🥹🥹🥹🥹 nothing better than being on your period and having to work and it feels like everyone is against you?
Customers hate me for sweeping the floor for some reason?
My dumbass coworker stank up the bathroom and I gotta pee and I'm like fuckkkk no
😭😭😭🥹🥹🥹 wish I was home snuggling Kento
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Very much in an ‘always a bridesmaid never a bride’ mood right now 😕
Two of my best friends are getting married within the next year or two, and I’m pretty sure my friend in South Africa is planning on asking me to be a bridesmaid in her wedding as well
And I’m so happy for them, like I love them all so so much, but it gets really hard. I get so caught up in wedding planning with them, I help them pick out ideas and flowers and dresses and it’s so much fun, but then it crashes down on me that I’m nowhere close
I even get so wrapped up I look at dresses for me and rings and pick out wedding colors, and then I just bum hard and become numb. And then it gets really hard to feel hyped while continuing to wedding plan
It’s so hard to be so upset for myself while being so happy for my friends
Just feeling bummed right now, I’ll get over it, I’ll be so happy for them the whole time, I’m just having a hard time right now
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☆༉ — SATORU GOJO. pretty brown eyes.
about. gojo might be the one with the six eyes, but there’s nothing special about those. your brown eyes are real weapon, here.
warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! sfw, fluff, hurt comfort. slight hints to insomnia, idk how infinity works sorry, reader has brown eyes, afab!reader.
“you could kill me if you wanted to.”
it’s the dead of night when he whispers your name. though low in volume, his tongue curls around each syllable loud enough for you to hear him. “
“‘toru, what are you on about—” digging the heal of your palm into your eyes, you dislodge the crust from your lash line and groan. the red lines on your digital clock read sometime between three and four am— but the digits blur as your mind swims with sleep.
“your eyes. they’re so perfect.” a loving grin etches itself onto his face when you crack one open to look at him, masking over the exhaustion seeping from his pores and the anxiety that spikes in the sapphire pools of his own eyes. “you should be able to get away with anything because of them.”
“baby,” you reiterate and roll over to face him fully. gojo gets like this when he’s overworked and worried, when there’s something big on his mind you’re not quite sure you’d understand. you move to jab a thumb into his forehead, right between his brows to alleviate the ache in his skull but you don’t let your disappointment show when rough skin meets the dull buzz of his infinity.
you forget that his six eyes flow in the dark — that his blue eyes are not as blue as they seem. “you’re talking nonsense, it’s late. get some sleep.”
“my eyes. they could kill me if i worked too hard.”
satoru’s eyes are a lot stormier than most would expect, they can be dark and cold. like an angry ocean tired of tournament. they can be bright, full of hope and loving — you notice that change whenever he’s with your students. they hide behind the frame of his ability, the one that hardly ever turns off despite how it really could kill him.
his mind is always running, his body almost always on empty.
in the moonlight, you see a faint sliver of silver between the flecks of diamond and stormy skies.
he swipes a gentle thumb just over cheek yours to catch a fallen lash. “but yours,” gojo continues, voice thoughtful and low. tired above all else. “those pretty brown eyes…baby, they’re dangerous in a different way. beautiful in another that makes me feel safe. puts my mind at ease or somethin’. one look ‘nd I’d be doing anything for you,”
there the two of you are, face to face in the dark — cheeks pressed to pillows and heads under the covers as if you’re children shielding yourself from the world. creating the safe space to let satoru confess.
“if those pretty brown eyes were the last thing i got to see before i died. then i think i’d be okay.”
“don’t say that.” your face crumples and his infinity falls away as if gojo had been anticipating your touch, the buzz just shocking through your skin as you wrap your arms around his larger frame, pull his head down to your heart beating in your chest. “you’re not allowed to die, satoru. not yet.”
“i know.” for once he’s grateful he can’t see your eyes — he hates the way they shine when you cry.
“i need you.”
“i know.” he’s quiet. “i need you too.”
“then rest, you don’t have to keep watch.” gojo feels the shake in your lungs as you speak. you worry too much about him. but with your hand cascading through his soft locks, and the other squeezing him close he’s finding it hard to resist.
usually when he lays next to you, he’s stiff as a board, always anticipating whatever danger might come next. but the biggest threat to him of all is you, and those big brown bambi eyes of yours — the way they’re wet with love, shiny with tears because you adore satoru gojo. you care about him way too much for your own good.
those eyes of yours are convincingly treacherous , he can’t help but let his body sag and let go of his cursed technique while you rub his back and soothe him.
“you’re dangerous, yanno,” satoru grunts, lips dragging along your skin with every word. “especially when you look at me like that, with those puppy dog eyes…can’t say no to you.”
but you smile as he drifts off, his tall frame heavy against you — your lashes blinking soft against his forehead as you curl around him protectively. “i’d rather use them to get you to rest, rather than kill you. ‘toru.”
your words are wasted on deaf ears — his deep snore indicating that gojo is finally asleep, doing himself a favour and locking his pretty blue eyes away.
꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.
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TW: ED
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I’m just…exhausted. I really can’t do this.
I’m tired of being reminded that I’m not skinny.
I’m tired of being the butt of everyone’s joke about being fat.
I’m tired of trying to eat and being told how I shouldn’t because of how fat I am.
I’m tired of the stupid “it was just a joke”.
Cause it’s not. It hurts. But no. I have to smile and nod back or they just make it about how sensitive I am or pull some shit so I’M supposed to feel bad for them.
They don’t care.
They won’t even care if I stop eating. Cause then I’ll be perfect for them. But maybe not, because I’ll have to keep getting skinnier and skinnier until I’m nothing.
Maybe when I’m nothing, that’s when they’ll care.
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