Nosferatu (2024) Is Unquestionably A Multifaceted Work, But What I Personally Consider To Be The Unifying

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Dancing in Space

nsfw - mdni. f!reader, piv sex, possessive gojo.

“Let me see you,” Satoru begs as you fight the urge to turn your face from his discerning stare, instead letting your head loll against his wrist while your eyes flick up to meet his. You’ve never felt more seen than when his eyes are on you just like this, drinking in every soft inch of you as if it could be the last time.

It isn’t lost on you that it could very well be one of these days, the dangerous work the pair of you do is heavy enough to carry that at times you feel like your life is already set for a predetermined amount of days.

Could this be the final time you sigh dreamily into his mouth? You whisper a vow to love him forever, barely loud enough for him to hear over your staccato whimpers and babbles. He knows it, though, the feel of each syllable pressed against the smooth expanse of his chest or the skin of his wrist.

You say it every single time without fail, not that he’s kept a running tally over the years. There’s no way Gojo Satoru has let you imprint on his heart so deeply that he knows every single muttered declaration of love like he knows his own mind and the way the sun rises and sets. Yet here he is, adding another tally to the running total.

“I love you,” with your back arched and his hands grasping at your ass for leverage while he buries himself so deep inside of you he’s determined to shape your insides in his likeness. You’d like that too - a home inside of you made just for him.

You could offer him your heart but your cunt seems the more fitting tribute with the way it always promises warmth and want to him. It’s less bruised, at least for now if his pace continues to speed up.

“Fuck Satoru,” your words change in pitch as you spit them out and his thumb brushes across your swollen clit. His tongue peeks out of the corner of his mouth and you’re lost the moment you look at him, sweat dampened hair resting against his forehead and brushing the tips of his “those can’t be real they’re so long” eyelashes.

You know they’re real and it drives you crazy much like everything else about him. He’s too perfect and it makes you feel small in comparison but you know above all that he wants you - flaws included. You whisper another lovesick chant against his skin and it fuels him further, thrusts increasing so sharply you can hear every tap of his balls against the bottom of your ass.

One pulsating spasm and he knows, you’ve unraveled between his fingers like twine. He’ll spool you back up later, after you’ve cried or laughed or enjoyed the silent comfort of your head pressed against his chest, but for now he’s content knowing he’s the one responsible for your carefully crafted facade falling in the form of tears leaving shimmering tracks down your face.

You’ll blame it on overstimulation if he feels bold enough to ask but he knows the truth. You’re giving him something it feels too intimate to share in the daylight - you at your most bare and not merely in the way that shows him each delectable bounce of your tits in time with every time his cock fills you.

You’re vulnerable and you want to be. This is when you’re most undeniably his.

“That good, beautiful?” He coos down at you as he shifts from holding himself up with one of his hands to placing his elbows on the bed so your chests are pressed against each other and his fists are balled into the sheets above your head.

You nod with furrowed brows in your bliss and his gentle lips wipe away the trail of tears on your cheeks with kisses - there’s no need to let them linger as long as he’s here to clean you up and make you better.

His pace continues and you know he’s nearly finished himself, the darkness of your bedroom doing nothing to hide the tension in his face that always indicates he’s almost done.

“My pussy feels so good,” he taunts and usually you’d bristle at the peacocking ownership but you let him have it this once despite knowing he can feel the way you twitch around him with the assertion. His pussy. You know it to be true as sure as your heart is his. “Gonna make me cum, is that what you want?”

Nodding again, you whine and he dips to press your foreheads together. He wants to make sure you see him as clearly as he sees you when he cums, painting your insides with him. You offer shallow thrusts of your hips to meet with his long strokes and before you know it, he whimpers and gnaws on his lower lip while you feel warmth filling you.

His eyes flutter shut and you crane your neck to press your lips against his, the smooth flesh making you smile. It’s so familiar. It’s home.

“I love you,” you whisper a final time despite knowing he can hear you even over his deep breaths. His head comes to rest on your clavicle and you press his face between your hands the best that you can in the awkward position the two of you have come to rest in.

“I know,” he finally whispers back and you hold him to your body for as long as you reasonably can.

This late in the night, it’ll probably be until the sun rises and reminds you that another world exists outside of the tangle of your bodies as little as you’d like to face it.

Until then, though, paradise is pressed against your chest in a heavy breathing heap.

like father like son

bakugo does that thing where you spread your legs to be at eye level with a much shorter person (he's an asshole) (request)

259 hurtED

loving you is bigger than my head | Izuku Midoriya

“It’s not all hero work, I guess. I like, um, I guess I like to learn.” He shrugs. He’s never really had to think about it before. His dates like to talk about his hero work, and everything after that happens in the bedroom, “I just like to fill my head with things. I like learning about quirks, how they work, how they can change the more you use them.”

“I guess we’re not so different, then. I like to fill my head, too.” You agree. His eyes meet yours, a little surprised. He wants to know if your heart is as empty as his, if you can be enough to fill each other up. 

Notes: hiii this is my first time writing for Izuku, so I’m a little nervous about this one. I really want to do him justice, but idk!! Idk!! Ummm this’ll probably be my last long fic for a while because classes start on Tuesday. But anyways I hope u enjoy it!! Thanks for reading<3 (title is from pool by Samia)

Warnings: f!reader, 18+, minors DNI, injury, blood, some angst

Words: 4.1k

A normal day for Izuku Midorya, better known as the number one hero, Deku, is as follows:

He wakes up at four a.m. and goes for a jog. He sits on his couch. He scrolls through the various apps on his phone. He takes a long shower. He does not eat breakfast, and he is at the agency by seven a.m. He patrols with Kacchan in the morning, where his best friend forces him to drink the coffee and eat the bagel he picks up for him on the way there (even though Kacchan swears that the barista has a crush on him and sneaks him extra food in the morning). The two of them are back at the agency by 11, where two more heroes take their place. Midoriya does paperwork until his lunch break, where he eats something that would make Kacchan pass out if he ever saw him eat it. He does his afternoon patrol at 3 p.m. with Uraraka, and then he goes home. On a good night, he gets two to three hours of sleep each night. He wakes up and does it all over again.

Sometimes, Midoriya’s days change. Sometimes his friends drag him out for a drink. Sometimes he takes a girl home. Sometimes he wonders if this girl will stay this time. She never does. 

Midoriya has lived with an empty heart for most of his life. He has lived with a deep ache inside, one he believed would go away after becoming a hero, after saving lives. It never has. 

As a younger hero, Midoriya turned down dates with people who actually liked him in favor of picking up extra hours at Endeavor’s agency. He missed any opportunity to find someone who may have wanted him because he was just Izuku and not Deku. 

Now that he’s here, now that he’s at the top, all he wants is for someone to be there with him. 

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Totally Average Stargazing Moment

Ellen is explicitly and intentionally the HERO of the story, who is not fighting against her "abuser" but a literal evil undead sorcerer who she accidentally-on-purpose summoned to her side with her literal spiritual powers and metaphorical struggles with accepting her own dark side and repressed desires in a time period where women were to be seen and not heard. On some level she IS attracted to him and Orlok is open and determined about his desire for her. He is the antithesis of the strict and judgemental society in which Ellen is forced to exist. If he wants something he simply goes after it and leaves a trail of destruction in his wake, and finding power and sauve seduction alluring is part of the DNA of the story of Dracula/Nosferatu. This is not monsterfuckers """romanticizing""" anything. It is explicit and intentional on the part of the director and actors. Argue with the wall