#rice ball tool

[ladyyomiart]

⏳Journey to the Past: Old 2018-2019 works featuring Son Goku (Dragon Ball) and Rice Ritz (DB Xenoverse OC). 🍙💖 Dragon Ball Xenoverse remains one of my favorite DB games, not only because of how fun it is, but because it prompted me to create my five beloved Time Patroller OCs, the "Kame Warriors"! 💪🔥 (Which includes Rice; Master Roshi's granddaughter in the fancomic!).

👆Back in 2020 I had the idea of drawing a comic cover mockup inspired by a "Guardians of the Galaxy" official one, but using my Dragon ball Xenoverse OCs as a way to thank my followers for the love they always showed to the characters! 🤗💖

[sixeyesonathiel]

pt. 2 of satoru and his shikigami!reader. | soft angst | fluff | comfort | 1.7k wc. | read part 1 here!

a/n: the sillies ever. idek if this is even counts as drabble it’s too long sighs dramatically

before you, satoru didn’t laugh.

not really, anyway. maybe a smug huff when he beat a servant at go, or a snort when someone tripped over their own feet. but laughter—the real kind, the ugly, breathless, belly-aching kind—was a foreign language to him.

before you, satoru never shared his food. he didn’t talk during mealtimes. didn’t play with the other children, didn’t chase dragonflies in the garden. his eyes were always too sharp for his age, like he was seeing the world from behind glass. untouchable. too perfect, too cold. like a doll that knew it wasn’t meant to break.

and then you showed up. a wobbly thing with wide eyes and no sense of personal space. you tried to drink his miso soup once by sticking your entire face in the bowl. he nearly threw a chopstick at you. nearly.

now, a year later, he finds himself hoarding sugar plums in his sleeves to sneak to you when no one's looking.

“here,” he mumbles, eyes flicking away, shoving a sticky sweet into your palm. his ears are pink. “don’t choke.”

you beam like he’s given you the moon, your cheeks squishing upward, eyes crescents.

it’s stupid. you’re stupid. and satoru’s starting to think you’ve broken something fundamental in him.

he realizes with growing horror that he doesn’t really mind it.

there are other changes, too.

you’re speaking better now. you call him by name instead of squeaky syllables, even if it still comes out strange—“so’ru” or “toru” when you’re sleepy.

“toru, come nap,” you whine one afternoon, arms flung dramatically over your head as you flop belly-first onto the tatami. sunlight warms the floorboards, catching in the dust motes that swirl lazily in the air. outside, cicadas scream in the garden. “sun warm. futon cold. me sad.”

he groans, throwing a pillow at your face. “you’re so dramatic. i’m not napping with you.”

you blink. pause. then sit cross-legged beside him, lips pursed in deep contemplation. “me dramatic... but you dramatic-er.”

he chokes on air, snorts once, then bursts out laughing—sharp and surprised, like it caught him off guard.

“you’re a little goblin,” he wheezes, brushing his bangs back as they fall into his eyes. his smile doesn’t quite leave, not even after he composes himself. he pokes your cheek. “why frown?”

you grab his finger with both hands, holding it hostage. “’cause you no nap. nap with me.”

satoru rolls his eyes, but his shoulders relax. you both collapse onto the futon in a tangle of limbs, the late summer breeze filtering through the open shoji.

still, not everything is sweetness and rice balls.

there’s a day—one of those days—where his head aches and the clan elders have been whispering again. he’s tired of the way they speak of him like a tool, a future carved in stone. someone had said something about duty, about legacy, about how he needs to stop coddling that thing—and you tug on his sleeve.

“toru come, show you rock i find! it spark—”

“stop,” he snaps, louder than he means to. his voice cuts through the air like a blade.

your sentence falters. your hands, mid-gesture, drop to your sides.

he sees it too late—the way your shoulders hunch, the way your lips press tight.

“just—stop following me around like some stupid pet,” he mutters, eyes hard, voice brittle. “go bother someone else for once.”

you blink once. then again. your mouth opens, then closes.

then you step forward, still reaching for him.

he doesn’t think. doesn’t want to be touched. his infinity flickers on with a soft shimmer, just as your fingers stretch out.

your hand halts in the air. you stare at the invisible barrier between you, wide-eyed.

his expression twists, frustrated and defensive. “stop it. just stop staring at me like that.”

and then, with a quiet breath, your form folds in on itself, unraveling like frost under morning light.

a fox sits in your place. small. silent. ethereal.

fur the color of snow, eyes a pale mirror of his own, crystalline and bright. your ears flick once. tail swishes. you don’t look at him.

then you leap to the windowsill and vanish.

you avoid him for three days.

it isn’t just the absence that gnaws at him—it’s the way the air itself changes. the estate becomes hollow in your silence, as if the walls themselves are waiting for your voice to echo off them again. the golden sun still spills generously across the wooden walkways, but it clings less warmly.

the rooms feel like paintings with colors faded. the cicadas buzz in disjointed rhythms, as if unsure of the melody without your presence. even the koi pond, usually bubbling with life, lies eerily still—its surface untouched, save for a single petal that drifts in slow, lonely circles.

a maid, nervous and young, fumbles with a basket of freshly folded linens. she stands near the corridor, peeking through the shoji screens. her voice is a breath swallowed by wind. “was she sent away?”

satoru doesn’t answer. he doesn’t even blink.

he keeps walking, each footfall sharp against the wooden floor. the hem of his robe snaps in the breeze, trailing after him like the tail of some angry god. his mouth is a flat line, but his jaw ticks—the smallest motion, like a fault line warning of a quake.

by the third night, he’s nothing short of a storm in disguise.

he paces barefoot across the polished wood, his feet silent but purposeful. his sleeves are clenched in his fists, creased and wrinkled, like he’s been twisting them for hours. a servant places tea on the wrong tray. satoru’s voice slices through the quiet, and the poor boy nearly drops the porcelain. regret pools in his throat, but it’s drowned by the static hum under his skin. everything itches. everything spins.

then someone sees him on the roof.

it’s late—past midnight. the moon is a pale smear behind thin clouds. the estate holds its breath.

he’s perched on the highest ridge, a silhouette against the sky. he’s barefoot, robe askew, knees tucked to his chest like a child. his hair hangs in unruly wisps, strands clinging to his forehead, to his lashes. the fish in his hand steams faintly in the cool night air, wrapped neatly in a napkin.

he mutters to no one, to the wind, to maybe the stars themselves. “she likes this,” he says, the words sticky in his throat. he shifts, scanning the tiled expanse. his shoulders twitch, like he's expecting a blow.

“...idiot won’t come down.”

a breeze curls around the rooftop, whispering through the bamboo grove below.

he senses you before he sees you. a breath, a rustle, a pause in the air.

you appear at the far edge, fox-shaped and proud. your fur catches the moonlight, tail curled like smoke, eyes cool and distant. your gaze slides past him—purposefully disinterested.

he sits up straighter, the fish nearly slipping from his grip.

“come on,” he says, a hint of a whine beneath the irritation. “i said i was sorry!”

you respond with a yawn, long and slow. then you lick your paw in rhythmic, theatrical swipes. it’s deliberate. practiced. a slight squint of your eye tells him you know exactly what you’re doing.

he groans, running a hand down his face. “it wasn’t that mean.”

you pause to shoot him a look—flat, unimpressed.

“okay,” he admits, deflating. “maybe it was mean. really mean. like... award-winning cruelty.”

the silence that follows stretches. he fidgets, fingers tapping against his knee.

“look,” he says, with renewed urgency, “i saved you a dumpling.”

your ear twitches. he freezes.

his heart, traitorous and loud, skips.

he slides into a crouch. the tiles beneath him are still warm from the day’s heat. he wraps his arms around his knees, resting his chin there. the grilled fish lies beside him now, cooling in its wrapping.

“i didn’t mean it,” he says, quieter this time. “you’re not a pet. or a thing. i was just—mad. and scared. and being a dumbass.”

a heron cries somewhere beyond the estate walls. bamboo leaves rustle like whispered apologies.

then comes the sound of shifting weight. claws become skin. the wind carries the faintest scent of lilac and pine.

he doesn’t look up.

but he hears the footfalls.

bare. soft. deliberate.

you kneel beside him. your yukata hangs loosely around your shoulders, sleep-wrinkled and soft. your hair is mussed, some strands sticking to your cheek. you’re silent. unreadable.

your eyes flick toward him, then away. your hand snatches the dumpling. you take a bite—crunch.

the sound echoes.

satoru watches your cheeks puff out, soy sauce glistening at the corner of your mouth. he wants to wipe it off. he doesn’t dare.

“...you’re still mad, huh.”

you chew slowly, eyes locked on the horizon.

he groans and tips back onto the tiles, limbs splayed like he’s been defeated in battle. his robes shift, baring the curve of his calf to the night breeze.

“fine. sulk. but at least sulk up here, yeah?”

silence, again.

then a shuffle.

fabric against tile.

you edge closer, arms tucked around your knees. your gaze is hazy now, softened by exhaustion. the moon carves silver across your profile.

he turns his head, just slightly.

you’re close enough now that he can feel the warmth radiating off your shoulder. close, but not touching. always just that tiny bit of distance.

he shifts his hand. fingers inch toward yours. not touching—just... almost.

a beat passes.

then your pinky nudges his. a barely-there gesture. like brushing against starlight.

his heart stutters. something tender and helpless glows in his chest.

he glances at you, quietly.

the angle of your lashes, the faint furrow between your brows—like you’re still holding on to a grudge you can’t quite name. the sticky rice clinging to your sleeve. the way your lip twitches with restrained amusement.

he exhales. and then he laughs.

it cracks out of him, wild and surprised. a real laugh, from his stomach, from his chest. his head tips back, silver hair glinting like moonlight on water. his shoulders shake. his eyes squeeze shut. he breathes it out like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.

you glance at him, eyebrows rising.

he nudges your knee with his, still laughing. you huff a little. roll your eyes. but your lips twitch.

and just like that—the sharpness of the world dulls.

the night feels softer. the air easier to breathe.

because you’re here. because you came back. because maybe this ridiculous, messy, stubborn thing between you is worth every ounce of ache.

and maybe he could get used to it.

maybe he already has.

ppl who asked for part 2 >:3 : @srtakibutsuji @megumisthirdog @rimuuuo @piinkyverse @misuguffy @69-gojos-wife-69

[smellysluna]

Chapter One | Again, And Again, And You

Chapter One: One Last Time

Pairing: Sung Jinwoo x Reader

Word Count: 3,4k

Summary:

You've lived through countless timelines—each one shaped by monsters, magic, and the unbearable weight of knowing too much. Until you wake up in a version of reality where none of that ever happened. No dungeons. No deaths. Just high school… and him. Sung Jinwoo—quiet, intense, and impossibly familiar—is here too, and maybe this time, it'll be you who changes his world.

Notes:

Omg I can't believe how quickly the pilot chapter got attention! TT_TT I originally planned to start this story in a world with no hunters but then I started writing the timeline where you and Jinwoo meet for the first time and… I couldn’t stop. So just humor me one last time before the normalcy kicks in :p

Read the pilot chapter

Masterlist | Next

Your first record of Sung Jinwoo had been two timelines ago—just a name buried deep in raid reports. A hunter barely scraping by, so low-ranked he’d been declared a public hazard. You remembered thinking it was a miracle he kept going. That same timeline, his mother—still healthy then—would deliver food to the Association’s waiting room, handing out rice balls to tired, bloody hunters.

She smiled at you once. “You look like you carry the world, dear.”

You hadn’t known then how much weight your shoulders could still bear.

And now, Sung Jinwoo’s name keeps popping up in impossible places. Came out of a double dungeon. Returned from a C-rank dungeon. A Red Gate survivor. Then, all at once, disappeared from official listings—only to reappear as someone different. Stronger. Faster.

You didn’t know him personally then. Not really. But in this timeline, he was being the shift in logic.

You watched through mirrored glass the day he got reassessed as a hunter—watched the shock on Choi Jong-in and Baek Yoon-ho’s faces the moment Sung Jinwoo invoked some of his shadows. 

Now he was walking the long hallway toward the press, Korea’s 10th S-Rank hunter about to step into the world’s spotlight.

“Wait,” you said.

He slowed, then turned halfway, gaze quiet and unreadable.

You stepped forward and held out a matte black card. No branding. No guild.

“It’s not another recruitment pitch, is it?” he asked, voice low but wry.

“No,” you said. “Just a fail-safe,” you continued. “Independent funding. Private clean-up teams. You won’t find them in the Association’s registry..”

He glanced at the card, then at you. “That sounds expensive.”

“It is,” you said plainly.

He didn’t reach for it. Not immediately.

Instead, he just stood there, eyes on yours, the card between you like something alive. Then, slowly, his gaze lowered again. You could practically hear the quiet debate ticking behind his calm.

From his side, it made sense—too many unknowns ahead, too many moving parts. He didn’t trust easily, but even he knew better than to ignore a tool handed freely. Especially from someone who’d clearly been watching.

Eventually, he took it. Slipped it into the inside of his hoodie without a word.

You nodded once, already stepping back. “Good luck out there,” you said.

He didn’t reply. Just gave you one last look—not suspicious, not cold. Just… watching. Like he was still deciding what to make of you.

And then he was gone, stepping out into the light, into the questions, into the role fate had finally carved out for him.

Later that evening, you sat alone in your guild office, lights dimmed, the city humming in the distance. The buzz around him hadn’t died down—it had only grown louder. But your attention was elsewhere.

Patterns. Disturbances. Gates that didn’t open when they should’ve. Energy readings that didn’t match up.

You didn’t have a system. Or strength. What you had were memories—fractured timelines stitched together with stubbornness and obsession.

And for once, just once, that quiet weight on your shoulders felt… lighter.

Because maybe—maybe—this time, things could go differently.

He didn’t exist last time.

But he did now.

And that had to mean something.

You didn’t interfere much after that. Not directly.

You watched him rise in the way you hoped—faster, stronger, more decisive with every step. The headlines blurred together: Solo clear. Dungeon break intercepted. Shadow army. King of the battlefield.

But it wasn’t enough to soothe the ticking in your chest.

Not when the Jeju Island raid was coming.

You’d read the preliminary reports like someone staring down the barrel of a gun.

Go Gunhee’s message. The call for volunteers.

And the date.

That date.

You couldn’t breathe.

You couldn’t move.

Not again.

You remembered the last timeline too clearly. The way the fifth raid had started with so much forced hope.

And ended in screaming.

You remembered the ant queen’s cries.

The way the Ant King burst from the hive, scenting blood, asking for our King.

The way you ran—too slow, too far from the evac zone.

You remembered teeth. And heat. And the crunch of your own ribs.

It hadn’t even been quick.

You remembered the sound you made when it dragged you away from the others.

Like a wounded thing.

You remembered how long it took to die.

You still woke up choking on phantom blood some nights.

You weren’t sure if any reset could ever make that feeling go away.

So this time, you didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t pretend to be neutral.

Didn’t wait for someone else to ask.

You tracked Jinwoo down yourself.

The corridor outside the main conference room had emptied out, the long stretch of fluorescent lights humming softly above. You leaned against the cool wall, arms folded across your chest, gaze fixed on the far end of the hallway—where Sung Jinwoo still stood.

He hadn’t left with the others. Neither had you.

He noticed your eyes on him, and turned just enough to meet your stare.

“You’ve been quiet in there,” he said first, voice low, casual—but not cold. “Didn’t seem like your usual... persuasive self.”

You tilted your head, pushing off the wall and taking slow steps toward him. “I’m saving my energy.”

That made him smile, barely. He glanced at you sidelong, picking up on the weight behind your words.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. You in your pressed suit and practiced calm; him in a plain black jacket, posture relaxed, looking more like a student caught after hours than a hunter on the edge of a national crisis.

“I assume Director Go sent you?” he asked. “Trying to tip the scales before the raid?”

“He asked if I’d talk to you,” you replied, measured but honest. “But I’m not doing this for him.”

That got his attention. He shifted, now fully facing you, expression unreadable but eyes narrowed—focused.

“Then why?”

You hesitated. Not because you didn’t know what to say—but because none of the true answers were ones you could give. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

So you smiled, slow and faint, like it was nothing more than a passing feeling.

“Just a hunch,” you said. “Call it intuition. You’ve got good instincts—I do too.”

Jinwoo studied your face for a beat longer. “A hunch that I’m the deciding factor in this raid?”

“There’s a lot of firepower going in,” you said, shrugging. “Japan’s elite. Korea’s S-Ranks. On paper, it looks solid.”

He nodded once, almost agreeing. “Exactly. So why push?”

You met his gaze evenly. “Because on paper, everything always looks solid. Until it’s not.”

He didn’t reply immediately. But his eyes lingered, darker now, a flicker of something uncertain behind them. He knew better than most what a raid falling apart looked like.

And so did you.

“I think you’re putting a lot of faith in me,” he said, finally.

“I think you’re someone we can’t afford to leave out,” you said.

His gaze sharpened again, searching your face for something—motive, maybe. Weakness. A tell. But all he found was patience, and restraint.

“…You talk like you know more than you’re letting on,” he murmured.

You smiled faintly. “I read a lot of reports.”

He gave a short exhale, running a hand through his hair in thought. “Or you just think too much.”

“Maybe,” you allowed. “Maybe I do.”

He looked away, toward the far window where the last edge of twilight was fading behind the glass.

“I think you’re underestimating how much manpower’s already on board,” he said, more to himself than to you. 

You didn’t argue. Just looked at him, steady and calm. “Just think about it, Mr. Sung.”

He wasn’t going to answer any time soon. But you saw the tension in his shoulders when he turned to leave—the way something you said had hooked onto him, lingering.

You didn’t ask again. Not out loud.

But as he walked away down the corridor, your eyes stayed on his back, the weight of that unspoken plea trailing behind him like one of his own shadows.

He didn’t look back as he walked away.

But something about your words wouldn’t leave him.

Later that night, Jinwoo sat alone in his apartment, elbows on the table, fingers loosely laced. The overhead light cast a warm, dull glow on the open envelope in front of him—the official request from the Hunter’s Association.

He hadn’t signed it yet.

Across from him, the other chair sat empty, like it always did. The small kitchen behind him was clean, too clean, as though he were still afraid to settle into the idea of home. His mother was asleep in the next room—safe, breathing steadily. He could hear the faint hum of her medical monitor, now nothing more than a precaution.

And still, his chest was tight.

He leaned back and exhaled slowly, staring at the ceiling like it might offer some kind of answer.

You were different. He hadn’t known you long—barely spoken more than a handful of times—but today something in the way you looked at him had gotten under his skin.

Not in an irritating way. Not really. More like… unsettling.

You didn’t try to flatter him. You didn’t bargain or threaten. You’d just looked him in the eye, calm and steady, and said “Just a hunch.”

No dramatics. No desperation. And somehow, that had made it worse.

He wasn’t used to people asking things of him without giving away what they wanted in return.

You had held back—deliberately.

And yet, you hadn’t seemed like someone who withheld for manipulation’s sake. You were simply... protecting something. Maybe even yourself.

He sighed again, raking a hand through his hair and reaching for the form. His pen hovered above the line.

“Just a hunch,” he muttered under his breath, almost scoffing.

But that wasn’t the part that echoed loudest in his mind.

“I think you’re someone we can’t afford to leave out.”

His fingers tapped the edge of the table. He closed his eyes, leaned back again. There were plenty of reasons not to go. He’d already done more than enough. He didn’t owe the Association anything. Hell, he’d barely processed what the System had made of him.

But something about tonight had shaken his certainty.

He opened his eyes again. Then, as if by muscle memory, he reached for his phone and opened your name in his contacts—not saved as anything fancy. Just your last name, and an Association number. You’d only messaged him once before, and it had been all business.

Now he stared at the blinking cursor in the chat box.

He typed:

Still thinking.

Then erased it.

Typed again:

You’re hard to ignore.

Deleted it.

Typed one last time:

You free tomorrow?

In the end, he didn’t send anything.

Instead, he locked the screen and set the phone face-down on the table. Then he leaned forward again, elbows on the wood, and let his head fall into his hands.

Something about you made him uneasy—not in a dangerous way, but in a way that made it hard to keep things in the neat, distant lines he preferred.

And that, more than anything, was why he didn’t want to press further.

But later, as the minutes ticked by and the raid drew closer, he caught himself wondering.

What expression would you wear when things went wrong? Would you flinch, look away, shut down? Or would you just sit there—like you always did—too calm, too composed, like you’d already seen it all before?

He hated that he wanted to know.

You weren’t able to sleep days prior to the Jeju Raid.

You sat in the operations room, arms folded tightly, a cold bottle of water sweating on the table beside you. The room was a constant hum of chatter, techs relaying live reports, Go Gunhee barking orders, analysts running projections.

And yet all you could hear was the pulse in your ears.

He hadn’t gone.

Sung Jinwoo had walked out of the hallway without looking back. You didn’t chase him. You didn’t try again. You’d told yourself that one conversation had to be enough.

But now, watching the screens, seeing Korea’s top hunters fall one by one under the swarm—blood, screaming, static—you felt that dread you’d kept buried flare like fire.

This was it. Again.

You were about to watch the world collapse. Again.

…

Then everything changed.

He appeared.

No warning. No fanfare.

Just a shadow unfurling midair, devouring the Ant King in a single, ruthless blur. You rose from your seat before you even knew why, breath catching in your throat.

And then there he was.

On screen.

Alive. Fighting. Surviving.

Saving.

The room erupted in disbelief, cheers, tears—you didn’t speak. Couldn’t. You just stared at the screen with shaking hands.

For the first time in a long time, the world didn’t end too soon.

You never spoke to him about Jeju.

Not then. Not after.

He didn’t seek you out, and you gave him the space he deserved. You stopped trying to influence him, to nudge him toward choices you'd once thought necessary. And he, in turn, never asked why you’d looked so devastated in that hallway.

But something had changed.

When he passed you at Association meetings, he’d nod slightly. Sometimes he’d hold your gaze a little longer than necessary. You didn’t speak, but you were no longer strangers circling one another.

You were orbiting the same gravity.

Time passed. Battles were fought in silence.

You saw what he became.

You read every report. Followed every step, even when the world stopped understanding him.

And before the skies tore open and the Rulers arrived—when the final confrontation edged near—he found you.

He didn’t tell you where he was taking you.

Just showed up, hands tucked in his coat pockets, gaze a little uncertain like he wasn’t sure if he had the right to ask.

But he did.

He always did.

“Do you want to go somewhere?” he asked, quietly, as if louder words might shatter the moment.

You nodded before thinking too hard about it.

You didn’t ask where. You trusted him.

The city faded behind you as the car wove through narrow, twisting roads, climbing gently uphill. Somewhere in the distance, the sea must’ve been waiting—you could smell it in the air, feel the shift in the wind. He didn’t speak, and neither did you.

Eventually, he pulled off the road onto a path that curved around the cliffs. You stepped out into a wide, open scenery: rough grass underfoot, ocean stretching endless below, the wind soft and cool as it tugged at your coat. The sky was pale gold, almost transparent at the edges.

There was no one else.

You walked side by side, not quite brushing shoulders, the sound of the sea below rising and falling in rhythm with your steps.

It wasn’t until the sun began to sink lower that Jinwoo finally spoke.

“You’ve been quiet lately.”

You looked over, a little caught off guard. “…What do you mean?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just kept walking, hands still in his pockets.

“You used to… say more. Ask things. Push.” A pause. “Not in a bad way.”

You exhaled, eyes on the sea.

“You didn’t need me,” you said.

The wind tugged at his hair. He didn’t reply right away, and you didn’t press. You didn’t expect him to say anything at all, really.

But then—“That’s not true.”

The words were quiet. Honest. A little raw.

You glanced at him, but he wasn’t looking at you. He was watching the water like it might answer something he couldn’t say aloud.

“I didn’t always show it,” he said. “But… it was nice having someone trust me. When everyone else didn’t.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. So you said nothing.

The silence between you shifted. Not awkward. Not heavy. Just full—with the things you hadn’t said and didn’t need to.

After a while, he asked, “Why did you trust me, anyways?”

That question again. But this time, it didn’t feel like a test.

You smiled faintly, a bit of wind catching in your hair. “Just a hunch.”

He huffed—barely a laugh, more breath than sound. “You and your hunches.”

“They haven’t failed me yet.”

He looked at you then. Not sharply. Not searching. Just… looking. Like you were something familiar and distant all at once. You wondered if he was trying to memorize this version of you, the quiet one who’d learned when to speak and when to simply walk beside him.

For a moment, it felt like he might say more.

His lips parted. His gaze flicked to your mouth, your hands, then back to the sea.

The words hovered—right there.

But he let them go.

Instead, he shifted a little closer, not enough to touch, just enough to feel the warmth of him.

The sun dipped further behind the horizon, casting everything in a golden glow. The wind was colder now, but neither of you moved to leave.

You didn’t need a confession.

He didn’t need to promise anything.

This moment was enough.

As the last sliver of light disappeared into the ocean, you thought—if this was the last moment you shared before the world changed again, you were grateful it was like this.

Just the two of you.

Somewhere no one could find you.

With silence that said everything.

The ocean breeze lingered in your hair long after the shore vanished. Even as the sky tore open. Even as the world was swallowed by light.

You don’t remember the battle itself—only the silence after.

The kind of silence that comes when a throne crumbles.

When a monarch dies.

Jinwoo had stood over Antares’ fading shadow with blood on his hands and nothing left in his eyes.

And somewhere behind him, the Governor watched without speaking, holding the weight of the decision to come.

No cheers. No final words. Just a quiet understanding.

A choice was made. Rewind.

Not for victory. Not even for peace. But for something else.

The chamber was silent.

Far beneath the layers of the crumbling world, deep in the heart of the Rulers’ domain, the Cup of Reincarnation shimmered—pulsing faintly with an otherworldly glow. Like it was breathing. Like it was waiting.

Sung Jinwoo stood alone.

His armor had receded. The cape, the shadows, the weight of a thousand battles—gone for now. He looked like any man. Young. Tired. Human.

But there was nothing ordinary about this moment.

The Cup radiated stillness and power, endless and ancient. Around him, the Governors watched from a respectful distance, their divine forms solemn and unreadable. They would not interfere. They would not guide.

The choice was his.

Jinwoo stared at the artifact for a long time. In his mind, memories stirred—quiet, like echoes.

His mother’s laughter, soft and bright, as she welcomed Jinah home from school.

His father’s last words.

The weight of Igris' silent loyalty. Bellion’s bowed head. Beru’s mournful gaze before every battle.

And then—

You.

Not your voice or your face. But something harder to describe.

A feeling.

The memory of you on that cliff, hair caught in the wind, eyes steady and knowing. The way you had looked at him—not with fear, not with worship—but as someone who saw the boy beneath the king. 

He hadn’t seen you since. You hadn’t tried to contact him. Maybe you knew he wouldn’t be able to answer. Maybe you trusted him enough to know he’d make the right choice.

Maybe you hoped.

He exhaled slowly, the sound barely audible.

So many had fallen. So many would continue to fall.

He could fix it.

Just once more.

A reset. A second chance—not just for him. For everyone.

He looked to the Cup, steps slow but certain as he approached. The energy from it licked at his skin, a strange warmth in the cold.

His fingers hovered over the surface.

He thought of his family.

He thought of you.

And he thought of a world that didn’t have to end in flames.

A soft breath escaped him.

“Just one last time,” he murmured. 

Then his hand touched the Cup of Reincarnation.

And the light consumed him.

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Taglist: #open

@snowy-violet @minh907 @o-qi-shisme @shineinouzen15 @awwwia

[sweetlyvibe]

PAIRING : Obito Uchiha x Reader

WORD COUNT : 4.6k

GENRE : Angst / Comfort

SUMMARY : After surviving the Fourth War and being pardoned, Obito meets someone who accepts him despite his scars and past. Jealous of another suitor, Obito believes he has no chance, leading to a heartfelt confession.

CONTENT/WARNING : emotional trauma , self-esteem issues , jealousy and insecurity , fear of rejection

REQUEST : yes!!

The whispers of his survival spread like wildfire through the village. Obito Uchiha had returned—scarred, humbled, and deeply regretful. Pardoned by the Hokage after his role in ending the war, he now roamed the village quietly, helping rebuild the destruction he once caused. Despite the acceptance of some, others couldn’t look past his crimes. He didn’t blame them.

And yet, among the faces that stared or turned away, there was you.

You were a fellow Leaf ninja, a few years younger than him but seasoned in your own right, carrying your share of battle scars both seen and unseen. War had left its mark on everyone, but there was a quiet resilience about you, a determination to rebuild in ways that didn’t just apply to structures but to people as well. That was what led you to cross paths with Obito.

The day had been hot, the kind of sweltering summer afternoon that made sweat bead along your brow within minutes. You had been assigned to help at a construction site near the village outskirts, assisting with repairs to buildings damaged during the war. It was grueling work, but you didn’t mind; there was something cathartic about seeing broken things pieced back together.

You hadn’t known Obito would be there. To be honest, his presence had surprised you, even unsettled you at first. There were still hushed conversations about him—people wary of his return, unsure if someone with such a dark past could ever truly change. But when you saw him that day, hammer in hand, hauling heavy beams like it was nothing, he didn’t look like the man the rumors painted.

He looked tired.

It wasn’t the kind of tired that came from physical exhaustion, though the sweat dripping from his brow suggested he was working harder than anyone else. No, it was deeper than that—a bone-deep weariness that settled in his shoulders, weighed down his every movement. His face, marred by scars that told stories you could only imagine, held an expression so neutral it felt unnatural, as though he was trying not to be noticed. But it was his eyes that tugged at your heart: one dark and brooding, the other hidden beneath the curve of his forehead protector. They carried a profound sadness, an aching guilt he seemed to wear as a second skin.

Despite his quiet demeanor, there was something about him that intrigued you. It wasn’t pity that drove you to approach him—far from it. You saw a man who had been to hell and back but was still here, trying. That resilience, that flicker of humanity buried beneath the weight of his past, pulled at something deep inside you.

At first, your interactions were brief. You’d pass him tools or work alongside him in silence, not wanting to intrude. But you noticed how he always went above and beyond, taking on the hardest tasks without complaint, as though punishing himself through sheer effort. So, you started small.

“Hey,” you said one afternoon, holding out a rice ball wrapped in cloth. He had been working for hours without a break, his shoulders taut with tension. “You’ve been at this all day. Take a break.”

Obito hesitated, his gaze flickering between you and the rice ball. “I’m fine,” he muttered, his voice low and rough.

“Maybe,” you replied, refusing to back down, “but even heroes need to eat.”

A flicker of something crossed his face—confusion, perhaps even amusement—but he took the rice ball. That small gesture broke the ice.

From then on, you made it a point to share lunch with him when you could. Sometimes you’d talk about nothing in particular—mundane things like the weather or the progress on the repairs. Other times, you’d catch glimpses of his dry humor, quick-witted remarks that left you blinking in surprise before laughing. You learned to recognize the subtle quirks of his personality: the way his lips twitched when he was holding back a smile, the rare moments when his eye softened, the low chuckle he gave when something genuinely amused him.

Slowly but surely, he began to open up.

Your lunches turned into longer conversations, and those conversations eventually extended beyond the construction site. You found yourselves meeting up after work, whether it was for a walk through the village or quiet moments shared at the training grounds. There was something easy about being around him, even though you could tell he was still guarded. He didn’t speak much about himself, but the way he listened—truly listened—when you talked made you feel seen in a way that few others could.

What stood out the most was how he never treated you as fragile, even when you mentioned your own scars, both physical and emotional. He didn’t offer hollow reassurances or tell you to move on. Instead, he met your words with quiet understanding, as though he knew all too well what it meant to carry that weight.

And yet, you never pressed him about his past or his scars. It wasn’t because you didn’t care—you cared more than you’d ever admit aloud. But you understood that those were wounds he wasn’t ready to revisit, and you didn’t want to risk pushing him away. Instead, you treated him as he was: a man who had faced his demons and was trying, every day, to move forward.

That was what you admired most about him—his determination to rebuild, not just the village but himself. To you, Obito wasn’t a man defined by his mistakes or his scars. He was someone who had been to the brink and chosen to return, and that choice, that strength, was what mattered.

Unbeknownst to you, your unwavering kindness and acceptance were slowly chipping away at the walls Obito had built around his heart. He began to look forward to your time together, though he didn’t fully understand why. All he knew was that when you were near, the crushing weight of his guilt felt a little lighter, and for the first time in a long time, he began to wonder if he might deserve a second chance—not just at life, but at happiness.

But those thoughts terrified him, too.

And then there was Genma.

The kind of man everyone seemed to like, Genma Shiranui was charming, confident, and effortlessly sociable. His laid-back demeanor and sly grin made him a favorite among your peers, and his quick wit ensured he was the center of attention in any conversation. He carried himself with a relaxed ease, a senbon always dangling casually between his teeth, as if nothing in the world could phase him.

It started innocently enough. Genma would join you during breaks or during missions, offering easy banter and teasing remarks that made the others chuckle. He had a way of turning the most mundane topics into something worth laughing about, and it wasn’t long before people began to notice the way he lingered near you.

“I think he likes you,” one of your friends teased after Genma had walked away, flashing you a crooked smile over his shoulder.

You laughed it off at first, brushing the comment aside. But as days turned into weeks, it became clear that your friend had been right. Genma wasn’t just hanging around—he was seeking you out. His teasing turned playful, his compliments grew more personal, and his invitations to spend time together became more frequent.

It wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, Genma’s attention was flattering, and his company was enjoyable in its own way. But your heart was already leaning toward someone else, someone quieter, someone whose laughter was rarer but infinitely more precious.

Obito.

He was the one you looked for at the end of a long day, the one whose presence steadied you even when words weren’t exchanged. Genma might have been the easier choice, but your feelings for Obito had grown roots, deep and steady, and no amount of charm could sway them.

Obito Noticed

How could he not?

Every time Genma leaned toward you with his easy smile, cracking a joke that made you laugh, Obito felt a pang in his chest—a sharp, familiar ache he couldn’t ignore. The way Genma’s hand would linger on your shoulder during conversations or how your laughter came so freely around him made Obito feel small, like a shadow at the edge of a warm, glowing light. He clenched his fists tightly at his sides whenever he witnessed those moments, the tension in his body coiling until his muscles ached.

He noticed everything, no matter how much he told himself not to look. The way your eyes crinkled at the corners when you smiled, the way Genma’s casual charm seemed to draw you in. And though he never saw anything in your gaze that suggested you were interested in Genma, the doubt gnawed at him. After all, why wouldn’t you choose someone like that?

Obito clutched at the edges of his cloak, his knuckles turning white. He hated the way his mind twisted simple interactions into something more. Every laugh you shared with Genma felt like a dagger, and he cursed himself for caring so much.

What could he possibly offer you?

The thought was like poison, spreading through his veins until it consumed him. He couldn’t stop himself from drawing comparisons. Genma was confident, charismatic, and easygoing, while he—Obito—was a man haunted by his past, his sins carved into his very skin. He wasn’t whole—not physically, not emotionally. When he looked at himself in the mirror, all he could see was the broken, scarred reflection of someone who didn’t deserve happiness. How could someone as radiant as you want to be with him?

Genma, simply was everything Obito wasn’t. Unburdened by guilt or regret. People gravitated toward him naturally, drawn to his humor and ease. It didn’t matter that you didn’t seem to reciprocate Genma’s flirtation. In Obito’s mind, it was only a matter of time before you did. Doubt whispered cruelly in his mind, twisting every interaction you had with Genma into evidence that Obito could never measure up.

And then there were the whispers.

“They’d look good together, don’t you think?”

“Genma’s always had good taste.”

“Finally, someone caught their attention!”

The words echoed in his head long after he overheard them, like stones added to the heavy wall he was building around his heart. Each comment reminded him of what he believed was inevitable: that you and Genma would end up together, and Obito would be left standing on the outside, as he always was

It wasn’t just Genma, though. It was also Rin—or rather, the memory of her.

For years, Rin had been a symbol of everything Obito had wanted but could never have. She had been his light in a world that often felt unbearably dark, and her loss had shaped him in ways he still didn’t fully understand.

For so long, he’d clung to her memory, convinced that his feelings for her were eternal, unchanging. But now, looking back, he realized that what he’d felt for Rin had been rooted in who he was as a boy, not the man he had become. She had been kind, gentle, and nurturing, but those were memories of her, not the reality of who she might have grown to be.

It wasn’t that he loved Rin any less—he always would. But somewhere along the way, he’d stopped feeling the sharp, gut-wrenching ache when he thought of her. Her smile no longer haunted him; it comforted him. She had been a part of his journey, but she wasn’t his destination.

That realization had been both freeing and terrifying. It left him vulnerable, his heart open to new emotions he hadn’t dared to explore in years. And it was you who made him feel that way again.

You weren’t like Rin. You were bold and unyielding, a grounding presence in a world that still felt uncertain to him. Where Rin had been a dream of his past, you were real. You saw him—not as a hero, a villain, or a victim, but simply as Obito. And that terrified him even more than the idea of losing Rin had.

Because this time, it felt real.

It started with small excuses. When you invited him to lunch after working together, he’d mutter, “Sorry, I’ve got something to take care of,” brushing past you without meeting your eyes.

Then, his absences became more noticeable. Where once he’d linger near the training grounds or meet you for tea in the evenings, he was nowhere to be found. And when you did manage to catch him, his responses were clipped, his usual dry humor replaced with a cold, distant politeness that felt like a slap in the face.

At night, lying awake in his small, sparsely furnished apartment, Obito stared at the ceiling, the storm of emotions inside him threatening to tear him apart. His fists clenched and unclenched as he replayed every moment he’d spent with you, every laugh and every glance that felt too precious to hold onto now.

“You’re being ridiculous,” he told himself one night, his voice harsh in the quiet. “She doesn’t see you that way. She shouldn’t.”

But no matter how much he tried to bury his feelings, they refused to die. He’d never realized just how deeply he cared for you until he saw Genma step into the picture. The jealousy that burned in his chest was unlike anything he’d felt before, raw and unrelenting. It wasn’t fair to you—or to Rin, for that matter.

Rin.

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply as he thought about her. If she were here, she’d probably scold him for wallowing. She’d tell him to stop running from his feelings, to stop hiding behind his scars. But was he ready for that? Could he truly allow himself to admit how he felt about you when he couldn’t even look in the mirror without feeling ashamed?

His hands trembled as he pressed them to his face, his scars rough against his fingertips. He wanted to believe that he deserved a chance at happiness, but the doubt was suffocating.

He knew he liked you. That much was undeniable now. But confessing? Letting himself hope? That felt like stepping off a cliff with no guarantee of a safety net. It was easier to pull away, to retreat into himself, than to risk rejection—or worse, acceptance.

Because what if you did feel the same way? What if you chose him, only to realize later that he wasn’t enough?

And so, he stayed silent, letting the wall between you grow higher, even as it tore him apart inside.

It had been weeks since you’d last spent more than a few fleeting minutes with Obito, and the growing distance between you was driving you mad. You had replayed every interaction in your head, searching for some mistake, some moment where you might have done something wrong. But nothing stood out. If he needed space, you could respect that—but not without understanding why he suddenly felt the need to shut you out.

At first, it was little things. You’d ask him to join you for lunch, only to be met with muttered excuses.

“Sorry,” he’d say, not quite meeting your eyes. “I’ve got something to take care of.”

He’d leave without elaborating, and you were left staring after him, unsure of what had just happened.

Then his absences became more pronounced. The moments that used to be yours—quiet talks near the training grounds, evening tea, or even casual conversations after missions—were gone. Instead, you were met with clipped responses and fleeting glances. His usual dry humor, something you’d come to treasure, was nowhere to be found.

“Obito,” you’d call out, hoping to catch his attention, only for him to give you a distracted nod and walk away.

And yet, despite his efforts to pull back, there were moments he couldn’t quite hide. You’d catch him watching you when he thought you weren’t looking, his eye clouded with an emotion you couldn’t place. But the second you turned to meet his gaze, his expression would harden, and he’d look away, his jaw tightening as if the sight of you physically hurt him.

It was maddening.

You couldn’t understand what had changed, but you knew you couldn’t let this go on. Whatever was troubling him, you needed to know. You needed to help.

One evening, after yet another day of avoidance, you finally reached your breaking point.

You found him near the edge of the village, sitting on a stone wall overlooking the forest. The setting sun painted the scene in soft, golden hues, but the tension in the air was anything but serene. His shoulders were hunched, and his head was bowed, his hair casting shadows over his face.

“Obito,” you called, your voice firmer than usual.

He flinched at the sound of your voice but didn’t turn to face you. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said quietly.

“Why not?” you countered, taking a step closer. “Because you don’t want to explain why you’ve been avoiding me?”

He sighed, his hands clenching into fists on his lap. “I haven’t been avoiding you.”

“Don’t lie to me, Obito,” you said, crossing your arms. “You’ve barely looked at me for weeks. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were angry with me.”

“I’m not angry,” he said quickly, his voice sharp enough to cut.

“Then what is it?” you demanded, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “What changed? Did I do something wrong?”

He turned his head slightly, just enough for you to see the tension in his jaw. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he muttered, his voice so low you almost missed it.

“Then tell me what’s going on,” you pressed. “Because I can’t keep doing this, Obito. I can’t keep wondering what I did to make you push me away.”

For a moment, he was silent, his fists tightening until his knuckles turned white. Then, finally, he looked up at you, and the pain in his single visible eye took your breath away.

“It’s not about you,” he said, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and something softer, something more vulnerable. “It’s about me.”

“Then explain it to me,” you said, your tone softening. “Because right now, all I know is that you’re shutting me out, and I don’t understand why.”

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You wouldn’t understand,” he said, his voice laced with self-loathing. “How could you?”

“Try me,” you challenged, stepping closer.

He looked away again, his jaw tightening as he struggled to find the words. “Do you know what it’s like to want something you can’t have?” he asked finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

“What are you talking about?” you asked, your brows furrowing in confusion.

“You,” he said, the word escaping him like a confession. He looked up at you, his eye filled with equal parts longing and despair. “I’m talking about you.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, you couldn’t speak.

“Obito…” you began, but he cut you off, shaking his head.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice rough. “Don’t say anything. Just let me finish.”

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest.

“I’m not…” He hesitated, swallowing hard. “I’m not the kind of person you deserve. I’m broken, scarred—both inside and out. My past is a mess, and it’s always going to be a part of me. Someone like Genma… he’s better for you. He can give you everything I can’t.”

“Genma?” you repeated, your voice filled with disbelief. “You think this is about Genma?”

“Isn’t it?” he asked, his voice rising with frustration. “I see the way he looks at you, the way he makes you laugh. Everyone else sees it too. They think you two are perfect for each other. And why wouldn’t they? He’s everything I’m not.”

“That’s not true,” you said, stepping closer. “Obito, that’s not true.”

He laughed bitterly, his hands clenching into fists again. “Don’t lie to me,” he said. “I’m not blind. I see the way people look at me. Like I’m a reminder of everything they want to forget. Like I don’t belong.”

“That’s not how I see you,” you said, your voice trembling. “I’ve never seen you that way.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you, his eye searching yours for any hint of deceit. What he found instead was something he hadn’t allowed himself to hope for: sincerity.

“I don’t care about your past,” you said, your voice steady despite the emotion in your chest. “I care about you. The person you are now. The person who’s trying to move forward, even when it’s hard. That’s the person I want to be with.”

His breath hitched, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he said finally, his voice shaking.

“I know exactly what I’m saying,” you replied, stepping closer until you were right in front of him. “And I mean every word.”

He looked down at your joined hands, his own trembling slightly. “I’m scared,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m scared of losing you. Of ruining this.”

“You won’t,” you said, your voice soft but firm. “We’ll figure it out together. But you have to let me in.”

For a long moment, he didn’t move. Then, slowly, his hands unclenched, and he let out a shaky breath.

“I’ll try,” he said, his voice raw with emotion.

“That’s all I ask,” you said, smiling softly.

And as the tension between you began to ease, And in that moment, Obito realized that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to carry the weight of his past alone anymore. He felt a flicker of hope—a hope he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years.

After that evening by the stone wall, you could feel the tension slowly melting between you and Obito. It wasn’t immediate—trust, especially when it’s been broken, doesn’t come easily—but the small steps you both took toward each other started to matter.

One afternoon, you found Obito sitting at the edge of the village again, this time not as a place to isolate himself, but to think. You approached him slowly, the familiar weight of silence hanging in the air.

“Mind if I join you?” you asked, your voice gentle.

Obito looked up, surprised, but smiled faintly. “It’s… fine.”

You settled next to him, your shoulders brushing for just a second. It wasn’t much, but it felt like something—something warm.

“You’ve been looking out at the sunset a lot lately,” you commented softly, “Is it peaceful?”

He nodded. “It makes me think.”

“About what?”

“Everything,” he said simply, his gaze on the horizon. “About mistakes. Things I’ve done. Things I could have done differently.”

You nodded, unsure of what to say. “I think… no matter how hard we try, we can’t change the past. We can only learn from it.”

He glanced at you, then, his expression softening. “You’re right,” he said quietly. “But sometimes it’s hard to move on when the past doesn’t want to let go.”

You reached out, your hand resting on his. He stiffened for a moment, but then relaxed, his fingers curling around yours. There was a silent understanding between you, a shared comfort.

As the days passed, you and Obito started to spend more time together—simple moments that became significant. One evening, after a quiet dinner in the village, you suggested a walk. You knew he’d been keeping to himself a lot, and you wanted to give him space to talk, if he wanted to.

The path through the village was lit by lanterns, their soft glow making the night feel peaceful, almost magical.

“You know,” you started, “I never really got a chance to ask you about your past. You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?”

Obito’s steps faltered, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away. But instead, he stopped walking and turned to face you.

“It’s not a story I like to tell,” he admitted, his voice low. “It’s messy… painful. But I think it’s time you knew.”

You stopped, looking up at him. “I’m not going anywhere, Obito. You can tell me as much or as little as you want. I’m here.”

He let out a shaky breath, his hand gently resting on the back of his neck. “I was once someone different. Before all of this… Before the war. I had dreams, I had friends. But it all fell apart. I became someone I didn’t even recognize.”

You took a step closer, your heart aching for him. “But you’re not that person anymore, Obito. I see you. The real you.”

He met your gaze, and for a moment, his eye softened. “Thank you,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion. “I’ve never had someone look at me like that before.”

Weeks went by, and your bond with Obito continued to deepen, but there were still moments of hesitation. One night, you noticed that he seemed particularly distant during dinner. You weren’t going to let it go this time, not after everything you’d been through.

Afterward, as the two of you sat outside under the stars, you finally spoke.

“Obito, what’s going on?” you asked softly, your voice sincere. “You’ve been pulling away again.”

He sighed deeply, his gaze fixed on the sky. “I don’t know if I’m ready for this… ready for something like this with you.”

“Something like what?”

“A relationship. You deserve someone who can give you everything… I’m not sure I can be that person.”

You reached over, gently brushing your fingers against his. “I don’t need perfection, Obito. I need you. Just you.”

He looked at you, and for the first time, his eyes were completely open. No walls. No hesitations. “I’m scared of hurting you,” he confessed.

“Then don’t,” you whispered. “I’m not asking for you to be perfect. I’m just asking for you to be here with me.”

He nodded slowly, the tension in his shoulders slowly melting. “I’m still learning how to be… better. For you. But I’m trying.”

“I can wait,” you said, your voice unwavering. “As long as you’re trying, that’s all that matters.”

4. Building Trust, One Step at a Time

In the following weeks, your relationship with Obito grew more comfortable. You spent more time in the village together—doing mundane things like walking through the market, sharing small meals, and simply talking. But those moments, those quiet, normal moments, became your favorites.

One afternoon, you found him fixing his cloak by the training grounds. He looked up when he heard you approaching.

“Do you need something?” he asked, his usual guarded expression still there, but with a hint of warmth in his eyes.

“I wanted to thank you,” you said, stepping closer. “For letting me in. For trusting me.”

He blinked in surprise. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” you replied. “But I think it’s important. I’m grateful for you, Obito. And for everything we’re building together.”

He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly. It was a small smile, but one that spoke volumes.

It was a quiet evening again, the two of you sitting side by side beneath the trees in the village. It felt different now, like the bond between you had solidified into something deeper, more meaningful.

Obito turned to you, his expression softer than usual. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you.”

You looked at him, curious. “What is it?”

His voice faltered slightly, the nervousness evident. “Would… would you be willing to let me be your boyfriend?” He didn’t look away, his gaze unwavering despite the vulnerability in his words. “I’m not perfect, and I know I’m not always easy to be around, but I want to try. I want to be with you.”

Your heart swelled in your chest, and for a moment, you could hardly believe it. This was the same Obito who had once pushed you away, the same one who had been so afraid of letting anyone in.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice full of certainty. “I want that too.”

And just like that, everything shifted. Obito leaned in, closing the distance between you, his lips meeting yours in a soft, lingering kiss—a promise of more to come.

✎ . . . If you liked this please leave a like, comment and reblog to support me and my works! <3

[vampirequsa]

“How to Raise a Zenin”

A one-shot where Gojo navigates being a guardian to baby Megumi. Diapers, curses, grocery store meltdowns—he’s strong enough to stop time but not to keep a toddler from putting a rice ball in a cursed object.

TW: None, pure fluff!!

────୨ৎ────

The first time Satoru Gojo holds Megumi Fushiguro, he thinks, he’s too small to belong to Toji.

Too quiet. Too serious. Those dark blue eyes blink up at him, furrowed like he's already questioning Gojo’s existence. Like a tiny salaryman with a grudge.

“Okay,” Gojo mutters, squinting at him. “You’ve got the frown down. That’s a start.”

The baby sneezes. Then punches him in the eye.

── .✦

Gojo’s apartment is not baby-proofed. Or adult-proofed. It’s barely even Gojo-proofed.

There’s one chair that isn’t broken. A coffee table that doubles as a cursed tool storage box. A microwave from 2001 with a suspicious stain on the handle. Now there’s a high chair shoved into the corner like a guest no one invited.

The place smells like laundry detergent and instant ramen. Megumi sits on the floor surrounded by cursed talismans Gojo forgot to put away.

“Don’t eat that,” Gojo warns, plucking a paper tag from the kid’s mouth. “That one’s bound to a demon from the 17th century.”

Megumi scowls at him.

“You’re five months old. How are you already judging me?”

── .✦

Feeding time is something.

Gojo’s holding a tiny spoonful of mashed sweet potato like it’s a loaded weapon. Megumi watches him, eyes narrowed, lips shut tight like Fort Knox.

“Come on,” Gojo tries, wiggling the spoon. “Airplane. Curseplane. Whatever.”

He even makes a little noise: vwoooooosh. The spoon approaches. Megumi slaps it out of his hand with the precision of a trained assassin.

Sweet potato splatters on Gojo’s face.

Silence.

Gojo wipes it off. “I see,” he says, eyes glowing behind his sunglasses. “We’re enemies now.”

── .✦

But not every moment is chaos.

Sometimes, Megumi falls asleep on his chest—small, warm, and snoring like a purring cat. Gojo sits completely still, holding him with one arm and sipping cold coffee with the other, pretending the weight doesn’t make his chest feel weird and full.

Sometimes Megumi laughs.

Once.

Gojo spent the next twenty minutes trying to recreate it—funny faces, jujutsu tricks, even putting his shirt on backward.

Didn’t work.

He writes it down in his phone anyway: “MEGUMI LAUGHED — 3:24 PM”

Adds a heart emoji. Pretends it was a joke.

── .✦

At night, when the kid is finally asleep in the little futon Gojo picked out (which he swears is a normal adult thing to do and not him getting attached), Gojo sits on the edge of the bed and stares at the ceiling.

“What the hell am I doing?”

No one answers.

He’s The Strongest. He can obliterate nations. He can bend time and space.

But he doesn’t know how to be enough for this small, angry boy.

Still.

He pulls the blanket up over Megumi’s shoulder.

Brushes his hair back gently.

And says, softly:

“I’ll figure it out, kid. I swear.”

-── .✦

And he will.

Even if it means fighting curses, changing diapers, and eating cold noodles at 2 a.m. for the next ten years—

Satoru Gojo is raising a Zenin.

And he’s not going to let anyone take him away.

────୨ৎ────

[daisygremlin]

BEACHES

letting your thoughts wash over you at the beach as you hesitate to take a step into the tide. but its okay, because megumi's there to give you some words of wisdom.

refernces to the poem ‘Nothing Gold Can Stay’ by Robert Frost and ‘Beaches’ by beabadoobee.

The sound of waves crashing against the ocean’s surface echoed in your ears as you stared out at the moving waters, shoes kicked off into a pile with the rest of your friend’s. Your hands were tucked safely into your pockets, standing a little ways away from the group of other jujutsu sorcerers with your bare feet mere inches away from the lulling water that danced its way up the sand.

It was winter. The crisp golden leaves of autumn are long gone now— nature’s hardest hue to hold— leaving the tree branches bare in the chilly winter air while flowers close in preparation for the harsh weather that would definitely do damage to their delicate petals.

You can hear Kugisaki and Itadori bickering faintly in the back of your mind, Maki’s dry humour, Inumaki’s spoken rice ball ingredients and Panda’s playful comments— yet the only voice that really sticks out amongst the rest and the sound of crashing waves was his.

Fushiguro, ever so indifferent, had chimed in on the other two first year’s argument after being dragged into it by Kugisaki, who was demanding his opinion on who was right. You fought back the amused twitch of your lips, gaze turning to them just in time to see the feisty brunette kick some freezing cold water at Itadori.

Your nose scrunched, chuckling softly to yourself and shaking your head. They were always bickering those two. You thought idly to yourself, eyes locking with Fushiguro’s for a brief moment.

A flutter settled in your stomach when he raised a questioning brow at you, probably wondering what you were doing standing alone. The corners of your lips curled up into a soft, reassuring smile and you shrugged your shoulders, gaze darting back to the shore and watching as the water creeped closer to your toes.

Unlike Itadori and Kugisaki, who had ran straight towards the freezing water as soon as you had all arrived at the coast, you were more hesitant to dip your feet in— not entirely keen on having your toes freeze and, uselessly, hoping that the water would somehow be warm when you finally decided to do so.

You just had to wait for the right time.

Waiting. Patience. Resolve. It was all your specialty, using time as an advantage— as a tool— to plan out your movements, to plan out what would happen next. You waited before attacking a curse to look for patterns in its behaviour, you were patient when your friends were taking a tad too long for your liking, and you bore the weight of your feelings like a monk that had swore a vow of silence. 

You couldn’t exactly pinpoint when you had begun to catch feelings for Fushiguro, the exact timeline a little lost on you considering how fast paced your life as a jujutsu sorcerer was. But, it had dawned upon you late one night as you lingered behind with him on the walk back to the dorms after a particularly gruelling mission.

You remembered the flutter in your stomach when you glanced at him, admiring the way the moonlight kissed his pale skin and the way it seemed to make him even prettier than usual. You could also remember the very distinct feeling of ‘oh shit’ when you’d realised that your feelings for him had strayed far from platonic. Panic and a little distress settled in as you’d snapped your gaze back in front of you and forced yourself to watch Kugisaki and Itadori chatter while dragging their feet.

Feelings and relationships in the world of jujutsu and curses didn’t mix, especially with the danger levels that came with that sort of lifestyle. The near death experiences that you faced on a daily basis, the trauma, everything.

You wanted to wait for these feelings to pass, to preserve yourself even when your heart pounced and practically begged to jump out of your chest and into his hands every time you were near him. You were patient. You were unflappable. You waited for the right time for everything.

“The water’s not going to get any warmer, you know?” Fushiguro’s voice broke you out of your thoughts, sounding much closer than before.

You whipped your head to the side to see him standing beside you and staring at you with a faint gleam of amusement in his dark eyes. “I know that.” you replied, somewhat defensively. The sand gathered between the gaps of your toes and the water seemed to creep even closer, almost as if the ocean itself was challenging you to take a step in.

“Do you, now?” He mused dryly, raising a brow as you toed back away from the water.

You made a face at him, cheeks heating up— though not from the winter air nipping at your nose. “I’m just waiting for the right moment.” You claimed, raising your chin and giving him a look. 

Fushiguro gave you a look in return, one that seemed to scream ‘are you serious?’ as his eyebrows pinched together ever so slightly. You ignored the way your heart skipped at the expression.

“There’s not always going to be a right time for everything.” The boy remarked, somewhat knowingly. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his coat, much like yours were, and his pants were rolled up to prevent them from getting wet.

Your resolve weakened at that. 

You knew there was never truly going to be a right time for everything. While you used time to your advantage, it would never truly be your friend. 

Because time didn’t wait.

It moved along like the ticking of a clock and the changing of the seasons. Dawn goes down to day, leaf subsides to leaf. Nothing will truly stay. You won’t always get that golden opportunity to do something, to say something. Decisions have to be made— for if you wait too long, it will slip through your fingers like grains of sand in an hourglass

“I know that.” You echoed your words from earlier, eyebrows furrowed in hesitance as you toed closer to the edge. Glancing over at him, something seemed to dawn on you at that moment.

With the sun setting and casting a golden hue over the landscape, he seemed almost soft in this light. Waiting patiently for you to walk into the cold ocean’s shallow ends, planning to join you once you’ve made it in. A warm feeling washed over you at the realisation.

You held your feelings for him like an oath of silence. Preserving, steadfast, obstinate. Waiting for the right moment or perhaps waiting for them to pass.

There would never be a right moment to confess in your life. Not with the lives you lead. Time wouldn’t wait for you, death and danger would always creep at the corners and lurk at the soles of your feet, following like a shadow.

With a deep breath and a sudden newfound confidence, you took a step forward and let the chilling waters wash over your feet. Your face scrunched at the temperature change, a small noise of discomfort slipping past your lips as Fushiguro stepped in after you.

You turned your gaze back to him after composing yourself and slowly adjusting to the cold water biting at your skin, a small smile pulling at your lips. “Guess you were right.” You chuckled.

He didn’t respond. Just merely stared for a moment— silent— before he turned his face to the side and hid his expression in the high collar of his winter coat with a grunt.

The smile on your lips widened at the sight, eyes crinkling at the corners and cheeks warming. Maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t wait this time.

I mean after all, you shouldn’t wait for the tide just to dip both your feet in.

———

word count - 1.3k

[baby-you-you]

hii! can i have a set for.. this is gonna be really specific, but a cookie from the garden of delights from cookie run kingdom? it's the place where pavlova cookie, sugarfly cookie, and eternal sugar cookie live and i think its really pretty but also a little scary! but i'd love to focus on the cute aspects of it ^^

Garden Of Sweet Delights regressor theme !!!

🍧 activities

Pretend tea parties with plushies and “pastries” Gardening / pretend gardening with plush flowers/paper flowers Coloring pages with sweets, cakes, or pastel themes Baking (or play baking) soft goodies with a caregiver or solo Creating a dessert-themed sensory bin (rice, sprinkles, puff balls) Watching cozy pastel shows (Strawberry Shortcake, Hello Kitty, Sanrio) Making friendship bracelets with candy-colored beads Gentle dancing to soft, sugary songs or music box sounds Setting up a blanket picnic with pastel snacks and plush guests

🍧 clothes

Ruffle dresses in baby pink, mint, lilac, or lemon Pajamas with cupcakes, donuts, or candy hearts Fuzzy pastel cardigans or pullovers Onesies with dessert prints or cotton candy colors Bibs/pinafoes with bows Slippers that look like cupcakes or animals Legwarmers or bloomers in soft plushy fabrics Pacifier clips or accessories with candy beads Hoodies with candy bunny or pastel bear ears Flowery aprons and gardening gloves

🍧 toys

Cupcake plushies, donut squishies, or ice cream cones Eternal Sugar Cookie plush Pretend baking kits (felt or wooden pastries) Gardening tool kit (Kid's gardening tools) Strawberry or macaron stacking toys Cotton candy-scented dolls or plushies Tea sets with candy colors Frosted cookie play food sets Stuffies wearing pastel outfits or holding sweets Sensory toys in flower or food shapes Pop-its shaped like lollipops or cupcakes Toy cash register and bakery setup for pretend play

🍧 games

“Tea party guests” roleplay with stuffies Cookie Run Kingdom/Ovenbreak/Witch's castle Sorting games with pretend candies or pastel buttons Playing bakery: taking orders, decorating, and delivering plush desserts Making your own “menu” for a dessert shop with stickers and crayons Hide the cupcake! Plushie hide-and-seek Beanbag toss! Pretending to decorate a plushie cake or cookie Playing a pastel memory matching game with dessert cards "Spa day" - Take a day to relax, play some games, and just overall calm yourself.

🍧 foods/drinks

Strawberry yogurt with sprinkles Candy flowers Heart-shaped sandwiches or soft pastries Apple flowers with oranges in the center for the bud Pink applesauce or fruit pouches Cotton candy-flavored drinks (milk or slushies) Mini muffins, pancakes, or toast with fruit jam Cookies or crackers with pastel frosting Marshmallows / puff cereal Strawberry milk, vanilla milk, or honey tea in a sippy Fruit kabobs with whipped cream Candy kabobs

🍧 nicknames <3

Cupcake Sugarbun Sweetiepie Honeypie Pinklet Pinkie Lil' cupcake Candy baby sugarpie Sweetie Sweetheart

[notthecutesttrash]

Nostalgia

Content: Sukuna found himself intrigued by your spunk, and when he notices that Yuji is struggling to overpower him one day, he finally has a little fun.

Trigger Warnings: 18+ DARK, NONCON, readers a bit obnoxious at first, time skip for obvious reasons, Smut, suffocation, no like actually, blood, loss of virginity, fingering, hair pulling, spanking

Word count: 4.3k

The school is blatantly empty today, which was rather boring. You had decided from the moment you woke up, that this would be the day you saw Sukuna’s supposed vessel. How disappointing to notice everything so empty, like an abandoned building. No Gojo, no other first years, whatever. It was all lame. 

Huffing to yourself you open the door to another spacious classroom with zero people intact. You thought to even check the nurse’s office, only to see Ieiri doing who knows what with the bodies there. She turns up at you as blood adorns her lab coat,  “Oh, hey, what’re you doing here?” You blink and close the door. She shrugs and diverts her attention back to work. 

Where else could they be? Principals room? Sealed room? Ah possibly there. 

You make way for the chambers, passing the empty hallways. The year above you's class is more than interesting. There's a panda, a dude who speaks in rice ball ingredients, and a zen’in lady. The lady was also able to keep up with your rude remarks which was amusing.

As you walk you hear small far away grunts. Humming, you curiously begin to switch directions, and near the sounds of groaning and “Hyah’s!”

From far away, you’re able to see a faint, puffy pink-haired man slapping a training dummy with a weird fuzzy blade. He’s so caught up in training that he doesn’t notice you, so you watch, judging his stance and how he struggles while dragging his breaths.

He’s doing it all wrong.

Though you’re amused at the pure confidence brimming in his expression; he was almost cute it's laughable. Eventually, that makes its way from your mouth, and he shifts to you, completely oblivious that you were even there that whole time. He’s a bit taken aback, and you near closer to see him.

“Um.. who are you?” He asks, dumbfounded. 

You press your hands to your waist ignoring the question and direct one back at him “Are you a first-year?” 

“Yeah. Are you one of those second years? Did you guys already come back from your mission?” 

You shake your head, and point to him exclaiming loudly, “No, I’m with you! Yuji Itadori!” 

He blanks, “Uh.. okay..” you squeal, throwing your hands in the air. 

“I knew it! Sukuna picked you? Look at that, you’re so innocent looking, you’re not even holding that blade right.” You giggle to yourself obnoxiously and he tilts his head, a small flicker of annoyance inside him. 

“Actually, he didn’t pick me, I just swallowed one of his fingers and-“ you cut him off with a sound of disgust. 

“You did that willingly? Ugh, how interesting, what did it taste like? Was it crunchy? Gooey? Was it old?” 

He ponders for a moment before answering, “Old, definitely old, and wrinkly.. and his fingernails are sharp.” 

“Ew.” You cringe at the thought, and he tilts his head to ask, “So, what are you here for?” 

Shrugging, you think. “I just wanted to see,” you answer vaguely. Being Sukuna’s vessel is more than interesting, considering it’s been what, hundreds of years? 

He opens his mouth to speak and you look at his cursed tool, probably one that was given to him by Gojo. Something in you wants to admit the morbid curiosity of seeing Sukuna, but in reality, you know that would be terrible.

“So, how does that work? Do you just have him inside of you? Does he talk? Do you hear him? See him like a ghost and he talks to you, is he standing here right now?” You ramble all your ideas at him and he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. You were definitely weirding him out.

“No nothing like that, though I do hear him every now and then. It’s sort of annoying.” He points to the back of his hand, “or he’ll show here.” You tilt your head, weird. 

You move close to him, enough to invade his personal space. You lift your hand and he’s confused, then you dive it down on his head, patting the fluff. 

Beaming, you pet him mockingly while cooing, “I heard you’re going on your first real mission tomorrow, how exciting.” 

Yuji lightly slaps your hand away, grumbling, “Can you not do that?” he steps back so you would no longer be at arm’s length.

You smile. Truthfully, you were planning on being more annoying. Why? Well, you're not sure. You quite liked him instead, he was cute, and you know you're going to enjoy teasing him often. He's still fussing over his hair as you think until you twirl away with a laugh.

“Hey, tell Sukuna I said hi when he saves your ass from death.” You stick your tongue out at him and Yuji furrows his brows immediately. That annoyed him.

Safe to say, Sukuna was definitely amused by you since then.

Yuji is your boyfriend, and he's someone you love to death even if you can still tease the heck out of him. But you've calmed since then. And through the years nothing ever came of Sukuna. Many times you had even forgotten he existed.

Occasionally you two would get food together, and sometimes you had a morbid curiosity when remembering after all this time. 

“Does Sukuna still talk to you?” You’d ask and he’d turn his head to the side with a grave expression. He knows, but he never admits.

“No, not really," he'd mumble to himself. You’d nod in response, giving him a knowing gaze. Was it really that bad? 

Yes. 

From the day he first met you to now, all that was always on the curses mind was how he just wanted to kill everyone and have fun with the punk’s lively girlfriend. Luckily, that day never came, and it never will. 

That was until.. he got sick of course. 

You’re patting the washcloth against Yuji’s head, a worry setting a deep frown on your face. His breathing is heavy, and he's panting with a newfound flame that burns in his forehead. He’s hotter than you’ve ever felt, it was almost inhuman. No reverse curse technique seemed to have been helping, no doctor, no medicine, no bath, no rest, just nothing was working. 

You’re rushing to look through Yuji's cabinets. There has to be something here that you haven’t seen before. No simple pain medications would help, nothing generic. You pick up a bottle, maybe this one? It was a herbal medicine, and you knew it was a fat chance, but you’re desperate. So you rush back to Itadori and pour him a small cup of water near the pills. 

“Hey, Yuuji.. baby,” you lightly caress his cheek, but to no avail. His skin is steaming, and his eyes are clasped shut.

You frown and take the pills in your hands, pouting at what you have to do. You open his mouth and drop the pills in lightly, holding his head up at a good position, then making sure a very small amount of water is poured in so he won’t choke. This reminded you of something, but you weren’t sure of what. 

Setting the cup back down you stare at it, then him, then gasp as a bad thought strikes you. Sukuna. The only person who can heal him. 

You can’t do that. Sukuna only works for his own gain. He probably wouldn’t even care if he died with Yuji. But still, you won't just let that happen.

Albeit.. are you really going to allow possibly hundreds, if not thousands to die by his hands just because you selfishly want one man to live? Emotional connection or not, that wasn’t smart. Or is it?

Yuji is probably the only person who could hold Sukuna off- or not probably, he is the only person who can hold him off. Maybe besides Gojo, but that didn’t count when it came to a literal internal affair. 

Either way, the fingers are all stowed somewhere. Surely you could find one. but still, you’d rather not have the god of curses of all beings roam around. You knew Yuji wouldn’t want that either, in fact, he’d probably be disappointed.

You sigh and pat Yuji’s head, giving him a soft kiss on the forehead. “Hope you get better… I’m gonna go now, okay?” You stand and stare at him, knowing he probably couldn’t hear you, or respond. You were sure he was deep in there somewhere, maybe even kicking Sukuna’s ass.

Sighing, you arrive at your home and slam your back into the bed, draping a hand over your forehead. You’re exhausted. Lately, you’ve just been spending days and nights at his house.

Sometimes you aren’t able to sleep depending on the day, this time might be one of those, but you aren't sure.

Battling with the idea of Yuji’s worsening sickness and Sukuna’s possible revival made you almost get a migraine.

You glance at the time. It’s already been a full hour, and your corneas are burning from the lack of sleep. Alright.. suppose it was time. You sigh and make yourself comfy, curling in a small ball before closing your lids. 

When you awake, there’s a blur in your eyes as you tiredly open them. It’s dark and when you glance at the window you’re thinking it’s maybe 2 AM. 3? Rolling over to your side, you pull your leg up and get comfy again, groaning at how hot your pillow now is. Lifting your head to turn it, you slam back down comfortably, a flicker of pink in your sight. Yawning, you rub your eyes and blink at whatever that could be, but decide eh, whatever, it’s your room, nothing out of the ordinary. What you needed was sleep for tomorrow. 

Shuffling, you clutch your pillow and squeeze it against you, loving the feel of the brisk cold that rubs against your cheek and satiates the heat of your neck. Closing your eyes with a small moan, a faint chuckle sounds near you. Blinking your eyes open, a jolt of fear slithers down your spine, and you raise your upper half and rotate to survey the room. Nothing out of the ordinary. You’re tired, just hearing things.

Huffing, you press yourself against the pillow again and clench your eyes shut. Just go to sleep damn it.

This time you heard an audible step. Your heart sped into your chest and you forced yourself to rotate the other way. You’re just hearing things, lack of sleep will do that to you, it’s been a long day too, so surely it’s that.

Step. It must be a curse, but you didn’t feel anything, so it had to just be you. If you go to sleep now, then it’ll all be gone. Just keep closing your eyes and when you open them again it’ll be morning.

Step. You squeaked at the sound and the creak in the floorboards. That’s when you heard another chuckle.

“How long are you going to feign sleep?” A raspy deep voice erupts a squeal from you. 

Turning shakily, you struggle to adjust to the lighting as you see a familiar figure ahead. “Yuji?” Your small voice whispers out. He grins wide. No, something was not right here. Yuji didn’t have markings or whatever this was on him, and he never kept his bangs back.

When you glanced down to study his body you froze. There was a hole in his chest, not an incision, not a Halloween effect, a full-on hole that you could look inside of. Blood was dripping from the wound, but it seemed as if it was drying judging by the goop. 

A realization hits you, and you gasp, your body shaking under the weight of Yuji- no Sukuna's gaze. His smile is large, and his dark orbs glow red in the darkness. “Y-You’re…” you hold your breath.

“H-How..?” You’re still whispering, tremoring as nears your features. He suddenly laughs loudly, cackling horribly with that new voice of his. It echoes into your ears and makes your heart drop. This was it, you were going to die. 

“You see, I was planning on having fun with that other lively girl. But, because of the brat’s affection for you, I have decided to pick you first.” He has a rumble in his hoarse throat when he verbalizes, and a horrifying smile still paints his face. You’re stuck, shaking in your spot.

“A-Are you..” you struggle to think of the words, your voice cracking as he gleams at you. “Going to.. kill me..?” Sukuna’s grin widens, and finally, you can see the way his double pair of eyes glimmer even in the lack of light. 

“After you’ve quenched my insatiable thirst, then yes.”

He takes a moment, pausing to press his hand against his chin as he thinks. “Or perhaps I’ll bond you to a life of servitude, whatever amuses me more at the moment.”

You know he’s more than serious. You had to do anything, talk, and keep on conversing until he got bored. Reason with all your might. 

You attempt to continue as you swallow hard. “B-But… Yuji will switch back.” He had to switch back, right? Won’t he? Or does the hole in his heart not prove to you enough that he won’t be able to? 

“Unless the punk wants to die, then he’ll have to be my guest. But he seems to be struggling at the moment, so, I’m going to take my sweet time with you.”

He gets close, his finger twirling around your hair. 

You bawl your fist into the sheets. You have to escape. You have to. Your legs quietly press beneath you, as if readying for a sprint.

“If you so as flinch I’ll make quick work of your death.” 

Suddenly you’re rigid as can be, terrified that the quaking in your heart and the stammering in your hands would get you killed. All you’re doing is heaving, barely able to meet his gaze. 

“Now bow.” He commands and you quickly rush to cradle your head between your hands that lay flat against the bed. He enjoys the scene, delighting in the fear. 

A second passes, and you’re flipped on your back with a strength you’ve never felt before. It was enough to bruise you just from the sheer weight. He lifts his clawed finger and suddenly your clothes are ripped, and before you can think to cover yourself with a blanket or anything he’s over you, staring into your desperate eyes. 

He was truly a pure evil that no one could think to reach. 

Tears are forming. You’re terrified. “Please don’t,” you mutter weakly.

He cackles loud enough for you to flinch. He won’t kill you yet.

The glimmer of his teeth when he grins wide makes you gasp. He’s snickering to the point it becomes manic laughter, and it makes you sick to your stomach. It sounded nothing like Yuji. His laughs are always a lot lighter and sweet. 

Sukuna sighs longingly to himself, trailing his fingers down your body as you cry.  “It’s been a thousand years, and I will never stop delighting in these sweet whimpers.” His palm meets your cunt. He presses against your clit hard and you squeal out from the pain. He doesn’t care for your enjoyment. All he wants to do is force himself down your tight hole and release every bit of cum he's had stored up for years. 

“To believe the fool hadn’t claimed you, what a shame.. for him. A treasure to me.” He’s chuckling as he kneads your clit more. It’s impatient and mean, but it gets you wet enough. His middle finger promptly shoves inside you, and you whine at the pain, curling your toes into the bed. Blood drips from the wound, lubricating his finger to pulse into you more. Sukuna grins at the liquid, and he’s purposely speeding up his pace. 

Tears swell in your eyes. You always wanted to save yourself for Yuji. Save yourself for the perfect moment.. and Sukuna just took everything away from you. 

“A thousand years and I get a virgin, ah I just delight in it, this is going to be fun.” His eyes are glimmering wide, brimming with joy as he adds another finger. You hiss at the sudden discomfort. His other hand moves to your neck, but it pauses, just hovering above it. You gulp tightly, scared for what was to come. 

“On second thought,” he pulls away and uses his free hand instead to circle your clit harshly. You’re tensed up, quivering with the pain of him spearing you mercilessly while gasping at the pleasure of your clit.

"I wouldn’t typically allow you the pleasure to breathe, but since you’ve never felt this, your cries will satisfy me more," Sukuna grins. If it wasn’t for the need to stretch you out, he wouldn’t be doing this at all. But he enjoys the way your cunt attempts to swallow his fingers whole as if attempting to expel him. He forces another in and you gasp at the sudden intrusion. You’re hands are clutched around your sides desperately as you moan and cry.

His fingers are fucking you furiously, eventually attaining a pleasant amount of wetness from your cunt. The obscene sounds feel as if they’re blaring in the room. You’re still tense as could be, but once he finally takes them out, you slump in response, heaving in relief. 

Sukuna chuckles evilly at the slick surrounding his fingers. As if it wasn’t a moment ago that he had just broken you and stretched you wide. 

“Ah, virgins. So easily excitable.” He breathes in delight to himself. You’re quivering, attempting to remain stiff, but every time his hand grazes your skin you flinch. You forcefully drape your arm over your sight while streams roll down your cheeks. Whenever you would glimpse at him all you wanted to do was cry and run. 

There’s no remorse in him, no guilt, nothing but happiness as he lives his fantasy. 

You feel his tip suddenly poke at your entrance, and you don’t even feel how clenched up you are. Your teeth are dragging against one another in anticipation, and he attempts to push in. You can’t help but peek fearfully, and you tighten at the sight. Sukuna gazes at you, annoyed. You shiver. Did you move? Did you do something wrong?

Quickly you’re spun around, your chest landing on the bed and your face bouncing off the pillow. Your view is met with the headboard. You can’t see anymore, and you panic. Your head moves up and you attempt to turn your body to fixate on him. He forces you back down instantly with a grip on your scalp. It tightens and you're shoved into your pillow hard.

When you attempt to move, the strength increases. His sharp fingernails are grazing your skin, almost drawing blood. You can’t breathe. You try to take an inhale and you’re stopped by the force of the pillow stuffing and blocking your airway. 

Without warning your pussy is spread wide by his cock and you scream incoherently. He instantaneously groans loudly at the warmth that meets him. His gaze turns to the ceiling, and his eyes are practically rolled to the back of his head as he relishes the feeling. He’s been waiting centuries for this exact moment. This scene has been revolving in his mind since day one. The idea of forcing a helpless virgin on their knees and taking them completely.

“Ah, I thought I’d never feel this again.” He exhales a deep breath of satisfaction, “It’s wonderful."

Your tight cunt swarms around his cock, sucking him in helplessly, and he groans, a newfound lust within. You're struggling to swallow his size, quivering as you feel your pussy forcefully stretch. You cry into the pillow, convulsing beneath him. He’s usually a patient man, but not this time. 

He moves, gripping your head tight and pulling you down while he begins to pound you murderously. The brutality of his thrusts while you gasp for air has you thrashing around, adamant to get him off of you. He has no care. He'd make sure he would let out all of his frustrations from being in your punk-ass boyfriend’s body for so long. 

“Do I need to remind you of what I’ve said? That would be rather impolite don’t you think?” Sukuna breathes heavily, annoyed by your muffled screams. He rams his cock to the very end of you and back. He's huge, and it burns endlessly when he thrusts. You’re shouting against the fabric, desperately attempting to shake off the force and lift yourself for just one inhale. He was going to kill you and defile your body. This is how you’re going to die, in the worst possible way. 

He’s using you like a mere plaything. Eventually, the pressure rushing to your head starts to make your vision go dark. You limp against him as he fucks you senseless. Sukuna starts cackling, and he pulls your weak head up, watching you come to life with a heavy inhale. Tears are pouring down your cheeks, drool falling from your lips as you greedily heave. He's still bucking his hips sharply into you, slapping your ass hard.

Sukuna would've sneered, but there was a large amount of impatience beginning to surge. “Now, if I need to remind you again, then the next you won’t be breathing. Not that it matters to me. But you wouldn’t like that, would you?" His tone is dark, and you shake your head a complacent no. Anything to not go through that again. 

“Good."

He slaps your ass with a rush of strength, making you jitter against him. He pulses into you, enjoying the way your pussy is now melting into a wet slop. 

“It appears you enjoy this just as much as I.” You’re sputtering with your breaths, unable to even hear him chuckling as he slams into you. Your hair is suddenly pulled back. Sukuna is grabbing a fistful and the ache in your neck has you groaning uncomfortably. 

You’re moaning nonsensically and his pace is merciless.  “How cute, maybe I will keep you alive.” 

His tug is impossible to push back at, and you yelp when he pulls you even further. He’s still slapping your ass repeatedly and you’re squeezing tight around him at every hit. His force is painful, and he finds it amusing. He only thrusts himself to the brink of his own orgasm while yanking you like a rag doll and stretching you wide. 

You’re whining desperately as he speeds up, and a jolt of electricity rises. It pulses into a quivering release while you slur incoherently, subconsciously circling your hips into him.

Sukuna breathes hard against you, merciless excitement running through his veins as he pulls you back hard and fucks your exhausted core, all while you still ride out your climax. He finally hits deep inside of you, reaching the furthest his cock can and even more. There's a sudden warmth in your walls as a heavy thick stream of cum pours inside of you.

“How I miss this.” Sukuna exhales loudly, nearly moaning at the sweet release. His clutch on your skin is still tight, causing you to jolt beneath him. 

And It was only a few moments that had passed before he left your sore cunt, only to push himself back in and slam into you. You’re a slop, whining desperate slurs into your pillow as he fucks you senseless.

You don't know how much time passed, but it never stopped. You found yourself eventually heaving and imagining a place where this wasn’t happening. Where Yuji was alive and he was the one taking you instead. 

Sukuna had whirled you around, pushing himself deep into you, his tongue dragging against your neck. Your legs are barely gripping his as he pounds you beneath him. His grasp was tight on the sheets beside you, and you were just relieved it wasn’t on your skin anymore.

Suddenly a rush builds and you’re whining loudly, your thighs feeling a new strength as you clasp around him. Your hands don’t dare to grab him, but as you lose yourself in your orgasm you can’t help the way you claw at his back. Sukuna pulses into you and lets out another stream of cum. The eventual number you didn’t know. Tears were rolling down your face, you're tired, you just want it to stop.

“No more.. please,” you whisper desperately. 

Sukuna snickers into your neck, breathing not nearly as hard as you were. He pulls himself from your throbbing hole and you still manage to whine at the loss. Relief follows swiftly, and the cum that clogs itself inside of you drips slowly.

“Did you think a mere few climaxes would be enough for me? You truly don’t understand.” His tone gets low as he grins. “I am going to keep playing with you until I get bored.” You pant exhaustedly, barely able to register his words. You just want to go to sleep.

As quick as that relief had come, it diminished the moment he buried himself in your cunt again. You whimper and let out a choked breath, eyes practically rolling to the back of your head. His deep breath brushes your skin, his groan rumbling something deep within you. 

“And yet you have joined them all so wonderfully. It’s been so long since I had a woman keep up with me,” he beams wide with that evil sparkling in his red eyes.

“I’ve decided I’ll let you live. I’ll keep you by my side whenever I feel the need to use you.” At his words, sobs begin to overtake you. He grips your arms tight, pushing into you repeatedly and cackling maniacally.

You would never be free from that grating sound ever again. 

[loves-n-kisses]

omg can you do yuta okkotsu x inumakis younger sister still in the jjk au. she is a first year and he’s a second year, acquaintances to lovers pls!

PLEASEEEE AND THANKYOUUU

Hope you like it my love!

Wordless Love - Yuta x InumakiSister!Reader

A story where youre really dense for some reason?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The training grounds at Tokyo Jujutsu High are dusted with autumn leaves, the air crisp with the promise of winter. You, a first-year sorcerer and Toge Inumaki’s younger sister, grip your cursed tool—a sleek, enchanted chain whip—trying to ignore the nervous flutter in your chest. Across the field, Yuta Okkotsu, the second-year prodigy, adjusts his katana, his dark eyes scanning the sparring setup. 

You’ve known Yuta for months now, ever since you enrolled. He’s kind, awkward in a charming way, and terrifyingly powerful when Rika manifests. But to you, he’s just Yuta—the guy who always offers you a shy smile when you pass in the halls, who once patched up your scraped knee after a mission went sideways. Acquaintances, nothing more. Yet lately, your heart races when he’s near, and you hate it. You’re an Inumaki, damn it. You’re supposed to be cool, composed, like Toge.

“Ready, Inumaki-san?” Yuta calls, his voice soft but steady. 

You nod, swallowing hard. Your cursed speech technique, inherited like your brother’s, limits you to short, safe phrases during spars. “Start,” you say, your voice laced with cursed energy, compelling the air to ripple. 

Yuta moves fast, his katana flashing. You counter with your whip, the chains singing as they arc toward him. The spar is intense but controlled—neither of you wants to hurt the other. When your whip grazes his sleeve, he grins, and your focus falters. Why does he have to smile like that?

The match ends in a draw when Gojo-sensei claps dramatically from the sidelines. “Nice teamwork, you two! Yuta, stop holding back. Inumaki-chan, your form’s improving, but you’re distracted. What’s on your mind, hmm?” His teasing smirk makes your face burn.

“Nothing,” you mutter, stomping off to the dorms. Yuta watches you go, his expression unreadable.

---

Over the next few weeks, you’re paired with Yuta for missions more often. A cursed spirit haunting a subway station, a rogue sorcerer in Shibuya—each fight brings you closer. He’s protective but never condescending, always checking if you’re okay after a close call. You start noticing little things: how he fidgets with his sword hilt when nervous, how his eyes soften when he talks about his friends. 

One evening, after a grueling mission, you’re both perched on a rooftop overlooking Tokyo’s glittering skyline. Your throat’s raw from using cursed speech, so you stay quiet, sipping a canned tea. Yuta breaks the silence.

“You’re really strong, you know,” he says, staring at the city. “Like Toge, but… different. You make it look effortless.”

You blush, scribbling on a notepad you carry for non-cursed communication: Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself. You slide it toward him, and he chuckles, his breath visible in the chilly air.

“I mean it,” he continues, his voice quieter. “I… I admire you. A lot.”

Your heart stumbles. You write: Why? I’m just me.

He reads it, then looks at you, his eyes intense but warm. “That’s enough. More than enough.”

You don’t know what to say—or write. Instead, you nudge his shoulder playfully, like Toge would. Yuta laughs, and the tension eases. But something shifts that night. Your acquaintance status feels… inadequate.

---

Winter arrives, and with it, the Kyoto Goodwill Event looms. Toge, ever the overprotective brother, corners Yuta one day. You overhear them near the vending machines.

“Salmon,” Toge says, his tone sharp despite the rice-ball lingo. 

Yuta stammers, “I-I’d never hurt her, Inumaki-kun! I swear, I just—”

“Bonito flakes.” Toge’s glare softens slightly, but he points at Yuta, then makes a heart shape with his hands, raising an eyebrow.

Yuta’s face turns crimson. “I… yeah. I do. But I haven’t told her yet.”

You nearly drop your soda can. Scrambling to hide, you process what you heard. Yuta likes you? 

---

The confession comes unexpectedly. After a training session, you’re bandaging a cut on Yuta’s arm in the infirmary. He’s unusually quiet, his usual chatter absent. 

“Inumaki-san,” he says suddenly, “can I call you [Your Name]?”

You nod, surprised. He takes a deep breath. “I like you. Not just as a friend or a teammate. I… I want to be with you, if you’ll have me.”

Your voice fails you, cursed speech or not. Instead, you grab your notepad, scribbling furiously: I like you too, idiot. You shove it at him, your face on fire.

His smile is brighter than the sun. “Really?” 

You nod, and he gently takes your hand, his calloused fingers warm against yours. “Then… can I be your boyfriend?” he asks, half-laughing at his own nervousness.

You write one word: Yes.

---

Dating Yuta is like discovering a new kind of magic. He’s attentive, bringing you snacks after long training days, sparring with you to help hone your technique. Toge begrudgingly approves, though he texts you “tuna mayo” (code for “be careful”) whenever Yuta’s around. 

One spring afternoon, you’re picnicking under the cherry blossoms on campus. Yuta’s head rests in your lap as you braid flowers into his dark hair. 

“[Your Name],” he murmurs, eyes closed, “I’m happy. Really happy.”

You lean down, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “Me too,” you whisper, your voice free of curses, just for him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

note: my first jjk fic!!!

[travelingthief]

Lord Apollo Devotional Post

Divination

Tarot/Oracle decks

Pendulums

Rune stones

Charm casting supplies

Crystal balls

Scrying bowls

All divination tools

Cookie fortunes

Tea leaves

Art

Paint brushes/paints

Canvases

Colored pencils/markers/crayons

Collages

Journals

Art books

Art prints

Anything you made

Sculptures 

Zines

Stickers

Any art supplies

Music

Music boxes

Records/CDs/Cassettes

Record players/radios/MP3 etc.

Headphones

Music posters

Band merch

Instruments/String instruments

Dance shoes

Concert tickets

CD book holders

Sun and Light

Sun imagery

Sunscreen

Aloe for sunburns

Golden objects

Matches

Candles

Sunflowers/sunflower seeds

Health and Healing

First aid kits

Medicine

Pain relievers

Band-aids

Ice/heat packs

Rice socks 

Masks

Aloe

Ambulance toy cars

Adaptive aids

Archery 

Darts

Bow and arrows

Arrow quiver

Dart board

Targets 

Bullseye 

Myth Related

Snake skins

Snake imagery (Python)

Laurels

Bay leaves (Daphne)

Palm trees (Birth myth)

Ravens/Crows 

Crow feathers (Why the crow is black)

Cattle/turtles (Hermes birth myth)

Swans (Pulled His chariot)

Hyacinths (Hyacinthus)

Locks of hair 

Food

Vanilla

Honey

Sunny D

Lemons/lemon juice

Oranges/orange juice

Citrus

Water

Devotional Acts

Health

Take your meds

Go to therapy

Exercise

Wear a mask (We are still in a pandemic y’all)

Get vaccinated

Get STI tested

Self care

Learn first aid/CPR

Keep a first aid kit at home/in your car

Learn about alternative medicine

Advocate for accessible healthcare

Advocate for disability rights

Volunteer at a hospital

Give blood/plasma

Volunteer at a retirement home

Learn about anatomy/biology/nutrition

Learn about health conditions/rare disorders

Eat healthy for your body

Help fund surgeries if you can

Trip sit for someone

Listen to your body

Sunlight

Sunbathe

Wear sunscreen

Start a garden

Make sun water

Open all the windows on a sunny day

Music

Go to a concert/show

Listen to music

Make a playlist for someone you love

Make a playlist for Apollo

Learn an instrument/play and instrument

Dance

Sing

Support local bands

Explore new music

Burn CDs

Divination/Prophecy

Daily tarot card/rune stones

Make an oracle deck

Give divination readings

Shadow work

Colormancy

Art

Make something

Draw/paint/craft

Write a poem/story

Color

Make a zine

Go see a play

Get a tattoo

Archery

Throw darts

Use a slingshot

Take up archery

Go to a shooting range

[ladyyomiart]

I found this drawing buried in my 2019 artworks folder and thought it'd be good timing to re-upload it to my gallery! 💐💖 I referenced the poses of this old anime base posted in 2011 by @ShadowJackal35 (I had such a tough time finding it after so many years, lmao 😂).

Here you can see Rice and Cupcake (Dragon Ball Xenoverse OCs), Chie (Hakuouki OC), and Sadie (as she looked in the sequel to the—now deleted—first version of her FF7 fanfic, lol); offering some Valentine's Day chocolates to you guys! 🍫🎁

(The PS filters were strong with this one, so the lines look a bit weird... 😆 But it still has its charm so I'm happy to re-share it over here!).

[fattorimunin]

Rupees Don’t Grow on Trees

The setting sun dragged its slow steps, sinking beneath the horizon like the weary travelers themselves, staining the sky a deep golden red, flecked with streaks of violet clouds in the distance.

Dust-covered and drenched in sweat after a brutal battle in the forest, the group finally reached a half-decent inn on the outskirts of a city after crossing a desolate old stone bridge. The surrounding area was barren, and the inn's faded signboard was barely legible, but inside, there were drinkers, women, and even children.

The rusted iron sign creaked in the evening wind, as if whispering a silent warning.

But no one cared. Everyone was too tired and desperate for a hot bath.

"Beats sleeping in a tree," Legend grumbled as he dropped onto the doorstep. His fingers were still trembling from the aftershocks of weapons clashing in combat.

"And it's cheap," Wild added, looking half-starved. His eyes were fixed on the fragrant aromas wafting from the inn's kitchen. Days of relentless travel had left him surviving on scraps.

"Something about this place feels off," Four said, his violet eyes gleaming warily as he glanced at the flower pots lined along the windows, most of them withered.

"No one's smiling, no one's talking. There are women and kids, but their expressions look... stiff."

"Maybe they're just tired. Like us," Twilight patted his shoulder and pushed the door open. A smear of black dust was left on Four's clothes where Twilight had touched him, but none of them minded. At this point, they were all dirtier than pigs in a pen.

The innkeeper, a short and chubby man with an overly enthusiastic smile, provided them with two rooms, hot soup, beds that looked clean enough, and a pot of strong-scented tea for each room.

"Thanks. Finally, a decent night's rest," Sky mumbled, rubbing his eyes. The moment he slipped on a clean shirt after bathing, he collapsed into bed, softly snoring almost instantly.

Night fell completely. Everyone was so exhausted they relaxed more than they should have.

Hyrule was the first to wake.

The night was still heavy, his head pounding as if someone had bashed a pot over it all night. Blinking, he noticed the room was too quiet.

"...Guys?"

He stepped outside the room and realized the entire inn was deserted—save for them.

Their bags had been rummaged through, rupees and even some gem-encrusted tools gone without a trace.

"Guys! Wake up!"

He skipped over Sky and began desperately shaking the others. They slept unnaturally deep. Even slaps didn’t wake them. It wasn’t normal.

Poor Hyrule nearly broke down until he splashed a bucket of water on the eldest member—Time—finally getting a reaction.

As Time groggily sat up and took in the chaotic scene, his brows knitted so tightly they could crush a mosquito. Without a word, he grabbed another bucket and began splashing the rest awake.

Everyone, now drenched and dazed, had no choice but to face reality.

"They must've used some kind of sleeping powder. Blown in through the windows while we were asleep."

Hyrule pointed to traces of white powder along the windowsill.

It explained everything. As a hybrid, the drug hadn't affected him as strongly, allowing him to wake first.

"We got robbed?!" Warriors dumped his pack upside down. Half his gear was gone. The others scrambled to check their belongings.

Legend stared at his empty hand, wailing, "Three months of rupees! They even took the ring I was wearing!"

Chaos erupted. Wild discovered someone had even taken his spare underwear. Why? No one knew.

It wasn't their first time being robbed. But it never got any less frustrating.

"I swear I put my rupee pouch under my pillow..." Legend growled, face twisted with resentment.

"That innkeeper was definitely in on it. That smile was too creepy."

"At least we're still alive," Twilight said dryly.

Wild munched on a rice ball to calm himself, mumbling about his missing underwear.

"You still have food?!" Warriors turned, eyeing him.

"Give me a bite, please. My stomach's eating itself."

"Nope," Wild said flatly, stuffing the rest into his pocket. "Last one."

"It won’t even fill you up," Sky muttered. "And I saw it roll around on the ground."

"Three-second rule," Wild replied between bites.

"Focus," Time barked, now fully geared up and clutching his still-untouched sword. "We need Wolfie's nose. We don't have time to waste."

Following Wolfie's trail, they moved quickly until the city's silhouette emerged in the distance.

"There's a market up ahead. A big one. They probably took our stuff there to sell."

Four pointed to a sign near the entrance.

"We can’t draw attention," Time warned. "This isn't our turf. No trouble."

Twilight muttered, "Tell that to Legend."

"Hey! I didn't even get a chance to cause trouble last night!" Legend stomped.

"All I want now is to find that innkeeper and—"

"Cuss out his entire family line?" Four cut in.

Legend: "...How did you know I was going to say that?"

By the time they reached the market, the morning rush had begun. The lively scene momentarily distracted them.

Just as Hyrule described, the place was chaotic but full of energy: rows of vendors shouting over each other, smells of spices and grilled meat mixing with sweet fruits in the air. Musicians played on corners. A troupe performed fire tricks and tightrope walks.

"Move fast. Before our stuff is long gone," Time murmured.

"Listen up. We’re broke. Not a single rupee. Worst case? We earn our way out. You all have skills. Use them. Find a way to make some rupees"

His gaze swept across the group.

"Pup, Sky, Wind—you’re with me. We’ll hunt the thieves. The rest of you, start earning. Even a little helps. We can't afford to be stuck here."

They split up into the crowd.

"Maybe I can set up a stall. Treat bruises and such. What do you think?"

Hyrule, the team’s healer, quickly found direction. He glanced nervously at the noisy market and looked to Legend.

"Go for it. Traveling healers are rare. Ones that don’t sell fake potions? Even rarer."

They gathered a few old crates and set up a modest stall. Legend scrawled a sign:

"Injury Treatment – Fast & Painless!"

Business was so-so. Legend was just helping with payments and crowd control, and honestly, he enjoyed the peace… until a drunken man staggered over, slammed the table, and scared off their current patient.

"Hey kid, look at this leg! I fell yesterday, can’t walk, hurts like hell!"

Hyrule didn’t even get a word in before the man plopped down on the medicine box, nearly crushing Hyrule’s hand.

Legend’s brow twitched. Then he opened his mouth.

"Maybe what you broke wasn’t your leg. Maybe it was your brain."

"What did you say?!" The man reeked of liquor, his voice like a broken forge bellows.

"I said, drunk in broad daylight, barging into a healer’s stall like a boar in a shrine. You should head to the butcher’s. Let someone check if your brain’s been pickled and served cold."

Legend pointed at him with precise venom.

"You little—"

Legend planted a foot on the crate, leaning forward with a grin sharp as a blade. "Yeah, I said it. And I’ll say more. You try anything funny, and I’ll make sure your legs and the little thing between them never work again. Next!"

The man froze, caught a glimpse of Legend’s cold violet eyes and his hand already on the sword hilt—and burst into tears.

He stumbled away, legs jelly, trailing something suspiciously wet.

Nearby vendors stared, then erupted into laughter.

"That mouth! Kid, you make a living off this?"

Legend rolled his eyes. "No, I—"

"Open a stall! I’ll pay to have you cuss out my clingy ex-fiancé. He won’t stop showing up!"

A vibrantly dressed woman bounced over, eyes gleaming.

"You serious?"

"Twenty rupees. Very serious."

Five minutes later, Legend stood beside Hyrule’s stall. Behind him hung a scribbled sign:

"Cussing for Hire – I Say What You Can’t. Loudly."

When the ex showed up five steps from her stall, Legend let loose:

"If you had even a shred of shame, you wouldn’t be buzzing around like a fly for the third time this morning. Even dogs know how to read the room. You? You look like you were born with your umbilical cord strangling your brain."

"One more step and I’ll yank that wig off and parade it around this market like a prize—see if people think your bald head deserves applause!"

Gasps, then laughter. The man fled, holding his scalp.

The woman beamed and slipped five more rupees and a meat pie into Legend’s hand.

Hyrule stared, slack-jawed. Legend had just earned twenty-five rupees… for yelling.

Then another furious woman stormed over, clutching a wilted bouquet.

"What’s your rate? I want him annihilated."

Legend raised a brow. "Who? Details first."

"My ex. Three years together. He proposed to me while flirting with our neighbor behind my back. The neighbor apologized—said she didn’t know he was taken! Tell me that’s not textbook scumbag!"

Legend nodded. "Certified. Where is he?"

"Over at the apple stand. Red cloak. Probably scamming another girl right now."

"Deal. Twenty rupees. He won’t show his face again."

He adjusted his clothes, walked into the crowd, and called out in a voice that cut through the market:

"Hey! Red cloak! The one smiling like he borrowed his lips from a cucco! Maybe stop stinking up the air. That sweet talk you’re using—didn’t you copy-paste that last week too? Or did you finally run out of recycled lies?"

The man froze. Legend smiled.

"When you got engaged, was your brain swapped for a toilet bowl? Three years of love flushed like garbage, and now you're strutting around like a prize cucco. Those flowers you gave her? Rotten now, but still more sincere than you ever were."

"You live by your groin and think with it too. Go home. Look in the mirror. Ask yourself if that face is worth three wasted years. Leave now and I’ll forget I saw you. Stay, and I’ll make sure no vendor here sells you so much as a rotten apple."

Silence. Then laughter exploded. One vendor even dropped his skewer.

The man fled.

The woman cheered and gave Legend another meat pie.

Legend took it silently. Four, walking past with crates, looked at the laughing crowd, then at Legend.

He quietly decided to set his stall somewhere far, far away.

[hatsukeii]

i think i’m gonna pick up a 🎸 with a few 🎵 decorations including a ‘rivals to lovers’ guitar pick and a ‘cooking class au’ strap. and lately i’ve heard that osamu is my biggest fan ;)

got it! the band you’ve joined is…

hell’s kitchen / timeskip!osamu miya x reader

genre(s): fluff, slight crack, rivals to possible? lovers, culinary class au! food!

warning(s): nothing!! im worried that osamu might be ooc here or it's not rivalry enough but i hope it works out!>!!>!

wc: ~1.7k

your first gig is at…a culinary class?!

setlist:

🎵girlfriend, hemlocke springs

🎵comedy, gen hoshino

🎵get him back!,olivia rodrigo

How many things can someone possibly put in a rice ball? To slurp, or not to slurp? Better yet, is slapping somebody with a whole head of pickled cabbage a viable course of action?

It's humiliating, almost, paired with Osamu Miya in every culinary class. Not because of his lack of skill- he's good, too good even. But he smacks his tongue audibly against the roof of his mouth every time he digs into your cooking, slurps until showers of broth come spitting from the bowl, wipes his hands on his apron, slathering emulsifications of aioli and hollandaise onto rough canvas fabric, then grabs your waist to walk behind you. Every quirk of his is incomplete without his signature, shit-eating smirk. Every class has you considering swinging whatever tool you have in hand into his face.

Unfortunately, that day is not today. Onigiri only requires hands, and seeing that Osamu has formed six seemingly perfect balls of seaweed wrapped rice, he is clearly much better at using them than you are. Handiwork training is what today's chef called this atrocity. To move beyond being a cook to a chef, you must learn the first tool of cooking- your hands, he said. From the corner of your eye, you catch Osamu's amused glances towards the two funky looking shapes on your plate, and the panicked pulses of your palms against a handful of slippery, seasoned rice. He picks up one of the six onigiri of his own, the rounded tip of the triangle disappearing into his mouth as he chews, agonisingly slowly, smacking his tongue the way he knows you hate. A grumble elicits from your throat, your hands squeezing tighter against the sticky grains in your grasp, only for more chunks to fall apart.

"Let me help."

"No."

"Whatever you say."

He walks over now, biting a second corner off his onigiri as his hips lean against your side of the counter. His lips smack together obnoxiously, teeth squelching and grinding at rice and salmon. You irk your brows when the rice in your grasp seems to stop sticking to each other. It takes one look at your now opaque bowl of water for you to realise that you've washed all the starch off in your attempts to release the grains from your palms. Osamu figured it out when you dipped your hand into the bowl for the seventh time.

"Mix it into the rest of the rice that you have. That helps."

You hate that he's right, because when you do what he's told you to, the rest of the rice comes around the wet grains and sticks to them like they're supposed to. He pops the rest of his onigiri into his mouth, swiping his hands together before rubbing them over the sides of his rice-decorated apron. You try again, scooping up a lukewarm ball of rice. Flattening it against your palm, you search for the bowl of salmon, eyes landing on an empty bowl adorned with sad, pink flakes of salt-grilled fish. Osamu's already sliding the rest of his salmon over the counter.

"Need extra?" His mouth is still stuffed, a single piece of rice sticks to the corner of his mouth.

"Thanks."

You dump a spoonful of salmon into the centre of your rice pattie, before sticking your free hand into the water and folding your palms into each other. The rice sticks to your fingers when you pull away, and you groan, pushing harder. At that, grains begin to crack away from the ball, bits of salmon beginning to stick out from the bottom. Osamu swallows half of the contents in his mouth, his cheek jutting out like a hamster hoarding sunflower seeds. He watches your inexperienced hands, clawing at and tossing the rice to shape it, and he reaches over to rinse his hands over the sink.

"Just let me help you out."

Grains of jasmine rice stick to his wet palms that come around your hands, squeezing and pushing at a ball of rice that falls apart at each movement. The fuzz of his rolled up sweater sleeves rubs against your forearms as his fingers work their way onto yours. Starchy water trickles down the back of your hand when he forces them to loosen around the mess of grilled salmon and rice, and you sigh in defeat, letting him move you as he pleases.

"Look, I'm not sure why you dislike me so much."

"I don't."

He chuckles, pushing your hands into the rice now. You study the pressure he applies to the ball of rice, learn the shape of his fingers around yours, memorise the cup of his palms around the back of your own.

"Yes, you do. You always look at me like-"

You snap your head around to meet his eyes, and he's so close that for the first time, you have to angle your head to look up at him. He's not smirking anymore, moreso observing. You aren't sure what there is to observe on your face, but it's welcome nevertheless.

"Like what?"

He purses his lips, huffing out a dejected sigh.

"Like that."

He lets go of your hands, stepping backwards, and you hold the perfectly moulded onigiri up to eye level. The rice is glossy in a sheen of vinegar and water, yet pertains its fluffiness in the tack of starch against your fingers. The handiwork of a true chef.

"You're so good at this class that I can't even get annoyed at you openly. It's infuriating."

"What did I ever do to you?"

You laugh sarcastically, waving the newly formed onigiri in Osamu’s face, before taking a bite. He laughs, mouth forming a taunting oh when you smack your lips against each other the way that he does, the flakiness of salmon spreading char and salt across your tastebuds. Then, you place the onigiri aside, rubbing your hands up and down your pristine apron, before grabbing his waist to move him to the side so you can walk past, making sure bits of rice and fish stick to his apron. He chuckles, clapping tantalisingly slowly at your imitation of his habits. You give him a fake bow, and he drops his hands to his hips, shrugging.

"That's it?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Petty rivalry and kitchen hygiene."

"Mind you, I am very hygienic. My shop hasn't been shut down for a reason."

You watch Osamu's hands dig into the remaining portion of your rice, his tongue sticking out as he moulds and shapes it into another perfectly rounded triangle. You scoff at his defensiveness, arms crossed in front of you. He wraps a rectangle of seaweed across the centre of the rice ball, and holds it up to your face. It is swiped from his fingers by your own, and you stuff half of it into your mouth, chewing without a sound and swallowing the mouthful.

"You do not have a shop."

"Where'd you think I learned how to do all this?" His hands shoot out to wave at his perfect collection of hand-made onigiri, and you sigh, rolling your head to the side.

"Okay, sure. You have a shop. It's a surprise you can be this annoying and keep it running."

"Loosen up, I just wipe my hands on my apron and eat loud. It's not like I'm spitting in my food. Besides, being that uptight ends up with your onigiri coming out more like...that." His head nods towards the funky ones on your plate, bits of fish sticking from the crevices between individual grains of rice. You shrug in acceptance, taking another bite from his onigiri. Osamu clicks his tongue, grabbing your wrist to bring the rice ball to his mouth instead, consuming the final corner of the triangle in its entirety. He swallows it with a hum, his fingers still around your wrist. He's not letting go. Now, you're interested.

"Should I pay you a visit? Need to see for myself that you're running it to safety standards."

"Are you flirting with me? Because you should keep going."

You roll your eyes when you see him wink at you from above your hand, but an toothy grin creeps its way onto your face, and Osamu smiles at his tactics.

"Whatever you say, Miya." His last name finally makes it out of your mouth for the first time since the two of you have been put together for this course, and he drops your wrist.

"You know, I could teach you how to make those onigiris properly if you show up to Onigiri Miya. You'd be almost as good as me by the end of it."

You flick a grain of rice at him, and it sticks to his apron unceremoniously. He's even named the shop after his family name. How cute. Despicable.

"Don't try your luck, chef."

"Chef? High praise."

The supervising chef sounds a bell, harsh waves of high pitched ringing echoing throughout the room. And as Osamu scrubs at bowls and lathers soapy water onto plates, he watches you tap at your phone with clean hands. Your sink is already empty, the two bowls and one plate that you used in total sitting on the drying rack already. Your onigiris sit in a takeout container, lined up neatly in two rows. His own are still on their plate, and he reminds himself to grab a takeout box for himself. You look up to Osamu, and he looks back at his wet hands and soapy dishes.

"Found you online. I'll be checking your place out soon." You remark at him, and the corners of his mouth curl up into a grin.

"You sure you're not there to check me out instead?" You snicker at his blatant flirtations, and pretend that he's completely incorrect.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves now, Miya."

You shove your phone back into your pocket, swipe an onigiri off his plate, and wave at him as you turn your back to leave.

Osamu watches your silhouette push open the door as he slots his dishes into the drying rack. He hopes that you'll become his favourite regular at Onigiri Miya.

author's note:

i just KNOW im gonna have so much fun writing for this event ngl i hope i get more so i can see what people come up with but I HOPE U LIKE THIS!!! rivalry is more like friendly banter here and lovers is more like he's into you and you're slowly getting into the grroove of it but hopefully you enjoyed it regardless my bbs<333 i'd frequent onigiri miya ngl i love onigiri sm also hell's kitchen needs to be the name of a band icl

anyways tags!!

@chuuya-brainrot @staraxiaa @wyrcan @4ngelfries @catsoupki @bailey-reeds @fiannee @kuroppiii @akaakeis @hiraethwa @zzwon

interested in joining a band? come on over to the build-a-band 900 !!

[yoga-onion]

"Shio-ume (塩梅 = Salt plum)"?

Deciding, after all this time, to read more novels to strengthen my Japanese and expand my vocabulary, I scoured the books I had always wanted to read, especially my late father's bookshelves. Naturally, all I found were classic Japanese literature dating back to the pre-Showa period and even centuries earlier.

Two words that have been on my mind recently are ‘Salt plum (塩梅)’.

‘What... suddenly the salt plum...?’

A large red pickled plum with salt gushing out on the surface comes to mind for a moment. However, when reading a novel, the flow of the story is more important, so I seldom stop at a single word, whatever the language.

‘Anbai (塩梅 = just right)’? is this kind of kanji characters. ‘Eh, eh.’

The word means ‘salt and plum vinegar’, and in the days when there was no vinegar, the ume vinegar produced when pickled plums were used to season food. The word was derived from the fact that the taste was ‘It's just right’. 

However, this has been a challenge. The Japanese language is deep. Language is a useful tool for learning about a country's history and culture.

Anyway, I made and ate rice balls with salt plums with the seasonal new rice. Yum, Yum!

[Note: Umeboshi (salted ume-plums) are extremely sour and salty that will make saliva spread through your mouth with a sizzle if you are Japanese, just by reading the words or looking at the image.]

「しおうめ」？

今更ながら、日本語を強化し語彙を増やすためにもっと小説を読もうと思い、私はずっと読みたかった本、特に亡き父の本棚を漁った。当然のことながら、私が見つけたのは昭和以前、さらには数世紀前までさかのぼる古典的な日本文学ばかりだ。

近ごろ気になっていた単語が「塩梅」という２文字。

「えっ、いきなり塩梅って…なんだ…？」

塩が表面に噴き出した大粒の赤い梅ぼしが１ケ、一瞬脳裏に浮かぶ。しかし、小説を読むときは、ストーリーの流れの方が重要なので、どんな言語であろうと、一語で立ち止まることはめったにない。

しかし、度々目にすると、流石に気になって調べた。

「あんばい」？ってこういう漢字なんだ。「え、えーっ」！

「塩と梅酢」という意味で、食酢がなかった時代に梅を漬けたときにできる梅酢を使って料理の味付けをしていたそうだ。その味が「良いあんばい」だったことが語源とのこと。良い考えだ！これからは余った梅酢は料理に使おう、と思った。体にも良さそうだ。

しかし、これには参った。日本語は奥が深い。言語とは、その国の歴史や文化を知る上で有効なツールだ。

ともあれ、旬の新米で梅干しおにぎりを作って食べた。うまいうまい！

[animeyanderelover]

💘Could I request itachi with prompt 122. “Don’t be scared. I’m not angry at you. I’m angry at them.”?💘

I'll probably announce a date of when I will open my requests again within the next two weeks. I only have 72 left after all which is actually not that much in comparison to what I had before.

Words: 2.4k

Tags: @shumidehiro @naeho @swagenemyartisan

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, toxic relationship, possessive behavior, obsession, isolation, abduction, death

Prompt 122

The flames of the campfire licking away at the wood was a captivating sight, your eyes drawn to its brightness. All the chatter and cackling around you slowly turned into white noise as the bright colours of the fire brought your mind to another time. A time where everything in your life had been boring, normal and fine.

When an object was thrown against your head, you were forced to leave your head and return back to the present, surrounded by bounty hunters who had been forcing you to tag along with them for nearly 2 weeks now. Well, Itachi was after all on one of his long missions so you didn't expect any help from him. You didn't even know when he would return.

"Eat up. That's all you're going to get for tonight." One of them told you rudely. You threw him a dirty sideglance as soon as he had turned his back to you, chatting with a few of his pals as you picked up the small package made out of green leaves. A few onigiri were inside, the impact due to the guy having thrown them against your head had caused some of the rice to fall apart. It was a sad meal as you stared at the meager rice balls who had already partially lost their shape. You knew better than to reject the food though because not only would that mean that they might starve you purposely for a bit but you also weren't keen on receiving another hit against your face from one of those idiots. Your cheek still stung slightly even days after you had been knocked down simply by irritating one of the members of this group a bit.

Ultimately they wouldn't kill you though. For now at least. After all people wanted you alive as bait to lure out the famous Itachi Uchiha. Since when had your value only been dragged down to Itachi Uchiha? When had you stopped being your own individual and instead were only famous as his 'lover'?

You munched away on the onigiri, ignoring the glances you received from the women and men around you and the way they snickered tauntingly. They only cared for the money after all. Whatever would happen to you was none of their concerns as long as they received their price for collecting you.

If you remembered right, you'd arrive in a day or two your destination. Then you'd be handed over like a useful tool and would be kept until you'd lose your value, which was obviously only Itachi Uchiha. You could technically be liberated after that because you had only been an innocent citizen before you'd been kidnapped by a famous criminal but you were smarter than to hope for such a thing. You'd probably be either killed in the near future or you'd be kept for another purpose. In either case, you would never be able to go back to your own life.

Well, that was what you had expected and prepared for anyways when you had decided to be abducted once again by those people of your own free will. You had just been tired of being stuck in the small cottage, tired of being forced to wait for weeks until Itachi would return from his missions the Akatsuki had assigned to him and tired of your helplessness to do nothing else. The walls of the cottage had turned suffocating and a heaviness had settled somewhere inside your chest that no warm but ultimately shallow words of apologies and comfort could have erased. You had felt like you were slowly forgetting what you were like until only a shell of you would remain. That's why you had decided to follow those bounty hunters without any resistance when they had found you as you had wandered aimlessly around the woods despite Itachi's urgent warnings to never leave the area.

Had you tried to escape? You didn't know anymore. You just remembered that you had desperately wished to be anywhere else but in this cozy cage which was slowly sucking your soul out of you.

"Time to go to bed for you."

A woman told you as she walked over to you when noticing that you had finished your food, dropping the sleeping back, a pillow and blanket in your hands before walking away again. You let out a sigh as you stood up from your place and started throwing away small rocks or any other objects that might end up poking you annoyingly as soon as you'd lay down. You spread out the sleeping back, felt everyone's eyes watching you as you crawled inside the sleeping back, throwing the blanket you had been given so kindly over your body before flopping your head down the pillow. It smelled terribly after dirt and sweat but you didn't have anything better to use.

One of them walked towards you and to your dismay he stopped when he stood right above you. You just stared at the dark edges of the forest that the light of the fire couldn't reach.

"Your prince didn't show up so far, did he?" He asked you and even if you didn't look him into his face, you could almost picture his disgusting grin on his face. You remained qiet but unfortunately he didn't move, gauging you for any reaction. Was he expecting you to be sad about the fact that Itachi hadn't come so far or what?

"That's lucky for you then, isn't it? If Itachi would have found me by now all of you wouldn't be alive right now." You replied bluntly as you stared straight ahead. Only one or two days more...

"Huh? Would you like to repeat that again?"

You had offended him, angered him with what you saw as the only truth. You could see from the corner of your eyes how he bent down a bit, although you still didn't bother to look at him.

"You're only acting so tough and cool because we're so close to the destination. However, all of you were so tense and rigid in the beginning because you were terrified that Itachi might appear at any second from somewhere. We all know that you wouldn't stand a chance against Itachi even if all of you would fight him at once."

You repeated yourself once again, your voice dismissive and unimpressed by his pathetic attempts to intimidate you. He didn't say anything after that, although you could still feel his eyes glaring down at your body. He didn't utter a single word when he suddenly stepped on you, the heel of his foot pushing heavily down on your shoulders as he put his entire weight down on you. He reeked of sweat and dirt but you kept that for yourself as you clenched your jaw, swallowing down any whimper or other sound that would reveal your pain to his arrogant ass.

Eventually he stepped down from you and for a short moment you thought that he'd let it be only to receive a kick against your ribs in the next moment. You forced the groan of pain down as you bit down on your bottom lip, forcing your eyes to just contiue to stare straight ahead to show him how little you respected him and took him seriously.

He let out a scoff when you didn't budge in any meaningful way before deciding that you were not worth it as he walked away and joined his buddies again. God, you couldn't stand those people or their cocky facade as if all of them thought that they were something special for capturing you when you had really just given them an easy time by allowing them to help you to get away from that dull life you had been forced to live for almost 2 years now. Your current situation was frustrating, angering and downright annoying due to all those dumb people but you preferred it over the nothingness Itachi had forced you into.

~~~

When you woke up, the blinding darkness around you roused you from your sleepy mind. Why was the campfire out? They had never put it out since two of them were always playing guards for the night to ensure that no one would attack them. They had absolutely no confidence to fight in the dark as all they were capable of were a few meek ninjutsu and some mediocre taijutsu and weapon skills.

It's not like they were bad with what they were doing but in comparison to Itachi they just seemed so clumsy and ungraceful. You sat slowly up, your ears trying to pick up any sound as your hearing was the only thing you could rely on right now as you could barely see anything. The lack of noises was the next thing you noticed with growing worries. You couldn't hear any snoring nor any breathing from around you. There was only the same sad silence you had grown to hate, telling you that there was nothing and no one around you. The same silence that had always reminded you that you couldn't choose anything besides withering slowly away.

You couldn't sense nor see him but you knew that he was there. You gave out a pitiful chuckle, hugging your knees as you rested your chin on them.

"How long do you plan to conceal yourself from me, Itachi?"

You would never know how long he had been there already or how long everyone around you had been dead already, you only knew that you suddenly felt his hands resting on your shoulders. Had he been standing behind you the entire time?

A shudder went through your body as you could almost feel coldness creeping up your spine. The air around you became heavier all of a sudden, his presence behind you omnious and powerful. He was nothing like all those murdered people could have stood a chance against and they had clearly paid that with their own lives. There would have been no way for them to get out of this alive, they had been doomed to die from the start. Meeting you had been their demise.

Itachi removed his hands instantly when he noticed the spike of fear inside of you. Your back tingled as you sensed how he tried to suppress all the murderous pressure he had failed to properly contain. It ebbed away slowly as he carefully regained his composure until his presence felt familiar to you again and only a heavy knot inside your chest reminded you that you couldn't trust him.

“Don’t be scared. I’m not angry with you. I’m angry with them.”

Hearing his deep voice made your heart feel heavy once again. You had grown far too familiar with it as it had been the only human sound that had surrounded you for too long until you had almost forgotten how anyone else could have sounded, his voice the only thing echoing around inside your mind.

What did he mean by saying that he wasn't angry with you? Did he know? You wouldn't have been surprised if he would have. It was creepy how well he knew you yet you couldn't still grasp entirely how he functioned and worked.

"You're going to take me back to that soulless place again?"

It sounded less like an actual question and more like an observation you knew would be true anyways.

"We can't go back there. Since the cottage was found by them, there's no guarantee that others won't be able to do the same. It isn't safe there anymore. I'll find another place for us. If you want to take anything from there with you though, I will-"

"Spare me that pretentious guilty tone of yours, will you?" You asked him with an agitated hiss before you forced yourself to calm down, although the guilt dwelling in his voice scratched terribly at your pride and heart.

You stood slowly up, kicking your legs out of the sleeping back before you rose from your position on the ground. Your eyes aimlessly searched around yet the moonlight shining through the trees barely allowed you to see anything. Only Itachi's figure was faintly visible for you and it was the one thing you really didn't want to see.

"I can't see anything. Is it possible for you to light the campfire again?"

"I can't do that. I...I don't want you to see your surroundings."

You clenched your hands into fists when you heard that meek and quieter tone of his again, apologetic and gentle as if you were a baby deer in the woods he didn't want to scare away. You knew that he wanted to spare you the sight of dead bodies he had killed all by himself but this apparent consideration for your own feelings was exactly what you hated so much about him. His guilt angered you, insulted you more than if he would have just been like those bounty hunters. Dealing with an arrogant jerk was far easier than with a man who felt guilty for his own actions and showed you kindess despite being a criminal, mass murderer and your abductor all in one. Because those feelings didn't allow you to read him properly and frightened you silently of the darker side that slumbered underneath that kind facade.

"Nevermind then." You sighed as you carefully tried to feel your way through the darkness with your feet. You didn't appreciate when Itachi instead grabbed your hand carefully and led the way so you wouldn't bump against any bodies on your path.

You could feel his hand clenching ever so slightly around yours. Not enough to hurt you but just enough to make you notice. You wondered if he was silently pondering over something in his head and a bad feeling made itself noticable somewhere in the pit of your stomach. You didn't want to hear him saying those empty words again that would change nothing besides maybe relieving his consciousness a bit by reminding himself that he wasn't as low as he thought he was.

"(y/n)..."

You didn't reply in hopes of him noticing your silent prayers and sparing you from his words. Because by doing so he would have done something far more selfless than acting all nice and considerate whilst still keeping you within a cage he had set up all pretty and nice-looking for you.

"I'm sorry."

You felt your heart drop when he spoke his apology in such a hushed tone. Those were merely words that held no meaning behind them anymore. They were devoid and empty as you had heard them far too many times already and every apology made you feel like getting slowly closer to a breakdown.

[zoesblogsposts]

o 625 words to know in your target language o

There is a really interesting blog called "Fluent Forever" that aids foreign language learners in tricks, tips and techniques to guide them to achieving fluency "quickly" and efficiently. One of the tricks is to learn these 625 vocab words in your target language, that way you have a basis to start delving into grammar with ease as you can understand a lot of vocab right off the bat. Plus this list of words are common across the world and will aid you in whatever language you are learning. Here is the list in thematic order

• Animal: dog, cat, fish, bird, cow, pig, mouse, horse, wing, animal

• Transportation: train, plane, car, truck, bicycle, bus, boat, ship, tire, gasoline, engine, (train) ticket, transportation

• Location: city, house, apartment, street/road, airport, train station, bridge hotel, restaurant, farm, court, school, office, room, town, university, club, bar, park, camp, store/shop, theater, library, hospital, church, market, country (USA,

France, etc.), building, ground, space (outer space), bank, location

• Clothing: hat, dress, suit, skirt, shirt, T-shirt, pants, shoes, pocket, coat, stain, clothing

• Color: red, green, blue (light/dark), yellow, brown, pink, orange, black, white, gray, color

• People: son, daughter, mother, father, parent (= mother/father), baby, man, woman, brother, sister, family, grandfather, grandmother, husband, wife, king, queen, president, neighbor, boy, girl, child (= boy/girl), adult (= man/woman), human (# animal), friend (Add a friend's name), victim, player, fan, crowd, person

• Job: Teacher, student, lawyer, doctor, patient, waiter, secretary, priest, police, army, soldier, artist, author, manager, reporter, actor, job

• Society: religion, heaven, hell, death, medicine, money, dollar, bill, marriage, wedding, team, race (ethnicity), sex (the act), sex (gender), murder, prison, technology, energy, war, peace, attack, election, magazine, newspaper, poison, gun, sport, race (sport), exercise, ball, game, price, contract, drug, sign, science, God

• Art. band, song, instrument (musical), music, movie, art

• Beverages: coffee, tea, wine, beer, juice, water, milk, beverage

• Food: egg, cheese, bread, soup, cake, chicken, pork, beef, apple, banana orange, lemon, corn, rice, oil, seed, knife, spoon, fork, plate, cup, breakfast, lunch, dinner, sugar, salt, bottle, food

• Home: table, chair, bed, dream, window, door, bedroom, kitchen, bathroom, pencil, pen, photograph, soap, book, page, key, paint, letter, note, wall, paper, floor, ceiling, roof, pool, lock, telephone, garden, yard, needle, bag, box, gift, card, ring, tool

• Electronics: clock, lamp, fan, cell phone, network, computer, program (computer), laptop, screen, camera, television, radio

• Body: head, neck, face, beard, hair, eye, mouth, lip, nose, tooth, ear, tear (drop), tongue, back, toe, finger, foot, hand, leg, arm, shoulder, heart, blood, brain, knee, sweat, disease, bone, voice, skin, body

• Nature: sea, ocean, river, mountain, rain, snow, tree, sun, moon, world, Earth, forest, sky, plant, wind, soil/earth, flower, valley, root, lake, star, grass, leaf, air, sand, beach, wave, fire, ice, island, hill, heat, nature

• Materials: glass, metal, plastic, wood, stone, diamond, clay, dust, gold, copper, silver, material

• Math/Measurements: meter, centimeter, kilogram, inch, foot, pound, half, circle, square, temperature, date, weight, edge, corner

• Misc Nouns: map, dot, consonant, vowel, light, sound, yes, no, piece, pain, injury, hole, image, pattern, noun, verb, adjective

• Directions: top, bottom, side, front, back, outside, inside, up, down, left, right, straight, north, south, east, west, direction

• Seasons: Summer, Spring, Winter, Fall, season

• Numbers: 0, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20 21, 22, 30, 31, 32, 40, 41, 42, 50, 51, 52, 60, 61, 62, 70, 71, 72, 80, 81, 82, 90, 91, 92, 100, 101, 102, 110, 111, 1000, 1001, 10000, 100000, million, billion, 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th, number

• Months: January, February, March, April, May, June, July, August, September, October, November, December

• Days of the week: Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday

• Time: year, month, week, day, hour, minute, second, morning, afternoon, evening, night, time

• Verbs: work, play, walk, run, drive, fly, swim, go, stop, follow, think, speak/say, eat, drink, kill, die, smile, laugh, cry, buy, pay, sell, shoot(a gun), learn, jump, smell, hear (a sound), listen (music), taste, touch, see (a bird), watch (TV), kiss, burn, melt, dig, explode, sit, stand, love, pass by, cut, fight, lie down, dance, sleep, wake up, sing, count, marry, pray, win, lose, mix/stir, bend, wash, cook, open, close, write, call, turn, build, teach, grow, draw, feed, catch, throw, clean, find, fall, push, pull, carry, break, wear, hang, shake, sign, beat, lift

• Adjectives: long, short (long), tall, short (vs tall), wide, narrow, big/large, small/little, slow, fast, hot, cold, warm, cool, new, old (new), young, old (young), weak, dead, alive, heavy, light (heavy), dark, light (dark), nuclear, famous