@vqmpressa - Tumblr Blog

.ᐟ.ᐟ AN ART GALLERY . “WALKETH LIFE!”

‘i want you to eat me’ , ‘bones&all.’ 𝄞𝄞 percyjackson , jujustukaisen , superman , ++ other fandoms

🀢 masterlist ,,, 🀣 rules ,,, 🀦 au ‘s ,,, 🀤 miscellaneous

. . 𔘓 writing done on computer ; tablet ! hakari ‘s counterfeit distributor . . . ?! elektra ‘s admirer

⚡︎ the original lighting thief. first book published in december twenty-nine, 2007. nineteen

#ಇ. reyna’s philosophy class #ಇ. the poet speaks #ಇ. the boatman will navigate you #💥💣～（ゝ。∂）#to get to the end there must be a beginning

vqmpressa

three daughters, one extremely stressed sorcerer

a/n ; this is a really cute idea i thought where nanami would have 3 daughters. i feel like it’s very likely i dunno.

and yes i will continue to write about papa nanami with his 4 special girls. <3

"papa, you're doing it wrong," his six-year-old declared from her perch on the kitchen counter, her little legs swinging back and forth. she had his serious expression down perfectly, her tiny eyebrows furrowed in concentration as she watched him attempt to crack an egg with one hand.

"am i now?" nanami asked, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he glanced at his daughter. the egg cracked perfectly, sliding into the bowl without a single shell fragment. "looks right to me."

"mama does it faster," she insisted, ever the critic.

from the doorway, you laughed, bouncing your youngest daughter on your hip.

"papa's the best!" chirped your nine-year-old from where she sat at the table, carefully measuring out sugar with the kind of precision she'd definitely inherited from him. "she’s just grumpy because she wanted to crack the eggs."

#ಇ. adored #papamin

saltwater in between kisses

˳. ♥︎ when percy takes you on a date during midnight.

percy has this way of looking at you sometimes—like you're the only thing worth paying attention to in a world full of gods and monsters and quests that could kill him. and right now, standing at the edge of the beach with his beat-up converse in one hand and that lopsided grin on his face, he's looking at you like that again.

"come on," he says, reaching for your hand. "i want to show you something."

the moon hangs low and fat over the ocean, turning everything silver-blue and dreamy. it's late enough that the beach is empty except for the two of you, and the sound of waves rolling in fills up all the quiet spaces between your heartbeats.

"percy, it's like eleven at night.” you say, but you're already slipping off your shoes, already letting him tug you toward the water.

"exactly. best time for the beach." his fingers lace through yours, warm and slightly sandy, and he's pulling you along like an overexcited puppy. "trust me on this one."

you do trust him. maybe more than you should, considering he's gotten you into approximately a million weird situations since you started dating. but there's something about the way he lights up around the ocean—like he's finally, completely himself—that makes you want to follow him anywhere.

the sand is cool under your feet, still holding onto the memory of the day's warmth. percy leads you right to the edge where the waves are kissing the shore, and the water rushes up around your ankles, shockingly cold.

you yelp a little, and percy laughs—this bright, unguarded sound that makes your chest feel too full.

"okay, okay, sorry," he says, and he's not even trying to hide how amused he is. then he does this little gesture with his free hand, and suddenly the water around your feet warms up, like someone just turned on a heater. "better?"

"you're such a show-off," you tell him, but you're smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.

"i'm not showing off. i'm making my girlfriend comfortable. there's a difference." he squeezes your hand. "now pay attention. i'm gonna teach you something actually useful."

"more useful than heating up ocean water?"

"way more useful."

he lets go of your hand to crouch down and search around in the sand, and you immediately miss the warmth of his palm against yours. after a second, he makes a triumphant noise and holds up a smooth, flat stone.

"we're skipping rocks?" you ask.

"we're skipping rocks," he confirms, standing back up. "it's like... a life skill. everyone should know how to do it."

"i don't think that's true."

"it's definitely true. i'm the son of poseidon, i would know." he moves behind you, wrapping his arms around you and positioning your hand with the rock in it. his chest is warm against your back, and he smells like salt and that cologne you got him for his birthday that he actually wears, which made you stupidly happy. "okay, so you want to hold it like this..."

he adjusts your grip, his fingers gentle on your wrist. you're maybe not paying as much attention as you should be because you're kind of distracted by how close he is, the way his breath tickles your ear when he talks.

"you listening?" he asks, and you can hear the smile in his voice. he knows exactly what he's doing.

"yes," you lie.

"uh-huh. sure." he guides your arm back. "okay, so you want to throw it kind of sideways, and you flick your wrist at the end—like this—"

he helps you throw it, and the rock skips once, twice across the water before plunking under.

"i did it!" you turn around in his arms, grinning up at him.

"you did! well, i did most of the work, but—ow, okay, okay!" he laughs as you swat his shoulder. "you did great. natural talent. must be because you have such a good teacher."

"must be," you say dryly, scanning the beach for more rocks to throw in the water.

you practice a few more times, and percy is surprisingly patient, showing you how to find the right rocks, how to angle your throw. he's always like this when he's teaching you something—focused and encouraging and sweet in a way that makes you want to kiss him stupid.

so you do.

you grab the front of his shirt and pull him down and kiss him right there with the waves rushing around your ankles and the moon watching overhead. he makes this soft, surprised sound before he kisses you back, his hands coming up to cup your face like you're something precious.

when you pull away, he's looking at you with this dazed, dopey expression that makes you feel a sense of warmth and tenderness in your heart.

"what was that for?" he asks, turning his face to the side to hide the creeping crimson that’s spreading into his face.

"for being you."

"oh." his thumb brushes across your cheekbone. "i can do that pretty easily."

"good. keep doing it."

he grins and kisses your forehead, then your nose, then your lips again quick and sweet. "come on. i want to show you the actual thing i brought you here for."

"that wasn't it?"

"nope. bonus activity."

he takes your hand again and walks you a little deeper into the water, until it's swirling around your calves. the waves are gentle tonight, rolling in lazy and calm, and percy looks out at the ocean like he's listening to something you can't hear.

"watch this," he says softly.

he moves his hand in this graceful, sweeping motion, and the water responds. it rises up in a small arc, glittering in the moonlight, and then—

your breath catches.

the water forms a heart. an actual heart shape, hovering in the air between you, droplets catching the light like diamonds. it spins slowly, perfectly formed, and then percy flicks his fingers and it splashes gently around your joined hands, warm and soft.

you laugh—you can't help it. it bubbles up out of you, pure delight and wonder and so much affection for this boy who can literally control the ocean and uses it to make you smile.

"percy," you say, and your voice comes out a little choked up. "that was—"

"cheesy?" he offers, looking pleased with himself. "corny? incredibly romantic and impressive?"

"all of the above." you step closer, wrapping your arms around his neck. "i’m starting to cringe now.”

"yeah, but you like me anyway."

“whatever.”

and you kiss him again, there in the water with the ocean swirling around you both, and percy holds you close like he's afraid you'll drift away. but you won't. you're anchored right here, to this boy with seawater in his veins and a heart big enough to hold the whole ocean.

when you finally pull apart, he's smiling at you like you hung the moon yourself.

"so," he says. "good date?"

"the best date," you confirm.

"better than the time i took you to that underwater cave?"

"different kind of good."

"i'll take it." he kisses your temple. "come on. let's walk for a bit. the water's perfect tonight."

“you’d better not wake me up for something like this again, percy. it’ll have to be ten times as better as this, though!” you joke, intertwining his hand in yours with a dorky smile on your face.

“i’ll promise you that, i’m the best at these kind of things,” he drags you along with him to the shoreline of the beach, running wildly with sand flying everywhere beneath his feet.

seriously, though. you wouldn’t mind if he did wake you up out of your sleep for this.

#ಇ. the poet speaks #ಇ. adored #ಇ. reyna’s philosophy class #x reader #percy pjo #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #percy x reader #percy x you #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x you #percy jackson x y/n #little seashell saltwater boy #how cute #pjo #pjo series #pjo fandom #rrverse #riordanverse

♥︎ . more marine!toji headcannons because everyone deserves sunshine / credit to whoever made the dividers. i forgot.

toji fushiguro doesn't do soft. at least, that's what everyone on base thinks.

he's the guy who shows up before dawn, running laps while the sky is still dark and everyone else is asleep in their beds. he maxes out every physical test without breaking a sweat. he can field-strip a rifle blindfolded. his dead-serious eyes make even the cockiest lance corporals quiet down and fall in line.

he reenlisted three months ago. when people ask why, he shrugs and says, "pays the bills." sometimes he adds, "beats working construction," in that low voice that discourages further questions.

but that's not really why.

the truth is, toji likes the structure. he appreciates knowing exactly what's expected of him. he enjoys the routine and the discipline. everything has its place. wake up, train & drills, chow, work, repeat. it keeps the messy parts of his brain calm. it grounds him when everything else in his life used to be chaotic.

used to be.

because now he's got you and megumi.

there's a photo in his locker, creased down the middle from being folded and unfolded too many times. it's you and megumi at the park near your place, the one with the good swings. megumi is mid-laugh, reaching for the camera, and you're behind him with that smile that makes toji's chest feel warm.

he doesn't show it to anyone. when the younger guys gather around sharing pictures of their girlfriends or wives, toji leans back against his bunk and stays quiet. once, a rookie got nosy and reached for his locker. toji's hand shot out and grabbed his wrist—not roughly, but firmly enough to make a point.

"don't touch my stuff," he said, his voice flat.

the kid never tried again.

nobody knows much about toji's life outside the base. they know he's married and has a kid, but that's about it. he doesn't talk about you at breakfast or show off texts during downtime. he doesn’t complain about missing home or count down the days until leave like everyone else.

but he feels it.

goodness, does he feel it.

he's gotten better at saying it. expressing it, too. you've helped him improve in many ways actually. he's softer than he thought he could be. more patient and present.

it’s not always easy for him to take accountability and spew his feelings out with ease, but you guys make it work. you try. you both try hard.

when he's home on leave, everything shifts.

the tension in his shoulders eases the moment he walks through the door and sees you. you'll be in the kitchen, on the couch, or just standing there waiting. he drops his bag and comes straight to you. no words, just his arms around you, his face buried in your neck, breathing you in like he's been underwater for weeks.

"i missed you," he'll mumble. you'll laugh because he already texted you that, but hearing it out loud feels different.

megumi usually charges into him five seconds later. "dad look,” toji crouches down, letting his kid crash into him, holding him tight with one arm while the other stays around you.

"yeah? let's see it, megs."

for a few weeks, life is simple. life is good.

toji fixes the leaky faucet you mentioned. he builds megumi a bookshelf because the kid has too many picture books taking over the living room. he cooks breakfast on saturday mornings—nothing fancy, just eggs and rice—and watches you and megumi sit together at the table, chatting about dinosaurs or preschool or whatever megumi's current obsession is.

he doesn’t say much. but he’s there. solid. steady.

you'll catch him watching the two of you sometimes, his expression unreadable. when you ask, "what?" he shakes his head.

"nothing. just... yeah. nothing."

but it’s not nothing. it’s everything.

because toji fushiguro might have reenlisted for the structure, for the paycheck, for the discipline that keeps him sharp—but he comes home for this. for you curled against him on the couch while megumi sleeps between you after a long day. for the way you kiss his jaw and whisper, "i'm proud of you, you know."

for the feeling that, after years of being untethered, reckless, and half-convinced he didn’t deserve anything good, he finally has something worth protecting.

so yes, he doesn't talk about you on base. he doesn't show off that photo or brag about his family.

but everything he does—every early morning run, every perfect score, every quiet moment of discipline—it's all for you.

even if he'll never say it out loud.

you know. and that's enough.

#ಇ. the poet speaks #ಇ. reyna’s philosophy class #x reader #marine toji #toji fluff #toji x y/n #toji x you #jujutsu toji #jjk toji #jujutsu kaisen toji #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji zenin #megumi mentions #cuties #domestic marinewife toji #cute cute cute

hi guys, i do not think i will post anything this month or next month. i’ve lots of projects and presentations and classes that take up most of my time. i’m very sorry and want to thank you all. i do not know when i’ll return, but hopefully, by early april. thank you all very much. i am grateful.

#ಇ. the poet speaks

vqmpressa

♥︎ sum. marine toji’s life after the military with his spouse & megs. divider by @ uzmacchiato

the morning light filters through the curtains in soft golden streaks. toji is already awake; he always is. seven-thirty am sharp on the dot. he would say it’s old habits from the corps, but he never complains. instead, he uses these quiet moments to watch you sleep. your face is peaceful against the pillow, and your hair is spread out like you’re something from a dream he feels he doesn’t quite deserve. is it kind of weird? a little. but he’ll spend all the time in the world to admire his spouse. he doesn’t care.

he gets out of bed carefully, moving silently. the floorboards don’t creak under his weight because he knows exactly where to step. in the kitchen, he starts the coffee—dark and strong, just how he likes it—and begins to prepare breakfast. it’s nothing fancy, just eggs and toast, but he makes sure to cut the crusts off megumi’s portion, just the way he likes them.

“papa?” a small voice calls from the hallway. toji turns to see his son padding into the kitchen, dark hair sticking up everywhere, dragging that beaten stuffed dog he refuses to sleep without.

“mornin’, megs.” toji's voice is softer than it was in the service, gentler in ways his old squad wouldn’t recognize. he lifts the boy onto his hip with one arm, continuing to work the spatula with the other. “hell’s up wit yer hair? y’hungry?”

megumi nods against his shoulder, still half-asleep. something in toji's chest tightens with an affection so intense it almost hurts. this kid—this perfect, innocent kid—is his. somehow, despite everything toji has done and everywhere he’s been, he gets to have this moment.

you appear in the doorway moments later, wearing one of his old marine corps t-shirts. toji thinks, not for the first time, that this is what he fought for. not the abstract ideas they fed him during training, but this. mornings in a sunlit kitchen with his family.

“smells good,” you murmur as you wrap your arms around his waist from behind, careful not to disturb megumi, who has dozed off again on toji's shoulder.

“sit down. i got it.” he plates the food one-handed, a skill he’s perfected over the months. he transfers megumi to your lap, where he blinks awake long enough to eat his breakfast in small, deliberate bites.

later, after the dishes are done and you’ve headed out for groceries, toji takes megumi to the park. it’s their routine on saturdays and has been since the kid learned to walk. the playground isn’t crowded yet, just a few other parents on benches. toji claims his usual spot where he can see all the exits. it’s another old habit, but one he doesn’t mind keeping.

“push me, papa!” megumi calls from the swings, his little legs pumping air.

toji obliges, his large hands gentle against his son’s small back, sending him soaring. the kid's laughter rings bright and clear, and toji finds himself smiling—really smiling, the kind that reaches his eyes and smooths out the permanent furrow in his brow.

"higher!" megumi shrieks with delight.

“any higher and you’ll hit the clouds, kid.”

“i wanna touch the clouds!”

so toji pushes him higher. what else can he do? deny his son the sky? he’s fought in deserts and mountains and survived things that would break most men. but nothing—nothing—compares to the fear and joy of being responsible for this small person’s happiness.

when megumi tires himself out, they sit in the grass. the boy tells toji about the bug he found yesterday, about the picture he drew in preschool, and about how his friend yuji can burp the alphabet. toji listens to every word like it’s the most important briefing he’s ever received.

“papa, do you have to go away again?” megumi asks suddenly, his voice small.

toji's jaw tightens. he had done two tours before you and before megumi. now he’s out, honorably discharged, but the kid is old enough to have heard stories and to worry.

“no, megs. i’m staying right here.” he ruffles his son’s hair and pulls him close. “i promise.”

when you come home, arms full of grocery bags, you find them on the couch. toji is stretched out with megumi sprawled across his chest, both fast asleep. the tv plays some cartoon at low volume, forgotten. you set down the bags and grab your phone, snapping a picture of your two boys, your whole heart, in this one quiet moment.

toji cracks one eye open, catches you watching, and mouths “i love you” over megumi's head.

you mouth it back. this peaceful, ordinary, beautiful life is everything.

#ಇ. adored

vqmpressa

synopsis: letter home by childish gambino. gojo satoru is a stupid, dork of a man. so much of a dork, that he is in love— fixated with his childhood best friend. you. you are the only person he has ever been fixated on for these past years. ever sight and glimpse of you has his stomach churning and butterflies swarming his stomach like a nest. he doesn’t know how much longer he can keep doing “this”. this repeated cycle of planning to ask you and never doing it. (he’s been trying to confess to you for years now, but has never found the courage or strength to do that.) his mother says he should write you letters, but with how far you’ve come, your probably with other dudes. dudes that are way better than him, more courageous and just… quicker than him. but as he quotes it, “who could ever be better than the strongest gojo satoru?” but in this moment, he really feels like every and any other guy is better than him. you are, truly, the only girl satoru gojo has every wanted.

wc: ~3.4k

cw: english is not my first language. fem reader implied but really any. angst/comfort to fluff, oblivious reader, miscommunication? childhood best friends to lovers trope

a/n: i feel this gives the notebook. lol. and frick frick frick i’m genuinely in the flow slate ok goodnight

satoru's always been the type to hide behind his sunglasses, even when the sun isn't out.

he's sitting at his kitchen counter at two in the afternoon, spinning an empty glass between his fingers. there's a half-empty bottle of whiskey next to his elbow that he definitely shouldn't have opened this early, but here he is anyway. the ice has melted into sad little slivers, watering down what's left in the glass until it barely tastes like anything anymore.

his phone buzzes. he doesn't look at it.

he knows it's not you.

it's never you anymore, not really. not in the way he wants it to be. you'll text him back eventually—you always do—but it takes hours now, sometimes a whole day. and when you do respond, it's brief. friendly. distant in a way that makes his chest feel tight.

he hates those messages. hates how they feel like you're slipping through his fingers like water, like sand, like something he was never meant to hold onto in the first place.

satoru takes another sip and grimaces. the whiskey tastes like regret with a side of unrequited love.

his mother called him last week. she always knows when something's wrong, even when he doesn't say anything. even when he plasters on that grin and acts like everything's fine, like he's still the same cocky kid who thought he could have anything he wanted just by reaching out and taking it.

"you sound tired, satoru," she'd said, her voice soft through the phone.

"i'm fine, mom."

"you're drinking again."

he'd laughed, but it came out hollow. "how'd you know?"

"i'm your mother. i always know." there was a pause, the kind that felt heavy with things unsaid. "is this about…?"

he didn't answer. didn't need to.

"why don't you write them a letter?" she suggested. "sometimes it's easier to say things on paper. you don't have to send it if you don't want to. just... get it out."

satoru had thanked her and hung up. then he'd poured himself another drink.

write a letter. like that would fix anything. like words on paper could somehow bridge the gap that's been growing between you two for months now. like it could erase the image that's been burning itself into his brain lately—the image of you with someone else. someone better. someone who isn't him.

because that's what this is really about, isn't it?

he's convinced himself you're seeing other people. maybe not seriously, but enough. enough to explain why you're always busy now. enough to explain why you don't come over as much, why you don't stay up late talking to him anymore, why your laugh doesn't sound quite the same when you're around him.

you're moving on. you're finding other people. better people.

and he's stuck here, still helplessly, pathetically in love with his childhood best friend.

satoru's known you since you were both seven years old.

he remembers the exact moment he met you. you'd moved in three houses down from his family, and his mother had insisted he go introduce himself, maybe make a new friend. he'd dragged his feet the whole way there, annoyed at being forced into social interaction when he could've been doing literally anything else. like, terrorizing his mother’s garden and wondering how far his fist could be shoved in his mouth.

then you'd opened the door.

you were missing your two front teeth, and you had a smudge of what looked like chocolate on your cheek. you'd looked at him with these wide, curious eyes and said, "hi. d’ya like bugs?"

he'd blinked. "what?"

"bugs. i found a really cool beetle in the backyard. wanna see?"

and just like that, you'd grabbed his hand and pulled him around to your backyard, chattering the whole way about the beetle and how it was probably a stag beetle but you weren't sure, and how your dad would probably scold you if he saw you playing with it— and did he even know anything about beetles?

he didn't. but he'd pretended to, just to keep you talking.

that was the beginning.

you'd been inseparable after that. you were the one who laughed at his stupid jokes, who didn't mind when he got too competitive during games, who sat with him when his parents fought and pretended not to notice when his eyes got a little red. you were the one who made him feel like he didn't have to be perfect all the time. like he could just be satoru.

and somewhere along the way—he's not even sure when—he'd fallen in love with you.

maybe it was when you you'd stayed up all night with him studying for a math test, even though you were already good at math and didn't need to study. you'd just wanted to keep him company.

maybe it was when you'd punched a guy in the face for talking shit about satoru behind his back. you'd gotten suspended for three days and you'd just shrugged and said, "worth it."

maybe it was when you'd slow-danced with him at prom, even though neither of you had dates. you'd rested your head on his shoulder and whispered, "this is nice," and he'd thought his heart might actually explode.

or maybe he'd always loved you. maybe it started that very first day, when you'd grabbed his hand without hesitation and pulled him into your world.

it doesn't really matter when it started. what matters is that it never stopped.

and he never told you.

satoru pours himself another drink.

his phone buzzes again. this time he looks.

it's suguru, asking if he wants to grab dinner later. he types back a quick maybe and sets the phone down again.

he should stop drinking. he knows he should. but it's the only thing that makes the thoughts quiet down, even just a little bit. the thoughts about you with someone else. you laughing at someone else's jokes. you holding someone else's hand. you kissing someone else. but honestly? you don’t even have to call to make that man swoon. he knows you’re somewhere out there, after all. it still makes him a little tense.

god, the thought of you kissing someone else makes him want to break something.

he's tried to convince himself he's being ridiculous. you're his best friend. you've always been his best friend. just because you're busy doesn't mean you're replacing him. just because you're not as available doesn't mean you've found someone else.

but then he remembers how you mentioned getting coffee with someone from work last month. how you'd smiled when you talked about them. how you'd said, "they're really nice," in that soft way that made his stomach drop.

or how you'd cancelled plans with him two weeks ago because "something came up." you didn't say what. he didn't ask.

or how last week, when he'd called you late at night because he couldn't sleep and he just wanted to hear your voice, you'd sounded distracted. like you were thinking about something else. someone else.

he's connected dots that probably don't even exist, built an entire narrative in his head about you falling for someone who isn't him. and maybe he's wrong. maybe he's completely delusional.

but it feels real. it feels real enough that he's sitting here at two in the afternoon drinking whiskey and feeling sorry for himself.

his mother's words echo in his head. write them a letter.

satoru looks at the empty notebook sitting on the other end of the counter. he'd bought it a few days ago, thinking maybe he'd actually take his mother's advice. but every time he's tried to start, the words get stuck in his throat.

what would he even say?

dear best friend, i've been in love with you for over a decade and i'm too much of a coward to tell you to your face?

hey, just wanted to let you know that i'm slowly losing my mind because i think you're in love with someone else and it's killing me?

hi, i'm drunk again and i miss you and i hate that i miss you because you're probably not even thinking about me right now?

he laughs bitterly and takes another sip.

yeah. great letter material. for sure.

three days later, you text him.

hey! want to go for a walk later? been a while since we hung out

satoru stares at the message for a full minute.

his first instinct is to say no. to protect himself. to stand on his word. because seeing you is somehow both the best and worst thing in the world right now. best because it's you, and he loves you, and being around you still makes him feel more alive than anything else. worst because it's you, and he loves you, and you don't love him back.

but he can't say no to you. he's never been able to say no to you.

sure. when?

six?

works for me

he spends the next four hours trying not to think about it. he showers. he changes clothes three times. he considers having a drink to calm his nerves but decides against it. he needs to be sober for this. needs to be present.

when six o'clock rolls around, you're already waiting outside his apartment building, hands shoved in your jacket pockets, breath misting in the cold evening air.

you smile when you see him. that same smile that's been undoing him for years.

"hey." you say.

"hey yourself," he replies, trying to sound casual. trying to ignore the way his heart is already racing.

you fall into step beside him, and for a while, neither of you says anything. it's not uncomfortable, exactly, but it's not the easy silence you used to share either. there's something hanging between you, something unspoken.

"so," you say eventually. "how've you been?"

"fine," he lies. "busy. you know how it is."

you nod. "yeah. me too."

busy with who? he wants to ask. busy with what? busy with them? goodness, his heart feels like it’s going to combust into pieces. the dry conversation is making his head plague with worrysome thoughts.

but he doesn't. instead he chokes his words back and bawls his fist up in his jacket pocket, his nails digging into the flesh of his skin until he can feel his blood streaming between his fingers. "feels like i haven't seen you in forever."

"i know. i'm sorry." you glance at him, and there's something guilty in your expression. "i've been kind of all over the place lately."

"it's fine," he says automatically. it's not fine. nothing is fine.

you walk in silence for another block. the sun is setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. (lesbian) it's beautiful. you've always loved sunsets.

"satoru," you say quietly.

"yeah?"

"are you okay? like, really okay?"

the question catches him off guard. he looks at you, and you're already looking at him, your eyes searching his face like you're trying to read something there.

"why wouldn't i be?" he asks, deflecting.

"i don't know. you just seem... different lately. distant."

he almost laughs. you think he's being distant

"i'm fine," he says again. "just tired."

you don't look convinced, but you don't push. you never push. it's one of the things he loves about you—you give him space when he needs it. but right now, he doesn't want space. he wants to close the distance. he wants to grab you by the shoulders and tell you everything, every stupid feeling he's been carrying around for years.

but he doesn't. because he's a coward.

you turn down a side street, one that leads to the park you used to play in as kids. the swings are still there, rusty and squeaking. you head straight for them, like you always do, and sit down on one. satoru takes the other.

"remember when you broke your arm on these swings?" you say, a small smile playing at your lips.

"i didn't break it on the swings. i broke it because you dared me to jump off while i was swinging."

"semantics."

he snorts. "you're the worst."

"you love me anyway."

the words hit him like a punch to the gut. you have no idea how much.

"…yeah," he says softly. "i do."

you're quiet for a moment, dragging your feet through the dirt beneath the swing. then you say, "satoru, can i ask you something?"

"shoot."

"why do you think i've been distant?"

he freezes. "what?"

"you said it feels like you haven't seen me in forever. and you're right. i have been distant. but i want to know why you think that is."

his mind races. is this a test? are you about to tell him about whoever you've been seeing? is this the moment where you confirm all his worst fears?

"i don't know," he says carefully. "i figured you were just busy. with work or... other stuff."

"other stuff," you repeat. "like what?"

"i don't know. friends. dates. whatever."

you stop swinging. "dates?"

"yeah." he can't look at you. "i mean, it's fine if you are. you don't have to tell me about your personal life or anything. i just figured—"

"satoru." your voice is sharp enough that he finally looks at you. you're staring at him with an expression he can't quite read. "i'm not dating anyone."

"you're not?"

"no. why would you think that?"

"because you're always busy now. and you mentioned that person from work, and you cancelled on me that one time, and you just seem... i don't know. like you've got other priorities."

you're quiet for a long moment. then you do something unexpected.

you... laugh.

it's not a mean laugh, but it's enough to make him feel stupid.

"satoru," you say, shaking your head. "i've been distant because i've been trying to get over you."

the world stops. atleast satoru’s world stops. the beautiful harmony of colors in the vast sky seems to stop, the glare of the sun shines down on you like a deity and goodness, it makes satoru think you look ten times more beautiful than you already do. not that you don’t always look beautiful, but when the sun shone down on your face, he could see the color of eyes stand out and send him into a chokehold.

"what?"

you stand up from the swing, running a hand through your hair. "god, i can't believe i'm actually saying this. i've been trying not to. i've been trying to just... move on and keep you as my friend because that's better than nothing. but i can't keep doing this."

"doing what?" his voice comes out strangled.

"being in love with you!" you turn to face him, and there are tears in your eyes. "i've been in love with you for years, satoru. and i know you don't feel the same way, and that's fine, i've made my peace with it. but being around you got too hard. it hurt too much. so i've been trying to distance myself. trying to protect myself."

satoru feels like he's been hit by a truck.

you... you're in love with him?

"you're in love with me," he says dumbly.

"yes, you idiot." you wipe at your eyes angrily. "i'm in love with you. i have been since we were probably teenagers. and i've been trying to get over it because i didn't want to ruin our friendship, but clearly i've ruined it anyway by being weird and distant, so—"

he's on his feet before you can finish. he crosses the distance between you in two strides and grabs your hand, his warm big hand holding your hand in his own.

you stop talking, looking down at your joined hands in surprise.

"you're in love with me," he repeats, and this time it's not a question. this time he's smiling, this wide, disbelieving smile that makes his face hurt.

"yes," you say quietly. "i'm in love with you."

"i've been drinking myself stupid for the past month because i thought you were seeing someone else," he says, and he's laughing now, because this is insane. this whole thing is insane. "i thought you were moving on and i was losing you and i didn't know what to do."

your eyes widen. "what?"

"i'm in love with you," he says, and god, it feels good to finally say it out loud. "i've been in love with you for so long i don't even remember what it feels like not to love you. and i've been too scared to tell you because i didn't want to lose you. but i've been losing you anyway, or at least i thought i was, and it's been killing me."

you're crying now, really crying, and he reaches up to wipe the tears away with his free hand.

"you love me?" you whisper.

"so much it hurts," he says. "so much i've been making myself sick over it. so much that my mom told me to write you a letter because i've been such a mess."

you laugh through your tears. "did you write it?"

"no. i couldn't figure out what to say."

"what would you have said? if you could've found the words?"

he thinks about it. thinks about all the things he's wanted to tell you over the years. all the moments he's bitten his tongue. all the times he's almost confessed and chickened out at the last second.

"i would've told you that you're the best thing that's ever happened to me," he says softly. "that every good memory i have has you in it. that i don't know who i'd be without you, and i don't want to find out. that when i think about my future, you're always there. that i'm sorry it took me so long to say something. that i've been a coward and an idiot and i don't deserve you, but i'm selfish enough to want you anyway."

you're full-on sobbing now, and he pulls you into his arms, holding you tight.

"i would've told you that i love the way you laugh at your own jokes before you even get to the punchline," he continues, his voice muffled against your hair. "and how you always order the same thing at restaurants but spend twenty minutes looking at the menu anyway. and how you scrunch up your nose when you're concentrating. and how you've never once made me feel like i have to be anyone other than who i am."

"satoru," you mumble into his chest.

"i would've told you that you're it for me," he finishes. "you've always been it for me."

you pull back just enough to look up at him, and your face is a mess—red and blotchy and tear-stained—and you've never looked more beautiful.

"i love you too," he whispers into your ear like a silent holy prayer, a holy sacred psalm and melody for a special somebody.

and then you're kissing him, or he's kissing you, or maybe it's both at the same time. and it's not like the movies, not really—your faces are wet and you're both still kind of crying and your noses bump awkwardly at first. but it's perfect anyway. it's perfect because it's you.

when you finally break apart, you're both smiling like stupid idiots.

"so," you say, your hands still fisted in his jacket. "we've both been pining for each other this whole time?"

"apparently."

"we're idiots."

"the biggest idiots," he agrees.

you laugh, and it's that real laugh, the one he hasn't heard in months. the one that makes his chest feel warm.

"i can't believe you thought i was dating someone," you say.

"i can't believe you were trying to get over me."

"i can't believe you were drinking about it."

"i can't believe my mom told me to write you a letter."

you grin. "you should write it anyway."

"what would i even say now?"

"i don't know. 'dear love of my life, sorry i was an idiot. love, satoru.'"

he laughs and pulls you close again, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "i'll work on it."

and this is all it takes to make the strongest, gojo satoru, swoon. you are, truly, the only girl he has ever wanted.

#ಇ. adored

♥︎ sum. marine toji’s life after the military with his spouse & megs. divider by @ uzmacchiato

“papa?” a small voice calls from the hallway. toji turns to see his son padding into the kitchen, dark hair sticking up everywhere, dragging that beaten stuffed dog he refuses to sleep without.

“smells good,” you murmur as you wrap your arms around his waist from behind, careful not to disturb megumi, who has dozed off again on toji's shoulder.

“push me, papa!” megumi calls from the swings, his little legs pumping air.

"higher!" megumi shrieks with delight.

“any higher and you’ll hit the clouds, kid.”

“i wanna touch the clouds!”

“papa, do you have to go away again?” megumi asks suddenly, his voice small.

toji's jaw tightens. he had done two tours before you and before megumi. now he’s out, honorably discharged, but the kid is old enough to have heard stories and to worry.

“no, megs. i’m staying right here.” he ruffles his son’s hair and pulls him close. “i promise.”

toji cracks one eye open, catches you watching, and mouths “i love you” over megumi's head.

you mouth it back. this peaceful, ordinary, beautiful life is everything.

#ಇ. reyna’s philosophy class #ಇ. the poet speaks #ಇ. adored #x reader #something short. sorry.#toji fushiguro #jjk toji #jujutsu kaisen toji #toji x reader #toji x you #jujutsu toji #toji x y/n #toji fluff #marine toji #marine!toji #domestic life

GAHHH I LOVE YOU TOO THANK YOU SO MUUCCHHHH

you’re welcome ! 🫶💕

#ಇ. moots

tests coming up so no posts. i really love all you guys. 🫶

@castellandiary @deathanniversary @sixsevenbtw @kurtcokeaine @lenscoat , 🫶🫶

#ಇ. the poet speaks

wc: ~1k

the kitchen smells like heaven—garlic, butter, fresh herbs, and something sweet baking in the oven. you're in your zone, moving between the stove and the counter with practiced precision, focused entirely on the four-course meal you've been planning all week. the kind of meal that would make any michelin-starred chef weep. or at least, that's what satoru keeps saying.

"babe," his voice comes from somewhere behind you, sing-song and playful. "my beautiful, talented, gorgeous spouse."

"satoru, i'm busy," you say without turning around, whisking the beurre blanc sauce with careful, measured strokes. it's at that delicate stage where one wrong move could break the emulsion, and you've worked too hard to let that happen now.

"but you're wearing the apron."

you glance down at the navy blue apron he'd bought you last month—'kiss the cook' embroidered in white thread across the chest, with little hearts scattered around the words. you'd rolled your eyes when he presented it to you with that shit-eating grin of his, but you wear it every time you cook now. it's actually really nice quality. but you want to scoff at the man and continue with your cooking.

"i'm always wearing the apron when i cook," you point out, still whisking. "it's an apron. that's what it's for."

"no, no, no." you can hear the smile in his voice, feel him getting closer. "that's where you're wrong. it has a very specific purpose. it says so right on it."

"satoru—" you start, but then his arms are around your waist, his chin hooking over your shoulder, and his lips are pressing against your cheek. "i'm making a sauce, stop that!”

"and i'm following instructions," he says innocently, pressing another kiss to your jaw. "i'm very good at following instructions. you know this about me."

"you're literally the worst at following instructions," you say, but you can't help the smile tugging at your lips. you carefully move the pan off the heat, just in case. "and i need to focus. this meal has to be perfect."

"it's already perfect. you're making it." another kiss, this time right below your ear. "therefore, perfect. that's just logic."

"that's not how cooking works."

"it is when you're the one cooking." he spins you around gently, and you finally get a good look at him. he's wearing one of his expensive casual outfits—designer joggers and a soft white t-shirt that probably costs more than most people's monthly grocery budget. his hair is its usual perfect mess, and his blue eyes are sparkling with mischief behind his sunglasses, which are pushed up on his head. "you know the chef at that place in ginza? the one with three michelin stars? i told him about your cooking."

"you did? why would you do this to me…”

"i did! and you know what he said?"

"satoru—"

"he said, and i quote, 'gojo-san, you are very lucky.'" he's grinning now, that smile that still makes your heart skip even after years of marriage. "and i said, 'i know. my spouse makes better demi-glace than you, by the way.'"

"you didn't say that to him."

"i absolutely did. he was devastated. i think he cried a little."

you try to look stern, but it's impossible when he's like this. "i need to check on the food."

"kiss first."

"satoru. please.”

"it's literally a rule. it's on the apron. are you saying you want to break the rules?" he gasps dramatically. "you? my law-abiding, rule-following angel?"

"you're annoying," you say, but you're already leaning in, pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

"ah-ah," he says, pulling back. "that was inadequate. the apron requires proper kisses. i don't make the rules."

"you literally bought the apron. you specifically made this rule. goodness, my husband is stupid, too?”

"i’m not even that dumb. but exactly! so i know what i'm talking about." his hands come up to cup your face, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. "now kiss me like you mean it, chef."

“don’t ever say that again that was so corny.”

“okay… but you still love me…”

you do, because how can you not love him? he tastes like the expensive coffee he's been drinking all day and something sweet—he definitely snuck some of the chocolate mousse you made earlier. the kiss is soft and warm and familiar, the kind of kiss that still makes you feel like you're falling even though you've been married for years.

"much better," he murmurs against your lips. "ten out of ten. michelin-starred kiss."

"you're ridiculous." but you're smiling, and so is he.

"yeah, but you married me anyway." he steals another quick kiss before letting you go. "okay, okay. i'll let you work. but i'm staying right here." he presses up against your back, giving you a warm and final hug. and watches you with undisguised adoration and sickly love. he would not tell you any day of the week, but his heart still skips and does somersaults when he sees you again. it makes him feel like a teenager again.

you shake your head and return to your sauce, adding it back to the heat. "you're going to be in the way."

"i'm emotional support. very important role in the kitchen."

"you're going to try to kiss me every five minutes and tackle me with hugs.”

"well, yeah. that's part of the emotional support." he nuzzles into the warmth of your neck. "also, you look really hot when you cook. have i mentioned that? because you do. very hot. extremely hot. the hottest."

"satoru."

"yes, my love?"

"if you distract me and i mess up this meal, you're ordering takeout for a month."

"worth it," he says immediately, and then he's sliding off the counter and wrapping his arms around you again, pressing kisses to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. "totally worth it. besides, you never mess up. you're perfect."

and despite your protests, despite the complicated meal you're trying to prepare, you let him. because this is perfect too—the warmth of the kitchen, the smell of good food, and satoru's arms around you, his lips on your skin, his love as constant and overwhelming as ever.

and maybe, the apron was a good investment after all.

REYNA!! MERRY CRISMUS PRETTY!! i hope you get a bunch of presents dis year and u enjoy celebrating with you family🫶🫶 btw this is @sixsevenbtw

omy thank uu ! merry Christmas too i’m staying up late to wrap presents for my family lol i hope u have a good Christmas too <3

#ಇ. moots

vqmpressa

⊹ ࣪ ˖ a wish for the rain (or more?)

part three of this. going to exes!bestfriend!suguru’s house and confiding in him.

a/n : i was in a rush to do this so. i apologize if it’s sloppy or horrendous. i’m doing this in honor of heated rivalry ep5 🫶.

your hands are still shaking when you knock on suguru's door. the rain hasn't stopped—it's been following you everywhere nowadays ever since you broke up with satoru, like some cruel fate you can't escape. you're soaked through, again, and you're so tired of being wet and cold and heartbroken.

the door opens almost immediately. suguru stands there in grey sweatpants and a loose black shirt, his hair down and falling around his shoulders. his eyes widen when he sees you.

"shoot," he breathes, and pulls you inside without hesitation.

his apartment is warm. that's the first thing you notice. warm and dimly lit, with softly bright lamps casting gentle shadows across the room. it smells like clean laundry, calming and soothing. it's the opposite of the chaos in your chest.

"you're drenched," suguru says softly, already moving toward what you assume is his bedroom. he returns with a towel and one of his hoodies—oversized, black, impressionably large. "here. change in the bathroom. i'll make tea."

you don't argue. you can't. your voice is somewhere at the bottom of your throat, buried under everything you've been holding back.

when you come back, drowning in his hoodie that smells like him, suguru is on the couch with two steaming mugs. he gestures for you to sit, and you do, curling into the corner of his surprisingly soft couch. he hands you the mug—chamomile, you think—and waits.

he's always been good at waiting. patient in ways satoru never was.

"…he kissed someone else," you finally say, and your voice cracks on the words. "in the rain. at his favorite cafe— our favorite cafe. i saw him with the girl. i was drowning in the rain while he had his umbrella over another girl and laughing like they were made for eachother. he ignored my text, suguru. for another girl.” you swallowed hard, the memories coming back to you in one big blurry flash. you can feel the tears start to come out of the corner of your eyes and goodness, you feel even more pathetic for crying and for crying in front of suguru. your exes best friend.

you see suguru’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t speak, just listening attentively.

"and the worst part?" you continue, and now the words are spilling out like the rain outside. "the worst part is that this isn't the first time he's made me feel crazy for having feelings. for wanting basic respect. i kept thinking i was asking for too much, you know? like maybe i was too sensitive, too demanding. but i just—i just wanted him to care. to actually see me."

your voice breaks completely, and suddenly you're crying, and you hate it. you hate that satoru still has this power over you. hate that you're here, falling apart in his best friend's apartment.

suguru sets his mug down and shifts closer. "c'mere," he says quietly, and opens his arms.

you hesitate for only a second before collapsing into him. he's solid and warm, and his arms wrap around you like he's trying to hold all your broken pieces together. one hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your slight damp hair.

"you're not crazy," he murmurs against your temple. "you're not too much. you never were."

"then why wasn't i enough?" you whisper into his chest.

"hey." suguru pulls back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes serious and achingly gentle. "listen to me. this isn't about you not being enough. this is about satoru being too immature and selfish to appreciate what he had. you deserved better than how he treated you. you deserve someone who doesn't make you question your worth."

you want to believe him. gosh, you want to believe him so badly.

"i'm sorry—” you say, wiping the tears out of your eyes with quickness. "i shouldn't have come here. he's your best friend, and i'm just—"

"you're not 'just' anything," suguru interrupts firmly. "and yeah, satoru's my best friend. but that doesn't mean i'm going to defend him when he's wrong. and he was wrong. so fucking wrong."

there's an edge to his voice, something protective and almost angry, and it makes something warm unfold in your chest.

you stay like that for a while, wrapped in suguru's arms while the rain continues its steady rhythm against the windows. he doesn't try to fill the silence with empty platitudes. he just holds you, occasionally running his fingers through your hair, and somehow that's more comforting than any words could be.

at some point, you start talking again. about everything. about how satoru used to make you feel like so much, but somewhere along the way you became an afterthought. about the little dismissals that accumulated into something unbearable. about how you kept hoping he'd change, that he'd wake up and realize what he was losing.

suguru listens to all of it, his thumb tracing circles on your shoulder.

"you're going to be okay," he says eventually. "i know it doesn't feel like it right now, but you will.“

“no, i won’t. i’m too messed up for that.”

"don’t say that," suguru says softly. "i’ll make sure you get better. i promise.”

there's something in his voice—something tender and fierce—that makes you look up at him. his face is closer than you expected, and in the low lamplight, his features are soft. his eyes search yours, and you see something there that makes your breath catch.

"suguru," you whisper, but you don't know what you're asking.

exhaustion hits you suddenly, a wave of bone-deep tiredness that makes your eyelids heavy. venting all your feelings out has left you drained, and suguru's warmth is so comforting, and you feel safer than you have in months.

"you can stay," he says quietly, as if reading your mind. "take the bed. i'll sleep out here."

"no," you mumble, already half-asleep against his chest. "don't wanna move. 'm comfortable."

you feel him tense slightly, then relax. "ah—okay," he breathes. "okay."

he shifts you both so you're lying down on the couch, your body tucked against his, his arm secure around your waist. you should probably feel awkward about this—about falling asleep in your ex's best friend's arms—but you're too tired to care, and it feels too right to question.

"thank you," you whisper into the darkness. "for everything."

"always," suguru murmurs back.

you drift off to the sound of his heartbeat, steady and sure beneath your ear.

suguru stays awake longer, watching you sleep. your face is peaceful now, the tear tracks dried on your cheeks. you look younger like this, vulnerable, and something in his chest twists painfully.

he's been trying to ignore it for months—this feeling that blooms whenever you're around. the way his heart kicks up when you laugh. the way he notices every detail about you that satoru overlooks. the way he wants to gather you up and keep you safe from everything that could hurt you.

including satoru.

especially satoru.

he knows it's wrong. knows the codes of friendship, the unspoken rules. but watching you break down tonight, hearing how carelessly satoru treated something precious—it made something shift in him. made him realize that what he feels isn't just protectiveness or sympathy.

he's falling in love with you.

maybe he's been falling this whole time.

you make a small sound in your sleep, burrowing closer to him, and suguru's heart clenches. carefully, so carefully, he brushes a strand of hair from your face. then, before he can stop himself, he leans down and presses the softest kiss to your forehead.

he knows he shouldn't feel this way. knows tomorrow will bring complications he can't even begin to untangle. but right now, with you safe in his arms, he lets himself have this moment. lets himself imagine a world where he could be the one who makes you smile, who treats you the way you deserve.

his eyes are just starting to drift closed when his phone lights up on the coffee table.

then lights up again.

and again.

the screen is exploding with notifications, all from the same person. suguru's stomach drops as he sees the name.

satoru (47 new messages)

he carefully reaches for the phone, trying not to disturb you, and his blood runs cold as he reads the preview of the latest message:

“i messed up, suguru.” and it’s from satoru. that’s all suguru’s willing to read— he’ll care about it in the morning, when it matters.

suguru's grip tightens on his phone. he looks down at you, sleeping peacefully against him, then back at the screen where messages continue to flood in.

his best friend's name flashing over and over in the darkness.

your soft breathing against his chest.

the kiss he just pressed to your forehead still burning on his lips.

and suguru realizes that everything is about to get infinitely more complicated.

tags . . . @miksde @sixsevenbtw @satorugooner @sorilyae @love-d-luxe @meowpopsicle @roseyysstuff @castellandiary @wcke6 @deathanniversary @sad-darksoul @ellabumblebush !

!!! psst. part 4 on tuesday.

#ಇ. adored #forgot tags

⊹ ࣪ ˖ a wish for the rain (or more?)

part three of this. going to exes!bestfriend!suguru’s house and confiding in him.

a/n : 26/5/6 i believe this is the final part. i’m not sure i’ll make more, but i’ll have to see since life is hectic right now. but thank you all for the support and love! :)