becomes your Thursday regular. Same time, 2 AM. Except he never talks about wanting to die… he talks about making other people die. Contract kills, mostly. Sometimes freelance work. He’s detailed, specific, almost academic about it.
“Strangling is intimate but inefficient,” he explains one night. “You’re face to face with them, watching the light go out. Some people get off on that. But I prefer distance. Sniper shot from 800 meters. They don’t even know I exist.”
You’re taking notes now. Started a file. Not to report him…. fuck no.
Because you’re fascinated. This man kills people for money and he’s the most honest person you’ve ever talked to.
“You ever feel guilty?” you ask one night.
“Nope. I’ve got a code. Only kill people who deserve it. You hear him shift, like he’s getting comfortable.
“Who decides what ‘deserve it’ means?”
“Me, obviously. And whoever’s paying me, as long as their reasons are good.” He pauses. “You get that, right? Some people are just… better off gone.”
“That’s not really my call to make. Thats fucked up”
“Says the suicide hotline operator who lets certain callers die.” His voice shifts, gets quieter.
Your blood goes cold. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh come on princess” He’s definitely smiling now. “You think I haven’t noticed? I’ve been listening to your other calls for months.” Satoru says… like it’s nothing “Hacked into your system. And you’ve got a real interesting pattern going.””
No no no no. You can’t breathe
“That molester two weeks ago?” Satoru continues. “You told him the connection was bad and you’d call him back. You never did. He hung himself six hours later.”
“Stop…”
“I’m not judging. Actually, I think it’s hot as fuck. You’re out here playing God, deciding who deserves to live based on their moral character. We’re doing the same job, sweetheart. I just get paid better.”
The room is spinning. Because he’s right. You’ve been doing exactly that for two years now… screening calls, making split second judgments about who deserves your help.
You’ve got categories.
Category A: genuinely want help, just need someone to listen. You save these people.
Category B: attention seekers who call every week with the same shit. You’re polite but you don’t try that hard.
Category C… well. Category C are the ones who are probably better off dead. The molesters who feel guilty. The domestic abusers having a crisis of conscience. The drunk drivers who killed entire families and “can’t live with what they’ve done.”
Yeah. You don’t lose sleep over your Category C failures.
“We’re the same.” He repeats
You should be terrified. Should report this, quit, move to a different state.
Instead, you’re turned on.
“We’re not the same,” you say, but your voice is shaky. “I’m helping people…”
“Still pretending you’re a good person sweetheart?” You can practically hear the smirk in his voice.
“Fuck you.”
“I’d like that, actually. You sound hot.”
You hang up and sit there shaking. Not from fear… from something worse. Because he’s right. You’ve been playing God for two years and telling yourself it’s mercy.
You don’t sleep that night.
****
Thursday comes again. You tell yourself you won’t answer if he calls.
2 AM. The phone rings.
You pick up on the first ring.
“Miss me?” Satoru asks.
“Stop stalking me.”
“Stalking is such an ugly word. I prefer ‘conducting research.’ And before you freak out… I’m not gonna hurt you. You’re like… my favorite person. Why would I hurt my favorite person?”
“What do you want?” you ask, a little annoyed.
“Honestly? I want to meet you. Grab coffee. Talk about our body counts like normal people.” His voice softens, like he’s leaning closer to the phone.
“I don’t have a body count…” your face burns
“Eighteen,” he interrupts. “Eighteen callers in two years who you deliberately failed to save. I cross referenced suicide reports with your shift logs. You’re actually more efficient than me. I’m impressed”
Your hands are shaking. “You can’t prove any of that.”
“I don’t need to prove it. I’m not gonna turn you in. I like what you’re doing”
“This conversation is over…”
“Next Thursday... 2 AM. I’ll text you an address. You can meet me or not. Your choice.” He pauses. “But I think you will.”
He hangs up.
You sit there in the dark, headset still on, heart hammering.
***
Thursday comes and you spend the entire week telling yourself you won’t do it.
Won’t meet some psycho who’s been stalking you and tracking your kills… because yeah, that’s what they are. Kills.
Then 1:47 AM hits and you’re in your car, following the GPS to some warehouse like the horror movie victim you apparently are.
The warehouse is dark except for a light in the back. You follow it on shaking legs, pepper spray in one hand, phone in the other like either will help if he decides to kill you.
Satoru’s leaning against a table, spinning a knife between his fingers.
He’s younger than you expected… late twenties, stupidly hot, with white hair and these unsettling blue eyes that lock onto you immediately.
“You came,” he says.. Grinning. “Told you that you would.”
“This is stupid. I’m leaving….”
“No you’re not.” He pushes off the table, he’s tall, and there’s something predatory in the way he moves. “You’ve been fantasizing about this for weeks. About what it would be like to meet someone who actually understands the fucked up shit in your head.”
“You don’t know me…” you scoff
“I know you touch yourself after the Category C failures because the guilt gets you off just enough to come.” He’s closer now. Close enough to touch. You can see the knife still balanced in his hand. “I know you drove across town at 2 AM to meet a contract killer in an abandoned warehouse. That says plenty.”
Your back hits the wall. When did you start retreating?
“What do you want?” you ask.
“I want to see if you’re brave enough to do it for real.” He sets the knife on the table beside you. “Letting them die is easy… safe. But actually getting your hands dirty? That takes commitment.”
“I’m not a killer…”
“You are. You’re just a coward about it.” His hand comes up, fingers trailing down your jaw. “But I could teach you. Show you what it feels like to watch the light go out. To take instead of just… withholding.”
Your instincts are screaming to run… to call the cops.
And yet, you grab his shirt and pull him down into a kiss.
It’s desperate and everything you’ve been choking down for two years. His hands are in your hair, your teeth catch his lip hard enough to draw blood.
When you break apart, you’re both breathing hard and smiling like fucking maniacs.
“So?” he asks. “You in?”
A/n : Your Reblogs and comments are appreciated 🫶🏻✨
✿ 🗒️ 𓏲 𝓶𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐬 𝓷𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 : GUMIIIIII (╥﹏╥) okay this may be my favourite ….. had sm fun making this ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ILL BE DOING GOJO THEN YUJI IN THE NEAR FUTURE SINCE THEY WERE SECOND AND THIRD !!! the last page is my favourite (๑-﹏-๑) also please imagine it says “focus ON sensei” instead of to omg i cant change it and its annoying me :// ANYWAY TYSM FOR READING TO THE END HOPE U ENJOYED MY KOKKIS I LOVE UU (∗˃̶ ᵕ ˂̶∗)
Write whatever you want. Write that incredibly niche thing that only two other people on earth will get. Write the super indulgent cliche thing that makes you kick your feet giddily. Write the angry rage story that whumps them all and makes people cry.
Whatever it is that YOU want to write. Write it. Because only YOU can.
"Older man this, older man that" fine whatever but make that reader 50 years old too. I don't gaf. Yeah. Make the two 50 year olds bang. I'm tired of seeing the older dude and younger woman crap because I know it stems from a place of misogyny - not saying that everyone into it is misogynistic ofc, but cmon. You can't tell me a part of it isn't due to people worrying that women might be less desirable to them if they're older
jujutsu kaisen x bayonetta isekai!OC/reader... i cant rll choose which one yall would enjoy but like technically with OC stories I usually can swap out in my head stuff about the character if i want it to be X reader and the opposite as well. in short physically my oc for this is like... if gojo had blond hair and less blinding eyes. yeah.
established OC or reader?
original character
reader
Voting ended onMay 26
lowkey might still do OC regardless but i wanna see the response if there is any
gosh i know the rosario + vampire fandom is long dead, but i wanna write for it anyway. like for the manga, not the dumpster fire of an anime adaptation it got.
