Me Rn

Did I mean for a Barbie reference in the Gojo one shot I am writing no, but it’s staying in there…

Currently writing the reunion scene for Outlaw!Yuki and crying, the sad music I am listening to isn’t helping either.

My first post on tumblr of a fanart of gojo :)

pairing – gojo x oblivious!reader

a/n : short drabble based on this ask :3 , i am always humbling reader in my fics so let's make him grovel here to make it fair :3

7:42 AM.

the little bell above your diner's door chimes, and like clockwork, he's here.

the morning sun slants through the wide glass windows, casting long golden streaks across the checkered floor. the scent of fresh bread lingers in the air, mingling with the faint hum of an old jukebox playing some soft, jazzy tune. satoru gojo steps in like he owns the place—like he owns every space he walks into—moving with that effortless arrogance of a man who’s never been told ‘no’ and actually believed it.

his sunglasses dangle from the collar of his crisp white shirt, his sleeves rolled up just enough to tease at lean forearms, veins faintly visible beneath his skin. there's a playful ruffle in his snowy hair, like he just ran a careless hand through it, and the slight crook of his lips makes it very clear he’s in one of his moods. outside, the world is still waking up, but here, in this tiny corner of the city, satoru gojo is already in full swing.

but the real kicker? the grin. that goddamn grin, lazy and lopsided, as if he already knows he's won a game you didn't even know you were playing. it's the kind of smile that should come with a warning label—dangerous, reckless, prone to making your stomach flip if you’re not careful.

you shoot him a bright smile, already reaching for his usual. “morning, satoru! long night?”

he leans against the counter, the wood creaking under his weight, eyes locked onto yours with the kind of intensity that should set something on fire. “awful. i spent hours thinking about something. couldn't sleep a wink.”

your brows furrow slightly, fingers wrapping around a tall glass as you place his usual drink in front of him. “oh no! work stuff?”

he takes a slow sip of his chocolate malt milkshake—extra whipped cream, just the way he likes it—his lips curving around the straw in an infuriatingly slow manner. his gaze never wavers. “you stuff, actually.”

you gasp, absolutely touched. “satoru! that's so sweet! i had no idea you liked my cooking that much.”

his fingers tighten ever so slightly around the cold glass. a lesser man would fold right then and there, but satoru gojo? delusional.

he chuckles, low and smooth, tilting his head as his voice drops to that slow, deliberate drawl. “i do like your food, but i was thinking more about the woman behind the counter. the one with the cute apron and the even cuter smile.”

your eyes light up, and for a second—just one, fleeting second—his heart leaps. this is it. she finally—

“oh my god, you mean—mika?! yeah, she’s great! she only works the afternoon shift, though. i can give you her number if you want?”

satoru's soul ascends. and it's not in the good way.

“no,” he says, voice tight, and it takes everything in him not to cry-laugh into his milkshake. “i meant you, sweetheart.”

your lips part slightly, like the thought has never even occurred to you. "me?"

“you,” he repeats, a little more desperate now, like a man clinging to a lifeline in stormy waters. “c’mon, don’t tell me you’ve never noticed how much i like you.”

you blink once. then twice. then— “aw, satoru!” you beam, placing a warm hand over his much larger one, your fingers barely covering the span of his knuckles. “i like you too!”

his breath hitches.

“you're such a great friend!”

the moment stretches, hangs in the air like a thread about to snap. satoru doesn’t blink. doesn’t breathe. somewhere in the distance, a car honks, a cup clatters, life moves on.

but then you squeeze his hand—soft, warm, devastatingly innocent—and flash him a smile so radiant he nearly forgets the last ten seconds ever happened.

“here! on the house today,” you say, sliding a small plate of fluffy cream puffs toward him. the golden shells glisten under the morning light, filled to the brim with silky vanilla custard and dusted with a light sprinkle of powdered sugar. “something sweet for someone just as sweet!”

…he’s never been more in love in his entire life.

Did ya'll know that there is Geto themed lofi on YouTube? I feel the serotonin and motivation coming back to me rn

Hi there,

I’m holding on to hope, one day at a time—and today, I’m asking for your support. My family is living through a reality no one should have to face, and I’m doing my best to keep our voices heard.

📌 Please take a second to check out my pinned post.

🔄 Sharing it can help it reach someone who might be able to help.

🤍 If you’re able to give even a little, your generosity could ease a heavy burden.

Your support, your time, your care—it all matters more than you know.

With love and deep appreciation,

@jehadkhaled

…

Send this to ten other blogs who deserve all the love in the world 💕💕

Awwww thank you!!! Right back to you 🫶

After Saint I think I am going to do a tarot themed series, I don’t have everything worked out yet but it sounds fun

Your first husband died peacefully in his sleep. You had nothing to do with it.

You did want his money but that was another matter!

He was on the verge of death anyway so getting into his pants (and pockets) was extremely easy. You made out like a bandit with most of his fortune. It set you up for life, you were thankfully done with old men and their money.

That was until you saw the detective that sauntered into your house. He was tall, toned and tan. Your mouth practically watered as he talked to you in a sweet tone, like you were truly in mourning for your husband.

“Suguru Geto.” He had introduced himself with a firm handshake.

You had practically melted into the floor.

Apparently your dead husband was in an embezzlement lawsuit before he passed so he came to investigate the house for evidence. You didn’t really care but you played the part of grieving widow all while subtly flirting with him.

He didn’t seem to notice or he didn’t say anything. As he goes through the files you try to think of a way to get him to stay longer. Nothing comes to mind and he leaves you with a small pout on your lips.

Opening up your phone you click on the sugar baby app you frequented before getting married. What’s one more dead old man if you get to see that detective again?

ATTENTION

If you see this you are OBLIGATED to reblog w/ the song currently stuck in your head :)