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most popular.ᐟ ── Heels (ft. Simon "Ghost" Riley)

latest post.ᐟ ── Delivery (ft. Simon "Ghost" Riley)

author's choice.ᐟ ── Eyes (ft. Tartaglia "Childe" Ajax)

⊹ ࣪ ˖ package of love ᰔ

pairing: delivery guy!simon "ghost" riley x gn!reader

Being a delivery driver maybe wasn’t the wisest and most informed decision Simon had ever made, but it was a choice he could live with.

There was a steadiness to it — a quiet rhythm he appreciated. The early mornings, the familiar weight of cardboard boxes pressing into his palms, and the quiet hum of his truck as he drove through various neighborhoods.

He hadn't retired by choice; an injury during active duty made that decision for him. A tearing of his ligament made him unfit for duty anymore — despite how many times he tried to argue he was fine. Through gentle nudging from price, he begrudgingly took the medical discharge along with all its benefits and retired into the countryside (all while grumbling and complaining each step of the way).

For weeks afterward, he sat in his home staring at the blank walls, feeling restlessness claw under his skin and bury itself into his bones. Construction had been suggested — “Good for blokes like you,” someone had told him — but every time he pictured it, he only saw boot camp in a different uniform. Orders barked, sweat burning his eyes, and younger men trying to prove their usefulness. He wasn’t eighteen anymore — he was forty-one with scars probably older than half the men at a construction site.

Delivery had seemed easier, even if it was less fulfilling. All he had to do was carry boxes from his truck to the porch, snap a photo, then move on to the next place. Most days blurred together. He rarely remembered the doors he knocked on or even the neighborhoods he drove through. His body moved on autopilot, muscle memory guiding him up driveways and back down again.

It was late afternoon when he stepped onto your porch, the sun cascading golden rays across the humble neighborhood. The package was small — light enough to balance in one hand if he really wanted to, but considering there was a "Fragile" sticker stuck on the side, he didn't want to test his luck. He set it down carefully, already reaching for his phone to take the confirmation photo, when suddenly the door swung open before he could snap the picture.

You peeked out, eyes wide and clearly startled — as if you hadn’t expected him to still be there. For a split second you just stared at him — at the broad frame filling your porch, the dark jacket stretched over solid shoulders, and the faint silver strands dotting his hairline.

“Oh— sorry!” you blurted out, staring owlishly up at him, “I just got the notification from my camera. I didn’t realize you were still here,” Your cheeks flushed as you took him in properly, and he noticed it — the red on your cheeks, the way your fingers tightened around the edge of the door, and how you sucked in your breath. He was used to people looking at him cautiously, but your eyes twinkled when you gazed upon him.

“No worry, love,” he spoke gruffly, though his tone was softened — just for you.

You nodded, fumbling the box against your chest as you slipped back inside, shutting the door a little too quickly as if you were trying to shut away unwanted feelings as well.

Simon stood there a second longer than necessary before forcing himself to walk back to his truck.

He should have forgotten you. He usually always forgot them — the houses, the doors, the brief exchanges — but as he drove away, your face lingered in his mind. The flutter of your lashes, the way your shirt had slipped slightly off your shoulder without you noticing, and the flustered little half-smile you’d given him before retreating.

He hurriedly turned the music louder, the bass filling the inside of the truck in hopes it'll drown out his persistent thoughts, but it didn’t help.

The next week, when he saw your address on his route list again, his stomach tightened and a strange feeling he hadn't felt in so long surged through him.

Anticipation.

He tried to shake that feeling off — convince himself it wasn't true, but when he set the package down on your porch, he waited. Five seconds turning into ten — far longer than he should've stood there.

The door creaked open, your head lowered in the direction of the box before you noticed a large shadow and lifted your head, noticing that same delivery driver again right in front of you, eyes widening in recognition, “Oh! Hi,"

“Sorry,” he muttered quickly, shoving his phone in his pocket, “Picture was taking a while to upload," The lie came easily out of his lips.

You smiled up at him — soft and entirely unguarded — and the thumping in his chest only grew louder till it rang in his ears.

He left your porch in a daze, sliding into the driver’s seat and pressing his palms over his face. His heart was thundering, hammering against his chest like a drum.

He felt ridiculous. Forty-one years old and acting like a teenager with a crush for a girl he knew nothing about.

But when he saw your address again the week after, he once again couldn’t stop the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Weeks turned into months and a routine formed between you two. He’d arrive, drop the package, and linger in hopes of seeing you. You’d open the door, sometimes already waiting, sometimes pretending you weren’t. You made small talk about the weather, about how many deliveries he must have in a day — really anything that could keep him on your porch just a few seconds longer. He answered in short, gruff sentences at first, with his hands buried in his jacket pockets and gaze flicking away whenever yours held his too long.

Eventually, one afternoon when the sun was setting and a hazy orange hue settled over the sky, he finally mustered the courage to tell you his name.

“Simon,”

It came out quiet, almost swallowed by the wind.

You repeated it back with a little nod, tasting the syllables on your tongue, “Simon,"

He nearly melted onto your porch right then, hearing your sweet voice say his name so pleasantly made his knees buckle in a way he didn't think was possible. He never thought his own name could sound so soft, but from your lips it almost sounded like a prayer.

Each visit after that, he tried to gather the courage, tried to rehearse in his head while driving, "You’re cute. Would you maybe want to..."

However, every time he reached your door, his brain short-circuited and the words evaporated right at the tip of his tongue. He’d mutter a curt goodbye and retreat to his truck, his pulse hammering as his feet dragged him away from your enchanting smile.

You noticed, of course. The way his ears turned faintly pink when you smiled too brightly, the way his massive hands stayed shoved into his pockets as if he didn’t know what to do with them, and the way he never held your gaze for more than a few seconds.

It was endearing in a way. This enormous, scarred man who looked like he could carry the world upon his shoulders — reduced to shy glances and awkward waves because of you.

Winter began to melt away, stores becoming filled with chocolate boxes and bouquets of mesmerizing flowers. Sidewalks that were once dulled by frost, now reflected the glow of heart-shaped signs and twinkling lights strung above doors. There was a softness forming over everything, a season of love settling in after the holidays.

One evening when the sky was already dim, pink dusted across the sky, Simon was again dropping yet another package to your door. He kept muttering under his breath his confession, hoping tonight on the day of love he could finally bare his heart to you, but before his foot could even step onto your porch, your door suddenly slammed open.

Your hand rested on the doorknob, the other nervously twisting the hem of your sweater. Your eyes met his immediately, a determined resolve he hadn't seen before swirling in your irises.

“…I really think you’re cute,” You stated bluntly, your voice barely steady and wavering against the wind, “Would you like to go on a date with me… tonight?”

The world went still for a moment, longer than you wished and stretching uncomfortably. Even the wind seemed to hush, leaves frozen mid-rustle.

Simon stared at you as if you’d just handed him something fragile and priceless, his chest tightening as warmth flooded through his entire being.

“Yes,” he answered a bit too enthusiastically, immediate without any hesitation. He cleared his throat, suddenly aware of how quickly he’d spoken, “I mean— yeah. Yeah, I’d love that... I’ll come after my shift,”

Your beamed in delight, smiling, “Promise?”

He stepped up onto the porch then, close enough that he could see the tiny flecks of color in your eyes and he could feel your body warmth against the cold evening air.

“I promise,” he whispered, quiet yet certain, "I already have your address memorized so I won't be a minute late,"

You giggled at his response, your heart warm at the fact he accepted your invitation for a date, "You better, or I'll never order online again,"

© kismetarchive please do not plagiarize, repurpose, or use my writing for AI-training! a/n: happy valentines day my lovelies (´꒳`)♡ !! I'll be posting a pt.2 to this (that will be about the date) hopefully soon since I've been busy with school, but I hope this first part was enjoyable, thank you for reading !! ⊹ ࣪ ˖⟢ masterlist ⊹ taglist

taglist˚⟡ ⊹ ࣪ ˖⟢ @ghostscandys @frankiedafurter @asexual-person @g-l-o-b-e-w-h-o-r-e

⊹ ࣪ ˖ nerdjo needs a little help studying

pairing: nerd!satoru gojo x afab!reader content warning: p in v, unprotected s (wrap it before you tap it!), established relationship, p_rn with little plot, condescension, praise, manhandling, dirty talk, drooling, doggy, sensory play, petnames (baby & pretty girl), aftercare word count: 1.6k artist credit: @3vangel1ne_ — tiktok

⊹ ࣪ ˖ gojo can't understand why you love sudoku so much

pairing: satoru gojo x gn!reader

Rays of sunlight from the afternoon sun spilled through the thin, wispy curtains, washing the cozy living-room in a golden hue. A wool blanket laid heavy across your lap, the weight grounding you as you twirled your ballpoint pen between your fingers. Your brows were drawn together in concentration, lips pursed slightly as your clear-rimmed glasses slipped down the bridge of your nose, forcing you to push them back up with your index finger.

The page beneath your hands was filled with squares, some with numbers and some without. You penciled in numbers, erased them, then scribbled faint notes along the margins — little notes to help with deciphering the sudoku puzzle. Time seemed to slow around you, the world narrowing to just the neat rows and columns under your palms.

Across the couch, Satoru was supposed to be watching the movie flickering on the television, some movie he clicked on half-heartedly to fill the silence in the room. Instead, his gaze kept wandering back to you — how you tapped your pen against the paper while you were thinking, how your feet shifted beneath the fluffy blanket, how absorbed you were in something so meaningless (at least to him).

The movie’s dialogue blurred into background noise, barely even registering into his mind anymore as his gaze was now steady on you.

“Are you winning?” he asked, a teasing lilt in his voice. He already knew the answer and the way you'd say it with a pout — it was a puzzle not a game — but he liked the way your nose scrunched when he frustrated you with a silly comment.

You didn’t even look up, “Sudoku isn’t about winning, it's about strategy,” you replied, a phrase you’d told him more times than you could count.

Satoru chuckled, crossing his muscular arms over his chest as he leaned back against the couch. His eyes stayed on you, watching how you moved so methodically through the sudoku puzzle. He’d never admit it out loud, but there was something endearing about how serious you were over a page of numbers.

“C’mere,” he murmured suddenly. Before you could protest, his arms looped around your waist and tugged you towards him, lifting you effortlessly and settling you between his thighs. You let out an indignant huff at his sudden clinginess, but didn't pull yourself away. Instead you squirmed and adjusted yourself until you were comfortable against his chest, your back snug against him like you belonged there — like two puzzle pieces perfectly joining together.

“I don’t see how this is fun,” Satoru huffed, arms encircling around your waist as his gaze flickered down to the page filled with numbers, though there was no real complaint in his words, “Spending your free time fiddling with numbers,"

“Well, it’s fun for me,” you whispered, already back to studying the puzzle, “And it keeps my brain sharp,”

Your words earned a dramatic huff from him as he dipped his head, burying his face into the curve of muscle where your neck and shoulder met, the tip of his nose brushing along your nape. He’d never say it, but watching you like this — peaceful and focused — was something he silently cherished.

He would never pick up a pen and join you, but seeing you content in these small moments made something in him soften. His mind settled without any worries about jujutsu society, his chest full of affection, and if he closed his eyes he could believe there was no where else he needed to be other than cuddling with you under a thick blanket and the muted scribble of your pen filling the home you two built together. He could watch you scrawl in your little book all day if he could, but he'll never say it out loud (his ego would never let him admit that he found it adorable how you fuss over numbers).

© kismetarchive please do not plagiarize, repurpose, or use my writing for AI-training! a/n: I personally love sudoku so while I was doing one this idea came into my mind hehe (⸝⸝⸝- ◡ -⸝⸝⸝) ⊹ ࣪ ˖⟢ masterlist ⊹ taglist

── Taglist ⊹ ࣪ ˖

⊹ ࣪ ˖ comment below what fandom or character you want to be tagged for ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ ) you must be following me and 18+ as this will include any future smut fics I'll make .ᐟ.ᐟ

·˚ ꒰ Call of Duty ꒱ ꕤ Task Force 141 ⊹ ࣪ ˖⟢ @ghostscandys @asexual-person ꕤ Kortac ⊹ ࣪ ˖⟢ @ghostscandys ⊹ ࣪ ˖⟢ könig ⊹ ࣪ ˖⟢ @flartbloug

·˚ ꒰ Genshin ꒱ ꕤ Genshin Impact ⊹ ࣪ ˖⟢ no one yet 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯

·˚ ꒰ JJK ꒱ ꕤ Jujutsu Kaisen ⊹ ࣪ ˖⟢ toji fushiguro ⊹ ࣪ ˖⟢ @flartbloug

·˚ ꒰ LADS ꒱ ꕤ Love & Deepspace ⊹ ࣪ ˖⟢ no one yet 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯

⊹ ࣪ ˖ gojo in second place

pairing: nerd!satoru gojo x gn!reader

Satoru Gojo has always been a model student. His teachers held him up as the academic standard, urging his peers to follow him as a role-model and as the expectation to be followed. His academic record was straight A's, clean from anything less than excellence. His name was carved onto honor rolls and academic plaques, accolades accumulating until they filled an entire wall from floor to ceiling.

He had it all: class president, valedictorian, merit scholarships — achievements stacked upon another until success didn't feel like something he had to try for, but something that came naturally to him as if it was his god-given right. Despite all his awards and accomplishments, he wore his success lightly, carrying himself with a charming confidence — infuriating to his classmates that wanted a reason to take him down from his untouchable, almost saintly status.

Graduation passed and Satoru was whisked away into one of Tokyo’s top universities — an outcome no one found surprising. It was expected of him to reach the stars and dazzle everyone with his brilliance. He never worried nor doubted his admission — never wondered if he truly belonged because in his mind It would be no different. University was just another door waiting to be pushed open and bend to his will.

The lecture hall was cold that morning, sunlight spilling in through tall windows and speckles of dust drifting in the air. Satoru sat comfortably in his seat, posture relaxed, pen resting idly between his lanky fingers as the professor shuffled papers at his podium.

The professor cleared his throat with a gruff cough before stating he'd be announcing who got the highest score on the exam. Satoru smiled to himself, confident it'd be his name — no doubt in his mind.

He waited for the syllables of his name to spill out from the professors lips and then the inevitable applaud for him... but it was not his name called.

It was yours.

The sound of it struck him sharply, like dropped glass shattering against tile. His smile faltered, lips twitching, before vanishing entirely. For a second he wondered if he’d misheard, if the professor would correct himself and say Satoru’s name instead, but no correction came.

Applause rippled faintly through the room for the small figure a few seats in front him. Satoru’s eyes slid forward following everyone else's gaze, finding you seated at the front row. You didn’t look surprised. No wide eyes or delighted gasp — just a calm composure. Your lips gently pressed together as you accepted the praise with quiet grace, as if you expected nothing less from yourself.

Some students muttered about the ruined curve and others questioned how someone got such a high score on a tough exam, but Satoru felt none of that bitterness. He was in awe — utterly enamored by your brilliance.

You had beaten him, challenged him, made him feel inferior for once in his life. His inadequacy soon shifted into admiration, that someone had bested him without even truly trying.

The tests that followed only deepened the wound, but also his fascination. Again and again, your name was called first, your score always just shy from a perfect hundred. You accepted it all with the same steady confidence, never smug nor bashful, simply assured by your own skills and intelligence.

Satoru tailed close behind every time, one or two missed questions being all that separated him from you. By the fourth exam, he realized the ache in his chest no longer had anything to do with competition anymore.

It was emotional distance that made his heart ache.

The only version of you he knew was the back of your head — the way you sat straight, eyes forward, and your attention completely at the board. He found himself imagining the things he couldn’t see — how your pencil must glide effortlessly across the stripped page, how your brows likely furrow when you pause to think for a problem that takes longer than a minute to solve, or how your bottom lip pushes forward into a pout when the professor moves to the next slide before you finish scribbling down your notes.

He wanted to be closer, he wanted to be more to you than just your runner up.

So what if it was ridiculous for the second smartest student in the class to ask for tutoring? Having you, even if only for just a few minutes per day, mattered more to him than his pride. When he asked, he half-expected rejection, but you smiled warmly and agreed without hesitation.

He arrived fifteen minutes early to every session without fail — knee bouncing beneath the table, restless energy humming through him as he waited — beyond ecstatic that he could finally be shoulder to shoulder with you.

When you sat beside him, your knee brushing against his, the contact sent a spark racing up his spine. Your voice was soft as you explained De Borglie relations, patient even as he probed you with silly questions because he just wanted an excuse to hear you speak longer. Satoru never imagined wavelengths and energy could sound so sweet, but hearing you explain it so eagerly, he thinks he could learn anything.

“To find the frequency for this wavelength,” you prompted gently, tapping the paper with the end of your ballpoint pen, “what’s the formula used?”

Silence.

You turned towards him, a pout forming on your lips when you realized he wasn't paying attention, his mind wandered off to somewhere else, “Satoru,” you whined, exasperated, but still gentle.

He blinked, jolting back to reality, straightening his back as if mere seconds ago he hadn’t been utterly lost in the flutter of your eyelashes and the steady movements of your chest as you breathed softly.

“E equals h times f,” he said quickly, confidence coating the words, “Well— if we rearrange it to solve for frequency,” He leaned closer as he spoke, fully aware he was wrong — fully willing to be.

Your smile was worth making himself look like an idiot.

“Close,” you whispered, smiling just as he hoped you would, “But we need to solve for the particle’s momentum first,” You guided him through the problem again, your voice almost lulling him to a peaceful sleep with how gentle you sounded.

It soon became routine tutoring Satoru in the afternoon, comfortable and familiar after a few months. Tutoring helped you reinforce the material and Satoru got to sit next to you — a win-win situation for you both.

Slowly, you warmed up to his loud laughter and dramatic sighs, the way he brightened your afternoons without fail, and how he made your heart thrum a bit faster each time you saw his crooked smile. Your gaze began to linger on him longer than it should, your cheeks growing hotter every time he leaned into your touch — you didn't even realize you had fallen straight into his embrace, utterly whipped by his enigmatic personality and dorky smile.

One evening, just as your session was winding down and you were tucking your pen into your pencil case, Satoru suddenly spoke, “There’s a formula I wanna show you,” he said casually, though his heart thudded loudly in his chest. He gently took your pen from your grip and scribbled an unfamiliar equation across the page.

(𝑖𝜕𝜇𝛾𝜇 − 𝑚)𝜓 = 0

You stared at it, brows lifting in contemplation. Your mouth opened, then closed as you studied it more closely, “I… don’t think I’ve ever seen this before, what is it?"

“It’s Dirac’s equation,” he said quietly. His hand found the edge of your chair, pulling you closer until the space between you vanished, “Do you know what it means?”

You shook your head, cheeks warming from how close he was in your space and the way his glasses slid down the bridge of his nose enough that you could clearly see his bright, cerulean eyes — staring back at you with nothing but fondness.

“It explains quantum entanglement,” he continued, voice softer than you’d ever heard it, “When two particles interact, they become connected and form one system," His fingers slipped between yours, guiding your hand to his chest, right over his heart where you could feel the steady rhythm of the muscle, “No matter the distance, what happens to one affects the other,"

He leaned in, breath warm, lips hovering just shy over yours, “I’ve been entangled with you since the moment I met you... ever since I saw how diligently you focus in class to now while you have that adorable, confused expression,"

The silence that followed felt endless. His heart raced, doubt flooding in as the silence stretched uncomfortably for him. Was it too much? Too corny?

Then you laughed, bright like the morning sun.

“That was so cheesy—" you giggled in between your words, "You're such a dork," You closed the distance and kissed him, your lips soft as they pressed against him.

Satoru's eyes widened when you kissed him, stunned for a moment before leaning in, his hands grabbing at your hips to pull you closer and deepen the kiss. He pulled away after a few seconds, panting softly as his dilated pupils looked down at you, as if you were heaven embodied.

“A dork who’s hopelessly in love with you,” he murmured, earning an eye roll from you and another kiss at the corner of his mouth.

You looked up at him, curiously asking him, "But seriously— where did you even learn that? It looks like graduate-level material," You questioned, tilting your head in wonder.

He shrugged, slightly sheepish, "Found it while studying in my dorm... my original plan was using string theory, but then I found that formula and thought it was better," He answered honestly.

You burst into laughter at his confession, “String theory? Really? You should've just confessed like a normal person— like with a bouquet or something!”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he smirked, kissing you again, because now that he could he doesn't think he can ever stop, “We’re both nerds, I had to make it dorky. Besides, I know you liked it,"

“Only a little,” you hummed in response and he answered with kisses, laughter spilling from the both of you as he held you close, bound together like two particles at the heart of the same system.

© kismetarchive please do not plagiarize, repurpose, or use my writing for AI-training! a/n: I had to learn quantum physics for this (¯ . ¯;) ... (i don't think anyone cares, but Dirac's problem is actually written wrong because I don't know how to do subscripts on tumblr but pretend with the power of fanfiction it's written correctly also happy bday to my dear mootie @satorvswifey !!) ⊹ ࣪ ˖⟢ masterlist ⊹ taglist

⊹ ࣪ ˖ snowy landscape inside your home

pairing: satoru gojo x afab!reader

It was the middle of summer, the kind of unforgiving afternoon where the sun pressed down without mercy, turning your humble home into a fiery kiln. Heat simmered in the air, dancing in hypnotic waves, clinging to the walls and seeping into the floorboards until they were warm to the touch. The fans had long since surrendered to exhaustion, whirring as they labored on overtime.

And yet, there was snow in your living room.

A sprawl of white, snowy hair blanketed atop the pristine rug, a tangled web of limbs and flushed skin. Your adoring husband laid at the center, buried beneath your army of children. Their pale lashes rested against pink cheeks, damp with sweat that glimmered like morning dew, tiny bodies rising and falling in soft breaths. All of them slept, peacefully unbothered in their shared warmth.

It was achingly sweet. Almost enough to make you forget how the air stuck to your skin and a sheen of sweat was layered on you.

“Honey,” A muffled voice spoke from beneath the pile, followed by a pale hand weakly emerging from the blanket of white, a plea for rescue.

You snickered, stepping closer and bending down until you could see your husband’s face, knitted brows and a lopsided smile peeking out from under his children.

“I’m gonna get a heat stroke with all our kids piled on top of me,” Satoru groaned.

“You don’t have your Infinity on?” you tilted your head innocently, earning an immediate scowl.

“And miss out on skin-to-skin with my adorable children? Absolutely not,” he shook his head, the mere idea making him irritated.

A laugh slipped from you before you could stop it. Even though he was half-smothered and slowly melting into the rug, he looked content — happy to suffer if it meant being close to the children he loved with his entire, reckless heart.

Your youngest son stirred atop the pile, wriggling slightly before his bright sapphire eyes blinked open and found yours. A small whine escaped him as he reached out, tiny, pudgy arms wiggling with sleep-addled insistence. You gathered him into your arms easily, lifting him from the heap of snow. He curled against your soft embrace, rosy cheek pressed against your neck, your chin resting atop his snowy hair as if it belonged there, perfectly molded to fit in the arms of his mama.

“I never thought a heat wave would knock them out like this,” Satoru mused, carefully adjusting the other children sprawled across his chest and arms.

You shrugged, unsure as well, “Maybe the heat feels like a blanket to them.”

He hummed in response, cerulean eyes sweeping across the room. Without moving from his spot, he used his cursed technique, blue, to drag a fan closer, angling it just right so the breeze brushed over the center of the living room, then nudged you with his elbow.

“This pile isn’t complete without you, mama,” He teased, grinning up at you.

You rolled your eyes, giggling as you settled beside him, laying on your side with your youngest tucked securely against your chest, satoru's free arm hooking around your shoulders, the fan’s gentle breath cooling your skin just enough to make it bearable.

Satoru went quiet then, gazing at the sight before him — his family flushed and disheveled from the unbearable heat, yet curled together in their own quiet world that couldn't be disturbed by any outside force.

“I wouldn’t mind heat waves if this happens every time,” He said softly, voice barely above a whisper in order to maintain the quiet peace.

“Don’t jinx it, Satoru,” you huffed, “I’ll throw myself into an ice bath if we get another one,”

His laughter rumbled next to you, warm and familiar, but in truth, you didn’t mind either. Not if every heat wave turned your home into this — a gathering of snowflakes in the middle of summer, pressed close together in a shared warmth — a little winter oasis, formed quietly amidst the sweltering sun.

© kismetarchive please do not plagiarize, repurpose, or use my writing for AI-training! a/n: this was inspired by me only being able to sleep when my room is hot and with my heater on lol ⊹ ࣪ ˖⟢ masterlist ⊹ taglist

⊹ ࣪ ˖ gojo and his teenage daughter

pairing: gojo satoru x afab!reader

Gojo’s baby girl was his pride and joy — his carbon copy, unmistakably his. Adorably chubby in her infancy, with cheeks begging to be kissed and eyes the clearest shade of cerulean. She gazed up at him through her fluttering eyelashes as though he were her entire world, making his heart thrum knowing such a tiny thing knew nothing but him as her protector.

And as she grew, so did his love — becoming something deep and reverent. Adoration hardly encompassed the gravity of the love his heart held for his baby girl. He was utterly enamored. In Satoru’s eyes, every gummy smile deserved a standing ovation, and every half-formed babble was worthy of a Pulitzer Prize. She breathed, and he applauded.

Friends warned him, of course. Family spoke solemnly of the years to come — the awkwardness of puberty, the cruelty of hormones, the inevitable distance that would creep in as her body and mind changed. They told him she would no longer be the starry-eyed toddler who waddled toward him on unsteady legs, arms outstretched, laughter spilling, bright and unrestrained. They warned him time and time again to cherish these moments while they lasted before they slipped from his grasp completely and she'd hole herself in her room.

How wrong they were.

Those once plump arms — formerly plush from the softest rolls of baby fat — had lengthened and slimmed, now graceful and lightly toned from muscles she was just learning to grow. But they were still reaching, still seeking him out as naturally as breathing.

Now, though, instead of giggles spilling from her lips, they wobbled and were wet with tears as unsteady hands clutched at his shirt.

Tears clung to her lashes, eyes glassy and red-rimmed as her voice cracked under the weight of heartbreak, “He— he said I’m too loud,” she sobbed, words tumbling out between broken breaths. “And— and I’m ugly, and… and he’d never date a girl like me!”

Her wail dissolved into Satoru’s chest as he wrapped her tightly in his arms, murmuring soft reassurances while you rubbed slow, soothing circles into her back. You passed her tissues, one after another, as she hiccupped through her tears, shoulders trembling.

“Why are boys so mean, daddy?” she asked weakly, brows knit together as his thumbs brushed away the tears rolling down her flushed cheeks.

“Honey,” Satoru said gently, though there was an unmistakable wrath simmering beneath his calm at the mere fact a boy had the audacity to make his baby cry, “boys your age are just idiots,” He huffed softly, attempting a smile, “Besides, why do you even need a boyfriend right now? I’ll buy you anything you want,”

Because despite the fact that she nearly reached his shoulders now, in his heart she was still the baby who fit perfectly between his arms and against his chest, not meant to be held by anyone else. Not meant to be spoiled and adored by anyone else but him.

“All my friends have boyfriends,” she protested, voice wobbling, “They wear matching outfits and look so happy!”

“I’ll wear matching clothes with you!” Satoru shot back without hesitation.

You snorted despite yourself. The lengths he would go for his baby girl knew no bounds.

She stared up at him, her pout deepening as if he’d suddenly sprouted another head.

"That's different! You’re my dad!" she huffed out.

“So?” he shrugged, "It’ll be like our daddy-daughter dates from when you were little!”

She groaned softly and turned toward you instead, “Mommy…”

You smiled, brushing a kiss to her temple, “How about we all go on a family trip this weekend? Somewhere nice. You can forget all about that dumb boy,” Your tone softened, “He’s probably not even good enough for you anyway,”

A faint smile bloomed at the corners of her lips, replacing the wobble and frown she had a few minutes prior.

“I’d like that,” she hummed, giggling when both you and Satoru pulled her in, arms closing around her from either side, holding her as though she were the most precious thing in the world.

“And I’ll buy out every shopping mall wherever we go,” Satoru added cheerfully.

You shot him a glare, “Satoru, no,”

“Satoru, yes,” he corrected with a grin, earning an eye roll from you and a snicker from your daughter.

── Toji Fushiguro⊹ ࣪ ˖

·˚ ꒰ Drabbles

smut ── . ❤︎

ꕤ Rut

·˚ ꒰ One Shots

·˚ ꒰ Series

⊹ ࣪ ˖ wolf!toji going through a rut for the first time and his bunny girlfriend helps him

pairing: wolf!toji x bunny!afab!reader content warning: animal hybrids, p in v (wrap it before you tap it), rut, sub toji, dom reader, hand job (toji receives), cowgirl, bunny as a petname, toji is too cocky to admit he needs help, he is so hopeless, tiny bit aftercare word count: 1.2k artist credit: @korimizu33522 — x(twitter) taglist: @flartbloug

── Jujutsu Kaisen ⊹ ࣪ ˖

·˚ ꒰ Tokyo High ꒱ ꕤ Satoru Gojo ꕤ Kento Nanami

·˚ ꒰ Kyoto High ꒱

·˚ ꒰ Antagonist ꒱ ꕤ Toji Fushiguro

⊹ ࣪ ˖ gojo finds you overworking yourself

pairing: satoru gojo x gn!reader

Loose leaf paper was strewn across your desk, eyes half open, and your entire body slumped forward. The words on your laptop were fuzzy — your vision too blurry to really focus anymore, but stubbornly you adjusted yourself, smacking your cheeks with renewed strength. The room was pitch black, aside from the blue-light from your laptop glowing your sunken, and stubborn expression.

You couldn't fall asleep now, not when you were so behind on work. You knew you should have started all these assignments earlier before they piled up on you, but doom-scrolling felt easier, sweeter even — a distraction from facing the work that has been patiently waiting for you on your desk.

You were so absorbed in your studies you didn't hear Satoru walking in, his eyebrow cocked when he saw you nearly half-dead on your desk. Your back bent like a shrimp and definitely not in a way that was comfortable for your poor spine.

"Baby," His arms encircled your waist, his head on your shoulder as he glanced between your illuminated screen and exhausted expression, "You look like a ghost right now,"

You let a whine that was barely audible, words slurred together and lips barely even parted. Satoru frowned, hooking his arms around your figure and pulling you up from your seat. You let out a squeal, your legs kicking as he threw you over his shoulder and dragged you to your bed — unceremoniously dropping you down onto your bed and climbing over you so you couldn't crawl away.

"Toru nooo... I have to study!"

"Nah, you need to sleep,"

You let out an indignant huff, stubborn until the very end and weakly trying to claw him off, but he was so much stronger than you. He let you claw at him like a fussy kitten, barely doing any damage aside from faint red crescents indented onto his skin, until you tired yourself out and went limp in his arms.

Your eyelids weighed heavy, breaths slowly evening out, until you finally let yourself succumb to sleep.

Satoru hummed in content when you finally fell asleep in his arms, carefully putting a blanket over the both of you as he pressed a firm kiss on the crown of your head, "Always working so hard... let me take care you,"

Suffice to say, the next day no studying was completed, and your day was blissfully spent curled in Satoru's arm.

── Satoru Gojo⊹ ࣪ ˖

·˚ ꒰ Drabbles

fluff ── . ❤︎

ꕤ Overworked ꕤ Teenage Daughter ꕤ Snowy Landscape ꕤ Second Place ꕤ Sudoku

smut ── . ❤︎

ꕤ Study Date

·˚ ꒰ One Shots

·˚ ꒰ Series

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ajax's unsettling eyes

pairing: childe x gn!reader

You looked into Ajax's gaze and saw the abyss stare back at you.

His irises swirled like a bottomless sea, bodies hidden beneath his waters that he would never tell you about.

His gaze was always distant. Hollowness would always follow him, sending shivers down anyone's spine that was unfortunate enough to catch his sight.

However, his gaze softened for you. Not as harsh, but it still held that emptiness. Never truly looking at you.

He knew the way your face would scrunch anytime something irritated you, the way your eyes widen when you get startled, or the way your lips would curve into a smile when he'd say something romantic. He knew every little thing about you, but his gaze never held boundless affection.

He loved you — he really did. You're the only person that makes his heart thrum. His only solace away from battlefields, your arms a haven for him that didn't require him to be a weapon — just a man.

His brain rattled wondering if he could ever love you like in those cheesy novels where the love interest gushed over the female lead. The abyss had ruined so much of him, he wouldn't be surprised if it took his heart as well.

He tried to make up for his lack of affection through gifts. Giving you the most lavish items mora could buy in hopes you'd still love him (you'd always love him, but no amount of reassurance would be enough to ease his restless mind).

In the dead of night when the only sounds were leaves rustling and ticks from the old grandfather clock downstairs; your form tucked under a thick blanket and soundly asleep — he'd silently lay on his back and stare at the ceiling. Contemplating.

He glanced at you — breathing softly — and felt a pang of frustration. Not at you, but at what he couldn't provide for you.

Couldn't give you a look of pure love, couldn't string together an original romantic comment that he didn't steal from a novel, couldn't love you like how you loved him.

You always looked at him like he hung the moon and stars for you, your gaze full of affection for him. You looked at him so lovingly it made him wonder what god pitied him and lead you to him.

He wished he could look at you like that, but his eyes had long since lost their shine and his shoulders weighed heavy with his sins. Instead, he reached out to you and held you tightly against his warmth, hoping that if he held you tight enough you wouldn't realize what a horrible man he was and your love was just going to waste being spent on a sinful man like him.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ simon loves your nails

pairing: simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader cw: mention of scars & suicidal ideation

Simon's back was a canvas adorned in protruding scars. Roughened and hardened skin littered in keloids and discoloration. Each mark was a testament to his survival, a record of how he’d crawled through hell with dirt under his nails just to see the sun rise again — fighting for his wretched life.

You never asked about the scars; didn't want to bring up unsavory memories that would make him clam up. Instead, your delicate fingers traced over the scars. Warm touch that made him relax, knowing you wouldn't hurt him. Only coo and kiss away the nightmares, your touch a balm for his misery.

Instead of disdain in your eyes for his scars, your gaze would soften. Full of unconditional love for him.

The fact Simon trusted you enough to show his naked body bare and unshielded — the rawest form of him — made your head swim in bliss. So trusting towards you, the only soul in the world that made him believe he could be loved.

Whenever Simon is home for a long stretch of time, he didn't bother with shirts. Grumbled that they made his scars itch.

Not like you were complaining. It was a physical display of his trust to you, and you got to see him all in his half-naked glory; giggling like a schoolgirl anytime you saw the ripple of his muscles whenever he shifted even just slightly.

It boosted his ego when he saw the way your eyes trailed down his figure, clearly enjoying the view. Made him feel wanted, not just some weapon used in war. Like he was a man deserving of affection.

The sun had just begun to set, the sky outside a haze of pink and orange as the front door clicked shut. Your feet padded against the floorboards, beaming once you saw Simon.

You wiggled your fingers in front of him, showing him proudly the design you got for your nails. He hummed appreciatively at the sight, calloused hands reaching yours and planting firm kisses along your knuckles, "So pretty baby,"

You'd get a new set frequently, once a month at least. You explained to him it was a way you expressed yourself and Simon nodded along. He didn't really care for your reasons, just wanted to be the first person to see your pretty nails.

You'd curl up on the couch under him, legs tangled together in an intricate web, your foot poking against his calf. Simon was practically purring, arms wrapped securely around your waist and face buried in your chest.

He preened as your nails scratched at his scars, gentle enough that it wouldn't accidentally reopen anything, but deep enough for him to feel. Like your nails were picking at his seams, carefully reworking them so they weren't so frayed. Fixing him. A broken man that was only alive for you at this point.

Not an inch of his body was untouched from your scratches, and he wanted it that way. Wanted to see your manicured nails trace over the valleys and dips in his war-hardened body, see the way they contrasted so beautifully against all his scars.

He thinks he would die happy as long as your pretty nails are on him, loving every part of him.

© kismetarchive please do not plagiarize, repurpose, or use my writing for AI-training! a/n: kind of experimenting with my style so i'm sorry if this is lowkey cheeks (_ _|||)... I'd appreciate feedback! ⊹ ࣪ ˖⟢ masterlist ⊹ taglist

⊹ ࣪ ˖ könig failing nnn

pairing: könig x afab!reader content warning: body worship, p in v, unprotected s (wrap it before you tap it!), google translated german, aftercare, size difference, praise, not beta read, no nut november, könig is absolutely whipped for you word count: 0.9k taglist: @flartbloug

⊹ ࣪ ˖ simon being a lapdog for you

pairing: simon "ghost" riley x gn!reader

Simon wasn't used to sitting still and just existing.

His mind always rattled with what needed to be done, constantly humming with a mental list of duties he had to complete — less he wanted to get an earful from price and a bark of orders.

Always on his feet, a sturdy mountain of muscle that contemplated every little thing. He couldn't relax and he was half-convinced that he'd forgotten how to loosen the knots in his body, coiled into his flesh that he no longer could unravel. But then he met you.

You coddled him, soft hands that worked meticulously — almost reverently — to ease out the tensions in his shoulders. Murmured sweet words into his ear that had him melting like candy left out too long on the windowsill.

His duffle bag fell against the hardwood floor with a dull thud and his feet carried him to where you were, unceremoniously falling into your lap, earning a laugh from you.

Your massive boyfriend, curled as much as he could manage atop you — never quite fitting, yet stubbornly trying every time. A grumble vibrated through his chest, but it dissolved the moment your fingers carded through his dirty-blonde hair. He went pliant, soft as warm putty being shaped by your touch. "You need a shower," You'd comment, but no real urgency in your words.

"Later," he said gruffly, as it was more important to him to be in your arms than wash away the grime that clung to him.

"You're like some stubborn lapdog, Si," You giggled softly, and the noise went straight to Simon's heart, tucked away carefully for him to replay in his mind when he's deployed in some foreign country.

A quiet exhale left your lips, knowing there were no words you could say to get him off your lap — but you didn't really complain.

You didn't care if he was the clingiest man on earth, just as long as he came back to you in one piece.

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