💸

[paxyfica]

ruin the friendship w/ bsf!sukuna

play while reading: ruin the friendship

The first time he called you stupid, you were seven years old, sitting on the curb with a scraped knee and tears streaming down your face.

“You’re stupid, you know that?” Sukuna had said, standing over you with his arms crossed. But even then, his hands weren’t as harsh as his words. He had knelt down, slapping a neon Band-Aid over the cut with clumsy fingers. “Stop crying. It’s just blood.”

“Shut up,” you had sniffled, wiping your nose on your sleeve. “You dared me to jump off the swing.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

That was the baseline. The constant. Sukuna was the boy who pushed you into the dirt and then pulled you back up, dusting you off while complaining about it the entire time.

By the time you hit fourteen, things started shifting. It wasn’t some grand, cinematic epiphany. It was a Tuesday. You were sitting on his bedroom floor, doing algebra homework while he played some first-person shooter on his console. You looked up to ask him a question, and the words just died in your throat.

He had grown over the summer. His shoulders were broader, his jawline sharper, and his voice had dropped an octave that made something in your stomach flip. He caught you staring, pausing the game and turning his head.

“What?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” you muttered, quickly looking back down at your textbook. Your face felt hot.

“You’re staring at me like I’ve got two heads. Do I have shit on my face?”

“No, you’re just ugly,” you shot back, a defense mechanism you’d perfected over the years.

Sukuna scoffed, throwing a crumpled-up piece of paper ate your head. “Fuck off. You’re just mad you’re still built like a twig.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was hammering against your ribs. That was the year the crush settled in, quiet and persistent. By fifteen, it was a dull ache. By sixteen, it was a living, breathing thing that sat between you on the couch, rode in the passenger seat of his beat-up Honda, and lingered in the spaces between your fingers when your hands brushed.

What you didn’t know was that somewhere between sixteen and eighteen, Sukuna was having a crisis of his own.

He looked at you one night while you were laughing at a stupid joke he made, the streetlights catching the curve of your smile, and it hit him so hard he couldn’t breathe. He was neck-deep in love with you. But Sukuna’s world was chaotic, angry, and unpredictable. You were the only thing that made sense. You were the only constant. If he crossed that line and they crashed and burned—which, knowing him, they would—he would lose you. And he couldn’t survive that.

So, he built a wall. A transparent one, but a wall nonetheless.

When you were nineteen, you tried to break it down.

It was raining, and you were both sitting in his car outside your apartment building. The engine was off, the windows fogging up from your breath. The tension in the small space was suffocating.

“Are you going to go out with him?” Sukuna asked, his voice tight. He was staring straight ahead at the dashboard, his jaw clenched so hard you thought his teeth might crack. He was talking about a guy from your psych class who had asked yo out.

“I don’t know,” you said softly, turning your head to look at his profile. “Do you want me to?”

“I don't know, why the hell are you asking me.”

You shifted in your seat, turning your body toward him. You were so tired of the games. So tired of the almosts. “Give me a reason to say no, Sukuna. Just one.”

He finally looked at you, and the sheer desperation in his eyes made your breath hitch. He looked like he wanted to devour you, to pull you across the console and never let you go. His hand twitched on the steering wheel.

“We could be more, you know,” you whispered, reaching out to touch his wrist.

He flinched, pulling his arm back just an inch, but it felt like a mile. “Don’t.”

“Sukuna—”

“I said don’t,” he snapped, his voice rough. He ran a hand through his hair, looking away. “Don’t ruin this. You’re my best friend. You’re the only good thing I’ve got. Don’t fuck it up by making it complicated.”

The rejection felt like a physical blow. You swallowed hard, nodding slowly as you pulled your hand back to your lap. “Right. Okay. I won’t ruin it.”

You got out of the car that night with a fractured heart, and the wall between you turned to concrete.

College was a masterclass in tiptoeing.

You both fell into a larger circle of friends, which made it easier to hide the tension.

It was a Friday night at Gojo’s off-campus apartment. The music was vibrating through the floorboards, the air thick with the smell of cheap beer and weed. You were sitting on the kitchen counter, swinging your legs, watching the chaos unfold in the living room.

“You look like you’d rather be anywhere else,” a soft voice said.

You looked over to see Choso leaning against the fridge, holding out a red Solo cup filled with water.

“Is it that obvious?” you asked, taking the cup with a grateful smile.

“Only to people paying attention,” he replied, taking a sip of his own drink. His eyes held yours for a second longer than necessary, warm and steady.

Across the room, you felt the weight of a stare. You didn’t even have to look to know it was Sukuna. He was sitting on the arm of the sofa, a beer dangling losely from his fingers, his eyes narrowed as he watched you and Choso.

“Are you two ever gonna just fuck and get it over with?” Gojo yelled over the music, slinging an arm around Sukuna’s shoulders and pointing at you.

The entire room seemed to quiet down for a split second. Utahime smacked the back of Gojo’s head. “Satoru, shut the fuck up.”

“What? I’m just saying what we’re all thinking!” Gojo whined, rubbing his head.

“Fuck off,” Sukuna snarled, shoving Gojo’s arm off him. He didn’t look at you. He just stood up and walked out onto the balcony, slamming the sliding glass door behind him.

You forced a laugh, looking down at your water. “He’s just drunk. Ignore him.”

Choso didn’t laugh. He just watched you carefully. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you lied, your chest aching. “I’m good.”

That was how it went for years. Always okay with how things were, but never enough. Sukuna was always there—he helped you move apartments, he threatened guys who looked at you wrong, he remembered your coffee order down to the exact amount of sugar. But he never crossed the line. He kept you safely in the ‘best friend’ box, terrified that if he took you out, he’d break you.

And you let him. Because having a piece of him was better than having nothing at all.

_______

It was a few weeks before graduation. The reality of the real world was looming over all of you, making everyone a little more reckless, a little more desperate to hold onto the present. You were all gathered in Shoko’s living room, sitting in a messy circle on the floor, surrounded by empty bottles of tequila.

“Alright, Never Have I Ever,” Geto announced, leaning back against the couch. “Never have I ever… failed a class and lied to my parents about it.”

Gojo, Shoko, and Utahime drank.

The game went on, the questions getting progressively more invasive as the alcohol hit. You were sitting cross-legged, your knee almost brushing Sukuna’s. He was quiet tonight, his eyes heavy and dark as he watched the group. Choso was sitting on your other side, his presence a comforting weight.

“My turn,” Shoko said, swirling the amber liquid in her glass. She looked around the circle, “Never have I ever… been in love with someone in this room.”

The room went silent.

Gojo smirked and took a sip. Geto rolled his eyes but drank. Utahime glared at Gojo and took a shot.

You stared at your cup. Your heart was pounding so hard you could hear it in your ears. You could've lied, but you didn't. You were twenty-two years old. You were graduating. You were so goddamn tired of hiding, so you made one selfish thing. One desperate move that you onow would open a pandora box within this corcle.

You raised your cup to your lips and took a long drink.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Sukuna freeze. His hand, which had been resting on his knee, gripped the fabric of his jeans so hard his knuckles turned white. He didn’t drink.

“Oh, shit,” Gojo whispered, leaning forward. “Spill.”

“No,” Nanami said, adjusting his glasses. “That’s not the game. Leave it.”

“Don't be a party pooper,” Satoru suddenly said, a hint of mischievousness strengthen by the alcohol evident in his voice. He turned his head to look at you, his eyes burning into yours. “Who?”

The room felt like it had been sucked into a vacuum. Sukuna shifted beside you, his knees tensing, but he didn’t say a word.

“Satoru, drop it,” Geto warned softly.

“What! I'm just asking?” Satoru repeated, ignoring everyone else. You met his gaze, the tequila making you brave, or maybe just stupid. “You want to know?”

“Yeah. I do.”

You didn't need to mention his name, you looked beside you; towards Sukuna, and he was looking intensely at you, your voice remarkably steady despite the way your hands were shaking. “You. Since we were fourteen.”

Someone—probably Utahime—sucked in a sharp breath.

Sukuna stared at you, the words hitting him like a physical blow. His expression shattered, the indifference slipping to reveal absolute panic. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“But it doesn’t matter,” you continued, forcing a bitter smile. You set your cup down on the floor and stood up. “Because you’d rather be safe than be with me. I’m gonna go get some air.”

You walked out of the apartment, the heavy silence following you down the hallway. You made it to the alleyway behind the building before the tears started falling. You leaned against the brick wall, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself against the chill of the night.

The heavy metal door creaked open a minute later. You didn’t have to look to know who it was.

“Did you mean it?” Sukuna asked. His voice was stripped of all its usual arrogance.

You wiped your cheeks roughly. “Why would I lie about that? I tried once when we were in freshman, remember?”

He stepped closer, stopping just a few feet away. He looked wrecked. “Since we were fourteen?”

“Yes, Sukuna. Are you really that blind?”

“I’m not blind,” he snapped, running both hands over his face. “I’m just… fuck. You don’t get it.”

“Then explain it to me!” you yelled, pushing off the wall. “Explain why you look at me like you want me, why you act like I’m yours, but the second I try to make it real, you push me away!”

“Because I ruin everything!” he yelled back, his chest heaving. “Look at me! I’m a fucking mess. I’m angry, I’m selfish, and I destroy everything I touch. You are the only beautiful thing in my life. If we try this, and we crash and burn… I lose you. I can’t lose you. I would rather have you as my friend forever than have you as mine for a year and lose you for the rest of my life.”

The confession hung in the air, heavy and devastating.

You looked at him, really looked at him. At the fear in his eyes, the desperate way he was holding himself together. He loved you. He loved you so much it terrified him.

But it wasn’t enough.

“Sukuna,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “By not trying… you’re losing me anyway. I can’t keep waiting for you to be brave enough to love me out loud.”

He flinched, taking a step back as if you had struck him. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I’m done waiting. I'm asking you now, please... just please let's try and make it work.” He stared at you long, voice dying in his throat. He wasn't used to feeling anything other than anger, of all the times he felt happiness.. it was all during the times he shared with you.

He wasn't sure if he can risk losing you, the first time he felt like the world favored him was today, when he heard that you wantes to be with him.. but what can a broken man do when he was raised to believe that all the things he own will be destroyed one day?

When Sukuna didn't speak, you walked past him, your shoulder brushing his. He didn’t reach out to stop you. He just stood there in the dark, letting you go to save the friendship.

_____

Four years later.

The music swells, a soft acoustic melody that fills the garden. The sun is shining, catching the delicate lace of your white dress as you stand at the beginning of the aisle.

You take a deep breath, clutching the bouquet of white roses in your hands. Your father pats your arm, smiling proudly.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Ready,” you whisper.

You start walking. The faces of your friends and family blur together, a sea of smiles and happy tears. Gojo is dabbing his eyes dramatically with a handkerchief, Geto is laughing at him, Shoko is smiling softly, and Utahime looks like she’s trying not to cry.

And then, at the end of the aisle, is Choso.

He looks incredibly handsome in his tailored suit, his dark hair pulled back neatly. But it’s his eyes that ground you. They are so full of love, so steady, so absolutely certain. Choso never hesitated.

From the moment you took his hand that night after the party when you went inside, after Sukuna stayed quiet, after Sukuna stayed a coward; Choso on the otherhand made it clear that he wanted you. All of you. He wasn’t afraid of ruining anything, because he was determined to build something unbreakable.

You smile, your heart swelling with a quiet, peaceful kind of love.

You walked, eyes catching the movement in the front row, on the bride’s side.

Sukuna.

He’s wearing a suit, which is a miracle in itself. His hair is pushed back, and he looks older, sharper. He is your Man of Honor, a title he accepted with a tight smile and a nod when you asked him six months ago.

You meet his eyes as you pass by his row.

He is smiling at you, a soft, genuine smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. His eyes are screaming. They are filled with a grief so profound, an agony so deep, it almost makes you stumble.

In that split second, an entire lifetime passes between you. The scraped knees, the late-night drives, the shared looks across crowded rooms, the unspoken words that suffocated you both.

He didn’t ruin the friendship.

He kept his promise. He stayed your best friend, your constant, the guy who helped you pick out the catering menu for your wedding and threatened the florist when they got the order wrong.

He didn’t ruin the friendship.

As you break eye contact and look back at Choso, stepping up to the altar and taking your soon-to-be husband’s hands, Sukuna realizes the devastating truth.

He didn’t ruin the friendship.

But he never won either.

He watches you smile at Choso, the way your eyes crinkle at the corners, the way you look so incredibly safe and loved. He swallows hard, the lump in his throat feeling like shattered glass. He wishes he could say he never lost you. He wishes he could say that keeping you as a friend was enough.

Choso’s thumb gently strokes the back of your hand as the officiant speaks; Sukuna lowers his head, staring at the grass beneath his polished shoes.

He kept you in his life. But he lost you all the same. Atleast he didn't ruin the friendship... right?

an: the way i yearn for bestfriend sukuna fic where he doesn't end up w reader; i've had the song ruin the friendship stuck in my mind for the past 2 weeks and I had to write this down.. i should've just killed him off here, but i can't. ⚰️🫵🏻

[flwrwinnnn]

Cool With You

꒰৯   Cupid!Satoru x Mortal!reader

For some, love is agape. Selfless, unconditional, eternal. It’s a raging fire within one that flares when embraced by their cherished, but cowardly quenches at the realisation that their beloved felt the same.

For Cupid!Satoru, it was a chore. Because he, the God of Desire, ignites the flame in others. He, the son of the Beauty and Desire herself, had not seen love build up willingly, instead because of his silent gaze.

Yet here he was.

Cupid!Satoru who sat a couple tables away from where you did, smiling to yourself as you painted the toddler’s face in front of you, some wooden character holding a baseball bat. A cartoon kids these days watched, he assumed. Not that he cared, he was more interested in you. Not as a crush- of course not! Gojo was simply intrigued.

Cupid!Satoru who had first seen you in an art gallery. Hair wet from the relentless rain outside and shirt wrinkled and painted like a canvas itself from the facepainting gig you were returning to home from when the rain shower began, yet you still looked at peace. Content as you admired the painting in front of you, ironically being of Cupid and Psyche. He hadn’t realised he was so engrossed by you; not until he found himself sitting right beside you on the bus that same night. 

He took his time examining you. The soft blush on the apples of your cheek, the unique slope of your nose, lashes that fluttered as you dozed off after a long day of socialising. 

No, he wasn’t in love- of course not! He was just absorbed by you, all the things that make you a human, your own person. How you managed to smile after having your painting ripped apart just because your professor didn’t like it, yet cry when you run out of your favourite snack.

Cupid!Satoru who even accompanied you to your blind date, with the hopes of finding you a match. Instead, he spent his time watching your reactions to whatever the snobby blonde man in front of you had to say. The polite smile on your face as you simply nodded, fighting the urge to tip the glass of water on his face and walk out. He didn’t deserve your attention, not like Satoru did anyway.

Soon or later, it became a routine for Cupid!Satoru. To take the bus ride home with you at night. His fingers ached to feel your soft skin, to know you were real, but he didn’t try. Too afraid that you would notice his presence, despite not being able to see him but feel the ice cold breeze mid-July, his fingers hovered over your hand which were adorned by whimsical rings. 

Maybe he did like you a bit.

For someone who was the God of Desire, he was pretty slow when coming to the realisation, that maybe, he liked you more than just a bit. He had constant dreams of you, of him being the sole subject of your attention, your sweet voice calling his name, finally feeling your warm hands over his. He saw you everywhere he went, he could smell your scent on him.

Is this what mortals call hysteria?

Alas, the smallest amount of rationality escaped him when he saw you put up a poster on the campus pin board asking for a muse, let his Id take over him and contacted you right away. Nanami was surely going to hunt him down for revealing himself to a mortal.

Cupid!Satoru whose heart thumped against his chest as he walked up the flight of stairs to your apartment, a bouquet of bluebells and daisies clutched in his hand.

Knock, knock, knock.

Three patient knocks with equal intervals. He heard footsteps rushing towards the door, and you revealed yourself in all your glory. An apron with various paints smeared on it tied around your neck and waist, hair tied back and a red hair clip holding your baby hairs back. You smiled at him.

His breath caught at the realisation that he was the subject of your smile. You welcomed him into your place and shortly started sketching the composition.

“You have beautiful eyes by the way,” You said interrupting the silence and he felt the room growing hotter by the second, cheeks flushing pink as he stammered to mutter out a ‘thank you’ in response.

You simply smiled.

Cupid!Satoru who teared up the first time the two of you kissed. It was late at night in your studio-slash-apartment. You had called him over to show him the finished product he had asked to see. Not even two minutes after you ended the call you heard the familiar knocking pattern against your door.

“Close your eyes!” You said rushing behind him, taking his sun glasses off and covering his eyes with your hands. His fingers reached up to yours, not to remove them but to feel.

Cupid!Satoru whose hand grasped yours as you revealed the painting, shocked by not the skill, but the detail. The softness of his hair, the endless blue of his eyes that you depicted. He felt beautiful. For once, the God of Desire felt seen. 

One thing led to another and you were the first to lean closer, the murmuring from the crowd in the bar downstairs fuzzing out in the dim lights of your apartment. Your hesitant fingers reached for his shirt and he too leaned closer.

Cupid!Satoru who sighed in relief when your lips lingered against his. His trembling hand reached up to touch your hair, but still afraid you’d call this a mistake and pull away. But then you smiled against his lips and pulled him closer and smiled. He initiated. Hurried, hungry, hastily. He kissed you like he had been waiting centuries to catch the fire called love. Your love. One second his hands were on your face, the next your neck, your waist, your thighs, knees and everything in between.

Cupid!Satoru who drank you like elixir, kissed you like silk on damp skin, held you like morning dew on petals.

Cupid!Satoru who shed a tear and begged to hold you, because he knew this was the first and last time he’d be allowed to before he becomes another stranger to you. It was inevitable. The curse of being a divine being. Confused, you nodded in your afterglow, head resting against his chest.

Cupid!Satoru who vanished when the morning arrived, and so did your memories of him. But what did linger was his tantalizing scent and the melancholy painting of the man you couldn’t remember.

Cupid!Satoru who was still present, but never visible.

Cupid!Satoru who completely disregarded his duty after that night, which didn’t go unnoticed. He didn’t smile as sincerely, half-heartedly shot his glance between people who weren’t even meant to be, couldn’t be arsed to reunite the separated and separate the doomed.

Cupid!Satoru who voluntarily passed his divine essence to another. Too weak and heartbroken to bare his separation from you, he was given the chance to become mortal again, which he accepted with gold in the form of tears dripping from his eyes; the thought of growing old, to share the same signs of age as you, much more enticing than divinity.

Satoru who visited the gallery you rented to showcase your work, lingering at each painting longer than others, imagining what you must’ve looked like while painting, what your thoughts behind each piece must’ve been. He smiled knowingly to himself when he felt your curious gaze on him. To you, he looked achingly familiar, oblivious to the fact that the portrait of the same man awaited in your attic. He didn’t freeze this time when you walked up to introduce yourself.

“Hi! My name is (reader)”

“I know”

“You know?”

He recovered quickly, telling you he followed your work on social media.

Satoru whose love was resilient. He now understood that love wasn’t a product of his gaze, the latter was just a catalyst. One ignites the flame within oneself and blossoms it until their person arrives and puts it out for them.

Satoru Gojo who felt cool with you.

sparkle divider cred to @cursed-carmine !

[flwrwinnnn]

Right Now!

˖Ი𐑼⋆ jjk dadas as... nwjns songs ?!

Track list ❤︎︭๑

୨୧ Cool With You pairing Cupid!Satoru x Mortal!Reader ୨୧

୨୧ Ditto paring . . . ୨୧

୨୧ Attention pairing . . . ୨୧

୨୧ Hypeboy pairing . . . ୨୧

୨୧ How Sweet pairing . . . ୨୧

୨୧ OMG pairing . . . ୨୧

୨୧ Supernatural pairing . . . ୨୧

୨୧ Hurt pairing . . . ୨୧

୨୧ ETA pairing . . . ୨୧

sparkle divider cred to @cursed-carmine !

I miss nwjns :(

[cursed-carmine]

✴︎ SPARKLE DIVIDERS

ﾉ Please reblog & credit if you use!

For different colors just send me an ask please!

SAKURA

BLOSSOM

ROSES

PUMPKIN SPICE

[syllysmot]

My ride is HEREEEE

[syllysmot]

LEH MEH SUH DAH LAWYER DIH

[animatedglittergraphics-n-more]

multicolored dividers dump

[eqlipze]

Widow Meets Lawyer

Contains: Slow burn, series, angst, Higuruma Hiromi, Nanami Kento, reader is depressed, sad, emotional rollercoaster, Higuruma x reader, widow!reader, reader has a child, mentions of character death, modern world au

After five years since your husband passed you finally managed to move out of that place you once called home. Your daughter nearing the age of four had the striking resemblance to her father, inheriting both his hazel-colored eyes and blond hair. Not a day goes by where you don’t think about Kento. After the accident in Shibuya, it was too difficult, too painful to move on. You severed ties with everyone you once knew. Seeing the familiar faces you and Kento had once grown close to felt unbearable. A pair of small arms wrapped around your waist, tiny face pressing into your side.

“When can we visit daddy?”

After Kento's death, you’d made it a point to keep him alive in your daughter’s world. Despite her not had the chance to truly know her father or build memories with him herself, you made sure she knew who he was. You told her wonderful stories about the kind of man he had been— his quiet strength, his gentle smile, the way he cared deeply in moments when he didn’t show it in obvious ways.

You wanted her to understand that, although his life was cut short, his love for her had always existed. And somehow, even without fully knowing him, she still loved him. Not just as a story, but as her dad. She cared for him in the only way she could, holding onto pieces of him you shared, carrying his memory in her heart.

You pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, forcing a gentle smile.

"Soon," you whispered. "We'll visit soon."

-

The call had come three days ago.

Calm. Professional. Low.

"Mrs. Nanami? My name is Higuruma Hiromi. I handled your husband's estate at the time of his passing. There are a few remaining matters that require your signature."

You felt your stomach drop. Five years of silence, and now this?

-

And here you were, the office building stood too tall for your liking. Your daughter's hand tightened in your palm as you stepped inside, small fingers curling into your coat.

"It's okay," you whispered.

The receptionist led you down a quiet hallway before stopping right outside a half-opened door.

He was already standing when you entered.

Tall. Composed. For a brief moment, something unreadable crossed his expression, not surprise, not pity. Something softer rested on his face once he turned toward you.

"Mrs. Nanami," he greeted, voice low. "Thank you for coming."

You nodded, your daughter immediately hid behind your coat, face pressed into your leg. Higuruma's gaze lowered, slowly so he wouldn't startle her.

"And this must be..." He trailed off gently.

You said her name, he bent down slightly at the waist, just enough to meet her at eye level without invading her space. "It's nice to meet you," he spoke, the faintest warmth radiating in his voice.

Your daughter peeked out from behind your coat, eyes wide. Hazel irises carefully met Higuruma's. She didn't respond. Instead, she continued to bury her face back into you. You felt the slightest bit of embarrassment warm to your neck. "I'm sorry. She's a little shy."

"There's no need to apologize." He replied smoothly, reaching into his briefcase and pulled out a wrapped candy, placing it on the edge of the desk. "In case she decides I'm trustworthy," he said lightly.

He stood again, walking behind his desk to grab a set of documents rested in his hand. "Please, have a seat." He was professional, composed. And yet, when his eyes met yours, you felt it. There was something there that made your breath catch. He wasn't just looking at a client, he was looking at a family your husband had loved.

A/N: Part one of my Higuruma x reader series! Please like, comment, and reblog for more. I hope you guys enjoyed this one!

[lanadelreylover11]

I feel like a virgin when I search up “x Reader” with a new character I like

[swhore]

and what if i said this man is on the same level of appeal as gojo

[flwrwinnnn]

A Daughter

Suguru Geto x Reader

Synopsis: Having that family talk with Suguru..

You and Suguru had nothing in common. Where you came from a long lineage of sorcerers, he had no ties to the world of jujutsu. He demanded attention wherever he went, while you were quiet, boring even.

But maybe that’s what made him love you in the first place, the different layers to you. You were so cold and indifferent, but craved connection deep within, something Geto was willing to provide if it meant you’ll let him in and love you. Which you didn’t at first, adamant in keeping to yourself and the tiny friend “circle” you had (which only consisted of Yu). Suguru was the definition of everything that gave you the ick: arrogant, reckless and annoying.

Yet here you sat, against a tree as you played with Suguru’s hair under the shade.

“Son or daughter?” You asked, a daisy ring that he had made tied around your finger.

He hummed. “A daughter, I think." Then he paused. "Either is a blessing, as long as they look like you.”

When you asked him why, he simply replied that loving them would be easier. As if loving you was the simplest yet the more crucial responsibility bestowed upon him. But it was nature to him.

“But you should love them no matter who they look like,” you argued back. He simply smiled, taking your hand and kissing your palm like a silent promise. “What about you?”

It seemed as if you already had an answer prepared. You told him about your wish about raising your child away from the jujutsu world if ever given the choice. How you want your child to go to a normal school away from your clan’s reach, learn nursery rhymes, go on school picnics, and sleep without any fears. And he listened quietly, his gaze steady on you and grip warm around your wrist.

“And I want a daughter too”

“Why a daughter?”

You just shrugged. "It would be nice to have a mini-me, don't you think? Matching outfits, dresses, hair.. Plus think you’ll be an amazing girl-dad, it’s adorable to imagine”

Something would soften in his gaze, a change in his smile.

“I’d like that.. We’ll raise her away from all.. this.”

The wind blew onto the dandelions and daisies, spring soothing the icy mark left by winter. You too laid back beside Geto, eyes closed as he silently switched to lay on his side, watching you carefully. His gaze traced every curve and shape of your face like there was anything left to memorise. His hand reached for yours, thumb caressing your skin and the daisy ring. Your eyes fluttered open and met his, twinkling because you were both so sure that he was yours and you were his. At that moment, Suguru thought he may have fallen deeper in love with you if that was even possible.

Two months later, Suguru and Satoru were assigned to protect and escort Tengen’s Star Plasma Vessel, Riko Amanai.

Hello loveliest readers! Thank you so much for interacting with my last oneshot (?? Idk) I did NOT expect so many reads 🤯 Anyways, this was another one I wrote instead of revising 🤭

Hope you have a lovely night/day xx

(Art creds to ake_6tsu and rudecopper on twt (X))

[flwrwinnnn]

Propaganda

Spiderman!Gojo x conspiracy theorist!reader

Synopsis: Who would've thought, the city's precious and very own superhero would have a "vigilante-hating" girlfriend?

If there’s one thing that baffled Satoru more than the plot of Wuthering Heights, it was his girlfriend’s thought process.

“Spiderman is what now?”

“Propaganda set by the government to distract us from major events. Hear me out, why did the National Art Museum just happen to get robbed on the same day as–” He closed his eyes, zoning out of the conversation momentarily.

“You’re not even listening to me,” you turned to face him, a frown on your face. Satoru smiled softly, pulling you down onto your bed to lay beside him, eyes still shut. “You think too much”

“And you, too less.”

A chuckle rang from his throat and his eyes met yours. His hand travelled to cup the back of your hand and another to your hip, pulling you closer until there was a few centimeters gap left between the two of you. His eyes scanned your face, dilated black pupils amidst a sea of cyan, a light pink hue brushed along his cheeks, barely noticeable but still there. If you looked closely you'd only be able to see one single thought forming behind those eyes: God, what a blessing it was to be able to call you his.

“Why do you hate him so much? Spiderman, I mean” He asked out of curiosity.

“Hate? No, I don’t hate him. Far from hate, actually. He seems cool, but you don’t find it weird? This rando shows up in a spidey suit, does acrobats and all of a sudden there are supervillains showing up like we’re in a DC comic? It’s the government”

“What if he’s just some kid? Our age, you never know”

“Or a middle aged man”

“I could be Spiderman”

Silence.

What was that? A pin drop??

His room had never been so silent in your presence as it was now.

His eyes widened, his blush deepening. “I mean–”

A smile slowly crept on your face, a teasing glint appearing in your eyes before you laughed. “Aww Sato, you’re adorable, you'd get along so well with my younger cousin!” you raised your hand, pinching his left cheek.

Shortly after the not so official confession, you turned your attention to your phone, watching another dramatised theory about Spiderman’s true identity, retreating back into the rabbit hole.

“Pay me some attention too,” Satoru whispered. Well, technically, you were paying attention to him, but not the kind he wanted. He wanted every piece of you to himself, to the Satoru Gojo you knew, not the masked vigilante you labelled as ‘masked menace’, thanks to the internet. Not that he minded- watching you talk about some conformity gate theory was adorable.

His fingers smoothened your hair, before travelling to your face, tracing your features with a gentle, feather-like touch. He leaned down until you were both eye to eye, noses brushing against each other's. You watched him close his eyes before connecting the two of you together by the lips. The kiss was soft, unrushed, and fragile. His cold hands travelled underneath your shirt, caressing the soft warm skin before pulling you even closer if possible. His glasses now discarded on your bedside drawer and your phone lost between the tangled mess of your duvet and bedsheet.

“I missed you” he whispered against your lips.

You smiled, “It was just two days.”

Yeah, two agonising days away from you and in the capital city, taking part in a competition Mr Yaga insisted would be a good addition to his University application. Just to his luck, the competition venue just happened to be three streets away from the museum, and on the same day the robbery occurred. Hence your friendly neighbourhood Spiderman was busy saving a different city and the school’s Academic Decathlon team.

He did answer any further, instead pulled the duvet over the two of you and buried his face in your shoulder.

First post, kinda nevous

[nadin2003]

🕊 Nadin’s Hope: A Mother, A Memory, A Future

Hello, my name is Nadin. I’m from Gaza. I’m a graphic design graduate, a wife—and now, a mother.

I finished my design studies just before the war began. I had dreams of starting a small studio, of creating art that told stories. I used to think about colors and fonts and the future.

Then, the war came. And the future became something we tried to hold onto, moment by moment.

On October 22, 2023, I learned I was pregnant when a missile destroyed my husband’s family home, killing 25 members—his mother, siblings, nieces and nephews—entire branches of our family in seconds.

We were displaced twice. Everything was gone—home, safety, routine, rest.

A few weeks later, I gave birth to our daughter. There was no crib, no celebration—not even stillness. But she arrived, quietly and beautifully. In her eyes I saw something I hadn’t felt in weeks: life that still wanted to grow.

Now, our days are shaped by decisions that could dismantle the future we are trying to build together.

Today, Israel’s government is discussing plans for a full military occupation of the Gaza Strip, including Gaza City and southern regions. The stated aim: to eliminate Hamas and later hand governing control to allied Arab forces—not Israel—but with no clear path to peace or normalcy.

The humanitarian fallout is devastating. More than 61,000 Palestinians have died in this war; hunger and malnutrition are rising sharply. Hospitals in north Gaza have shut down, and 193 people have now died of starvation, nearly half of them children.

Aid remains blocked, water is scarce, and many risk dying of hunger or disease long before future promises arrive.

We Don’t Know What Comes Next There’s no clear path forward—only uncertainty for our daughter’s life and our ability to survive another day.

Nadin’s Hope: Rebuilding Life for a Mother and Child

My name is Nadin, and I’m a mother from Gaza.

How You Can Help I’m asking for support—not for comfort, but for survival:

Help us meet basic needs so we can breathe, heal, and preserve a world for our daughter.

Support us as I try to stand again on my own feet—even a glimmer of stability matters.

If you’ve read this far, thank you. If you can give—thank you. If you can’t—just sharing this post is a lifeline I will never forget.

[savannahcore27]

[slvttyplum]

PLEASE don’t stay silent about ICE. they are not only ruining peoples lives but also taking them away.

they are racist, rapist and predators. they do not care about taking immigrants out of the country, they are trying to kill all of us whether you believe it or not.

they are hiring the worst people you know to go around terrorizing people and trying to get away with killing us.

it’s going to get worse.

please speak out and help the best way you can

[aransmind]

[slvttyplum]

“so come on superman say your stupid line.”

“i’d win”