#introspection hurts

[star-struck09]

I fear the sadness will consume me alive one day.

[aventurineswife]

Request alert! 🚨 ‼️

Imagine a scene where the readers partner notices the readers hair getting longer? Like, they’ve always preferred to keep it short—insisting it’s easier to manage. Yet they never cut their hair since they met them. (Hair holds memories and the reader wishes to hold on to every moment with their partner. 😔����🙏)

Characters: Sunday—he’s a must. Then you can choose whoever else! Or just keep it for him. Up to you. 💙💙

Hair Holds Memory

Tags: Sunday x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Argenti x Reader, Fluff & Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Introspection, Symbolism, Soft & Subtle Romance.

Warnings: Mentions of Trauma & Survivor’s Guilt, Implied Religious Trauma, Emotional Vulnerability & Attachment Issues, Symbolism of Memory & Loss (Hair representing moments held onto).

A/N: AHAHA 😭🙏 LMAOO SUNDAY IS A REAL MUST FOR YOU

Tagslist: @themiddletenmasibling

The quiet hum of the Astral Express filled the room as Sunday traced his fingers through your hair, eyes reflecting the dim starlight filtering through the window.

His touch was featherlight, reverent, as though he feared disturbing something sacred. "Your hair has grown," he murmured, voice as airy as a dream. He tucked a strand behind his ear, his golden halo faintly glowing in the dark.

You looked away, hesitant. "I suppose I just… never got around to cutting it."

Sunday tilted his head, the wings behind his ears twitching subtly—an unspoken curiosity. He always noticed things others didn’t.

"You always said you preferred it short. That it was easier to manage." His voice held neither accusation nor expectation, only quiet observation.

Your fingers clenched around the fabric of your sleeve. "I guess… I just wanted to keep something. A piece of time. A way to remember."

A shadow flickered across his face—understanding, perhaps, or something deeper. Sunday knew what it was to cling to memories, to carry them like fragile glass in trembling hands.

He exhaled softly, reaching up to weave his fingers through your strands. "Memories are fragile," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But if this is how you wish to hold onto them… I will cherish every strand, every moment, alongside you."

For once, Sunday did not question the logic of sentiment. He simply rested his forehead against yours, letting the weight of time settle between you.

"Well, well, well. What's this?"

Aventurine’s fingers twirled a lock of your hair between them, his eyes gleaming with amusement. His lips curled into that signature, knowing smirk. "Aren’t you the one who always said short hair was more convenient?"

You rolled your eyes. "I’ve been busy."

"Mmm. Too busy to even notice? Or…" He let the word hang, his gaze turning calculating. He was always playing a game, even in the most mundane of moments. "Are you holding onto something, sweetheart?"

You hesitated, and that was all the answer he needed.

His smile softened—just a fraction, just enough for someone who knew him to see past the performance. "You know, hair is a tricky thing," he mused, rolling a gambling chip between his fingers. "It gets tangled, weighed down. The longer you keep it, the heavier it gets. Memories are the same way."

You swallowed. "And yet, you always wear that ridiculous feather earring. Seems like you’re holding onto something too."

His hand paused midair. Just for a second. A heartbeat.

Then, with a chuckle, he flicked your forehead. "Touché."

He let your hair slip from his fingers, his touch lingering like a bet placed on the table. "I suppose we’re both terrible at letting go. But hey, at least you look stunning with long hair. Ever consider growing it out just for me?"

You laughed despite yourself. He always knew how to turn a moment into a gamble—but deep down, you knew he understood.

And that was enough.

Argenti was polishing his gauntlets when he paused, his eyes catching something unusual in the candlelight.

"Your hair… It has grown." His voice was quiet, contemplative.

You ran a hand through the longer strands, suddenly self-conscious under his unwavering gaze. "Yeah. I guess I forgot to cut it."

His eyes flickered with something unreadable—curiosity, perhaps, or something deeper. He reached out hesitantly, as if seeking permission. When you didn’t pull away, his fingers brushed against your strands, calloused yet impossibly gentle.

"You always claimed to prefer it short," he mused.

You exhaled slowly. "I guess I just… didn’t want to lose anything. Not since I met you."

Argenti stilled. His hand trembled slightly as he withdrew, his usual knightly composure faltering for just a moment.

"Hair carries history," he murmured, half to himself. "Knights once wove their beloved’s locks into their armor, carrying them as a promise… as proof that someone waited for them beyond the battlefield."

He looked at you then, something fierce and unshakable in his gaze. "If this is your way of holding onto our moments together, then let it grow. Let it be a testament to the time we have shared."

His gauntleted hand cupped your cheek, and in that moment, you knew—Argenti would honor every strand, every second, as though they were sacred vows.

And perhaps, in his own way, they were.

[lady-arcane]

The Strongest Man and His War with Sleep :

Sleep is a mercy he cannot afford.

Gojo Satoru has never been good at resting.

It’s not just about the nightmares—the ones that creep in like thieves, whispering names of the dead in his ears. It’s not just about the fear—that if he lets go, if he closes his eyes for too long, the world will crumble without him watching.

No, it’s deeper than that.

Sleep is vulnerability. And vulnerability is something the strongest man alive is not allowed.

So he doesn’t sleep. Not properly. Not often.

Instead, he runs himself ragged, burns his energy down to the wick, pretends exhaustion is something that only happens to other people. He hides behind laughter, behind endless motion, behind the overwhelming force of his own presence.

Because to stop—to be still—means to listen to his own thoughts.

And there is nothing more terrifying than that.

-----

You notice it, of course.

The way he’s always moving, always talking, always shifting from one thing to the next like silence might swallow him whole. The way he rubs at his temples when he thinks no one is looking. The way he leans against doorframes just a little too long, like standing upright is a battle he’s barely winning.

"You don’t sleep, do you?" you ask one night, watching him sprawl out on your couch like he owns it.

He grins, too wide, too easy. "Who needs sleep when you’ve got these?" He gestures vaguely at his eyes, like the sheer force of his existence makes him immune to basic human needs.

You roll your eyes. "That’s not how bodies work, Satoru."

He shrugs, lazy, dramatic. "Maybe yours."

You don’t press the issue. Not yet.

But you see the way his hands still for a fraction of a second. The way his smile flickers, just briefly, like a neon sign struggling to stay lit.

And you know.

You know that beneath all that brightness, beneath the godlike arrogance and the infuriating charm, there is a man running on borrowed time.

A man who is tired.

-----

When Gojo does sleep, it’s not gentle.

It’s not peaceful, like in movies, where lovers rest entangled in soft sheets and morning light. It’s not slow and dreamy, where sleep comes like a lover’s touch, warm and welcome.

No.

When Gojo Satoru sleeps, it’s like something in him collapses.

Like a puppet with cut strings. Like a body giving out after carrying too much for too long.

It doesn’t happen often—not really. But when it does, it’s as if his body is making up for years of neglect in one go. He sleeps like the dead.

No amount of shaking, nudging, or even yelling will wake him. You’ve tried. Once, you even held a mirror under his nose to make sure he was still breathing.

(He was. But it was unnerving, seeing him so still.)

-----

"You should go to bed," you tell him one night, watching as he leans against the counter, eyes half-lidded.

He smirks. "What, you worried about me?"

You don’t bother answering. Instead, you grab his wrist, tugging him toward the bedroom.

"I don’t need—"

"Shut up, Satoru."

Surprisingly, he does.

He lets you drag him, lets you push him onto the bed, lets you pull the covers over him like he’s something fragile, something worth protecting.

And when you card your fingers through his hair—slow, soothing, like a lullaby made of touch—he doesn’t protest.

His breath evens out. His body melts against the mattress. And before you can even make a joke about it, he’s gone.

Fast asleep.

Completely, utterly, unmovable.

-----

Gojo Satoru, the strongest man alive, is impossible to wake up.

You learn this the hard way.

You try shaking him—nothing.

You try calling his name—still nothing.

You even flick his forehead, the way he does to others—but he doesn’t so much as twitch.

It’s honestly a little terrifying.

It’s like he trusts you enough to completely let go.

Like, in this moment, in this space, he believes—just for a little while—that he is safe.

And that realization sits heavy in your chest.

Because Gojo Satoru is not a man who allows himself to feel safe.

Not with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Not with the ghosts of the past clawing at his heels.

Not with the knowledge that the moment he closes his eyes, something else might be taken from him.

But here, now, with you—he sleeps.

And that means something.

-----

In the morning, when he finally stirs, stretching like a cat in the sun, he blinks at you blearily.

"You let me sleep," he murmurs, voice thick with something you don’t quite recognize.

You hum, tracing lazy patterns on his wrist. "You needed it."

A pause.

Then, a quiet chuckle. "You didn’t try to wake me, did you?"

You don’t answer.

Because if you admit how hard you tried—how impossible it was—you might have to admit what that means.

Might have to admit that Gojo Satoru, for all his power, is still just a person.

A person who gets tired.

A person who needs rest.

A person who, in the end, just wants to lay down his burdens—if only for a little while.

And somehow, impossibly, he’s chosen to do that with you.

So instead, you smirk, flicking his forehead in revenge.

"Don’t get used to it, Satoru."

His laughter is bright, easy, filling the room like morning light.

But when he pulls you close again, burying his face in your shoulder, you think—maybe, just maybe—he already has.

-----

[unbidden-yidden-deactivated20240]

Resisting the urge to make even more bitter posts about people I expected to be better

[shatterred-unvoiced-thoughts]

[phoenix-downer]

Love’s First Bloom

Summary: Kairi accidentally falls into a rushing river when she tries to pick a rare paopu flower. Sora and Riku work together to rescue her and realize they both have feelings for her.

Kairi likewise has a few realizations of her own.

~5000 words. Set between BBS and KH1. Love Triangle, Friendship, Romance, Fluff, Angst, Feelings Realization, Crushes, First Love, Introspection, Hurt/Comfort. POV Kairi, Riku, and Sora.

🌸🌼🌺

How quickly life can change. Like a cool breeze picking up or a slight shift in the scenery, suddenly what you took for granted can be gone in an instant. 

“C’mon, Kairi, let’s go!” Sora called. Kairi looked up from her current crafts project: a flower crown with purple asters, white chrysanthemums, blue forget-me-nots, and big red hibiscuses. Those colors were all nice together, but a yellow flower would be a nice addition. Maybe she’d find one as they went exploring. 

She tucked the flower crown in her pocket, then grabbed her straw hat and put it on. She wasn’t like Sora and Riku—they tanned easily, especially Sora, but her skin turned red so fast. And then the red turned into dozens and dozens of freckles. Redheads weren’t made for the tropical sun, and brief memories of another place flickered through her mind. A place with a big castle and lots of flowers and waterfalls. 

“Coming!” she cried as she stumbled after the boys. They were both so much faster than her, and the sand on the beach was always hard to run on. But presently the ground beneath her feet got more solid, and the boys finally slowed down as the three of them passed through the town and started climbing the hills behind it.

“Where are we going this time?” Sora asked, looking at Riku. Riku always decided what they would do. 

Riku grinned and swung his play sword. “It’s a surprise. But I think you’ll like it, Kairi.” He looked at her like he wanted her to say something. Come to think of it, he’d been looking at her a lot lately. 

“Oh, are there nice flowers?” she asked, her fingers resting on the flower crown in her pocket. She wanted to finish it as soon as she could.

Riku’s grin got bigger, and his eyes had a teasing glint in them. “Maybe.” 

“And pretty scenery?” she pressed. Every part of Destiny Islands was pretty, but Riku always knew the best spots.

“Only the best for you,” Riku said, and Kairi felt a funny feeling blooming in her chest.

Sora frowned, his face twisting into a scowl. “I know some pretty spots too, Kairi,” he said. 

Riku rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. The stuff I showed you guys last week,” he said, and Kairi giggled into her hand. 

Now Sora was pouting. “That’s not true, I know a lot of nice spots Riku doesn’t know!” 

“Prove it, then,” Riku said, and Sora muttered something about how he would. At the branch in the mountain path up ahead, he led them to the right. They followed the path for a little longer until Sora took them off the path and through a clump of trees. On the other side was a beautiful clearing full of wildflowers, perfect for sparring. The sound of running water reached Kairi’s ears. There must be a branch of the river nearby. 

“Oh, this is really pretty!” Kairi exclaimed, clasping her hands together. She glanced at Sora, and he grinned and rubbed his cheek. 

“Hmmph,” Riku said. It was clear this was a place he hadn’t been before. Either that or he had but hadn’t thought to bring them here.

Sora pulled his wooden sword out. “Wanna fight?” he asked Riku, and at this Riku perked up. He loved the chance to spar with Sora. He pulled his sword out too and moved into an attack stance. 

Kairi smoothed her skirts and dutifully sat down on the grass nearby. Sora recklessly charged, and Riku carefully evaded him, then caught him in the back. Sora plunged into a roll and then sprung to his feet. He whirled around so quickly that he caught Riku by surprise, knocking Riku over. But Riku still had a trick up his sleeve; he waited a few seconds, then pushed himself up with his arms, using his momentum to kick Sora with both of his feet. Sora flinched and yelped but still clung to his sword. And so the fight continued with neither of them getting the upper hand. Riku was stronger but Sora was faster, so it wasn’t clear who would win.

After a while, Kairi got kinda bored watching the boys fight. They sparred so often that she felt like she'd seen every combination of tricks they could pull off, and there were some pretty-looking flowers over by the riverbank that she really wanted to pick. She skipped off in the direction of the river. A quick glance over her shoulder told her the boys didn’t even notice because they were so focused on their fight. Smiling to herself, she continued on. She usually enjoyed hanging out with Sora and Riku, but sometimes they were just such…boys. Lately they’d been constantly sparring and competing with each other, even when she wanted to pick flowers or go swimming or make seashell crafts. 

Besides, this way she could give them both flowers no matter who won the fight. 

The wildflowers along the riverbank were really pretty. Their petals were small and delicate, like little blue bells hanging off the stems. The river sped along nearby, deceptively calm for having such a fast current. Her parents always warned her about not swimming in the water when it looked like that. One wrong move and she would easily get swept under. 

Humming, she picked a few more flowers and tucked them into her pockets. She was always careful not to take more than she needed. Only enough for her crafts—the rest she needed to leave behind so there would still be pretty flowers in the future. That was what her parents had taught her. The flowers she did pick would make nice gifts and supplies for her crafts.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a brilliant yellow blossom. It had five petals, and the rounded shape of the petals made it look like a paopu fruit. Kairi’s breath caught. Was this the paopu flower? She’d only seen it a couple times in the wild before, and never in a place she could reach it. It was supposed to be super rare, and she hadn’t expected to see one today.

Which meant she had to pick it. Who knows when she might find one again? Edging towards the riverbank, she thought about who to give it to: Sora, or Riku. A blush crept up her cheeks. You were supposed to give the flower to someone you loved. But who did she love? She wasn’t really sure. 

Just…a little further…there. She plucked the flower and smiled, glancing back towards the boys. But the movement threw her balance off, and she gasped and dropped the flower. A clump of earth crumbled beneath her hands, and a root from a nearby tree broke off when she grabbed it. She clutched at something, anything, to keep herself from falling in, but it was too late. With a scream, she tumbled headlong into the cold, fast-moving waters of the river.

🌸🌼🌺

The moment Riku and Sora heard Kairi’s blood-curdling scream and then a loud splash, the boys dropped their swords and raced to the riverbank. Riku knew Kairi was a strong swimmer thanks to his careful lessons (well, and if he had to, he would admit Sora had helped her too), but the river was cold and the current was fast. And if she’d hit her head on anything when she’d fallen…

Riku reached the riverbank first. He yanked his shirt off and threw it on the ground. “Sora, I’m going in!” he called as Sora arrived, panting hard. “Find a branch I can hold onto and pull us out.” Sora nodded, trusting him completely, and with that Riku dove into the icy water. Man, it was cold, and the current was fast, but he had to find Kairi. She hadn’t fallen into the water much earlier than him, but—

There she was, a little further downstream. Her eyes were half-lidded and she was gripping a tree branch, but as he watched in horror, her hand went limp and she slipped back into the water. 

“KAIRI!” he shouted, then swam to her as fast as he could. This couldn't be the end of her. He wouldn't let it be. Ever since she had washed up on the shores of the Destiny Islands eight years ago, his life hadn't been the same. She'd been shy and quiet at first, her eyes always gazing off into the distance like she was searching for someone she couldn't find, but that was before she’d opened up to them. They were all friends now, and the thought of never hearing her giggle or seeing her smile or watching her eyes light up when he surprised her made his stomach churn and drove him to reach her. He had to see the way her eyes danced and her smile got playful when she teased him and Sora again. He just had to.

Faster, he had to go faster. His senses sharpened, and his feelings were as clear as the river rushing to take her away from him: he couldn't bear for her to slip out of his life just as suddenly as she'd entered it. Her head briefly popped out of the water again, and relief flooded him at the side of her familiar red hair. He reached towards her, he was almost there, just a little farther—

“Kairi, grab my hand!” he shouted.

She latched onto his arm with far more strength than he expected, and he knew Sora had to act quickly, or they would both drown. In her desperate state, Kairi wouldn't remember to avoid dragging Riku under the water with her. It was something all parents told their children on Destiny Islands, and the warning rang clear through Riku's mind.

“Riku, grab the stick!” 

Never had he been so relieved to hear his best friend's voice. Sora had tied himself to a tree with some spare rope and was holding out a tree branch to him, his eyes filled with panic and worry. Riku grabbed on, and the unwanted thought flashed through his mind that Sora might not be strong enough to pull them both out. He was still pretty scrawny and small. But a determined glint was in his friend’s eyes now, and Sora braced himself and pulled with far more strength than Riku thought he was capable of. The muscles in his arms strained and shook, and he gritted his teeth and groaned loudly, but he refused to let go. For a split second, Riku thought he saw a blond boy several years older than him in Sora's place, but then he was gone and it was just Sora. Slowly, inch by inch, he pulled Riku and Kairi out of the river.

Sheesh. Riku must've been seeing things with how stressed out he was. He turned his attention to Kairi. She gasped and coughed, and at last enough of Riku was on the bank to pull and drag her the rest of the way up. She was shivering, soaking wet, and now covered in mud from the bank, but she was alive. He suddenly felt very, very weak, and as he glanced at Sora, he was shocked to see tears dripping down his cheeks.

“Thank goodness,” Sora said, sniffing and rubbing his red eyes, his voice filled with relief. “I thought I was gonna lose you both.”

Riku was irritated at how much of a crybaby Sora was being. Again. Seriously, he'd been such a crybaby ever since they were kids, and even at twelve years old, he still cried shamelessly in front of other people. Then Riku was annoyed at how little faith Sora had in him. Did Sora really think he wouldn't save Kairi? 

But when Sora smiled at them both and knelt to hug them, all of that melted away.

We really matter that much to him, don't we? A pang of guilt shot through Riku at how he'd been treating Sora lately. Putting him down in front of Kairi to try to impress her. Goading him and teasing him when he reacted and got upset. Turning everything into a competition because a tiny, green-eyed voice deep down wondered if Kairi liked Sora more.

Not that Sora noticed. The idiot was still so oblivious to his own feelings, let alone Kairi’s.

But Riku didn't push Sora away or tell him not to hug them. He didn't like how clingy Sora was being, but after what they’d all just been through, he would allow Sora to be clingy. Just this once.

“Kairi, you’re as cold as ice,” Sora said. He pulled away from them and frowned. He was right. When Riku touched her arm, it was way colder than it should've been. She coughed and wouldn't stop shivering, and when Sora said her name again, she didn't respond. 

“Kairi, wake up,” Sora begged, but she still wouldn't respond.

“I think she needs to see a doctor,” Riku said. “Hang on, let me grab my shirt so you can put it over her, then I'll go get her parents.”

He found his shirt upriver a little ways away from them, right where he’d left it, and brought it back. He tossed it to Sora and took off running, following the path of the river. He had to make it back to town as quickly as possible. But he was tired, so tired from going after Kairi. Would she really be okay? If only he were stronger, he could carry her all the way back to her parents or to the doctor himself.

Another pang of guilt shot through him. He needed more strength. More strength to protect her. His body was growing every day, but it still wasn't fast enough or strong enough. He still had to rely on adults for help. One day, he would have the strength to protect his friends himself. He had to. 

The thought urged him forward even as his legs ached and his lungs burned. Strength, to protect what matters. That was what he wanted, more than anything else.

🌸🌼🌺

Sora didn't know what to do. Even though he’d wrapped Riku’s shirt around Kairi, she kept getting colder and colder. She wasn't responding to him anymore, like she'd fallen into a deep deep sleep. She was still breathing, but her face was as pale as a ghost’s.

His heart was thundering in his chest, and his head swam. His arms ached from lifting Riku and Kairi out of the water, and he felt so useless. What good was it that he'd gotten her out of the water if she died here?

“Riku, hurry," he pleaded, but he knew he had to do something before his friend returned with help. It would still be a while yet before anyone else came. So he pulled Kairi close to his body and held her tight, hoping with all his heart that his warmth would make her body warm up again.

This was the closest he'd ever been to her, but all he could think about was how cold she was, how limp she was, how he wanted nothing more than for her to open her eyes again. Her eyes were so pretty. Blue like the sea with just a hint of purple, her favorite color. How did he not notice how pretty they were before? And now she might never open them again.

“Wake up, please,“ he begged, and the words sounded strangled and choked. “Kairi, you have to open your eyes!”

How could he have been so stupid? The thought of losing her made him realize just how much she meant to him. She was such an important part of his life, woven into so many memories as tightly as she wove her flower crowns and daisy chains together into beautiful creations. He couldn't imagine the future without her. In his mind, he'd arrogantly acted like she would always be there. But today had shown him he couldn't ever take a single moment with her for granted.

So he willed with all his heart that she would live, that his warmth would be enough. If it was, he would be sure to treasure every memory with her from now on.

After what was probably only minutes but felt like hours of agonized waiting, her skin felt ever so slightly warmer. At first he thought it was his overactive imagination, but no, a slight flush had returned to her cheeks. He gripped her even more tightly. A minute passed, and then another, and at last she stirred and opened her eyes.

“Sora?” she said weakly. Her voice sounded more like the croaks of the frogs they liked to catch in the pool on the Play Island, but to him it was the most wonderful sound in the world.

“You're awake!” He smiled, and in that moment he thought his heart would leap out of his chest. A warm, tingly sensation tumbled through him, but it wasn't a bad feeling. Just exciting and new. He would think about it later.

She smiled back. “You saved me. Thank you.”

He couldn't help himself. He hugged her tightly, and a moment later, he felt her arms wrapping around him. This was a very different hug from the quick hug he’d given her and Riku earlier. She was close, closer than she'd ever been, and something stirred deep inside him. His face, no, his entire body felt warm. He’d never been so aware of his body like this before, let alone hers. He was embarrassed by what he was feeling, but at the same time, he didn't want to let go of her either. It was like he couldn't move and didn't want to. She wasn't pulling away either. Did she like hugging him? He sure liked hugging her.

What was all this? He’d never felt like this before. Before he could make heads or tails of it, Riku returned with the grownups. 

The look on Riku's face was strange. Like Sora had just said something awful and punched him. Sora felt oddly…guilty. Like he shouldn't be hugging Kairi like this in front of Riku, even though it felt better than he could've imagined. So he pulled away from her even though he could've sat there hugging her for hours.

“Kairi, are you okay?" her mother asked, holding a blanket out to her daughter. The grownups took over from that point, and Sora just sort of watched everything in a daze.

Until Kairi wondered whose T-shirt she was wearing, and Riku shyly said that it was his. Kairi thanked him and tried to give it back to him, her cheeks pink as she avoided looking at his bare chest. Riku shook his head and insisted she keep it, and his cheeks were flushed too.

Sora felt like someone had kicked him in the gut. The breeze that had felt pleasant earlier felt cold now. Like the world was strange and different and off kilter because he knew something he wished he didn't. 

He understood now why Riku had given him that strange look. A tiny green-eyed monster reared its ugly head inside him. A creature of shadow that whispered Kairi's mine. Sora pushed the creature deep down to where he couldn't hear it anymore. Kairi wasn't a possession to own, she was a person. She was his friend. How could he even think something like that?

But a part of him didn't want her hugging anyone else the way she'd hugged him. And that part of him did not like the way she had looked at Riku, or the way Riku had looked at her.

Sora had stepped into a storybook he didn't want to be any part of. Riku was his best friend. Kairi was also his friend. He didn't want to hurt Riku, and he couldn't bear to watch Kairi smile at Riku or blush because of something Riku had said or giggle because of something Riku had done. He had the funny sense that the little green-eyed monster would grow bigger and stronger every time she did.

So when the grownups took Kairi back to the town, Sora stayed behind. She looked disappointed but didn't argue, and he promised he'd see her tomorrow. Now he was wandering back and forth by the river and kicking clumps of grass. He didn't think he could be around Riku or Kairi right now. He was relieved she was okay, but he had no idea what was going on with himself. The three of them were friends. They would always be friends. Right?

He wanted everything to go back to the way it was. Things had been fine this morning. Sure, Riku liked to tease him, and Kairi liked to tease him too, but he knew where his place was in that world. This new world, with these confusing new feelings? He had no idea. All he was sure of was that he wanted to hug Kairi again like that, but he didn't want to hurt Riku's feelings. And he knew that if Kairi ever hugged Riku the way she had hugged him, the monster might destroy him from the inside.

Not that he could ever let either of them know that. All of this felt so wrong and so complicated. 

He wandered over to the spot where Kairi had fallen in the river. A yellow flower with five petals caught his eye. Huh. The rounded shape of the petals kinda made it look like a paopu fruit. He picked it up and carefully tucked it in his pocket. It was a nice flower, and for some reason, he felt like it should stay with him. Maybe it was a token of good luck that had kept Kairi safe. He would take it home and put it in a vase. That would help it live for a while longer.

As he walked home, the future didn't seem so scary anymore. Those strange thoughts he had had earlier, those weird new feelings…it all felt a little silly now. He and Riku and Kairi would always be friends. He put his hands behind his neck and whistled as he walked the path home.

A tiny part of him, not the little green-eyed monster but something smaller and more delicate and yet harder to kill, hoped that someday, Kairi would hug him again like that, and that Riku wouldn't hate him for it.

🌸🌼🌺

The next day, Kairi was feeling much better. A good night’s sleep, her mother's miso soup, and the day off from school had worked wonders. Still, that had been an awfully close call, and she promised her parents never to do something so foolish again just to try to get a flower.

She sighed sadly. She'd been so close to having a legendary paopu flower of her own. Imagine what she could've done with it! Oh well. It certainly wasn't worth her life, and she knew she would find another one eventually.

The weather was perfect today. She happily skipped down the path to the main part of town, enjoying the beautiful scenery. Her father was the mayor, and her family lived in a big special house on a hill overlooking the town. Sora and Riku's families lived in town, so it was a bit of a walk to reach them, but she didn't mind.

She decided to stop by Sora's house first. It was a little closer, and he'd acted strange after their hug yesterday, and she wanted to know why. He’d gotten all quiet and thoughtful, which wasn't like him at all. She was a little bummed out he hadn't walked her home along with the grownups and Riku. But he’d said he wanted to stay behind a little longer, and she’d been too tired to argue.

She knocked on the door, then rocked up and down on her heels as she waited for him to answer, her hands behind her back. His mom opened the door instead and invited her in, and she greeted her politely and took off her shoes. Then she took the stairs two at a time and burst into his room. He was lying on his bed with his hands behind his neck, and he sat up, surprise written on his features until he realized it was her. His face lit up and then softened into a smile.

“Hey, Kairi! I'm glad you're feeling better.”

She tilted her head and leaned closer, which made his breath catch in an adorable way and a flush creep up his cheeks. “It's all thanks to you and—“

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a brilliant yellow blossom carefully placed in a simple glass vase on his bedside table. It had five round petals, and Kairi’s breath caught. Was this the paopu flower she’d picked yesterday? 

“Sora, where did you find that flower?” 

He grinned. “Oh, that? It's pretty, isn't it? I found it on the riverbank yesterday and brought it home because I liked it.” He paused for a moment, studying her face. “Do you want it?”

She just stared at him for a few moments. You were supposed to give the flower to someone you loved. By fate or by chance, the flower had made its way to Sora. And in that moment, her feelings became crystal clear. The flower was a sign, but it hadn’t made up her mind. No, it was simply confirmation of what she already knew, deep down inside her heart.

She was very grateful to Riku for saving her from the river and for his friendship over the years, and like every other girl on the islands, she thought he was attractive, so of course she had blushed at seeing him shirtless yesterday. But she'd also realized something very important, something that had taken her by complete surprise.

Sora was the one she had a crush on. Sora. On paper she should prefer Riku. He was older, he was more mature, he was stronger and faster and good-looking. So why didn't she like him like that?

The answer was Sora. As she gazed at him, her heart grew warm and a blush spread across her cheeks. She couldn't stop thinking about the tender way he’d hugged her yesterday. How safe and gentle his arms were. How he had warmed her cold, shivering body up. The smile on his face that was meant only for her. It had lit up his eyes when she woke up and transformed his entire appearance. And his eyes were so pretty. How had she never noticed before? They were as blue as the sky at midday without a cloud to shroud them. She loved his messy mop of spiky brown hair and his dorky clothes, too. 

He was so brave and kind and goodhearted. Finding the strength from deep in his heart to rescue both her and Riku from the river, even though it must've been really difficult to pull them both out of it.

Sora was a good person. And knowing he was a good person, that he would go to any length to save her, painted him in a different light. Or maybe she was finally seeing what had been there all along.

She suddenly felt bad about the look on his face yesterday when she’d tried to give Riku back his T-shirt. He looked so hurt in a way she hadn't ever seen before, but he’d quickly masked it. Was it possible he was jealous? The thought sent a little thrill through her.

He had nothing to be jealous of. The paopu flower was only confirmation of something that had been growing and growing until today it had burst into bloom. Its yellow petals cast everything in a different light, like rays of the sun showing her Sora’s true self.

He tilted his head, a faint smile twitching at his lips. “Kairi? Everything okay?”

“Yes, sorry! I just got lost in thought, that's all.”

He just shook his head and grinned. “And you give me such a hard time about daydreaming,” he teased, putting his hands behind his neck. Then his expression softened and he lowered them. “But seriously, do you want the flower? You can have it.”

“Oh! No, no I want you to keep it. It suits you, and it suits that spot on the window.”

Still…The fact that he’d offered her the flower…was that confirmation he had feelings for her, too? 

No, he didn't know what it meant. She wasn't even sure he knew what his feelings were. But maybe one day he would. And then maybe he would tell her.

“Okay!” He glanced out the window looking out over the area in front of the house, where Riku was now waiting for them. “C’mon, Riku’s here.”

“I'll be right down,” she told him. With that he took off and clambered down the stairs while she lingered, staring in awe at the flower. It had found its way to Sora like it was supposed to and had revealed her feelings to her. Her heart.

This was all so strange and sudden and new. She needed time to think, to process her feelings before she went downstairs and joined the boys. A blush crept up her face, and she giggled into her hand. Sora! She liked Sora! Selphie would tease her endlessly about it if she knew.

But she didn't have to know yet. For now, this was Kairi's precious, private secret. She didn't have to tell anyone until she was ready. How this would all unfold was uncertain, but these new feelings were wonderful, and she would treasure them in her heart just like she treasured Sora in her heart.

And, when the time was right, she would tell him. Glancing at the flower one final time, she knew how she would do it. It was all in the flower’s namesake. She descended the stairs with a smile, looking forward to the day her daydreaming would become a reality.

🌸🌼🌺

A/N: Happy birthday to @hollypollly! 🥳 She gave me a very detailed prompt and outline for the story which was a lot of fun to write ❤️ Thank you so much for everything, Holley, and I hope you have a wonderful day and a fantastic year ❤️ I'm really grateful we met, and I'm glad you're a part of my life 🥺❤️

And thank you all for reading ❤️ I really enjoyed exploring how each of the characters felt in this situation because I do think they would all be feeling conflicting emotions, and it was fun to put that Ventus cameo in there too. I also really enjoyed exploring the world of Destiny Islands more and expounding on the paopu flower concept Holley came up with. Hope you all enjoyed!

[star-struck09]

I say I understand but what I really mean is that I would never do this to you.

[aventurineswife]

What Was Once Broken

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, The Herta x Reader, Angst to Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Emotional Vulnerability, Soft Moments, Character Growth, Lighthearted Banter, Introspection.

Warnings: Emotional distress, Mild self-blame/guilt, Past Trauma trauma mentions, Sentimental item breakage, Comfort and reconciliation.

Tagline: @themiddletenmasibling, @k1revs

You hadn’t meant to, of course. It was a simple mistake—a slip of the hand, a sudden movement—and there it was: his cherished lucky gambling chip, cracked down the middle. Aventurine had kept it with him for years, a token from his earliest days of navigating the ruthless world of high-stakes games. His connection to it was more than sentimental; it symbolized his skill, his luck, and, for him, his survival.

The moment the chip broke in your hand, a weight seemed to settle in the air between you, something heavy, unspoken, and deeply personal. His eyes shifted from you to the broken piece in your hand, a moment of silence stretching long.

"Do you realize... what this meant to me?" His voice wasn’t cold, but it was edged with something you couldn’t quite place—concern, frustration, maybe fear?

You stammered an apology, feeling your heart race, but his gaze softened when he saw your genuine distress. He took the broken half from you gently, his thumb brushing over the fractured edge as if contemplating it for a moment.

"Don’t worry," he said after a long pause, his usual smile returning, though it was a little more strained than usual. "I suppose it was due for a little risk, wasn’t it? Perhaps it’s time for a new gamble anyway."

You felt a flicker of relief, but the sight of his once-untouched token made you feel small in the face of his quiet forgiveness. Still, Aventurine chuckled lightly, reaching into his coat to retrieve a small pouch.

"Let’s consider it a lesson in trust, hmm?" he continued, his usual playful demeanor returning as he let the two halves of the broken chip fall into the pouch. "Next time, don’t break something that important... but I’ll let it slide this time."

And with that, he pulled you close, his arm wrapping around your shoulders, the weight of the gamble turning into something warmer.

"You’re the most valuable risk I’ve ever taken."

You didn’t realize it at first, but when the small dreamcatcher, a gift from Sunday, slipped from your fingers and shattered onto the ground, you saw his face fall. It wasn’t just a piece of jewelry; it was symbolic of the dreams he’d once had, and the hope he tried to hold on to. You could feel the air around you thicken with the weight of the moment.

Sunday stepped forward slowly, his usual composed demeanor faltering for a brief moment. His eyes softened in a way that made your heart ache.

"I... I didn’t mean for it to break," you whispered, unsure if it was the fragile item or his feelings you’d truly hurt.

Sunday bent down, carefully collecting the shattered pieces, his fingers brushing over the remnants with a soft reverence that struck you. His wings fluttered behind him as he straightened, his calm demeanor slowly taking hold once more.

"Don’t fret," he murmured, his voice gentle but tinged with an almost wistful note. "I suppose it’s fitting... that it broke. Dreams are fragile things, aren’t they?"

You reached out to help him, but he stopped you with a subtle gesture.

"I was once obsessed with protecting others from pain, believing that peace could only be found in perfect harmony," he continued, the vulnerability in his voice surprising you. "But I’ve learned... there’s beauty in the broken parts, too."

Sunday offered you a small smile, his eyes meeting yours with a softness that was reserved only for moments like this.

"If anything," he added quietly, his smile growing, "I’m just glad you’re here. Broken dreams can still become something new."

It was a rare moment of peace, just the two of you. Dan Heng had always been quiet, distant even, yet you felt comfortable in the silence between you—until your accidental knock sent his prized possession, an artifact from his homeworld, tumbling off the table. It cracked upon impact, a small yet irreplaceable token of his past.

You froze. Dan Heng didn’t look at you right away, his expression unreadable. His hand reached for the shattered item with a slow deliberateness that made you feel the gravity of your mistake.

"Dan Heng, I... I’m so sorry," you stammered, your heart pounding.

He didn’t respond at first. His fingers brushed over the broken fragments, his gaze downcast, before finally lifting to meet yours. His eyes weren’t angry, but there was an undeniable coldness, something guarded, as though this loss dredged up more than the physical object.

"It’s fine," he said, his voice calm but distant, like the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. "It’s just a thing, after all."

But you knew better. You could see the tension in his posture, the tightness around his eyes, and you realized that for Dan Heng, it was never just a thing—it was a part of the past he could never truly escape.

Reaching out, you gently touched his hand, offering a quiet comfort. Dan Heng stiffened for a moment, but then, to your surprise, he relaxed. His hand closed over yours, the smallest trace of warmth returning to his eyes.

"It’s not about the object," he said softly, his voice almost a whisper. "It’s about everything it represents…"

His fingers gently traced over the pieces of the artifact as he carefully rebuilt it in his own way, his usual composed demeanor returning.

"But," he added, his voice shifting to something softer, "as long as you’re with me, the past... it doesn’t matter so much anymore."

It was a mistake you’d never live down. The shard of the Simulated Universe—her greatest achievement—lay shattered before you, fragments scattered across the cold floor. The moment it slipped from your fingers, the world around you seemed to freeze.

Herta, who had always been so detached from the world, finally looked up from her research with an unreadable expression. You had never seen her look quite so... shaken. Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the damage, but there was no immediate anger—just a strange kind of amusement.

"Well," she said with a wry smile, though the hint of a frown crept up on her lips. "I suppose I can’t say I didn’t see this coming. It’s always something, isn’t it?"

You opened your mouth to apologize, but she raised a finger to silence you.

"No need," Herta said breezily, her usual playful tone returning. "What’s a little broken shard in the grand scheme of the universe? It’s not like we’re unraveling space and time here."

Despite her words, she moved quickly to pick up the pieces, her hands moving in a fluid, practiced motion. She gave you a fleeting glance as she worked, her gaze softer than you expected.

"You know," she mused, eyes glinting with a mischievous spark, "if you’d been paying attention, you could have avoided this. But... I suppose that’s the fun of discovery, isn’t it? The mistakes are just as enlightening as the successes."

As the pieces began to recombine in her hands, the air around you seemed to shift. A small, unspoken understanding passed between you.

"Next time, though," she added with a sly grin, "try not to break anything important. Or at least... not my pride."

And just like that, you found yourself smiling in relief, the tension lifting as she casually rebuilt the artifact, her voice resuming its playful mockery.

"I suppose you're lucky I’m so forgiving," she added, her tone teasing, but with just a hint of something more.

"Just don’t make a habit of it," she said, her hand brushing yours briefly in a gesture that, for a fleeting moment, seemed almost... tender.

[lady-arcane]

—The Language of Silence—

Unlike Gojo, he enjoys silence and will often sit with someone for hours without talking.

Some people fear silence.

They see it as an emptiness, a gap that needs filling. They rush to fill the space with words, laughter, noise—anything to push back against the quiet.

Suguru Geto is not one of those people.

He has always understood that silence is not the absence of something. It is its own language, its own presence. It is the space where truths settle, where emotions breathe.

Gojo fills the silence because he does not know how to sit with it. But Suguru?

Suguru lets it stay.

And so do you.

-----

The first time you realize this about him, you are both sitting on the temple steps, watching the wind move through the trees. It has been over an hour, and neither of you has spoken.

You shift slightly, waiting for him to break the quiet, but he doesn’t. He just sits there, eyes half-lidded, hands folded in his lap, his presence as steady as the sky above.

And for some reason, that steadiness makes you stay.

Minutes pass. Maybe hours. The world moves, but you do not.

You look at him and wonder if he is thinking about something or nothing at all.

“Suguru?”

He turns his head, slow and deliberate.

“You ever get tired of sitting in silence?” you ask, half-joking.

A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Do you?”

You think about it. Shake your head. “Not with you.”

And that is enough.

-----

Suguru has always been like this. Quiet, contemplative. His silence is not an empty thing—it is full of thoughts he does not say, emotions he does not spill.

But sometimes, you wish he would.

Sometimes, you wish he would speak the things you only catch glimpses of in his eyes. The weight he carries. The exhaustion that lingers in the corners of his smile.

“Do you ever wish you could turn your brain off?” you ask one evening, lying on the floor of his dorm, staring up at the ceiling.

Suguru hums in thought. “Sometimes.”

“Do you ever succeed?”

A pause.

“No.”

You turn your head, watching him in the dim light. He is leaning against the bed, arms resting on his knees, his gaze far away.

“You could talk to me,” you say softly.

He looks at you, something unreadable flickering across his face. “I know.”

But he doesn’t. Not really. Not in the way you wish he would.

Instead, he lets the silence settle between you again.

And you let it.

-----

There is a difference between comfortable silence and avoidance. Between peace and distance.

You notice the shift before you name it.

It happens after Riko. After her laughter turns to memory, after blood stains the ground where she once stood.

Suguru stops filling the silence with meaning. Stops letting it be a presence between you.

Instead, he uses it as a wall.

You sit together, as you always have, but something is different now. He is farther away, even when he is right next to you.

You reach for him—not physically, but in the way you look at him, the way you wait for him to meet your eyes. But he doesn’t. Not like he used to.

One night, when the distance becomes unbearable, you finally break the quiet.

“Suguru.”

He blinks, as if pulled from somewhere far away. “Hm?”

“You’re shutting me out.”

He exhales slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m just… tired.”

It is a half-truth. You both know it.

But you do not press.

Because some things are too heavy to say out loud.

-----

You do not hear him leave.

One day, he is there. The next, he is not.

And suddenly, silence is no longer a comfort. It is an absence. It is something hollow, something sharp.

You sit on the temple steps alone, the same place where you once sat together, and you realize that silence is not always peaceful.

Sometimes, it is unbearable.

Because this time, it does not mean understanding.

It means he is gone.

-----

Years later, when you see him again, he is different.

His silence is no longer soft. It is a weapon now, honed and sharp-edged.

But when your eyes meet, just for a second, you wonder—

Is there still a part of him that remembers?

The quiet mornings. The easy stillness. The unspoken understanding.

You do not ask. And he does not say.

But when he turns to leave, you swear—just for a moment—he lingers.

Just long enough for you to know:

Some silences never truly end.

[shyjusticewarrior]

[shatterred-unvoiced-thoughts]

[star-struck09]

I cannot blame you because you were hurting too.

[aventurineswife]

❤ The Language of Flowers | 020

❤ | Your options shall be: Sunday, Aventurine, Dan Heng, Veritas Ratio, Boothill, Jing Yuan, Blade, Phainon, Mydei, or Moze. Whoever you think suits this prompt.

❤ | Flower & it's definition: The Columbine flower | symbolize virtue, resilience, and praise of God. It serves as a symbol of fortitude, and it's sometimes given as a gift to provide courage and endurance in one's endeavors.

The Language of Flowers

Tags: Sunday x Reader, Phainon x Reader, Mydei x Reader, Fluff, Slow Burn, Comfort, Symbolism, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Battle Aftermath, Introspection, Subtle Romance, Soft Moments.

Warnings: Mentions of War & Conflict, Mild Injuries, Survivor’s Guilt, Existential Themes, Mentions of Isolation/Loneliness, Self-Doubt & Internal Struggles, Bittersweet Undertones.

The evening aboard the Astral Express was quiet, the soft hum of the train lulling most of its passengers into stillness. You found yourself outside the passenger quarters, seated near the glass-paneled observation deck, staring at the endless expanse of stars.

Sunday stood beside you, his eyes reflecting the celestial glow. He had always been like this—distant yet present, serene yet burdened by something unseen.

You reached into your pocket, fingers brushing against the fragile petals of a flower you had carefully preserved. The Columbine was small yet sturdy, its soft blues and purples standing in contrast to the metal of the train.

"Here," you said, extending it toward him. "For you."

Sunday’s hair shifted as he tilted his head. His wings, tucked neatly behind his ears, gave a faint flutter—a silent giveaway of surprise.

"A Columbine," he murmured, taking the flower delicately between his gloved fingers. "A symbol of fortitude."

You nodded. "I thought it suited you. No matter what you've been through, no matter the weight you carry… you endure."

Sunday’s gaze flickered. There was something fragile in that moment, something unspoken between the two of you. He had spent so long believing that strength meant bearing everything alone. But here you were, recognizing his struggle, offering something small yet significant.

He exhaled, an almost imperceptible smile ghosting his lips. "Perhaps," he said softly, "endurance is easier with someone to share the burden."

Your fingers brushed briefly as he accepted the flower. It was a fleeting moment, yet profound—a quiet affirmation that he was not alone.

The battle had been long, the air still thick with the scent of smoke and steel. You sat on the worn stone steps of an ancient ruin, wrapping a makeshift bandage around a fresh wound on your arm.

Phainon emerged from the rubble, his coat fluttering slightly with his movements. He carried himself with his usual poise, yet his piercing eyes softened when they landed on you.

“You should let me handle that,” he said, kneeling beside you.

You huffed. “I can manage.”

"Of course you can," he agreed, yet his hands carefully brushed yours aside, replacing your crude knot with something more secure. His touch was gentle—a stark contrast to the ferocity with which he wielded his claymore in battle.

From the folds of his coat, he retrieved a single Columbine flower, its delicate petals untouched despite the chaos of the battlefield. He set it beside you.

"A symbol of resilience," he explained, a soft smile on his lips. "Fitting, isn't it?"

You blinked, momentarily taken aback. "You had time to pick a flower in the middle of battle?"

Phainon chuckled, shaking his head. "I found it growing in the ruins. It reminded me of you."

Heat crept up your neck. "I—That’s…"

He tilted his head, watching you with an amused expression. "What? Is the fearless warrior at a loss for words?"

You huffed, shoving his shoulder lightly, but your fingers lingered on the soft fabric of his coat. His laughter was warm, a welcome contrast to the cold air of the battlefield.

Perhaps, amid all the bloodshed and uncertainty, Phainon had given you more than a flower. Perhaps he had given you something to hold onto.

The mist-shrouded lands of Amphoreus had always carried an air of tragedy. Mydei stood at the edge of a ruined watchtower, his sharp gaze scanning the remnants of his homeland. His people had suffered. He had suffered. And yet, he remained.

You approached him quietly, the wind tousling your hair as you stepped beside him. He did not turn to you immediately, his expression unreadable.

"You’ve been standing here a while," you said softly.

"I remember when this place was whole," he murmured. "Before the war, before Nikador… before everything changed."

You reached into your satchel, pulling out a Columbine flower you had gathered on the way. The petals were slightly windblown, but their vibrancy remained.

"For you," you said, placing it in his palm.

Mydei stared at it, his fingers brushing the delicate petals. "This flower…"

"Resilience," you told him. "Endurance. A reminder that even in ruin, something beautiful can still bloom."

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, his grip tightened around the stem—not enough to crush it, but enough to hold it firmly.

"...Thank you," he finally said, voice barely above a whisper.

His other hand, reached for yours. A silent acknowledgment. A quiet vow.

You squeezed his hand in return.

You would endure together.

[Navigation]

[lady-arcane]

~A Hollow God and His Quiet Devotion~

Human mind is the scariest thing of all.

He’s known this for a while.

There’s something about the way a person can laugh while breaking, smile while suffering, pretend while decaying. It’s horrifying, really. The mind’s ability to rationalize its own undoing. To keep existing even when everything inside it is burning down.

Gojo Satoru is no exception

He is the strongest. The untouchable. A divine existence trapped in human skin. A god, they say, though he would laugh at the irony of that title. Because what kind of god is constantly running from his own mind?

He wears a mask, not a literal one—though the blindfold, the sunglasses, the casual grins serve their purpose—but a mask made of distraction. A personality so large it drowns out anything real. Gojo is insufferable, overwhelming, a force of nature that never stops moving because if he does, he might have to listen to himself.

And yet, here, now—alone, in the quiet of his apartment, with you—he is something else entirely

Not a god. Not a teacher. Not a man with the weight of the world on his back.

Just Satoru

-----

The first time you noticed the difference, you almost didn't believe it.

Gojo is affectionate in a way that makes people uncomfortable. He leans too close, speaks too loudly, touches too freely. His love is an inconvenience, a joke, a spectacle.

But in private, it's different.

He doesn’t tell you he loves you. He doesn’t have to

You see it in the way he waits for you to enter a room before he does—an instinctual need to ensure your safety before his own. The way he lets his head drop against your shoulder like he’s finally found something solid enough to rest on. The way his fingers hesitate at your wrist before sliding down to lace between yours, like he still can’t believe he’s allowed this

Gojo Satoru, the strongest man alive, loves you in secret.

Not because he’s ashamed. Not because he doesn’t want the world to know.

But because love—true, real, terrifying love—is something he doesn’t know how to perform.

-----

"You’re quiet today," you say, lying beside him.

The lights are dim, the city hum outside muted by distance. His apartment is too big for one person, but not quite big enough to contain everything he refuses to say.

"Mm," he hums in response, gaze fixed on the ceiling.

"You’re never quiet."

A beat.

Then, a breath of a laugh. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"It’s not bad," you say, shifting closer, feeling the warmth of his body through the thin fabric of his shirt. "Just… different."

He doesn’t answer right away. His fingers play with the hem of your sleeve, like a nervous habit, like he needs something to anchor him.

"Satoru," you press, softer this time.

He finally looks at you. No blindfold, no glasses. Just bare, unguarded eyes—the kind of blue that makes the ocean look dull in comparison.

"I don’t have to be loud with you," he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

And you understand.

Gojo Satoru exists too loudly, too overwhelmingly, because that’s what the world expects from him. But with you, he doesn’t have to be anything. He can just exist.

No expectations. No performances.

Just silence, and the steady rhythm of your breathing beside him.

-----

Gojo does not know how to need people.

He has spent years pretending otherwise—being the center of attention, the life of the party, the one everyone looks at but no one truly sees.

And yet, in the moments that matter, he is always alone.

He was alone when Geto left.

Alone when he cradled Yuuji’s lifeless body.

Alone when he stood at the top of the world and realized there was no one there with him.

So when he lets himself rest against you, when he presses his forehead to your shoulder and lets out a sigh so deep it shakes something inside of him—he isn’t sure what he’s doing.

Is this what it means to trust someone? To be seen?

He thinks it might be.

And that scares him more than anything else. Because if he lets himself have this—have you—what happens when he loses it?

What happens when he loves you so much it becomes a weakness?

What happens when the world, cruel as it is, takes you away

(He doesn’t know. And he doesn’t want to know.)

So instead, he holds you a little tighter.

As if, for once, he can keep something.

As if, for once, he won’t be left behind.

-----

"You’re thinking too hard," you murmur, running your fingers through his hair.

He huffs, burying his face against your neck. "Maybe I just like your neck."

"Sure, Satoru."

A beat.

A laugh. And then, quieter—"You’re not going anywhere, right?"

The question catches you off guard.

You pull back slightly, just enough to see his face. There’s a lazy smirk there, but his eyes—God, his eyes—betray him.

"I’m not going anywhere," you say, with the kind of certainty he has never allowed himself to believe in.

He watches you for a moment longer, like he’s memorizing your face, like he’s searching for something—some proof that you’re real, that you mean it.

Then, with a sigh that sounds almost like relief, he lets his weight press fully against you.

Gojo Satoru does not pray.

But in that moment, he closes his eyes, exhales, and hopes—hopes that, just this once, the world will be kind.

That, just this once, he won’t have to be strong.

That, just this once, he won’t have to be alone.

And with your heartbeat steady beneath his palm, he almost believes it.

Almost.

-----

Human mind is the scariest thing of all.

Because it can trick you into thinking you’re untouchable.

Because it can make you believe that love is a weakness.

Because it can convince you that no matter how tightly you hold on, you will always end up alone.

But as Gojo Satoru drifts to sleep, his hand tangled with yours, he wonders—just for a moment—if, maybe, he was wrong.

[measurelessdreamer]

Again with X-Men: The Last Stand because I can’t help myself… are there any scogan fanfics where everything happened the same way except Logan stayed at the school afterwards and fell in love with Scott posthumously? It’s not original at all (yes, I got it from BvS superbat fanfics), but I can’t get it out of my head.

You have this guilt-ridden Logan who still sees Jean the same way he does in The Wolverine but the focus is also on everything else that was taken. Charles is gone along with his heir, but the school and the X-Men need to continue somehow even if no one knows how and they need to figure it out. Ororo takes up most of the work, but she’s struggling and Logan is helping her but is still being shit at following orders and sometimes he has to make a lot of calls too because it’s a new dynamic for her and sometimes she forgets and it’s through this experience that he truly sees how difficult being Cyclops must have been for Scott.

Then there is Hank who helps out a lot too because the school and the idea of it needs to be kept alive as well and they need all the help they can get. He and Logan spend a lot of time together (because “You and I are gonna be good friends. You just don’t know it yet.” is there for the taking) and Hank can’t help but talk about Charles and Scott and it’s horrible and Logan doesn’t want him to, but he knows it’s necessary because they can’t just let go even if they should and it’s hard for Logan especially because there was no choice when it came to killing Jean and when it came to Charles, he went the same way he’d lived most of his life - by helping people. And so there is remorse things worked out that way, but with Scott, it’s different. Because he didn’t choose it and it was a pretty shitty way to go all things considered and he was Scott. He had so much to live for and in retrospect Logan can see that he should have tried harder (because “I think it’s time for us to move on,” is nice in theory, but does it work in practice?) or at least tried to stop him from leaving that day when it was so obvious he needed help.

And now that Logan can see Jean, it does occur to him that she might have messed with Scott’s head the same she is doing right now with his and if that were true, it’s horrible that none of them knew.

I imagine that maybe, though, Logan can only see her. That for some reason she cannot talk to him though it seems she tries and wants to tell him something and he doesn’t know what and he loses it a couple of times because he didn’t ask for this and he most definitely didn’t ask to miss Scott now that he finally gets to know him and it’s too late to do anything about it.

But then, Scott does come back (somehow, I don’t know how) and it’s him, there is no doubt and he remembers everything and Logan hates to be the one to tell him what happened after his “death”, but somehow it falls up to him and he has no hopes that Scott will even want him at the school, let alone talk to him, but Scott keeps surprising him and this is not the end of them at all and eventually love comes in from Scott’s side as well.

[shatterred-unvoiced-thoughts]

Day 2 of my scribbles

-Enjoy :)

~Sam Lane~