Toji leaves because he's a pussy like most men 🤷♀️ not proofread as usual
“Are you really just going to walk away, Toji?” My voice wavered as the words left my mouth.
My throat was sore. So sore and raw. It was tired of all the yelling, the copper taste in my mouth telling me all I needed to know.
His broad frame filled the door, his back to me. I stared at his muscles and saw how they rippled, reminding me of all the times I would give him a massage after a long day of work or clean him up when he was especially tired. Reminding me that this might be the last time I ever saw that frame again.
Toji always had a way of sticking his nose in my business and being involved in my life, but I knew that if he didn't want to be found, he wouldn’t.
“I’m just trying to protect you, doll” His voice was gruff and low.
His voice was so quiet, so different than how he usually was. The words came out pained.
“Protect me from what?” My voice softened too. Tears welled up in my eyes as the reality of the situation sunk in. I swallowed the lump in my throat, I couldn't, wouldn't, cry in front of him. Not now.
“From me.”
“I don’t need protection from you.” He stilled before slowly turning around to face me.
His green eyes were intense and fixed on me. His movements were almost predatory as he stalked closer. The more I backed away, a shiver running up my spine, the closer he got. My back hit the wall and suddenly I had nowhere else to run.
My gaze jumped from his legs that kept moving in my direction back to his eyes. He never wavered, not once. Then he was standing right in front of me. He looked down to meet my eyes, an expression on his face that I'd never seen before. All he did was stare at me for a moment. His breath ragged as if he had run a mile.
A gasp left my lips when he slammed his fist beside my head. I jumped away from him only for his other hand to enclose me there. I had no other choice but to stay put.
“I can’t make you happy. I don’t know why you can’t see that.” He was practically seething, leaning down until he was so close that our breaths mingled together.
My eyes widened in surprise as I took in his words. I opened my mouth to argue back but he kept going.
“Don’t. Just let me- fuck,” he let out a sigh his eyes squeezing shut as his head hung down finally tearing his gaze away from me “I can’t fucking do this anymore, baby.”
His arms gently snaked around me and his head found its way to the crook of my neck breathing me in.
“You deserve so much more than I can give you. So much more than I could ever give you. I knew it from the day I met you, but I was selfish, wanting to keep you all to myself.”
My voice stuttered his words. My hands stayed at my sides not knowing what to do.
“You’re too sweet for me. The only thing I’ve ever known is violence and pain and you’re… you’re practically shitting rainbows.” He let out a ragged chuckle against me
“I see how it much it hurts you when I can’t communicate my feeling, when I’m cold, when I fuck up for the millionth time. I want to be different, I wish I were different, but I’m not.” He sucked in a breath before leaning back to face me again
“You need someone who won’t keep breaking you. I won’t watch myself break you.”
This time he completely stepped back, leaving me cold without his warm embrace. I stood there in shock not being able to form a single word. When he took another step back, I snapped back to reality.
The tears I had been holding in finally bubbled over. He watched a pain expression on his face as the first tear ran down my cheek only to be instantly followed by another. He clenched his hands so hard that his knuckles turned white.
“Don’t do this to me, Toji” He ripped his eyes away from me. Not being able to handle the emotion in my voice. The way my voice hiccuped and how weak the sound was.
This time he turned and didn’t look back. I watched as he gathered his things, not having the balls to face me anymore.
“I love you.” He stilled at that
“I know, doll.” I hated the pity I heard in his voice.
“What am I supposed to do without you?” My voice broke completely this time at the same time as my heart. The tears were like a waterfall now, flowing out of my eyes with no signs of stopping.
“Be happy.” He sounded unfazed this time.
“Fuck you.” I bit out, he only laughed.
He made his way back to the door, never once did I see those green eyes turn to me.
“Bye, doll.” He said it casually as if he was just leaving for work and not literally walking out of my life.
I crumpled to the floor, my sobs the only thing that could be heard. Then, the silent click of the door filled my ears. I cried even harder drawing my head into my knees.
That night I passed out on the floor only to wake up in the bed, neatly tucked under the covers. I instantly got up looking for him, but all he was gone. All traces of him as well. His clothes and things were gone, making the tears come back for a second round.
Night after night I tried calling but it was futile, he wasn’t going to pick up. Then one day it went to an automated message telling me he changed his number. The asshole had left me and forced me to start anew without caring how I felt.
Toji leaves because he's a pussy like most men 🤷♀️ not proofread as usual
“Are you really just going to walk away, Toji?” My voice wavered as the words left my mouth.
My throat was sore. So sore and raw. It was tired of all the yelling, the copper taste in my mouth telling me all I needed to know.
His broad frame filled the door, his back to me. I stared at his muscles and saw how they rippled, reminding me of all the times I would give him a massage after a long day of work or clean him up when he was especially tired. Reminding me that this might be the last time I ever saw that frame again.
Toji always had a way of sticking his nose in my business and being involved in my life, but I knew that if he didn't want to be found, he wouldn’t.
“I’m just trying to protect you, doll” His voice was gruff and low.
His voice was so quiet, so different than how he usually was. The words came out pained.
“Protect me from what?” My voice softened too. Tears welled up in my eyes as the reality of the situation sunk in. I swallowed the lump in my throat, I couldn't, wouldn't, cry in front of him. Not now.
“From me.”
“I don’t need protection from you.” He stilled before slowly turning around to face me.
His green eyes were intense and fixed on me. His movements were almost predatory as he stalked closer. The more I backed away, a shiver running up my spine, the closer he got. My back hit the wall and suddenly I had nowhere else to run.
My gaze jumped from his legs that kept moving in my direction back to his eyes. He never wavered, not once. Then he was standing right in front of me. He looked down to meet my eyes, an expression on his face that I'd never seen before. All he did was stare at me for a moment. His breath ragged as if he had run a mile.
A gasp left my lips when he slammed his fist beside my head. I jumped away from him only for his other hand to enclose me there. I had no other choice but to stay put.
“I can’t make you happy. I don’t know why you can’t see that.” He was practically seething, leaning down until he was so close that our breaths mingled together.
My eyes widened in surprise as I took in his words. I opened my mouth to argue back but he kept going.
“Don’t. Just let me- fuck,” he let out a sigh his eyes squeezing shut as his head hung down finally tearing his gaze away from me “I can’t fucking do this anymore, baby.”
His arms gently snaked around me and his head found its way to the crook of my neck breathing me in.
“You deserve so much more than I can give you. So much more than I could ever give you. I knew it from the day I met you, but I was selfish, wanting to keep you all to myself.”
My voice stuttered his words. My hands stayed at my sides not knowing what to do.
“You’re too sweet for me. The only thing I’ve ever known is violence and pain and you’re… you’re practically shitting rainbows.” He let out a ragged chuckle against me
“I see how it much it hurts you when I can’t communicate my feeling, when I’m cold, when I fuck up for the millionth time. I want to be different, I wish I were different, but I’m not.” He sucked in a breath before leaning back to face me again
“You need someone who won’t keep breaking you. I won’t watch myself break you.”
This time he completely stepped back, leaving me cold without his warm embrace. I stood there in shock not being able to form a single word. When he took another step back, I snapped back to reality.
The tears I had been holding in finally bubbled over. He watched a pain expression on his face as the first tear ran down my cheek only to be instantly followed by another. He clenched his hands so hard that his knuckles turned white.
“Don’t do this to me, Toji” He ripped his eyes away from me. Not being able to handle the emotion in my voice. The way my voice hiccuped and how weak the sound was.
This time he turned and didn’t look back. I watched as he gathered his things, not having the balls to face me anymore.
“I love you.” He stilled at that
“I know, doll.” I hated the pity I heard in his voice.
“What am I supposed to do without you?” My voice broke completely this time at the same time as my heart. The tears were like a waterfall now, flowing out of my eyes with no signs of stopping.
“Be happy.” He sounded unfazed this time.
“Fuck you.” I bit out, he only laughed.
He made his way back to the door, never once did I see those green eyes turn to me.
“Bye, doll.” He said it casually as if he was just leaving for work and not literally walking out of my life.
I crumpled to the floor, my sobs the only thing that could be heard. Then, the silent click of the door filled my ears. I cried even harder drawing my head into my knees.
That night I passed out on the floor only to wake up in the bed, neatly tucked under the covers. I instantly got up looking for him, but all he was gone. All traces of him as well. His clothes and things were gone, making the tears come back for a second round.
Night after night I tried calling but it was futile, he wasn’t going to pick up. Then one day it went to an automated message telling me he changed his number. The asshole had left me and forced me to start anew without caring how I felt.
You and Toji have a fight and you make him sleep on the couch. I know you guys love my toji fics so here's another for all the likes on the last one. I don't know if this one is that good, but I hope you enjoy!
"Doll, would you stop bitchin at me?" Toji said exasperation filling his voice.
It was the third time that month Toji had forgotten to take the trash out and honestly you were fed up. You just didn't understand. You cooked, cleaned, everything and the only thing you needed him to do was take out the fucking trash. Each night you reminded him as you watched bags of trash build up in your home. Every time he said he would do it, but every time he forgot and you had to do it yourself.
This time was no different. You cooked last night and as you were cleaning up you realized that it was trash night. You remind Toji to take the trash out front, he grunted in a reply, but the next day the trash was still there. That brings us to the conversation at hand,
"Me bitching?" Your voice raised an octave "Toji you don't do shit in this house and the one thing I asked you to do, you can never seem to do."
Toji let out a sigh and ran a hand down his face. You were both standing in the kitchen next to the trash bags he was supposed to take out.
"Shouldn't have to do anything if I pay the bills." He replied gruffly. Your eyes almost bulged out of your head.
"So now what? Now you're saying I don't pull my weight around here? I work hard for my money and I've told you multiple times that I would be more than happy to help out with the bills." And that was the truth.
Toji had offered when he first moved in to pay the bills. You declined, but he insisted. Therefore, in order to repay him you did most of the housework, but it would be nice if he helped from time to time.
"I'm just saying you're always fucking whining about something and it's fucking annoying." His eyes were hard and his lips were fixed in a scowl.
You scoffed staring right back at him. You annoying after everything you did for him? He couldn't be serious. You were sick of this. You didn't even want to be in the same room as him if his was how he was going to speak to you.
"If I'm so fucking annoying then you can sleep on the couch tonight so you don't have to worry about me."
He let out a dry chuckle.
"That's not a threat, doll."
Your heart ached a little at the words. You said nothing as you turned around and practically stomped your way to your shared bedroom.
"Don't come crying to me when you're lonely." Was the last thing he said before you slammed the door.
It was now 2am and you hadn't left the room yet. Toji didn't try to apologize and frankly you didn't want to see his face. A small part of you wanted him to say something. To say he was sorry, but you knew he probably wouldn't. Toji was a stubborn man.
You sighed as a raunchy TV show played in the background. You had been twisting and turning for hours trying to find sleep, but it hadn't come to you. You needed him if you wanted to get some sleep and you knew it, but you were stubborn too. Your pride was too big to let him win and go after him.
It was when you ready to pound your head against the wall, due to the irritation climbing up your spine, a small knock came at the door. You went completely still and said nothing.
"I know you're awake." Came a familiar voice on the other side. You glared at the door, although you knew he couldn't see it, but still remind silent.
"C'mon doll don't be like that." You steeled your nerves. He was trying to sweet talk you and you knew it. You hoped you wouldn't fall for it this time.
"I'll remember to take out the trash next week." You rolled your eyes. You knew he was lying.
It was silent for a few seconds and you almost thought he gave up when you heard something hit the door.
"..Toji?" you called out. Concern filling your voice.
"So now you're awake huh?" He let out a dry chuckle.
"What was that sound?"
"Stop worrying. Just laid my head against the door. Nothing serious."
You let out a sigh of relief.
"You gonna open the door now?"
You went silent again.
"Back to the silent treatment? That's cold, doll."
You were getting annoyed now. What was he getting at. Why was he standing out there if he was just going to annoy you. If he wasn't going to apologize, you already told him he was sleeping alone tonight and that was final.
"Toji what the hell do you want? It's two o'clock in the fucking morning and I'm tired. Say whatever it is you came to say and leave."
"It's hot when you talk like that." You could hear the smile in his voice.
You let out a sigh.
"Go back to the couch."
"My back hurts." That tugged on your heart a little. You knew he had back problems and you would feel bad if you were the reason it got worse.
"I'll sleep on the couch then. You take the bed."
He didn't respond. You quickly gathered your things and made your way to the door. You were a bit angry at the thought that he only came because he was in pain and not to talk to you, but you brushed the thought away. Toji was standing directly on the other side when you opened the door. He was in a dark compression shirt and some pj pants he probably got out of the dryer.
"Jeez, you scared me." You jumped back clutching your chest. Not expecting him to be so close.
He said nothing just stared down at you with those green eyes. You stared back at him for a second before going to move around him.
"Room's all yours."
Before you could make your way to the couch you were being lifted into the air. You let out a yelp as you clutched Toji's shirt.
"Toji what the hell is wrong with you?" You yelled as he carried you bridal style back to the bed.
He said nothing as he placed you onto the bed and flopped down behind you. He threw his arm around your waist locking you in an iron grip before tangling his legs with yours.
You were so confused. You tried to struggle against him but it was useless. Eventually you gave up. You sat there in silence looking off into the abyss when he spoke up.
"M'sorry Doll." He said. His voice muffled in your neck. "I shouldn't have spoken to you that way."
He pressed soft open mouthed kissed to your throat an your heart melted.
"Won't forget next time. I'll try to do more around the house too." He added.
"It's okay-"
"You're perfect the way you are. I don't care if you never worked a day in your life, never cleaned, anything. You would still be perfect." He cut you off, turning you to face him.
You smiled as he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. Then he buried his face back in your neck as he drifted off to sleep.
You knew you would have to talk again in the morning, but for now everything was okay and that was all that mattered.
Merry late Christmas everyone I hoped you all enjoyed yourselves! Here's a nice treat after the holidays. I hope you enjoy.
Christmas was your favorite holiday. Your favorite time of year when thick white snow covered the ground, hot cocoa was filled in every cup, and love was supposedly in the air. Yes, supposedly.
Here you were on Christmas Day, not celebrating with the love of your life, but instead fighting with that love of your life.
It was exactly 9:03am and you and Sukuna were sitting on opposite ends of the couch, giving each other the silent treatment. It all started the night before when you questioned him about repeatedly staying out late which quickly evolved into you accusing him of cheating. The argument had gotten out of hand which led to this exact instant.
Work had been stressful lately with working in customer service over the holidays. The rude customers, the long hours, and did I mention the rude customer? It all crashed down on you causing you to just explode when Sukuna came him home after 12 for what seemed to be the tenth time that month alone.
A hallmark movie played on the TV and you both pretended to watch it, well you more than Sukuna. He decided that he was bored of the movie and started scrolling on his phone. The presents laid patiently under the tree waiting to be ripped open, but neither of you made a move.
Soon you got sick of the quiet. You hated watching the cute couple on the screen kissing in the snow and being in love while in your own home the love was presently lacking. Your gaze shot over to Sukuna who looked miserable scrolling away, chin propped on his hand.
"Y'know you could just apologize right?" Your voice was soft. Tentative to break the silence.
"Y'know you could just not accuse me of cheating right?" He snapped back, though no real bite was in his voice. He kept his gaze on his phone, causing anger to rise within you once more.
"I wouldn't have to if you just tell me where you were."
"Can't"
"Okay so then you're a cheater."
The look he gave you could've killed. You stared at you for a long minute before letting out a sigh and rolling his eyes. Suddenly he got up without a word, making his way to the Christmas tree before tossing you a small terribly wrapped gift.
"Is this supposed to make me feel better?" You asked, eyebrow raised.
"Just open the damn thing."
You frowned as you carefully opened the tiny thing. The wrapping paper unfolded to reveal a stunning diamond necklace. Diamonds ran from the clasp all the way down, it shined in your dimly lit apartment, glistening in the morning sun.
To say you were shocked was an understatement. You could quite not literally believe your eyes. You remembered back to months ago when you pointed out the necklace in passing, not thinking much of it. Not thinking he would buy it.
The words stayed stuck in your throat as all you could do was stare at the beautiful thing in your hands.
"...I can return it." Sukuna said softly as he reached for the box an uneasy expression on his face.
You quickly snatched it out of his reach, making his eyes snap to yours.
"Sukuna, I love it." Your arms were around him in an instant. The necklace discarded on the couch as you nuzzled your face into his neck. Tears welled in your eyes as you thought about just how wrong you were.
"I'm so sorry. I can't believe I was upset with you when you did all this for me. I was just-"
"It's okay baby, I know" He cut you off, drawing you in closer to his warm frame.
Suddenly your Christmas was no longer bleak. You had the love of your life in your arms and love was back in the air. The day went on with an abundance of Christmas spirit as the two of you opened the rest of your gifts. Smiles both plastered on your faces.
Did you guys miss me? 🫦 I apologize for being gone for a while- but hopefully this will make it up to you. Nanami gets mad at you because you keep him up! I wrote his because this is literally me every night on TikTok.
You were in hysterics. Clutching your chest and laughing so hard, Nanami was sure you didn’t even have a chance to breathe. This had been going for hours. Endless laughter filling the otherwise silent room, save for whatever tiktok you were watching, paired with a sleeping Nanami. Or so you thought.
Nanami was restless. Tossing and turning trying to go to sleep. Praying you would just put your phone down. A couple of times he wanted to get up and hurl the goddam thing across the room. Only keeping his cool because he didn’t want to make you upset.
Nanami was a patient man. A feature of his that you loved from the start, but his patience had its limits. It was 2:30 in the morning and it was only a matter of hours before his alarm went off and he had to get ready for work.
Usually the overworked man loved your laugh. Loved how it was so free and just so you, but in that moment he wanted nothing more than to put an end to it. He felt bad. What kind of husband wanted to stop his wife from being happy? That’s what stopped him from getting up.
He didn’t want you to feel guilty about keeping him up. He didn’t want you to hide yourself to appease him. That being said- he was on his last straw. Annoyance was working its way up his throat and he wanted nothing more than for sleep to overcome him.
Closing his eyes once more he tried to enter that dreamlike state. It was silent for a moment and he was happy. Maybe you finally decided it was enough for the night. Maybe you were going to take your rightful place in his embrace and drift off with him.
Boy was he wrong.
Mere seconds later laughter ripped through your chest. Some tiktok of a girl as the lorax on your screen. The covers were ripped away from him as you almost fell off the bed from how much you were moving around.
Nanami was sick of this. He tried- he really did. But enough was enough.
Slowly with an unnerving calm, Nanami sat up to face you. Immediately you stopped laughing. You had never seen him like this before. Sure, you had seen him angry, but not like this. Now he was looking at you with pure annoyance written on his perfect face. The tension in the room was thick.
You turned to meet his gaze. His eyes were hard and eyebrows pinched.
“Love, give me the phone.” His voice left no room for negotiation
Instantly the phone was placed into his awaiting hand. Carefully he placed it on his nightstand before wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into him. Your back was against his chest. His warm breath on your neck. His legs intertwined with yours as a hand rubbed up and down your thigh.
“I’m sorry for keeping you up.” You said quietly. Guilt flooding your mind.
Nanami stiffened. His hand on your thigh stopping completely. He too felt guilty. You were just having fun and he ruined it.
“No, I’m sorry sweetheart. I shouldn’t have done that. I was just tired is all.” He got back up to retrieve your phone, but was instantly stopped by you.
“It’s okay Ken. Don’t apologize. I should’ve been more considerate.”
Before he could protest you silenced him with a kiss to his lips. It was slow and sweet before you pulled away, nuzzling your face into his sturdy chest. Nanami smiled, petting your hair as he finally drifted off to sleep.
Toji makes it up to you after getting the silent treatment! very cute fluffffffff. did not proofread as usual
“I’m home, doll.” Toji called out from the front door.
He waited hoping to hear the patter of your feet, but it never came. A long sigh left him as he realized you weren’t coming. Three days. That’s how long you had been ignoring him. Only three days but to him it felt like a lifetime.
Slowly he made his way to the living, mentally preparing himself for the torture he was about to endure. He spotted you first. Curled up on the couch, nursing a cup of tea as your favorite show played on the TV. He stopped in his tracks. Admiring the gentle expression on your face that he hadn’t seen in days.
He quickly set down the plastic bag he held in his hands before coming to take a seat directly next to you. Almost on top of you, leaning into your side like he had a right to. Instantly you moved away. Sitting on the very edge of the couch in an uncomfortable manner.
He watched you with an amused grin making its way onto his lips.
“Damn doll. I didn’t know I was contagious.”
You shot him a deadly glare before rolling your eyes. Today Toji was done with your shit. He was going to make you break.
“I bought you something.” He said, watching as your eyes lit up.
That had caught your attention. It seemed almost painful as you pulled your gaze away from the TV to meet his. Tentatively his hand reached out to grab your foot. Gently massaging it and to his surprise you didn’t pull away.
“Got you that chocolate shit you like. Remembered your period started today.” He smiled as your face softened at his words.
That almost got you to crack, but you prevailed not saying a word. Instead you nodded before looking back at the screen. Toji let out a low chuckle. You really were going to make him work to gain your forgiveness.
Suddenly, he grabbed your ankle and pulled you over to him. You let out a yelp of surprise as his burly arms came to wrap around you.
“Toji!” You exclaimed and Toji felt like he just won the lottery. That was the first time he heard your voice in days.
“Missed you.” He mumbled as he nuzzled his face into your neck.
You struggled of course. Trying to get away from him and put back the boundaries you placed, but he wouldn’t let up.
“Let go, you idiot!” He didn’t. Just held you closer as a laugh burst through him.
“That’s mean, doll. After I brought you chocolate and everything? Think it’s time you stop with the act.”
Now that made you mad. You stilled and Toji instantly knew he was in trouble again. With an unnerving calm you turned around to face him.
“I know you’re fucking lying.”
He said nothing. Eyes darting everywhere except yours. Although he was ten times larger than you, he knew better to underestimate you when you were mad. Roughly you escaped his arms and went back to the edge of the couch.
“You made me sit in that fuck ass resturant for hours while you went to do god knows what with Shiu.” You threw your arms in the air as your voice rose. “Then you have the audacity to tell me to stop with the act? You have lost your goddamn mind Toji.”
He just nodded in agreement not knowing what else to do. You were right after all. It was the first date night you guys had planned in months. You were so excited as you got ready, just happy to spend time with your man. Unluckily for you, he didn’t feel the same.
He couldn’t have. You sat in the restaurant alone for an hour waiting for him to get off of work to come and meet you. Sadly, he never did. Only to call and find out he was drinking with Shiu because he had forgotten.
To say you were upset was an understatement. You yelled at him over the phone, embarrassed that you had gotten ready just for him and he had forgotten. Embarrassed that you waited an hour for nothing. Then you vowed to never speak to him again. Which was a lie of course, he was your boyfriend after all.
It was quiet again. Your attention back on the TV. Though it seemed Toji was still undeterred. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he missed you. Badly, too.
He would lie awake at night staring at your back, unable to sleep without you in his arms. At work he would wait for your cute texts to appear on his phone, though they never did. He missed your morning kisses, your smell, your touch, and he was willing to do anything to get it back.
“Baby…” He said gently, his hand reaching to grab your foot once more.
Again he dragged you back into his warm embrace. You sighed as you unconsciously leaned into him. You missed him too.
“Won’t forget again.” He left soft kisses on your shoulder.
“That’s all you have to say?” You murmured not turning to face him.
He let out a chuckle.
“I’m sorry.”
You smiled before moving to burrow into his solid chest.
“Don’t think you're off the hook. I’m still mad.”
“I’ll make it up to you.” His hand went to the back of your head, pushing you deeper into him.
Nanami forgot date night for the first time and is mortified. I don't know why this turned so sappy at the endddd but like I kinda love it.
"You look breathtaking sweetheart." Nanami's warm voice filled the space.
The night before you had come across an interesting video of a girl pranking her boyfriend into believing he forgot date night. From there you went down a rabbit hole. Spending hours laughing at those poor boyfriends believing that they had forgot an important night.
Unluckily for your boyfriend, it had lit the mischievous lightbulb in your head. He was going to fall victim to yet another one of your pranks. You just couldn't help it. He was just too cute and always tried to be the best partner for you.
So there you were in the bathroom trying to get ready for "date night".
"Thank you, Ken." A small smile graced your lips.
He was leaning in the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest as he took you in. You were dressed in a backless dark blue dress he had gotten ages ago when you first started dating. It was his favorite dress of yours, which made it perfect for this. He knew you only wore it on rare occasions.
"Are you going somewhere?" He asked as his eyes met yours in the mirror.
Already laughter threatened to burst from your lips, but you held it in. Slowly you put down the mascara you had in your hand and turned to face him. Your brows drew together in false confusion.
"What do you mean? You said we were going on a date tonight?"
Nanami's eyes widened as his body became so stiff it was as if he was made of stone.
"I told you we were going out tonight?" He tried to keep his voice level, but it was useless. The slight tremor in his voice gave him away.
"You don't remember? We talked about it last week." Your lips formed to make a small pout.
He was silent for a second. Eyes darting around to look at anything but you. At first you truly believed you broke him. Your boyfriend never forgot anything ever.
After a few moments of an awkward silence you almost gave in. Almost let the prank go entirely. You didn't expect him to react like that. Then he spoke up.
"Yes I remember, love. I'm not sure how I forgot. You don't deserve that. I apologize."
Your heart almost cracked at his words. The one quality of Nanami's that you didn't like was how much of a perfectionist he was. He always pushed himself too hard. Tried to be the best boyfriend in existence and got upset when he couldn't meet that standard. It was cute that he wanted to be the perfect man for you, but it also made for moments like these.
Moments where he was deeply apologizing for something so small. Believing that you didn't deserve him just because of one mistake.
Silently you walked up him, sliding your arms around his wait. Your chin rested on his chest.
"It was just a prank, baby. No need to apologize."
His eyes widened at your words, before he sighed in relief. A gentle smile pulled at his lips.
"You and your pranks. Always catching me off guard." His voice was soft and laced with the tenderness he had for you.
You smiled back before leaning up to press a sweet kiss onto his lips. It was warm and slow. Not sexual just grounding. After a while you leaned back and made your way back to the mirror. You moved to grab your makeup remover before Nanami's hand shot out to stop you.
"What?"
"I thought we were going out on a date?"
You paused giving him a sideways glance.
"Are we?"
"The place is already booked." Your eyebrows shot up in surprise.
"What?"
"It was a surprise."
He was obviously lying, but he wouldn't tell you that. Instead he would let you finish getting ready while he booked a reservation to your favorite restaurant. Then, he would take the small velvet box in the bottom of his draw and stuff it in his pocket. He did have everything planned a few months out, but he couldn't wait any longer. Couldn't wait to truly make you his.
Synopsis — After repeatedly swearing you'd never hook up with Sukuna again, you find yourself unravelling in the quiet moments he offers when your carefully laid future threatens to fall apart.
You promise yourself, really promise this time, that you will never hook up with Ryomen Sukuna again. Not after this. Not after tonight.
The bathroom reeks of beer and old bleach, the air too warm and clinging with someone else’s cologne. The flickering fluorescent bulb overhead buzzes like it’s mocking you, and the mirror you’re leaning over is cracked in the top corner, grime spidering across the edges like veins. Your reflection looks wrecked, lip gloss smudged to one side, mascara slightly smeared beneath one eye, your hair tousled in a way that’s more fucked than fashionable. You hardly recognise yourself, and honestly? That pisses you off more than the lingering ache between your thighs.
Because this wasn’t supposed to happen again.
Not after the last time. Not after you swore him off in your group chat, your friends flooding the thread with skull emojis and “girl, be serious” voice notes. Not after he smirked at you across the lecture hall the following Monday like he hadn’t just bent you over the hood of someone’s car outside that awful dive bar off campus.
And definitely not after the way he looked at you tonight, lazy, cocky, almost knowing, as if it was only a matter of time before you'd give in again.
And you did.
You stare at yourself, blinking.
Your hands are still gripping the edges of the sink, your knuckles pale. The cool porcelain is the only grounded thing in this entire bathroom, this entire house, hell, maybe your entire night. Your thighs are still trembling, slick between them, and your breath catches in a shaky exhale that makes your chest rise against the too-tight top you picked just to feel hot tonight.
And you did feel hot. For maybe five minutes. Until you found yourself bent over the sink with his palm pressed to the back of your head, holding you firm against the mirror as he thrust into you, his voice low and taunting in your ear. “You’re so full of it,” he’d murmured with a smug grin, “saying you’re done with me when your pussy says otherwise.”
You hated how easily you folded. You hated how good it felt.
He had murmured your name into the shell of your ear like it was some joke he was in on and you weren’t. Had grinned against your neck when you cursed him through gritted teeth. Had looked into the mirror and met your eyes with that infuriating smirk just before you came, harder than you wanted to admit.
And now he’s gone. Of course he is. He always is.
You can still hear the party roaring outside the bathroom door, music pulsing, bass thudding like a second heartbeat, laughter rising and falling in broken waves. Someone knocks on the door twice and then gives up. You don’t answer. You can’t.
Because inside, you’re unraveling.
Not just because of him. Not just because of the sex. But because every time you swear it’s the last time, you find yourself back here again, in his arms, in your own head, wondering how a man like that gets under your skin so easily. How a man so full of himself, so smug, so wrong for you, feels like a match struck in a pitch-black room.
You reach for your lip gloss with trembling fingers, your reflection watching every movement like it knows what’s coming. You reapply it slowly, carefully, painting your mouth like it’ll save you.
Then you whisper it, not quite believing it yourself: “Never again.”
But your voice is soft, way too soft, and the mirror, smeared with your sweat and fingerprints, doesn’t believe you either.
You still promise yourself, every time, like a mantra whispered into the dark, that you’ll never, ever hook up with Sukuna again.
It’s been a year since that reckless night in the frat house bathroom, but somehow, time only seems to sharpen the pull between you two, not weaken it. Every stolen moment, every secret rendezvous feels like a defiant spark against the careful lives you both lead. Arms wrapped around each other, breath mingling in quiet corners of the campus, these are the moments you both swear will be the last.
Only your closest friends, and his, know. The late-night texts, the secret meet-ups, the way you catch each other’s eyes across crowded lecture halls before slipping away. At first, there was judgment, whispers behind backs, knowing looks; but now? They’ve all grown silent, or maybe just resigned. They’ve seen your dance too many times to pretend it isn’t real, even when you both insist it’s not.
You both swear it’s the last time. Really, no joke, this time for sure.
Because you are different.
You move through the polished university halls like a vision of control, hair impeccably styled, make-up flawless, clothes crisp and chosen with precision. Every step you take is measured, every smile practised but genuine, because you’re chasing a future where you stand at the podium as valedictorian, admired and untouchable.
And Sukuna? He barges through the same halls like a storm breaking through glass, tall, broad-shouldered and unapologetically loud. His voice echoes, brash and unapologetic, his presence impossible to ignore. Where you embody order and grace, he is chaos incarnate, untamed and unbothered by the world’s expectations.
And yet, despite every reason to stay apart, to keep your worlds separate, you keep falling into each other’s arms.
You tell yourself it’s the last time, again and again, but beneath the surface of every promise lies the raw ache of knowing it’s never really over.
Because in the quiet moments, when his hand finds yours in the dark and your heart stutters, you realise this isn’t just about reckless nights or fleeting pleasure. It’s about the impossible pull of something neither of you can, or want to, resist.
You keep telling yourself you’ll never hook up with Sukuna again, clinging to that promise like a lifeline. But when your entire world comes crashing down, when the valedictorian title, the one thing you’d dreamed of and been so sure was yours, slips through your fingers, everything inside you fractures.
It was supposed to be yours, handed over like a crown without question, the culmination of years of sacrifice and silent striving. Instead, the announcement cuts through the air like a knife, and the applause feels like a hollow echo bouncing off cold walls. The future you envisioned slips away, slipping through your fingers like fine sand.
That night, the silence of your room feels suffocating, thick with disappointment. You lock the door, pulling the soft sheets over your trembling body like a fragile shield, hiding away from the world. Tears spill freely, unchecked, dampening your pillow as you bury your face deep into the fabric. The sobs come in ragged waves, raw and unfiltered, with no one to comfort you, no one to witness this unraveling.
Minutes pass, or hours, it’s impossible to tell. The outside world fades until all you can hear is your own ragged breathing and the muffled sound of your sorrow. Just as your tears begin to run dry, as if you’ve exhausted every drop your heart could spare, the quiet is shattered by a knock at your door.
Short. Sharp. Insistent.
Your brow furrows, a flicker of irritation cutting through the haze of exhaustion and sadness. You wipe your nose roughly, stiff from lying still for so long, and push yourself upright. Your short pyjamas are wrinkled and rumpled, a physical testament to your broken night.
A slow breath fills your lungs as you make your way to the door, every step weighted with a mix of curiosity, exhaustion, and a small flicker of hope you refuse to acknowledge. Who would be knocking now, at this hour, when all you want is to be left alone?
You crack the door open just a sliver, only to find Sukuna standing there, his tall frame looming in the dim hallway light, his brows tightly knit into a frown that seems more serious than anything you’ve seen from him before. Your heart twists in surprise and something else you can’t quite name.
“What do you want?” you snap, voice sharper than you intend, stepping back just enough to keep the door from swinging wider. You’re not about to give him any excuse to treat this like an invitation.
His lips curl into something like a hiss, low and dangerous, but his eyes hold a strange softness as he leans in just a little. “You weren’t in class today,” he mutters. “I was wondering if you threw yourself off a bridge or something.”
You huff, the weight of the day and your broken dreams pressing down on you harder. It stings more than you want to admit, and for a moment you just stare at him, your defences flaring.
Then, with a slight impatience that edges into irritation, Sukuna adds, “Look, could you just let me in? Everyone else down the hall’s probably already asleep.”
Your eyes narrow to slits, suspicion prickling up your spine. This isn’t like him. Usually, he’s loud, brash, untouchable. But now there’s something different. Something almost... caring?
After a long pause, your resolve crumbles just enough. You step aside and open the door wider, letting him slip inside, your heart pounding louder than you’d like to admit.
Sukuna steps inside, the soft click of the door closing behind him echoing faintly in the small room. His gaze immediately takes in the space; the fairy lights you’ve carefully strung around the window frame cast a gentle, almost magical glow that softens the shadows, bathing everything in a warm, amber light. The blinds are drawn, sealing you off from the outside world, making this little room feel like a fragile sanctuary from the chaos beyond.
He whistles low, his eyes flicking to the neat little stash of snacks you’ve gathered from the dorm’s common room. It’s a small rebellion, and you can almost hear the unspoken question in his voice, even if it’s buried beneath his casual tone. “Nice setup,” he says, amusement and a hint of surprise threading through the words.
You shoot him a pointed glare, pulling the rumpled sheets tighter around you as you lower yourself onto the bed. The fabric is cool against your skin, a sharp contrast to the heat rising in your cheeks and the ache settling in your chest.
“What do you want?” you ask again, voice low and edged with a sharpness meant to keep him at arm’s length, though every word feels like it’s unravelling the fragile walls you’ve built around yourself.
Sukuna crosses his bulky arms, the movement almost defensive, as if bracing himself for whatever storm you might unleash. His broad shoulders tense, and his voice drops to something rougher, quieter, something almost vulnerable. “It’s not like you to skip class.”
You wave him off, eyes fixed on the faded pattern of the carpet, refusing to meet his gaze. The weight of your disappointment presses down so heavily that it almost stifles you. “It’s been a shitty day,” you admit quietly, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. “I wasn’t in the mood for company.”
The silence stretches between you, thick and heavy, filled with unspoken things, regret, frustration, maybe even something like longing. Sukuna doesn’t push. Instead, he lingers, a quiet presence amid the quiet room, his expression unreadable but his eyes holding a flicker of something that almost feels like concern.
Sukuna rakes a hand through his messy hair with a low grunt, his fingers pushing through the tousled strands in a way that makes his already dishevelled appearance look even more rakish. The movement flexes the lean muscle in his arms beneath his t-shirt, tension rippling just beneath the skin like it’s coiled, ready to snap.
He’s quiet for a second, like the words are dragging themselves from somewhere deep and unfamiliar. Then he mutters, “Look… you know me. I’m shit with feelings and all that crap. But I’m tryin’, alright? I just… I wanted to check if you're alright. I didn’t like not seeing you in class today.”
You blink at him, utterly thrown, the world tilting slightly on its axis as you try to recalibrate. Your brows shoot up, eyes wide, cheeks warming with a soft flush that creeps up your neck. “Did you hit your head or something?” you stammer, only half joking, voice caught somewhere between disbelief and awkward laughter.
Sukuna huffs, irritated but not in the way he usually is. He doesn't bite back with a sharp comment like he normally would. Instead, he drops down beside you on the bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight, his presence a solid and familiar gravity that pulls you in before you can resist. His large hand, rough and scarred, all heat and strength, reaches out and finds yours with surprising care, his fingers curling loosely around yours. It’s not possessive. It’s not lustful. It’s almost gentle.
“You’re seriously gonna cry over some title?” he says, his voice low, not mocking but firm. His eyes, sharp and unrelenting, find yours. “Bein’ valedictorian doesn’t define you, and it sure as hell doesn’t change the fact that you’re stronger and smarter than most of the assholes in that lecture hall combined.”
Your throat tightens. You try to look away, but Sukuna’s hand gives yours a small squeeze, grounding you.
“I’ve seen you,” he adds, softer now. “Day in, day out. All that fire. All that work. You really think some vote changes any of that?”
And just like that, the ache in your chest doesn’t go away but it shifts. It feels less like the weight of failure and more like the slow unwinding of tension that you didn’t realise you’d been carrying alone.
Your voice cracks before the words even form, and you hate how raw it sounds. “It was the only thing I ever worked for,” you murmur, eyes falling to where Sukuna’s hand still holds yours. “Like, really worked for. I gave up everything for it, parties, weekends, even sleep. And then—” You shake your head, jaw tightening. “Gone. Just like that. Like it didn’t mean anything.”
There’s a beat of silence before Sukuna turns toward you fully. The mattress shifts again under his weight, the faint scent of smoke and something sharper, something him, coiling in the space between you. His eyes catch the soft glow of your fairy lights, dark and glinting with something you’ve never quite been able to pin down. Not until now.
“I get you,” he says, voice low but not cold, not rough like it sometimes is when he’s teasing or picking fights. This is something else entirely, solid, grounded. “I get it. Losing something like that? Hurts like hell. But you’re gonna get over it. You’ll get over it, and you’ll hold your damn head higher than you ever have. Because that’s who the fuck you are.”
You look at him then, really look. His messy hair, falling haphazardly into his eyes. The tattoos inked along the curve of his neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. His mouth, tugged slightly into a frown, but his gaze warm in a way that makes your chest ache.
And all at once, something inside you gives.
You laugh softly, shaking your head as the corners of your lips curve upward. “God, you’re such an idiot,” you whisper, eyes locked with his.
Sukuna doesn’t hesitate. Not even for a heartbeat.
His hand slides behind your head, large and firm and careful, tangling gently in your hair as he leans in. His lips crash into yours with a hunger that surprises even you, nothing like the rushed, chaotic hook-ups in dark corners or behind locked doors. This is deeper. Desperate. Almost reverent.
You barely have time to gasp before he pushes you back onto your bed, his much larger frame covering yours as your rumpled sheets twist around your limbs. The kiss deepens, molten and messy, his mouth hot against yours as his hand trails along your waist.
There’s no performance this time. No bravado. Just him, and you, and the quiet flicker of something neither of you want to name yet.
His mouth finds yours again, slower this time. Less about proving something and more about feeling everything. His hand curls along your waist, slipping under the hem of your shirt, not rushing, just resting there. His thumb brushes your skin, and your body arches instinctively, heat blooming under your skin in a way that has nothing to do with the disappointment still lingering in your chest.
For a moment, the world narrows. No more lost titles, no missed speeches, no pressure weighing down your shoulders. Just Sukuna, kissing you like he’s trying to rewrite every time you ever doubted yourself. His teeth catch gently on your bottom lip, and when you gasp, he chuckles, low and intimate.
“You taste like wine and heartbreak,” he says against your lips, but there’s no mockery in it. Just something aching and warm.
“And you smell like trouble,” you breathe back, sliding your hands into his hair, tugging lightly.
His grin widens. “You knew that from day one.”
You hum in agreement, pulling him back down to you until there’s no space left to think, only feel. You gasp as Sukuna’s fingers delve deeper below the waistband of your shorts, his touch both tender and insistent. You can feel the heat of his body, the roughness of his tattoos against your skin, and the hard press of his length against your thigh. Your breath hitches as he whispers in your ear, his voice a low rumble, “So fucking wet for me. So perfect.”
The words send a shiver down your spine, and you can feel your cheeks flush from his hot breath against your ear. You moan softly, your hips lifting slightly to meet his touch, your body responding to his every move. Sukuna’s eyes, a fiery red with his pupils blown wide, lock onto yours, and you see the reflection of your own desires mirrored back at you.
Sukuna leans in again, his lips brushing against yours as he whispers, “Fucking want you. Want to feel you come undone.”
Sukuna’s lips trail from your mouth to the soft line of your jaw, then down the delicate curve of your throat. Each kiss is slower than the last, reverent almost, as though he’s trying to memorise your skin with his mouth. His breath is warm, and you shiver, not from cold, but from the sudden intensity of being seen, felt, like this.
He pushes your shirt up with practised fingers, pausing as if to give you space to change your mind. When you don’t, when you instead lift your arms to help him, his hands find your waist, the pads of his fingers drawing slow, grounding circles into your sides.
You arch into him like gravity's reversed itself, like he’s the only thing tethering you to the earth. Your hand curls tighter in his hair, threading through the pink strands that fall into his eyes, tugging gently when his lips find the hollow between your collarbones.
He groans low in his throat at the sound you make, soft, breathless and vulnerable.
There’s a tension in the air, not rushed or frenzied like some of your previous encounters. No sarcasm, no smug grins. Just the quiet hum of something unspoken and terrifying in its own right. You feel it in the way his thumb brushes along the underside of your ribcage, in the way his mouth lingers, hesitates, savours.
His voice is low when he finally speaks, muffled slightly against your skin. “You deserve better than a stupid title. Than some committee’s approval.”
Your eyes flutter open at that, your heart thudding hard against your ribs. “You’re not exactly known for pep talks, Sukuna.”
He lifts his head just enough to meet your gaze. “Doesn’t mean I don’t mean it.”
And in that look, heated, steady, unexpectedly earnest, you realise that this isn’t just a distraction for either of you anymore. This is the beginning of something you’re both too afraid to name.
Your breath hitches as Sukuna’s lips find yours again, deep and slow, his tongue exploring your mouth like a man starved. He swallows your moans as his hand, still pulling down your tiny pyjama shorts, finds your wet core again, two of his fingers sliding inside you to work you open with a gentle, yet persistent rhythm.
“Fuck,” you gasp, your fingers clutching at his shoulders. His eyes, intense and hungry, meet yours after tucking at your bottom lip with his sharp teeth. Your body is on fire as his fingers work their magic, your heart pounding in your chest as you begin to lose yourself in the sensation, your world narrowing down to Sukuna’s touch, his scent, his voice.
You can feel the tension building, your body coiling like a spring ready to release. When Sukuna’s fingers delve deeper, adding a third finger to the mix, you moan at the sudden intrusion and spread your legs even further apart to accommodate his touch. His eyes never leave yours as he watches you, his gaze filled with an unfamiliar reverence that makes you feel both vulnerable and cherished.
“Come on, baby, fall apart,” Sukuna groans, his thumb circling your clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. His fingers move even faster, his thumb applying more pressure to watch you come undone in front of him, and you do exactly that.
Your fingers tighten in his hair, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure wash over you.
“Fuck,” you moan again, your voice hoarse with desire. “Oh god, Sukuna.” His name is a mantra on your lips, a prayer to the sensation that is consuming you. You can feel tears prick at the corner of your eyes, your body trembling with the intensity of your release.
Sukuna’s moans echo your own, his fingers stilling as he watches you come undone, his eyes reflecting the raw, primal beauty of your pleasure. He leans in, capturing your lips in a fiery, hungry kiss as his fingers gently caress your sensitive flesh, prolonging your orgasm.
“Fuck, you’re incredible,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice thick with emotion. “I could watch you like this forever.”
You’re still catching your breath, the rapid staccato of your heart slowly settling into something softer, slower. The warmth between your bodies is heady, soothing. You blink up at him, eyes damp with unshed tears; tears you didn’t even realise were there until now, clinging to your lashes like dew.
A quiet moment stretches between you, charged and tender.
You bend your knee gently, brushing it against the unmistakable hardened desire pressing between his thighs, and Sukuna tenses just slightly, his breath hitching. You reach for him, fingers threading softly through his tousled hair. “Let me take care of you,” you whisper, thumb grazing his temple, your voice hoarse from emotion more than exertion.
But Sukuna doesn’t move. He doesn’t smirk or make some crude joke like he usually might. Instead, he just watches you, his pupils still wide and dark, his expression unreadable, but softer than you’ve ever seen it.
“Do you feel better now?” he asks, his voice a murmur, rough around the edges. He says it like it’s the only thing that matters.
Your throat tightens, and you nod slowly, biting your bottom lip as the tenderness of the moment sinks into your bones.
His expression shifts, something like relief passing through it, and he dips his head to kiss you again. Not urgently. Not to distract or provoke.
But gently, like a promise.
His lips move against yours with careful slowness, the kind of kiss that says I see you, not just in this moment but in every cracked and quiet corner of you. And when he whispers, “I’m glad,” against your mouth, you realise this isn’t just about comfort or lust anymore.
It’s about trust.
You pull Sukuna even closer, anchoring yourself to the warmth of him, to the quiet comfort he rarely offers so freely. One hand rests gently on his chest, feeling the solid rhythm of his heart under your fingertips, the other finding its way beneath the soft fabric of his grey joggers, not with intention, but with instinct, seeking reassurance in skin and warmth.
For once, he doesn’t tease or grin or raise a smug brow. Instead, he just looks at you, eyes still a little stormy but softened in a way you’ve never quite seen before.
You finally let out a shaky breath and whisper, “Maybe this won’t be the last time.”
His thumb brushes your cheek, rough against softness, and his mouth curves, not into a smirk, but something quieter. Gentler. “It doesn’t have to be.”
The words settle between you, tentative but sincere. And though the world outside your dorm room is still spinning with disappointment and expectations you didn’t meet, this moment feels like a choice. One you hadn’t expected to make. One you’re not sure how to name just yet. But you decide that maybe, just maybe, that’s okay.
Because this time, when you bury your face into the crook of his neck and he wraps his arm around your back, you don’t feel like you’re about to shatter. You feel like you’re starting again.
sooo this was not what I planned to write... but here we are. Toji finally realizes what love is when he meets you! Apart of this series.
Toji never knew love before you. Sure he had ex-girlfriends, but he didn't care about them in the way he cared about you. In the past he only dated for a good fuck, a place to stay, and free food. He didn't believe in all that sappy shit of finding the one. All that changed when he met you.
The first time he met you he was half dead. A mission went wrong. A bullet through his side. He didn't know why his feet dragged him to your flower shop. its colorful exterior so full of life it went against everything he knew. Maybe that was why. Constantly he had lived in the presence of death so his body took him to the only person that could save him.
That day was the best day of his life. Not that he'd ever tell you that.
He sat outside that shop for what felt like hours before you came. At first he thought it would be better to just kill you. He was already having such a fantastic fucking day of course he needed a liability. But as he watched your small frame shiver under his gun. Your panicked voice telling him that you didn't want him to die. That you wanted to help him.
He could tell you were lying. The anxiety making you say anything to keep you alive. Though, for some reason he believed you. Let you lead him into your shop and let those gentle hands fix him. While you had no idea what you were doing, he found comfort in you.
After that, it was if something changed within him. All day you were the only thing he thought about. At first he tried to push you out. Constantly going out and getting laid hoping to forget the face of a girl he knew he could never have. That he shouldn't have.
Toji was a hard man. A killer. Dangerous. He didn't have a heart. He lived his life always looking for a high. Never slowing down. You, on the other hand, were innocent. Way too sweet to drag down such a dark road. So why was it that he came back.
A few days later, after another hard job, his feet dragged him back to the one place he tried not to think about. You watched him as he walked in, eyes widening in recognition. At first you said nothing, making sure to keep an eye on him as you serviced your other customers. Then, when they all had left you threatened him.
Threatened to call the cops if he didn't leave. He laughed before stating that he just wanted to buy some flowers. You narrowed your eyes at him, but then he was walking out, his newly bought roses in his hand.
It went on like that for a while. Him buying flowers. You watching him. He never said anything. Just walked in and looked around for a while before buying the same roses he always bought. Grunting a low thanks as he left.
He didn't do anything with the flowers. Just threw them away when he got home. Toji just wanted to see you. To see your face as you had animated conversations about the flowers you held close to your heart. Wanted to see the light he didn't even know he was searching for.
Then just as abruptly as he came, he was gone. Shiu had assigned him a mission overseas and he had needed the money. Every night he found himself dreaming of you. Your eyes. Your smile. All of you. It was then he knew something was wrong. Not once in his life had he ever thought about someone that much. He thought he was sick. He had to be. Why else would he be so obsessed with a woman he barely knew?
After what felt like that hardest month of his life, he was back. He was tired. So tired. The only thought in his mind was you. He needed to see you, but he held out. Went out to drink with his friends to get shitfaced. Hoping to drown out your voice in his head, but there he was at 2am outside that damn flower shop.
And for some reason you were there. Something about some event you were booked for. Like the idiot you were, you let him in. Let him sit in the back and watch you put flower arrangements together.
He felt stupid. Here he was in a flower shop watching some girl put flowers together while being so drunk he could barely tell his head from his ass in the middle of the fucking night. He made a mental note to visit a doctor. Slowly he stood up, making his way to the door before you called out to him.
"...Will you come back this time?"
His heart almost burst from his chest. He said nothing as he walked back out into the cool night air.
After that, the rest was history.
Time after time your sweetness grew on him. Your gentle love healing him in ways he didn't know existed. You broke down his walls and made him want to be better. He didn't know what love was, but he would figure it out for you. You were the warmth in cold dark thing that was his life. He was obsessed with you in way he couldn't understand. Craving your love like it was a drug.
This might be turned into a mini series, but I hope you guys like it. This is how you and Toji first meet! Also I apologize for it being a little long.
You let out a long tired sigh as you finally closed the doors to your store after what seemed like an eternity. Today was your first truly bad day in a while. It started off that morning. You woke up with a raging headache followed by your younger brother nagging you for money so he could buy some stupid game. Then, your shipment of flowers for a wedding you were booked for got delayed.
The cherry on the cake was when a customer came in ten minutes before closing and took 30 minutes being indecisive. In the end, she left with nothing which only irritated you more. You tried your best to smile through the pain and look at the bright side. You were lucky enough to be able to own your own flower shop. A flower shop that was gaining traction, you must add.
In hopes to lift your spirits, you decided right then and there that you were going to buy some shitty wine from the grocery store and watch your favorite rom-com. That sounded like a plan. You briskly went through your closing routine, leaving just the trash left.
Struggling, you managed to open the back door with two huge trash bags in your hands. You started pulling them to the bin, when something caught your eye.
Sitting right next to your back door was a body.
"What the fuck?!" You let out a scream.
Fear ran through you. It was a man dressed in black with blood pooling beside him. You stared at him, not knowing what to do. He had a gun in one hand and the other was loosely holding his side. You contemplated leaving him there. Whatever was happening, you did not want to get involved with it. But something was drawing you in.
Slowly you crouched down in front him. His head hung low, his eyes closed. Gently you moved his shaggy black hair out of his face. You took in the man in front of you. He was quite handsome, you thought before shaking the idea away. He had a defined jaw line, pale skin, and a cut on his lip.
Then, you moved to check his pulse. Before you could move an inch you were trapped against wall and cool metal was touching the side of your head. Your eyes nearly budged out in fear. Your body trembled.
"Fuck are you doing?" His voice was gravely. His chest pressed against your back.
"I- uh" To be honest you didn't know what you were doing.
Something had possessed you and made you think it was a good idea to try and help a man who was obviously dangerous. You should've called the cops while you had the chance.
"Better start talking baby. Don't have all day." He was annoyed now. The gun pressed harder into your temple.
"I was trying to help!" You squeaked out "I... I didn't want you to die."
He was silent for a moment. Water filled your eyes. This had to be the end. Here you thought you were going to go home and enjoy your night. Thought you were gonna forget this terrible day, but no. A soft hiccup left your mouth.
Suddenly, he turned you around to face him. Your tear filled eyes met his green ones. He stared down at you, watching you. You stared right back, the gun at your head slowly making its way back to his side. He took a step back, but you stayed frozen in place.
"What'cha waiting for? Thought you wanted to play Doctor?" A smirk made its way onto his lips.
You glanced down at the gun in his hand before meeting his eyes once more. There was no way he thought you were going to patch him up. His gash looked so big, you thought he needed an actual doctor.
"I can't- You need to go to a hospital."
"You'll work."
He had to be crazy. That or he wanted to bleed out. You stood there for a few more moments before he motioned to the back door of the shop. You walked to the door, his heavy footsteps trailing behind you. He followed you into the store, looking around as you sat him down at your workspace you had set up in the back.
You glanced at him again before digging through a cabinet above him. Your hands found purchase on the med kit you kept in there. Taking it down and wiping the dust off of it, you sat it down before pulling up a chair in front of him.
He watched as you pulled up his shirt, your movements halting as you quickly realized how ripped he was. You saw how bulky his figure was, but you never would've imagined the toned body the man had.
"Like what you see?" You blushed. He chuckled.
Regrettably, you tore your gaze away from his chest and back to his wound. There was a small hole where, you deducted, a bullet must've hit. Blood seeped out the wound and dripped on your floor. You weren't cut out for this
You took an alcohol pad and wiped the area. The man didn't even flinch as you rubbed the pad over the wound. When you were done, you just stared at the hole. You didn't have the faintest clue on how you were going to fix this. After a while, he spoke up.
"Wrap it with that bandage." He pointed to the bandage in the kit.
You gave him a skeptical look. You were far from a doctor, but there was no way a bandage was going to stop that bleeding. He let out a low laugh at your expression.
"I'll fix it myself later."
You nodded before taking the bandage and gently wrapping in around his torso. After you finished, you pulled his shirt back down before moving to stand. The man said nothing as you put the med kit back. Unease filled your chest. You wondered what would happen next. No. You knew you were dead now. You already helped him, it was no reason for him to keep you alive.
You turned back around to face him before gluing your eyes to your feet. Minutes ticked by without either of you saying a word. Then, without a word, the man stood to his feet. You kept your head down waiting for the gun to make its way back to your head, but it never did. Slowly, you lifted your head. He was gone.
You let out a gasp and you looked around, but he wasn't there. In an instant he had left and you didn't even hear him. Your feet were moving a mile per second. You raced to grab your bag from the front before bolting to your car.
Soon you were pulling up to your front door, your plans forgotten. That night you dreamed of the mysterious man, hoping to never see his face again. Little did you know he would be back a few days later....
Okay so this is part two to this mini Nanamin series that I'm doing. I know you guys looooove Toji on my blog, but please support this fic 🥹 I think it's so cute and I love it. pt. 1 here
It was a few days later when you found yourself at The Cozy Cup once more. This time you made sure to dress up a little, waking up extra early for the occasion. You weren't sure if Nanami was working today, but you hoped he was.
Again, your nightmare of a chem class was that morning, but today you made sure to arrive 15 whole minutes before the class. The smell of coffee invaded your nose as you opened the door to the cafe. Your gaze shot to the counter only to be disappointed when you didn't see the handsome man standing there. Instead, Shoko was there, discreetly scrolling on her phone behind the register.
"Hey." You tried not to sound upset.
She jolted and quickly shoved her phone in her pocket. Though she let out a sigh of relief when she saw it was you.
"Hey, sorry about that I thought you were my manager for a second."
You let out a chuckle. She skeptically looked you up and down as you approached the counter. Embarrassment overcame you. You tugged on your shirt thinking that you were stupid for trying to dress up for a man you didn't even know. For all you knew the man had a girlfriend and was just trying to be nice.
Then Shoko smiled in understanding, "I'll be right back."
Before you could say anything else, she was already bolting to the back. Your eyebrows creased in confusion, but you waited patiently for her return. A few moments later she came back, a familiar face following behind her. She winked at you as you tried to look anywhere but at him.
"I hope you don't mind but I need a smoke so I thought Nanami here could take your order. He's new, but he knows what he's doing." You kept your eyes on your feet.
"That's... that's fine." Shoko laughed at your shy response before leaving.
Nanami walked up to the register, his warm brown eyes looking at you. You felt his gaze, but you still couldn't meet it.
"Shoko told me you're a regular here. Would you like your usual?" His calm voice had your heart doing backflips in your chest.
"Yeah." You said awkwardly.
Nanami nodded before taking off to make your drink. You internally bashed yourself for being so awkward. You made your way off to the side as you waited for him to make your drink.
Soon he was calling out your name and you were going to get your drink. You took a sip of it, making sure it was correct, and was almost to the door when he called out to you.
"I apologize for making you uncomfortable with my message. I overstepped."
You stopped in your tracks, immediately turning around. This time, your eyes met his.
"You didn't. I didn't mean to make you feel that way."
You meant it. Actually, you loved the message he wrote and hoped he would do it again. His lips turned up into a small smile. You swear you felt your heart leap out of your throat. He was so handsome it was actually painful.
"Good. You look nice today."
This had to be a dream. You pinched your arm only to find out that this was reality. Your eyes widened at his response, not expecting him to say that.
"Thanks."
He nodded. You took one more look at his handsome face as your phone buzzed in your hand. It was your friend asking if you were planning on being late again. You checked the time. It was 7:58, two minutes before your class. You never left a place faster. Rushing with a force of no other, you missed Nanami's last words to you.
In his hand he had a small piece of paper with his number written on it. He chuckled at your exit before crumbling the paper and throwing it in the trash. Next time he told himself.
Hi! I came across your page and noticed that you’re a beginner writer. I see a lot of potential in your fics! I think more people deserve to read your works.
If I may, I’d like to offer some advice. I know this is unsolicited and I’m sorry if it offends you but I promise I just want to help 🥺
One, I think you should make a navigation/pinned post. You can add a welcome note, a short about me, your age, and most important your masterlist so people can binge your works. It also makes you look more experienced and professional, like you know what you’re doing.
Two, experiment with your aesthetic. Your posts layout are quite boring. Experiment with different colours, with tags and a summary, with dividers and colour gradients and pictures. Maybe have a look at your fave creators and see how they do things. Plain posts don’t catch people’s eyes and it can signal to readers that you’re too new to bother reading or following.
And third, I noticed that your sentence starters are quite repetitive. You start with ‘You’ and ‘He’ very often. Try starting with action verbs or emotions. For example,
Startled, you jumped awake.
Padding over to the next room, you searched for your boyfriend.
Admittedly, you’ve never thought about going on vacation with Toji but he’s slowly convincing you it’s a good idea.
You’re doing great. Keep at it and I hope to see your blog flourish. You deserve it!!
I actually appreciate this a lot! I love writing and eventually want to write my own book so I appreciate when people want to help me out as long as nothing rude is being said. As an artist I take constructive criticism and try to utilize it. I hope to write more and expand my blog and I hope it will continue gaining fame <3
Toji comes home hurt after a job and you have to patch him up. I really like this one and I think it might be my best work 🤷🏽♀️. Love you guys, hope you enjoy 😉
A heavy knock came at the door. It was pitch black outside and you weren't expecting anyone. You jolted awake. You threw the covers off yourself and creeped to the door. First, grabbing a knife from the kitchen.
The knock came again. This time harsher.
You strained your neck and looked through the peephole. You immediately let out a sigh of relief. You quickly opened the door and practically tackled the person on the other side.
"Took you long enough." A gruff voice said
"Toji why didn't you tell me? I thought- I don't know- you were a murderer or something."
"God forbid a man wants to surprise his girl." He let out a low chuckle. His arms coming to wrap around your waist.
You hugged him even tighter, stopping when he groaned. You pulled your head away from his chest, shocked to see the state he was in.
His face was beaten and bruised, he had a huge gash on his chest, and he looked tired. So very tired. You let out a gasp before ushering him inside. He said nothing as you led him to the bathroom. Setting the knife back as you did. You sat him down on the toilet before ripping his shirt off of his chest.
"Damn I just got home doll, you need me that bad hm?"
"Toji." You shot him a glare before going back to look at his wound.
You lightly pressed your hand to it. He recoiled immediately. You sighed before taking his face in your hands. You rubbed your thumb along his cheek taking in the scars littered over him.
The back of your eyes stung. You barely saw him like this, but when you did it felt like a train hit you straight in the heart. You pressed one chaste kiss to his temple before leaving to grab the med kit.
When you came back Toji was leaned back, his eyes toward the ceiling. You glanced at him before setting the kit down and lowering to your knees.
"This is gonna hurt." you murmured as you brought an alcohol-soaked rag to his wound.
He didn't move in the slightest. Though, when the rag finally made contact to his chest, he let out a low hiss. You could no longer hold back the sting in your eyes. Tears blurred your vision as you continued cleaning the gash. You tried to hold back your sobs, but one accidentally leaked out before you could stop it.
Toji's eyes were instantly on you. You sat the rag down and brought your hands to your face.
"I'm hic sorry. Just give me a moment." Your voice was watery.
Silently he grabbed your hands and moved them away from your face. He lifted you up before planting you onto his lap. You let out a squeak of surprise.
"Toji your wound! I don't wanna hurt you." You tried your best to stand up, but he held you there. Pushing your head down into his neck as he rubbed soothing circles onto your back.
"M'sorry Doll," He started "Usually clean up before I come home, but I missed you." He pressed a kiss to the side of your head.
You cried harder. Shiu had given him a long mission. He was gone for weeks, leaving you guys to talk on the rare occasion you both were free. He hadn't talked to you for the last 3 days before he showed up. After he killed his target you were the only thing on his mind. He fought through the pain to make his way to you.
"Fuck I didn't mean to make you cry." His heart hurt at the wetness coating his shoulder. He ran his fingers through your hair, hoping to soothe you.
"I'm sorry. I'm supposed to be taking care of you and I can't stop crying."
"Don't apologize."
A few moments later you were back on your knees a needle in your hand, as you stitched up his wound. His attention was focused on you as you slowly put him back together.
After you were done you moved to stand between his legs. His hands held your waist as you gently cleaned the cuts on his face.
“What happened?”
“Got paired with a rookie. He blew our cover and fucked up the job.”
Your lips pressed together in a hard line
“Tell Shiu not to put you in a mission with him again or I’ll be having a word with him.” You said sternly.
He let out a genuine laugh. One that seemed to take him by surprise.
“Toji it’s not funny I’m serious.”
He just kept on laughing, but stopped when you pressed the rag harshly into one of his cuts.
“Shit baby, alright I’ll tell him.” He jerked away from your touch. You grabbed his chin and pulled him back to you.
After you finished you cleaned up the supplies before dragging him to the bed. He smelled like sweat and blood, but you didn’t care. You were just happy to have him next to you.
You curled into his side, careful to avoid his injury. He threw his arm around you bringing you closer.
“Toji be more careful next time.”
“I will.”
“And don’t surprise me next time either. I really was going to hurt you.”
“Saw the knife. You watch too many movies.”
“…And don’t be away for that long again either.” He went silent for a moment.
“Missed you too, Doll.”
That was the last thing he said as a comfortable silence fell over you both. Soon enough his breathing slowed as he drifted off to sleep. You pulled back from him just enough to look at his face once more. You traced your hands over the bruise under his eye before softly kissing his jaw. You curled back into his chest as sleep overcame you.
Being with Toji could be hard, but you knew you would always choose him.
🍁 pairing — tattoo artist!suguru geto x fem!reader
summary — you weren’t meant to see him again after the bookstore. but somehow, autumn kept writing him back into your life. from stolen glances and warm cafés to fading ink and whispered phone calls, Suguru Geto begins to teach you what it means to fall in love — even when the past is heavy, and winter always comes.
🍁 word count — [ 7.3k ]
🍁 genre/tags — modern AU, strangers to lovers, slow burn, autumn-themed, soft romance, emotional intimacy, red scarf symbolism, warm domestic moments, light angst, heavy pining, lots of subtle touches, meaningful tattoos, poetry-style narration, eventual heartbreak
🍁 warnings — 16+ ONLY. mild language,age-gap (suguru is in his early 30's & reader early 20's), mentions of emotional vulnerability, grief themes, slow emotional unraveling, deep conversations, sensual tension but no smut (yet)
🍁 author’s note — this story is part one of a short series that’s very close to my heart. It was loosely inspired Taylor Swift's All Too Well and the quiet kind of love that builds in between seasons. Thank you for being here — I hope it stays with you like falling leaves do. 🍂
🍁 navigation — series page coming soon | act two in progress
It's always raining.
It has a way of slowing everything down — the traffic, the breath in your lungs, even the heartbeat you swore that was steady five minutes ago.
The bell above the bookstore door rings low and tired. You glance up from behind the counter, fingers still curled around the pen, a book half-highlighted. You weren't expecting anyone this close to closing.
But there he was.
He walks in like he doesn’t care as if he's welcome. He moves like silence belongs to him. Dripping hair, dark hoodie, boots that carry the city on them. You can smell the storm on his jacket.
His eyes flicker to you once.
You forget the name of the book in your hands.
He doesn’t say anything at first — just wanders through the aisles like he’s chasing ghosts. One hand trailing along the spines, leaving fingerprints like scars.
You watch him, pretending not to.
And then — just as you're about to ask if he needs help —
he speaks.
“Do you believe books can ruin people?”
His voice is gravel and something ancient. Like he's lived too many lives.
You blink. You should laugh, maybe. But you don’t.
“Only the good ones,” you answer.
He smiles like that hurts.
The silence that was once interrupted, fell between the lost souls yet again. The soft pellets of rain overflowing the bookstore—
“Suguru Geto” he confirms, extending his hand
You look at it, inked calloused, beautiful in the way worn things sometimes are. Black swirls of half-finished stories climbed the veins of his wrist, disappearing under the cuff of his jacket. The bones of his knuckles were prominent, like someone who held things too tightly… or not enough.
He didn't smile.
He just waited.
“You’re new here,” he said finally, voice low, voice slow, like gravel smoothed over velvet. “You’re always reading the same book. Is it any good, or are you pretending to look smart?.”
You don't rise to his jab.
Maybe he was right.
Maybe because you want to understand why he noticed.
“You're very observant…” you say instead, not looking up from the pen between your fingers. “And late. ”
His eyes don't leave you.
The red scarf caught his eye, its crescent hue reminiscent of a sunset’s gentle glow, casting a warm, enchanting radiance that lingers in the evening air.
“I like the quiet,” he says. “City never shuts up.”
He moves closer to the counter now, resting his hand on the wood — that same hand marked with ink and life. His thumb taps once. Twice.
“You a student?” he asks.
You nod.
“Literature?”
Another nod.
He doesn’t smile, but his mouth twitches like it wants to.
“You don’t look like someone who wants to be saved by poetry.”
“And you don’t look like someone who reads,” you shoot back gently.
That gets a laugh out of him — short, sudden, real.
His shoulders relax. Yours tense.
Again.
The silence between two souls linger softly— he finally smiles as his finger tap against the wooden counter softly.
“You know...”, he started off. “Patritia Smith once said 'poetry doesn't cure grief but it understands' ”.
That's when your eyes finally met his for the very first time.
His eyes—yellow?
No — warm honey brown, glowing softly, no hint of yellow, only gentle light.
“Do you?” you asked, voice steady but your gaze unreadable.
His eyes flickered—just briefly—as if your words found a place deeper than intended. He looked at you, then looked away, almost like he needed a second to swallow something unsaid.
Then:
“Only if you recommend a book,” he murmured, the corner of his mouth tilting up, but his eyes... they didn’t smile. They were half-lidded, guarded, almost wary. Watching you like you might hand him something that hurts.
You closed the one in your hands and slid it on the counter.
Your steps echoed lightly as you walked down the poetry aisle, fingers grazing the spines until you stopped—at a thin, battered paperback, the edges softened by time.
You held it out to him.
“Here. This one’s honest.”
He raised a brow.
“Ocean Vuong. ‘On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous.’”
He took the book from you slowly, brushing your fingers in the exchange—whether by accident or not, you couldn’t tell. His thumb traced over the title. You watched the way his expression changed in small, quiet ways—like shadows shifting.
“Is it sad?” he asked.
“No,” you said softly. “It’s truthful.”
He held the book like it might bleed.
Your eyes never left his composure, his calloused hands— pondering upon the book as if he was studying a body for the first time. Your eyes meet for the third time that evening, those honey brown orbs never leaving yours. You swiftly moved towards the cashier, with him following behind you.
“So… do I owe you anything for the book?”
His voice is slow, low — the kind that rolls in like dusk. Like he’s lived more years than he’ll ever admit.
“Only if it ruins you.”
He breathes out a quiet laugh. It’s not joy, not really. It sounds like something worn and ancient — like it remembers how it used to feel.
“You’re too young to say things like that.”
“And you’re too old to pretend you don’t believe them,” you reply, not looking up. Your words hover somewhere between a whisper and a dare.
There’s a flicker in his gaze. You don’t see it, but you feel it — the weight of someone who thought he stopped being surprised by anything.
Your voice carries the softness of youth, but your eyes… your eyes carry storms.
He doesn’t say it, but something about your presence nudges something he’d long buried — hope, maybe. Or whatever’s left of it.
“That would be 80 yen, thank you.”
He doesn’t answer. Just lays the coins down gently, the metal cold against the counter.
He takes the book in one hand. The rain welcomes him again as the door opens — a gust of silence, a chime that rings low and hollow.
And then he’s gone.
But somehow, it feels like the chapter only just started.
༶•┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•༶
"Summer made us smile during the crimson heat.
Winters made us hope, holding hands in pockets too small for our dreams.
Spring made us believe we could begin again.
But autumn…
Autumns—they were made for falling in love."
A week has passed since the bookstore incident—
his voice had lingered longer than you expected.
A poem floats among your mind—as you stir your hot chocolate absently , your pen tapping against the rim of your notebook. It's time to get a new one you thought—it was beginning to patch up.
Outside, the leaves were dancing like they were trying to remember their colors before they disappeared. Inside the café, it was too warm and your red scarf made it worthwhile as windows fogged up with each breath and conversation.
Then— the bell chimed.
Not the same as the bookstore chime, no. This one was sharper, brighter. Still something in your chest stuttered. You didn't look up at first, you didn't need to.
His presence was quieter than most—but in clung — like the way autumn clings to your scarf and hair, the scent of it lingering.
You slowly turned, and there he was yet again.
Suguru Geto, you remembered. Hoodie jacket, half- zipped, hands shoved in his pockets like he didn't want to touch anything —or anyone.
“Hot Chocolate again?” he asked, eyebrow lifting amused.
How on earth did he—
“I swear you're stalking me, ” you accused, trying to suppress the smile tugging on your lips.
He tilted his head. “Or maybe the universe just has good taste.”
He walked past you , heading towards the counter — but not before letting his hand brush lightly across your table, just enough to send the napkin fluttering, just enough to make your breath catch.
“Two,” he said to the barista, pointing. “One black coffee. One… whatever that is.”
His gaze flicked back to you .
“Hot chocolate with extra cream,” you said, arms crossed.
He smirked. “Sweet tooth. Noted.”
You looked away enough for your cheeks to turn crimson—it was like the heat in the room wasn't enough. The weather was slightly beginning to turn grey signaling that raindrops were about the scatter. The sunset itself began to vanish but for you it was like a rising pillow —smooth, soft and warm.
Your nerves seemed to betray you — a scent of cigarettes passed you before his lean figure sat across you.
“Here you go,” he paused for a moment looking for the right word — while he set the hot chocolate next to you “Sweetness”. A smirk crossed his features. That smirk, it brings life to the unwavering rustle of leaves.
With your red scarf covering your scarlet cheeks,you thanked him softly. His honey— brown eyes never left yours as he took a sip of his black coffee,your sudden expression changed from shy to yuck.
This made him laugh — a low, rich sound, like a melody you wanted to memorize. His eyes crinkled at the corners, carrying a boyish light that didn’t match his usual quiet restraint.
“So, Sweetness doesn’t do black coffee?” he teased, leaning back against the counter with a smirk tugging at his lips.
You glanced up from your notebook, feigning offense.
“Ew. It’s bitter. It tastes like heartbreak,” you said, scrunching your nose.
He chuckled again, softer this time.
“Guess I’ll stick to it then.”
“Y/N” you said softly, making his head tilt as if he didn't hear you—but you knew he heard. You realized at that moment that teasing was in his nature. It was a Suguru Geto thing.
“My name is Y/N L/N”, you repeated again. This time much firm laced with a subtle confidence.
He whispered your name softly as if he was trying to memorize it like the black swirls that crossed his half written stories , you were yet waiting for him to tell.
“Do you like them?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper—like secret lovers weren’t supposed to say out loud in the quiet of the world.
You nodded, slowly, eyes tracing the black ink dancing across his forearm as he rolled up his sleeve further. The dim light caught the glint of fading lines and fresh ones—stories etched into skin, some bold, others almost forgotten.
“They look like fragments of poems,” you murmured, reaching out but stopping yourself halfway. “Like… grief and beauty tangled together.”
His lips lifted at the corner, not quite a smile—something softer.
“You read too much.”
“You write too much,” you countered.
He let the silence hold the weight of your words before offering gently,
“You should come by sometime. The shop. I do tattoos during the week—mostly regulars, mostly meaningless shit… but you…”
He paused, tilting his head to study you.
“You’d pick something that meant something.”
Your breath hitched. “You’d let me?”
He shrugged. “Only if you bring me heartbreak”
Laughter slipped from your lips before you could stop it—soft, sudden, a little messy. Something in his expression flickered, like he wasn’t used to that sound anymore. Not in real life. Not from someone like you.
The air was hot, but it was you who changed the temperature.
You were sunlight, sudden and warm and blinding.
You didn’t notice the way he stared — but if you had, you’d have seen it: That look of a man who just remembered what tenderness felt like.
Your smile lines, the blush creeping up your cheeks, the way your eyes crinkled at the corners—
all of it, all at once, seemed to fill the room more than the sun ever could.
Your laughter slowly died down, and your eyes caught it—love it was the look of love your friends spoke of.
“You—”
A loud beep-beep startled you both.
A car was parked by the curb. Your friend had come to pick you up.
You stepped back, heart racing.
“That’s my ride.” You said to him—getting up making sure you packed all your things.
“Thank you for the hot chocolate it's my third cup for the day, I swear it's —” you were about to grab your book only for his hand to brush against yours. The feeling —his hands were cold, you could feel the callouses stretching from afar. As if time stopped in that very moment—his eyes never wavering from yours.
“Here this is the place,” he hands you a card with the name Vintage Ink House, “My number is at the back… give me a call when you decide” he whispered the last part so softly as if losing you in that moment was the only fear he had.
A smile reaches your lips, cheeks bright—you take your book, the bell chimes above the door, you look back at him.
“I'll think about it”.
"You called me Sweetness like it was a compliment, a tease, and a warning all at once."
༶•┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•༶
Weeks slipped by like a fleeting dream.
University blurred into long lectures, blinking cursors, and coffee-stained pages. Somewhere between deadlines and distractions, you’d almost forgotten the man with a quiet voice and tattoos etched like poems across his skin.
“You good?” your friend asked, popping down beside you in the library's quiet corner.
You shrug, thumbing through your poetry notes.
“Just tired. Professor Jones thinks we're all robots”
“Robots don't get dreamy over, guys that work at Vintage Ink House , " she said teasingly as she pointed at your book with the card that's been long lost within pages.
You pause “I'm not dreamy. ”
She gave you a ‘you gotta be kidding me’, “You literally wrote ‘Sweetness’ in the margin of your notes.”
You blinked—eyes following, that's been haunting you all these weeks. The corner of the card peeks out from between pages, pressed flat like a secret.
His card.
His eyes.
His hands.
Your breath catches.
“Oh”
Your friend leans closer , “Oh? That a ‘call him’ or a ‘burn this and never speak of it again’ oh?”
You don't answer.
But your fingers already reached for it—curling around the card as if seeking for an answer.
༶•┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•༶
In and out.
In and out.
You were definitely panicking.
Not the good kind either—the overthinking, self-interrogating, who-do-you-think-you-are kind.
It had been weeks. Weeks since the café. Weeks since he gave you his card. Weeks since you swore you'd never call.
And yet… here you were.
Standing outside his tattoo studio like the worst kind of cliché—nervous, underdressed, and overdosed on curiosity. If this wasn't for your friend you would have been at home drinking your hot chocolate, working on your damn assignment by now.
You exhaled sharply.
“Fuck it ! ,” you muttered, and pushed open the door before your courage slipped away again.
The faint chime above the door barely echoed as you stepped inside.
Dim lighting. Clean surfaces. Ink sketches framed along the walls like haunted memories. And him—
Suguru was wiping down a chair, black gloves still on, sleeves pushed up. The swirl of ink on his arm caught the overhead light as he looked up at you, brows raised in lazy amusement.
“Sweetness,” he said like it was a greeting and a challenge all at once.
“Didn’t think you’d actually show.”
You stood there, still gripping the strap of your bag like it could anchor you to reality.
“I… wasn’t sure I would.”
He chuckled lowly, tossing the towel aside before peeling off his gloves with a snap.
“You’re late.”
Then, tilting his head— “Or just fashionably nervous?”
You rolled your eyes, stepping closer. “Is it always this empty after hours?”
“Only when I’m expecting someone interesting.”
His smirk deepened. “Don’t worry. I locked up early.”
Your gaze drifted across the shop, taking in the hum of the machines, the scent of antiseptic and faint cologne.
“I haven’t even picked a design yet…”
He moved toward the desk at the back and picked up a small sketchbook, flipping it open before handing it to you.
“I figured that might happen,” he said, watching you closely.
“So I made something.”
You stared down at the design.
A flower—delicate lines, poetic curves, something abstract yet meaningful. Like it had been pulled from your thoughts before even you could explain them.
“You made this?” you asked, voice small.
“For you. It's a cluster of Forget-Me-Nots”
He shrugged, casual—like he hadn’t just unraveled your soul on paper.
“You strike me as someone who wears stories under the skin.”
You were lost in thought, unable to see the way he looked at you — the way your awe at his skills made his heart skip a beat. To him, you touched a part of him you couldn't understand. Your fingers, swipe above the piece of paper— soft blue petals —fragile you thought but enduring.
“It's beautiful,” your eyes reached his, “I'll take it” you said softly.
“It's on the house, just don't tell the owner” he teased. You laughed — soft and airy.
He nodded once, quietly, and gestured for you to follow him past the front counter. The buzzing neon sign outside hummed against the silence of the shop, casting soft amber light onto the old wooden floors. It smelled faintly of ink and something citrusy — like a memory trying not to fade.
Suguru opened the small curtain that led to the back. The room was dim, warm-toned, shelves lined with sketchbooks, bottles of ink, and the soft hiss of music playing low from an old speaker in the corner — jazz, maybe. Something slow.
“Sit,” he said softly, patting the padded leather chair. He didn’t look at you right away — instead, he reached over to pull on a pair of black gloves, the latex snapping softly against his skin. Then he walked to a sleek cabinet and pulled out the needle, the ink vial, and a small cloth he tossed over his shoulder with casual grace.
You sat carefully, fingers nervously curling around the arms of the chair as your heart tapped against your ribs.
“I’ll be gentle,” he said, finally looking at you again. “It’s just the wrist. You’ll barely feel it.”
“You say that now,” you smiled, but it was breathy. Soft. Shy.
He looked down at your wrist as he gently took it in his hand, turning it over slowly, thumb brushing over your pulse. His touch was careful, almost reverent — like he was reading you the way others read scripture.
“You always run warm,” he murmured, voice low.
Your eyes flickered up to his. “How would you know?”
He smirked. “Your hot chocolate addiction gives you away.”
He picked up a soft cloth and began to clean your wrist, gently wiping down the skin with something cool and sterile. His thumb brushed lightly against the bone there, then traced the spot again — slower this time.
“Right here,” he said, more to himself than you. “It’s where I’d keep a memory if I had one worth keeping.”
You watched him prep the needle, the small machine buzzing to life like a distant echo of something unspoken.
“Do you want to see it one last time?” he asked, holding up the small stencil — the delicate drawings of blue forget-me-nots.
“No,” you said, barely above a whisper, “I want to feel it.”
And in the low light, with your wrist in his steady hands, Suguru Geto began to draw a memory you wouldn’t forget.
“Why forget-me-nots?” you asked, you asked barely above a whisper. His eyes flickering towards you once but back to your warm skin.
He hesitated, then looked back up at you. “Because even if it doesn’t last… I want you to remember that it happened”, the last part sounded like a confession he held onto for years but only had the courage to say it now.
Your heart skipped a beat, it was something he wanted to remember—but he wanted to paint that memory onto you like a true artist.
He didn’t say anything further . Just gently turn your wrist upward and press the stencil to your skin. And then he tattooed it — slow, careful, like he was writing a love letter he couldn’t say out loud.
And you—
You stared at the wall, blinking slowly—realizing this wasn’t just a tattoo.
It was a moment.
And maybe…
It was already becoming a memory.
Moments passed until—
“Ow, that… hurt,” you whispered, flinching slightly as your wrist jolted under the needle.
Your eyes searched for him instinctively, looking for comfort.
At first, he didn’t say anything.
But then, that smile.
Not the I-like-seeing-you-in-pain kind—
No, this one was softer, almost amused.
A quiet curve of the lips that held the warmth of someone who noticed everything about you.
“Good,” he murmurs, “Means it'll stay”. His eyes finally caught yours.
“You'll be okay, I promise”, he says the last part like a promise and his one hand is now in yours rubbing it softly —in a way to soothe the pain but to you it felt more like a thousand butterflies tried to escape within your chest.
“I'll buy you hot chocolate after this” you smile only for him to continue his masterpiece. Your red scarf kept your flushed cheeks hidden as he continued his work.
Fifteen minutes,
Thirty minutes,
And hours went by and you finally heard the machine that brought memories stop.
“Well it looks like we're all done here” he murmured,rubbing the skin he painted with memories.
“This one, ” he started. “Was my first”. Your eyes following the way he reached for the sleeve of his left arm. A Camellia.
You subconsciously reached out, only for your burning skin to touch his own. Cold—like an aching winter waiting to be touched by summer. Your finger followed the lines that drew like ribbons to his fingers—as you got lost in thought.
“Camellias… mean many things. But to me it was grief.”
He paused for a second, the soft wind outside the building filling the space for a moment.
You finally looked at him, and finally—yet again your eyes connected for the first time in a while, in that moment the grief was clear within his eyes. You wanted to reach for his hand —reach for his cheek —heck for him. You wanted to reach for him and tell him that you were here with him at this very moment. But deep down you know, your presence alone with the only comfort you could offer —only for this moment.
He finally continued.
“I got it when I was seventeen. After I lost someone. Not to death, but… it felt like it.”
You look at him, quietly waiting.
“They used to say the camellia meant ‘longing’ in some old book I read. So I inked it. Not to remember them… but to remember how I felt when I left them.”
He shrugs a little.
“Stupid maybe. But I didn’t want to forget how it changed me.”
“It's not stupid” you justified,your hand gripping his forearm. There was a long aching silence until you finally had the strength to support the now vulnerable man in front of you.
“For hope is the hardest love we carry, ” you stated, “and if love was the only hope you had left —then that was indeed your remembering”, your grip finally released. Your eyes never left his—those honey brown eyes you first encountered weeks ago are now haunting you by each moment.
“So Sweetness is a poet after all, ” it was finally your turn to blush. You look away immediately, face already covered by your red scarf —you swore it was a life saver after all the times he made you blush.
“Thank you”, his words hanging in the air—before you could utter a word he got up to walk over to a wooden cabinet—only to come back with a few oils.
He sits down as he grabs your arm, gently —his fingers gliding against the reddened skin. He begins to explain why he has to run some oils on your skin and how it would soothe the pain—he wraps a thin piece of plastic to cover it and continues to explain how you'll have to treat it at home. Even though it was small it was still meaningful to you —and you could tell by the way he treated it —it added meaning to him too.
The shop was quiet now—just the soft click of the wall clock and the buzz of neon from outside leaking through the windows. He pulled the stool back slightly and met your gaze.
“So about that hot chocolate, want to get some protein with that poisonous concoction of yours?”
“Hey!!—at least it's not as bitter as your taste” you quipped, flexing your wrist gently.
That earned you a laugh, and a quiet, “Come on, Sweetness.”
༶•┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•༶
The car ride was quiet, with Sade drumming through his speakers—wind gushing through the window it was a beautiful moment indeed. The skies were no longer grey; they were pitch black, while the starry stars stalked everyone for a moment.
You sat in the passenger seat, one leg tucked beneath you, his hoodie draped over your lap like a blanket. He smelled like leather, cigarettes and something faintly herbal, maybe vetiver. You noticed how his hand gripped the wheel—calm but firm.
“You’ve got this way of making people talk,” he said suddenly, eyes flicking toward you then back on the road.
“Oh yeah?” you smiled, “Then why haven’t you?”
He exhaled through his nose. Not quite a laugh. Not quite an answer.
“Not everyone needs to talk right away,” he said. “Some things… take time.”
You nodded, with understanding— knowing full well that some people guard themselves with caution . So you respected him fully for that.
And so you keep your gaze on the stars, never realizing his eyes are tracing your every move—like he's trying to memorize you, piece by piece.
The light turned red, but you barely noticed. His eyes weren’t on the road—they were on you, on how you watched the stars like they were whispering secrets, on how you touched your wrist like the ink had a heartbeat.
“What?” you asked, realizing he was staring.
He blinked like he’d just woken up.
“Nothing. You’re just… loud.”
“I didn’t say anything!” you gasped.
“Exactly,” he murmured, just as the car rolled past the red light.
A loud horn blared, and he instinctively hit the brake—your hands flew to the dash. For a moment there was silence.
“Holy shit—” you breathed.
He let out a slow laugh, running a hand through his hair.
“Sorry. You’re… distracting, that’s all.”
You both burst out laughing, breathless and a little stunned. Your cheeks burned, and for the first time that night, he reached for your hand—not the one with the tattoo, but your other one, the one you didn’t expect him to hold.
༶•┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•༶
You stopped by a quiet late-night café, the kind that smelled like cinnamon and played jazz no one really listened to—he ordered something for the both of you at the cashier before coming back with a sweet hot chocolate in hand, carried along with the bitter coffee he loved so much.
Sitting across from each other, the heat between you wasn't from the drinks. In fact —he held your hand. Your cheeks still red from the innocent touch he shared with you in the car. The thought just made you smile.
You subconsciously start to trace the patterns of your new tattoo —a tattoo you thought you'd never get if you were to be truthful.
“You realize that's my best design right?. That's it. No more freebies.” he challenged playfully only for a smirk to cross your lips.
“Guess I'll have to start paying you with bitter coffee” you strike with an attitude.
He chuckles
“Bribery,”he confessed, tilting his head, never leaving yours. “I like that in a woman.”
And to say the truth, it only made the restlessness inside you rise further. You wanted to challenge him—say something witty, disarm him like he always seemed to do with you. But the truth was: the butterflies in your stomach were causing chaos. They flapped their wings so violently, you were scared one word might send them all fluttering out your mouth.
You looked away for a second, pretending to read something off the napkin.
He leaned forward just a little, arms lazily draped along the edge of the table.
“Or…” he murmured, just low enough to be yours alone, “you could let me take you out for lunch properly sometime.”
The words caught you off guard—gentle but,
purposeful.
You blinked once. Then twice.
He asked you.
You took a slow sip of your hot chocolate just to delay your answer—but you could feel his eyes on you the entire time. Watching. Waiting.
“Is this your way of asking me on a date?” you teased, raising a brow.
He gave a small shrug, but the smirk tugging his lips betrayed him. “Is it working?”
Before you could respond, the waiter finally approached—mumbling an apology about the delay. It broke the tension like a match to water. Still, your smile lingered, even as you placed your order. Even as his fingers tapped rhythmically on the side of his coffee cup.
When the waiter left, you looked back at him—his eyes already on you.
“So?” he asked softly, voice light but hopeful.
“Will you?”
Your gaze dropped to the tiny flower on your wrist—the ink still fresh, the skin still tingling. Forget-me-not. You smiled again, slower this time.
“Only if dessert’s included,” you said, voice just as soft.
His laugh—deep and low—settled somewhere in your chest like a promise.
“I swear you're gonna poison yourself with that damn sweet stuff one day” he commented, as he took a sip of his coffee.
“And you're drying out your life by drinking that so-called-enjoyable dark liquid you call coffee” you remarked back.
You both laughed.
Not the laugh of friends kind—no. This was the kind of laughs lovers shared —in secret, inside jokes, gestures, hidden messages that only two souls could identify. To you this wasn't just anything —to you this had meaning.
"Like the-forget-me-nots he placed upon your skin like a memory,it was never to be forgotten.
Just like that night was never to be forgotten."
༶•┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•༶
He said he wanted the first date to be perfect.
Not halfway. Not “Just dinner”.
Something you'd remember when everything blurred out.
So instead he called them “almost-dates”. The late-night drives. The bookstore runs. The shared hot chocolates and side-glances.
And for a few weeks, you let that be enough.
Because in truth… it was.
But now— here you are.
At a Barnyard.
You hadn’t expected it, honestly. Not when he picked you up that morning with a lazy smile and one hand on the wheel like he was trying to hide the nerves underneath it.
“You didn’t think I’d take you to one of those candlelit, suit-and-tie places, did you?” he said, smirking as the countryside unfurled before you both.
You were too stunned to speak, at this rate your eyes were doing the talking. The grass rolled like it was exhaling—no greenery surrounded you but instead it was: reds, yellows, browns and oranges. The colours are justified to love, passion and The wooden fences creaked. Somewhere far, a dog barked at nothing. And the smell of fresh hay and sunlight filled your lungs the second you stepped out of the car.
His sister's farm, he said.
Small, Quiet. Somewhere he used to go when the city noise got too loud.
Now, it was your noise he was learning to quiet.
You followed him past the old pickup truck, past a chicken coop that looked like it had survived three small wars, and into a wide open space where horses roamed like shadows beneath the sun.
“Don’t worry,” he murmured, glancing back at you with a grin. “They only bite if you’re sweeter than me.”
You rolled your eyes. He knew exactly what he was doing. The smirk. The teasing. The way his jacket hung off one shoulder like it had always belonged there. He was completely in his element here—free, boyish, and barefoot in a way you hadn’t seen before.
He wasn't the man you knew in the city. He was the boy you are getting to know.
You didn't know what it was but seeing him like this made you feel a part of his world —as if you were meant to be here.
“Come here, I want to introduce you to someone.”Before you could respond — his hand was already in yours.
This wasn’t the first time.
But somehow… it felt like it was.
Your red scarf fluttered against your collarbone, warming more than your neck — it was trying to hide the blush rising to your cheeks.
You let him guide you, the way wind guides leaves.
Gentle. Inevitable.It wasn’t long before you reached the stable — tall, old, wooden — the scent of hay and memory heavy in the air. He paused, just long enough to glance at you.
With one hand in yours and the other pushing open the wide doors, you stepped into a cathedral of creaks and sunlight spilling through cracked boards like golden secrets.
You gasped.
Inside were horses — elegant, still, powerful.
Chestnut, speckled, dark-eyed souls, grazing or blinking quietly beneath the beams.
“More horses?” you whispered, half in awe.
But you weren’t afraid. Not of hooves or barns or dust.
No — your fear was simpler than that.
You feared the moment his fingers would let go of yours.That fragile tether between you.
But he didn’t. He only pulled you closer. As if he could hear that fear. As if he felt it too.
“C’mere”, he murmured again, softer this time— as if the horse might just understand each and every word you two shared.
You stopped before an elegant, talk black mare with white spots pressed down her face.
“She's my favorite,” he said as he started to groom her—for some reason you couldn't help but sense the almost too boyish side of him. And it only made you happier.
“Her name is Virginia,” he added.
You tilted your head smiling. “Like the State in America?”
He nodded. “ Like the place I wanted to escape to. Thought it'd feel like freedom there. ”
Your gaze slipped from the horse to him.
“You still feel like escaping?” you asked, gently.
He didn't answer right away, he stepped closer to the mane brushing her long back—a smile on his face as she leaned into his touch.
“Some days” he finally confessed. “But… then I meet people who make me want to stay.”
Your heart stuttered.
The moment stretched. His eyes were on yours again,unreadable but full. Something between longing and hesitation. The kind of look that lives within two lovers—two souls that were about to kiss.
And maybe — just maybe — he leaned in a little.
Maybe your breath caught. Maybe your fingers curled tighter around his jacket sleeve. His eyes dropped to your lips.
But then—
A sharp huff and a nudge from Virginia’s massive head broke the moment.
Suguru stumbled back slightly with a surprised chuckle, and you laughed —too suddenly, too nervously —brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
“She's a jealous one," he joked, gently patting the horse's muzzle.
In that moment you realize —he was indeed going to kiss you. You blinked, biting your lower lip just enough for your red scarf to protect your crimson cheeks.
“Sorry about that I…” he stopped himself —in that moment you couldn't read his thoughts but you had no idea how beautiful you looked to him in that moment. He let out a chuckle as he rubbed the back of his neck—was it a tint of red on his cheeks?
“I should probably make you something” he stated, clearing his throat—his voice much softer now. “You've been around jealous mares, ” glaring at Virginia a little too much. “and manures for hours. You deserve a decent meal”
You laughed nodding.
“I wouldn't say no to a good meal from the Suguru Geto”, you teased.
And yet again.
He grabbed your hand.
He'll always grab it from now on.
༶•┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•༶
You walked through the door with him, greeting you both with the sweet aroma of home. His sister's house was small, a mix of rustic bones and mismatched furniture. Worn in the warm. A kettle whistled in the kitchen while he rolled up his sleeves—revealing more ink, more stories.
“My sister left for the day, she had to go take care of some business, ” he stated while he started to wash off the vegetables, you guess he assembled earlier?
Your eyes wandered, still taking in the warmth of the small yet welcoming home— the small collections of teapot sets, cook books and half written diaries. You unwrapped your red scarf and placed it gently over the banister, the wool damp with the warm mist air.
A picture caught your attention—a small smile spread across your face. You picked it up from the counter. Leaning against the archway of the kitchen with the photo in your hand, his eyes immediately scanned your figure.
“You didn’t tell me, you wore glasses back then?” you teased —and immediately he let out a long sound of beautiful memories.
“You gotta be kidding me— I told my sister to throw that away, ” he groaned of embarrassment scratching the back of his neck like it would undo the moment—but nevertheless he continued to explain why he wore glasses.
You laughed softly, cradling the picture like it was something rare. “You were kind of adorable.”
His cheeks, usually so pale and unreadable, bloomed red — the kind of blush you don’t expect from someone who looks like they’ve never blushed a day in their life. He shifted on his feet, trying not to smile but failing at the edges.
“Don’t get used to it,” he mumbled.
“Too late.”
The moment settled between you like dust in sunlight — quiet, glowing, just a little sacred.
Silence.
It was always the silence that enclosed the two of you —but this time it was like a melody that cut through crisp cold air waiting for its unspoken words to be delivered.
“I didn’t peg you as the cooking type,” you said.
He smirked, without looking up. “That’s because I only cook for people I like.”
Your stomach fluttered at the ease in his tone.
He moved through the kitchen like it was something sacred—like he wanted you to see this version of him too. The quiet one. The one who moved slower. The one who made dinner and didn’t always wear armor.
And so you watched softly, quietly for hours as he moved around as if he was telling a story—a story about his world, a story unfolding willingly.
You helped him set the table.
You watched him move with a little boyish charm tucked into each glance. And later, when the sun began to set and the plates were cleared, he poured you tea—black for him, with cream and sugar for you.
“You always drink it that way?” he asked, stirring the cup within his hand.
“Hot chocolate isn't always around, ” you teased.
He grinned tilting his head. “Sweetness, even your tea is sweet”
This time your scarf wasn't around to hide your now flushed cheeks, instead the cup of tea was the hero for the night.
Later that evening, you stood outside—just beyond the house on the little wooden steps near the barn, watching the sky —like it was bruised into twilight.
He stood behind you. Not too close.
Not yet.
“It's beautiful out here, you know” you claimed.
“You sure are, ” he whispered softly.
Like two lovers he came closer—your heartbeat thudded loudly and you were sure he could hear it. The night air held its breath with you, warm against your cheeks and scented with hay, pine and the quiet ache of wanting.
Closer— a floorboard creaked under his weight, betraying his footsteps.
And then you felt it— his hands were on your waist. Gentle,as if he was asking for permission. Like he wasn't quite sure he deserved to hold you.
Slowly you turned over your shoulder—your body betrayed you with ease in which it moved towards him, as if it had always known where it belonged. You looked up at him, your eyes meeting in a hush between seconds.
“There's no Virginia here ” he whispered softly. You could feel his breath against the flush of your skin. You wanted to laugh, but you just couldn't in this moment—the scent of black tea and cigarettes hit you like waves.
You couldn't speak.
You didn't have to.
Your breaths mingled
The space between you melted.
And then—
He kissed you
Slow. Unhurried. As if the world had given him enough time to memorize the curve of your lips. It wasn't fireworks—no this was soulfire. Quiet and consuming.
His grip around your waist tightened enough—and you, in your weakened state unsure of whether to push him away or push him away. You chose the latter.
He tasted like black tea and stolen warmth, and you finally let it consume you like the autumn leaves surrendering to the wind.
When he finally pulled back his forehead resting against yours, breath warm and steady.
“You taste like sweet tea,” he whispered as he chased your swollen lips—enough to land a chase kiss.
“And you,” you murmured back smiling, “taste like trouble”.
That burning evening, he kissed you again—maybe more than once.
The barrier that stood between you shattered like glass, soft and sudden, leaving warmth in its ruin.
For the first time, your scarlet cheeks weren’t something you had to hide behind a red scarf.
A scarf that now lay forgotten—draped across the stairs banister like something no longer needed.
You left it behind.
And maybe, just maybe, that was the moment you gave your heart away.
To be continued......
🍁 author’s note — this fic is something so close to my heart and it's something i can't explain but, if you do enjoy it comment all your thoughts down below also be on the look out for ACT ll
🍁 ꒰ ❝ special thanks ❞ ꒱
@eraserbread to the one who gently encouraged me to share this. your words gave me the quiet courage i needed — thank you 🤍
🍁 taglist 💌 — @lazyjellyfish300
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