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archives of the best @ccalorifics !

honorable mention: @cuntphoric-main — need i say more?? not only is this blog super funny and relatable, but he's an amazing writer 🙏🏽🙏🏽 everytime i see his blog on my feed it's like an epiphany.. they're also very interactive with other's!! regardless of them being requests or anything in general, the guy running this blog is super friendly—and for some reason, his writing is one that immediately captures my attention, it's super recognizable. def a bright person behind this blog and again, his writing is one of my favorites!!!

@pillbaby — absolute cinema. that's literally it.

@fluttrdoll — genuinely one of my favorites as their writing is super descriptive and extremely immersive! amazing job at getting straight to the point and their blog is a heavy inspiration of mines 🥹 not exclusive to writing jjk but whenever i come across a post that is jjk, my mind is blown.

@dollkuna — hello ?? their writing is absolute peak + they're very much creative with these ideas they come up with.. im left speechless whenever i come across their posts, super awesomesauce id recommend 10/10 </33

@kaitoru — i see her posts sm on my feed and everytims, i have to stand up and applaud. i absolutely love every single one of their drabbles and somehow, i waste most of my time on their blog!! i very much recommend this blog if you're up to reading lots of smut + jjk!! not just that though, she manages to icorporate some of the best n hottest ideas such as geto jerking off in front of u, threesomes w gojo, bondage and a ton more. she has tons of posts, so definitely do check her out, great way to spend your day!

@gojosconsort — again, need i say more?? there's absolutely no way you've never seen a post of there's a least once during your time on tumblr. im an insanely hugr fan and i absolutely love reading and scrolling through their posts whenever i can't find anything else. again, absolutely delectable reading and id recommended 10/10.

“c'mooon, please! haven't i been nice enough? i mean, i deserve this, really.” he pleads, his hands now wrapping under your thighs to pull you in, now face-to-face with your crotch. his fingers reached to unzip your jeans, eyes locked with yours, a painful pout on his face and a matching erection. “look, it's a win-win situation.. ill eat you out, and you do the same. yeah? sound good?” you really need to stop letting him get off so easily. it's a cycle. a dirty, filthy cycle.. he'll apologize, beg, then proceed to fake cry until you let the issue go.

to make up for the stress he constantly gives you, he'll place a hand snuggly in between your legs, plunge his fingers deep into your aching cunt whilst his tongue draws small circles on your swollen clit. much like he's currently doing. “still mad?” he murmurs against your skin, tongue lapping at your folds as one hand forces your thighs open, fingers gripping into the soft flesh. the vibrations of his voice send shocks to the rest of you body, already twitching for release. and you moan, a cry of sheer frustration and pleasure as he's knuckles deep inside you. but still, you'll forgive him. over and over again.

he’s got this clumsy, puppy-like energy, always muttering half-baked apologies under his breath when his hands wander a bit too far, but you can tell he’s not that sorry. “s-sorry, just… they’re so soft,” he'll stammer, cheeks flaming red, but his fingers keep kneading, only to then pull your shirt up like he can’t help himself. he’s obsessed with the way your skin feels under his palms, the warmth, the weight, how it’s nothing like the late-night porn videos he's watched for “research.” he's shameless about it, though. he honestly couldn't care less about his image, already has a horrible reputation for being too “prideful” and according to you, “desperate” so, what's there to think about? he’s just satoru. the guy who’d rather spend his nights memorizing you than any textbook, who’d rather flunk a test than miss a chance to sneak a glance, and who'd rather have his face in them the rest of his sorry life.

you can then hear the soft click of his glasses as he pulls them off, setting them down next to your face. he doesn't wait for a response, instead pushing your head, your cheek pressing onto the table. a drabble of drool falls from your mouth, small gasps slipping through as he stretches his fingers outwards, thumb circling around your clit in harsh circles. he's been pushing and pulling, those hands sliding back and forth, only to peel them away when you blabber nonsense instead of composing coherent sentences. so, the second you manage to spill out an “i don't know!”, gojo has already landed a sharp blow onto your ass, sure to leave a mark. he pouts behind you, sucking in his teeth and completely pulling away from you. his only response? another smack.

“who and what, made you think you could stop, huh? i already told you. jus' make me feel good.” he proceeded to pull on your curls roughly, causing a whimper to escape. “sorry.” you managed, and as you expected, dallas ignored you. “dunno why i ever took a likin' to you.. shit, you don't even listen.” he said, attempting to rub the tip of his dick over your mouth. you pulled off him just before the tip touched your lips, letting a few drops slip down the slit. he groaned, eyes fluttering shut as he leaned backwards, “damnnit, d'you really like teasin' me or something?” a nod came from you as you shot him a coy smile, licking your lips quickly and taking him again, this time sucking, fully. you could feel him squirm slightly under your grasp, feel the vibrations of his muscles pulsing under you and the way his knuckles cracked as he gripped the back of your head. all of this running a shiver down your spine. “justa lil' more, doll..” he mumbled, his voice ragged. and like he said, it didn't take long before he finished, thick liquid spilling down your throat.

❀𓈒 knuckles & patches

you were already outside the school when dallas pulled up, sitting on the curb like you hadn’t just tried to take someone’s head off two hours ago. your knuckles were bruised, blood crusted in a line down your cheek, shirt stretched out like someone’d grabbed it hard.

and most of all, an angry heart.

he didn’t say anything at first. just slammed the car door, slow and heavy, like it weighed a thousand pounds.

all you could hear were his heavy boots against the pavement with each step he took. he trudged forward, no noise escaping his mouth.

you didn’t look up.

he stood there a second, jaw clenched and voice raised.

“nasty bruises.. nasty fuckin’ attitude of yours too, man.”

a pause, then, “the hell happened to you?”

you didn’t answer. not right away. couldn’t even look him in the eyes.

“got a call from your damn principal,” he muttered, pacing a slow line in front of the porch. “said my kid sister went full lunatic in the schoolyard. said she laid into some girl like she was in a street brawl. you outta your mind?”

he stepped up onto the porch, slow. lowered himself onto the step beside you.

“hey, did you break her nose?” he asked, finger pointed at you.

“think so.”

he nodded, once—like that was a valid reason to stop being mad. maybe to him, it was.

“ain’t mad you fought,” he said after a bit. “just mad you had to.”

you blinked hard, lookin’ down at your scabbed hands.

he nudged your shoulder with his own. “next time someone runs their mouth, let me handle it.”

“you’d get arrested.”

he grinned, lopsided and mean. such a contrast to how he'd been yelling a couple seconds ago. “yeah, but it ain’t the worst place i’ve been to.”

you laughed, a little. more like a puff of air, but it counted.

he bumped you, staring directly at your busted hands and, well, your face. “gotta patch that up. lookin’ like you lost..”

he sucked in his teeth before starting again. “c’mon. i’ll clean you up. then we’ll get dinner. someplace with pie or somethin’ like that.. you like pie, don’t ya?”

“not cherry.”

“good cause i ain’t gettin’ cherry.”

you stood up together, and he held the car door open for you like it was instinct. didn’t say anything about your limp. just waited.

you followed. and just as you entered, you caught glimpse of a fresh pack of bandaids on the dashboard.

you were taking your absolute sweet time. the sun was already cookin’ the back of your neck, and dallas—leaned up against the side of the ice cream truck with an unlit cigarette between his lips—was two seconds from throwing his wallet into traffic. and you as well.

“you been starin’ at that menu for ten years, kid,” he drawled, arms crossing. “pick somethin’ fore i melt.”

you huffed, squinting up at the bright, chipped paint of the flavor board. “i’m thinkin’, dal.”

“yeah, well, think faster. i ain’t gettin’ any younger.”

you shot him a look and stuck out your middle finger. “they got bubblegum swirl,” you said, biting your nail. “but the banana split is new..”

“what’re ya, eighty? banana split,” he scoffed. “that’s what old ladies get at diners ‘cause they hate joy.

you ignored him, lips twisting like it was the most important decision of your life. “what’re you gettin’?”

he blinked, tilted his head back and sighed. “don’t matter. i’m not the one holdin’ up the damn line.”

there actually wasn’t a line. just some little kids behind you with drippy cones and some runny noses. you rolled your eyes and pointed.

“fine. bubblegum swirl.”

“about time,” he muttered, straightening up. “shoulda made you pay just for wastin’ my saturday.”

“you offered!” you grinned, bouncing on your heels while the guy inside scooped your order. “and you never offer. what’s the catch?”

“no catch,” he said, handing over a crumpled bill. “just figured it’s been a while since you got to act like a kid without me yellin’ cause of it.”

“so you do love me.”

he made a face like you’d just kicked him. “don’t go gettin’ mushy.”

you took your cone and licked it, savoring the taste. you noticed he hadn't gotten anything. “this is good. you should try it.”

he wrinkled his nose. “nah. looks like a unicorn shit on it.”

“you’re just too scared you’ll like it.”

“yeah, and next thing ya know i’ll be skippin’ around with a pink sundae and pigtails. no thanks.”

you laughed. he didn’t say anything, just stuck his hands in his pockets and looked at you like maybe it wasn’t the worst idea he’s ever had—this whole ice cream thing. sure it was hot, but it felt nice. that slight breeze, and the fact that dallas didn’t look so tired today, and you weren’t bickering for once.

“thanks, dal,” you said, quieter now.

he shrugged, eyes on the sidewalk. “yeah.”

but when your ice cream started dripping, he handed you a napkin before you even asked.

you and dallas never really talked about feelings, but that didn’t mean you didn’t feel. especially not when it came to him.

you never asked where he was going, and he never asked where you were coming from. that was the unspoken rule in the house, or—well, whatever counted as a house.

the floorboards creaked like screams and the walls were covered in ash, thousands of cigarettes butts scattered on the floor. most likely a combination of dallas' and your father's habit. the house reeked of alcohol and hatred. something you never really got used to. even after years, something else lingered apart from the stench.

dallas was the kind of brother who didn’t hold your hand, didn’t pat your head, didn’t say “i love you.” but he'd steal your favorite snacks from the gas station and chuck it at your face like it pissed him off. he’d throw his jacket over your shoulders when you were cold, grumbling like it inconvenienced him.

he never said it, but he did. he really did, and even if they were never words, they were something.

you were younger than him by a handful of years, just enough for him to think you were soft but not dumb.

“don’t hang around those kinda guys,” he’d mutter when he saw you talking to some greaser punk with too much hair gel and too little sense. “they’ll get you in trouble.”

and you’d raise a brow, all sarcasm and spit. “like you?”

“don’t get smart with me,” he’d snap, flicking your forehead. you always hit him back harder.

sometimes he’d disappear for days and come back with knuckles split open and a hollow look in his eyes.

“did you.. get in a fight with someone?" you'd ask. worried half to death.

he’d light a smoke, never answer.

dallas wasn’t the protective kind that hovered. he didn’t do curfews or check-ins. but if someone looked at you wrong, if someone touched you like you were less than a storm, he’d find them. and they’d wish they’d never been born.

word got around fast. you were untouchable. not because you were delicate—nah, but you just.. had that same wild look in your eye that he did—but because you were his. his kid sister. his last shred of reason. or, you were.

you remembered when he got out of jail.

you’d only been fourteen. or maybe thirteen. or twelve, or eleven. or maybe ten, the first time it actually happened.

he looked older, meaner. that prison look—the one that makes you harder just from surviving, but when he saw you, you swear he looked younger for just a second. you could see that soft glint in his eyes. the one he had way before he got involved with all those gangs and.. stuff.

“you got taller,” he said.

“and you got uglier,” you replied.

he didn't say he missed you, but you knew. you knew he did.

then, there were those moments when it felt like the world might leave you both alone. there were those rare nights when he let his guard down and you’d find him half-passed out on the couch, cigarette burning low, muttering to himself.

“don’t you ever go soft,” he once said, voice thick with whiskey and something heavier. something you were never able to decipher. “the world eats people like us.”

and you didn’t say anything. just covered him with the ratty blanket and turned off the light. you weren’t soft and neither was he.

the night johnny died, you knew before anyone told you. dallas came in a frenzy—shaking, eyes red. he looked like a bomb had gone off in his chest. breathing all erratically, teeth clattering together.

“don’t talk to me,” he warned.

but you did anyway. “dal—” you started, and you were cut off with a sharp,

“i said don’t.”

so you didn’t. just sat next to him while he stared at the wall like it’d done something to him. you could feel it crack in him. the boy who once told you not to cry when you broke your wrist now couldn’t even look at you.

and you knew, johnny wasn’t just some kid. he was the last good thing dal believed in.

and now he was gone.

so you stayed up all night, waiting. he left before dawn, and you told yourself you’d see him again. but you knew better.

the shot echoed through your bones before the news even reached you.

“dallas winston, seventeen year old, dead by police. a gun in his hand. a scream in his throat.”

you heard about the robbery. the chase. how he pointed the gun. how the cops opened fire like he wasn’t even human—and, the fact that his gun was never loaded.

you wanted to scream. wanted to punch something until your fists looked like his used to. but you didn't.

so you sat on the curb outside your busted house and smoked one of his last cigarettes, legs shaking too hard to stand. and your father? nowhere to be found.

dallas always said he didn’t care about anything but you knew the truth. he cared too much. and again, nobody noticed.

and it burned him alive.

you don't cry.

but, you keep his lighter in your coat pocket.

you wear his old leather jacket, even though it’s too big.

you flinch when you hear sirens.

you mouth the words to that song he always hated just to feel like he’s yelling at you again.

and you don’t talk about it. ever. 'cause he never did.

but he was your brother.

and you loved him more than you could ever say. even if he never said it back.

so, you carry that now. all of it.

for him. because you care.