To Pretend: To Make As If; To Put On An Act.

Dragon fruit Plushie

“what’s it like?”

oikawa turns to you at the sound of your question, “what’s what like?”

“what’s it like being in love?”

the boy quirks a brow, “what do you mean?”

“i mean,” you pause, shuffling from your place on the couch to face him. “what’s it like to give your all to a person? to have someone that loves you with all their being? what’s it like to have a bond and a connection that seems as if it would never break? or to have a person who’s poured their heart and soul into you? who would do anything to see you happy and make you feel loved?” you pause, meeting the boy’s gaze realizing you’ve been basically asking him the same question for the past three minutes. “i mean if you know about it, i know you’ve had your fair share of relationships.”

he bit back a chuckle at how small your voice became, “that’s a tough question for me to answer.”

“but you’re more experienced than i am with it,” you reason.

“why because i’ve been in more relationships?” 

”no because of the fangirls.”

and he laughs, “that’s adoration,” he notes. “adoration and love, while easily confused, are two different things.”

”alright then,” you wave off. “then tell me,” his gaze softens as he shuffles to face you. “what’s love like?”

“it’s,” he pauses, “it’s a feeling that you can’t really find anywhere else.”

“what do you mean?”

there’s a hint of curiosity in your voice, something that makes oikawa smile. contrary to you, his long time best friend, oikawa’s been in his fair share of relationships. some were long, others short flings, some serious ones, and then others that left just as fast as they came. he had watched you for years pine over other people wishing like the hopeless romantic that you are that you’d finally get your chance in love. he pauses for a moment before looking back at you. “do you know that moment where you have a puzzle and there’s only one piece missing?”

“okay,” you nod.

“and it turns out the puzzle piece fell on the floor, so you pick it up and then complete the puzzle.”

your brows knit in confusion, “that’s an odd scenario to compare love to.”

Keep reading

BAM: Empty Beds

in which king gojo satoru returns from a diplomatic mission to find his bed empty, and has qualms with it

gojo satoru x fem!reader

word count: 3k genre: kinda hurt/comfort but mostly fluff, royal au, childhood friends to lovers type: one-shot reader: fem (she/her pronouns, fem terms, fem clothing including dresses) warnings: gojo picks up the reader, the end is a little bit intense emotionally but not super bad the reader just has intimacy issues and gojo confronts her abt it

usurper!gojo tag || masterlist

“embrace me,” he orders, muffled against your throat. it’s sullen, demanding, and you make no move to comply.

your husband whines wordlessly at you—it’s that noise which calms the tumultuous unease within you, an assurance that whatever mood he’d been in is quickly passing (or that your touch is so important he’ll cast aside any other thoughts in favor of pleading with you). he kisses up your throat, along your jaw, only to nose against your cheek like some affectionate cat. when he speaks it’s a beg; beseeching. “embrace me, wife.”

“talk to me, husband,” you retort. “your sulking is bad for my health. i was terrified.”

against your skin, his lips quirk into a teasing smile. “you’re adorable when you’re terrified.”

Someone has slipped into your room.

You’re asleep. You have been for hours, yet Satoru’s borderline paranoid insistence on you learning to defend yourself even while resting have led to a far less deep manner of slumber, and so you’re roused by the simple sound of the door opening and are made aware of this unwelcome visitor the moment they enter.

It’s all you can do to keep still, even out your breath. Your mind conjures thoughts of your guards slaughtered just beyond your door, your maids and your ladies-in-waiting massacred in your vast array of rooms meant to be a sanctuary, your king returning home from his diplomatic trip east to find your own body not even in your shared bed but in the lonely one occupying the queen’s bedchamber, yours in name but so rarely used.

You hear the figure’s footsteps approach you; they sound large, imposing, though you dare not open your eyes until the ornate dagger beneath your pillow is in hand and the possible assassin close enough that it can do you any good.

Your fingers find the heavy hilt, wrap around it securely just as the mattress beneath you dips with the weight of the trespasser. The motions are ingrained in your body from weeks of practice with your husband; you lash out, knife against the intruder’s throat before they can realize you’re not asleep, aiming to slash at the throat—but then you pause, thankful that you’d opened your eyes to see the face of your attacker before you spilled their blood.

“Satoru?”

Keep reading

Tell the moths in my tummy to relocate, please

Synopsis: In which 40° weather grants you insight into Satoru’s powers Word Count: 2.0k

Story Content: Female reader, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Seemingly unrequited pining, Idiots in love but they don’t even know it yet, Slow-burn (doesn’t get anywhere), Crackfic, We learn the many ways in which Satoru can use his technique, Reader POV!

A/N: this is a celcius only household (kidding. but not really.) This has been in my drafts for a reaaaally long time im just glad its out honestly

GOJO SATORU is a frigid blast of cold air during a warm summer day. 

It’s surprising, considering his typical characterisation. People, yourself included, likened him to the sun. Bright and blinding. That’s how the pillar of the Jujutsu world should be, they’d say. He’s the epitome of sorcery. The honored one, they’d praise. 

Just to be clear, you thought of him as the sun for entirely different reasons. Reasons that you weren’t about to go into too detail about. But just as a tiny, small little hint: It had to do with his body temperature. And you were currently being quickly betrayed by what you once thought was fact.

“Am I a portable air-con?”

“Yeah,” you spit at him. Half in betrayal and half in fascination, you huff, gripping his elbows to keep him still as you tuck your body against him, forcing his technique over you with your own. 

The chill settles into your bones and makes you sigh sweetly. It almost makes you forget about how the sun was shining a little too brightly into your eyes. 

In the back of your mind, you can’t help but envy him and his thousand dollar shades. Did he bring a spare? Could you have them? 

Keep reading

part two: to pretend: to make as if; to put on an act.

@xiaosprettygf for you my darl

It had been two years.

Two years since the wedding, two years since you’d seen either Rina or Megumi. Two years since your heart shattered, and the box you put your shattered heart in had shattered, and the pieces all run through a Shattering Machine of the very best kind. Today, while you shuffled to your mailbox in your outdoor slippers, sipping on a travel mug of chamomile tea (although you weren’t planning on going anywhere), the rain pattered softly on the glass window panes. You felt happy. Happy is an interesting word. It was a mood, temporary, yes, but lately that happiness had crept up on your life and insisted on moving in. You had just started med school, not usually known for inspiring happiness, but you felt productive, proud of where you’d gotten yourself. You made a new friend, a peppy, excited girl named Aika. Her favorite color was yellow, and recently, after moving in with you, your apartment had brightened considerably. Music was always filling the then-depressing silence, a cream yellow speaker in the shape of a sleeping cat mumbling out soft cello or bursting with the latest pop. You went to get the mail for the both of you, reaching into the mailbox and pulling out the usual assortment of junk mail and advertisements. And a pastel green envelope, with perfectly printed handwriting that you knew oh so well. Your eyes prickle immediately, and you blink them away. You were strong. You were independent. Yet you knew who had written that envelope. You remembered the way Rina dotted her i’s and crossed her t’s and f’s. Running your finger over the slightly indented print, you breathed in deeply and tried to think of what to do. Returning to your apartment, you tucked the envelope into the junk drawer and tried to forget. This particular sunday afternoon, you had no plans. Putting on another one of Aika’s new pop playlists, you put on a bright yellow apron and started to make red velvet cupcakes, your’s and Aika’s favorite, in an attempt to distract yourself. When the cupcakes were in the oven, you sat down on the couch. Then, getting up, you went to the drawer, then before touching the handle, turned back to sit down, and a couple steps away from the couch, turned back again. 

“You’re pathetic,” came an amused voice from the doorway. Aika was standing there, in all her bucked hatted glory, eyebrows raised. “I’ve been here for two minutes watching you cosplay a tug-of-war rope.” She went to the drawer and pulled out the envelope, her eyes twinkling. Then she read the return address and frowned. “Oh.” Then, after a pause. “You want me to read it for you?” You nodded, and watched as she carefully slid a nail under the flap of the envelope. Her eyebrows knit, her face scrunching together more and more as her eyes moved down the letter. “Oh.” She said again, “Oh.”

“What is it Aika?”

“We, Megumi and Rina Fushiguro, humbly invite you, Y/N, to our baby shower!” Aika began monotonously, “this Saturday at 4, at our home. Please RSVP and you will receive the address in an email! Dinner and drinks provided, presents appreciated. We hope to see you there!” 

She looked up at you, gauging your reaction. Remember that shattering machine? It had come back, and it had just crushed those seemingly-unable-to-be-crushed-further pieces of your heart double time into microscopic dust. 

“Y/N/N,” Aika started, but you cut her off. 

“Don’t worry about me, I’m ok. It’s been years, I’m over it already,” you took a deep breath. “Really,” you added, seeing Aika’s unimpressed look. “I’ll get packing.”

If only you weren’t pretending. 

Oscar Wilde, De Profundis // @i-wrotethisforme // Jorge Louis Berges // @smokeinsilence //@viridianmasquerade //Jorge Louis Berges // @honeytuesday // Kaveh Akbar // F. Scott Fitzgerald // AKR //Olivie Blake, from “Alone With You in the Ether” // Kaveh Akbar, Pilgrimage

ೀ*: ･ﾟrandom suna texts!

his playlist to you♡

just finished my rant about never writing on tumblr again and how it destroys my sleep and wastes my time yet here i am finishing by megumi imagine after one (1) person complimented my other post