reya:3

can there be yuri between a himejoshi and a fujoshi?

cw: fem!hiori x fem!reader , shit from the ass poop from the butt , fanficwriter!hiori , fanficreader!reader , p3, hq, pjsk mention?! , fluff and crack , 1k wc

“hiori? what are you doing, always typing on your laptop like that…” you groan from your bed. 

your eyes fixate on the blue haired girl in front of you, sitting against the wall on your carpet with her laptop in her lap. 

the two of you had been friends for a while now, but everywhere you went, she was always either on her phone or on her computer, typing away on a google doc she wouldn’t let anyone see.

hiori, fingers still flying away, looks up to you with her blue eyes, and smiles. “nothing for ya to worry about.”

that didn’t make you less worried at all. 

you sigh, melting into your pillow and leaving her be. it wasn’t unlike her for her to be attached to her screen—but you just wished she would pay you a little bit more attention. you wished to be the one in her lap, and you know you would give out just the same if not more warmth compared to her evil computer, decorated with those stickers of various video game franchises she adores. 

and maybe you’ll twirl that strand of hair around your finger, curling it into a little heart shape. and maybe she’ll let you breathe the same air as she did, so close to each other just to count each little eyelash she had on the bottom of her eye. 

you groan internally, catching yourself deluding about your best friend again. but she’s just so cute, and you share so many of the same interests together, and you love her soft spoken personality and that side of hers that turns sadistic in a snap of fingers (or bones). there’s so many things to love about hiori yo. those nights where you both confessed your deepest darkest secrets to each other, nights where the two of you sat and dreamed about the same scenarios. there wasn’t anybody closer to her than you, and you knew that.

so… it really didn’t seem to make sense how she’s in your literal room, sprawled out on the carpet with her stupid computer, typing away. 

“seriously, hiori.. what are you always typing for?”

she flicks her eyes towards you, eyes narrowing. “do ya really want to know..?”

you nod. she sighs, finally stopping the click of her keyboard.

“come here, then.” you excitedly kick off the blanket and pad your way towards her, squatting down and leaning in front of her computer. you’re hit with a wall of text that’s incomprehensible with just a glance. you narrow your eyes and begin trying to read it, only to find…

you gasp. “holy shit, you too?”

hiori looks at you with a puzzled expression. “what do you mean you too—oh. oh my gosh.”

the two of you stare each other down, mouth agape. 

“there’s no way,” she mutters, eyes still wide like saucers. 

“there’s no way,” you repeat after her. 

“i—” hiori starts, but finds herself unable to find the words. you can see your own flushed face staring at her through her eyes. 

“fanfic? y-you do that?” she mutters. you nod vigorously, and hiori still couldn’t find herself to process those words.

“you write?” you exhale. “that’s—that’s so cool, hiori…all i ever do is read…”

you read more and more lines of text, something in your brain clicking. “aren’t these those two girls from your video game that you couldn’t stop talking about?”

hiori squeals. “yukari and mitsuru!!! persona 3!!! i’m so happy ya remembered!”

heat creeps up your neck. that crush you had on her really had you hanging on every word that came out of her mouth. “uh… you–you just talk about them a lot! and they’re also on your wallpaper…”

“y/n, what about you?”

“huh?”

“what do you read about?”

if you weren’t visibly red already, you were now. “umm.. ehh…”

she laughs at your hesitation. “it’s okay if you don’t want to tell me.. i’m just curious to see what you like. who is it? is it from the volleyball manga you like? or maybe that one rhythm game you play sometimes?” she leans in closer, fully engrossed in the conversation.

you laugh, surprised at how well she got you. “yeah… but, um… it’s between guys.” 

hiori blinks. “it's more popular anyway, what are ya’ashamed of?” 

“um…”

she smiles, “nevermind that! have ya’ever wanted to start writing? it’s so fun, i promise—”

“no… i don’t think i could ever do that…” you mutter, a red flush on your cheeks. it’s not like you never thought about it, and you did have some drafts on your notes app that would never see the light of day, but…

“it’s really easy! and if anybody talks shit about ya, i can doxx them—”

“let’s not go that far…”

she grins again, really looking at you with this new excited craze in her eyes. you gulp, heart beating erratically. that look in her eyes… you wouldn’t mind being looked at like that forever more.

“ya know, i always had a feeling ya had some sort of liking towards this kind of things.. like a little tingle in the back of my brain,” hiori recounts. 

“really..?”

“maybe that’s why i was so attracted to ya!” 

“attracted???” 

she beams at you again, “drawn, attached, pulled closer. whatever ya wanna call it. i knew it—”

you blush deeply as she goes on about how she always knew or something, your mind still stuck on the fact that she used the word “attracted.” she said the sentence “i was so attracted to ya.” is this? is your daydream crush really coming true..? 

looking at her again, that had to be a rosy blush on her cheek as she talks about how “attracted” she is towards you. could it really be?

but you expel the thought from your mind, knowing that this wouldn’t really go anywhere. you glance at her, and she glances back at you, eyes shimmering like her otp just interacted in canon and said some yuri-ful lines. 

well… maybe this time you’d like to believe.

a/n: thank u for reading... and yes hiori chan has a crush on you too it's reciprocated it's always been she's just too shy to say it. when she said "tingling in the back of my brain" yeah it meant she's totally in love. source: me i'm the author

this may be the most self insert self insert fic i've written ever and 3 people will care about this bye

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satoru dreams about you.

you're ahead of him; he makes no effort to catch up. you look so beautiful, a painting, soft brushstrokes and warm colours like you're spilling outwards, flowing, like something out of reach. your steps are long up the grassy slope and ever-lengthening and all of a sudden he's terrified that everything you've ever wanted is ahead of you. 

“wait,” he means to say, but what escapes instead is, “i'm sorry” — the words falling out of his mouth as he opens it; they've been lingering on his tongue so long the taste has turned bitter, then sweet, then nothing at all: washed away, an empty weight.

you look back at him and laugh, confused. “for what?”

“for — nothing.” why did he say that? it's summer and the crickets are stirring the heat of the afternoon air and the browned grass crackles under each step, and the thinly streaked clouds race towards the horizon, and inexplicably he's overcome with the urge to flee with them. the sky is so blue he's scared it'll crack if he stares up into it for too long.

why? why didn't it go like this?

you smile at him. you kiss him. you talk for hours. you dance in a golden kitchen, freshly baked bread cooling on the counter, potted plants on the windowsill turned towards the sun. the water is warm and your touch is warmer, soapy hands in his hair; he melts. a market, a beach in winter, the cinemas. and then there's a child; yours, his, ours. smiling with your smile, tilting their head the way you do, holding out their hands for him as they cry. papa. and his heart aches with how full he feels — how complete — as if someone has handed him the piece of his soul he was missing, except that piece has always been you.

in the afternoon, while the baby sleeps, he's curled up on the couch and you lie atop his chest, tracing his features, kissing the corner of his jaw, his neck, his cheek, his nose. the tv plays some show he doesn't care for. the tap in the bathroom down the hallway drips, once every few minutes, too scattered to motivate either of you to get up. the fridge is stocked with fruits you like to eat and your baby likes to smear across his face. there’s rice on the stove; a simple meal for a simple love. the fan blows light strands of hair across your face. he wants you closer, even closer — he is hot with the peak of summer but he's not warm enough — he wants you to squash the air out of his lungs, he wants you to nestle in the space between them, he wants you to be his heart — there is nothing, nothing, nothing except you.

he says, “i love you. i love you. i love you.”

he says, “i wish we could stay like this forever.”

and that's where the dream cracks in two. and he's caught up in its breaking apart — he feels it all over again, he's never stopped feeling it, it's all he is — a wilting flower, a dying star, something folding in on itself but never quite managing to snuff itself out, something that should not happen, out of place, sickening, wretched. he wakes up right where he was before, in his cold room with the cold sheets thrashed tight around his clammy skin and the cold moon slicing razor-sharp stripes onto the cold carpet that his second, useless, empty pillow has fallen onto, and the other side of the bed is cold, and his blood runs cold, and his eyes are hot and by god, his chest aches so fiercely he cannot drag air into his lungs and he doesn’t know if he even wants to — his mind cannot handle the weight of the untruth, those words that would never be true, surely, for the way you have left him:

(i love you; i wish we could stay like this forever:)

me too, your voice whispers, but it’s not yours. 

this is how it should have gone. this is what makes sense.

he heaves in a gasp he can hear, air caught in the tightness of his throat, chest not quite expanding — the heart is missing, the heart is missing, missing — the pillow is out of reach; he cannot curl around it and pretend it still holds your scent — pretend it will fit against the sweep of his body the way you did, fill in the negative space, fill him, slot against him, meld your lines together, like a puzzle piece, like things falling back into place.

he doesn’t want a substitute. he wants you. needs you. his hand fumbles for his phone.

can't we make it work? please 

he waits. chokes, engulfed. the blue light burns his eyes. but it’s okay, yes, it’s okay. you will press butterfly kisses to his eyelids. you will brush away his tears with your thumb. you will smile at him and say his name in your soft voice, and you will hold him softly, kiss him softly, love him softly, because he has spent so much time being strong he has become brittle, and fragile, and he is not the strongest with you, he is satoru. just satoru.

he is not strong enough. the two messages are etched into the screen; the ticks are dull and lifeless. his gaze tracks upwards. reluctantly. drawn to it like a moth to a flame. beautiful destruction, a blazing last dance, an inferno. your last message.

you always do this. you never change.

he waits. and waits. 

he waits, even though there’ll be no response. 

he waits, because you’re right.

by god, he'll never change.

okay posted trash angst now i dip for ramadan yaayy

can you tell the first half was written loooong before the second bc my past self is mogging my present self

i will see this in the morning and regret not editing

did yn break up with him? is yn dead? Worse. (both. before he could fix it. but satoru gojo can never turn back time, can he)

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cooking with satoru gojo, to put it simply, would be a complete and utter disaster. a catastrophe set off by chopped vegetables and simmering pots, every ingredient facing the horrifying moment where their execution was decided on: would they die by boiling, or just satoru’s miniature circus act displaying how many of them he could juggle at once (you often got little easter eggs throughout the day soon after—a baby carrot in the toaster, a piece of celery finding home with the cutlery. they never rotted, he always caught them by then, but he left them long enough to remind you of the previous evening on the days he could not make it home in time to repeat).

“baby,” he chuckled, nose pressing against your cheek as he folded himself to speak directly into your skin. then again, more drawn out, “baby. why aren’t you singing with me? I didn’t think we’d disband so soon.”

a dramatic sigh. “are you not enjoying my recounting of ‘a whole new world’?”

“satoru,” you sighed, eyes fixed on your cutting board rather than the eccentric man looming over your kitchen counter. a repressed smile lay on your lips, betraying you. “I don’t know when ‘cut up the onions’ turned into ‘have a solo performance in front of our poor fine china,’ but I might need you to get your hearing checked.”

“no fun. i’m six eyes for a reason anyway,” he grumbled as he stalked back over to his own abandoned space, the water on the stove evaporating more than boiling now with the delay his impromptu concert caused.

a moment passed. you padded by him on your way to dump the carrots into the pot and then again when you were walking away; when you were empty handed and accomplished, you contemplated walking right by him just to see him whine, but the thought was promptly passed. you caught his sleeve, turning him toward you.

“as much as your voice is a blessing to my ears”—you leaned up, pressing a kiss to the curve of his jaw—“my other four senses would much prefer warm food. try to occupy your mouth with eating sooner than later.”

he scoffed, but the wonky grin tugging at his lips spoke more than the weak attempt at a noise of disdain did. “is that your lovey-dovey way of telling me to shut up?”

you snorted. “maybe.”

you shared a laugh—well, something close to it; it was too close to a sigh of content to be a real hearty noise—and then he nudged your shoulder. “yes ma’am. now you get back to work, hypocrite.”

you did nothing but swat at him and grin. as much as you complained about his belting and his gloats and the rest of the idiocy that made him satoru, you knew that the nights without it—the ones spent with silence anf the rhythmic sound of chopping, with the moonlight too cold and the seat across from yours at the dining table too empty—left you waiting for these to come back every time. waiting for him.

You always hated going to parties.

The music was too loud, the room too warm, and the scent of alcohol and sweat stinging your nose at all times was overbearing for you.

If anything, you’d rather be home, with a cup of tea. Your cat at your hip, nuzzling into you.

You stand in the corner of the house party Kuroo dragged you into, a red cup in your hand filled with soda– he handed it to you, knowing you’d prefer something non-alcoholic.

“Here, write your name on it so people know it’s yours.” He said as he handed you a black sharpie.

From your corner, you could see him laughing heartily with Bokuto, the noise only adding to your growing headache.

Suddenly, a voice approaches you. “Hey,” the stranger says, red in the face. “You’re kinda cute. What’s your number?”

You freeze. Startled by how upfront he was, you didn’t get time to think on how to slowly and nicely reject him.

You opened your mouth when suddenly, someone else stepped in front of you, blocking the stranger from your sight.

“Ah, sorry, man. This one’s mine,” Kuroo says, brushing him off and a putting a hand on your shoulder. You look up at the back of his head as he directs the man out of your vicinity.

He turns towards you. “C’mon, let’s step outside, (name). Knowing you, you probably don’t want to be here anymore.”

As you both breathe in the fresh air, you speak up. “Sorry, Testu… I probably should’ve stuck closer to you…”

“Nonsense! Don’t blame yourself for being so pretty people want you,” he says with a light smirk. 

He takes out the sharpie and grabs your hand.

“Testu, what are you doing?” You ask as he writes his name on your hand.

“Well, I need to write my name on what’s mine, right?”

a/n: i midly dislike this post

m.list // hq m.list

divider credit: @uzmacchiato

1 - obito uchiha (naruto); olivier armstrong (fma); goto shinpei (firefly wedding) 2 - he cheng (19 days); ryu seno (gokurakugai); qiu (19 days) 3 - vincent valentine (ff vii); sidon (legend of zelda); thanatos (hades)

YIPEE more opportunities to showcase my faves!

i think i need to lock in & feel stronger about characters & watch more anime cos i actually needed to think really hardly about this..

hm: amasawa seiji my bb but someone had to go :(

chara names in alt !

tags!! everyone who sees this :3

idk if there is any similairiteis between these characters

( fengqing 🏹⚔️ )