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oki

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exercise

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the one who will teach you about love is...

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That one manwha cover trend but make it Higuruma 🌻

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a Geto wip I’m not so sure if I want to finish anymore 👀🫧

no squid curse version

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some upperclassman Sukuna + college classmates AU or sth

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A lifetime by your side...

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continuation

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༺𓆩❀𓆪༻ caleb x mc reader, repressed emotions, yandere caleb, pining and yearning, missed chances, emotional baggage, set some time after the main story

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The train to Linkon City was quiet at this hour, the hum of the engines a low vibration beneath Caleb's fingertips as he rested his hand on his knee. Outside the window, the glow of Skyhaven faded into the endless night as the artificial floating island disappeared.

The sight barely registered. His mind was elsewhere. It was trapped in memories— moments of you, of times he had come so close, yet never crossed that fragile line.

He hadn't seen you in two weeks. He hadn't planned on leaving Skyhaven today— too many meetings, too many reports waiting for his signature— but the urge had struck suddenly, an ache in his chest that refused to be ignored. He needed to see you. Needed to make sure you were safe, needed to hear your voice, even if it was only to scold him for showing up unannounced.

Caleb exhaled sharply and leaned back, tilting his head against the seat. He shouldn’t be like this. Shouldn’t let himself be consumed by thoughts of you; but he always had been, hadn’t he? Always orbiting you like a lost star desperate to be caught in your gravity.

His fingers brushed against the pendant dangling around his neck, tracing the small apple charm. "When U Come Back" was engraved on the pendant— a gift from you before he left for the DAA again.

A bitter smile tugged at his lips. He was back, but you hadn’t come to him, hadn't opened up and listened to him. Not like he wanted you to. A part of him understood why— you thought you had lost him in the explosion months ago. You thought he had died with Gran in the fire. And when you found out he was alive? Everything was different. He was different, and even his pipsqueak— you— carried an edge Caleb wasn't familiar with anymore.

But... did you know how many times he had wanted to kiss you?

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A flash of warm light— the shelter’s cramped kitchen, the scent of something slightly burnt. You stood on your toes, reaching for a spice jar on the highest shelf.

“Pipsqueak, you’ll fall.”

You huffed, determined. Caleb sighed before stepping in, his body softly brushing against yours as he grabbed the jar with ease. You turned, your face inches from his. The way your lips parted, just slightly, had him aching to close the distance.

But instead, he smirked and pressed the jar into your hands. “Careful, yeah? Wouldn’t want to lose you to a spice-related accident.”

You were oblivious to the way Caleb's fingers curled into fists to keep himself from touching you more.

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The summer heat was unbearable, the two of them sprawled out in the garden of Gran's home, passing a bottle of water back and forth as they stared at the stars.

You had asked if Caleb ever thought about leaving.

Caleb had turned his head to look at you, watched the way the stars made your eyes sparkle. He thought about it. He thought about leaving all the time, thought about flying far away. But not without you. Never without you.

Your lips were slightly parted, damp from the water. He could have kissed you then. Should have. But instead, he only knocked his knuckles against yours in quiet agreement.

He was a coward.

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The scent of spices had filled the air, warmth lingering in the cosy kitchen of Gran's home in Bloomshore District. You sat on the counter, swinging your legs while he stood over the stove, stirring a pot of something fragrant.

You‘d said that Caleb didn't have to cook every time he came down from Skyhaven for a visit— but the way you snuck bites of food before he even plated it told him otherwise.

Caleb had only smiled, reaching over to wipe a stray bit of sauce from the corner of your mouth with his thumb; reverently, as if handling the most precious thing in the world. You had frozen for a fraction of a second— just long enough for his heart to thunder.

It would’ve been so easy to close the distance. To press his lips against yours, to taste the warmth that always lingered in your presence. The warmth he wanted to taste so, so badly. But he had pulled back, turning away before you could see the raw longing in his eyes.

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He graduated from college. Caleb stood on the stage, looking out at the sea of people. "My speech would've ended here," he said into the microphone. "However, right before I went onstage, a person said something strange to me. It had to do with what's 'important.'"

There's a moment of silence as the crowd hushed. Caleb's gaze immediately found you.

"She said that after graduation, I would meet more people and experience new things," he continued to speak, "maybe I'd meet someone who's 'more important' than her."

He didn't stop for a second. "But I believe it ultimately comes down to choice. People only yearn for the future because they haven't encountered someone they truly cherish."

Another beat of silence. "I consider myself lucky. I already have someone who's very important to me, someone I can't live without."

"I wish everyone could have this luck." A smile broke out on Caleb's face, as bright as the sun at his indirect confession. "Thank you, and happy graduation."

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The train jolted slightly, snapping him back to the present. His jaw clenched as his fingers dug into the fabric of his coat. He had let so many moments slip through his fingers, and now? He was done waiting.

The station was quiet at this hour when he finally stepped off. Linkon City's chill nipped at his skin, but he barely felt it. He adjusted the collar of his black coat, his gloved right hand flexing beneath the synthetic cover. No one would suspect the metal beneath.

His feet carried him on autopilot, navigating the familiar streets, the neon glow reflecting in his eyes. Every step forward was a pulse in his chest— closer, closer. He didn't bother messaging you; he wanted to see your face when you opened that door, wanted to see if you‘d missed him as much as he had missed you.

Finally, he reached your apartment complex, exhaling slowly. His fingers curled into a fist, hovering just above the door. The space between his knuckles and the wood was infinitesimal.

One knock, and you‘d be right there.

One knock, and he'd see you again.

Caleb closed his eyes, steadying the thrum of his heartbeat, then rapped his knuckles against the door.

Would you be happy? Angry? He wasn't sure.

The door unlocked, and Caleb's eyes immediately found yours. "Hey, pipsqueak," he said, eyes momentarily softening in the dim lighting of the apartment hallway. "I needed to see you."

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...

no text, just vibes

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He’s so adorable I wanna pinch his cheeks

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༺𓆩❀𓆪༻ yakuza! sukuna x pampered, stay at home spouse! reader, jjk au, modern stuff, idk what else to put here honestly

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The speakeasy was thick with the acrid tang of smoke and spilled alcohol, the low hum of jazz permeating the air as Ryomen Sukuna leaned back in his leather chair, his posture as casual as it was commanding.

His crimson eyes, sharp and cold, studied the trembling man kneeling before him. Blood streaked the Italian’s face, all purple and blotched as he stammered through pleas for mercy in broken Japanese; words tumbling out faster than his thoughts could form them.

Ryomen didn’t bother to respond. His silence, paired with the cruel curve of his lips, said more than words ever could. He gingerly plucked his wedding ring off his finger and set it aside before his fist mercilessly connected with the Italian’s face, leaving it a broken, unrecognizable mess immediately.

Disrespect had a cost, and tonight, the Italians were paying in blood.

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They had crossed him. An offense that couldn’t be forgiven. When words failed to curb their disrespect, Ryomen resorted to the language he spoke best— violence. The aftermath was scattered across the back room: broken bodies, their groans a pathetic symphony he dismissed without a second thought. Pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears; weakness disgusted him.

Mercy wasn’t something Ryomen Sukuna gave freely— it had to be earned. And none of them had.

When the room fell silent save for the crackle of Ryomen’s lighter igniting the cigar between his fingers, he cast a glance at his men. The Hara-gumi stood at attention, their faces stone-like but showing respect— and a hint of fear.

“Clean it up,” Ryomen commanded, his deep, rasping voice slicing through the tension. He rose from his chair, adjusting the cuffs of his dark crimson suit as if he hadn’t just doomed the Italians to their fate. Their anguished screams followed him as he stepped out of the room.

The streets of Shinjuku were nearly empty as Ryomen made his way home, the faint glow of city lights reflecting off his car’s windshield. In the passenger seat, a pair of pristine shopping bags sat neatly— though a closer look revealed the faint streaks of blood on the paper handles. Inside were gifts he had picked out for you earlier in the day— nothing mattered more than making sure his most precious treasure was happy.

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The grand penthouse apartment in Roppongi he shared with you was quiet when he arrived. He set the shopping bags down in the living room, his sharp eyes catching the faint smudge of blood on one of them. Ryomen clicked his tongue in annoyance but didn’t dwell on it. He shrugged off his coat, tossing it carelessly onto the couch, and made his way to the bathroom.

The bathroom light clicked on, casting a cool glow across the marble sink. Ryomen methodically rolled up his sleeves further and turned on the faucet. The water, warm and steady, ran red as he scrubbed his hands. His movements were practiced, precise, the way a surgeon might handle a scalpel. He rubbed at the creases of his wrists, the dark tattoos glistening as the blood washed away.

This was routine— violence was a language he spoke fluently after all, and blood was simply an occupational hazard. His facial expression was calm and almost serene as he watched the pinkish water swirl down the drain.

A soft rustling caught his attention. Without turning, Ryomen’s crimson eyes flicked to the mirror, catching sight of you standing in the doorway. You were wrapped in a robe, your hair slightly mussed from sleep.

“Did I wake you, my sweet?” Ryomen asked, his voice low and the rasp softened by a rare warmth reserved only for you. He shut off the water and reached for a towel, dabbing his hands dry with an almost mechanical precision.

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he lived, served cunt, died, got resurrected, served even more cunt

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THIS PART LMAO 😭😭😭

MC is such a sassy queen sometimes, i love her sm

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Sukuna and his bby girl (you) Finally I found a style I want to develop!!! Last works proved it that I love it sm ♥ Continuing my series of body parts studies. 2 backs are done, 2 torses too, now two hands. Next one will be Toji! If you have any ideas or refs, feel free to share ♥