Noah Kahan
oozey mess
#extradirty
No title available
Jar Jar Binks Fan Club
Color Me Curious
The Bowery Presents
YOU ARE THE REASON
untitled
No title available
almost home
đ©” avery cochrane đ©”
No title available
cherry valley forever
The Stonewall Inn
Kiana Khansmith
Discoholic đȘ©
No title available
Phantogram Three
Cosmic Funnies
seen from United States
seen from Serbia
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Bangladesh
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Malaysia
seen from Finland
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Colombia
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Egypt
seen from Germany
seen from Italy
seen from Uzbekistan
seen from Germany
@mytohruu
àȘâ⎠WE COULD GET HIGH IN MIAMI áŻ
â⯠. DANCE THE NIGHT AWAY ( áŽÍËŹáŽÍ)àŽ
âžâž flora â§âË â19âmexican Ë. á”á”
â m.list ââ rules ââ requests: open
you believe me don't you, baby .áŁ
dividers: @cursed-carmine
hai guys i think my motivation is finally coming back so im gonna try to write an outline for a mini geto fic đł
hii your bathroom girl fic with yuji is so so dear to me, truly you have such an amazing way with words im in awe as a writer, and the fic was the sweetest thing i ever read and so meaningful to me as someone who deals with depression, sh ext ext, thank you!! also the tohru pfp I LOVEEE youâre literally my twin
aw man this is truly the sweetest thing iâve ever read thank you so much <333 im so glad u were able to connect with it !! ALSO YES I LOVE FRUBAAA i really gotta get back into writing thank u so much for motivation BESOS
three times he tried proposing + the one time he did â”âžâž satoru gojo
trials and tribulations of proposing, satoru is so in love he might explode, idk i lowk teared up writing this
wc: 2.0k
I.
Spring was blooming through the frosted glass, the sun painting the bathroom in various hues of gold, while your gentle hums filled the room. Satoru watched from the doorframe, frosted hair and cerulean eyes peeking out, his smile never faltering. It never does around you.
Your head lay against the frame of the tub, wet hair sticking to your skin, and rosy petals drifting throughout the water. You looked so at peace he could practically hear angels playing their harps at the scene.
âAre you done staring? Iâm still waiting for my evening kiss.â Your eyes were still shut, but you always had some sixth sense for him.
âIâm admiring the view,â he said, matching your playful tone. He couldnât help but smile harder.
You hummed, eyes fluttering open to meet his. âWell, come admire closer.â
For a moment, his heart skipped. The small velvet box felt a hundred times heavier in his pocket.
âClose your eyes.â His voice was barely a breath above a whisper, but you obliged. He stepped toward the tub, work clothes still on, and a sickly feeling settled in his stomach.
Kneeling beside the tub, he gently pushed back any stray locks of hair. His hand caressed the curve of your face as you nudged yourself farther into his touch, like instinct.
The notes of angelic harps were gone, and quiet anxieties crept in. A feeling so unfamiliar it made him want to sink beneath the water.
His other hand palmed the outline of a box that now felt hot to the touch.
Satoru repeated Suguruâs words like a mantra. When the time is right.
But how could he know when he could only focus on the unrelenting pound in his chest?
He could only lean forward, enveloping his lips with yours, fighting back the tremble and letting himself melt into your warmth. Your dripping hands met his cheek as you pulled back to face him.
âIs everything alright?â The feeling in his chest said otherwise, but your gentle voice always made him believe so.
Satoru exhaled and pressed a swift kiss to your palms. âEverythingâs perfect. How was your day?â The words left a little too fast, but maybe you didnât notice.
âBoring, but itâs a lot better now.â You giggled, brushing through his ivory hair. âHow was yours?â
His lips parted before closing again. He wanted to tell you how he spent half the afternoon at the jeweler's, sending even the workers into a spiral over the perfect ring. Fingers trailing over each diamond, thinking about how beautiful your hand would look with the biggest rock adorning it.
But maybe you preferred a pear cut, something neat and minimal. Maybe heâd get it engraved with a heartfelt message.
But what if you didnât like the ring?
âIt was nice. I got out of work early, so you have me all to yourself.â His words were cadenced, sweet like candy.
He had so much to say. So much. But the sun was beginning to set, and the words died at the tip of his tongue.
You leaped forward, arms catching around his neck. âSo come join me then.â You peppered kisses over his skin, your smile warm against him. And who was he to deny you?
Because despite the unforgiving butterflies, right now Satoru felt like time had slowed just between the two of you, skin to skin. That time would be willing enough to give him another day.
wow 1k likes u guys r so sweet <3
TUMBLR'S RECENT UPDATE IS AWFUL AND WE SHOULD COMPLAIN LOUDER AGAINST IT.
Hey so, I thought maybe we should participate in a blackout day to protest against the new tumblr update.
Let's try March 19. So that people have time to see this and plan for it.
Do not log in or use tumblr for 24 on this day.
Reblog this and make a tag chain to maximise visbilityâthe more people aware of this awful update, the better.
Circle the date on your calendar, or set a reminder on your phone. As a bonus it will be a good break from social media. Spend the day doing things you likeâstart that book you've been waiting to read, go outside, watch a good movie... just do anything except open tumblr.
I think we should show tumblr that we are not happy with this update in every possible way we can.
File support tickets with feedback (SEE BELOW ON HOW TO SEND FEEDBACK), post about how this update makes you feel, reblog other's posts about this update, offer as detailed and honest feedback as possible to tumblrâWE DO NOT WANT THIS UPDATE!!
Remember that WE are the end consumers.
WE build their platform, WE fill it with posts, WE are the reason they generate revenue, WE are the reason this platform has power, and for these reasons WE should feel satisfied with the service they provide. ESPECIALLY if you pay for tumblr premium, you are entitled to make a complaint about the platform you are PAYING.
I used to like tumblr and I'd like to cling to it, but this update is just horrible. It makes me not want to continue posting at all. It is utterly demotovating as-is with my being mature labelled, but this update is just intolerable. I do not know how I will feel motivated to post at all in the future if this update is not rolled back.
I know I don't have much reach, especially with a label on, but I hope this reaches at least a few people.
Please participate if you care. Please reblog and tag people you know. Send every bit of feedback to tumblr that you possibly can.
I really don't want to see my once favorite site ruined beyond repair. I really want to continue enjoying this site. I have a community of people here which I have built over years, a community which I deeply love and appreciate and cherish interacting with. My blog thrives on being able to see feedback in reblogs on my post. The whole point of posting is that people see it and engage with it. This update is at best nonsensical and at worst, going to shred off many creators from the platform and rip apart any last bits of fun we have using it.
Tagging everyone I can think of.
@sweethearticism @cupidstrace @madamechrissy @softtashoney @uhnosav @sugurusbadhabit @bluukive @reignpage @kamiflix @satorusdollie @satorus-princess @yenayaps @blkkizzat @indiewritesxoxo @sixxels @realalpacorn @angelscriptures @mididoodles @alygator77 @mimuju @feyrinnn
SEE BELOW for more information on the update & how to send a support ticket to give feedback.
HOW TO SEND FEEDBACK THROUGH SUPPORT TICKETS
Go to tumblr support
Select the category "feedback"
Write in formal, polite toneâtry not to sound rude, but constructive and earnest about how dissatisfied you feel about the update and its effects
EXAMPLE: I am writing regarding tumblr's recent update. I am not happy with this feature and do not see myself enjoying the platform with this being implemented. Please rollback this update.
IMPORTANT LINKS
Comment your feedback on tumblr's twitter
Here is the original tumblr post stating the update change
This post by @thatlittleegyptologist explains the effects of the update
Dear tumblr please listen to our feedback and rollback this update.
tagging all my mutuals (that havent already been tagged) !! @epicderpface @amortoru @mysweetstrawbby @strawb3rryhachi @shegetsburned @starspenxcie @fushiguava @rivypetals @tojipie @uzugeto @yunamoona @twinfaes @vqmpressa @strawberrychansora @cherrys-wrld @cumming4seb @maybemethebeloved @buggbiter @angelgravesss @satorusiito + anyone else whod like to support this !!
please spread the word !!
@emxoxo05 @ryosprincess @tojiscreampie @twitone @torucider @uzugeto @iamsoclone @iheartanzai @oporotheca @pika-toru @polaroidsex @pillsatoru @astriiixx @all-with-angel @angelicarlert @stberrypuss @splurtz @slvttyplums @darlingbambii @dearsnow @fricks @getorade @gyarwu @heavenssxnt @hotties4gojo @himezoro @jabesa0 @jiyuspassion @kldgo @kenzieluvsnanami @lunarkyn @loverboykirstein @lemonjuicie @killakuna @liliklei @xqce @chososkink @cloudykumo @getosurya @coffee-and-geto @venusins @brooklyncircus @mimiiis @muieo @mieleism @splurtz tagging all my moots that I didnât see taggedâŠbro this update sucks đ
three times he tried proposing + the one time he did â”âžâž satoru gojo
trials and tribulations of proposing, satoru is so in love he might explode, idk i lowk teared up writing this
wc: 2.0k
I.
Spring was blooming through the frosted glass, the sun painting the bathroom in various hues of gold, while your gentle hums filled the room. Satoru watched from the doorframe, frosted hair and cerulean eyes peeking out, his smile never faltering. It never does around you.
Your head lay against the frame of the tub, wet hair sticking to your skin, and rosy petals drifting throughout the water. You looked so at peace he could practically hear angels playing their harps at the scene.
âAre you done staring? Iâm still waiting for my evening kiss.â Your eyes were still shut, but you always had some sixth sense for him.
âIâm admiring the view,â he said, matching your playful tone. He couldnât help but smile harder.
You hummed, eyes fluttering open to meet his. âWell, come admire closer.â
For a moment, his heart skipped. The small velvet box felt a hundred times heavier in his pocket.
âClose your eyes.â His voice was barely a breath above a whisper, but you obliged. He stepped toward the tub, work clothes still on, and a sickly feeling settled in his stomach.
Kneeling beside the tub, he gently pushed back any stray locks of hair. His hand caressed the curve of your face as you nudged yourself farther into his touch, like instinct.
The notes of angelic harps were gone, and quiet anxieties crept in. A feeling so unfamiliar it made him want to sink beneath the water.
His other hand palmed the outline of a box that now felt hot to the touch.
Satoru repeated Suguruâs words like a mantra. When the time is right.
But how could he know when he could only focus on the unrelenting pound in his chest?
He could only lean forward, enveloping his lips with yours, fighting back the tremble and letting himself melt into your warmth. Your dripping hands met his cheek as you pulled back to face him.
âIs everything alright?â The feeling in his chest said otherwise, but your gentle voice always made him believe so.
Satoru exhaled and pressed a swift kiss to your palms. âEverythingâs perfect. How was your day?â The words left a little too fast, but maybe you didnât notice.
âBoring, but itâs a lot better now.â You giggled, brushing through his ivory hair. âHow was yours?â
His lips parted before closing again. He wanted to tell you how he spent half the afternoon at the jeweler's, sending even the workers into a spiral over the perfect ring. Fingers trailing over each diamond, thinking about how beautiful your hand would look with the biggest rock adorning it.
But maybe you preferred a pear cut, something neat and minimal. Maybe heâd get it engraved with a heartfelt message.
But what if you didnât like the ring?
âIt was nice. I got out of work early, so you have me all to yourself.â His words were cadenced, sweet like candy.
He had so much to say. So much. But the sun was beginning to set, and the words died at the tip of his tongue.
You leaped forward, arms catching around his neck. âSo come join me then.â You peppered kisses over his skin, your smile warm against him. And who was he to deny you?
Because despite the unforgiving butterflies, right now Satoru felt like time had slowed just between the two of you, skin to skin. That time would be willing enough to give him another day.
sorry for the inactivity:( iâm in the process of moving since iâll be going to uni in a different country but i have some cool drafts in the works !!
stolen curls
gojo hates you. well, maybe.
from the first day you transferred in as a second-year, satoru gojo had zeroed in on you like a curse sensing vulnerability. it began with a smirk here, a snide comment there, but it escalated quickly. you'd be in the courtyard, trying to tame your curls with a hair clip, and he'd saunter by with his hands in his pockets, that infuriating grin plastered on his face.
"wow, yomu, did a bird nest in your hair or something? looks like a tornado hit a wool factory." he'd laugh, loud enough for everyone to hear, and his friends would just shake their heads. you'd feel your cheeks burn, fingers tightening around the clip as you shoved it back into place. it was one of your favorites, a simple silver thing with a little charm dangling from it, but now it felt stupid under his gaze.
you tried to ignore him, burying yourself in your poetry. during lunch, you'd sit under a tree, pen flying across the page as you poured out thoughts about cursed energy, fleeting moments, the way the world felt both infinite and suffocating. but satoru couldn't leave well enough alone. one day, he snatched your notebook right out of your hands while you were mid-sentence.
"what garbage is this? 'waves of shadow crash against the shore of my soul'? pfft, sounds like a bad haiku from a discount fortune cookie." he'd read it aloud in a mock-dramatic voice, exaggerating every word until the other students were snickering. you lunged for the book, but he held it high above his head âdamn his heightâ dangling it like a toy. "come on, poet laureate, jump for it! or is that too much for your nerdy little glasses to handle?"
your glasses. oh, how he loved to rag on those. they were practical, oversized frames that helped you see the fine details of cursed techniques during class. but to satoru, they were just another punchline. "low-res alert! hey, yomu, you borrowing those from your grandma? they make you look like a bug-eyed owl." he'd push them up your nose with a finger, invading your personal space just to watch you flinch. it was relentless, every day a new jab, every interaction laced with his disdain.
you hated him for it âhated how he made you feel small, how his words twisted in your gut like a low-grade curse. but what could you do? he was satoru fucking gojo, untouchable.
little did you know, behind that facade of mockery, something entirely different was brewing in satoru's mind.
it all started that rainy afternoon in the training grounds. you'd been practicing your technique alone, hair frizzing wildly in the humidity, when your clip slipped out mid-spin. it clattered to the wet pavement, a single curly strand caught in its prongs from where it had tangled earlier. you didn't notice âtoo focused on channeling your energyâ and by the time the session ended, you'd rushed inside to escape the downpour, leaving it behind.
satoru had been watching from the sidelines, as he often did, pretending to lounge but really observing your form. he told himself it was boredom, nothing more. but when he saw the clip glint in the rain, something compelled him to pick it up. the metal was cool in his palm, the curly hair soft and springy, still carrying a faint scent of your shampoo âcoconut and vanilla. he should have thrown it away, or better yet, used it as ammo for another tease. instead, he slipped it into his pocket, heart pounding inexplicably.
that night, in his dorm, he pulled it out under the dim light of his lamp. the curl bounced back when he touched it, resilient and wild, just like you. he twirled it around his finger, the way it refused to lay flat.
"how stupid." he muttered to himself, but he couldn't stop. it became a secret ritual âfiddling with the clip when no one was around, letting the curl brush against his skin. he loved it, in a way that confused and terrified him. it was a piece of you, unfiltered and real, away from the walls you both put up.
and then there was your poetry. after that day he snatched your notebook, he'd made a show of tossing it back with a scoff. but later, when you weren't looking, he'd glimpsed more pages during a group study session. the words stuck with him â'echoes of infinity in a single glance, barriers crumbling like veil glass.' he mocked them publicly, sure, but privately, he recited them in his head during missions, letting the rhythm calm the chaos of battle. he borrowed your notebook once more under the guise of âchecking for dumb mistakesâ, but really, he was committing every line to memory. your words painted the world in ways his eyes couldn't âemotional, beautiful. he hated how they made him feel seen, vulnerable. so he mocked harder to cover it up.
the glasses were the tipping point. one evening, after a particularly brutal training where he'd called you âspectacle disasterâ for the umpteenth time, satoru found himself in town, wandering the shops. he passed an optician's window and stopped dead. there, on display, were frames almost identical to yours âthick, black rims, slightly roundedâ but elevated. designer. expensive. custom. photochromic that automatically adjust their tint from clear to dark when exposed to UV light. before he could think better of it, he went in and bought a pair. non-prescription, of course; his vision was perfect. but wearing them was like stepping into your world.
he tried them on in his room, staring at his reflection. they softened his sharp features, made him look... approachable? no, that wasn't it. they made him feel closer to you, like matching a piece of your puzzle.
one morning, he showed up to class wearing them. shoko noticed immediately.
âsince when do you need prescription shades, satoru?â
âi donât.â he said, kicking his feet up on the desk. âiâm imposing my aesthetic.â
from then on, he wore them sporadically âduring late-night study sessions, or when he was alone. he'd adjust them like you did, pushing them up with a finger, and think about how you'd react if you knew. probably freak out, he mused with a smirk. but it was his secret, just like the clip tucked away in his drawer, the curl preserved like a talisman.
â”âžâž guitarist!suguru
a bit suggestive, something small bc i have no motivation these days :(
wc: 0.6k
guitarist!suguru, whose eyes haven't left you since he arrived at the party. chimes of glasses, bass reverberating through the floors, and yet his vision only tunneled to you. he couldn't help but wonder what the gloss on your lips would taste like. carmine-dripping cherry, maybe a honeyed apple â is what he wrote in his next song.
guitarist!suguru, who couldn't stop thinking of the way your body moved to the music, wishing it was his song that entranced you. pens devoid of ink, pages filled with sequences of metaphors at the thought of you. how your laugh sounds like a choir of divines, and your eyes â a kaleidoscope of his fantasies that forever keeps him up at night.
guitarist!suguru, who eventually scrapped the tracklist he was previously working on, much to vocalist!satoru's complaints. generic rhythms replaced with silky falsettos and electronic synths all reminiscent of you, conversations he so desperately wanted to sing to you.
guitarist!suguru, who could only smile when bassist!shoko asked who the songs were about, "no one in particular," he murmured, but he wasn't fooling anyone.
guitarist!suguru, who was always the one arriving late to his own listening parties, but this time he let satoru invite the entire city, hoping you'd catch wind of it. he was the first there, watching who entered, waiting to catch sight of your sleek black dress once more.
guitarist!suguru, who felt like a teenager all over again. his mouth went dry when he watched how you laugh the night away with your friends. stomach fluttering at the sight of you.
"care for a dance?" he didn't know when it happened, but the interlude was beginning to play, and he couldn't hold back. you stared up at him, doe-eyed, a giggle left your glossed lips, and it was everything he imagined it to be.
guitarist!suguru, who focused on the vanilla scent of your perfume rather than the pounding against his ribs as he guides you through the sea of moving bodies. the air was heavy with dark synths and sweat, flashing lights giving him glimpses of your body. you let loose under his touch, and he let the whiskey on his tongue take control.
his hands found your waist, hips slotting against yours, moving to his voice that flows through the speakers, the lyrics; an ode to you.
your arms found their way towards his nape, fingers tangled within his dark locks, swaying to the slow teasing vibrations, the kind of slow that leaves you aching for more.
guitarist!suguru, who was a selfish man, his body flushed against yours, but even then it wasn't enough. fingertips digging into your hips, movements turn frantic, and his mind is fuzzy with the way your ass grinds so nicely over his growing bulge.
the song turns from pleas to desperation, every beat needier from the last. in one swift spin, his eyes found yours, heaving breaths ghosting over each other's skin. he liked to think he was a gentleman, even as he fought the urge to kiss under the limelight. but the dizzying heat that radiated from you made it a nth time harder.
his hands reached down to the curve of your back, down to the fat of your ass, trying to ignore the friction between his tented cock and your dress. the music grew louder, and the space between you was only getting smaller.
"âŠcan i kiss you?"
guitarist!suguru, who didn't hesitate to answer your pleas. His lips crash against yours, desperate for the taste of you, sticky gloss only pulling him closer; faint notes of saccharine berry. his eyes were fluttering shut, forgetting about the music, only focusing on the way your lips moved against him. moving perfectly in sync, lapping up your quiet whimpers that go straight to his crotch. it felt like a world away.
guitarist!suguru, who only had half a mind to pull away, groaning at the loss of your touch. his finger ghosting over your flushed lips, already missing the feeling. the corner of his mouth curls at how drunk you look from his lips alone.
he leaned towards your ear, a faint whisper fanning over your skin, "wanna get out of here?"
how to write happy stuff when ur sad
seashellsâ”âžâž yuji itadori
a/n: wrote this on the toilet ngl, not proofread
Cerulean waves crashed into the brittle sand, foaming as they settled into every crack and crevice. Every rise and fall lingered in the air like a never-ending melodyâthe blazing sun embracing your skin whilst your hand revels in the sand, pliant at your touch.
It was a beautiful day, the glimmering sea in the cusp of your hand, but what better way to share it with your lover?
"What about this one?" You looked over at the peach-haired boy, meeting his expectant eyes, a lone pearl-white cone resting in his hand, awaiting your approval.
You hummed, reaching over to feel its spirals, "This one looks shattered."
"Isn't that what makes it all the more beautiful?" Yuji said, stepping closer to inspect the shellâthe briny smell of his sunscreen seeping off him.
"More beautiful than me?" You teased, biting back a smile, but you could never hold back. Not when you're with him.
His fingers brushed past the wet hair that clung to your skin, feeling the stray grains on your cheek. "Nothing's prettier than you, baby." A soft kiss to your lips, sealing his words.
You eased back, pressing a soft peck on his nose for good measure before showing him a shell of your own.
Yuji smiled at the sight, "What's this one called?"
"It's a turban, look, it even matches your eyes!" Bringing the shell towards his eyes, its speckled pattern complementing his umber hues.
"Then I'll have to find one that matches yours," he said gently, "so we're together no matter where we are." Tender words as his hands find yours, leading you deeper into the water.
"How cheesy of you."
"Only for you," he always said, as if it were the most obvious truth ever.
It truly was a beautiful day.
i remembered free will exists and created a jjk oc with a fully fleshed out technique and backstory đââïž will i ever use it? probs not lol
muse â”âžâž megumi fushiguro
yearner megumi painting u like one of his french girls, dedicating this to my favorite person ever tqm <3
wc: 0.6k
Underneath all the notebooks and manga volumes covering his desk is one particular treasure.
Megumi Fushiguro's sketchbook.
It's not something he was particularly passionate about, and he didn't spend hours with creases between his brows, trying to get the perspective right. Instead, it was something he indulged in, letting the scruffs against paper fill the silence.
Self-taught would be the right word. It started in grade school, the margins of his homework, littered with petals that made out lilies; Tsumiki's favorite flower.
Then it was the neighborhood cat that wandered the streets. Ravishing the tuna Megumi left out for him as he sketched every detail of its tattered fur. Kissing his teeth, irritated, when his subject moved too much.
Before he knew it, he was buying another book with pages to fill. The fruit bowl was purely for decoration, yet he found himself figuring out how to capture every shadow. He used to talk to the waning moon, but now he'd rather draw out every pore and concave.
Then it was you.
Megumi didn't know when it started, his growing annoyance towards you. Maybe it was the way you waltzed around the school, never bothering to acknowledge him. Even on missions, you'd only talk when necessary, preferring to take charge and let him have half the credit like he wasn't competent enough.
Maybe annoyance was too light a word.
He hated your pessimistic attitude, the bored look in your eyes. He hated how you gnawed the inside of your cheek, how your fingers tapped against the desk as if you were counting the minutes.
And God, he hated how good you looked on Bristol paper.
Graphite pencil lining the edge of your jaw. The pads of his fingers smudge the grey to mimic your eyeshadow. Geometrical shapes that just so happen to make up the proportion of your body. Every page he touched became you. Sketch after sketchâhe couldn't help himself.
Megumi's hand moved before his mind caught up. Hunched over in his bed, detailing the way your hair blew in the wind. During training, watching you spar from afar, making sure he got your posture just right. The rules of the third no longer mattered to him. Composition didn't exist in his art. Not when you were his only focal point.
It was just practice; he tried to tell himself. Honing his skills through you, trying to focus on how the sun blends into the horizon rather than the texture of your hair. But somewhere between the first and last graze of his pen, your silhouette appeared in the corner, and suddenly his landscape felt complete.
He tried to be subtle, he really did. A mere creak in the floorboard was all it took for his hand to snap the book shut, a quiet wince at the graphite smearing against each other.
But when relief washed over him, and the pounding against his ribs calmed, he finally put his pencil down with a breath caught in his chest. Silently wishing it was you walking through the door, catching himâdrawing you in every way he shouldn't.
But sketchbooks turned into loose sheets, and grey pigments became color. Because a pencil couldn't capture your vivid eyes, nor the faint tint on your lips. Only the shades of skin could highlight the faint crinkles in your features when you smile.
And every tender stroke of his brush painted the way he wished to touch you. Diluting shades into reverent words he could never say, illustrating the version of you that only he understood.
But you'll only ever live on paper. Longing words caught between the borders of bleeding colors.
Avoiding your eyes as if he isn't falling in love with every shade of you.
ౚà§âËïœĄâ a rainy first valentine's day with megumi fushiguro wc. 2.2k m.list
a/n. happy valentine's day! shoutout to my favorite ship megumi x me!!!(canon btw)
FEBRUARY 14TH was never a day Megumi thought heâd ever be nervous for. It was Valentineâs Day, of course, but being the quiet, brooding person he was, he never celebrated. In the past, Gojo would get him and Tsumiki chocolates and a small gift. There were also times where heâd blabber and ugly cry about some âlost loveâ.
Weirdo.
This year was different, because now, he actually had a girlfriend.Â
Of course heâd already asked you to be his valentine, having snuck into your dorm and set up a pretty, lace decorated basket with your favorite drink, a soft plush animal, a robe, and a couple snacks. Beside it sat a neat bouquet and card. It was all kinda extra, but it was the gentleman thing to do. Plus, he got lots of kisses out of it (definitely worth it).
But now he was still so worried. What if something ruined what heâd planned? Surely not. Megumi considered himself lucky when it came to you. Often, things almost went wrong, but everything always ends up fine. Today would be the same thing.
His hand knocked gently on the door of your dorm. â[name]? You ready?â
âAlmost! You can come in.â You called.
only in my dreams â”âžâž gojo satoru
a lot of people don't know this, but gojo satoru has a bad habit of reminiscing on old times.
a/n: tried something a little different... gulpk
wc: 1.3k
It was a strange feeling.
There's a creak in the floorboard, shadowing his steps. He hopes it reaches you, the you that's down the hallway. Hunched over a desk with a crease between your brows, no longer a naive sixteen but rather an ineffable twenty-eight.
To any wandering eyes, you were his colleague. A professional but amicable relationship that doesn't last when the sun goes down.
Which was true, much to his dismay. You didn't let him pry into your Saturday plans; his arm wrapped around your shoulder was now deemed "inappropriate," and small talk was out of the question.
So what if he couldn't decipher the slight scrunch of your nose? That Satoru Gojo, The Strongestâą, is no longer able to figure out what's brewing in your pretty head. That even with all his strength, he couldn't tell the difference between your sugar-coated lies and docile honesty.
But if his azure eyes caught yours, even for a mere moment, he'd consider it a good day. It'd be a great day if he got to see your lips curve in a small, knowing smile, meant just for him.
Because behind all his futile efforts was the desire to know you like he once did.
That behind the lingering stares lies a time once bright, filled with laughter and tears â a distant past where Gojo knew every part of you. One that only exists between the two of you.
A time when he knew how you liked your eggs, when he whispered out nonsense to watch you squirm, a time when you two were stuck together like glue.
When sixteen felt like he was on top of the world, a fever dream he never wanted to end. Carving out his initials beside yours wherever he could. On the desks that his students now occupy. By the tree that you always read by, now overgrown with vines. Littered through the corridors, proof that there was once a time when you stood by him.
The same corridors you pulled him into when no one was watching, hiding in the sun's shadows, stealing kisses from each other, his hands snaking around yours, forgetting to breathe against your lips.
When adolescence meant sneaking out of the dorms under the moon's watch, knowing exactly where he could find you, always at the highest hilltop, hair sprawled out against the frayed grass, an empty spot next to you, like you've been waiting for him.
And you were â, but he preferred you lying over him, feeling the rise and fall of your chest against his. Fragile whispers over what the future would be like, he still remembers what you said. Hushed words against his neck, something along the lines of "Sharing a cup of wine from a bottle we can't read, right by a fireplace, in an apartment too big for the both of us."
How vividly he remembers the hymn of your laugh when he said he'd be drinking from a jug of grape juice.
But life was cruel, and the world was still ever-unforgiving.
Seventeen had felt like a nightmare.
The atmosphere was heavy when Geto defected, as if everyone else was getting punished for the crimes he committed.
He still had you; he always didâat least, that's what he wanted to believe.
That you'd still be there when missions replaced dates, when his duties swallowed the hours he once meant to give you. Even in those fragile moments before sunrise, when he'd find you curled up on the hilltop, faint snores slipping out with every exhale.
You always woke up. Always shifted over, inviting Gojo to rest beside you before he disappeared again. Whispering out all the right words that only you could make sound something like hope. As if you understood him better than he ever understood himself. And you did, because you lost Gojo in the midst of it all.
And how painfully oblivious he was to it all, how he mistook the strain in your voices for whispers, never questioning why you stopped meeting his eyes, because if he looked, he would've seen the tears you refused to let fall in front of him. He would've seen the moment he started losing you.
Gojo thought he had carried a burden on his own, yet the entire time, you too had felt the same unrelenting ache in your heart.Â
He used to wonder when you would leave him behind, but it seems like he beat you to it.
But by the time he had realized, you already turned nineteen, graduating alongside him.
You still smiled at him, talked to him like there was no tomorrow, but it was never the same. Not when you avoided his touches, slowly pulling away with every swallow of your words. Changing the topic when it became more than talk of the weather.
And during the late nights, you weren't there anymore, only a moonlight's shadow of what once was, the pads of his fingers trailing his lips, but it never felt like yours.
It was a slow fade over the years, like a gentle breeze, albeit never as fervent as the storm of emotions you stirred in him.
Gojo watched the leaves change from ochre to amber, until they lay in a puddle beneath the tree, lost count of the once-lively rivers freezing over, and waited for the summer heat to kiss the sweltering air of spring showers away.
Seasons faded into one another, and time waited for no one. Selfishly so, Gojo didn't think it applied to you. But you always proved him wrong.
You were here and there â but never with him.
And it haunted him, because you never let him believe his convoluted lies. Breaking the illusion that you'd always be there. Reminding him of your world's distance, that he couldn't be there for you.
And now at twenty-eight, he'll smile as his fingers trace the carved out wood, let out a breathless laugh when he opens his wallet, losing himself in a candid polaroid of you.
You were smiling, staring out into the horizon with a cigarette between your teeth, stained in your cherry lip gloss.
But now you smile wider, and your laughter sounds fuller, floral perfume replacing the chemical tar that stuck to you. You became the light everyone sought, a haven that only your voice could promise.
And yet, he can't help but feel bitter about it because Gojo Satoru is still mourning the girl who is still alive. The one he sees every day but never got to say goodbye.
But there lives a time when you were more than a memory, far more than transient love.
How, before distance, there was intimacy. Where your gaze was more than just fleeting. A soft dream that lived beyond closed eyes.
Yet, you're still a call away, but he isn't so sure you would pick up. A classroom's distance, but you're no longer the girl who entertains his antics.
You became unrecognizable â a stranger, and the only way Gojo Satoru can bear it is by living in the 'what if's.'
A life where he wiped away your tears.
Suppose it were him holding you, caressing you, telling you everything would be okay, let him carry every burden you never deserved to shoulder alone. Would things have turned out differently?
His penthouse was dim, far too big for one person, the fireplace untouched and gathering dust, footsteps echoing of what could have been. If he hadn't left you behind, would you still be there to bring it to life? To finally open the bottle of wine aging quietly in the back of his cupboard, pour a glass with him as you curl into his embrace, legs tangled togetherâa future where you welcomed his touch like instinct.
A future that never slipped from his grasp, shared solely between the two of you.
It was a strange feeling, because that world only existed in Gojo's dreams. Strange in all the wrong ways because he still waits on the same hilltop, a spot carved out perfectly for you, hope lingering in the pit of his stomach that maybe you'd show up looking for him.
To tell him that it was always more than just a dream.
pantry crimes ⿠‷ satoru gojo x fem!reader
syn. your husband helps you hide from your energetic three year old. girl dad gojo
requested!! my first requested post who cheered 731 words
youâre tired. feel it in your bones and can barely drag your feet along to the couch. perhaps you're coming down with something. or it was just your day today.
six am; you woke up to your three-year-old daughter, saori, tugging at the blankets and insisting it was time to get up and get ready for her friend's birthday party.
it in fact, was not time. the party started at twelve.
satoru took her back to her bed. and then you tried to fall back asleep. but by then you were awake. and the little devil was blissfully fast asleep in her own bed.
by eight you'd given up on sleep and started making breakfast.
at nine satoru left for a mission. ten, you took saori to the grocery store. and at eleven it was time to get ready for the party and leave.
it's four. you just got home. all you need now is to eat your cookies in peace.
if u requested something i have it in the works !! im just a slow writer gulp
