dk if anyone would see this but i have a writing acc @mysticdreams10 … yeah
todays bird
Sade Olutola
RMH

Love Begins
Peter Solarz

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
No title available
d e v o n
NASA

roma★
cherry valley forever
we're not kids anymore.

titsay
hello vonnie
Claire Keane

shark vs the universe
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
Mike Driver
sheepfilms

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Brazil
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Canada
seen from Türkiye
seen from Chile

seen from France
seen from Canada

seen from Malaysia
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
@oddeyenonis-blog
dk if anyone would see this but i have a writing acc @mysticdreams10 … yeah
i need them sims packs NOWWWW 😭😭
♡ favorite maxis match cc heels
dump of my favorite maxis match cc heels!
1 sunberry – pearl ribbon mule high heels 2 sentate – desdemona pumps 3 greenllamas – coven heels 4 bluecraving – aurora diamond heels 5 madlen – valeria shoes 6 trillyke – cream soda heels 7 jius – check slingback heels 8 charonlee – saint laurent blade slingback pumps 9 madlen – daleyza shoes 10 jius – pom pom heel pumps 11 dallasgirl – grace heels 12 b0t0xbrat – plié platforms
papa tojis daughter sleeping on him outside ♡
Its a slow, sunny afternoon where nothing is really happening.
tojis sprawled back in a worn lawn chair, one arm hooked behind his head, the other wrapped around his daughter where shes passed out against him. shes all soft weight and warm skin, chubby little legs draped over his stomach, her tiny hand curled into his shirt.
his cap sits low over her face, shading her from the sun, he keeps nudging the brim down every so often like even the light shouldnt touch her.
"…look at you," he mutters under his breath, eyes dragging over her round cheeks, the way her lips part slightly in her sleep. his hand rests heavy on her belly, thumb brushing slow without thinking.
the back door creaks open.
you step out, spotting them instantly, and your whole face softens at the sight. shes completely knocked out on him, tucked right into his chest like she belongs there.
"...aww." you coo softly, walking over.
he glances up at you but doesnt move, just shifts his arm a little so she stays settled. you lean down, fingers lifting the brim of his cap just enough to see her face.
"hi baby.." you whisper, smiling.
you press a gentle kiss to her little nose. she stirs, scrunching her face for a second before settling again, lips wobbling back into sleep. toji huffs softly through his nose, watching the whole thing like its the best thing hes seen all day.
"knocked out." he mutters, voice low.
his hand slides back over her tummy, thumb brushing once more.
"been like that a while."
he tilts his head back against the chair, eyes flicking between you and her, something softer settling into his expression. his arm tightens just a little around her, protective without thinking.
"..dont wake her." he adds under his breath.
taglist: @@jjakeysheart @rkivesvs7 @c6choso @shea354 @kiwicherry04 @choco-chipp @tojibunnyy @tojisgdgirl @xoxocherrybabyy @dearwyn @pigtaileddolliee @tojiful @heartcandyslxt @lisabelhyhn @chaeisrichnow @chewiebee @tojisfiancee @retiredpanda @bbvvvy @princesplatano @jaehyunsleftnut @lightandfuryauthor @fysalia @alinacoke @ssrist @bl1ndv3lvet @lisa200976 @vheartsfushi @amarislovesmcdonalds @1ana22 @cherrieslovess @arcanehellokittyforlife69 @lov-3-x @str4wb3rrylife @whoiskaykay @sugurusbun @tojioppshotta @yumyumyu @yvesapple4 @733164 @peonysecret @pr1ncessthug @magicalpeenpoo @unknownowlbokutoswifeyy @eepynataly @bowiesprettieststar2 @bagleaf @lacedwithsarcasm @wholemeltt @ipoopedmypants47 @aporeudite @sanenyaaa @luredlilac @lotuscy @xhiraxh @tengensfavfourthwife @prettysweet02 @sugerfilled @a3fv @akiwO @unicornglitterdustpan @schnunny @hayleyluvsbagntan @jqsjournal @heichouswife @yxo7 @bubblebunns
© 2026 paperellina - all rights reserved. do not plagiarise, translate, or feed into any form of ai.
what the fuck is an open relationship. die for me or go fuck yourself
“Why are you growing?”
A sudden, curious question slips from Toji’s mouth, cutting into the peaceful afternoon. Your hands pause mid-fold, still gripping the shirt.
Brow furrowed, you glance at him. “What do you mean I’m growing? I’m pregnant, Toji. Three months. You really think I’m gonna get any thinner by eight or nine?”
You snort, shake your head, and go back to folding. You ignore the way his brows are still scrunched. Clearly not done.
“Yeah, yeah, I know that,” he says, scratching his neck. “Stomach’s growing and all that. But like... why your boobs too? And don’t even get me started on your ass. It’s full now. Like, heavy in my hands full.”
He held his big hands up, cupping the air in front of your chest like he was mimicking your boobs now—except way bigger than they used to be.
That shirt did nothing to hide the way your tits sat. No bra, no shame. Just soft curves bouncing slightly with every move, practically begging for his hands.
“You see that?” he smirked. “They’ve grown. So has it,” he added, eyes dropping meaningfully below his belt.
You look at him, unimpressed. “So what, you're saying I had a flat ass and no tits before I got pregnant?”
He sighs, already knowing where this is going. “No, woman. That’s not what I meant. It was—decent. I wasn’t complaining.”
You raise your brow.
“I mean, now? It’s fucking divine,” he adds quickly, voice dropping. “I look at you and I gotta change every position possible to hide my damn bulge.”
You roll your eyes. “Typical. All this attention now, huh, that I’m built like your wet dreams fantasy. At least you’re getting the VIP treatment before the great flattening.”
“You kidding? I’m thriving,” he says, smirking. “You sneeze and my dick twitches.”
You bark a laugh. “You’re disgusting.”
“You married this.” he shrugs, grinning like the smug bastard he is.
“Yeah, whatever.” you mutter, rolling your eyes playfully.
He leans back, cocky as ever. “Mmh, yeah.”
masterlist
“Love you, ma.”
A frown crosses your face after receiving the message from your husband, Toji. A sudden I love you after he absolutely made your blood boil this morning? This man had the audacity to leave his dirty clothes on the floor again instead of the laundry basket. Weird.
Unless he’s staring death in the face or something— then maybe, maybe it makes sense.
You scoff silently and type back, “Yeah, I know. Don’t forget to buy everything on the list I gave you. Love you too.”
You head to the living room after getting the last load of laundry done, sitting cross-legged on the floor with piles of clean clothes waiting to be folded. You stretch. Time to get this over with.
Two hours later— a backache, a cup of cold coffee that turned lukewarm, and White Chicks playing on TV— you’re finally done. Groaning, you stand up after sitting for too long and stack the folded clothes into the basket for the first trip upstairs.
You’re on your second trip when the front door creaks open, followed by soft grunts and heavy footsteps.
Toji.
Your eyes light up, and you hurry downstairs to greet him—only to stop dead in your tracks.
He's standing in the doorway, groceries scattered around his feet, and a patch of gauze taped over his cheek. A medical one. You know it too well. Toji only gets that patch when he’s been properly hurt.
“What the fuck, baby?” Your panicked voice snaps his attention to you.
He frowns. “What the fuck what?”
“That!” you shout, pointing at his cheek.
He touches the patch absentmindedly and scoffs. “Oh, this? Just a damn scratch. Got it at work.”
You palm your face, speechless. Striding over to him, you cradle his face in your hands, inspecting the wound.
“It’s not a fucking scratch. It’s a goddamn open wound, Toji!”
He swats your hands away gently, rolling his eyes as he scoops you up in one arm and the groceries in the other. “Open wound, scratch— same thing. Don’t make a fuss, I’m still alive.”
He carries you into the kitchen and sets you down on the counter next to the bags, caging you between his arms. Then, he leans down and inhales the scent at your neck— his home.
You sigh, wrapping your arms around his neck, your fingers working at the tight muscles on his shoulders.
“Is that why you texted me I love you?” you whisper.
He hums against your skin, his tongue already tasting the curve of your neck. One hand parts your thighs while the other grips your hip, pulling you closer until you can feel the outline of his bulge pressing between your legs.
You whimper, your grip on his neck tightening,“Toji. Not the fucking time to fuck. You just had a near-death experience.”
He shuts you up with a kiss— rough, desperate, hungry.
“I know, ma,” he murmurs against your lips, voice hoarse. “But I’m alive, right? Still intact. Big ol’ muscles. Still handsome and hot in your arms right now, ready to pound my sexy wife.”
You hit his chest lightly, pouting, “Stop scaring me. You always do this! Doing something out of your routine and coming back with new injuries.”
He exhales, hands still, “At least I’m in your arms, baby. Don’t make me feel like this… it’s killing me.”
“It’s killing me too when you do this,” you choke out, voice cracking as you sob into his chest.
His eyes widen in panic. He hugs you tightly. “Hey, hey, come on now.” He tries to laugh, but it comes out shaky. “I’m sorry. I won’t do that again.”
This time, he knows he fucked up. Usually, you’d scold him and let it go. But this time? It’s different. A deep wound slashes across his face, and it ended with a hospital visit— one you honestly wish you didn’t have to know about. He didn’t stay hydrated on-site, started getting a headache, and didn’t even realise the grinder blade had shattered— until it broke through his safety shield. It knocked him out cold, and his cheeks took the worst of it.
No.
He can’t ever let you go through this again. Can’t let the woman who is his home, his reason for breathing, cry like this in his arms. Not for something he could’ve prevented.
He runs his hand down your back, comforting you. His voice softens, “I’m really sorry. I promise. Please trust me, ma. It was an accident.”
“I can’t stop accidents from happening to you. I just want you to take care of yourself.” You sniff. “Have you even eaten?”
He chuckles, kissing your damp eyelashes. “Yeah. I had something earlier. Just a sandwich though. Mind to make me dinner, wife?” With a clumsy flick, he pushed your hair aside, and when your glossy eyes met, his softened almost—instantly.
You finally laugh through the tears, “You never ask me to, but fine. What do you want for dinner, husband?”
You run your hands along his chest.
He grins, dark heat flashing in his eyes as his hands move to your ass. “How about Mrs. Fushiguro instead? I can make your whole damn night full of my cum. No need for food.”
Your eyes go wide. “That’s disgusting, Toji…” but your stomach fluttered.
Right. As if he doesn’t do that every night without fail — to the point you’re changing the sheets daily.
He snorts. “Whatever that means. Legs up.”
You roll your eyes but lift your legs onto his shoulders anyway. Toji kisses down your thigh, slow and deliberate, then pulls your panties off with his teeth. His eyes burn with a primal hunger as he catches a whiff of your arousal, nose twitching involuntarily.
“No foreplay,” he states flatly — more like a demand.
He unbuckles his belt, and his length springs free, already leaking.
You swallow hard as he nudges your entrance with the tip.
“Already wet for me, ma.”
“A…ah, Toji…”
“Shush. Almost halfway in. God, you’re so tight for me.” He throws his head back as he bottoms out, groaning.
You reach for something solid to hold onto as the thrusts grow rough. He hooks your arms around his neck, thrusting without warning.
“Toji… slow down. It’s too much,” you gasp, moaning, dragging your nails across his back.
He doesn’t flinch.
“You’re gonna take it. Just moan and spread wider.”
You shut your eyes, surrendering, tilting your head to the side so he can lick your neck. You can only moan and obey, spreading just how he wants, while he slams into you like a feral animal.
Haa… it’s gonna be a long night.
masterlist
CASANOVA — N. KENTO
cont: nsfw, 70’s porn director nanami x wannabe pornstar (kinda) reader, unprotected piv, f!receiving oral, 18+ mdni!!!
Somebody's been staring at you all night.
You are a flash of lightning on your skates, not lingering long enough for anyone to get a real good look at you, here and there in the same second. And yet, his gaze hold firm, boring into you from behind, a weight settled on your shoulders that you can feel without looking back.
He sits with your boss at the table, the both of them surrounded by young stars the man in blue made—your boss being one of them. Shiu had blessed you with that unfortunate information long ago. Said he'd get the big director up to the club one day, and then that one day turned into now.
You feel guilty for knowing who that man is—and he was not any normal director. That's for sure.
Mr. Nanami is the biggest name in the porn industry.
the silent current
꩜ fisherman!toji x sorcerer!reader ꩜
ii. echoes over the waves
you return to your grandmother's village expecting it to be the same as it always was. undisturbed. joyous. it isn't. little do you know that your once mundane life, spent living in the shadows of your superiors, will be turned upside down when you meet a lone fisherman. as a curse lingers and strange details refuse to settle, something intimate begins to take shape between you, and the fine line between intimacy and horror blurs.
content: MDNI :: angst :: eventual smut :: gojo never killed toji :: fem! reader is a sorcerer :: toji is a retired sorcerer :: age gap :: illness :: psychological tension :: unsettling atmosphere :: supernatural events :: mental health struggles :: mentions of blood :: nightmares :: themes of isolation :: implied violence :: additional warnings will be added as the story progresses.
a/n: hi everyone! this multi-chapter fic is inspired by this wonderful prompt by @keii. pls check it out! it's my first time ever posting any of my work! i'm really excited to see how this'll go.
word count: 3.1k⛩️
· series masterlist · previous chapter · next chapter · main masterlist ·
Loose pebbles crunch underfoot as you slow down to a stop when you enter the market square. You frown. Your grandma had sent you on an errand to buy some lotus root for a stew she was making for Kenji.
Your mind flicks back to the day before, the day of your arrival. The market square was lively and crowded. You were greeted with warm introductions and big smiles. Familiar faces reminisced about their memories of you from when you were younger. Today, it's late afternoon, which is usually the market’s busiest time of day. But the square is nearly empty save for a few people hurriedly darting from stall to stall.
Something’s not right.
the silent current
꩜ fisherman!toji x sorcerer!reader ꩜
i. the calm before the rot
you return to your grandmother's village expecting it to be the same as it always was. undisturbed. joyous. it isn't. little do you know that your once mundane life, spent living in the shadows of your superiors, will be turned upside down when you meet a lone fisherman. as a curse lingers and strange details refuse to settle, something intimate begins to take shape between you, and the fine line between intimacy and horror blurs.
content: MDNI :: angst :: eventual smut :: gojo never killed toji :: fem! reader is a sorcerer :: toji is a retired sorcerer :: age gap :: illness :: psychological tension :: unsettling atmosphere :: supernatural events :: mental health struggles :: mentions of blood :: nightmares :: themes of isolation :: implied violence :: additional warnings will be added as the story progresses.
a/n: please check out this art by @keii which inspired this chapter. this is my first time ever posting any of my work, so please feel free to give some feedback. enjoy!
word count: 3k⛩️
· series masterlist · next chapter · main masterlist ·
You sit still, motionless, as the bus rolls to a stop—the ancient roaring of its engines sputtering away to give way to the low bustle of everyday life outside. You take in the sights. It’s just as you remember: the crowded market, tattered nets, and fish blood mixing with rainwater in the gutters.
As a child, your grandmother would always sprinkle a pinch of salt on your head, murmuring that it would ward off evil as you left her house. It had been some time since you had last visited this cosy, remote seaside village—almost ten years, as your grandma, Sachiko, opted to see you in Tokyo most of the time.
Breathing a tired sigh, you unlocked your phone and checked the time. You’d been sitting on the bus for five hours now, and you were dying to stretch your legs. You were sure a massive hump had formed on your back, which had become a gigantic hump due to how long you’d spent hunched over your research papers during the journey.
You were happy to finally have a change of scenery from your usual lonely city apartment and the grey, dreary walls of your job. As the folklore specialist at Jujutsu High’s affiliated university division, you had decided to do some fieldwork for a thesis on coastal superstitions. Luckily, as your grandmother lives in a coastal village, you could use it as an excuse to check in on her. Recently, her health had started to decline, and her letters to you had taken a strange turn.
It was her latest one, however, that let you know that something wasn’t quite right.
I saw your mother last night. At the docks. I waved her over, but she didn’t stop to say hello. She’s always been strange, that one. Silly girl.
I hope you are in good health. The nights have been strange recently. Several of us have fallen ill. I hope I’m not next. I lit extra incense for protection. I will elaborate when you next visit.
She said she’d seen your mother, which was odd, because she’d passed 15 years ago. And the letter had been wrinkled, stained with water, and dusted with sand. You were concerned when you first read it.
You knew you had to visit her immediately. Her words no longer sounded like her—too polite, too measured. She sounded brittle in a way that made you uneasy.
The bus rolled to a stop. You unbuckled yourself and stretched out your limbs, finally feeling relief. Rolling out the kinks in your neck, you made your way off the bus.
With your feet planted firmly on the cobblestone floor and your many bags in your arms, you sweep across the scene before you, in search of your grandma. Wind whistles through the bamboo blinds in the windows of the shops around you, and salty air scratches the back of your throat.
You hear a warm voice call out to you excitedly, and you whip your head around. You’re met with your grandma, quickly approaching you with her arms wide open, ready to envelop you in a welcoming embrace. You drop your luggage and let her sweep you into her arms. She's significantly shorter than you, due to old age, but still manages to almost topple you over.
“How are you, my love?” Sachiko croaks, “It's been too long. You’re looking well.”
You couldn’t say the same for her. Dark circles had formed around her eyes, and her wrinkled skin appeared paler and more leathery.
“I’ve been fine, Grandma. Your letters worried me. You sounded…scared. Are you alright?”
Something clouds your grandmother’s expression for the slightest moment before her face breaks out into a warm smile. “Scared? Oh, no!” she laughs softly, "I'm just old. Old people get dramatic, that’s all.”
Your brows furrow in confusion, “Grandma, you said you saw Mom.”
She swats your arm playfully, “I didn’t get much sleep the day I wrote that. Everything’s fine. Forget what I said in those letters.”
Though unsure, you allow yourself to feel relief. Your grandma seems okay. Right?
Your grandmother hooks her arm through yours, “Leave your luggage here. Toji will get it for us. He’s a strong lad.”
“Strong lad? Grandma, my suitcases have wheels.”
“And? Let the boy show off a little.”
You roll your eyes playfully. “Who is he?”
“Ah, you’ll know him when you see him. He’s buff. Handsome,” she wiggles her grey brows at you.
“Oh, quit your antics, Grandma.” You scoff.
𓆝𓆟𓆞𓆝𓆟
The gulls always awake before the village does. Their shrill cries pierce through the murky morning fog as Toji coaxes his rusted boat from the wooden dock. Water laps against the hull. Salt clings to his skin, his hair, his lips, and stings his eyes. He allows himself to bask in the illusion of peace. It’s quiet today. Too quiet.
His thoughts untangle from their usual snarled mess, and his breathing relaxes. He can finally feel—well, nothing. Out here, no one asks unnecessary questions, pries for answers they don't need. Out here, his thoughts quieten. Out here, it’s just him and the sea. The sea and him.
A tug at the net in his hand catches his attention. His body reacts before his thoughts can register: a flick of his wrist, a pull, a twist. Each move follows swiftly after the other in an efficient, practised manner: They had become a series of reflex reactions. He hauls his catch in and slaps it on the deck. Yet another successful catch. He smiles to himself and readjusts his fishing overalls. He’d be making a killing today.
As Toji manoeuvres his boat back towards the village, he gazes across the undulating blue-grey waves and inhales. Behind the smell of salt is something piercing, metallic, but Toji can’t quite figure out what it is. He brushes it off. It's probably nothing.
The steady ebb and flow of the waves lulls him into a trance. After having retired from being a sorcerer killer about 3 years ago, this is what many mornings look like for Toji. Dreary, gloomy, cold, but fulfilling. No targets to kill, no nagging girlfriend, no responsibilities. Other than Megumi and Tsumiki, of course. But they’re hardly his responsibility—they are much better off without him.
Toji is self-aware: he knows he’s lazy, negligent and emotionally unavailable, and he knows his gambling addiction makes him an unsuitable father, and it isn’t like they’re totally fending for themselves. Toji makes sure he sends enough money for their upkeep on the 3rd of each month. It’s the best he can do for them in his eyes.
He can feel the fishy water leak out of the crate under his arm and trickle down the left leg of his overalls. He suppresses a sigh. The late-morning mist clings to the docks ahead of him, softening the edges of crooked boats tied against their ports.
The chatter of old voices cut through the persistent gull cries, half-arguments, half-laughter, as the fishermen gather in their usual huddle. Toji strides down the walkway and readjusts the monstrous fish on his right shoulder. Water drips from its slack jaw, and light dances off its pearlescent scales.
“Whoa! What the fuck is that?” old man Washijo barked, pipe nearly falling from his lips.
Toji drops the crate and the beast onto the wooden planks of the table with a wet thud. “Dinner,” he says flatly, brushing his hands on his trousers.
The trio of old ladies gasp, clutching at their shawls.
“That’s not a fish, that’s a demon.”
“Dinner for who? The emperor?!”
“You trying to kill us, boy?”
Toji smirks. “So, how’re we cooking this, ladies?”
That sets them off. Arguments fly: salt grill, miso stew, fried cutlets. They shout over each other like sparrows squabbling for crumbs. As amusing as it is to him, Toji opens his mouth to break up the argument. One elderly woman, Hiyori, jabs a finger at him. “You hush, Toji, we’ll handle it!”
“Handle it? You can barely handle your dentures!” cackles Fumiko, setting the group into fits of laughter.
Toji shakes his head, biting back a laugh of his own.
Washijo stomps over, wagging his pipe like a weapon. “Listen here, brat, you keep showing off catches like this, you’ll put the rest of us out of business!”
“Sounds like a you problem”, Toji says, grin sharp.
“Cocky bastard,” the old man bellows with his voice cracking with laughter. He claps Toji on the back, “Drinks tonight with the boys. No excuses.”
“Nah. I don't want to. Booze’s wasted on me. Don’t do a damn thing. Just a waste of time,” Toji shrugs. Drinking had become second nature to him, so much so that it was nearly impossible for him to get drunk.
“Then all the more reason for you to join us! You can finish the alcohol that we can’t.”
The old ladies circle him again, poking and prodding.
“Try these ginseng tonics, they'll keep your bones from rotting.”
“Oh, don’t listen to her, she’s been rotting for years!”
“Have you eaten today, Toji? These muscles need constant upkeep.” Hiyori hands him a basket, ”Here. Take these rice balls.”
Fumiko rolls her eyes. “Give it a rest, Hiyori. He’s fine. Stop fussing.”
Hiyori gasps. “Fine? Fine? He’s more than fine! Look at those arms. Your grandson couldn’t lift a fish like that if his life depended on it,” she wraps both her hands over Toji’s bicep longingly.
Sana snorts from the corner at Hiyori’s remark, her cane tapping on the concrete floor. “Her grandson couldn’t lift anything heavier than a teacup.”
A little boy edges out from behind Hiyori’s skirts. “Toji, how’d you pull that in?”
Toji shrugged, “Same as I always do.”
He lifts the fish again, casually, as if it weighed no more than a loaf of bread. The boy gasps.
Hiyori gazes fondly up at him. “You’re just like one of my grandsons, only taller and less trouble.”
Fumiko snorts. “Less trouble? Don’t let him fool you. He’s trouble enough to start a war.”
Sana barks a laugh, waving her cane. “And I’d follow him into hell just to see that face during it. If I were 30 years younger…”
“If you were as pretty as you are now, 30 years ago, I’d have been in trouble.” Toji smirks. He raises his arms over his head in a stretch, knowing that the bottom of his t-shirt will ride up to reveal a sliver of skin.
That'll set ‘em off, he muses to himself, might as well give ‘em a show. The air erupts into giddy hoots of laughter as Sana’s paper-thin skin blooms into a deep red as she fans herself and mutters something about Toji being a shameless flirt.
He tells himself he stays for the fishing. The truth is, the old bats make the quiet less suffocating.
“Where’s old Kenji?” Toji asks.
“He probably drank too much last night.” Fumiko replies, “You know him. You'll never catch him without a bottle glued to his lips, that old drunkard.”
“Yeah, I heard from his wife this morning that he’s a bit under the weather,” Sana chimes in.
Toji’s brow quirks ever so slightly. It was true that Kenji would regularly indulge in a drink, but he’d never miss the early morning fish-cleaning get-togethers.
He shrugs it off. He’s probably fine.
𓆝𓆟𓆞𓆝𓆟
Your grandma stops outside her gates, blinking at the pair of overturned wooden bowls on her veranda. Bowls filled with…salt? You supposed that she put those there to scare the spirits away. You shake your head. Sachiko and her superstitions.
“How odd…” she murmurs to herself, "I put those out this morning.”
Before you can ask why, someone speaks from behind you. “I’ve got the stuff.”
You turn.
A tall man stands at the base of the steps, all gathered into one hand like it’s nothing more than a lunchbox. He's dressed simply in a dark shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, loose fishing trousers and boots—nothing substantial enough to fend off the frigid air. There’s an intimidating ease in the way he fills the space, despite being outdoors. Broad shoulders, scar at his lip, messy, windswept hair.
He looks at you with bored, heavy-lidded green eyes.
Your grandmother brightens.
“Oh, Toji! I was wondering where you’d wandered off to. Thank you, dear.”
He grunts in acknowledgement and lifts your luggage one-handed. “This yours?”
“Yeah. Thanks.” You offer him a smile that he doesn’t return.
He starts to move up the stairs silently, despite his sheer size. “You’re the granddaughter.” He grunts gruffly. You nod because your brain decides words are no longer part of your skillset.
He steps past you, close enough that you catch the faint scent of cigarette smoke and pine from his shirt. He grips your bags like they weigh nothing. He doesn’t look back to see if you’re following him.
You follow him up the narrow hill path. The midday light catches in his spiky hair, momentarily blinding you. The sounds around you remind you of how calm and peaceful the environment is: cicadas chirp, laundry flaps in the wind, the distant shrine bell tolls.
You try to make small talk, but Toji doesn’t seem to be the type to talk much:
“So how long have you lived here?”
“Couple o’ years.”
And “ Is it odd? Not having anyone your age to talk to around here?”
“Nah.”
You think back to the weird conversation you had with your grandma about her cryptic letters. “This village feels… different.”
Toji pauses for a moment, but still doesn’t look back. “It’s ‘cause you’re not used to it.”
And after what felt like an eternity but was actually a minute, you reach the front door. Paper prayer strips decorating the porch flit in the wind.
“Isn’t he so reliable?” your grandma beams, “He’s been helping me for the past couple of years. He’s been helping us all, really.” She fumbles for the keys in her fanny pack and hands them over to him.
He takes the keys in his free hand and unlocks the paper sliding door, nudging it open with his foot. “Wasn’t doin’ much.”
“Don’t be so modest,” your grandma bumps him with her hip as she walks through the door he’s holding. He stares at you expectantly for a second, waiting for you to walk through the door before motioning to you with his head. Murmuring a thanks, you scurry through.
He drops your bags at the door, shoots you one last wary look and then walks away without waiting for thanks.
You watch his bulky figure recede into the greenery with a frown on your face. What a miserable man, you think to yourself. You notice a sudden change in atmosphere—cicadas cut out mid-song, and the air feels denser, heavier, like it's about to rain. You look up. The sky’s clear.
“Oh, my love,” your grandmother starts, as though she can read your thoughts,” Don’t mind him. He’s a bit…standoffish until you really get to know him.”
“I’m sure.” You reply sarcastically.
Your grandmother’s house hadn’t changed one bit since you had last visited. It was a traditional countryside cottage with slightly worn tatami mats on the floor and a low clay ceiling with exposed wooden beams. At the centre of the room is a low wooden table surrounded by floor cushions.
You take your shoes off, place them in the shoe cabinet next to the entrance, and head over to the table.
Directly in front of you is a large parchment scroll, covered in a landscape painting and calligraphy. Nostalgia hits you like a freight train: the scroll was painted by your mother two years before her death. You’d sat next to her for hours, mixing pigments with binder and ink for her, and watching in awe and wonder as the world she was creating came to life.
“Dearest. Let me brew some tea. Genmaicha’s still your favourite, yes?”
You nod with a smile growing on your face.
“Lucky for you, I roasted some yesterday.”
“Thanks, Grandma”, you move to pick up your luggage.
“No, leave it there for now. You must rest—I’m sure the journey was exhausting," your grandmother exclaims, fussing about, filling a porcelain teapot with water and turning on the stove.
When the tea’s finished brewing, your grandmother hobbles over with the pot in hand and takes a seat on the floor cushion across from you. You observe her as she pours. Her hands shake slightly, and she glances towards the windows once, twice, too many times to count. You can sense something’s wrong.
“Grandma,” you say softly, “Is everything okay?”
She lets out a sigh and places the pot down, “ It’s my friend Kenji. He’s been unwell all day. I should check on him. He said someone kept tapping on the window… but there was nothing.” She laughs it off, but you notice her trembling hands.
Your chest gently seizes at the mention of that name. Kenji. It wasn't one you particularly recognised, but it filled you with a sense of dread. Taking a sip of your genmaicha tea and savouring its taste, you shake off the peculiar feeling. It’s probably just travel fatigue.
“We can visit him tomorrow, if that’d make you feel better?” you suggest.
“Yes, it would. Thank you.” Your grandma’s warm smile returns.
A faint breeze blows in through an open window beside you, and you bask in the quiet of the mid-afternoon. Grandma’s house smells of burning incense from her mini shrine in the corner of the room and soft rush grass from the mats beneath you. Looking out the window, you hear distant waves crash against distant rocks, and faint village chatter filters in through the thoughtful silence.
You feel a prickle at the back of your neck. Like something’s watching. You turn away from the window.
How strange.
a/n: thanks so much for reading! I can't wait for this fic to progress. I'm excited to hear your thoughts on this chapter :)
· next · series masterlist · main masterlist ·
©smokekandsilhouettes. all rights reserved. unauthorised use, copying, or reposting is prohibited. divider by @thecutestgrotto
i love your writing, omggg ;))))
😭😭
toji thinking of what carat ring would look good on your finger as soon as you get even a little violent
toji's girlfriend is a ray of sunshine
or so everyone thinks. why wouldn't they? you're so sweet- the tinkle of your laugh, the way your cheeks plump when you smile, your doe eyes that convey nothing but innocence-you wouldn't hurt a fly.
"bam!" a fist flies into the fucker's face who was just poking fun at toji.
it starts out as a normal date, celebrating toji and yours anniversary, until some degenerate buzzed off his ass starts insulting toji. you recognize him. naoya zenin was toji's ex-coworker. your hands curl in disgust as you remember how close naoya would stand next to you at work gatherings. how his words would always be subtle jabs at toji. after toji stopped working there, you'd thought naoya was in the past. Cleary not.
you hover behind toji as naoya continues spewing threats. you could feel the anger vibrating off of toji a he shifted forward. you placed a hand on his arm. "let it go, toji. we can leave.' his green eyes meet yours for a long second before he nods reluctantly. just as you turn to go, bthe drunk man drops the ball.
"he's fuckin worthless and broke, whatcha doing with him, dolly-"
toji has quick reflexes, honed through years of being both the assassin and the target. but now, he can only watch as you take two quick steps, haul your arm back, and hit naoya square in the jaw. he doubles over, clutching the side of his face, cursing unintelligibly.
toji’s watching everything in slow motion. how your sweet face is etched with rage. how your perfect right hook lands on noaya's face like you don't croon over pets at the animal shelter each week.
there's something warm in his chest that expands into his throat.
someone stood up for him.
since he was a child, he fended for himself. he prides himself for it. for being unshakable and not needing anybody. but having you defend him like that…god. that did something to him that wasn’t sure could be reversed.
you turn, flexing your hand, not sparing a glance at naoya's writhing form. you tuck yourself against toji's side, soft and warm. “can we leave, ji? I want ice-cream.”
he just stares at you in awe. when you look up at him, he could easily forget what you did moments ago. your eyes are sparkling again, a smile pulling at your lips. you’re the same, delicate, fragile girl, but now, with slightly bruised knuckles and toji completely wrapped around your pinky.
“toji? hello?” your words end with a soft yelp as he dips you down into a kiss. it doesn't have that rom-com cinematic appeal. it's raw and honest. his lips move against yours in the crowded, dingy bar like there’s no tomorrow. his teeth nip at your lips in, “thank yous” and “i love yous” and more emotions he can comprehend in words. when he pulls back, he brings you into his chest, breathing hard. after a long time, he says, “let’s get you a bandage for that hand, ‘kay, doll?”
“so no ice cream?” comes your reply, muffled by his shirt.
he laughs into your hair, something warm and Iridescent buzzing in his viens.“we’ll get some. i’ll get you anything you want.”
you had gone to bed earlier than him, leaving your grumpy and cranky husband to tend for your daughter. even when he's tired, too (or just lazy).
he had been grumbling, exhaling heavily as he changes the baby girl's diaper. his nose crinkled, a disgusted look on his face as he mumbles, "you smell like shit." - in which she actually did.
silence took over - save from the occasional rustling from moving things around.
he had expected the baby to cry, wail, flail her arms and accidentally hit him (for the millionth time). anything, really. not...
"da..da..."
his hand freezes, his eyes widening at the little girl's voice, slowly turning back to face her just as he was about to grab the baby powder. "say that... again?" he mutters, looking down at the little one blabbering on the changing table, little fist on her mouth, feet kicking up in the air, with the same red eyes staring back up at him.
for a second, it frustrated him a bit that the baby ‐ or, his baby - took a little bit longer to repeat the two syllable word. just giggling and sputtering whatever she can.
then -- "d.. da..da..."
there it is. his eyes lit up. not the way it used to; full of intensity and menace to those who dared to challenge him. no.. this time, it's more... softer, warmer, happy.
finishing up her diaper change, he carefully and gently picks her up with rough hands, bringing her up to his eye level. "dada? seriously?" he mutters, a small smirk quirked up on the corners of his lips.
"da..da!"
a chuckle left him, his chest rumbling as he brings the little one to his chest. "yeah, dada."
maybe babysitting his minikuna isn't so bad after all.
a/n: kinda lazy and rushed. wrote this in the rain sighs
sukuna loves you and his heir quietly …!
the temple is quiet tonight. the kind of quiet that settles deep in your bones — save for the faint crackle of firelight and the steady pulse beneath your palm.
he’s sitting nearby, half-shadow, half-god, crimson eyes glowing faintly in the dark. you think he looks calmer like this. less like a curse. more like something… ancient and alive.
“you’re staring again,” you whisper.
sukuna doesn’t look up from the flames. “you move too much.” you huff, adjusting where you sit. “your child kicks too much.”
that gets his attention. his head turns, sharp eyes flicking to your stomach. for a moment, his energy flares—instinctive, possessive—but then it fades just as fast. he leans back, pretending not to care, though the corner of his mouth twitches.
“hm. strong already,” he mutters. “takes after me.”
you smile a little. “let’s hope they don’t take your attitude.”
“my attitude keeps you alive,” he fires back automatically, but his voice lacks bite. when he moves closer, it’s not with his usual command—it’s almost hesitant. his hand hovers above your belly before you take it and guide it down.
the baby kicks.
his expression stills. you swear you see something flicker there—something vulnerable and wordless. his thumb traces absent circles against your skin, the faintest tremor in his touch.
“they know you,” you murmur, watching him.
he scoffs, but it’s softer this time. “they should.” a pause. then quieter, rougher: “they’ll be stronger than anything this world’s ever seen.”
“and loved,” you add gently.
he meets your gaze—like he’s not sure what to do with that word. loved.
but he doesn’t argue. instead, he leans forward until his forehead rests briefly against yours, breath hot and steady.
“rest,” he mutters. “the world can wait.”
his cursed energy curls protectively around you both, humming low and ancient, as if even it knows you are his—both of you.
NOT EDITED.
© all writing rights reserved to @iconicallyher . do not feed my work to ai, translate, or plagiarize.
꒰ let’s play pretend. ꒱
﹢ summary: when toji gets out of prison after seven years, he lies to his estranged mother about being married— and forces you to play the part. pairing: ex-criminal!toji fushiguro x f!reader
⟢ genre/tags: dark romance, age gap, kidnapping, coercion/manipulation, dysfunctional family dynamics, verbal and emotional abuse (from toji’s mother), mild violence/intimidation, mentions of pregnancy, light possessiveness
words: 1.6k
highly inspired by the film ‘buffalo 66’
toji’s been out for approximately twenty six hours. the air tastes different, thicker, like all the dust he swallowed in prison followed him home. every breath feels gritty, bitter, as if it’s still laced with concrete walls and piss-slick tiles and years of time that crawled slower than death. he hasn’t spoken to anyone in years. hasn’t wanted to. there’s nothing out here for him except cold stares and locked doors and silence. everything is loud and quiet at the same time. he feels like he’s floating, or maybe sinking, feet scraping the bottom of a world that moved on without him.
if you could even call it that.
he’s got nothing. no friends, no job, no woman. just a mother who never liked him much and a brother who probably wished he’d rot in there. he’s tried to keep his head down. tried to tell himself he’ll figure it out eventually. maybe find a place to work, find somewhere to sleep that doesn’t smell like mildew and regret. but then she answers the phone, and it’s like every fucking nerve in his system lights up in frustration, because of course she sounds the same. too chipper. too uninterested. too fucking cold.
𑣲 loving coworker nanami
ft. nanami kento modern au
you always told yourself it wasn’t that serious.
a crush. that’s all it was. harmless, quiet, tucked neatly behind polite smiles and casual greetings. something small and mostly contained, like a paper cut—annoying, sometimes stinging, but ultimately insignificant in the grand scheme of things. that’s what you told yourself every morning when you stepped into the office and immediately found your eyes drifting, unprompted, searching for him.
nanami kento.
he was always there early, already settled at his desk with his tie perfectly straight and his expression unreadable. efficient, composed, untouchable. your coworkers talked about him sometimes—how reliable he was, how serious, how he never wasted time on anything unnecessary. you wondered if that included people like you.
when did nanami kento get hot? (18+)
you almost don’t recognise him at first. the nanami kento you remember in high school was stiff, reserved, and sported an abomination of side-swept bangs paired with too much hair-gel. he was cute, sure, perhaps in that awkward, alternative kind of way that somehow managed to charm a girl like you in the first place. but hot? no, not like this.
now, standing across the room at your ten-year school reunion, he looks distinctly different. broader shoulders, a jawline that could cut glass, and a perfectly tailored suit that fits his impressive frame immaculately. the bangs are gone — his hair is slicked back now, a pair of glasses perched on his nose, and for the first time you find yourself wondering — when the hell did nanami kento get so hot?
“it’s been a while,” he says when he finally crosses the room over to you. his voice is deeper, richer now, and when your eyes meet you find yourself wondering if he looks at just anyone that way now, or if he’s also thinking about study dates, shy kisses to the cheek, and the budding romance that fizzled out when you both went off to different colleges.
you’re still struggling to wrap your head around his transformation when he fucks you hard against the wall of his hotel room later on. his hands are firm against your waist as he eases into you, stretching you in a way that steals the air from your lungs. every snap of his hips pins you tighter and tighter against the wall, and you don’t know why your heart still manages to flutter when his palm comes to cushion your forehead from hitting the plaster, shielding you from the impact even as he drives into you harder.
every thrust is precise, deliberate, merciless — but his hands stay tender and his mouth presses gentle kisses to your back. he whispers praise and filth into your ear that has your cunt clenching pathetically in response, and god, you’re begging for this man to ruin you before you even know what you’re saying. you’re cumming hard around his thick cock in no time, but he doesn’t let up until your legs are shaking and your voice has dissolved into incoherent babble.
you may hardly recognise the man he is now, but there’s one thing that still hasn’t changed about nanami: he’s a man who always knows what he wants. it’s been that way when he first asked you out all those years ago, and it seems like it’s still that way now, when he asks for your number and a chance to make up for lost time. you’re still flushed, struggling to catch your breath when he finally speaks.
“i’m sorry,” he rasps, and for the first time tonight he actually appears a little shy. “i didn’t exactly do this in the right order. can i take you out to dinner some time?”