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PLEASE OMG

You guys need to watch Jack Ryan and start writing fics for this man

1. John Krasinski is hot as fuck and y’all sleeping on that man fr

2. It’s actually good. Seasons 1&2 (currently just started season 3)

So y’all better start writing so your girl can read some Jack Ryan fics because I looked EVERYWHERE and found NONE

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— 𝐇𝐚𝐛����𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

✘ SUMMARY: when you told your husband about your plans to return to the demon slayer corps for the first time after your marriage you were not expecting the fight that would proceed, now it’s up to your wives to try to fix the situation.

✘ GENRE: angst, hurt/comfort.

✘ 4.3k words

✘ CONTENTS: possessive!tengen, wlw, throat fucking, some hate fucking (tengen on suma and makio), face sitting, unprotected sex, oral (both), the wives are married to each other too, there’s a talk about reader and tengen having kids in the future but no pregnancy talk.

✘ NOTE: my first tengen writing as a fandom contribution, i hope i was able to portrait him well, let me know what you think!

“Are you awake?” you hear your husband’s voice in the dark, tired eyes opening — although you haven’t been able to properly sleep since you closed them — to find his fuchsia ones looking at you, two bodies away. You shift on Hina’s chest where you have been laying on, Tengen had Makio and Suma both peacefully asleep on his chest.

“No” you answer dryly, closing your eyes again.

This night has been tumultuous. After months thinking about it you have finally decided to speak to your husband and wives about your will to be a demon slayer again.

You had left the corps once you married Uzui, getting some basic kunoichi training from him and the wives to assist him in his missions, but you always felt out of place since the four of them already had their ninja dynamics from working together for years, the overwhelming sensation of being out of this place causing you to stay behind to ‘look out for the house’ sometimes.

Instead you would take your custom made sword that has been leaning on a closet for months, and slice the air, trees or some bambus and practice your breathing techniques.

You miss that, doing something you were good at, fighting demons and not just evacuating villages when one was around or staying out of the way when Tengen was fighting.

That’s the life you wanted back.

“You absolutely will not’’ Tengen said without batting an eye. Everyone at the dinner table stopped chewing and froze their hands mid-air.

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@lela-ri “this man replying to all of us” MADE ME LAUGH OUT LOUD

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It’s really a crime that Henry Cavill, a man who looks like THAT, has the power to put so much emotion and gentleness into his eyes. Every time he plays a grumpy and closed off gruff man, he has to give him 5 dimensions of complexity and pour the softest sweetest looks into them and destroys me. It is inconceivably rude.

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It's Chainsaw Man Chewsday, innit

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⛓️💀🖤🔪 Sin & Punishment

Pairing: Ghostface!Hanma Shuji x F!Reader

Synopsis

Everything is a little bleary, but you think that makes it more beautiful out – the way the pretty outdoor lights frame the bodies walking out of the party to make their way home in the cold abyss of the dark looks like some kind of painting, and the strobing party lights hitting every inch of the front lawn in multicoloured flecks makes you want to run out and lay in the grass there. You’re so distracted by the view that you forget that you were meant to hide – and when your ghostface walks into the room you’re in and shuts the door behind him as he watches you get lost in the pretty lights, he has to stop for a second to gather himself, even moreso, when you turn your head once you feel his stare lingering on your body.

Banner art by the amazing @soft-lilith , who also beta'ed and proofread this piece! Love you so much, Lili! <3

General warnings: College AU! Mentions of murders! Breaking curfews imposed by the police! Implied extremely lax police services! Hanma is literally a serial killer! Reader gets drugged at the beginning, but not by Hanma! Hanma is a chain-smoker! Lots of little mentions of blood and some references to the killings, some mildly graphic! At the end, you connect a lot of dots that are pretty obvious if you think about it and there is a description of a dead body!

Smut warnings: Predator/Prey dynamic! Dubcon (alcohol, vulnerability)! Degradation! Dumbification! Breathplay! Fearplay (slight)! Foreplay: Fingering! Bloodplay! + Knifeplay! Sex: PiV! Unprotected! Standing + Exhibitionism (in front of a window)! Creampie! Mask fetish!

Happy Halloween!

The bass beats are rattling the windows, your body is hot and your heart is beating ridiculously fast. 

You suppose that under normal circumstances, that wouldn’t be all too strange. Parties are fun, sure – but this isn’t an ordinary house party. This is a curfew party, despite the police enforcing an emergency law against these gatherings, in celebration of the newscast released earlier today that class is out until further notice, after… well, you don’t wanna think about that, not really.

So you sway, giggle as girls bump their hips into your own on beat with the rhythmic thumping of the beat and guys you recognize ever-so-slightly from their voices and their blurry jaws pass by you and tell you that you’ve got good moves, that you’re on fire, that you look ravishing. And you do – you do look ravishing, and you want everyone around you to know it.

You suppose that maybe you’re a little old for costume parties – you’re in college, a senior even, so it’s way beyond your time to gallavant like a teenager – but that doesn’t matter, because it’s fucking Halloween. And everyone wants to look sexy, wants some attention, when it’s Halloween – even if it’s the worst kind of attention, from the worst kind of guys. The type of attention doesn’t matter, because you came here with the intention of getting fucked and shitfaced.

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. . . THE MOON BIDS YOU FAREWELL (SO DOES THE SUN)

༊*·˚  s. gojo x gn!reader (1.8k) — they say the sun and the moon are in love, an infinitely endless cycle of trying to reach each other, of longing and yearning. but do you ever think the moon weeps for the sun’s warmth, or the sun pleads for the moon’s comfort? do you ever think it’s sad they’re always saying goodbye? 

gojo-centric, jjk vol. 0 spoilers, minor character death, grief, mourning, past satosugu, breakdowns, hurt/comfort, mentions of food

an installment of my gojo anthology THE DEATH OF A STAR

“I think I will always come back to you.”

He doesn’t mean to say it aloud, but moonlight seeps in through the curtains, and with it, a stifling honesty he couldn’t dare hold back.

You’re a pocket of hope in his cold, nightmarish future— but he is no fool. Your saccharine smiles and sweet whispers of his name will only lead to his demise.

Like a moth to a flame, a future with you means the death of Gojo Satoru, because the six-eyes user was not meant to have something to lose.

You smile in response as long fingers trace the planes of your face, sloping over the swell of your cheek and up to your brow. A featherlight touch over your own lashes has you shutting your eyes on instinct, keeping them closed to lean into the comfort of the pillow underneath your head, and the warmth of his chest against yours. His digits gliding over your skin are oh-so-gentle in a way only Satoru could be, a lingering touch of too much love and not a clue what to do with it. 

You kiss the fingertips brushing against your lips. “Come back, then. I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper, and you shake off the wary feeling that your words only fall on deaf ears.

Tradition would call for a smile on his face, maybe even a slight blush. Instead, you receive a furrow to his brow and a troubled frown before he pulls away to turn on his side, back facing you.

After a beat, he reaches back to pull your arm over his torso. Satoru holds your hand tight, a strong palm engulfing the back of yours pressing against his heart, where you feel it thumping to a familiar rhythm. It sounds like your name.

As he toes the line between his distinct brand of self-preservation and letting himself love you, you know he's reminded of who he couldn’t hold onto— who he couldn't save. A forest fire set ablaze in the heart of Tokyo, a hellfire not even a monsoon could put out, one not even the strongest could face.

The feeling of liquid smoke fills Satoru's lungs, the haze of longing and betrayal coalescing into a black mass of despair… because he, alone, is the honored one.

There’s meaning in his existence, in every action and inaction, in every word spoken and unspoken. It sits heavy in his stomach, something he’s never gotten used to carrying with him.

You find it hard to accept, no matter how hard he tries to push sometimes, but Gojo Satoru was not built for love.

You decide then that you would build it for him, and you laugh now at your naïveté.

He claims it’s the higher ups breathing down his neck, waiting for his new stray to bite down too hard for their liking. He claims it’s because of the end of summer… curses are always stronger in the colder months, love, you know that.

He claims things are escalating. It’s not safe. 

You know what he's doing— Satoru has always been a professional at this dance. He'll lead and even let you step on his toes, laughing it off as he holds you tighter. But then comes the proverbial spin, where the world tilts on its axis and you're meant to anchor each other... and his fingers slip, because he never learned to hold on. No one ever has before.

Someone always crashes to the ground, then you'll start at square one. Step, step, dip. Step, step, dip. Step, step, spin— sorry.

Step, step, dip.

It’s the last you hear from him. October comes and goes, November leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, and when December rolls around, its impossibly chilly nights seep through your skin, settling into your bones. You try reaching out on his birthday, but the dial tone of yet another unanswered call has you turning off your phone for the rest of the night.

You wonder when your dance will begin again.

On Christmas Eve, you lie on the couch, trying not to get too upset when nothing changes come the holidays. You stare at the empty corner of your living room where a festive tree should stand, a stupid amount of presents beneath it waiting to be opened tomorrow morning, but you don’t feel there’s anything to celebrate this time around.

Eventually, you scrape together a lonely dinner, eating for the sake of eating, and surfing through TV channels until you decide to just turn it off, the grating sound of laugh tracks and theme songs giving you a headache.

It’s late now, and the rumbling thunder outside has your eyes drooping and your head hitting the pillow. But as you lie underneath the covers, you shut your eyes in hopes that sleeping will help you ignore the gnawing feeling in the pit of your stomach.

His return comes in the form of two quiet knocks on your door at six minutes to midnight, and a soaking wet head of white hair on your doorstep. Satoru looks up at you, blinking through stray raindrops, and his sunken eyes reflect the thunderstorm behind him.

Step, step, dip.

His voice alarms you— more than the sopping mess of hair and the nonexistent gap of space surrounding him amidst the rain. It’s scratchy, airy and deep all at once, like Satoru hadn’t spoken for a while. The next words he says seem to violently claw their way out of his throat. “Sorry. I don't… I don't have anybody else,” he croaks as he shivers in the rain.

“Why are you here?” you question, but it’s more of a demand. A heat fills your chest as your brow furrows, a quiet anger settling comfortably beneath your skin. The first time you hear from him in over three months, he shows up at your door like a wet dog forgotten in the rain.

Avoiding your eyes, he quietly repeats, “I don’t have anybody else.” He looks scared at the weight of its veracity.

You stand there, staring him down because you have to at least pretend to mull over letting him in or not. Maybe, after all the times he ignored you, it would give him an opportunity to beg. But after a minute of watching him silently pick at his fingernails, you grow tired of letting the heat out. “Christ, Satoru. Come inside already,” you exhale, ushering him through the doorway right as lightning strikes down the road. You’re furious, but you’re not cruel; unfortunately, you’ve never been one to deny Satoru much.

He struggles toeing off his waterlogged shoes before he steps in further. Aside from the audible smack! of water droplets against the tiled floor, it’s quiet in your home— unusual in his presence, and the stillness of it hovers over your head. 

A muttered “Sit, please— before you pass out” is all you can manage as you wrap a spare blanket around his slumped shoulders. You’re a bit peeved when he mindlessly makes his way over to the couch, knowing damn well he won’t help you dry it later.

His words come out ragged, the numbness in his voice beginning to thaw. “He’s dead. Suguru,” he says first thing when he sits down. “I killed him today.” 

Lightning strikes again outside.

The blue flames of anger coiled in your stomach suddenly dissipate— its fumes turning into such pungent sorrow, it nearly knocks you out cold. His gaze loses focus somewhere off in the distance, and the image of Gojo Satoru's mask cracking before you sends a chill down your spine.

“Oh, Satoru,” you breathe, and it feels like you’re choking on bile. Nothing could possibly be the right thing to say to him, but the dense, yet petrifyingly hollow atmosphere surrounding him makes your knees buckle under the weight of it.

You walk over to the man soaking your sofa, and for having such a large frame, he looks small sitting in your already tiny living room. Warm fingers gently card through his hair, pushing it up and away from his forehead. You sigh at the way his lips begin to quiver, cupping his cheek to lift his face towards you.

There must be something in your soft caress that pushes Satoru off the edge. Pale and hesitant fingers come up to grip at your sleep shirt, tugging the fabric towards his face as his body begins to tremble. A choked-off sob catches in his throat, and he squeezes his eyes shut tight, as if it would stop the hot tears from streaming down his flushed cheeks.

You chew on your lip to conceal your own melancholy, lifting your chin up to the ceiling to gain some semblance of control. You jolt when there’s a sudden pressure against your belly; looking down, you find Satoru’s forehead shoved against your abdomen, holding onto you for dear life as the cotton fabric of your shirt muffles his desperate cries.

What is it when the strongest weeps at your feet? What is it when his knuckles go stiff from his hold on you? You're not well-versed in their past, but Geto Suguru was just as much a part of Satoru as the hands that brought him to his end.

You'll never forget the sound, the way your blood runs cold and your stomach twists at the scene before you.

He is not one to sink. He has always been a force to be reckoned with, pushing past any adversity because the great Gojo Satoru didn’t have the time to deal with things as futile as guilt, anger, loneliness.

In what must be Satoru's most raw, unbridled moment, he yields. Because for the first time, the pain of a thousand lives is released from the confines of a soul too defeated to hold on any longer. He succumbs to the dread presently swallowing him whole, and lets out a scream akin to what could only be the definition of—

Agony. That's what you're witnessing. Whole, unrestrained, unrecognizable agony.

Satoru caves in on himself, throat raw and body shivering underneath the weight of his shame. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry I killed him, I'm sorry," his voice cracks on a sob, muffling a prayer, a plea, into your shirt. "He's dead! He's dead, and I killed him! I'm sorry, I didn't— I'm sorry," he swears, tears mixing with the spit running down his chin, and tugging on his roots until you pry his hands away from his scalp.

As your fingers card through his strands in the only soothing gesture you know, his chest heaves with a hollow breath, a sudden emptiness he doesn’t know what to do with. It's all you can do to hold him tight against your belly, arms wrapped around his head in fear that if you let go, you'll never be able to pull him back down.

Satoru sits there and weeps. For forgiveness, for a chance, for a dead lover. He screams his repentance wrapped in your arms, and outside, the moon seems to dim among the stars.

If it sounds like Satoru’s misery echoing within the thin walls of your apartment are harmonizing alongside every clap of thunder, then it can only mean the skies are weeping with him tonight.

▸ a million kisses to @shinachiro for beta reading <3

▸ m.list | taglist

▸ replies + reblogs appreciated !

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this video has been looping around in my brain for the past 15 hours

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I just had to tell you how much i enjoyed reading your gojo story. It’s one of the best ones i’ve read and I can’t wait to see what else you come out with.

Thank you so much!!!!… I don’t think you know how much this message means to me❤️❤️

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Something to Consider

Chapter One | Sometime In 2007

Chapters| One Two Three Four Five

Synopsis| Having a special technique that hasn’t been passed down in over a 100 years, you’ve been amongst the strongest since birth but with no clan of your own to clam this technique. It causes the Clans to offer arranged marriages left and right. Overwhelmed parents turn to your aunt’s clan and the Zenin’s are happy to step in, in hopes you will pass down the technique down to them.

Whole story contains themes| arranged marriage, angst, violence, death, swearing? sexual harassments(nothing crazy) and of course SMUT. 

Authors note| This is about the road to marrying Gojo, it’s gonna be long and filled with angst because I’m mean. This story starts with the reader being around 11ish. Has a little bit of manga spoilers from vol.8 because it has Toji. Hope you like it. This is written for my two whore best friends. :)

Sitting in the back of a black sedan, the rain and some random talk radio station playing softly. The sounds of the rain on the roof made you sleepy. You let out a sigh, pressing your head against the window, watching as the water droplets race. You had just gotten out of school when you heard your mothers fussing through the thick wood of the front door. Not even getting the chance to greet her, she was already on you about changing into something nice; tossing clothes around in a hurry. Your father on the other hand was calm, casually chatting with you while your mother rushed around in a tizzy.

You didn’t have the time to ask what this was about or why you needed to hurry before your mother pushed you into the car with Suzuki. Suzuki was your personal driver and bodyguard appointed by the Zenin clan. She was always so kind and patient, putting up with your snappy comments and pre-teen attitude. Even when you were being difficult she never got upset with you. You never understood why she was appointed to such a low grade job. She was incredibly strong. What was all the fuss about you and your technique anyway?

Suzuki taking you to the Zenin Estate after school was a common occurrence, usually it was for training but today it seemed more important than just that. You were your parents’ prized possession because the Zenin clan convinced them of it. Your parents weren’t sorcerers but your mothers family was long ago. They possessed The Divine Panther, it hadn’t been passed down in over 100 years and by some miracle you got it. The Zenin’s took the opportunity, hoping you would pass it down into their clan but that wasn’t completely up to them. Not like they treated you like you were special. Pushing you so hard to master your technique while most of them looked down upon you. Most likely because your cursed energy was “weird” as Noaya said. Most of the youth are scared to train with you. So why train when everyone is already scared of you in the first place? The Zenin’s didn’t even fully understand your technique or so they say but they knew you were strong. Special grade strong, up there with the six eyes. “But just appearing strong isn’t the same as being strong.” Noaya would always say to you. I’m sure someone older and wiser than him told him that. Those words are far too sophisticated for a boy like him. 

“Where are we even going, Suzuki-san?” you ask, moving your head from the window. 

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#gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru #fushiguro toji x reader #jjk toji #jjk megumi #jjk fanfic #jujutsu yuji #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu megumi #gojo saturo x reader #gojo x you #gojo sensei

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Something to Consider

Chapter 2 | Crushing on Satoru 

Chapters| One  Two   Three   Four   Five 

Synopsis| Having a special technique that hasn’t been passed down in over a 100 years, you’ve been amongst the strongest since birth but with no clan of your own to clam this technique. It causes the Clans to offer arranged marriages left and right. Overwhelmed parents turn to your aunt’s clan and the Zenin’s are happy to step in, in hopes you will pass down the technique down to them.

Whole story contains themes| arranged marriage, angst, violence, death, swearing? sexual harassment(nothing crazy) and of course SMUT.(Will tag when chapter has smut) Authors note| This is about the road to marrying Gojo, it’s gonna be long and filled with angst because I’m mean. This story starts with the reader being around 11ish. Has a little bit of manga spoilers from vol.8 because it has Toji. Hope you like it. This is written for my two whore best friends. :)

A few weeks have passed since the first time you met Gojo Satoru. The thought of him lingered in the back of your head. Even as you crawl into bed, the thought of him comes to you. Why? He was annoying, maybe he was a little cute? No, but he sure did leave a lasting impression in the most irritating way. Or was it just a schoolgirl crush?

Your days were filled with school and training with the Zenin Clan. It wasn’t fun, they wanted so bad for you to master your gift as they called it. Always on about how you were so ‘special’ and ‘strong’ but the reality is they just wanted to use your gift as a symbol of status. They didn’t care about you as long as you filled your roll and looked pretty while doing it, they were happy. 

So, when your uncle Yuto offered to take you to the race track instead of your usual training you jumped at the offer. He promised the higher ups there would be some work for your break day. Saying he would first take you to go visit Jujitsu High School for some “training” meaning he would show you around and do some paperwork before going to the horse racing. He played off to your mother like it was you who wanted to see the pretty horses and not him wanting to go gamble. You said once when you were six that you like horses and he’s used that as an excuse every time he wants to go. Which is fine, he always buys you food and something you want if you agree to go with him. 

He was currently showing you the school, slowly showing you the way to his office. He was excited as he pointed out every little artwork or classroom along with the story behind it.

“Oh! Here, this way.” He said as he pushed you out an exit door, it opened to a large concrete staircase overlooking a big field. Large trees framed the well maintained grass along with beautiful flowers and bushes. It looked so welcoming with the warm sun casting through the trees. “I’m going,” You laughed, stumbling forward slightly into the warmth of the sun.

“Sorry, I’m excited.” 

“I can tell.” 

Keep reading

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Chapter Three| A Race Track is No Place For Little Girls

Chapters| one, two, three

Synopsis| Having a special technique that hasn’t been passed down in over a 100 years, you’ve been amongst the strongest since birth but with no clan of your own to clam this technique. It causes the Clans to offer arranged marriages left and right. Overwhelmed parents turn to your aunt's clan and the Zenin’s are happy to step in, in hopes you will pass down the technique down to them

Whole story contains themes| arranged marriage, angst, violence, death, swearing? sexual harassments(nothing crazy) and of course SMUT (my smut writing abilities are probably no good tbh). 

This chapter contains detailed descriptions of blood and death. Implied SA(not descriptions of the actions just implied.

Minors DNI! Ageless blogs will be blocked!

Authors note| This is about the road to marrying Gojo, it’s gonna be long and filled with angst because I'm mean. This story starts with the reader being around 11ish. Has a little bit of manga spoilers from vol.8 because it has Toji. Hope you like it. This is written for my two whore best friends. :)

If only you had listened to your intuition, and the many clear signs from the universe that you shouldn’t be here at this racetrack. You wouldn’t be in this situation, you wouldn’t feel this bone-chilling fear as your wrist is held above your head. Frozen in like a deer in headlights. You would like to think you’re tuff that you would react with the years of skills drilled into your head but when it came down to it you froze, heartbeat thumping against your chest with all its might.

The man who has you in his grip is menacing. Tall and muscular, like he could take on Zeus and win. The scar across his mouth only added to his murderous presence. Even if you had a knife, it wouldn't do any good. I don't think stabbing this man would even hurt him.

"What are you doing back here?" His gravelly voice sent a chill up your arms. He eyes you up and down before pulling you a little closer.

“I-Uhm.” You grimace, twisting your wrist as you look away from him.

He tsks. His large callus hand grabs your chin making you look up at him. You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping that if you squeeze your eyes shut hard enough he will somehow disappear and this will all be a bad dream.

“Open your eyes.” He says.

You shake your head, tears rolling over your squished cheeks.

“I promise, I’m not gonna hurt you.” He says, swaying your head back and forth slightly. You swallow the lump in your throat before your teary eyes flutter open.

His green eyes lock with yours, “See?” He smiles, “I told you I wouldn't hurt you.” He says as he studies your face, his thumb swiping away a tear. He seems to ponder for a moment before he speaks up again.

“What’s your name?”

You attempt to pull away from his grasp but it's no use, he could hold a grown man by the wrist and they wouldn't be able to get away. He almost looked amused as you struggled in his grip for a moment. With a weak grunt you swung your free arm, slapping his face as hard as you could. You let out a shaky breath as you look up at the man, the look on his face grim as he stared off into the distance– it made your stomach drop.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out.

He doesn’t respond, not even an eye twitch.

“I- I’m sorry.” You repeat, reaching for his face. His unresponsiveness is making you spiral. You would do anything to appease him at this moment.

“My name is (y/n).”

His eyes shift down to you and you pull your hand away from his face.

“I’m Toji.” He lets go of your chin. “That was awfully rude of you.”

You give a shaky nod. “I know, I'm sorry.”

He leans forward. “I promise I won't hurt you if you don’t make a scene.”

You squeeze your eyes shut your whole body trembling. Your body feels heavy and your knees buckle. “Please don’t kill me after. I won't tell anyone, I'll keep it a secret.”

A choked sob leaves your mouth. You feel like you’re going to vomit. If this was your fate, you might as well accept it. It's not like you could fight him.

Toji’s eyes squint in disbelief, you miss understand his motives here. Toji’s a sick bastard but he’s not that sick, that is the one line you don't cross.

“You’ve got the wrong idea.” Toji squats down so you're at eye level. “I’m not that kind of guy. But, I do need you to come with me though.”

You lift your head, “Why?” You say, looking at this grim man you normally wouldn’t think to question him but the word just pops out of your mouth and you shake your head. “I didn’t mean to question you.”

Toji chuckles, “I need the set of skills you possess.”

So with that, Toji took you. It had been a week since the racetrack and nothing felt real. The Zenin clan had every person they could spare out searching for you. They chose not to involve the police, believing it would cause more trouble than need be.

The more time you spent with Toji the more memories deep hidden away surfaced. Toji was a Zenin. You remember his wife, you remember when Megumi was born. Most of all you remember he wasn’t well liked among his clan. Then one day, he was gone and you forgot about him.

Most days Toji would leave you at his house with Megumi. “Don’t open the door for anyone and if you leave i'll know.” he would say, closing the door behind him. You could never tell if he was bluffing but your not stupid enough to test it. Megumi made this experience less traumatic in a way. He distracted you from your reality, forcing you to understand pokemon and making you play cards with him. It was fun, until it ended when you realized why Toji took you in the first place.

“Your cursed technique, you can make a portal. Right?” He says casually, lighting a cigarette.

“Well, I guess in a way.” You shug. He’s asked you about your technique before, if it got you home faster you were willing to tell him whatever he wanted. He was standing behind the couch where you and Megumi sat on either end. Pokemon cards spread over the middle cushion.

“You can pull shit through your little shadow dimension, yeah.” he says, taking a drag of his cigarette.

You nod, watching the smoke he breathes out swirl upwards in a cloud of gray. Whats he getting at?

“You think you could pull a person through?” He says, looking at the elaborate card game on the couch.

“I’ve never tried.”

“Megumi,” Toji says, making the boy look up at him. He lets out a sigh, he has an idea of where this is going. “Yeah?” Megumi says.

“Go to the bathroom and see if she can portal you back here.” Toji grins, tapping the ash of his cigarette into an empty glass sitting on the side table.

With a roll of his eyes Megumi gets up, walking to the bathroom. You look up at Toji bewildered, what was he thinking? He raises his eyebrows. “Go on,” Toji says with a flick of his wrist.

“What if I hurt him?”

“You won't.” Toji shrugs.

Reluctantly, you stand up. Hands clasping together to make a symbol, concentrating on the bathroom where Megumi is. You hold the image of him in your mind as you crouch down. Your hand dips into the floor as if it was liquid. You hear Megumi in the bathroom say ‘ew’ as you grasp his arm. A circle of shimmery slug appears around your arm as you pull him up. You're standing by the time you pull the rest of his body through.

Megumi lets out a cough. “That was awful, it felt like you pulled me through a bubbling mud pit.” he says with a frown. Toji lets out a laugh. Now, his plan was set in motion and your the perfect acomplice.

-

After that day Toji made you pull things from everywhere, until it was second nature. Toji taught you more in the weeks he’s kept you, than the Zen’in clan ever did in the five years you’ve had to train.

“Again.” He says, a cigarette between his lips.

“I’m tired.”

“Tuff shit,”

You huff, turning your attention back to your task. You hadn’t done this before–ever. You didn’t know what you where doing, and the amount of energy you had to focus just to try an make it apear was agonizing.

“This isn’t working,” You stomp your foot. “What does it matter anyway? Everyone is already scared of me.”

Toji laughs. “Everyone? I’m sure as shit not scared of you. Ya’ know what kid?”

“What?”

“Just appearing strong isn't the same as being strong. And if i remember correctly, your not very strong. What’s gonna happen the next time some big bad man takes a hold of you? You just gonna’ roll over and die?”

You glare at him, he’s right, and you hate that he’s right. You hate that your becoming stronger in the hands of your kidnapper. Wouldn’t it be less trouble just to sell you? You kick at the ground in frustration.

“How do you even know this stuff?” You question.

“Stop stalling and focus.”

You roll your eyes, focus your cursed energy into your hand. Part of your cursed technique is creating cursed tools. He watches you practically stare a hole into your hand.

“Don’t think of it as trying to make something new, it's already there. ”

A few moments go by and just as you're ready to give up–it happens. A cursed tool starts taking shape, it's made out of the same shimmery goo that's in your portals as it shifts around. By the time it's done taking shape it has turned a normal color. It's just a small dagger. you examine it, flipping it over in your palm.

Toji’s cigarette drops from his mouth. “Incredible.”

You understand now, the fuss over your technique. It all becomes too real–the true magnitude of your technique. Why you had a bodyguard, that you will most likely have ten when this is over. That if you die, this technique is most likely lost forever. You release the cursed energy, the dagger turning to shimmery shadow.

—

You look up at the seemingly never ending stairs of Jujutsu high. Red trellises as far as the eye could see.

You lean towards Toji, “This isn’t some sick joke? I can go?”

“Yup.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.” He repeats.

You look at Toji and then at the stairs, taking a hesitant first step. “Go or i'll change my mind,” He flicks the ash off his cigarette. Slowly you take a few more steps, looking back at him again. Surely this is a trick. He rolls his eyes.

“Why’re you so stubborn?” He says under his breath. “You got ten minutes to get up those steps or I'll kill you, is that better?”

“You being serious?”

He tips his head to the side. “Always,”

Swivel around and sprint. You should have kept your mouth shut.

The stairs are never ending and your legs are already tired. You make it halfway up before you have to stop. Sucking in air so harshly your lungs burn and your knees wobble. The thought of dying makes you start running again.

You feel a familiar energy as you make it up the last steps. It was Gojo, and Geto along with two people you didn’t recognize. They all turn to you as you trip and fall up the last step. You’re harshly taking in breaths as you slowly stand up. They all stare at you wildly.

“I’m okay,” you pant, one hand on your knee as you try to catch your breath.

“You don’t look like it.” Gojo says.

“Gee thanks,” You scoff.

“I-” Gojo gets cut off by a sword being plunged through his back.

It’s Toji.

You’re frozen. You hear Gojo say something but you don’t comprehend the words. Someone grabs you and you squeeze your eyes shut. You feel weightless as they hold onto you. Panic floods your veins when you open your eyes, you're fifteen feet in the air.

Toji held you by your waist, your arms and legs dangling on either side of his arm. You clamp onto his arm. Wide eyes staring at the ground below you.

“I’m surprised, you made it up here in eight minutes.”

You're too scared to come up with any kind of response. You just fist his shirt as he moves around.

A bright flash of light makes your flinch.

BOOM.

Then a rush of energy fills the air. It’s like static as it dissipates. A dull ache blooms. You’re no longer draped over Toji’s arm like a ragdoll. You’re laying on the stairs below the trellis you were just on top of. Looking up, the trellis had a chunk taken out of it. You move down a few steps as pieces of it fall to the ground.

You flinch again as a loud crack whips through the air, a violent gust of energy filled wind makes you lean down.

The snapping and crumbling of wood and rock shakes the ground. You put your hands over your head as some of the debris hits you. The stair shields you from most of the rocks and chunks of building flying around. It’s gone as quick as it came. There's silence but you don’t move.

No more than a few seconds later, the buzzing of fly heads erupts from lower down on the stairs. Then they are all around you. You can't hear or see anything as they buzz around. You keep your head down as it keeps going and going– until suddenly it completely stops. It’s quiet.

It's almost too quiet.

You slowly bring your head up, peeking over the step you were hiding behind. The body in the middle of the destroyed courtyard makes you freeze.

It’s Gojo.

You scramble to your feet, tripping over debris as you run towards him. “No, no, no” You say as you run, he’s bleeding and it’s pooling around him.

You scrape your knees at the speed you drop down. Shaky hands hovering over him. The blood oozing out around him wets your knees as it soaks through your pants. He lets out a gurgled cough.

Without thinking you press your hand to the wound on his neck. The blood doesn’t stop, it just spills over your fingers in warm streams. He twitches a few times, each time less than the last. You try to control your breathing but you can’t, you’re watching him die.

“I’m sorry, It’s-it’s gonna be okay.”

Tears stream down your face and all you can do is say your sorry as the blood pools around the both of you. He's stopped moving but the blood still oozes out of his neck. A metallic scent fills the air. “I’m so sorry.” you whimper.

You can’t seem to shake the thought that this is your fault. If you didn’t run from Toji. If you kept your cool and not panicked as you ran up the steps. If you would have kept your guard up even after you reached so-called safety.

If. If. If.

“Stop your moanin’ you didn’t kill him. Did you?” You flinch at Toji's voice.

“I can still be sorry,” You pick up Gojo’s cold hand.

“Look at me,” Toji demands. You turn and look at him, he’s also covered in blood—most likely not his own.

“Do you remember the Star Religious Group building I showed you?”

You nod, starting to catch on to what he wants.

“Make me a portal.”

You gently set Gojo’s hand down, turning so you can summon your portal. Trying to hold the image of the building he showed you earlier in your mind. It’s hard to do when the image of Gojo’s bloody face keeps flashing behind your eyelids. More tears stream down your face as You squeeze your eyes shut. Toji crouches down in front of you. He scans your face. It’s like he became human again—just for the briefest moment.

You flinch when he wipes your tears away.. You hate that it comforts you. He did this, he made this happen. Gojo would be alive if it wasn’t for him. You turn your head away in disgust.

“I’m sorry it had to be this way.” He says before disappearing through the portal.

When you turn to Gojo, the sight of him is almost unbearable. You wrap both of your hands around his, pressing it to your heart. You lean forward and rest your head on his chest.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen. I’m so sorry.” Your voice wavers as a sob shakes you. You stay like this for a while, pressed against his chest. You feel his chest contract almost like a hiccup and suddenly He doesn’t feel the same, it’s the weirdest thing. It feels like no one is home.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper. Tears stream down your face and now you can’t help but feel as though this truly is your fault.

If.

Gojo’s hand twitches in yours.

If you just didn’t run from Toji. If you chose to be more stubborn and not go up those steps, Gojo would still be alive.

His large hand squeezes your smaller ones tightly, and you jerk up in surprise. The stab wound on his neck was no longer bleeding. In fact it wasn’t there anymore. You just watched him die, you felt it. He died. What the hell is going on?

“Gojo?”

You feel like throwing up, in fact you might. This can’t be real, you felt it. He definitely died.

He hums, blood soaked lashes fluttering open. He looks you up and down for a moment as his eyes focus. The events that just occurred are coming back to him. A horrible feeling forms in the pit of his stomach. The sound of your panicked breath as you hold his neck and the way your sobs vibrated against his ribs as you apologized run through his mind as he looks up at your puffy face. You move away from him to vomit.

“It’s okay, I’m okay.” He says, weakly rubbing your back. “Are you hurt?”

You shake your head as you wipe your mouth.

“I’m just happy to know you would cry over my death.” He gives you a lazy smile. You let out a choked laugh, Tears drip down your chin as you suck in a shaky breath.

“That’s not funny.”

“You're right,” he says, dropping his hand.

You watch him for a moment as he takes deep breaths. This can’t be real. You have this nagging feeling you need to touch him—just to make sure he’s real.

“Can I hug you?”

”Yes,” He smiles, turning his head to look at you. “Please.”

You crawl towards him, hugging onto him like he will disappear. He cradles your head as you hug him tighter.

“You sure you’re okay?” He asks.

“You came back from the dead and you're asking if I'm okay? Are you okay?”

He chuckles. “I don’t think I've ever been okay.”

You give him a sad look.

The last thing you remember is gravity somehow feeling too heavy to withstand and your head feeling fuzzy. A day later you woke up in the Zenin infirmary.

#fushiguro toji x reader #toji #fushiguro toji #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo saturo x you #gojo saturo x reader #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #gojo sensei #gojo satoru fanfic #jjk gojo #jjk imagines #jjk megumi #jjk toji #jujutsu yuji #jujutsu megumi #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic #gojo x you #gojo x oc #bro it’s taken me so long to write this and I’m still not even close to being done editing all of it…. yikes #i updated this fic like a year ago oops. #I have a full time job but 4 people liked this so I’m posting more.

[athena-simpingforanimemen]

#tuesdayposting #long post

[athena-simpingforanimemen]

Source: https://mobile.twitter.com/mattecashew32/status/1537490263358185472