CW- Obsession, Stalking, Implied Murder

I will have to update the tags to Saint because I am adding more things lol

pairing – gojo x oblivious!reader

a/n : short drabble based on this ask :3 , i am always humbling reader in my fics so let's make him grovel here to make it fair :3

7:42 AM.

the little bell above your diner's door chimes, and like clockwork, he's here.

the morning sun slants through the wide glass windows, casting long golden streaks across the checkered floor. the scent of fresh bread lingers in the air, mingling with the faint hum of an old jukebox playing some soft, jazzy tune. satoru gojo steps in like he owns the place—like he owns every space he walks into—moving with that effortless arrogance of a man who’s never been told ‘no’ and actually believed it.

his sunglasses dangle from the collar of his crisp white shirt, his sleeves rolled up just enough to tease at lean forearms, veins faintly visible beneath his skin. there's a playful ruffle in his snowy hair, like he just ran a careless hand through it, and the slight crook of his lips makes it very clear he’s in one of his moods. outside, the world is still waking up, but here, in this tiny corner of the city, satoru gojo is already in full swing.

but the real kicker? the grin. that goddamn grin, lazy and lopsided, as if he already knows he's won a game you didn't even know you were playing. it's the kind of smile that should come with a warning label—dangerous, reckless, prone to making your stomach flip if you’re not careful.

you shoot him a bright smile, already reaching for his usual. “morning, satoru! long night?”

he leans against the counter, the wood creaking under his weight, eyes locked onto yours with the kind of intensity that should set something on fire. “awful. i spent hours thinking about something. couldn't sleep a wink.”

your brows furrow slightly, fingers wrapping around a tall glass as you place his usual drink in front of him. “oh no! work stuff?”

he takes a slow sip of his chocolate malt milkshake—extra whipped cream, just the way he likes it—his lips curving around the straw in an infuriatingly slow manner. his gaze never wavers. “you stuff, actually.”

you gasp, absolutely touched. “satoru! that's so sweet! i had no idea you liked my cooking that much.”

his fingers tighten ever so slightly around the cold glass. a lesser man would fold right then and there, but satoru gojo? delusional.

he chuckles, low and smooth, tilting his head as his voice drops to that slow, deliberate drawl. “i do like your food, but i was thinking more about the woman behind the counter. the one with the cute apron and the even cuter smile.”

your eyes light up, and for a second—just one, fleeting second—his heart leaps. this is it. she finally—

“oh my god, you mean—mika?! yeah, she’s great! she only works the afternoon shift, though. i can give you her number if you want?”

satoru's soul ascends. and it's not in the good way.

“no,” he says, voice tight, and it takes everything in him not to cry-laugh into his milkshake. “i meant you, sweetheart.”

your lips part slightly, like the thought has never even occurred to you. "me?"

“you,” he repeats, a little more desperate now, like a man clinging to a lifeline in stormy waters. “c’mon, don’t tell me you’ve never noticed how much i like you.”

you blink once. then twice. then— “aw, satoru!” you beam, placing a warm hand over his much larger one, your fingers barely covering the span of his knuckles. “i like you too!”

his breath hitches.

“you're such a great friend!”

the moment stretches, hangs in the air like a thread about to snap. satoru doesn’t blink. doesn’t breathe. somewhere in the distance, a car honks, a cup clatters, life moves on.

but then you squeeze his hand—soft, warm, devastatingly innocent—and flash him a smile so radiant he nearly forgets the last ten seconds ever happened.

“here! on the house today,” you say, sliding a small plate of fluffy cream puffs toward him. the golden shells glisten under the morning light, filled to the brim with silky vanilla custard and dusted with a light sprinkle of powdered sugar. “something sweet for someone just as sweet!”

…he’s never been more in love in his entire life.

➺ suguru x gn!reader

suguru's smile was broad. soft lips stretching up, wide and sweet, his whole face smiled with them; pretty plumish eyes closing in little crescents of joy and his nose scrunching up at the tip.

its not the usual polite, contained smile he wears. its not polished or neat. its genuine and boyish and so so endearing. you could never remember what you were saying or look away from him.

what on this planet would you look to? what could be a more beautiful a view? any another sight would surely pale in comparison.

suguru practically glows when he smiles. when he really smiles (the difference between the two always do glaringly obvious to you) and although he is masterfully skilled in keeping those bits of himself hidden, some always slips out; through the spaces in his fingers and his teeth — he can never conceal it in whole.

you've collected all the bits and pieces you've gotten a glimpse of, storing them safely in the depths of your heart. the little moments pulsing in your blood and echoing off each of your ribs everyday. you've made them a part of yourself you can no longer be without.

and oh when he laughs, you can feel yourself swooning . an airy sound; sometimes it's loud full booming coming from someplace deep in his chest and others — it's softer, quieter, bashful even. you could only hear if you listen for it (and oh with your trained ear, you never miss it)

blossoms of fresh flowers spawn in your throat, sweet and suffocating. spring's welcome fragrance gets to your head;

you don't know that you remember how to breathe.

Your first husband died peacefully in his sleep. You had nothing to do with it.

You did want his money but that was another matter!

He was on the verge of death anyway so getting into his pants (and pockets) was extremely easy. You made out like a bandit with most of his fortune. It set you up for life, you were thankfully done with old men and their money.

That was until you saw the detective that sauntered into your house. He was tall, toned and tan. Your mouth practically watered as he talked to you in a sweet tone, like you were truly in mourning for your husband.

“Suguru Geto.” He had introduced himself with a firm handshake.

You had practically melted into the floor.

Apparently your dead husband was in an embezzlement lawsuit before he passed so he came to investigate the house for evidence. You didn’t really care but you played the part of grieving widow all while subtly flirting with him.

He didn’t seem to notice or he didn’t say anything. As he goes through the files you try to think of a way to get him to stay longer. Nothing comes to mind and he leaves you with a small pout on your lips.

Opening up your phone you click on the sugar baby app you frequented before getting married. What’s one more dead old man if you get to see that detective again?

🏚️ From Rubble to Renewal — Help Mohamed Rebuild a Home Full of Hope 🌿

In the blink of an eye, the life we knew disappeared.

My name is Mohamed, and I’m writing this with a heart full of sorrow—but also a quiet flame of hope. Our family home, a place that held generations of memories, was reduced to rubble in an instant. The rooms that once echoed with laughter, the walls that witnessed our stories, and the garden where we dreamed of better days—all of it is gone.

And yet, we are still here.

Still standing. Still believing. Still dreaming.

Before the war, our home wasn’t just a structure—it was everything. It was the heartbeat of our family. We shared countless dinners around a modest table, whispered goodnight to one another across quiet rooms, and celebrated the small joys that made life meaningful. It was a place of love, of safety, of tradition.

Losing it has left a deep wound in our lives. But what we haven’t lost is our will to rebuild.

We are determined not to let destruction be the end of our story. We want to rebuild our home not just with bricks and wood, but with faith, with dignity, and with your support.

I know there are countless stories in the world that deserve to be heard, and I humbly ask that you take a moment to hear ours. We are turning to this community, to the kindness of strangers, because we believe in the power of people coming together to lift one another out of despair.

Your support—whether it’s a donation, a share, or even just a moment of your time—can help lay the first stone of our new beginning.

💛 Every dollar brings us one step closer to safety. 🧱 Every share gives our story a voice. 🌱 Every gesture, no matter how small, is a reminder that compassion can grow even in the harshest soil.

We are not asking for charity. We are asking for a chance. A chance to rebuild our lives, to give our children a roof under which they can dream again, and to find peace after so much pain.

gofundme.com

Donate to A Plea for Hope: Rebuilding Our Home, Rebuilding Our Lives, organized by Mohammed Altelbani

In the blink of an eye, everything we knew and loved w… Mohammed Altelbani needs your support for A Plea for Hope: Rebuilding Our Ho

Please, if you feel moved by our story, consider helping us build something new from what’s been lost. Your kindness will be felt not just in concrete and wood—but in every smile, every warm night, and every future moment of joy that your support helps make possible.

From the deepest part of my heart—thank you. For your time, your love, and your belief in us. We will never forget it.

With all my gratitude, – Mohamed

Welcome to the world of “Being in love with a person who doesn’t exist in real life but you pretend they do anyway because you’re obsessed” ✧˖*°࿐

Ah Yes. Me. My girlfriend. And her ¥75,000 plushie of myself.

🌸 From One Mother’s Heart – Please Read 🌸

My name is Saja. I’m a wife, a mother, and a woman who once believed her story would be simple. I thought my days would be filled with watching my daughter grow — from her first smile to her first steps — surrounded by the small joys of everyday life.

But life had other plans.

War has returned to our home. Again. And once again, we find ourselves living under skies that never seem to rest.

There was a moment — a fragile, breathless moment — when the bombs paused and the world seemed to remember us. It gave us hope. We thought maybe, just maybe, we could start to rebuild. But now, we are back in the dark — hiding, holding on, praying.

I’m writing this not as someone seeking pity, but as a mother who has no other choice but to speak.

Imagine holding your baby in the middle of the night, not because she cried, but because the world outside roared too loud for either of you to sleep. Imagine whispering bedtime stories not to lull her into dreams, but to keep the fear from settling into her tiny bones.

This is my life.

This is my daughter’s life.

And even now — especially now — I believe in softness. I believe in kindness. Because when everything else is taken from you, hope becomes the most valuable thing you have.

Why I’m Reaching Out Our home has been damaged. Our lives changed. But through it all, my daughter wakes up every morning with a smile. She reaches for me with trust, with love, with faith that I will keep her safe.

That’s why I keep going.

I’ve launched a campaign to ask for help — not because it’s easy, but because silence is no longer an option. I am asking for support not just for me, but for my baby, and for the quiet strength of so many mothers like me who are fighting, every single day, to hold their families together.

How You Can Help: 🤍 Help us restore parts of our home so we can live with dignity 🤍 Support women and mothers in Gaza with access to care and resources 🤍 Keep the light of hope alive for a generation born in the shadows of war

💛 If you can, please support our journey here:

Chuffed

I Am Saja – A Mother Holding On Through the Return of War

My name is Saja. I am a wife, a mother to a precious 8-month-old girl, and I am writing this in a moment that I wish I didn’t have to live t

If you can’t give, please consider sharing. Your voice might be the reason someone else hears ours.

From My Heart to Yours Maybe our lives are worlds apart. Maybe you’ve never lived through war. But if you’ve ever held a child and wished the world could be better for them — then you understand more than you know.

I don’t want my daughter to grow up thinking the world turned away.

Please, if you’ve read this far — thank you. Thank you for seeing us. Thank you for caring. We are still here. Still hoping. Still holding on to every kind act like it’s a lifeline.

With love and endless gratitude

Talks of kidnapping

Kitsune!Suguru who has never believed in a higher power before. He knows that spirits exist but nothing other than that. He couldn’t help but laugh when others brought up the notion of a person in the sky who could see your every movement.

Kistsune!Suguru who had scoffed when someone had been talking about a saint who was sent by god himself and could heal the sick. It was pure nonsense that someone could heal others, especially humans.

Kitsune!Suguru who climbs the mountain to the monastery where the supposed saint is. He needs to disprove this myth that people are peddling. Not for others, of course, but for his own gain. Maybe he could pick up his they are pretending to heal people and use it to his advantage.

Kitsune!Suguru who is sceptical when he sees you. He had expected someone much older than you. Someone whose hair has gone white and looks like a sage. But you are completely different from what he expected.

A white kimono is draped over your body and a veil over your face. He feels slightly irritated that your face is hidden from him. The only parts of you he can see are the lower half of your face, your hands and a sliver of collar bone.

Kitsune!Suguru who lets you touch him willingly when you ask. He was never a fan of touch let alone from humans but yours has a calming quality to it.

“What ails you?” Your voice rings out like a bell in the large room.

“My leg.” Suguru answers bluntly, waiting for you to give some sort of tell that you were faking your abilities.

Kitsune!Suguru who is proven wrong as the leg he had injured himself was put back into place. He stares at you in pure disbelief as your hand warms his and your brows scrunch in concentration. His leg is fully healed when you look back up at him with a kind smile.

“Is there anything else that hurts?” You say sweetly to him.

Suguru is tempted to break his leg again to make you heal it. Your light and warmth is addicting. He needs more. His mind thinks of all the ways he could steal you away from here to keep your light all to himself. It would be so easy to get past those monks. Suguru wants more of this new found heavenly light he has found in you, he wants more of you.

And he will do anything to get it.