Hypothetically

hypothetically…

A fucked up mahito drabble (is there any other kind?)

Word Count: 1300

Synopsis: after you witness him killing for the first time, mahito reassures you in a way that makes you feel much, much worse.

“If I was gonna kill you…it wouldn’t be like that. It would be much more personal.”

Content Tags: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. DARK CONTENT. noncon. description of gore/dead body, blood, dacryphillia, hypothetical description of reader being murdered during sex (does not actually happen), fear kink, reader is scared out of her damn mind, biting (accompanied by more blood!), mahito implies that he would be down to fuck a corpse

When you see him kill for the first time, you break down into tears. You’re not sure what pushes you over the edge: the explosion of flesh and blood that spatters the floor of the sewer as you peer around the corner, or the gleeful smile that spreads wide across his face as he looks down at the remains of his work. When you follow his gaze, you can see chunks of skin, bone, sinew - the limbs are still intact, their tattered edges dripping with fresh blood, but the entire torso is blown to bits. You heard the screams moments ago…now, you regret following them.

It takes him a minute to notice you standing there. You know that you should take the opportunity to run back to the place where he left you, to pretend that you didn’t see, but your sheer horror pins you in place. When he does see you, he rushes to your side, and smushes your face between his hands to kiss you. His palms are wet - you don’t want to think about why. “Aww. You came to watch! How sweet.” When he notices your expression, he cocks his head. “There’s nothin’ to cry about, cutie. I’m just having fun.”

You sniff, and do your best to wipe your tears away. “Most people wouldn’t call that fun.”

“Not a person, sweetheart,” he reminds you. He hasn’t stopped smiling for a second, and his grin broadens as he stares down at your face. “You’ve got fear in your eyes…it’s lovely. And so strong that I can smell it on you, too.” He inhales deeply, and his tongue darts over his lips. “You really that scared?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah?” His eyes stretch unnaturally wide, glowing in the dim light. “Why?”

Your hands shake, a black haze encroaching on the corners of your vision. “I don’t know…”

“That’s a lie!” He jabs a finger between your eyes, and pouts. “I don’t like it when you lie to me. You know that.”

There’s a good reason for you to keep your thoughts to yourself. He’ll find them entertaining…and that’s never a good thing. But if he already knows that you’re not being honest, it’s safer to tell him now. Before he decides that he needs to force the truth out of you. “I’m scared because…if you did that to them…” You shudder, and choke back a sob. “How do I know you won’t do it to me?”

“Ohhh.” He laughs, and slings his arm around your waist, kissing you gently on the top of your head. “Don’t be silly. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

You know better than to feel completely relieved. But for the moment, you think you’re safe - until he opens his mouth again.

“If I was gonna kill you…” he muses. “It wouldn’t be like that. It would be much more personal.”

Your heart drops into your stomach. You feel weak at the knees - he follows you as you sink to the ground and takes a seat against the wall, spreading his legs and dragging you between them, pressing your back against his chest. He wraps his arms tightly around your waist, and rests his head on your shoulder. “You’re such a pretty, pretty thing…” he murmurs. “You deserve a very special death.” His tongue slides up your neck, breath hot and dank against your bare skin. “I like you alive, for now. But hypothetically…if I did decide to kill you…” He squeezes you, hard, forcing the air from your lungs. “Yeah. I know exactly what I’d do.”

You stiffen in his arms, every one of your senses painfully sharp. Almost as sharp as the fingernails digging into your sides.

“I’d fuck you before I did it,” he declares, his voice bristling with excitement. “I’d put you on your back so I could see your face. I’d put my hand around your neck, and at the moment you came…” He pauses. “Hmm. Would you prefer me to strangle you, or slit your throat?”

Fuck. You knew he was deranged…but this is worse than anything he’s said to you before. Magnitudes worse. An unintelligible whimper is the only response you can manage.

“If you don’t have a preference, I think I’d prefer slicing you open. I like blood.” He grabs your jaw, wrenches your face towards him, stares intently into your fear-stricken eyes. “Not too much blood, though. I’d be gentle with you. Much gentler than I was with him.”

You follow the line of his hand to the mutilated corpse lying just feet away. You can smell it, the stink of blood and guts and death worming its way into your throat, churning the bile in the depths of your stomach.

“I’d be so sweet…I’d only rip you as much as I had to.” He turns you around and pulls you close, smiling as a fresh wave of tears streams down your face. “So pretty,” he hums. “I’d want you to still be pretty when you died, so I’d be very careful.” You try to hide your face, but his hand latches onto your jaw, freezing you in place as he kisses you roughly on the lips. His other hand plunges between your legs, and clamps down on your inner thigh. “Don’t worry,” he assures you. “I’m not gonna do it now. Maybe not ever.”

Maybe. He’s so casual about it - about holding your life in his hands.

Without warning, he shoves you onto your back, wriggling on top of you and trapping you against the floor before you can push him away. He grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head with one hand, and sinks his teeth into your neck, only pulling back once he breaks your skin - after watching your blood trickle out for a few seconds, he darts forward and laps it up, sticking out his tongue to show you the red stain before he kisses you again, leaving a rancid, metallic taste in your mouth.

He guides your hand under his body, pressing it between his legs. He’s hard. As desperately as you try to escape, he won’t let go of your wrist - he makes you touch him, grinding shamelessly against your unwilling hand.

His face hovers over yours, so close that you’re compelled to cross your eyes. “I learned something interesting the other day,” he whispers. “Can I tell it to you?”

He wants you to say yes - but you can’t bring yourself to speak. It’s all you can do to nod your head. You can feel your pulse thudding desperately in your ears, and in your palm.

“I learned,” he says, “that bodies stay nice and warm for at least ten minutes after they die. Especially on the inside.” He giggles. “I guess it takes a long time for all those squishy guts to dry out.”

You squirm instinctively, repulsed by the image that flashes through your head.

“You know what that means, right?”

“No…”

He grins terribly, and presses his lips to you ear. “It means,” he whispers, “that even if I did kill you…even after you went limp in my arms…I’d still have a little more time.”

Your mouth falls open, emitting a gasp that only makes him press harder into your hand.

“Shhh.” He presses his nose into your shoulder, his cheek rubbing against the fresh wound still leaking blood down your neck. “I told you…I’m not gonna do it today.” He raises his face as you thrash beneath him, watching your eyelids flicker, your face contorted with fear. “If I did…I wouldn’t get to hear all the pretty sounds you’re about to make.”

I feel SEEN

some of y'all need to touch grass and remember that you can like a villain and hero at the same time

A Prologue to the End

Nanami x Reader

in which nanami has time to warn you, the love of his life, that he might not be coming home at the end of this.

taking place in a slightly altered timeline, I suppose

Word Count: 1500

Content Tags: Angst!! Obviously. With a hint of comfort. Implied talk of death. Established relationship. One kiss. Me very clearly not being okay.

Note: I don’t think that Nanami would ever let himself get into a relationship once he went back to Jujutsu High. Not with all the risks he takes on. He’s simply Too Responsible. But for the sake of closure, let’s pretend.

Because of Nanami, you’ve learned to distinguish between different kinds of serious. There’s one that isn’t really serious at all - a deadpan voice with raised brows, a smile threatening to break out from the thin crease of his lips. You learned to read that one quickly. Quicker than most, he’s told you. He’s used to it being misunderstood.

When he’s dead serious - that’s a different story. He doesn’t use that voice with you. It’s dispassionate, saved for situations where there’s too much on the line to let emotions get away. There are too many of those in his life. They show in the lines on his face, the bags underneath his eyes. They’ve become more prominent in the years you’ve known him.

Some nights, you can tell it’s been a harrowing day, because he barely says a word. On those days, you pull him close, and sit in the silence with him. Reliving details is painful, and you don’t need the whole story right away. You’ll hear it eventually - you always do - but when it’s fresh, it’s enough just to be there by his side. Enough to meet him when he arrives home, and stay by his side until he’s ready to go on. Until he’s ready to wake up in the morning and do it all over again.

He’s shown more courage than the world has any right to ask of him. He’s also shown you that there’s a difference between being brave and being fearless. When the fear comes out…that’s the kind of serious that chills you. It means things are worse than you can imagine. It means he’s in trouble.

It’s what you see on his face tonight. He’s not making a secret of it. Sometimes, he tries to hide it from you (as if he could), but tonight, he wants to talk. He needs to. Soon.

“Sit with me?”

He nods wordlessly, takes his seat beside you on the couch. “It’s…different this time.”

You can tell. He’s not looking at you. Even when everything has gone to shit, he makes a point of looking you in the eyes. Tonight, though, his gaze is fixed on the carpet beneath your feet.

“The fights ahead…it’s possible that they’ll alter the world forever.” He inhales deeply, eyes flicking upwards and fixing on some set point on the ceiling of your apartment. “I can’t just stand by. My presence there…it will make a difference. I know it will.” His nails dig into the couch cushion beneath him, knuckles whitening under the warm glow of the lamp in the corner. “But with all the forces at play, I’ll be outmatched. And if things don’t go right…” He cuts himself off, leaving the words dangling in midair. It doesn’t matter - you know how the sentence would end.

“I don’t think I’m a lucky man,” he continues. “But meeting you made me feel, for once, like fate was in my favor. The last three years with you have been…well, it would be a lie to say that they’ve been perfect years. But you made them better. You’ve brought me joy for the first time in a long time.”

“Kento…” You move closer, brush his hand with your fingertip. “You’re scaring me. It sounds like…” It sounds like you’re saying goodbye.

“I don’t want to scare you. I wouldn’t, if I had any choice.” Finally, he turns his head, and meets your gaze. It brings you no comfort - his face is obscured by an empty expression that you’ve only seen a few times before. “There’s nothing I want more than to make you happy.”

“Then…” Don’t fight. It’s on the tip of your tongue. But you can’t bring yourself to say it. If you did, and he listened to you, he’d regret it for the rest of his life. When he says he needs to go - he means it.

“You’re talking like you know exactly how this is going to play out,” you say instead. “Like it’s inevitable that…that something bad will happen. But you don’t know that. There’s no way for you to tell.”

He shifts in his seat, and his eyes slip from your face. “You’re right,” he says quietly. “I don’t know how this all will end…but there’s a chance that it will go wrong. And if it does, I’ll never make you happy again.” He cups his head in his hand, takes a shallow breath. “I should have understood from the beginning… someone like me shouldn’t let people get close. It’s too dangerous.” He sighs, and covers his face. “I shouldn’t have been so selfish.”

“Don’t say that.” You shake your head in disbelief. “You never did anything wrong. I knew what I was getting myself into.”

“You didn’t,” he argues. “Not completely. I told you everything I could, but unless you’ve seen what I’ve seen…you can’t understand.”

“I can.” You can feel tears beginning to choke your words, but you don’t let them out. You’re going to be strong for him. “I can, because I trust you. And when you tell me something…even if it’s terrible, even if I don’t want to believe it, I do. When you told me that someday this could fall apart, that you could get hurt, that I could get hurt, I believed you. With all my heart. And I stayed, and I convinced you to stay, because…”

He lowers his hand and stares back at you, hanging onto your every word.

“Because I decided I’d rather take that risk than never have you at all.”

As your tears blur your vision, a pair of strong arms envelopes you. Nanami buries his face in the crook of your neck, lips brushing over your skin. “I want you forever,” he whispers. “I want to know every day that I’m coming home to you. And if there’s a chance that I won’t…you deserve to know.”

“That’s true,” you manage. You hook your arms under his shoulders, clinging onto him. “But if there’s a chance that you’ll be okay, I want to know that, too.”

“There’s a chance,” he murmurs. “It could go either way. Truly. But I want to prepare you. Want you to know what could happen.”

“I’ll never be prepared,” you confess. “But I’m strong.”

“I know.”

“And you’re strong.”

He says nothing at this.

“I believe that you’re capable of anything. I believe you’ll be okay. But if you’re not, if this does end in the worst possible way… I’ll go on living. Life will be different. Life will be worse. But I’ll carry on. You always have, despite everything. I can do it too.” You pull back, and are relieved to see a a flash of light return to his eyes, even as his arms fall back to his sides. “There’s a reason you do what you do. It’s to protect people like me.”

“People like you…and you.” He smiles faintly - you swear that it’s the most beautiful sight you’ve even seen. “Sometimes, when I feel hopeless, I picture your face, the way it looks when you wake up beside me. And then, I keep going.” His voice lowers, and the smile slips from his face. “If I don’t keep going this time, you might soon wake up in an unrecognizable world. I’d rather risk my life than risk that.”

“I want to stop you,” you whisper. “But I won’t.” You hold your head high. “And I won’t make you promise to come back to me. Just…just swear you’ll do everything you can to make it out.”

“I will.” He bows his head, eyes half-closed. “And if I can’t make it out…I’ll at least make it worth the cost.”

“I know you will. But I pray that you won’t have to.” You bring your hand to the side of his face, fingers brushing gently against his hair. “I think…I think we need to stop thinking about it. Just for a little while. We have time before you have to go, don’t we?”

He looks up. “We do. Not much, but…we do.”

“Then I don’t want to spend that time being scared.”

Again, you see the barest hint of a smile cross his face. “How do you want to spend it?”

“Like I want to spend all my time. Happily, with you.”

“Then that’s exactly what we’ll do.” He moves closer, seeming to come alive again as his hand falls over yours, fingertips lacing together.

Later, you’ll say a proper farewell. Later, you’ll spend hours frozen on this exact couch, waiting for any word of what’s happened. But for now, you push every anxious thought of the future away. In his mind, you hope that he does the same.

“I want to kiss you,” he says. After three years, he still likes to ask. “May I?”

You nod silently.

His lips meet yours, and for just that moment, you’re sure that you both are at peace. It may be temporary. It may be merely the eye of a monstrous hurricane. It may be the last peace either of you truly feel. But for you, at this second, it’s enough. You surge into him, drowning out the sounds of the storm bearing down upon you. It’s not time to step into it just yet.

i have a very dark mahito drabble sitting in my drafts right now and i do not know if i have the courage to post it

HI HI🫡🫡

thinkin about the absolute loml gojo who hates fancy settings but goes to one anyway because he knew reader would be there😭 like he sees them all dressed up which is a rarity and can't take his eyes (or hands wink wonk) off them. i can just see reader having to scold him for being so touchy but he can't help it, its not like he cares about the eyes that might be watching them anyway lmao. but no cus he'd probably be whispering absolute FILTH into their ear😭

this is just a basic idea, add as much spice or anything else you want🤭🤭 ALSO I LOVE YOUR WRITING<3

Ahhhh thank you so much!! <3

I LOVED this prompt so much that it ended up wayy longer than I anticipated. Around 2k words I think?? I hope you enjoy :)

Content tags: hmm I’d say suggestive but not nsfw? But Gojo is being a menace. In the best way possible.

An art gallery. Who the fuck wants to spend a Friday night at an art gallery? You, apparently. Enough to turn down Gojo’s generous invitation to a much less pretentious, much less obnoxiously-well-lit bar in the center of the downtown entertainment district. It would have been fun, pulling you out onto the floor, convincing you to dance for what he can only assume would be the first time in your life. If you’d ever experienced it, you would have gone with him. Instead, he’s here, surrounded by sculptures which seem to depict nothing in particular, searching for you in the crowd. He can’t really be mad at you for turning him down tonight. Apparently, you’ve had these plans for months - you’re friends with the artist-of-honor, or whatever you call it. He wasn’t really paying attention to the specifics. And he’s not paying attention to the art, either. The promise of free wine intrigued him, though - if only he could find a server.

There’s a dress code, too. Suits only for men (or tuxes, but he doesn’t own one of those). The one he’s got on is light blue, standing out among a sea of navy and black and grey. He absently wonders what you would have worn if you’d gone clubbing with him instead - he’s imagining a short, black dress, or maybe a sparkly one, or jeans with one of those tops that seem to just be bras in disguise. He’s never seen you show off that much, but it’s fun to picture. Maybe there’s something to that idea of “leaving things to the imagination.” When it comes to you, he has a vivid one. A sly grin creeps over his face as he thinks of what might have happened tonight - flashing lights, dark corners, a dense crowd pressing the two of you together. Inevitably. Finally. In the most technical sense, you’re still just a “friend from work,” but you both know it’s more than that. He’s not exactly the subtle type. He’s been flirting hard for weeks - and you’ve flirted back. Even almost kissed him once or twice. You’re just a little bit shyer about things than he is. A little bit scared. It’s always “Someone could see us!” Or even worse: “We can’t. It’ll make things too complicated.” Always with a strange mixture of fear and excitement in your voice. You’re at least as interested as you are intimidated – it’s not an uncommon reaction. And he hasn’t pushed you too hard. He’s been holding back. But then again…so have you. And tonight could have been just the opportunity you both needed. In fact - it still could…

His moment of self-indulgence is broken when he checks his phone. He’d texted you a full five minutes ago ( “surprise! I’m here. Come find me ;)” ) and you still haven’t responded. Perhaps you’re simply enraptured by the weird little metal ornaments around you. Or maybe - no. There’s no way you’re purposely ignoring him. He put on a suit for you. And a matching tie. And flirted with the girl at the front table so he could get in without an invitation…

Hm. Maybe you’d seen that. It wasn’t his best performance - but he was here! The methods, in this case, totally justified the means.

He scans the room for you again. You shouldn’t be hard to find - he towers over the people around him. Over in the corner, maybe? Pressed up against a wall…

Oh. There you are.

He almost didn’t recognize you at first - he hadn’t expected that little black dress he’d been imagining to become a reality. Especially not here, where most of the women he’d seen were wearing long dresses or jumpsuits or blazer sets. It’s form-fitting, short, and two little shoulder straps are all that’s keeping it on. You stand out - and just like that, the little bit of self-control he had left is gone. You need encouragement? He’s going to give it to you. He zips across the room, almost knocking over that server he’d been searching for moments earlier, then doubling back to pick up two plastic glasses of red wine. He sidles up behind you, wrapping his arm all the way around your bare shoulder, and proudly holds one of them up to your face.

****

Oh no.

You decided weeks ago that you weren’t going to do this. Not with him. As soon as his hand first not-so-accidentally brushed up against yours, as soon as he made his intentions clear – you’d made up your mind. Getting…involved…with Gojo Satoru would be a huge risk. He’s simply too strong. Too complicated. Too much. In terms of power, personality - everything. Everyone wants a piece of him, everyone’s watching him, and you don’t want those same pairs of eyes falling upon you. You can flirt back – sometimes, it’s impossible not to – but that’s it. It’s just simple fun. A diversion. It’s going to create issues if it becomes anything more.

However. You’ve been playing these little games for weeks, and you just find yourself getting closer and closer. And now, he’s here.

You whip around at the sudden appearance of Gojo’s hand, nearly knocking the contents of the glass in front of you to the floor. You’re aware that you’re staring. But you can’t exactly look away. He’s here, standing before you, for absolutely good reason. Although…no. You’re sure that in his mind, it’s a perfectly reasonable thing to do. But only because he’s a little bit insane.

He grins shamelessly, and casually sets the wine on a nearby display shelf, dinging the rims of the two cups against the sheer pane of glass. “Haven’t you been checking your phone?”

“No.” You shake your head, eyes wide in disbelief. “How did you even…never mind. I don’t wanna know.” His smile only grows as you narrow your eyes at him. “Why are you here?”

“I’ve developed a sudden appreciation for modern art.” He bites his lip, looks you up and down, bright blue eyes flashing over you. “Especially the kind that wears dresses like that one.”

“Satoru…” you sigh. Although you’re not unaffected by the compliment, you know you have to resist a little bit - he’ll pounce if you give him an opening. But he’s so over-the-top that it’s hard not to be impressed at his efforts. And, you have to admit - he looks incredible in formalwear. “You are…a complete menace.”

“Impossible.” He gestures down at himself. “Look at me. I’m very classy.”

You roll your eyes. “Only on the outside.”

“I wanna go outside.” He dramatically loosens his tie. “It’s hot in here.”

He’s ridiculous. The farthest thing from classy - or subtle. “No. It’s really not.”

“Well, of course you’re cold. You’re barely wearing anyth-“

“Satoru!”

He shrugs. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Maybe not.” There’s a pause.

Within that pause, you struggle to force your brain back to rationality. And you fail terribly.

He points to your shoulder. “You know that strap is slipping?” You look down, and in the split second that your eyes leave his face, he darts forward to “fix it” - you’ll never really know whether it actually needed fixing. You take a step backwards, shaken out of your thoughts, caught off guard by the sudden movement. In your surprise, you nearly trip - and he catches you by the waist. The most humiliating thing is how he has to lean down to murmur in your ear, smirking all the while.

“Sorry. Didn’t realize I was gonna sweep you off your feet.” He loosens his grip - giving you an out, perhaps - but you don’t pull away. He’s never touched you like this before, never been quite so blatant, and despite the setting, you can’t help but enjoy the attention. Even as you’re embarrassed by it. Maybe that’s the real humiliation - the fact that you can’t get yourself to resist him, as much as you might want to. As much as you really should.

He’s encouraged by your reaction, and presses on: “I’m just lookin’ out for you. Did you even read the dress code?”

“It’s a dress,” you protest, already feeling the warmth spreading over your face. He’s so infuriating. And obnoxiously pretty. His eyes are even more beautiful when brought out by the blue of his suit, his body even more distracting when it’s inches away from you. He even smells good. It’s beyond irritating. “Dresses are formal. Therefore - I’m dressed formally. It’s not like I had a ton of options in my closet. I wasn’t gonna go out and buy something new -“

“Sure.” You know you sound flustered, and he clearly thinks it’s adorable. It always seems to happen so easily. And he wants more of it. He tightens his hold on your waist and drags his hand up the outside of your thigh, all the way up to the bottom of your dress, eyes flashing mischievously as you squirm at his touch. “Didn’t realize formal could be so sexy.”

You can’t respond to that - it’s far, far too dangerous. Instead, you glance around the room, suddenly very aware of the people around you - a lot of them are doing more than glancing as they pass by. “You’re making people stare.”

“Me? Pretty sure it’s you doing that.” One finger slips under the hemline of your skirt, his nail scratching slightly against your skin. He presses his lips to your ear, his voice barely a whisper. “You wearin’ anything under here?”

Your face is burning now, and you’re sure he can tell. “Yes.”

“Yeah? Cuz I don’t feel anything.”

“No shorts…just…” You realize what you’re telling him, and force yourself to shut up. “Fuck you.”

“If you insist.”

“Clever.” You’re torn. Half of you wants to slap him. The other half…well. You’ve been holding back the other half for a very long time. And you’re getting tired of it.

“Aren’t I?” There’s that grin again - the one that’s been flashing through your mind more than you’d like to admit in the past few weeks. “You should’ve come out with me tonight. This behavior would draw a lot less attention where I wanted to go.”

“If you’re concerned about that, you could just…” You squirm. “Y’know. Let go of me.”

“But do you really want me to?”

This is your last chance. You could say yes. Probably should. But it would be a complete and utter lie. And those eyes…they make all of your worries so easy to forget.

“Mhmm. That’s what I thought.” His hand brushes over your jaw, tilting your face, insisting that you meet his gaze. “I’m not concerned. About them, or about…anything else.” In that moment, you feel like his eyes are piercing you. He understands perfectly. He’s read your mind. “You’re gonna be just fine. And if you’re still not sure of that…that just means I need to try harder to convince you.”

You look up at him, anticipating his next move even as you ask: “What does that mean?”

“Well…”

He leans in.

Oh god.

He leans in and kisses you.

And your mind goes blank.

You kiss him back, and pay no mind as his hand slides under the skirt of your dress.

Okay. Maybe not no mind. But you certainly don’t mind. Not even a little.

Your eyes flutter closed, blocking out your surroundings. People are definitely staring, but in the moment, you suddenly can’t bring yourself to care. You’ll worry about everything else in the morning. For now…

He pulls back, hands still locked around your waist, your upper thigh, a palpably hungry look in his eyes. “You still mad at me for showin’ up?”

One more chance to walk away – but he knows you won’t. Your answer is obvious, but you spell it out anyways. He wants to hear you say it. “No. I’m glad you did.”

“Mhm. And…” He nips at your ear, his fingernails digging into your leg, the smirk broadening on his face. ‘’You wanna come with me when I leave?”

You quickly nod, breathless. “Yes.”

“Good. Because I wasn’t planning on sticking around here for long.” He sighs dramatically, breathing deeply into your hair. “And I would hate to leave you all alone.”

Again – ridiculous. Infuriating. And…impossible to turn down. It’s all you can do to stay upright, and follow him to the door, his hand laced tightly between your fingers, arm still wrapped around your waist. You forget about your coat, too – it’s still in the backroom somewhere. Maybe you’ll make him go get it for you in the morning. But you don’t want to think about the morning just yet.

calling it now, this man is gonna be responsible for jjk trending once again. only difference is that this time we are all sad instead of horny