#(its both ... dream logic)

[racetrackmybeloved]

i adore how quick the boys are to help crutchie when he needs it. no discussion, no pity, just support.

when morris pushes him over, it isn't jack (who is right there) who helps him up, neither is it race nor romeo, who we saw him interact with earlier in the song. it's albert who helps him up, and it's albert who carries him until he gets his crutch back. did they have a system? was it albert's job to carry crutchie when needed? was it because they're close friends, and we just never get to see it again? or was it that any of the newsies would have done it, but albert happened to be the closest?

when the nuns hand out food, kid blink and smalls don't hesitate before hoisting him onto their shoulders. jack and specs both place their hands on his back to ensure that he doesn't fall backwards. it's so smooth, so natural, like they've done it a million times before.

and note: i don't think crutchie interacts with any of those characters (albert, kid blink, smalls) at any other moment in the musical.

conclusion: crutchie is so so loved.

[ipadnotesdotcom]

dream sequence. ipad notes app.

[boygirlctommy]

btw i will never be over how tommy kept his compass locked in his enderchest at all times, and tubbo never took his out of his offhand

[hadesknockedupintheunderworld]

What if I was insane again about the first thing Alpha Grim Sonic hearing when Nine creates him is his purpose—that he is Nine's friend?

Friendship as a concept in Prime is handled interestingly among its main characters. As Sonic (who thinks he knows a lot about friendship) comes to deepen his understanding of what it means to have a home/be home, I think it's safe to say his definition of friendship develops along with it. Compare this to Nine, who's learned everything he knows about "friendship" and personal relationships in general through his relationship with Sonic (at least, after his childhood of bullying).

So of course I think about Nine, who never wants to be hurt again, yet can no longer bear feeling alone (not after feeling that sense of companionship and belonging with someone else), which results in him creating a warped version of friendship for himself (one where he is surrounded by people, but people who only do whatever he wants, who have no opinions and thoughts of their own, who can't backstab him). And so I think about Alpha Grim Sonic, who is the very first robot Nine creates under this idea of frienship and companionship.

Nine is his master, and Alpha Grim Sonic is his protector, his bodyguard, his weapon

But he's also his friend.

Alpha Grim Sonic doesn’t talk back (can't even if he wanted to), but his purpose has always been clear to him: be Nine's friend. That's what he was created to be.

So I imagine Alpha Grim Sonic performing his purpose to the T at first under Nine's framework. He's Nine's friend, so he does whatever Nine commands, he never talks back or challenges authority, he protects Nine at all cost. And then, perhaps unbeknownst to Nine, he begins to shift ever so gradually. Sure, he's never insubordinate, he never offers up opinions, he still can't speak, but the lines of devotion begin to blur.

Is it in his code? Is out of a real sense of feeling?

Alpha Grim Sonic does not understand friendship, no matter whether it believes it does or not. But it's ironic to me if, despite being created under Nine's warped idea of it, the robot slowly grows their own soul, witnesses other displays of frienship and care, and drifts outside the bounds of that idea (a carefully crafted painting begins to leak out of its frame, expanding the masterpiece). They protect Nine, they do only what he commands, and yet they hate to see Nine in pain, they wish to bring Nine comfort (and so it feels good to him when Nine commands him to do such things that might bring his master comfort).

Does this make any sense? To believe that friendship means to hold one person on a pedestal, to protect them, to only listen to them, to never talk back, to never have opinions, and yet, despite believing what your creator tells you of friendship with them (your very purpose in this existence), to slowly fall further into those feelings that true care and love for another person brings, to wish to comfort someone the way one might describe a true friend would, despite not realizing any of this.

[zevrans-remade]

💀

[some-random-fandom-chick]

.

[mononijikayu]

amnesia — ryomen sukuna.

“Are you… are you playing a joke on me?” Sukuna’s voice wavered slightly as he tried to comprehend the situation. “It’s me. Sukuna. We… we know each other.” You shook your head slowly, an apologetic smile tugging at your lips. “I’m really sorry, but I don’t remember you. I had a really bad accident a few years ago, and… well, I lost my memories. Amnesia. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

GENRE: alternate universe - modern au!;

WARNING/S: sfw, fluff, angst, romance, hurt/ comfort, post - break up, amnesia, hurt, physical touch, memory loss, sadness, pain, pining, slowly getting back together, light-hearted, happy ending, getting back together, depictions of amnesia, depiction of pining, mention of grief, mention of accident, mention of pining, ex-boyfriend! sukuna, amnesiac! ex-girlfriend! reader, domestic uncle sukuna!, nephew!yuji;

WORD COUNT: 9.9k words

NOTE: the entire chapter is a sequel to drunk tonight and is set five years later. sukuna won second place at the poll again and i feel like this is my apology for sukuna for always making him an angst main lead. this was inspired by a filipino film called amnesia girl and its a funny drama-romcom. its available on youtube, but i dont know if there's subtitles!!! anyway, i hope you enjoy this and i hope you know how much i love yall 🫶🫶🫶

ADDENDUM: so......so long sukuna??? (manga readers iykyk)

masterlist

kayu's playlist - side 1000;

if you want to, tip!

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HE LIKED TO THINK HE COUNTED THE HOW LONG IT HAS BEEN WELL. Five long and painful years ago, you and Sukuna parted ways in what felt like an explosion of unresolved emotions and unmet expectations. Your relationship had been a tempestuous blend of fiery passion and constant turbulence, a rollercoaster of intense highs and devastating lows. From the beginning, it was clear that both of you had strong personalities, often clashing in ways that seemed impossible to reconcile.

The reasons for the breakup were numerous and complex. There was the perpetual danger that came with Sukuna's world, a constant reminder that you were living on the edge, with no guarantee of safety or stability. His life was fraught with peril, and the reality of that danger had taken its toll on both of you. You both knew that living under such stress was unsustainable, and it began to fray the bonds that had once held you together.

Your expectations, too, weighed heavily on the relationship. You had dreams and aspirations that seemed at odds with the life you were leading alongside Sukuna. The demands of his world often overshadowed your own needs, leading to a sense of neglect and disillusionment. It felt as though you were always putting yourself second, trying to accommodate the chaos that was Sukuna's life while struggling to maintain your own sense of self.

Despite the chaos and the inevitable breakdown, there was an undeniable connection between you—a bond that neither of you could completely sever. It was a connection that defied logic, a thread that seemed to pull you back together despite all efforts to move on. Both of you had tried to let go, to walk away and start anew, but the lingering feelings and shared history made it nearly impossible to fully break free.

Sukuna, in his own way, struggled with this as well. Even though the relationship had reached its breaking point, he found himself unable to completely let go of what you had shared. He was deeply aware of the toll that the relationship had taken on you, and he knew that you needed to prioritize yourself, your own well-being, and your own path forward. It was a painful realization, one that left him feeling hollow and lost, but he was determined not to be the reason you couldn't move forward.

In his mind, letting you go was the only way to truly show his love for you—to give you the space you needed to heal and grow. Even if it meant enduring his own misery, he accepted that it was a sacrifice he had to make. He knew that holding on would only serve to drag you both down further, and he wasn't willing to be the obstacle in your pursuit of happiness.

So, as time passed and the separation became a part of your history, Sukuna endured his own internal struggle. He remained in the shadows of your life, silently wishing for your happiness while grappling with his own feelings of loss and regret. He respected your decision and tried to move forward, even as he kept a part of himself tied to the memories of what once was.

But even then, you were truly something that made his life more than it was. You were the blossoms of his youth, the hope and vibrancy that had once colored his world. Your presence had breathed life into the mundane, transforming his days from mere existence into something filled with possibility and wonder. 

His elder brother Jin had seen it all those years ago, recognizing the profound impact you had on Sukuna. Jin had often remarked on how you were a beacon of hope, a light that guided Sukuna through the darkest corners of his life. Your influence was undeniable, a force that had shaped him in ways he could hardly articulate.

Yet despite the depth of his feelings and the significance of what you had shared, Sukuna couldn’t escape the gnawing belief that he had ultimately failed you. He carried with him the heavy burden of the notion that he wasn’t good enough—never had been, never would be. The weight of this conviction was a constant companion, a shadow that loomed over every thought and action.

He remembered the countless moments of doubt, the times when he felt that his flaws, his imperfections, and the dangers of his world were too great a burden for you to bear. It was a painful realization, one that left him grappling with feelings of inadequacy. He wanted to be the person who could give you everything you deserved—love, stability, safety. But he feared that he fell short, that he could never truly be the partner you needed.

Even as he watched you move forward, find your own path, and build a life without him, he was haunted by the belief that he had let you down. He was acutely aware of all the ways he had failed to meet your expectations, to protect you from the chaos that had once defined your life together. He thought that perhaps he had been too caught up in his own struggles, too consumed by the demands of his world to fully appreciate what he had with you.

In his quieter moments, Sukuna wrestled with the idea that he would never be good enough for you, that he would never be able to offer you the kind of love and life you truly deserved. This belief became a part of him, shaping how he viewed himself and how he measured his worth. He felt that he had lost you not because of any one mistake or shortcoming, but because he was fundamentally flawed, incapable of providing the kind of relationship you needed.

And so, even as he grappled with his own pain and regrets, he couldn’t shake the feeling that you were better off without him. The memory of what you had shared lingered like a bittersweet echo, a reminder of what could have been and what was lost. He had to come to terms with the fact that he might never be able to offer you the life you deserved, and that acceptance was a hard, painful lesson he had to learn.

Sukuna's struggle with these feelings was a testament to the depth of his love for you, a love that, despite its imperfections and its failures, had once been a source of profound meaning and transformation in his life. Even as he moved forward, he carried the weight of this truth with him—a reminder of what you had meant to him and the painful realization that, perhaps, he would never truly be good enough to have you back.

Sukuna sat in the corner of the room, a half-empty glass of whiskey in his hand, as he listened to his friend's banter. The atmosphere was lighter than it had been in years. Gojo, with his usual grin, was recounting some ridiculous tale of his latest escapade, while Uraume, ever the quiet observer, occasionally chimed in with dry comments that had the others laughing.

But Ryomen Sukuna wasn’t really paying attention. His mind kept drifting back to you—to the way your eyes had softened when you told him you wanted to give “us” a real chance, to the way you’d leaned into him, trusting and vulnerable in a way that made his chest tighten.

“Oi, Sukuna. You’re….” Gojo’s voice cut through his thoughts. “You’re awfully quiet tonight, bud. What's got you all broody, huh?”

Sukuna blinked, realizing he’d been staring into his glass for who knows how long. He knows he spaces out when he’s thinking, but when he’s thinking of you — he suppose the time can go on and he wouldn’t even notice. He looked up to find Gojo’s bright blue eyes fixed on him, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. Uraume was watching him too, their expression unreadable but attentive.

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.” Sukuna muttered, taking a sip of his drink. “Just thinking.”

“That’s a first from you, hm.”  Uraume teased, earning a snort from Gojo.

“Come on, spill it!” Gojo pressed, leaning forward with that infuriatingly playful grin. “Is it a girl? I don’t mind if it’s a guy, I know you swing that way too! Oh, wait… don’t tell me it’s the girl.”

Sukuna’s dark scarlet eyes narrowed at him. “What are you talking about?”

Gojo’s grin widened. “The one you’ve been moping about for the last five years. Don’t think I didn’t notice, Sukuna. You’ve been different at work lately—quieter, more… I don’t know, introspective.”

“Gojo–san’s right, Sukuna–san.” Uraume added, their tone softer. “You’ve changed. It’s like you’re finally letting go of whatever it was that had you so wound up.”

Sukuna leaned back in his chair, feeling the weight of their words settle over him. He wasn’t used to being the one on the receiving end of their scrutiny, and he didn’t like it. But he also knew they weren’t wrong.

“Yeah, well……” Sukuna began, his voice rough, “I haven't seen her in a long while.. Five years, I think. But I heard…I heard she’s been around. She’s moved around town.”

Uraume raised their eyebrows. “Five years? That’s a long time, Sukuna–san.”

“Yeah. We were together throughout our senior high school and college. Then we broke up after we graduated.” Sukuna sighed, taking a long sip of his drink. The alcohol burned as it slid down his throat, but it did little to ease the ache that had settled in his chest. “It’s been a long time, but… hearing that she’s moved here just brings back a lot.”

Gojo’s eyes widened in surprise. “Was that breakup really that bad?” His usual grin faded, replaced by a look of concern as he sensed the gravity of Sukuna’s words. “What happened?”

Sukuna nodded, his gaze drifting away from Gojo’s intense stare. The room seemed to grow quieter as he delved into the past, the weight of his memories heavy in his voice. “We had multiple breakups. It wasn’t just one—there were several. But the last one was particularly rough. We both cried a lot, said things we didn’t mean. It was messy.”

Gojo leaned in, his curiosity piqued. “Why was it so difficult?”

Sukuna’s face tightened as he struggled to find the right words. “If I’m being honest, it’s my fault. I wasn’t secure in myself. I was jealous, possessive. I couldn’t handle the idea of her moving forward or being happy without me. And that jealousy, that insecurity—it hurt her more than I realized.”

There was a long pause as Sukuna’s confession hung in the air. Gojo’s usual bravado was replaced by a rare, contemplative silence. He took a moment to process Sukuna’s admission, trying to reconcile the man he knew with the vulnerability being revealed.

“That’s a lot to carry,” Gojo said finally, his voice softer than usual. “But it sounds like you’re taking responsibility, which is more than a lot of people do.”

Sukuna’s expression was a mix of regret and acceptance. “Yeah, well, it doesn’t change the past. I know I hurt her, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to make up for that fully. But seeing her again… it’s brought everything back. The pain, the regret, and the memories of what we had.”

Uraume, who had been quietly listening, spoke up, their tone gentle. “It’s clear you’re still affected by this. Maybe it’s a chance for you to make things right, or at least find some closure. People change, and sometimes, revisiting the past can help us understand ourselves better.”

Sukuna nodded, though his expression remained somber. “Maybe. I’m not sure what will come of this. I just know that seeing her again made me realize how much I still care, how much I’ve changed, and how much I wish things could have been different.”

Gojo leaned back, his eyes thoughtful. “It sounds like you’ve been through a lot, and maybe this is a chance for you to show her the person you’ve become. It might not fix everything, but it could be a step toward healing—for both of you.”

Sukuna’s gaze softened, a flicker of hope in his eyes. “Yeah, maybe. It’s worth a shot.”

The room fell silent, the playful atmosphere dissolving as the weight of Sukuna's words sank in. Even Gojo, who was usually quick with a joke or a teasing remark, seemed at a loss for what to say. His usual bravado was replaced with something more thoughtful, almost solemn, as he processed what Sukuna had just revealed.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the soft clink of ice in Sukuna's glass as he set it down on the table. He could feel the eyes of his friends on him, but he kept his gaze fixed on the drink, not ready to meet their concerned looks just yet. The silence stretched on, thick with unspoken emotions.

“I hope the best for you, man.” Gojo finally muttered, leaning back in his chair as he exhaled slowly. His tone was softer than usual, lacking its typical teasing edge. “You deserve to be happy too.”

Sukuna snickered. “You must be drunk being this nice to me.”

“Hey! I am nice at all times.”

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”

Uraume, who had been listening quietly, leaned forward slightly, their expression gentle and understanding. They had always been more in tune with Sukuna's moods, more aware of the nuances in his behavior than Gojo, who often masked his own sensitivity with humor.

“If you bump into her again, though….” Uraume asked, their tone devoid of judgment, only curiosity and concern. “Would you try and talk to her, then?”

Sukuna finally looked up, meeting Uraume’s gaze. There was a hesitance in his eyes, as if he was still grappling with the reality of it all. “Yeah,” he said, his voice low, almost as if admitting it aloud made it more real. “I would. In a drop of a hat.”

The confession hung in the air, heavy with the weight of all the unspoken feelings that had built up over the years. It wasn’t just the fact that you had come back into his life; it was the realization that despite everything, despite the time and distance, Ryomen Sukuna had never really let go of you. He had buried those feelings deep, tried to move on, but now that you were here again, they had all come rushing back to the surface.

Gojo watched Sukuna carefully, his usual smirk gone, replaced with a rare expression of empathy. He knew Sukuna better than most, knew how much pride had always driven him, how hard it had been for him to admit his feelings even when things were good between the two of you. For Sukuna to open up like this now, it meant that whatever he was feeling ran deep.

“I get it.” Gojo said, his voice unusually quiet. “I mean, you guys were… well, you were everything to each other. It makes sense that she’s still on your mind.”

Uraume nodded in agreement. “It’s not surprising that you still think about her, Sukuna–san. What you had wasn’t just something you can forget, even if you wanted to.”

Sukuna’s jaw tightened, and he looked away, staring off into the distance as if trying to collect his thoughts. “It’s just… weird.” he finally said, his voice thick with the frustration he’d been holding back. “I’ve been trying to move on, to put all of that behind me. But I just….I want to see her again. Even just one more time.”

Gojo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he regarded Sukuna with a serious expression. “Maybe you’re not supposed to forget, man. Maybe this is your chance to figure out what you really want, to make things right.”

Uraume added quietly, “It’s not too late to change the narrative, Sukuna. If you still care about her, if she’s still on your mind after all this time, maybe there’s something there worth exploring.”

Sukuna closed his eyes for a moment, taking in their words. There was truth in what they were saying, and he knew it. He had spent so long trying to bury his feelings, convincing himself that it was over and done with. But the truth was, he had never truly moved on. And now, with you back in his life, even in this new, unfamiliar way, he couldn’t ignore the pull he felt toward you.

When he opened his eyes, there was a resolve in them that hadn’t been there before. “You’re probably right.” he admitted, his voice steady. “I’ve been running from this for too long. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I need to see this through. I owe it to myself, and… to her.”

Gojo’s grin returned, but it was softer, more genuine. “That’s the spirit, man. You’ve got this. Just… don’t screw it up this time, okay?”

Sukuna let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’ll try not to.”

Uraume smiled softly, a rare display of emotion from them. “We’re here for you, Sukuna–san. Whatever you need, just say the word.”

Sukuna nodded, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he wasn’t alone in this. With Gojo and Uraume by his side, he knew he could face whatever came next, even if it meant confronting the feelings he had buried for so long.

One more drink and  the conversation shifted back to lighter topics, the tension that had hung in the air slowly dissipated. But the resolve in Sukuna’s heart remained, stronger than ever. He knew what he had to do, and for the first time in years, he felt ready to face it head-on,

As the night wore on, Sukuna couldn’t help but think about the future—about what it would be like to build something real with you this time, something lasting. The thought scared him, but it also excited him in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

Maybe, just maybe, this time he could get it right. And with Gojo and Uraume by his side, he knew he wouldn’t have to do it alone. But the hour is late. And they’ve got things going on in their lives too. So they pay their bills and wave him goodbye.

As he watches his comrades pair off, he is forced to confront a painful truth. Despite years of searching, no one has been able to replace you. The women he's met, the flings he's had—they were all distractions, mere shadows compared to what he had with you. Each time he tries to move forward, your memory pulls him back, the echo of your laughter, the way you challenged him like no one else ever did, and the warmth you once brought into his life, all refuse to fade.

In quiet moments, when he's alone, Ryomen Sukuna wrestles with the possibility that his true love, the one person who could truly understand and match his intensity, might have been you all along. The very thought frustrates and angers him, but deep down, he knows it's true. The idea that you could be happy with someone else, that you could have moved on, is a bitter pill to swallow.

But what can he do? Could he really go back to you after all this time, after all the hurt and pride that kept you apart? The thought of reaching out, of admitting that he hasn't been able to stop thinking about you, is terrifying in its vulnerability. Yet, the more he tries to resist, the more he finds himself wanting you back in his life.

Sukuna has always been a man of action, but this...this is different. It's not about power or control; it's about something far more fragile—his heart, his pride, and the chance of losing you all over again. The question that haunts him now is whether he can swallow that pride and take the risk, whether he can open himself up to the possibility that, just maybe, what he’s been searching for all these years was right in front of him all along.

And that possibility, terrifying as it may be, is the only thing that has ever truly scared him.

Sukuna's inner turmoil grows as the days pass. The world around him, once filled with the thrill of battles and the allure of endless conquests, now feels hollow and cold. He notices how his friends look at him, their eyes reflecting pity and concern. They know him too well, aware that behind his sharp words and defiant attitude, something is eating away at him.

He tries to brush it off, burying himself in work, in fights, in anything that will distract him. But no matter how hard he tries, his thoughts keep circling back to you. The memories come unbidden—your smile, the way you used to tease him, the way you understood him in a way no one else ever did. It's maddening, the way you haunt him, and yet he can't bring himself to let you go.

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IT WAS UNEXPECTED. It was that sort of day once again. Sukuna found himself in charge of his energetic nephew, Yuji, who had just been picked up from school. With his brother Jin and sister-in-law Kaori and Choso tied up with commitments for the weekend, Sukuna was left to manage Yuji. Given that he didn’t have to hit the gym or deal with work obligations that day, it seemed like a manageable task.

Ryomen Sukuna’s house was usually a quiet refuge from his chaotic world, but today it felt oddly empty. He doesn’t really like decorating that much, mostly because he has no time and mostly because he really doesn’t feel like it. But his nephew doesn’t seem to mind it every time he’s here. If there was something to distract the brat, then he doesn’t pay attention to everything else. Well, that and food. As he settled Yuji into the living room, Yuji’s curiosity quickly turned to hunger.

“Uncle Sukuna, I’m starving.” Yuji announced, making a beeline for the kitchen. “Do you have any natto? I could really go for some.”

Sukuna blinked, momentarily confused. “Natto? I don’t think I have any. Let me check.”

He shuffled into the kitchen, opening the fridge and peering inside. His search yielded nothing but a few cans of expired beans and a half-eaten pizza box. Sukuna eats out most of the time, because of work. If he does buy anything, it would be from the last time Yuji was here. And that was….a while ago. And just as much, there was no natto in sight.

“Uh, brat, I think we’re out of natto.” Sukuna said, returning to the living room with a sheepish grin. “And it looks like the rest of the fridge is pretty bare.”

Yuji’s eyes widened in disappointment. “But I was really looking forward to it!”

Sukuna rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry about that. Looks like we’ll need to go out for groceries. How about we make it an adventure?”

Yuji’s face lit up at the prospect of an outing. “Okay! Can we get some ice cream too?”

Sukuna chuckled, relieved that Yuji’s mood had brightened. “Sure, ice cream it is. Let’s get going before your hunger turns into a full-blown meltdown, brat.”

As they left the house, Sukuna and Yuji made their way to the nearby supermarket. Yuji’s excitement was palpable, his small hands gripping the shopping cart handle as he eagerly pointed out various items he wanted to add to the list. Sukuna, trying to keep up, found himself both amused and exasperated by Yuji’s relentless energy and enthusiasm.

In the aisles of the supermarket, Sukuna pushed the cart while Yuji darted from one section to another, collecting snacks, fruits, and—of course—several packs of natto. Sukuna grabbed a few essentials and, true to his word, added some ice cream to the cart.

As they approached the checkout line, Sukuna glanced at Yuji, who was happily munching on a sample cookie from the store. The small bit of chocolate on Yuji’s cheek made him look even more cherubic and endearing. Sukuna’s lips twitched into a small smile, a rare moment of warmth slipping through his usually stoic facade.

“You know, I think I might need to keep a better stock of food for next time,” Sukuna said, his tone light.

Yuji, still with cookie crumbs on his face, grinned up at him. “And more natto!”

Sukuna couldn’t help but chuckle. The idea of having to stockpile natto just to keep his nephew happy was a new one, but it seemed like a worthwhile endeavor. He ruffled Yuji’s hair affectionately, feeling a soft, genuine affection for the boy.

“You’ve got it, brat. More natto it is.” Sukuna agreed, a rare, relaxed smile on his face.

As they loaded their groceries onto the conveyor belt, Sukuna glanced around, realizing how normal and mundane the experience was compared to the high-stakes, dangerous life he usually led. The simplicity of shopping for food and sharing a lighthearted moment with Yuji was both refreshing and oddly comforting.

Yuji, ever the energetic child, started pointing out items in the store with increasing enthusiasm. “Uncle Sukuna, look! They have those gummy candies you like!” 

Sukuna gave a half-hearted, amused shrug. “Sure, toss them in. I guess I can indulge a bit today.”

As they made their way through the aisles, Yuji chatted away, filling the silence with stories about school and his friends. Sukuna wasn’t really paying attention, his mind elsewhere, when something—or rather, someone—caught his eye.

There, at the end of the aisle, stood a familiar figure. The sight stopped Sukuna in his tracks, his eyes widening in disbelief. It was you.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. He watched as you browsed through the shelves, seemingly lost in thought. Your presence, once a distant memory, felt so strikingly real that Sukuna’s heart skipped a beat. The years seemed to melt away as he took in the sight of you.

At first, he didn’t recognize you. It was just a fleeting glimpse, the way your hair caught the light, the familiar way you moved. But then, as you reached for something on a high shelf, he saw your face, and his heart stopped.

It was you.

He couldn’t believe it at first. He thought maybe it was someone who just looked like you, or perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him, dredging up memories he’d tried so hard to bury. But the more he stared, the more certain he became. It was you.

Yuji, noticing Sukuna’s sudden pause, looked up. “Uncle Sukuna, what’s wrong?”

Sukuna swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure. “Uh, nothing, brat. Let’s just finish up here.”

But his gaze was fixed on you, unable to look away. You hadn’t noticed him yet, and Sukuna fought with the urge to approach you, unsure of what to say or do. The familiar mix of excitement and anxiety churned within him, a reminder of the past he had tried so hard to reconcile.

Yuji, still unaware of the significance of the moment, tugged on Sukuna’s sleeve. “Uncle Sukuna, can we go over there? I want to check if they have those chocolates I like!”

Sukuna nodded absently, allowing Yuji to lead him towards the end of the aisle where you stood. As they drew closer, Sukuna braced himself, trying to steady his racing heart. He needed to act normal, to approach you calmly despite the flood of emotions.

Without thinking, he handed the shopping basket to Yuji and began walking toward you. The world around him seemed to blur, the noise of the supermarket fading into the background. It was just you and him, the years that had passed suddenly meaningless.

When he reached you, he hesitated, unsure of what to say. His mind raced, a thousand questions and emotions fighting for dominance. He hadn’t expected this, hadn’t prepared for the possibility of seeing you again. But now that you were right in front of him, he couldn’t just walk away.

“Is that you?” He finally said it. He finally said your name. He could feel his entire body shake from nervousness. He didn’t notice until he said it that his voice was rougher than he intended.

You turned to him, blinking in confusion. Your eyes met his, and for a brief, electrifying moment, Sukuna saw the spark of recognition. It was fleeting, but it was there—an almost imperceptible flicker that hinted at a shared past. But then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by a polite, detached expression.

“I’m sorry, but…” you began, your voice soft and apologetic. “Do I know you?”

The words hit Sukuna like a punch to the gut. The confusion on your face made no sense to him; how could you not remember him? The realization was like a cold wave crashing over him. He scanned your face more closely, noting the faint scar near your temple and the way your eyes seemed to search his face for something familiar but found nothing.

“Are you… are you playing a joke on me?” Sukuna’s voice wavered slightly as he tried to comprehend the situation. “It’s me. Sukuna. We… we know each other.”

You shook your head slowly, an apologetic smile tugging at your lips. “I’m really sorry, but I don’t remember you. I had a really bad accident a few years ago, and… well, I lost my memories. Amnesia. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Amnesia. The word hit him like a ton of bricks. All the anger, hurt, and regret that had simmered in him for years suddenly evaporated, replaced by something he couldn’t quite name. You didn’t remember him. You didn’t remember anything about your life together, the love you shared, or the pain that had driven you apart. He stared at you, struggling to process what you’d just told him. The person he’d spent years trying to forget had forgotten him completely. And it hurts. It burns. It…it kills him.

Sukuna’s heart sank as he struggled to process your words. The memories of the past, the shared moments, the intense connection—everything seemed to blur together in a confusing haze. He tried to hold onto the hope that maybe, somehow, there was a chance you might remember him later, but the reality of your situation was clear. You had no recollection of your time together.

“Right…” Sukuna muttered, his voice thick with emotions he didn’t quite know how to handle. “No, it’s… it’s fine.”

“I just… I feel like I’ve upset you,” you mumbled back, your eyes filled with sincere regret. “It’s been like this for a while. I’m really sorry.”

“No, no… it’s okay. Don’t worry about it. It was my fault,” Sukuna said, shaking his head, though the words felt hollow against the weight of his feelings.

You nodded, your gaze sympathetic. “No, please. It’s not. I understand. It must be hard to run into someone who doesn’t remember you. I’m truly sorry.”

There was a quiet moment between you, the weight of lost memories hanging heavily in the air. Sukuna, feeling the sting of both your absence and the reality of your condition, struggled to find the right words. He wanted to bridge the gap between what had been and what was now, but he found himself at a loss.

Before you could turn away, Sukuna took a deep breath, summoning the courage to speak. “Um… could I… could I have your number? Maybe… maybe we could talk sometime. If you’re okay with that.”

You looked at him, a flicker of surprise crossing your face. For a moment, you seemed to weigh his request, and then you nodded slowly. “Sure. I can give you my number. I’d like that.”

As you exchanged contact information, Sukuna felt a mixture of hope and apprehension. The act of sharing numbers was a small step, but it felt significant. It was a bridge to the possibility of rebuilding a connection, even if the past was shadowed by the uncertainty of your memory.

“Thank you,” Sukuna said quietly, his voice carrying a note of genuine gratitude. “I appreciate it.”

You gave him a warm, understanding smile. “Of course. I’ll be happy to talk whenever you’re ready. It’s… nice to have some help with my memories, even if it’s just a little.”

Before he could speak, Yuji tugged at Sukuna’s sleeve. “Uncle Sukuna, can we go home now? I’m tired.”

Sukuna glanced down at Yuji and then back at you, his heart heavy. “Yeah, Yuji. Let’s head out.”

As Sukuna began to walk away, he felt your gaze on him. The pain of seeing you again, only to find that you had no memory of their shared past, was almost too much to bear. The bittersweet encounter left him with a mix of longing and resignation. You smiled at Yuji and then to him. Yuji grinned back at you and waved back. 

“Take care.” you called softly as he left the store with Yuji. Sukuna gave a small, subdued wave in response, his mind reeling from the encounter.

Once outside, he took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. Yuji, noticing his uncle’s somber mood, looked up with concern. “Uncle Sukuna, are you okay?”

Sukuna forced a reassuring smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, Yuji. I’m fine. Just… a little surprised. Let’s get home.”

As they drove back, Sukuna’s thoughts were filled with the echoes of the past and the present reality. The encounter had stirred up old feelings, and the realization that you had lost your memories of him was both heartbreaking and profoundly unsettling. Yet, despite the pain, there was a strange sense of closure, as if seeing you again, even under these circumstances, had helped him come to terms with the unresolved aspects of their past.

As you walked away, Sukuna stood there, frozen in place, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Yuji came up beside him, his eyes wide with concern.

“Uncle Sukuna, are you okay? Who was that?”

Sukuna glanced at Yuji, then back at the aisle where you’d disappeared. He didn’t know how to answer that. He didn’t know how to explain that the person he’d never been able to forget had forgotten him entirely.

“That,” Sukuna finally said, his voice hollow, “was someone I used to know.”

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

HE DOESN’T REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENED AFTER. The days that followed were a blur for Sukuna. But he couldn’t help it.  Your encounter in the supermarket had shaken him in a way he hadn’t expected. He tried to push it aside, tell himself that it didn’t matter, that you were just a part of his past. But every time he closed his eyes, he saw your face, the way you looked at him with no recognition, no anger, no pain—just blank politeness. It haunted him.

Yet, fate seemed determined to keep throwing the two of you together. A few days later, he saw you again, this time at a coffee shop. You were sitting by the window, a book in hand, oblivious to the world around you. Sukuna hesitated, debating whether to approach you, but before he could decide, you looked up and caught his eye. There was that same polite smile, and he found himself walking over to you before he could think better of it.

“Hi again.” you said, looking up at him with that same soft, apologetic expression. “We keep running into each other, don’t we?”

“Yeah…..” he replied, his voice rough. He wasn’t sure what to say. The awkwardness between you was palpable, the weight of the past pressing down on him in a way you couldn’t feel. But you didn’t know that, couldn’t know that, so you just smiled and gestured to the seat across from you.

“Would you like to join me?” you asked, your voice gentle, offering a small, tentative smile as you gestured to a nearby café table.

Sukuna hesitated for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest. He wasn’t sure what he was doing or why he was putting himself through this, but there was something about being near you, even if you didn’t remember him, that soothed the ache in his chest. 

“If you wouldn’t mind.” he finally said, his voice betraying the mix of emotions swirling inside him. He sat down across from you, the familiarity of the scene almost too much to bear. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to walk away. 

You giggled. “I don’t mind. Not at all.”

As you both settled in, the air between you was filled with an odd mix of tension and familiarity. You began to talk—small, inconsequential things at first. You mentioned how you liked the café’s atmosphere, how it had become one of your favorite spots since you moved here. Sukuna nodded along, trying to focus on the present moment rather than the flood of memories threatening to overwhelm him.

“You know….. “ you said after a moment, stirring your coffee absentmindedly, “it’s strange. I feel… comfortable with you. Like I’ve known you for a long time, even if I can’t remember it.”

Sukuna’s breath caught in his throat. He wanted to tell you everything—to pour out the years of pain, regret, and longing he had carried since you’d been apart. But he knew it wouldn’t be fair to burden you with memories you didn’t share anymore. So instead, he offered a small, wistful smile. 

“Maybe it’s just one of those thing.” he said softly, his eyes searching for yours. “Some people just click, I guess.”

You nodded, your gaze lingering on his face as if you were trying to piece together a puzzle. “Maybe. But still, it feels nice. Like I can trust you.”

Sukuna swallowed hard, forcing himself to keep his emotions in check. “I’m glad,” he said quietly, his voice betraying the depth of his feelings despite his best efforts. “I’d like to be someone you can trust.”

The conversation shifted to lighter topics after that, and the tension slowly eased. You talked about your life, your work, and the things you enjoyed. Sukuna listened intently, hanging on to every word, savoring the sound of your voice even if the stories were new to him. 

As the minutes turned into an hour, Sukuna found himself relaxing. The ache in his chest dulled, replaced by a warmth that he hadn’t felt in years. It was as if, for the first time since you had parted ways, he could breathe a little easier. There was no rush, no pressure to define what this was or what it could become. Just the simple pleasure of being in your company again, however different it might be from the past.

When you finally stood up to leave, Ryomen Sukuna felt a pang of reluctance, but he knew this wasn’t the end. You had exchanged numbers, after all, and there was a possibility that this could lead to something more. 

“I’m really glad we ran into each other.” you said, giving him a sincere smile. “I hope we can do this again sometime.”

“Me too.” Sukuna replied, his voice thick with emotion. “I’d like that.”

As you walked away, Sukuna remained seated for a moment, staring at the now-empty chair across from him. Despite the uncertainty of the future, he couldn’t help but feel a spark of hope. Maybe, just maybe, this was his chance to make things right—to show you the kind of love and care he should have given you all those years ago. And as he left the café, he found himself smiling, a feeling of lightness in his chest that he hadn’t felt in far too long.

Like the wind, the days brushed by into weeks, these accidental meetings became more frequent. He’d see you at the park, at the grocery store, at the small bookstore you frequented. Each time, you greeted him with the same warmth, and each time, he felt the walls he’d built around his heart start to crumble a little more.

It was during one of these encounters, when you were sitting together on a bench at the park, that Sukuna realized something had changed. He wasn’t just dwelling on the past anymore. He wasn’t just seeing you as the woman he used to love, the one who’d left him behind. You were still that person, but you were also someone new, someone who’d been through their own struggles, their own pain.

And he’d changed too. He wasn’t the same man you’d walked away from five years ago. The anger, the recklessness, the pride that had once driven you apart had mellowed. He’d grown, learned from his mistakes, and now, sitting beside you, he realized that he wanted to make things right.

There was one afternoon where after you’d both finished your coffees at that familiar café, Sukuna finally found himself gathered the courage to speak again. He’d been thinking about this for days, the words tumbling over and over in his mind until they felt like second nature.

“Hey….” he began, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant, “I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”

You looked at him, curiosity flickering in your eyes. “What is it?”

“I know you don’t remember me, or anything about… us, but I want you to know that I’m not the same person I was back then. I’ve changed. And I want to try again.” He paused, searching for the right words. “I want to make things right for you.”

There was a long silence as you absorbed his words. He could see the confusion in your eyes, the way you were trying to piece together something that felt like a missing puzzle in your mind. You wanted to know what it was. How to be complete, and yet you didn’t know how. Not even if your past thought he was what complete was. Finally, you spoke.

“Sukuna, I… I don’t know what to say. I don’t remember anything about us, about our past. But I can see that this means a lot to you, and that you’ve been carrying it with you for a long time.”

You paused, looking down at your hands, and then back at him. “I don’t know if I can ever get those memories back. But I do know that I enjoy spending time with you, that I feel comfortable around you. And maybe… maybe that’s a good place to start.”

His heart leapt at your words, hope flickering to life in a way it hadn’t in years. This was a second chance, an opportunity to rewrite the story that had once ended in heartbreak. He didn’t know what the future held, or if you would ever remember what you once had, but for the first time in a long time, he felt something close to peace.

Sukuna reached out, his hand brushing against yours, and you didn’t pull away. “Then let’s start there, hm?” he said quietly. “No pressure, no expectations. Just… us.”

You smiled, a genuine, warm smile that sent a wave of relief through him. “Just us,” you agreed.

And for the first time in five years, Sukuna felt like he was finally on the path to something real, something lasting. It wouldn’t be easy, but he was determined to prove that he could love you the way you deserved—this time, the right way.

As the weeks turned into months, Sukuna and you continued to meet, slowly rebuilding a connection that had once been lost. Each encounter felt like a tentative step forward, a cautious yet hopeful attempt to bridge the gap that had formed between you over the years. Yet, instead of the intense and sometimes overwhelming passion that had defined your past relationship, there was a newfound sense of calm and understanding between you both.

There was an ease between you now, a natural rhythm that felt different from the intense, almost chaotic bond you’d shared in the past. In the beginning, it was subtle—a shared smile over a mundane joke, the comfortable silence that fell between you as you walked side by side, the way your conversations flowed without the need to fill every gap with words. The pressure that once loomed over your relationship, demanding definitions and clarity, had dissipated, leaving space for something more genuine and unforced.

You found yourselves slipping into each other’s lives in small, almost imperceptible ways. Sukuna would pick up your favorite coffee without being asked, remembering the way you liked it just by heart. You’d invite him to a quiet dinner at your place, cooking together in the kitchen as you talked about everything and nothing. There were no grand gestures or declarations, just a quiet, steady presence that felt reassuring and right.

This time, there was no rush, no urgency to define what you were to each other. It was as if both of you understood that whatever this was, it needed to grow at its own pace. You’d learned from the past, from the way things had unraveled before, and there was an unspoken agreement that you wouldn’t make the same mistakes again. You allowed the relationship to unfold naturally, letting each moment build upon the last, like carefully stacking stones into a tower that could withstand the test of time.

Sukuna, too, had changed. The man who once wore his emotions like armor, who had always been so guarded and intense, was different now. There was a softness to him that hadn’t been there before—a willingness to listen, to be patient, to let things unfold without forcing them into place. He no longer felt the need to control every aspect of his life, and that included his relationship with you. He had learned to let go, to trust that if this was meant to be, it would be.

And in that trust, something beautiful began to grow. Your conversations deepened, moving beyond the surface-level topics that had once dominated your interactions. You talked about your dreams, your fears, the things that kept you awake at night. Sukuna shared pieces of himself that he had kept hidden for so long, opening up in ways he never had before. And you, in turn, felt safe enough to do the same.

There were moments when the past would resurface, like shadows lingering at the edges of your newfound connection. Memories of heated arguments, of painful goodbyes, would flicker in your minds, reminding you of how things had once gone wrong. But instead of letting those memories drag you down, you faced them together, acknowledging the hurt while choosing to move forward.

It wasn’t always easy. There were still days when doubts crept in, when the fear of repeating past mistakes threatened to pull you apart. But each time, you chose to stay, to work through it rather than run away. And with each challenge you faced, the bond between you grew stronger, more resilient.

Sukuna, who had once been so afraid of vulnerability, found himself looking forward to the moments he spent with you. The walls he had built around himself slowly crumbled, replaced by a quiet confidence in what you were building together. He no longer needed to prove himself, to assert control over his emotions or over you. Instead, he allowed himself to simply be—with you, in the present, without the burden of past regrets or future expectations.

You, too, noticed the change in yourself. The tension that had once gnawed at your heart, the constant questioning of whether you were enough or if this was right, had eased. You felt more secure, more at peace with where you were and where you were going. You trusted Sukuna in a way you hadn’t before, not just because he had changed, but because you had changed too.

As the months passed, the connection between you deepened, solidified by the quiet moments of understanding and the shared experiences that had brought you closer together. There was a sense of contentment that neither of you had anticipated—a feeling that, for the first time in a long time, you were exactly where you were meant to be.

And so, you continued to meet, to grow together, allowing whatever this was to take shape in its own time. There was no rush, no urgency, only the quiet certainty that what you were building was worth the patience and the effort. You both knew that the past would always be a part of you, but it no longer defined you. Instead, it had become a foundation upon which you could build something new, something lasting.

In each other’s presence, you found a kind of peace that had once seemed elusive, and in that peace, you discovered the possibility of a future that was not just better than the past, but truly, deeply right.

Sukuna found himself looking forward to your meetings, the mundane moments that had once seemed trivial now holding a new significance. Whether it was a simple walk in the park, browsing through books together, or sharing a meal, these moments began to stitch together a new story between you, one that was quieter, more deliberate, and infinitely more meaningful.

But beneath the surface, Sukuna wrestled with his own emotions. The more time he spent with you, the more he realized just how much he had missed you—how much he had missed being close to someone who truly understood him. Yet, there was also the constant reminder that you didn’t remember him, that the memories of your past were locked away, possibly forever.

One afternoon, after you’d both finished a long walk along the river, you sat together on a bench, watching the water ripple in the sunlight. The conversation had lulled into a comfortable silence, and for a moment, Sukuna just watched you, taking in the way the light caught your hair, the serene expression on your face.

“Can I ask you something?” Sukuna finally said, breaking the silence.

You turned to him, nodding. “Of course.”

“Do you ever… feel like something’s missing? Like there’s a part of you that’s still out there, waiting to be found?”

You considered his question carefully before responding. “Sometimes.” you admitted. “There are moments when I feel like I’m on the edge of remembering something important, something that’s just out of reach. But I’ve learned to let go of the frustration. I’ve had to accept that those memories might never come back.”

Sukuna’s heart clenched at your words, the weight of your shared history pressing down on him. He wanted to tell you everything—to pour out the story of your love, the highs and lows, the way you had been everything to each other and how it had all fallen apart. But he held back, knowing that it wasn’t his place to force those memories on you.

Instead, he reached out and took your hand in his. “I don’t want to push you more than I already did.” he said quietly. “I just want you to know that I’m here, whatever happens. I’m not going anywhere this time.”

You squeezed his hand, offering him a gentle smile. “I know, Sukuna. And I appreciate that. I’ve come to trust you, even if I don’t remember our past. What matters to me now is the person you are today, the one I’m getting to know all over again.”

Those words gave Sukuna a sense of hope he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a long time. He was no longer the man who had let his pride and anger destroy something precious. He had grown, learned from his mistakes, and now, he had a chance to show you that.

As the days passed, he became more intentional in his efforts to be there for you, to support you in ways he hadn’t before. He listened when you spoke, offered comfort when you needed it, and gave you space when you needed to process your thoughts. There was a quiet strength in the bond you were forming, a steady foundation that was being built brick by brick.

One evening, after you’d invited him over for dinner, you sat together on your couch, a comfortable silence settling between you after a long day. Sukuna glanced at you, his heart full of things he wanted to say but didn’t know how to put into words.

“I’ve been thinking….a lot.” you said suddenly, turning to face him. “About us.”

His breath caught in his throat, but he stayed quiet, waiting for you to continue. He could feel his heart pounding, the silence between you filled with unspoken tension. You looked at him tenderly, and those eyes—those eyes he had once loved so fiercely—held a warmth that stirred something deep within him. But this time, there was something different in your gaze, something he couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t the same love he remembered, the love that had once consumed both of you. It was softer, more distant, as if it had been tempered by time and the loss of memories.

Sukuna wasn’t sure what that look meant, but he longed for the days when your eyes had been filled with nothing but love for him. He yearned for the intensity, the passion that had once been theirs. But deep down, he knew those days were gone, that you had changed, just as he had. And even though he wished for the impossible, he understood that the love you had once shared might never return in the way it had before.

And yet, he couldn’t stop himself from hoping, from wanting you to look at him like that again, to feel that love again. But he knew, with a sinking certainty, that it was unlikely. Maybe this was his punishment, the price he had to pay for the mistakes he had made, for the years he had spent without you. Maybe fate was just that cruel, giving him a second chance only to remind him of what he had lost.

“I don’t remember our past, Sukuna.” you said softly, breaking the silence. Your voice was gentle, but there was a sincerity in it that made Sukuna’s chest tighten. “But I do know that I feel something when I’m with you. It’s not just comfort or friendship… it’s more. I don’t know how to explain it, but it feels right, being with you.”

Sukuna’s heart swelled with emotion, a mix of relief and longing coursing through him. He had waited so long to hear those words, to know that there was still something between you, even if it wasn’t exactly what he had expected. It wasn’t the grand declaration of love he had secretly hoped for, but it was something—a spark, a glimmer of the connection that had once bound you together.

He searched your face, looking for any sign of the emotions he had once known so well. But all he found was that same tender expression, tinged with a hint of uncertainty. It wasn’t love, not yet. But it was something. And for now, that was enough.

“I’m glad you feel that way.” he said, his voice thick with the emotions he was struggling to keep in check. “I don’t want to rush things, or push you to remember something that might never come back. I just… I want to be here with you, whatever that means.”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I want that too, Sukuna. I don’t know what the future holds, but I’d like to find out—together.”

He felt a weight lift off his shoulders, the heavy burden of his regrets and fears easing, if only a little. This was far from the ending he had imagined, but it was a beginning, a chance to rebuild what had been lost. And maybe, just maybe, if he was patient and if he allowed things to unfold naturally, there could be something new between you, something that was just as meaningful as what you had once shared.

As you both stood there, the world around you fading into the background, Sukuna couldn’t help but think that perhaps fate wasn’t as cruel as he had feared. Maybe this was his second chance—not to reclaim the past, but to create something new, something even better than what had been before. And for the first time in years, he allowed himself to hope that this time, he wouldn’t let it slip through his fingers.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

epilogue 

A few weeks after your heartfelt conversation with Sukuna, you find yourself at a park on a sunny afternoon. Sukuna had asked you to meet him there, mentioning that his nephew, Yuji, would be joining. You had heard a lot about Yuji from Sukuna—how the kid was full of energy, always getting into something, and how Sukuna had taken on a sort of protective role in his life. You were curious to see this side of Sukuna, the man who had once been all sharp edges and intensity.

As you approach the park, you spot Sukuna first, sitting on a bench with a somewhat exasperated look on his face. Beside him is a young boy, who is clearly trying to balance on the back of the bench with one foot, arms outstretched like he’s performing some kind of circus act.

“Careful, you brat.” Sukuna warns, his tone stern but not unkind. “You’re going to break your neck.”

Yuji, grinning from ear to ear, just laughs and hops down with a flourish. “I’m invincible, Uncle Sukuna!”

“Yeah, well, let’s not test that theory.” Sukuna mutters, but there’s a fondness in his voice that catches you off guard. “Your mom and dad will kill me.”

You approach them, smiling as Yuji notices you and waves enthusiastically. “Hi! You must be the one Uncle Sukuna’s always talking about!”

“Yuji!” Sukuna snaps, looking mortified. “I do not—”

Yuji doesn’t miss a beat, cutting him off. “He totally does! He’s always like, ‘I wonder if she’s gonna remember me today,’ or ‘Maybe she’ll cook something nice again.’”

Sukuna groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “Kid, do you ever stop talking?”

You can’t help but laugh at the exchange, and Sukuna’s embarrassment only makes it funnier. “Nice to meet you, Yuji!” you say, crouching down to his level. “Your uncle’s right, though. You should be careful on that bench.”

Yuji shrugs, his smile never fading. “Uncle Sukuna’s always careful too, even though he acts all tough. But he’s really soft, especially when I get hurt. You should see him panic when I stub my toe.”

“Yuji!” Sukuna’s voice is a mix of frustration and resignation, clearly regretting bringing his nephew along.

You stand up, grinning at Sukuna. “I see you’ve got a little soft spot, huh?”

“Don’t listen to him.” Sukuna mutters, glaring at Yuji, who just laughs and runs off toward the playground. “He’s a menace.”

“Sure, sure.” you tease, nudging Sukuna lightly. “But you love it.”

Sukuna sighs, watching Yuji with an expression that’s a mix of exasperation and affection. “Yeah, well, someone’s gotta keep him out of trouble.”

You slip your hand into Sukuna’s, squeezing it gently. “You’re doing a great job, Uncle Sukuna.”

He gives you a sidelong glance, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “Don’t start calling me that too.”

“No promises.” you reply, laughing as you both watch Yuji play, his laughter filling the air. It’s a side of Sukuna you never expected to see, and you find yourself growing more and more fond of the man who, despite his rough edges, is soft in all the right places.

[webanglikethat]

Inho and Gihun have consumed my brain: a rant.

their dynamic is absolutely insane, like watching two halves of a broken mirror slowly shift toward each other, each reflecting something so raw, so !! unbearably !!! human !!!

they are opposites in the most obvious way: one, a cold-blooded killer who thrives on power, privilege, and pain (though they both come from a similar background); the other, a man haunted by his own humanity, stubbornly holding on to the last shred of his moral compass, believing in a better life, a greater future.

but it’s the tension between them that burns — the way they orbit each other, drawn together by something darker than either of them is willing to admit. and it drives me insane, insane I tell you.

Inho studies Gihun like a predator; he is disguised as an ally, draped in the mask of sympathy and empathy, but every moment spent with him … it’s like watching a snake move through tall grass, its every flicker of movement calculated, controlled and designed to ensnare, trap, conquer, destroy. he watches his every more, everything he does and he doesn’t do. it’s a real time dissection !! he watches Gihun's cracks, his weaknesses, his flickers of anger and despair. every subtle movement doesn’t escape him.

he needs to see that part of him, the part that’s been broken, the part that still hurts. and in a way, he’s intoxicated by it. it’s like he wants to drink from those wounds, to feel the sharp, stinging taste of anguish on his tongue, to experience that pulse of pain, just so he can savor it, dissect it, and make it his own.

he watches Gihun not because he’s merely intrigued, but because in his suffering, in his brokenness, there is beauty. a beauty that can only be savored when torn apart, shredded, dissected, bruised. and the more he watches, the more he feeds on that agony, the deeper he falls into the nightmare of this endless fucking twisted game.

Inho is too far gone. he’s lived through the games, seen how the system works, and he’s embraced it without shame. to him, the so called “blood money” he earned is a truth. he doesn’t hide from it. he doesn’t pretend it’s anything else. he has seen too many bodies pile up to think there’s any other way. Inho believes the only way forward is through destruction. he’s accepted the curse of the games. hell, he’s fucking embraced it ! the lives lost are nothing more than fuel for his ascent to power. people are pawns, and pawns don’t matter. it’s all part of the game.

Gihun, though… he’s not like Inho. he too has been brutalized by the games, crushed under the weight of the world’s cruelty, watching as the lives of those he loved dimmed. BUT! even so !! there’s this flicker of light in him — a really fucking stubborn and desperate hope to protect those who still live, to undo the wrongs. for all the pain he’s endured, he hasn’t completely surrendered to the darkness. he’s been pushed, stretched to the breaking point by the horrors he’s witnessed, by the blood shed that he can never wash away and still lingers even in his dreams … but there’s this part of him that still fights to hold on to the fragments of the man he used to be. he’s so stubbornly human.

and yet, it’s not the break that Inho is after imo — it’s the collapse. he doesn’t just want to see Gihun’s humanity crack; he wants to see him fold. he wants to make him question everything, even his need to protect others, even the value of his own moral code. to descend into madness, forsaking logic.

you can see him being fascinated when Gihun agrees to sacrifice people for the greater good. I swear, you can see Inho alive in that moment. I can’t explain it other than he’s feeding on him. he’s watching this man, so different from him, with scars that shine the same way, who once held onto some semblance of hope, succumb to the same darkness that devoured him.

he wants to see the man who refused to let the games destroy him finally fall into the same dark logic that built those games in the first place.

but here’s the thing — Gihun’s resistance, his refusal to just surrender to Inho's desires, drives him insane. Inho, for all his power, for all his twisted thrill at orchestrating this, isn’t immune to that same hunger. he sees Gihun as both a reflection and a challenge. it torments him. he wants to unravel him from the inside. the more he watches, the more he understands just how much it is tearing at him, how much he wants it.

there is a tenderness to it, a chilling, perverse tenderness, where one offers the illusion of safety while the other inches closer to the slaughter.

what drives me insane is that Gihun doesn’t know. he doesn’t know that the man he’s grown to trust, the one who’s quietly listened to his every confession, who has offered him that flicker of human connection in the desolate wasteland of the games, is the very demon he’s been chasing. the one that has orchestrated every nightmare he’s endured. and every time Gihun speaks of his mission, of his burning desire to kill the one who created this nightmare, to undo the games and get revenge Inho just listens intently, relishing in every moment of vulnerability.  and it’s delicious. Gihun is literally unraveling before him, piece by piece, and Inho hasn’t even revealed the true extent of his power!

the betrayal scene is going to be so good. SO FUCKING GOOD. it’s when Gihun talks about revenge, when he plans to end the game, to kill the person behind it all, that Inho feels that twisted thrill in his chest. because what Gihun doesn’t realize is that all those plans, all those quiet declarations of death, have been heard and they’ve been absorbed, broken down, and processed. Inho already knows what Gihun is capable of, what he’s willing to do, and how far he’s willing to go to get his revenge. it doesn’t matter to Inho. it never has. he’s already five steps ahead. Inho has studied Gihun like a surgeon carving through flesh, patiently unraveling his soul, savoring each fragile thread of hope only to tighten the noose, knowing that the moment Gihun’s trust shatters, so too will his humanity.

-> and like … Gihun’s humanity is his greatest weakness. his desperate hope to protect, to save, to make things right when he couldn’t before (example: in season 1 when a dying man reached for him and he looked away, in season 2 he helped a dying man) that's what Inho sinks his teeth into, because he knows that in this world, hope is the ultimate poison, the biggest gamble. every moment Gihun spends clinging to the idea that he can save anyone, that he can stop the game — that he can stop The Frontman — it draws him closer to the truth that will eventually shatter him.

and imo — Inho watches him with a twisted admiration, because in that desperate struggle, he sees himself or rather, the version of him that could’ve been if he had not embraced the game so fully. and in that, their paths, though seemingly different, are always converging. they are the same in the most brutal way: two sides of a coin, both marked by the same blood, the same violence, the same emptiness, and in the end, they are not so different after all. for all their differences, in the end — they are mirrors.

addition cause I saw this post and omg ?? it’s an intentional, almost possessive move. he’s not just playing along with their conversation; he’s LITERALLYYY replacing Jungbae with himself in Gihun’s mind, stepping into the role of someone who belongs in Gihun’s future.

Inho doesn’t just want power or control over the situation — he wants needs Gihun to need him, to see him as the one who’s always there, the one who understands him, the one who can stand beside him.

and to me, it feels like a possessive kind of longing that goes beyond mere rivalry or control. it’s ugh — just the way they orbit around each other, the way Inho needs Gihun to acknowledge him, to see him as more than just the “other guy that joined my team”.

and as much as Gi-hun is fighting to hold on to his humanity and the relationships that matter to him, Inho is just as desperately fighting to be the one that Gihun turns to in the end. it’s obsessive. it’s possessive. it’s dangerously romantic and I need them to fuck it out.

[p0ckykiss]

dream - lee haechan

summary -> kissing you feels like a dream to haechan

-> fluff, a lot of kissing

“haechan,” you murmured, “c’mon, I gotta go back to work.”

he ignored you, obviously.

sure, the back room of the video store wasn’t the most romantic place to make out, but you kept letting him in here, so he wasn’t going to stop coming. you were against a shelf, haechan's hands on your waist under your shirt, letting him kiss you silly despite your protests that you were employed. your hands had been travelling over haechan's shoulders and chest and neck for the last twenty minutes, but they were still now, your fingers playing with the hair on the back of his neck. haechan pulled back, though only enough to be able to speak.

“you can kick me out whenever you want, you know,” he grinned. “you like to make it very clear you work here"

“yeah,” you said, “and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“then tell me to go.” it was a challenge, it was always a challenge. you had gone through the challenge every other time you'd been back there, and one look at the scoreboard showed that haechan was winning by a mile. he added another point to his side when you leaned back in, humming into his mouth.

kissing you was a dream.

it was a weird dream, the kind that seemed normal when you were having it, but once you woke up, you realized how fucked up dream logic is. it was fucked up, in a way, that he was kissing you, and that he was doing so so frequently.

the crush had developed sophomore year, and it had been a gnawing thing, eating away at haechan every time he’d seen you in the halls. maybe it would’ve been easier to deal with had it been anyone but you. it was supposed to fade. it was supposed to mean nothing. haechan was supposed to hate everything about you, but maybe that’s what made it so exhilarating. instead, everything about you, made haechan feel fuzzy around the edges.

he never wanted to wake up.

you cupped a hand on haechan's cheek, pulling him closer. haechan could do nothing but smile against you. he tried to keep kissing you, he really did, but the bubbling in his chest was starting to get overpowering. he pressed his forehead against yours, while you were opening your eyes. those eyes — your stupid, pretty, fucking eyes — were going to be the death of him.

haechan opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a laugh.

“what?” you asked, your own smile growing.

“nothing, nothing. just…” he paused, taking in your features, copying them down to memory in his head. “god, y/n, I’m just—” he kissed you again, softly, purposefully — “i’m fucking obsessed with you, you know that?”

you raised an eyebrow. “you’re obsessed with me?”

“i can’t get you out of my head, like, ever.”

“well, it’s a good thing I’m kind of obsessed with you too.”

maybe it was the way the corner of your mouth quirked when you said it, or the enticing look in your eyes, or just the fact that it was you, but haechan's legs were turning to jello-o, and he wasn’t sure he could support himself like this much longer.

you both laughed as you kissed, pressing against each other like the only way you could get any closer was by crawling into each other’s chests. haechan's mouth found its way to behind your ear, which resulted in a laugh from you loud enough to make haechan shush you before you fell into another fit of giggles. when your lips met again, your hands found haechan's; your fingers intertwined, and every squeeze of your hands pushed haechan's heart closer and closer to bursting.

you only stopped when there was a knock on the door, but even then, haechan distracted himself with kissing you.

“are you guys done in there yet?” your co-worker called from behind the door. “i can’t do everything out here by myself.”

you looked at haechan, who looked back at you. he knew your time was up for now, but there was no harm in trying to convince you to ignore your colleague. and let you both have another five or ten or twenty minutes alone.

“i gotta go back to work,” you said softly, an apology stuffed inside.

haechan continued kissing at your jaw. “can you come to my place tonight?” he asked, like there was even a possibility of you saying no.

you grinned. “and what would we be doing at your place?”

lowering his voice further, haechan pressed his nose into your cheek. “guess you’ll have to come over and find out.”

there was another knock at the door. “hello? I can hear you guys,” she groaned.

“better get out there before she drags your ass out,” haechan said.

“and whose fault would that be?”

“watch yourself, y/n,” he teased, “or you won’t need to wait to get to my place later.”

“i can’t even look her in the eye after this,” you told him.

with one last kiss, haechan patted you on the shoulders. “go on, then, baby”

“you’re going to kill me one day.”

“can’t wait.”

you opened the door. your co-worker stood there with her arms crossed.

“hey, haha,” you tried.

all she said was, “you guys are so gross.”

while you seemed to be letting your soul leave your body out of embarrassment, haechan just grinned, walking past both of you. “my uncle leaves for work at eight tonight, by the way,” he said, leaning against the counter. the only thing that rivalled kissing, in haechan's mind, was pushing all of your buttons simultaneously and seeing how long it took for you to explode.

“yep,” you said, still flustered, “got it.” haechan added another point to his side.

“again,” said your colleague. she stood on the other side of the counter, across from haechan. “gross.”

to him, she said, “if you keep making me work alone, I will ban you from coming in here. you’re lucky it's a slow day.”

“oh, come on,” haechan mused, “you love me.”

“enough to let you and y/n suck face in the back room, apparently,” she said, bumping him with her elbow.

“and for that, I’m grateful.”

[catchastarorten]

—Hey, brother.

Pairing: Hwang In-ho x Hwang Jun-ho x sister!reader

Summary: after your father went through a second marriage, there was suddenly a new brother in your life, Jun-ho. While In-ho gave up so much of himself to save the ones he loved, like Jun-ho, you couldn’t help the one that In-ho loved the most, his wife. In-ho disappeared after that, but you couldn’t give up searching for him.

Warnings: angst, use of y/n, grief/loss, guilt/self-blame, mentions of illness, mentions of death, mentions of organ donation, if you watched the show you should be fine, English is not my first language, mistakes should be present, not proofread, sorry!

Word count: ~ 1.6k

The air in the house always felt heavy when you thought about In-ho. But It wasn’t always like that. You used to laugh here. You used to sit around the dinner table, teasing Jun-ho about his crushes or arguing over who’d do the dishes. Back then, your family had found ways to stay intact despite all its flaws. You, In-ho, and Jun-ho were bound by something stronger than blood.

But things had changed. They had fractured slowly, piece by piece, until you were left holding jagged shards of what once was.

You still remember when your father remarried. You were young, barely old enough to understand what it meant to have a “stepmother” and a “stepbrother.” Jun-ho had come into your life like a soft, hesitant breeze, unsure of his place. You’d been unsure too, unsure if you were supposed to treat him like a stranger or a brother. But then one day, he got sick—a fever so high you thought he might burn away entirely.

In-ho didn’t hesitate. He had been younger back then, but he was the oldest of the three of you, the protector, the one who had to shoulder responsibility, he thought.

He gave one of his kidneys to Jun-ho to save him. You found out later when your stepmother sobbed into his shoulder, thanking him over and over again.

“I’m just doing what needs to be done,” he had said quietly, as if it were no big deal. But to you, it was everything. In-ho was your hero, the glue that held your world together.

In-ho gave away a piece of himself so your stepbrother could live. It had been an act of selflessness that cemented something unspoken between the three of you: you were family, no matter the circumstances.

Things were good for a while after that. The three of you had your arguments, your moments of distance, but there was love. You and Jun-ho grew closer, and there was always this warmth when he smiled at you, it felt like he had been there your whole life—his little sister.

In-ho watched over the both of you with the quiet patience of someone who had put it on himself to take on too much responsibility, as if he was you and Jun-ho’s guardian, you two always teased him about it.

And then, In-ho met her. The love of his life. She was sweet, with a laugh that filled any room she entered. You adored her immediately. You still remembered the way she blushed when she first came over, how In-ho’s eyes softened whenever she spoke. He was happier than you’d ever seen him, and it made your heart swell.

When they got married, it felt like a new chapter. They talked about building a family, about all the dreams they had for the future. For once, things seemed solid.

But life wasn’t kind. Not to you, not to your family, and certainly not to In-ho.

When she got sick, it was like a storm cloud had settled over everything. You could see it in the way In-ho’s hands trembled when he thought no one was looking, in the dark circles under his eyes from sleepless nights spent worrying.

You wanted to help. You needed to help. Watching him crumble under the weight of helplessness was unbearable. Selling a kidney seemed like the only logical choice, right? Then you could get the money and pay for the treatment that would save her. It wasn’t a question of whether or not you should do it… it was a question of when.

But Jun-ho stopped you.

“Y/n, no.” he had said, grabbing your shoulders and shaking his head, his voice low with concern. “You can’t do this.”

“She’s dying, Jun-ho,” you shot back, your voice breaking. “And they’re having a baby. How can you just stand there and—”

“We’ll find the money another way,” he interrupted, his voice firm but filled with desperation. “Please, Y/N. Don’t do this.”

You didn’t want to listen. You wanted to storm out, to prove that you could save her, that you could do something. You had slipped away one night, signed the papers yourself, you were a grown adult who could make your own decisions, and you decided that you weren’t going to let the one good thing in In-ho’s life leave just like that. But before you could, before the surgery could start, it was too late.

She passed away, along with the baby in her stomach.

The day she died, the house felt emptier than ever. In-ho didn’t say a word. He just sat there, staring at nothing, his hands clenched into fists on his lap. You didn’t know what to say to him. No one did. Your stepmother tried, but he brushed her off. Jun-ho tried, but In-ho wouldn’t even look at him.

You tried.

“In-ho, I’m so sorry,” you whispered one night, standing in the doorway to his room.

He didn’t answer.

“I should’ve done more,” you said, your voice trembling. “I could’ve—”

“Stop.” His voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a knife. He turned to look at you, his eyes hollow. “It’s over. She’s gone.”

The bitterness in his voice stung, and you didn’t know if it was directed at you, at himself, or at the world. You wanted to say something, anything, to bring him back to you. But the words wouldn’t come.

In-ho disappeared a week later.

You woke up to find his room empty, his things still scattered where he’d left them. There was no note, no explanation, just an aching void where he used to be.

Panic set in immediately. You called his friends, the hospitals, anyone who might’ve seen him. But no one had.

Days turned into weeks, and the silence stretched on, suffocating. You blamed yourself. You replayed every moment in your head, searching for where you had gone wrong.

“If I’d just gone through with it,” you told Jun-ho one night, your voice barely above a whisper. “If I’d just been a little faster, she might still be here. He might still be here.”

Jun-ho didn’t say anything at first. He just pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly like he could keep you from shattering completely. His hand stroked your back, his fingers threading through your hair as he whispered, “It’s not your fault, y/n. None of this is your fault.”

But the guilt didn’t go away. It clung to you, a constant reminder of what you hadn’t done.

You started dreaming about In-ho. In your dreams, he was smiling, his eyes crinkling at the corners like they used to. You were kids again, running through the park near your old house, your laughter echoing into the night.

“Do you think we’ll always be like this?” you asked him in one dream, just like you had when you were younger.

“Like what?” he replied, his voice soft and warm.

“Together.”

He didn’t answer this time. He just smiled that bittersweet smile of his and walked away, leaving you alone.

You always woke up out of breath after those dreams, your eyes welled up in tears but they never fell, the ache in your chest sharper than ever.

Jun-ho tried to keep you grounded. He was your anchor, the only thing keeping you from spiraling completely. He spent hours searching for In-ho with you, combing through any lead, no matter how small.

“We’ll find him,” he said one night as you sat together on the couch, your head resting on his shoulder.

“What if we don’t?” you asked, your voice barely audible.

“We will,” he insisted, his tone firm. “He’s out there. And when we find him, we’ll bring him home.”

You wanted to believe him. You wanted to believe that In-ho was somewhere, waiting for you to find him. But as the days turned into months, hope became harder to hold onto.

The memories were what kept you going. You held onto them like lifelines, replaying every moment you’d shared with In-ho.

You remembered the time he taught you how to ride a bike, running alongside you and laughing as you wobbled down the street.

“You’re doing it!” he’d shouted, his voice full of pride. “Don’t stop!”

You remembered how he used to sneak you extra snacks when your father wasn’t looking, smiling at you as he handed them over.

You remembered the way he’d held you when you cried after your first heartbreak, whispering that anyone who didn’t see how amazing you were wasn’t worth your tears.

Those memories were all you had left of him now. And no matter how much it hurt, you clung to them.

One night, you sat in In-ho’s old room, running your fingers over the things he’d left behind. A worn-out baseball glove. A stack of books he’d never finished reading. A photograph of the three of you, taken on a rare day when everything felt right.

“I miss you,” you whispered, tears slipping down your cheeks. “Please come back.”

The silence was deafening.

You didn’t stop looking for him. Even when the hope felt too small to hold, even when Jun-ho begged you to take a break, you kept searching. Because In-ho was your brother. He was the one who had always been there for you, who had given so much of himself to protect the people he loved, but you couldn’t give a piece of yourself to save what he loved the most, and you blamed yourself every day for that.

But still, you couldn’t give up on him. Not now.

[slytherinslut0]

quiet reckoning. chapter two

summary: its winter. you begin to accept the solace, until on a random night in january; you dream.

warnings: 18+, smut MDNI, mind manipulation, tom riddle is a fucking god (sorry), oral f!rec, PIV, so much angstttt, tom riddle is broken and he’s tired of fighting, outdoor sex, ooc tom for some but remember there are decades of history between these two.

masterlist and other chapters.

It's winter. The first of the season is a soft, unassuming thing, nothing like the hard decay of fall. Snow blankets life and covers old memories of summer fading to fallen leaves—and you've always marvelled at it, the way frost clings to the pines—how the crystals dance in sunlight like they're celebrating.

Warmth lies dormant, hidden under the cold, yet nature still finds a way to make the quiet beautiful.

This, you think, reminds you of Tom.

In the early days of winter you spend as much time outside as you can manage, but the cold seeps in eventually—a bitter thing with the edges of frozen steel—so you give yourself grace for the rest. There's a satisfaction in the easy routine you fall into—no garden, no yard work, just stoking the fire and chopping wood, eating and reading and going down to the market when you decide an apple pie sounds nice.

Sometimes, late at night, you sit by the fire and think about all the things that have changed—sometimes, you sit by the fire and think about the things that haven't.

You try not to hate yourself for how small the latter list seems to be.

Mattheo doesn't come in December. He writes only twice—once to tell you about his wedding, and again to say he won't be able to visit after all. You try to ignore the hollow feeling in your gut as you read that last letter, but when he sends you your favourite sweets for Christmas, you decide to forgive him.

You begin to accept the solace. The kind of quiet that fills the cracks of a life left behind.

Until, on a random night in January, you dream.

It's one of those dreams that feels hyper-real—you're outside, somewhere that feels both unfamiliar and inescapably known. It's dark and snowing, your breath leaving plumes in the air, and everything—the scenery, the chill, the silence—washes over you like something you feel more than witness.

You turn slowly, looking around—your senses stretching to the stillness of the trees, the soft fall of snowflakes, the ring of silence pressing in on your ears. Then you start walking, guided by something you can't name but instinctively trust. It doesn't take long before you hear it—the steady flow of water—so you push through a stand of snow-covered trees and find a narrow creek, its edges crusted with ice that glints under the moonlight.

The feeling of familiarity hits harder, and when you look up, that's when you see it—like a ghost that is your memories—the orphanage, sitting in the distance, rising from the shadows of the night.

This is your childhood. And for a strange, suffocating moment—you feel like you're home.

But there's hardly any time to process any of this before you're moving again and find yourself kneeling at the waters edge—snow sticking to your jeans, peering down through the frozen surface into its depths. You think of Tom. You think of Mattheo. You think of the memories rippling past.

And then, as if summoned by the sheer magnitude of your longing, Tom is beside you.

"Cold, isn't it?" His voice is soft, low, as if the silence around you demands reverence.

You don't startle; you know this is a dream. You're half-aware of it even as he settles by your side, his knees brushing snow like yours, hands tucked into his jacket pockets. Instead, you exhale slowly, your breath turning to mist in the night.

Dreams don't need logic, and this one would never work if it made sense. So you give in to it, the way you'd always given in to his whims when you were children.

"It always is." Your voice echoes like a memory.

He hums in acknowledgment.

You don't look at him, not yet, but you feel him lean back—palms pressed into the snow, long legs stretched out in front of him and his head tilted up towards the sky. For a moment, you're both quiet, watching the frost turn the trees around you into statues of silver and ice.

It's then that you realize you're not cold. You're not anything, in fact. There's no ache, no heaviness, only the soft stillness of a moment suspended outside of time.

That's how you know it's a dream—because if it were real, you'd feel everything.

"You always loved the cold." He tells you quietly. You don't take your eyes off the trees. "I've yet to decipher why that is."

"It's the constant that life has never been." There's a quiet honesty in the words, the kind you'd never have dared to say when awake. But here, like this, you think you're allowed to speak the truths you bury. "Winter has never been anything but what it promised to be."

You hear him make another sound of agreement. You want to look at him, to see what might rest in the hollow of his cheek and the curve of his jaw, but something stops you.

Some instinct warns that if you do, you'll lose him.

"Winter reminds me of you." He whispers. You close your eyes at the need the words stir. "You've always been my constant."

In the silence following that, a part of you whispers; I wish you'd never said that. But this is a dream, and for a time you give in to the part of you that says; I wish you said that more.

"You've always been mine."

It feels like a memory that was never real. Like a lie. He's never been yours in the way you wished he was, but he has definitely been a constant.

Either way, you don't elaborate, regardless of how much you want to—this just makes sense to you in ways you're sure he already knows. Tom has always been your winter—soft like snow but not quite as pure. Cold like frost, the type that burns. He's the still in the chill that wraps around you, that sticks to your skin long after the warmth has crept back in. He's the devastation, the beauty. He's always been your winter.

He doesn't respond to that, and for a time, silence is the companion of the night. You wonder, faintly, if this is all dreams ever are—fragments of memory, shards of longing, the reflection of your heart's deepest corners.

You wonder, faintly, why you're dreaming of him now.

"Are you really here, Tom?" You ask without thinking, without knowing. It’s the part of you that knows he’s capable of anything. “Is this your way of visiting me without the commitment?"

From the corner of your eye, you see him smile. It's sad without being entirely tragic, somehow. "Have you dreamt of me before?"

What a question, you think. When haven't I?

"In pieces, in fragments. I dream of youth. Of memory. I feel you in every dream." You answer, thinking of the times you'd wake and feel him from your childhood. But you haven't felt him like this. Alive and real and lucid. "Never like this."

He's silent for a long time. You know without looking that his eyes are still turned to the sky. That's when you realize the truth of it: you've answered your own question.

If this were only a dream, if this were merely a version of him conjured by your mind, he wouldn't be so quiet. He'd be saying all the things you've always wanted him to say. This is a visitation.

After a moment, you feel him look at you, and that's when you cave—something desperate in you seeking his eyes, those onyx fucking eyes you've missed so much—and once you find them, you see the stars and snow reflected in the glass of them and your breath catches somewhere between your lungs and your heart.

He's beautiful like this—older, aged, weathered—he's so fucking beautiful it hurts.

"This might be the most transparent you've ever been with me," you choke out, attempting to lighten the moment, to push down the ache that's rising in your chest. But your voice wavers, betraying you. You've loved this man for so long, you've forgotten how to pretend you don't. "You look like you've seen all the things I've been too afraid to say."

He studies you then, his face bathed in moonlight that paints his skin in shades of frost and shadow. He looks like something out of a dream, like an angel of winter under the guise of a devil.

He's always been both, you think, in a way only Tom could accomplish.

"You make a habit of not saying the things you want to," he says quietly, as soft as the falling snow. You look back at the creek, trying not to get lost in this feeling that's almost like the first time he'd kissed you. "I thought coming to you like this would help you break it."

You know this isn't real, not in the way you wish it was. This is manipulation—a spell, a trick of his mind and yours, something he's managed to do through magic that's lost on you and a dream you can't control. But your mind isn't the master here, not in this realm—so when Tom puts a hand on your cheek that is as warm as summer in the dead of winter itself and turns your face to look at him, all you can think—all you can want—is to lean into the touch.

You try to pretend it doesn't make you want everything. "Tom—"

His knuckles brush your cheek and you lose your tongue. The feeling of it, real and fucking steady, makes your skin burn where he's touching you, clawing its way back into your chest like it never left.

He says, softly, "say the things you've been afraid to say."

You exhale slowly, like the words stuck in your throat are too hot to hold. Your mind is racing, a million moments in memory where you wished you would have said what you felt. His eyes are searching yours, and you're half-terrified of what he'll find in them—

"I'm in love with you." You whisper, before you have the sense to stop yourself. "I've been in love with you, for as long as I can remember."

You watch his eyes and the way his jaw works when he hesitates. You'll remember this moment forever, you think, even if the things before and after it are lost to time.

"Keep going," he finally says, running the pad of his thumb across your cheekbone. "I'm not going anywhere."

You close your eyes against his touch, trying to hold onto the sound of his voice. You've fought so fucking hard, for years, to ignore it but fuck—you've missed him—you've missed the way he makes you feel. You've missed this, even the ache it makes between your heart and your throat.

"I think of you all the time," you say, timidly, opening your eyes again. "There hasn't been a moment since I left where I wasn't missing you. I dream of you—of us—I dream of your voice and your hands and the things you've done to me." You see him breathe out, very slightly, and it makes you feel braver. "I dream of the way you used to kiss me. I dream of who you were, who you could have been. I dream of the way you looked at me in final year before you broke my heart. I hate you for it still."

He's still watching you, and his eyes seem even darker and more intense in the shadow. His hand drops from your face, landing on your knee because you're practically in his lap—you hadn't realized you'd been leaning into him, seeking out the warmth of his skin like you'd been starved for it.

The ache in your chest is so strong it makes you dizzy and you're half-terrified that he won't say anything to that.

Until finally, he murmurs, "I'm sorry."

There’s a pause. It's perplexing that somehow he looks both like the eighteen-year-old you've loved all your life, and the twenty-five-year-old stranger he's become in that time. You think, faintly, that it's not fair.

You exhale, and the sound of it hurts. "You say that like you don't exactly know what you did wrong."

You can feel the heat from his skin through your jeans—he's too close yet too far away, and the part of you that loves him and the part of you that hates him seem to be tangled tightly in the space between.

"I never knew how to love you," it’s an admission, and his voice is soft and broken enough to make the pain in your chest subside. "I never gave you the chance to teach me."

There's a million things you could say to that, a million ways you could react to those words. You don't really have the strength to say all of it, and you certainly don't have the mental to service all the grief that comes along with it.

"You did." You whisper, trying to hide the crack in your voice. "You've known."

You shift, angling your body closer to him. He's still watching you, and for the first time since that final night at his manor, you sense that familiar trace of softness in his eyes—that part of him that's been gentle for you since you were children.

"Not the way you deserved."

You take his hand, trying to ignore the way your fingers fit against his like they were carved from the same tree; his skin is rough, scarred and calloused, but it still feels like it always had, despite the years.

Safe.

"You've seen my life now." You look at his fingers as you say it, "do you think that is what I deserve?"

There's a moment of stillness between you—in which you wonder if this is the part where he wakes up out of guilt—but then you feel his fingers press harder against yours, like confirmation.

"You deserve to be happy." He says.

You're so hot you're not sure how the snow isn't melting beneath you. You're sure that's something in his control.

"And what do you know about being happy?" You say, looking up.

The moonlight is catching in his eyes and they're soft in the corners just as they were when you were young. So much has changed and so much hasn't. Part of you feels like crying, but instead you shiver when his hand runs up your arm, following the shape of your shoulder and the side of your neck, and you feel all the nerve endings in your body light up like a matchstick against the friction.

You think, faintly, that you'd forgotten this—how he could touch you without ever really touching you.

He exhales. "Only what I learned from you."

There's a part of you that wants to scream at that, at the way he can say those things and look at you and make you believe it, even if just for a moment.

"I haven't been happy in years, Tom," you say quietly. "Have you?"

His eyes flick to yours, and for a long while, the only sound you can hear is the cracking of the ice filled creek, and both of your exhales.

"No," he finally whispers, and you feel his thumb brush against the skin of your cheek. "I haven't."

You turn, angling your face into his palm. There's something heartbreakingly honest in his voice—something in the way he says it that makes you question the years you've spent wondering if he'd felt anything about you leaving, about the way he made you go.

Your eyes flutter shut for a heartbeat. It's easier to imagine it's real like this, like everything else.

And then, when you decide to open them again, the scenery around you has changed—it's bright, it's summer—there's fireflies and warmth and whitetails running through the field past the creek toward the orphanage. Tom's hand falls to rest in the grass, and you turn to look at him—

He's watching the fireflies with a look on his face, soft and wistful like he's never quite managed to be before in his life. You watch the insects hover around his hair and for just a second, you think he looks more alive than any version of him you've seen before.

"Tom." You whisper, your own voice scaring you.

He turns to look at you when you say his name, and the expression in his eyes is something completely foreign to you. You've seen him hungry, and arrogant, selfish and even angry—but here, awake in a summer childhood memory dreamworld of his own making—he looks fucking vulnerable.

"Hm?" He raises an eyebrow.

Your breath catches before you can answer, like the feeling of seeing him like this—unguarded and unburdened—is catching up to you. He's beautiful under the moon and snow and he's beautiful under the sun and summer grass. It's unfair, you think, just how fucking beautiful he is.

"Will you ever come see me?" You force the words out before you choke on them. "For real, I mean."

He's silent, but you feel the air around you go incredibly still when you say it—like those few syllables had just caused the whole world to go quiet. Tom blinks, and for a moment you're afraid he'll say no.

Actually, a part of you is praying he'll say no—while the other part of you is praying he'll say yes.

Finally, he shakes his head. "If I did, I'd never leave."

You suppose he might not have realized what he's said, that it's just something that had come out of his mouth without thought. But somehow, it sounds more like the truth than anything he's ever said to you in a very long time. You're lost, suddenly, in the fantasy of him staying with you, of having him by your side to watch the summer nights and the winter mornings and anything and everything in between.

A part of you wants to break down at the thought. A part of you wants to yell at him, to make him see how selfish it is to offer you that.

You open your mouth to say something, but before you can find words for anything, you feel his hand on your cheek again, and your brain suddenly goes incredibly blank. He's leaning in closer to you—close enough that you can feel the heat from his lips and you're aware of how your own heart is racing—

"The next time I come to you," he murmurs, eyes on your mouth. "I'm never leaving you again."

The words make you almost dizzy, but before you can react to them, his mouth is on yours, and fireworks go off behind your eyes. He fits against you like he always has, like the two of you had been built to always have your bodies slot into eachother. You bring your arms up, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and pulling him selfishly closer.

He inhales against your mouth and his fingers grip harder, his teeth catching your bottom lip with a bite that makes your whole body shudder. He kisses you like he's afraid you're going to disappear, his tongue hot against yours, his hand twisting into the hair at the base of your neck, pulling your head back until he can kiss your throat in the way he used to when he was aiming to leave you mindless.

His touch makes you feel like you're burning. You're so fucking disarmed from his lips on your neck and his skin on yours that you can't think—can't speak when he urges you back in the grass and moves between your thighs—one warm hand snaking up under your shirt, leaning slightly to watch the way your chest heaves with each ragged breath; and when his fingers skim your breasts you let out an involuntary gasp, arching into his touch.

"God, you're still the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he murmurs drawing down to drag his mouth over your collarbone. "Time has been so good to you."

He keeps your body trapped against the grass beneath you, the sky going dark overhead. He's taking his time, you realize, with his lips on the hollow of your collarbone and his fingers tracing the curve of your hip, taking his time to worship you in the way he'd done hundreds of other nights before all this time between.

"Tom," you manage when he moves to run his tongue along your lower stomach. "You—" you can't even say it, not like this, not with his lips warm against your flesh. "This isn't real—"

He looks up from where he's working to mark a bruise at the edge of your jeans—something dangerous and dark lighting up his eyes in the moonlight.

"Does it feel real?" He rasps. "Can you feel this?" His tongue skims your belly again before he sinks his teeth in, and you gasp. "Can you feel me, sweetheart?"

Your mind can't find any words. You'd forgotten how he'd reduced you like this, how he makes it feel like you can't fucking think.

"Yes," you gasp, but the word is mostly air. "Fuck—god, Tom—"

You can't say more than that, not with his mouth where it is, so close to where you're aching for him. He huffs against your skin, not mocking, but low and satisfied and smug like it's always been.

You're going to die like this—you think faintly, when his fingers finally undo the buttons of your jeans and the summer air hits the skin of your thighs.

"Do you want me to stop?"

What a terrible, devastating question.

"I—" you gasp, arching off the grass as he tugs your jeans off your legs. "No. Please—"

He laughs, and when he does it makes your whole body shiver.

"That's my girl," the words muttered into your inner thigh. "I've missed you like this."

His tongue skims over the edge of your underwear and you're lost at the feel of it—vaguely aware of the fact that you're making far too many noises and you think you look obscene—half-undone and writhing beneath his touch, but you don’t fucking care, not even slightly.

"Please," you gasp again when his tongue dips further down, a word you're half-sure you've been saying for ages. "Please, please—"

He's torturously slow with every single little movement, kissing over your pelvis and between the creases of your thighs, taking his time to taste every inch of you like he's savouring it. You're shivering and shuddering and begging for him, you're so out of your mind you're half-sure you're going to cry.

Until finally—finally, he brings his mouth to the place where you'd wanted it to be, tugging your panties to the side and lapping up your slit—and you let out a sound that's barely even human.

"I've missed you like this," he repeats against your swollen clit. "Fuck, how I missed this."

You're half-aware that you're probably pulling his hair and making noises that aren't fit to be spoken, but god fucking dammit—you're burning up with every touch, and every movement of his tongue sends sparks to your eyes. You think you're delirious, half-sure that you've been reduced to gasps and whimpers and "please, please, please—" but it's all you can do to keep his name in your mouth, the way you're sure he'd always wanted it.

"Tom," you gasp, as he laps up your slit until his tongue swirls over your clit again, as he seals his lips around it. "Fuck! Oh—"

A part of you thinks that you would like to stay like this forever—half-undone and out of your mind in some weird dream-like state of his creation with him between your thighs and his hands holding you as his, surrounded by the fireflies and the summer in the grass where you first kissed as kids.

"You taste so good," he growls against you. "I never stopped wanting this—"

You're close now. So close you think you'll burn up in a fire and engulf the grass and the trees and the fucking air itself—but Tom seems to be able to sense that, too. He presses a hand on your pelvis, holding you steady, reminding you that he's catching you as you fall.

"So good—so, so good—" he murmurs, lapping up your slick. "Let go for me.”

You think you would have, either way—but when he tells you in that voice, when he's looking at you like that in this state of his making—you let go for him without a shred of hesitation, because you'd always known, if nothing else, that you don't own this.

The summer, the grass on the hill, the pleasure coursing through you—it's all his. It's always all been his.

You come back to yourself in pieces—first, the sound of his voice, dangerously rough, then the feeling of him pulling away and shifting until he's hovering above you again—your vision clears enough to take him in, and you think he's impossibly holy like this—with the fireflies lighting up behind his hair, with the look in his eyes and the taste of your need for him on his mouth.

"I love you," he murmurs, running a hand over your jaw. "More than what's in this heart."

He leans down, kissing you again, and you have never been so out of breath in your life. You don't have air in you to kiss him back, nor have you even the strength to try—you can't believe what he just said—this can't be—

"I love you." He repeats it, as if he heard your doubts. You know he did. "Hand to a god you know I don't believe in. I'll die trying to prove it to you."

Something breaks apart in your chest. You raise a trembling hand to his face, trying to take him in— his eyes, his jaw and his mouth, his body tense between your thighs. You want very badly to be sure this is real—that he means what he's saying, even if it's only for tonight, even if he'll forget it as soon as it's over.

"You'll remember this when you wake up?" You don’t know what to say first. "You'll still—"

The look in his eyes goes sharper, his own hand coming up to take yours and press it against his chest—right above where his heart is. You can feel it beating, impossibly fast, like he'd just run a whole marathon.

"Does it feel like I'd forget?" He asks. "Does it feel like this is not real?"

God, it's so close to real—him on top of you and his heart beating against your hand and the feel of his skin against yours and even the taste of yourself on his mouth—it's so fucking real—real enough to make you half-sure you're going to burst into tears.

"Tell me you mean it," you whisper, voice broken into fractions. "Please, please—just say—"

"I'll remember it when I wake up," he cuts you off, leaning down to kiss the skin below your ear. "There are very few things in this world I forget." He drags his mouth down to your neck, his teeth leaving a bruise you're sure will be there in the light of morning, his hands finding the sides of your hips again. "I forget even fewer of the things involving you."

You gasp out a sound that's half a sob, half a whimper because you cannot believe him and you want to believe him so badly you don't know what to do with yourself.

"Why now?" You manage when you've found your voice again. "Why now—why couldn't you have said this before—"

He lets out a dry, broken laugh against your skin, and you can feel it when his chest shudders against you.

That's when you realize he's afraid, too.

"I was a coward with all the wrong aspirations," he admits, pressing the words into your collarbone, your jaw, as if he's trying to get as close to you as humanly possible. You're still acutely aware of the fact your lower half is bare against his. "And every time I've come to realize that I'm still in love with you, I've always run away from it."

You're still trying to remember how to breathe when he moves, shifting his weight and rolling over so that you're on top of him, straddling his hips. It takes you a moment to process it—you're suddenly so dizzy again now that you can feel him, hard and solid beneath you.

Every inch of your body suddenly feels like it's aching for more of him.

"Tom—" you gasp, the words sticking somewhere in your throat. "I—"

"You're too good for me," he murmurs, his long fingers skirting over the hollow of your spine, making your whole body tremble. "You've never been anything but the only good thing in my life." He rolls his hips up against yours, his eyes fluttering when you moan. "I'm tired of fighting. I'm yours if you'll have me. I'm yours if you won't."

You think this is the most he's ever spoken. You think back to when he told you to say all the things you've always been afraid of saying.

You wonder if he's doing that now.

"You're an idiot," you manage to say, finding your voice again, the breathless words coming out as a half-sob. "You really are an idiot—"

You gasp when he jerks his hips up against you again, and you can feel how much he wants you in the grunt that slips out of his mouth.

"I know I am," he says through grit teeth. "I'm cowardly and foolish and idiotic all because I'm in love with you." Another jerk of his hips, harder this time, pulling you closer. "And I cannot, for the love of god, figure out why you don't hate me more for it."

You gasp out a broken sound that's half a laugh, half a whimper, arching involuntarily against his touch in a way that makes you sound unhinged.

"Does it ever occur to you," you manage through the aching need for him, "that I fucking love you despite it all?"

He makes a sound against your skin that's so rough and broken and aching that you'd think you're killing him—

"Perhaps I did," he grunts, shifting as you finally decide you've had enough of this and move to undo his trousers, tugging them down and freeing him. You fucking sob at how real he is—how real he feels in your hand. "I just—mmf—assumed you'd realize better one day."

Your brain feels very much like it's short-circuiting now as you wrap your fingers around his dick and give him a light squeeze, trying to get used to the feeling of him again and the way he twitches against your palm. He lets out a strangled sound as you do, one hand coming up to bite his knuckles to drown it out, and you can't believe you have that kind of power over him.

It's a thought you'll need to consider later.

"Looks like we're both idiots, then," you murmur, and you're not sure you have the strength to form any other words as crawl back up, guiding him to your greedy aching cunt, and sink down.

You think he'd probably let you drown him right here and now without even blinking, with the way he lets out a sound that's almost animal, his breath coming out in shuddering gasps against your shoulder as you take him in. It takes you a moment to adjust to him, his ego made flesh—and as you start to slowly ride you realize you'd half forgotten that anything in this world could feel so fucking good.

"Fuck—" he gasps, and you think he's never sounded like that before. "That's it. That's good—"

You've never seen him look this way—not like a man hiding oceans behind his eyes or a god about to smite his creation—but an entirely mortal man falling to pieces beneath you. Everything about the way he touches you screams I need this, I need you—and he's always been the better one at speaking through his body.

You find your pace after a moment, slow and steady, trying to give yourself time to adjust to him while also trying to find that angle that makes you go just a little out of your mind.

"Tom—" you moan, head falling back as you bounce—looking up at the night sky. "Fuck—make it winter—"

You've forgotten how it feels to be so full. Your eyes are half-open to the night sky, where Tom's magic had crafted the summer around you—and you're not sure where the words came from, but they're half-sobbed and a thought you're not sure you should've said out loud—you wonder for a moment if he'd even heard you over his own moans and the feeling of you around him—

But then you feel it.

The first snow. A light fluttering of white snowflakes, falling from some place you can't see or find. The fireflies fade out with the falling flakes that cover the sky and you can see your breath but you don't feel the cold. You just see the beauty of it. You'd be stunned if you weren't so sure that this looks like what you've always known him to be—winter made flesh.

"You'll have everything," he grits out, jutting his hips up to slam into you deeper. "Anything you want—"

You're not sure you can put together the words to say anything in return to that—everything and anything, he'd give you, and you'd like to know when exactly he broke that carefully crafted part of himself that's supposed to not love—or when you broke that part of yourself that tried to stop loving too much.

You're not quite sure how you can say this will be enough when you're already so sure you'll never get enough of this, of the way it feels when he's this deep.

But amidst all of this, your brain has gone blissfully, blissfully silent—the only thing that's going through your head is his name. Every thought you've ever had, you're sure, is just a synonym of his name—every letter that's ever been made, somehow leading back to his name—every word and every story and every language and every poem somehow all trying to say; Tom, Tom, Tom. I am fucking in love with him.

"Harder," you gasp, and he complies like he'd die if he didn't—flipping you over so you're on your back beneath him.

You're a broken, moaning mess in the snow as his dick splits you open—half-dazed by the way he's looking at you now, as if he's still somehow in disbelief that you're in this position—that you're under him and you can still love him, that you've seen every side of him and you want more.

"This—fuck," he moans, his snow covered lashes flutter. "This never left my mind. You—never—"

You think you're drowning in him. You're certain you're drowning. He’s everywhere—the snowfall and the trees and the sky—surrounding you in an a world carved out of himself and you're met by the thought of how much it doesn't surprise you.

"Tom, oh, god, I don't—I need—"

"I know," he gasps. "I know, I know, I know—"

You moan and clench and think again how he's never sounded this broken. He's never sound this desperate. He's always been so stoic in every single god damn way and you think now, as he's buried in you and over you and all around you within the winter dreamland of his fucking creation—you think you finally understand that he knows he's broken.

"You have me." He says.

You think it's a promise, and you think it's a declaration. One he's never made with as much conviction behind his eyes as he had right then. You think you've never been this certain of anything in your entire life—that there's snowflakes on your lashes and clinging to your hair and he's never looked this beautiful and you've never been this sure of it when he says he's yours.

"I love you," your words broken on a moan as he slams deep, teeth digging into your shoulder. "I need to cum—Tom—fuck—"

"Say it again," he gasps, his voice rough and raw and guttural as he slips his hand down to your clit, fingers swirling over it. "Say it again, I need to hear you say it—"

Your hands grab at the snow and at his shoulders—you're not sure you're ever going to remember how to say anything else ever again—

"Tom—Tom, I love you, I love you, I love you—"

You can see the moment you say it that he breaks, and you love it—you love being the reason why, having some of the power over him for this one single second, seeing the look in his eyes that tells you he'll give you anything you ask for, no matter how much he's ever tried to deny it before, how much he's ever tried to be anything else to you but someone to love you back.

You say it again—I love you, I love you—and it's the only spell that's ever broken him.

He cums with your name in his mouth and you marvel at it because fucking hell he's different—like a man falling apart, like a man who's been holding back for so long it aches—you think this is the only piece of him that no one else in the whole world has ever seen or gotten to touch, and it's yours, all yours—so with that, you're cumming too, climax shattering the both of you at the same time, and it's a long moment before either of you move or breathe or blink. You just lay there connected until the clarity starts creeping in, and you realize this place is crafted by his subconscious.

"You can control your dreams," you finally whisper, after a long moment of nothing but the distant sound of snowfall and the occasional night creature. You're still breathless, still dizzy, your eyes still half-opened and unseeing as he's still buried inside of you, his hair tousled and still sticking with snowflakes.

He makes a sound that's half a laugh and half a gasp at that. Probably because he can’t believe, after everything that just happened, that that is the first thing you choose to say.

"I can." He says, slowly pulling out of you.

Now it's your turn to laugh. "And do you always lure girls to your dreams to have sex with them?"

"No," he murmurs, and you think it's a simple enough answer, before it's followed by a pause. "Just you, I suppose," he adds a beat later, and you can almost hear the smirk in his voice.

You try and shove him off of you, but it's half-hearted—you've forgotten how to move your arms.

"Prat," you murmur, no real venom behind it, because you like his smirk, and you like the way he laughs. "So this is all...a product of your subconscious, then? You conjured me into it?”

"Yes and no." He says, and you feel him pull you closer to him, your body half draped over his as he stares up at the sky above you. "I'll explain when I come to you."

"And when will that be?" You ask, your head dropping against his shoulder, your eyes already fluttering in exhaustion.

"Soon," his lips find the top of your head. "As soon as I can."

You're drifting to sleep—you can feel it in the edges of your mind, but everything is blissfully quiet there, and you like the feel of his fingers in your hair.

"When you come, bring me a plant.”

He makes another sound that's half a laugh and half a chuckle at that, as if he's more fascinated by your request than anything.

"Any plant will do?" He asks.

"Preferably a flower." You manage to murmur as your eyes slip closed. "Something that can withstand winter. That will revive come spring."

You can hear the smile in his voice before you completely surrender to the sleep that overtakes you.

"You'll have it."

And you know, in between the edges of consciousness and sleep—that no one else has ever seen him this way, and no one else ever will. And that's the thought that you wake with, even when you find yourself alone, in your cabin, snow falling outside your window.

[zhongrin]

zhongrin © 2024 ❥ do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or feed into ai.

when your heart screams within your sealed lips…

(…. i hope i can at least be there to hold you.)

featuring... ❥ zhongli, al haitham, wriothesley, neuvillette, jing yuan, blade

involves... ❥ gn!reader, deeply personal blurbs (very self-indulgent), hurt with comfort (vague, with mentions of someone/people wronging/impacting you badly), probably ooc characters, mentions/implied retaliation by the characters

gilded golden lined fingers of a god dethroned gently weaves through your hair. for once, no words fell from your beloved’s lips, for zhongli knew that despite the silent night and the faux tranquility blanketing your dark bedchambers, your heart was screaming and writhing in pain.

the past few days, his amber eyes had followed you as you stumble and trudge through the thick mud of this whole mess you found yourself entrenched in. you may not realize his vigil over you, and countless times he had wished with all his heart, dreaming that you would sit with him to verbalize your troubles, seek his counsel, sought his aid - anything. anything but this foolish game of pretend, because he is not sure until when he can tolerate ignoring the vermin who has given you such unjust treatment.

perhaps in the morning the sky will darken and his wrath will descend upon the land you both walk on towards those who had wronged you. but for now, his anger simmers, bubbles, forges itself silently within his chest, tempered with the eons of expertise of molding metal. for now, he holds you like he’s holding a shattered bone china, like a craftsman appraising its damage before reshaping it with molten gold.

the price of violating the sanctity of a contract is steep, but the price of breaking your trust and betraying your kindness is steeper.

“you need not worry, my love. if there are moments where a god - retired as he may be - must pass judgment, it is now. a contract has been breached… and consequences shall follow.”

there aren’t too many things that can ruffle al haitham’s feathers. but seeing your eyes clouded with hurt and rimmed by veins of reds while you force a trembling smile on your lips as you welcomed him back home… it most definitely exceeds the annoyance from being forced to work overtime on a friday.

he’s glad he’s gotten used to reading you like a familiar book; your form fits snugly within his arms and your weight rests just right on top of his lap, not unlike the way a familiar book fits within his hand and weighs comfortingly in his hold.

“do you want to talk about it?” his comforting skills are a mixed copy of what he remembered from his grandmother and your own actions, carefully threaded and analyzed to fit the situations and the various variables within the scope of the equation. it’s methodical, logical, yet comforting all the same; it’s uniquely your al haitham.

whether you agree to open up to him or not, he’ll eventually find out. researching is one of his strongest skills after all, and when it comes to investigations, he has two strong cards to play: kaveh knows about almost all the gossips circulating in the city, and cyno is a strong advocate of justice who would be able to move independently given a whiff of the possibility of committed transgressions. if they wouldn’t do it for him, he’s sure they would at least feel empathetic towards you.

and if this perpetrator still insists on weaseling their way out of the law… well, he had been looking for a way to dispose that forbidden knowledge capsule, anyway.

wriothesley has never looked forward to arresting and 'welcoming' a criminal so much before.

impartiality is expected when you work in such field, but the agony you’ve gone through and he’d witnessed firsthand due to such heinous individual had been permanently etched in his brain. with each silent tears falling down your cheeks, it adds yet another scar upon his heart. he never fails to hold and comfort you every night, tries his very best to piece you together the best he can. but with how broken you were, he fears that you’ll never be the same.

he never wanted you to obtain a wound that cut so deep, it would leave a mark on your skin or your psyche. he’d take the bullet for you if he could. but with your insistence of dealing with the matter alone at first, he could only watch as you were ripped, torn, beaten.

he’s never felt like he wanted to utterly destroy a man as he catches your falling form and cradles it close to his chest.

so could you blame him when he personally goes on his way to make sure his newest, permanent prisoner feels absolutely unwelcome inside the fortress sunk deep beneath the waters?

after all, when the duke wants a criminal under his jurisdiction to suffer a fate worse than death, he needs no justification.

the word “guilty” had always tasted bitter on his tongue, like a sour, days-old water which had gone through several harsh conditions and became contaminated with environmental causes.

this particular “guilty”, however, he had said with the most conviction, with no pity nor sympathy, and its palate was of the freshest spring water of an untouched stream in the very nation he’s looking after. if the audience observes that the iudex looked colder and spoke with a voice so calm it’s almost obvious he was trying to conceal his fury, they did not say anything. it’s always been clearer than the reflection in the fountain of lucine; the fact that neuvilette holds you in the highest regard as his spouse.

so when you’ve been wronged?

naturally, when the opportunity for him to deliver justice on your behalf comes to him on a silver platter, he takes it with the most gratuity and takes the chance to personally hands down the verdict.

guilty, for the nights he had to hold you to sleep, for the mornings he had to assure you that you could go through the day, for the afternoons he had to check in to make sure you were busy and not wallowing in the murky depths of negative thoughts. guilty, for all the tears, the frustration, the mental strain, the self-hatred, and the bleeding wounds they’d inflicted upon your heart.

guilty, and for once, he finds himself wishing he could have handed down a death penalty.

“what’s troubling you?”

your husband loves his cuddles as much as his feline companions, and he’s just as sensitive to the changes in your mood as they do. with mimi sleeping and being your makeshift pillow, your cat curled right behind you, the fuzzy blanket pulled up to your waist, and your jing yuan holding you close as he continuously strokes your hair… if your heart weren’t so weary, it would have been a peaceful afternoon.

“you know you can tell this old man anything, yes, dearest?” a playful hum and a lazy grin rouses you out of your miserable thoughts, the muted colors filling with the warming golds of his eyes.

unlike inanimate chess pieces on a board, humans may veer off course from their planned routes and therefore proves finicky to handle to some. but to jing yuan, it is but one of the facets that makes human, human. so when you stubbornly try to avoid talking about it, he does not press further, nor does he feel anger.

time and time again, you’ve proven yourself stronger than steel; countless times you’ve proven you didn’t need his help, and it’s always reminded him of how resilient one could be in the face of adversity. still, he can’t help but fret whenever he’s deprived of witnessing the skips in your steps and the pleasant ring of your laughter. he may be patient, but he knows everything has its limits - both your tolerance and his fortitude, that is.

the general sighs and somewhat begrudgingly decides to give you a few more days. he’s gotten used to uprooting weeds growing in his garden after all these years; this, too, will not be any different.

“who did this to you?”

mara is truly a strange phenomenon.

while there are several things that could trigger his condition, if there’s one absolute causation which could decisively result in a mara-struck blade leading a whole carnage, it was seeing pearls of tears drop from your sullen eyes.

for a moment, he thinks it’s his fault. he’s not the best lover, and he has no doubt that you deserve better - but the moment you admitted you wanted him, broken and horribly disfigured as he was, you’ve filled the cracks in his being with you; you’re part of him, now. and he can’t bring himself to ever let go - but as you look into his eyes with the exhaustion of a broken soldier enduring one too many battles, he knows.

he knows he needs to fight a war you dare not tread.

“all i need is a name.”

through the desperation, there’s a hint of pleading in his voice. the hands cradling your cheeks are bandaged and bloodied with the blood of a billion lives, and he’s ever so grateful that you never flinch away from them. red spider lilies blooms ominously behind his gaze, lycorine bubbling like acid in his veins as he commits the memory of your lips forming the syllables, letter by letter. he’s not good at comforting people, so he does the best he could do: stay as close as possible as you rest against him, eventually falling into a tired slumber. blade carefully tucks you in, habitually presses a chaste kiss on your forehead, and sets off when you’re asleep.

if he’s already just a tool anyway, he would rather become the blade that pierces your enemies’ heart for your sake.

[evieelyzabethh]

"chateu"

⭒is it a dream or is it all in the past, i just thought i'd ask"⭒ Arcane characters and comfort {fem reader}

cast ✧ Vi, Ekko, Jayce, Viktor, Mel

cw☞ slightly pervy jayce, mentions of period sex, a bunch of fluff, that's about it

♞Vi♞

♞Vi's comfort is both physical and verbal. Vi is constantly in awe of you, she can't fathom the idea of you thinking you're less than, too dumb, not pretty enough, not worthy enough. She is also very aware. She's a watcher and a listener. She is very good at getting to the root of the rot, she knows that it's not just this one occurrence, it's a reaction caused by something deeper within you. I feel like Vi is much more emotionally intelligent than a lot of people give her credit for, it's just not knowing how to carry it out.

♞I feel like sometimes, she wouldn't get frustrated, but it would take a bit of a toll on her when you aren't as perceptive as she is. Sometimes it takes a lot of walking through the process to get you to understand what she's telling you. She is more than willing and does praise you until she's blue in the face, but she realizes that sometimes words from an outside source can't fix anything if you don't believe it yourself.

♞This applies to larger problems, but Vi would also be good on occasions if you were simply having a bad day. As someone who's had a bad life, she knows how you feel. You want to be left alone for a bit? She completely understands. You just want a hug? She is there with open arms and immediately chides you the second you try to apologize for getting snot on her jacket.

♞Speaking of which, Vi hugs are one of the most comforting hugs you can ever receive. She's just so warm and big and you are completely surrounded by her as she cradles your head into your chest and hums in your ear. She just has such a calming voice; her presence itself is comforting. I also think she would shed a few tears herself when comforting you. It heals the part of her that couldn't save Powder. She holds a lot of guilt about that, so much so that her comfort to you feels rehearsed, like she's been repeating those reassurances for years.

♞As much as you need comforting, Vi would need her fair share too. She never let go of that big sister/leader persona, she thinks her problems are too small compared to the world around her. She tries to fix her problems with logic to push down her feelings and most definitely is someone who thinks that letting those big feelings out is unproductive. This being said, you don't get a chance to comfort Vi until it becomes too much for even her to handle and she randomly breaks down.

♞Comfort is very foreign to her. The last time she received it consistently and healthily was from Vander and then her life went to shit, and she was thrown in prison for like a decade. Stillwater is not a nurturing environment, Zaun certainly wasn't either, even the comfort she received from Vander was more akin to tough love rather than something softer. She can be soft with you, but she finds it hard to accept it herself. It's a battle for her to just be in your arms and allow you to tell her its ok. She knows it'll be okay because she's gonna fight like hell to make sure it's ok. She hates feeling out of control. She's not used to someone trying to fix things for her; she's not used to someone being there for her.

♞She has a lot of tears to get out. Vi has built high walls of anger, but below that is a chasm of sorrow. When she finally breaks down, it feels like an endless stream of tears until she physically cannot cry anymore and is forced to heave in your arms until she either falls asleep or sits in silence, empty. It's very overwhelming, but she can't deny that when she can catch her breath, she feels brand new.

★Ekko★

★Ekko may not be a doctor, but he's a chef which makes the experience more than bearable. The second he sees your complexion get sickly, your wincing every time you move, and your coughs getting more and more phlegmy, he is immediately freaking out. He's running to get a thermometer, he's rifling through the medicine cabinet for whatever the canon equivalent of NyQuil is, he has a trash can set by the bedside in case you begin to feel nauseous.

★Despite his preparedness, I don't think Ekko is great at being sick or being around the sick. It feels like an utter waste of time, waiting around in the house for the illness to pass. Sickness is one of those issues you can't be active in fighting, the best action is to rest and sweat it out, and he is so antsy. It's a lot better if you're sick, you can't lie to him and try to pretend you're well when you aren't. Even if you try and fight him on it, you don't make it very far. Your achy joints keep you up at night, making you completely exhausted throughout the day. Your headache is so debilitating you have spots in your vision. Your throat is so sore, it physically pains you to argue with him about how you're totally not sick and he's being a complete mother hen.

★No; no matter how hard you protest, you are absolutely bed bound as Ekko works warm soup down your gullet even when you can't stomach it yourself but the rational part of you knows it'll make you feel better. The warm green tea he brings you has some tonic dissolved into it; the medicinal taste covered by a few tablespoons of sugar to avoid the bitter bite. He doesn't even flinch when you cough or sneeze into yet another tissue which is soon to be added to the growing pile in the trash. He only wraps you tighter, so you sweat out your fever faster while softly rubbing your aching shoulders. The thought of getting sick does cross his mind, but he's more preoccupied with his poor girl.

★A surprise to no one, Ekko gets sick right after you do, though he is far less compliant. He knows that you see right through his bullshit excuses. Babe, I don't have a fever, I always run hot. What do you mean I have a bad cough? I've just been clearing my throat. I don't get sick; I have too good of an immune system. I never been sick a day in my life. Even worse, he truly believes it himself. In truth, Ekko isn't someone who gets sick often, it's usually one bad bug every year or so. When he does get sick, it usually lasts a few weeks, the first being very mild and then eventually whittling him down to a bed-bound state.

★His bug only worsens the annoyance he feels when sick, you're almost glad when he loses the energy to argue back when you tell him to lie down. When Ekko's sick, it feels more like date nights than a hospital trip. Ekko can't stand silence or boredom which means a movie is playing for as long as he's bed bound. Aside from his mucous infested coughs, his constant shuddering through multiple layers of blankets, and a bowl of soup instead of popcorn; you could barely tell that this wasn't a movie date.

★If there is one thing Ekko enjoys about being sick, it's being taken care of. After he swallows his pride and that disgusting cough medicine, he can appreciate being doted on. Even though he's sick, he'll use a fake yawn as an excuse to wrap his arm around you and ask do you come 'round here often? His joking attitude is usually a good sign that his weeks in hell have finally passed and the light at the end of the tunnel (post sickness kisses) are finally on the table.

❂Jayce ❂

❂Someone once made a joke that Jayce would be the type to make a post on twitter like "I just found out about how bad period pain is. Can't believe our beautiful women go through that every month. If only I could go through periods for them, so they no longer have to suffer (I'm 6'7 btw)" and, well...yes! On a more serious note, I don't think he'd be the type to be super on top of it. He's too busy to have something like a calendar tracking it, though when the time comes, he's very quick to act. While he may be unprepared, he's not incompetent.

❂As soon as you tell him you started, he switches the light bed sheets to darker ones. All he needs is a list of your needs, your preference on pads or tampons or menstrual cups, if you wear them, what size pad you need, heating pads, pain meds, anything and everything you may need is currently being bought. He also isn't the type to be ashamed to go to the register with it, he truly does not think it's a big deal and is confused at any sort of weird stares he gets.

❂He is also over cautious. The second you look like a little woozy, he's right by your side asking if you need to sit down. He's standing around the bathroom while you shower genuinely scared you might pass out due to the amount of blood loss. I don't think he's squeamish around blood, but I do think he'd constantly worry that it's too much. Like how are you still alive after bleeding that much for like a week straight 12 times a year?! He thinks the female body is a scientific wonder.

❂He's also great when it comes to the emotional component. The second your hormones get out of whack, and you start to think too hard about your bloating or ragged you look or how weak you feel, he's right there with a large warm hand on your tummy telling you that you are being ridiculous. His very scientific brain comes in handy, something about his calming voice telling you exactly what your body is doing sounds enough like a documentary to put you to sleep.

❂If you work in the lab with him, he offers to let you skip work for the week, being completely surprised if you insist on still coming in. He does his best to accommodate you, going the extra mile to pack your lunch and making you sure you eat it, ensuring that you're staying on top of your water, he brings pain killers with him in case your cramps get too bad. You and Viktor roll your eyes a bit at his antics. You try to assure him you've had a period for years at this point and it's really not that big of a deal, but he insists on it anyway. All he knows is that you're in pain and he doesn't like that.

❂Now, pre-apocalypse Jayce does not do period sex. You're already hurting, and he while he read that sex can help with cramps, he also knows you're super sensitive and that stretch is going to hurt even worse. If you asked, he'd oblige, making sure to be extra soft and gentle, only pushing half-way in as he coos and brushes the hot tears from your eyes. Post-apocalypse Jayce is far less careful. I wouldn't say he doesn't care, but he understands the concept of a little bit of pain for a lot of pleasure. He's still sweet, carefully covering your sheets with layers of towels and folding a couple under your hips, but his strokes could convince you he's trying to fuck your period away. You'd be lying if you said you didn't feel better after, though.

☽Viktor☾

☽Viktor is not one to beat around the bush at all; he never even liked the man to begin with. It started with something small, like the lack of effort he put into dates or forgetting your birthday, and ever since then things just snowballed until every offense was break-up worthy to him. He didn't hold the door open? Break up with him. He was a bit too flirty with the waitress when you went out to eat? Break up with him! You caught him talking to his ex? BREAK UP WITH HIM!

☽Before the breakup, he is not soft about it at all. The first few gossip sessions were all fun and games but the more you talked about him, the more his dislike grows until he hates the guy and he's only physically seen him a couple times. He refuses to even be in the same room as the man, he says it's because the mere thought of him literally makes him sick and he's sure seeing his actual face will genuinely kill him.

☽He doesn't know what you see in him, and neither do you after the fact. Hindsight really is 20/20. Viktor truly isn't that great with comfort until he sees how seriously upset you are. You're crying over a tub of ice cream with a rom com playing in the background as you blubber about how all of your relationships fall apart and you just don't know where you went wrong, and he's truly confounded on how you're this upset over a toad.

☽This all being said, he's very supportive. It's a lot of work to swallow his sarcastic remarks and roll his eyes less, but the sincerity of his comfort is very easy. It's not instinctual for him to sit there while you cry in his arms, but the kind words he murmurs, you deserve better than that, you deserve a love greater than you even ask for, you deserve even more than the world, you deserve the better world he wants to create. And he doesn't want to sound smarmy or jealous, like some loser who was waiting in the wings for the breakup even Jayce saw coming from a mile away, but if he cared less about what you thought of him; he'd say you deserve him.

☽He realizes it's much too soon, so he buys you ice cream and tells you that you look pretty even when your mascara is running, and your hair is in a state of disarray, and he genuinely means it. He's most valuable for his honesty, it's why you came to Viktor in the first place. He was always honest about how he felt about your ex, even when he was holding his tongue, his expression said all the words he was too nice to say. So, when he tells you that yes, you're still pretty, he may be holding back.

☽It helps that he's funny and can be a tad impulsive. You want to slash his tires? Only slash 3 so that his insurance doesn't cover it. You wanna burn his clothes? He'll make you a pocket flamethrower just to do so. Even better than being open to violence and destruction, he's great at not getting caught. Though he doesn't believe in lying to you, dishonesty drips from his lips like honey.

☽When the crying and the disappointment fades and you feel good enough to joke about how you wasted too much of your time on a man outrunning wisdom, Viktor does slowly try to show you exactly what you deserve.

☼Mel☼

☼While Mel knows the importance of the exterior, she thinks its utterly ridiculous that you can think you aren't pretty enough. She knows insecurities are hard. 'The grass is greener on the other side' really isn't the comfort most people think it is. Sometimes it's well worth it to face the consequences of achieving what you've wanted. Whatever it is, acne, being flat chested, noticeable scars, being different is just hard. It doesn't matter how much your differences make you unique, it really is easier to be like everyone else.

☼She tells you every chance she gets how beautiful she thinks you are. To pretend that inside beauty is all that matters is simply a lie, she interacts daily with people whose heads are full of air, but people only respect them because they are a pretty face with full pockets. She knows it sounds untrue to you, but that's why she tells you so often. Not in despite of anything, not because of anything, you're just stunning.

☼Since you're already hyper-focused on your insecurity, I think she'd ignore it. Honestly, she doesn't think of it at all. It's about as noticeable to her as the color of your eyes or how tall you are, it's a miniscule detail that doesn't define you, it's just another feature. It's nothing important to her, and she wishes it didn't bother you.

☼While you are all adults, she knows that some lack the decorum necessary to not make their judgements known and it bothers her deeply. Anytime anyone speaks on it, she rolls her eyes. She thoroughly thinks it's beneath you to be bothered by it. Not only is it low-hanging fruit, but it's a sign of deficient intellect. They couldn't insult your intelligence, your competence, or anything about you that actually mattered, they had to go for your appearance, and she will tell them as such. She is very good at her professional insults.

☼As much as she compliments you, she emphasizes your other traits. If you're a writer, an artist, a dancer, any skill you have that you built for years or any talent you were just born with, she dedicates a lot of time to participating and validating it at any chance she gets. She wants you to take pride in something else, something that no one can take from you. Looks fade throughout the years, everyone is eventually going to be cast aside as their hairs grey and their teeth start to fall out. Knowledge never grows obsolete. Besides, people with legitimate interests and hobbies are too busy doing things they enjoy ruminating on how they look.

☼She knows it isn't what you want to hear, but it is what you need to hear sometimes. You are perfect just the way you are. She has never had any desire or want to change you. She has never imagined you any other way than the way you are. She doesn't want anyone who looks different than you, she doesn't want you because of the way you look. Of course, she thinks you're beautiful, but that doesn't matter to her. Never has and it never will. Just as she has faith that you aren't with her for how she looks, she hopes you have faith that you looks are not a determining factor for why she's with you. You are just you and she wouldn't want you any other way.

[rinnstars]

after school!

spending your time with rin after school

itoshi rin x reader : fluff, drabble, not proofread + likes n reblogs are appreciated <3

rin thinks he can stay in this position for an eternity - his hands wrapped around your body as though fitting perfectly like puzzle pieces, eyes fixated on you and your phone - playing god knows what, his face melting into the warmth of your neck. he hopes you don’t turn around to notice his red face, he hopes you don’t feel his hands shakily lingering on your frame, he hopes you don’t realise he’s practically stuck on you like glue - its uncharacteristic of him. he knows logically with the scorching sun outside already peering through the thick curtain he always covers his windows, with the practically spoiled air-condition in his stuffy room, with the much bigger bed that he’s pressing you onto just one side of it, he can afford to move away. its terribly hot but he thinks he’s more addicted to you, the feeling of you on his hands, the feeling of you so close to him as though this was truly where you belong, the feeling of you so close to him that youre practically one together. he scrunches his face slightly, feeling you move within his arms, shifting into one that’s more comfortable for you whilst smiling at your phone playing one of those videos or games he just doesn’t quite get. but he thinks he can get used to it - getting used to you right on his bed everyday after school like you basically live here, getting used to dedicating his afternoons just lying down doing nothing with you, getting used to being yours as much as youre his.

he thinks about how much it has all changed since he’s met you, let you enter his castle of brick walls, get you to stay with him. afternoons like this used to spent on sweating himself off walking home to get rid of all his frustrations, wasting his time away and still avoiding that convenience store, lying down thinking about the past. yet now, he’s here on his bed from the cold bus ride with you, getting an ice cream from another convenience store that’s meant for you and him, lying down with you and thinking about both of you. he didn’t think he could ever get so close - he’s too afraid, he hates people too much, he doesn’t crave it he thinks, but who is he kidding? he craves it, the validation you give him by beaming at him like youre his whole world, the affection you give him through holding his hands, pecking at his face, combing his hair that just feels so much more than him doing it himself. its love, he knows: and just this once, he’ll give in to this addictive feeling, he’ll melt into this sugary-sweet feeling you give him, he’ll drown inside this unknown waters that envelop him completely as though hugging him.

maybe it wont last long - teenage love and all its angst he listens to songs like those. but he believes in both of you, you’ll be the exception, you’ll stay right here in his embrace, you’ll be his for the lifetime and if the world permits, in all of his lifetime and all parallel universes. sometimes, he finds himself dreaming of the future long past now, long away from this childhood bedroom of his still messy, long away from school that he practically only goes to see you - pulling at your matching necklace you bought with him at the arcade to kiss when he wins every and any football match, merging your body with his and becoming one just like now in a apartment at the seaside that you always chatter about with that crescent-eye grin, seeing you with a white veil in an all white room to profess yours and his love that wrapped around him like a jacket in a cold and harsh world. and he hopes it stays like this - he’s always being too idealistic, too dreamy, too passionate that sometimes it backfires - crumbled apart dreams under his brothers feet, crumbled apart test papers he’s thrown into the trash, but never crumbled apart love letters, photo albums, love of you and him.

he thinks too much - smiling as he notices your eyes closed, your head becoming heavy on his arms, hands letting go of the phone that drops lightly onto his sheets. for now, he should sleep too, dream the same dream you have, melt himself right onto you so he can wake up later - finish his homework with you on his desk, chat with you about everything and anything, and still have energy for his night exercise routine. and for now, he’ll indulge in this after school routine that he wishes could last forever, even when you two graduate, even when you two become adults - that the universe wont be cruel enough to separate the both of you, soulmates in his eyes.

[astrocafecoffee]

Astro observation (part 2)

✨ For entertainment purposes only, enjoy ✨

✨ MASTERLIST

✨ ASTRO OBS. (PART 1)

🔥 Taurus sun individuals usually eat slowly and savor their food enjoying each bite. They dislike being rushed during meals.

🔥 Sagittarius rising peoples thrive on variety in their excercise routine. They might regularly switch between different types of workouts to keep things interesting.

🔥 Capricorn rising peoples might enjoy dishes like roasted meats , stews and well balanced meals that provide both comfort and nourishment.

🔥 Sagittarius sun - very good in mathematics and calculation.

🔥 Groom conjunct your vertex/ Hera asteroid in draconic synastry can indicate they being your spouse/ you have a soul tie with them.

🔥 I have seen many Libra 12th house peoples often have people pleasing tendencies and have problems with creating healthy boundaries.

🔥 11th House mars people's communication style with friends can be direct and assertive, which can sometimes come across as agressive if not managed carefully.

🔥 Mercury in its debilitated sign ( Pisces) individuals may struggle with tasks that require precision, detailed analysis or strict logic.

🔥 I have seen when someone's 9th lord in their 12th house or vice versa , they often marry people from other states, cultures, and countries .

🔥 Aries moons can be quick to anger but also quick to forgive and forget.

🔥 juno in 7th house of Groom persona chart means your fs is your wish fulfilment, ( dreams come true 👀)

🔥 Virgo placements may excel in stock market.

🔥 Aries placements tend to tackle problems head on with immediate action. They prefer to address issues rather than letting them linger or escalate.

🔥 water placements are obsessed with beaches and coastal environments , where Earth signs with mountains.

🔥 I have also seen this many water placements either love water areas or hate it. There's no in between. I have seen cancer moons/ Pisces rising peoples having thalassophobia.

🔥 in Vedic astrology, Rahu in 7th house / rahu conjunct Venus/ rahu conjunct 7th lord indicates foreign spouse.

🔥 Webb asteroid in natal 11th house is self explanatory 🙃.

🔥 prey Asteroid ( 6157) in 4th house individuals often see their home as refuge where they can shield themselves from outside world. If it's negative side manifests in someone's life then there might be themes of feeling vulnerable or taking advantage within the family and home environment.

🔥 Gemini placements individuals are often misunderstood by peoples.

🔥 cancer moons emotional up and downs can weaken their immune system , making them more vulnerable to infections.

🔥 Scorpio placements likes to feel in control of their surroundings and emotions and they fear situations where they feel powerless.

🔥 Aquarius mars peoples value their independence highly and can be quite stubborn about doing things their way.

🔥 Jupiter in Aquarius people may involved in activism , volunteering or supporting charitable organisations.

🔥water moons , Capricorn placements often prone to depression.

🔥 Venus in Capricorn peoples may fear being vulnerable or getting hurt , which is why they often appear guarded more in relationships.

🔥 Aries mars often have fear of rejection . If they sense any hint of rejection they might quickly pull back or move on to avoid facing their fear.

🔥Pluto in Sagittarius peoples maybe fascinated by esoteric subjects, occult and hidden truths. This interest in the mystical and unknown can lead them to explore astrology, tarot or other metaphysical studies.

🔥 Asteroid Medusa conjunct midheaven in natal chart means this individual's career may dealing with controversial and taboo subjects , leading to transformation and growth. They could work in fields related to psychology, healing, crisis management or any area that requires confronting difficult truths.

🔥 Asteroid Born conjunct juno in synastry suggest a relationship that feels spiritually significant , with a strong sense of being " meant to be" or karmic linked.

🔥 Hera asteroid conjunct sun in synastry means the Hera person might view the sun person as an ideal partner, seeing them as someone can commit to for the long term . This aspect can indicate a relationship that has potential to lead to marriage or a deep , committed relationship.

Thanks for reading 🖤

- piko ✨

[prozacwhorehouse]

paparazzi | mgg x SNL cast member gf

Summary: comments from the paparazzi instill doubt in you, but Matthew is there as a voice of reason

this was a request but it got deleted when I was making edits so I hope this finds its way to that lovely person !

—————————————————————————

pre and post show paparazzi outside the studio wasn’t uncommon. but when speculation that you and Matthew were dating blossomed, they got more incessant and difficult to ignore. it seemed as if they were always around, with the intention of spotting the two of you and documenting it. they were constantly nagging for answers and details about your relationship, most specifically mentioning the age gap.

the both of you knew it’d would be hard for some people to understand, but the idea that you were both legal consenting adults seemed more logical and would be accepted easier. originally, you had kept the relationship private - wanting the intimate moments to be kept to yourselves, only for yourselves. eventually the love becomes to great to hide, so you started dropping hints to the public. hints weren’t enough, there were always the small few who liked to dig a little deeper, push sensitive buttons - almost always internet trolls, or worse, in person paparazzi.

no matter what, they’ll always jab at the age gap. it’s always flashing cameras followed by comments, from “your relationship is inappropriate” “she’s young enough to be your daughter” and even, “is you dating an older man rooted in daddy issues?”

a video of the interaction goes viral and all the comments are offering support for the two of you:

they are both consenting adults. those who can’t accept that need to grow up and mind their own business.

these poor angels. the paparazzi is disgusting, ill never understand why it’s still a thing

they’re both grown leave them the fuck alone

daddy issues?? holy shit. the pap is getting so much worse.

two talented people reduced to their relationship. do better

you knew accepting a job on television came with its consequences, but you weren’t going to let people who get paid to be nosy stand in the way of your dream. so, with time you had learned how to handle paparazzi with ease. what was typically praise now being sprinkled with hate, it got harder and harder to ignore.

because the more someone says something about you, the more you start to believe it.

why is he with me? is this weird? am i wrong? is he wrong?

Whenever Matthew happened to be with you during these paparazzi incidents, he’d always guide you through the crowd by the small of your back or your hand. Weaving through people wordlessly, only whispering assurances into your ear, squeezing your hand to calm your heart beating in your ears.

—————————————————————————

The whole ride home to your apartment is silent. With Matthew, you two are always talking, always sharing thoughts, making the occasional silence reason for concern.

“Are you okay? You din’t say more than a word or two at a time not the way home,” he says while shutting the apartment door behind him.

“Are we, wrong?” you turn to gaze up at him through your lashes, the look on your face hurt.

“What do you mean, angel?” he croons, concern and confusion blossoming across his face.

“Like,” you pause and scoff, trying to find the words for your question. “Is what we’re doing wrong. Being together.”

“Do you not want to do it anymore? Cause we don’t have to-” his face turns to worry, your heart dropping at the thought of him thinking you’d say anything other than no. because no matter what anyone says, he’s so in love with you he can’t even imagine losing you.

“no! oh my gosh, no.” you’re quick to assure, holding his face in your hands. it’s just exhausting. why are they so concerned with our lives? can they not just-“

“you love me?” he interrupts, looking at you intently.

“what?” you scoff in disbelief, pulling back slightly. “of course I do - why?”

“because I love you. And that’s all that matters, yeah?” he brushes his thumb across your cheek, gazing into your eyes so lovingly. he always looks at you that way.

“It could be worse. They could be comparing me to Leonardo DiCaprio,” he smiles, causing the corners of your mouth to turn up, “and I’m definitely not DiCaprio level.”

“If you were, you would’ve dropped me when I turned 25,” you snicker and he sighs, throwing his head back.

“You’re funny, you know that?”

“I’d hope so. It’s kind of my job.”

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mgg x SNL cast member taglist

@sarcasm-and-stiles @mystargirl-interlude @rubyirene @ashrrams @ghostatrixx @forevermorepassionate @saint-boudica @reidmarieprentiss @awakeforu @spencerlicious @kittycat-april @baudarling @delusional-4-fake-people @avenlymars @angelinajolie0213 @arusio @littleslayofhorrors @jezabelle9299 @jaemnationnn @princess-ofthe-pages @flow33didontsmoke