Happy Birthday From The Monkey Who Loves You Very Much ✨️

𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐖𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐂

—a/n: if you are seeing this, i hope you read this. this is the most beautiful thing i have written in a while and i want you to witness it. please share your thoughts <3

The candle's orange scent filled the room this lovely evening and Satoru's fingers mindlessly brushed against your feet on his lap. He was holding one of his old poetry book in the other, glass frame hanging low, a little nudge and you were sure it will fall.

"and I wish to be the nothing, but a mosaic of the parts of you, you think to be flawed. Gojo Satoru, 2017," he read.

"That was...my god. Beautiful," you gazed in his eyes, still lost in his words. "You are a better writer than me."

"What? You feelin' competitive now?" He borrowed your hand. "Threatened that I might steal your spotlight, darling?" He kissed your knuckles, an act of love he often portrayed.

"Not at all. In fact, I am happy" you sit up, but feet still on his lap.

"Mhm? Why so if I may ask?"

"Because the better you write about me, the more loved I am. To be included in your poetry is an honor, honey." You ruffled his hair glinting orange in the warm lamplight.

"Silly you. You're not just an inclusion in my poetry. You are the poetry. You are every word, every sentence, every page and my every thought." His cold hands pulled you closer by your cheeks. "I am the honored one to not only ever witness you but have you as mine. I must write about you so even if I die, my love for you will be eternal." He planted a peck on your forehead before kissing your lips.

It's been 20 years and he is not here anymore. The room is not warm anymore, it's cold blue. But there is drawer full of things he wrote, just about you. Just you. You hold the handle to open and it's warmer than the room. Almost like someone's been holding it. You touch the other handles to check but they're all stone cold. You open it to find not just poetries but a mosaic of him with every picture you thought was your ugliest. You tear up. He was right. His love really is eternal.

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Happy birthday Alhaitam. ✨️

This drawing is inspired by a work by @zhongrin , and I am publishing it taking advantage of the fact that it is his birthday.

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I love being a teacher but I’m on mystery illness number 27 and I can’t taste, smell, hear out of one ear, and I’m genuinely struggling to breathe 😭 I’ve used my inhaler multiple times today and my lungs are still TIGHT.

It literally feels like I’m drowning 😀

Love and Deepspace + Texting BF "I want a baby" meme

Neuville seems like the guy to pass out at the sight of ankles😂but he’s a true gentlemen

࣪𖤐 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀'𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 : HOIHIHD O NDFKJDN FKJGBREOIGHROIG HROEIN I he !! screaming the idea of this!!

"That's a new piece."

The comment is so nonchalant that you barely glance up from the tray where you're making two cups of tea. Neuvillette is seated behind his desk, idly thumbing through another case file, the early morning sun streaming through one of the glass windows, painting him in a soft golden hue.

You tilt your head at him. "Hm?"

"The dress you're wearing," he continues, finally tearing his eyes away from the paper he was reading to fix you with a steady gaze, though it's easy to note that he doesn't look much further than your shoulders. "It's new..." he trails off, clearing his throat. "And it's... short..."

His words slowly trickle into your mind before a grin curls at the corners of your lips, one you quickly hide as you finish up his cup of tea, sauntering over before setting it on his desk. His eyes hone in on the fragile ceramic cup.

"Do you like it?" you ask quietly, perching yourself on the edge of his desk where there was some open space. The hem of the dress rides up a little, stopping mid thigh — and of course you're not wearing anything underneath it. Nothing besides a pair of flimsy little lace panties. The more you shift the redder his face becomes until you're sure he's a pyro wielder.

"Yes, yes, the fabric is quite nice," he rumbles over the rim of his teacup, looking anywhere but your bare legs. This game was always fun, teasing him, testing his self control, watching in amusement as you broke down the stoic leader everyone else saw. "The detailing compliments your skin, though I -"

"Do you wanna see what's underneath?"

Neuvillette looks positively paler than a ghost, blinking once, twice, a shaky hand lowering the teacup from his mouth. While his expression might have remained neutral his eyes gave him away, just like they always did. They're cloudy, a storm brewing behind his irises. He gives you a look of warning, one that told you that you were threading a very thin line and his patience was running low. But one that also held yearning and a strong sense of want — he needs you, he oh so desperately wants you.

Neuvillette pushes back his chair and rises to his full height, reminding you how small you truly were in comparison to his height before the corner of his mouth twitches. He enjoys this back and forth between you two, but he enjoyed putting you back in your place even more.

"Bend over my desk," his voice rumbles from somewhere deep in his chest, heady, his words smoky. "I won't be asking you twice."

You and Sukuna wake up together

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I finally finished it

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Look here, ajax

The Wristwatch

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You had not known you were Nanami Kento's girl, until the Wristwatch Incident.

In truth, your affection had been brewing so slowly, you had not known if you were imagining it.

You had not realised you were in love with Kento, until he leaned in close, and you smelled the smoky, wood-rich warmth of him. Until you found yourself nursing stomach-dropping disappointment, if your phone pinged and it wasn't him. Until you woke up in cold sweats, the memory of the dream of his skin on yours so vivid that your heartbeat throbbed between your legs.

You couldn't accept it. It couldn't be love, when he did not love you back. And yet...that intoxicating dance continued, while your head dipped in denial...blinkered.

The extra coffee that would be gently slid over the desk to you, by a strong, gentle hand. The late night phonecalls, decompressing from the stress of your missions. The occasional dinner in each others' company, because, well...we both need to eat? Why not eat together?

You were afraid to label it; afraid to lose the soft skirting intimacy that you had. Nanami Kento was a hard man to gauge; alternately sincere and distant, warm and cool, closely familiar and objectively analytical. He kept you at arms' length; close enough to brush fingertips, but far enough that you could run...if you wanted. And you never did.

You had gone shopping, together, one balmy spring afternoon. You both needed new clothes...so why not together? It makes sense, really. Nothing else in it, I'm sure. Just friends. He doesn't feel that way about me, anyway.

He had insisted upon Ginza Shopping Mall. You balked at the exquisitely-expensive-upmarketness of it, but you could never deny him, for fear of losing this time together. You had perused for new earrings, your belly clenching at the many zeroes on every pricetag. He had ambled over to another counter, just browsing, and there for quite some time.

"See anything you like?" That deep-roast voice broke you out of your reverie. You looked up, into twinkling hazel eyes, and blushed. Yes, you. One of you, Kento, please and thank you.

"No," you scoffed, turning your back on the jewellery, and walking towards the shop door, "too cheap for me. I couldn't possibly be seen wearing them."

Kento laughed, slipping a box into his pocket, and walking just close enough to send your brain into a spiral. You barely functioned through lunch. Kento remained, as ever, a gentleman.

As he drove you to your door, and you bid him a flustered goodnight, you felt that same big, warm hand on your arm, holding you back to him.

"Wait," Kento insisted, "I have...something. For you. Open it when you're home." He pressed a smooth, embossed box into your hands. You could not see what it was, under the glossy paper sleeve. You opened your mouth to chastise Kento, and he interrupted smoothly.

"It's your birthday soon. Consider it an early gift. You couldn't possibly refuse...?" One raised, fine eyebrow. That cool, impassive gaze. You pouted. Sneaky old goat.

"Alright. You win this time, Kento...but I'll get you back," you had promised. He had simply smiled indulgently, stepped out to open your door, and watched you until you were inside.

With trembling hands, you slid the smooth paper cover off the box, and your stomach somersaulted.

Tag Heuer.

"No...Kento-- you didn't," you hushed to yourself, rushing to open the box.

You fumbled an exquisite silver, blue-faced women's watch out of the box. It seemed, somehow, familiar. You couldn't possibly. You knew the pricetag on these. Even the packaging was too expensive for you.

With one hand over your mouth and a pounding little heart, you sent Kento a text with shaky hands;

Nanami Kento. Absolutely not. Take it back.

A few anxious minutes, pacing, looking at the watch resting on the table and gasping each time. Three small dot dot dots...dot dot dots...and a response.

Sorry. Lost the receipt. It will look good on you.

Squeaking and grinning to yourself, you tried the watch on. You took it off. You paced. You tried it on again. You fell back onto your bed, legs kicking, and hands over your face.

Every further refusal you send to Kento, was flatly ignored. He left you on read all night.

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The next day, at work, you couldn't help but notice the looks you were receiving. They weren't bad looks, certainly, more...surprise? Happy acceptance? Knowing smiles? Each person the same; glancing to your watch, eyebrows raising, and searching your face with a grin. You didn't understand it.

Over lunch, Shoko reached over to you, a coffee in her other hand, and tapped the new watch on your wrist.

"Couples' watches now, hmm?" She smirked. You frowned, questioning. Shoko scoffed at you, as if you were playing coy, when you didn't even know the rules of the game. Shoko's smile didn't falter once.

You confronted Kento later that afternoon, dragging him into a dusty narrow corridor, and holding the watch up to him with fighting eyes.

Kento's heart burst with pride, biting his lip with a sly smile, and taking your wristwatched hand in his own. He tipped your arm back and forth, admiring the watch on your wrist from all angles, with a lovesick sigh. You suddenly recalled, with flushed cheeks, where you had seen such a similar wristwatch before.

Kento watched your mental gymnastics with a slowly growing smile. You almost caught on fire as he raised your hand to his lips, pressing an adoring kiss to the back of your knuckles.

"Wondered how long you'd take to notice," Kento rumbled, eyed closed and nuzzling his nose against your fingers, "that you're my girl. And always have been."