chappell roan

[tobiospoiltmilk]

tsukki headcanons

cw: none

!emotionally constipated tsukki’s the type to get mad and grumpy then immediately close his eyes again when you wake him up in the middle of the night, but when the silence stretches for too long he manually wakes himself up to wordlessly tend to whatever it is that you needed (begrudgingly, but also not. he lives to tend to you, even in the most ungodliest hours)

!emotionally constipated tsukki’s the type to stare at you with a glare too intense to be real in every chance he gets, because he genuinely doesn’t know what to do with the fact that he loves you so much. he hates how soft he’s gotten, but also realizes how much he lets himself breathe normally around you

!emotionally constipated tsukki’s the type to show sweetness in other ways when it’s no one but the two of you around. because he’s not doing anything for show, or to prove he’s not as heartless as people think he is—never. he buys you flowers “because he thinks the house is too dull”, he gets your favourite takeaway “because he didn’t want to cook tonight”, or things as simple as organizing your own space for you when long nights stretch for too long, because he knows hard you work

!emotionally constipated tsukki’s the type to lose interest in something he was looking to buy, simply because you complimented it… he thinks you think it’s ugly, but is trying to be nice. he cares a lot about your opinion, and everything he does, he makes sure it pleases you in some form

!emotionally constipated tsukki’s the type to hesitate to buy something for himself, but immediately get what you were asking for, even if it’s something stupid. of course he doesn’t oblige without a bit of attitude, “seriously? i’m not your own personal piggy bank, y’know”. but to him, everything is worth a penny if you so much as ask for it

!emotionally constipated tsukki’s the type to sleep facing away from you when you’re upset at each other, and you do the same. but when he feels the distance creeping in, he glances behind him and sees the slight tremor in your frame—and that just softens him. he immediately pulls you back against him wordlessly, burying his face in the back of your neck. he decides apologies will be said in the morning, rest together comes first. now he can’t imagine a night where you’re apart, and the warmth beside him is cold

if you’re scared of the dark, !emotionally constipated tsukki’s the type to lead you across the dark hallway at night if you ever needed to use the bathroom, no matter how late or tired he is. his hand will always be around your wrist, guiding you as if protecting you from the monsters you imagine there are. he’s quiet the entire time. (might poke fun at you for it out of love)

!emotionally constipated tsukki’s the type to always make up for when he comes home late from work or practice, even if you’re not inconvenienced by it. he values your time together a lot, even if he doesn’t show it to the best of his abilities. his worst fear is you thinking he doesn’t care, because in truth, he cares too much.

“i love you’s” don’t leave his mouth as often as you’d prefer, but he can show his gratitude in the most beautiful way he can: remembering the small things, so whenever you ever need something, he knows when you’ll need it. especially, if that need is himself. being there, is the least he can do if it means theres a possibility that he can do even greater things for you.

!emotionally constipated tsukki’s the type to secretly fund your once in a while victoria secret shopping trip because you look beautiful in each set you get, and he just needs to see more

[yukkigiri]

nagi's son who looks and acts like him

you always thought nagi was clingy, but nothing could’ve prepared you for having a son who looked exactly like him—and somehow acted even worse.

your little boy had his own room, decorated perfectly with his favorite things. soft walls painted his favorite color, shelves lined with toys, a big plush bed with a comforter that matched his tiny personality. you thought he’d be excited to have his own space, finally able to call a room his own. but no matter how many times you tucked him in there, kissed him goodnight, and told him sweet dreams, he always ended up sneaking into your room in the middle of the night.

“baby, you have your own room,” you’d tell him, already half-asleep as he wriggled between you and nagi, clutching his stuffed toy and rubbing at his tired eyes.

“don’t like it,” he mumbled against your arm, voice muffled but determined. “smells better here. smells like mama.”

from behind you, nagi let out a sleepy chuckle, his voice low and raspy from just waking. “he’s got a point.”

“sei, you’re not helping,” you grumbled, carding your fingers through your son’s messy white hair.

“‘s true, though.” nagi’s arm lazily tightened around your waist, making sure he had his spot secured as well.

and just like that, your bed became home base for not one but two velcro boys. nagi’s long arm always thrown lazily over both you and your son, as if he was reclaiming his territory, while your son’s tiny hands refused to let go of your shirt, even in his sleep.

mornings weren’t much easier. you usually woke up pinned—your son starfished across your chest, drooling into your shirt and snoring softly, while nagi coiled around your waist like a human-sized snake, his face buried in your neck and his breathing steady.

“mamaaa, don’t go,” your son whined when you tried to sit up, still half-asleep but immediately aware of your movement.

“stay, babe,” nagi muttered in the exact same tone, tightening his hold without even opening his eyes.

you groaned, flopping your head back against the pillow. “if i don’t get up, who’s going to cook breakfast?”

“delivery…” nagi mumbled without missing a beat.

“delibewy!” your son chirped, copying his dad perfectly, lips curling into a sleepy grin.

you sighed, staring up at the ceiling. “i’ve basically got twins.”

in the kitchen, it wasn’t any better. nagi leaned against the counter, watching you cook with hooded eyes like it was entertainment, while your son clung to your leg like a koala, making it nearly impossible to move from one counter to another.

“hungryyy,” nagi dragged out the word, his voice pitched just enough to sound pathetic.

“hungryyyyy,” your son echoed immediately, tugging at your shirt dramatically, as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks.

you pinched the bridge of your nose. honestly, you didn’t know who needed actual attention more—your real baby or your oversized one.

by the time you managed to herd them into the living room, you thought you’d get a break. wrong. the moment you sat on the couch, nagi sprawled across your lap, long legs dangling over the side, head pillowed comfortably on your stomach. then your son came toddling over, climbing up onto the little sliver of space left, determined to wedge himself in.

“mama’s lap is mine!” he huffed, pushing at nagi’s side with his tiny hands.

“hey, don’t copy me,” nagi muttered, refusing to move and tightening his grip around your waist like a stubborn child.

“i copy you,” your son shot back smugly, puffing his cheeks in victory.

you looked between the two of them, their matching pouts making your head spin. it was like staring at a smaller, louder version of nagi arguing with the original. “see what you’ve created?” you glared at nagi over your son’s head.

“pretty cute, though,” nagi replied, utterly unbothered, even as your lap circulation slowly began to suffer.

errands were a whole new battlefield. dragging nagi out of the house was already hard enough, but with your son, it became a parade of clinginess. nagi shuffled along beside you, dragging his feet with a bored look, while your son waddled on your other side, clinging tight to your hand and swinging it back and forth.

“do i have to go?” nagi whined.

“yes.”

“me too?” your son parroted, looking up at you with big pleading eyes.

“yes, you too,” you said firmly.

at the grocery store, it got worse. nagi leaned heavily against the cart like he might collapse if he had to stand on his own, while your son sat inside with his arms folded across his chest, mimicking his dad’s pout. both of them gave you identical lazy stares as if shopping was the most exhausting thing in the world. passersby gave you sympathetic (or amused) looks—like you were wrangling not one child but two.

finally, bedtime rolled around again. you tried once more to settle your son into his room, tucking him under his blanket with kisses on his forehead. he smiled sleepily, promised to stay this time, and even hugged his plush a little tighter like he meant it. but by 2 a.m. you felt the mattress dip and a tiny body crawl between you and nagi again.

you opened your eyes just in time to see nagi, half-asleep, lifting the blanket to let him in like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“sei,” you whispered, watching your son curl against you with his plushie, sighing as his small fingers immediately latched onto your shirt again. “you’re spoiling him.”

“he just wants you,” nagi shrugged, his voice thick with sleep as he pulled you both closer with one arm. “same as me.”

“mama’s mine,” your son murmured into your chest, already halfway back to dreamland.

“no, mine,” nagi countered softly, pressing his face into your neck with the faintest smirk.

you sighed, trapped between your two velcro babies—one small, one oversized, both equally stubborn. exhausting? yes. overwhelming? definitely. but as their warmth surrounded you and their breathing evened out in sync, you realized you wouldn’t trade this for anything.

your life now was full of clinginess, mimicry, and a whole lot of patience. and honestly? it was perfect.

© 2025 yukkigiri ☾ creations by luna — please do not repost, copy, or translate without permission.

[tobiospoiltmilk]

cutest piece i’ve read

[catsinlowercase]

the one time i couldn't wait .ꨄ︎ ݁ ˖

rin itoshi x reader

cw : angst

synopsis : rin has been slowly neglecting your relationship — missed dates, forgotten calls, emotionally distant. you try to be patient, understanding his goals. but it all builds up until a fight breaks out. he leaves, thinking you'll cool off like always. but this time... you don't wait.

a/n : im so unwell help :(

wc : 3.7k

he wasn’t always like this.

there was a time he’d text you after every match — not long messages, but enough. a blurry picture of the field, a quiet “wish you were here,” or just your name followed by a heart emoji. simple things. things that reminded you he was still thinking of you, even from miles away.

now?

now you’re not even sure he remembers you exist.

you started memorizing his schedule just to feel close to him.

you stopped asking when you could see him — because you hated hearing, “i’ll let you know.”

you live together.

but it doesn’t feel like it.

he leaves early, comes home late, and when he’s here, he’s not really here.

you pass each other in the hallway. sleep on opposite sides of the bed.

sometimes he says goodnight. most nights, he doesn’t.

you stopped keeping track of the missed dates after the fifth one.

first it was the café you used to love.

then the ramen shop across town.

then your apartment— just a text that came in after midnight. “sorry. practice ran long.”

you told yourself he was trying.

that he was just tired. focused. under pressure.

but deep down, you knew better.

because trying looks like effort.

like calling when he’s late.

like remembering what day it is.

like showing up.

the phone calls were the next thing to go.

he used to call you between drills. send quick updates, blurry pictures, tired voice notes. now it’s just silence.

you text him “are you okay?”

he replies four hours later with “fine.”

he doesn’t ask about your day. doesn’t notice when you start staying later at work. 

doesn’t ask why you’ve stopped sitting beside him on the couch.

he’s always staring at the screen — game replays, strategy breakdowns, footage of sae. never at you.

and the thing is — you don’t want everything. you never did.

you just wanted to feel like he still chose you. like you still mattered. like love didn’t have to come second to ambition.

but every missed call, every cold dinner, every barely-there glance feels like a quiet reminder:

you’re not his priority anymore.

you live together.

but it doesn’t feel like home.

just two people breathing the same air in a space that used to feel warm and now just feels like waiting.

you try to be patient. you always have.

you know who he is. what he wants.

you knew even before the late nights and the missed calls, that rin itoshi wasn’t the type to love loudly.

he’s focused, intense. private.

you never asked him to be anything else. so you try.

you try to understand the pressure he’s under.

you try not to take it personally when he forgets to text back.

you try to be enough — quiet support, steady presence, a home he doesn’t have to think about too hard.

because you love him.

and love, you tell yourself, means compromise.

but lately, it feels like you’re the only one bending.

you wait through the silence.

you cook for two and eat alone.

you fall asleep to the sound of the front door opening, not knowing whether to feel relief or resentment.

and every time you think about saying something — really saying something — a voice in your head whispers:

he’s tired.

he’s trying.

don’t make it harder for him.

so you shrink.

you soften your tone.

you smile when he walks in, even when your chest aches.

you try to be patient.

but patience shouldn’t feel like abandonment and love shouldn’t feel like waiting in an empty room for someone who forgets you’re there.

you’ve made dinner. again.

the apartment smells like garlic and rosemary, the scent drifting softly into every corner. the same way it used to when he was here on time, the way it used to mean something. you set the table carefully for two, placing the plates side by side, the silverware aligned just right. there’s a glass of water for each of you and a bottle of wine you’d bought last weekend because you thought maybe, just maybe, you’d get to open it together.

the clock ticks past seven.

you tell yourself to wait.

rin is probably running late. it’s normal — games, training, unexpected calls. you tell yourself he’s tired, stressed, working harder than ever to reach those impossible goals that seem to swallow him whole. you’ve learned to be patient. to understand. to remind yourself that he’s not doing this to hurt you.

but the silence is heavy.

your phone vibrates on the counter. you glance at the screen, hope catching in your throat.

rin.

you pick it up slowly, heart hammering in your chest.

you open the message.

“something came up. sorry.”

forty minutes late.

no explanation. no promise to make it up. no “i miss you,” no “i’m sorry i keep letting you down.”

just those four words.

you set your phone down, the warmth fading from your hands.

you stare at the plate you made for him, the food still steaming, untouched. it looks perfect. but it tastes like disappointment.

you want to hate him. to scream. to tell him how much it hurts.

but the tears sting behind your eyes, and all you feel is tired.

you remember the early days, the way he would always be on time, how his smile would light up the room when he saw you waiting. how he used to brush a stray hair behind your ear and say, “i’ve got you.”

you look at your phone again.

no new messages.

you wonder if he remembers you’re here. if he remembers the small rituals you held onto — the dinners you cooked just for him, the soft music you played in the background, the way you tried to make this place a home.

because it feels less like a home now and more like a waiting room.

waiting for someone who might never come back.

you push the plate away and stand, moving to the window. the city lights stretch before you like stars on earth—bright, distant, unreachable.

you think about calling him. about telling him how lonely you feel. about saying the words you’ve bottled up for weeks.

“i miss you.”“please don’t forget me.”“i’m scared you don’t want this anymore.”

but the words catch in your throat.

because you don’t want to sound desperate.

you don’t want to be the one who begs for attention.

you don’t want to be the one who’s always waiting. so you stay silent.

and the silence feels like a wound that won’t heal.

you think about the nights spent curled on the couch, the glow of the TV screen a poor substitute for his presence. the mornings waking up on the cold side of the bed, the sheets empty where he should be.

you think about the way you’ve started sleeping with the lights on, afraid of the dark and the loneliness it brings.

you think about how you used to be enough — how his eyes used to light up when he saw you. how his hands would find yours like they belonged there.

and now, you don’t recognize the space between you.

you wipe a tear from your cheek and sit back down at the table.

the food has gone cold.

you don’t eat.

you don’t even want to.

because tonight, you’re not just hungry for food.

you’re hungry for him.

for the man who used to say your name like it was a promise.

for the warmth of his touch.

for the sound of his voice saying, “i’m sorry.”

for his love. 

the front door clicks open softly then shuts behind him.

rin’s footsteps echo down the hallway—slow, deliberate, unfamiliar.

you don’t move from the couch, wrapped in a blanket that smells like you. the dim light from the living room lamp casts long shadows, and you can see the exhaustion etched into his face, the way his shoulders slump just a little more than usual.

he stops in the doorway, watching you.

you don’t look up.

“you’re still awake,” he says quietly.

your voice is barely more than a whisper.

“couldn’t sleep.”

there’s a pause, heavy with things unsaid.

he steps closer, but not close enough to touch.

you don’t yell.

you don’t scream.

but after all the quiet waiting, the missed calls, the empty chairs, the cold dinners, the silence stretching between you like an ocean, you finally say it.

you look at rin, eyes steady but heavy.

“i feel like i’m dating a ghost,” you say softly. “you’re here, but never really here.”

the words hang in the air like a fragile glass ornament teetering on the edge.

rin blinks, taken aback for a moment.

then something shifts in him. his jaw tightens, and defensiveness flickers in his eyes.

“a ghost?” he repeats, voice low but sharp. “is that what you think of me?”

you nod, the hurt spilling through your quiet tone.

“you’re so caught up in everything else—training, matches, your goals—that i barely get a glimpse of who you really are anymore.”

“i’m busy, you know that.”

you swallow hard, steadying yourself.

“being busy doesn’t mean forgetting about me.”

he shakes his head, frustration bubbling under his skin.

“not everything is about you.”

the words hit you harder than any yell could.

you blink, pain flickering in your chest.

“it’s not about me,” you say, voice shaking but firm. “it’s about us. this distance between us is killing me.”

rin crosses his arms, looking away.

“i’m doing everything i can. training, matches... it’s not like i’m ignoring you on purpose.”

“then why does it feel like you’re gone?” you ask, taking a step closer.

he sighs sharply.

“because sometimes, there’s more important things than sitting at a table waiting for dinner.”

your throat tightens.

“i’m not asking for much. just for you to show up. to be present.”

rin’s jaw clenches.

“i can’t drop everything every time you want my attention. i have goals, responsibilities.”

“and what about this?” you gesture between you.

“this isn’t a responsibility, rin. it’s supposed to be something we share.”

he’s quiet for a moment, eyes flickering with conflict.

“i’m tired, rin,” you say, your voice low but shaking. “tired of feeling like i’m invisible. like i’m waiting for someone who’s already gone.”

rin’s eyes snap to you, his jaw tightening. “so what? you want me to drop everything? just forget my goals, my future?” his voice is sharp, cutting through the stillness.

you flare, the frustration that’s been building for weeks exploding out. “maybe i do! maybe i’m sick of being second place to your dreams, of pretending that your ‘busy’ is enough!”

“busy?” rin scoffs, stepping toward you, anger flickering behind his eyes. “i’m fighting every day just to get to where i want to be. you think i want to hurt you? i’m doing this for us!”

“for us?” you laugh bitterly, tears stinging. “it doesn’t feel like ‘us’ anymore. it feels like me alone—waiting, hoping, getting nothing.”

“that’s not fair!” he yells, voice rising. “you don’t know what it’s like to carry all this pressure. to have everyone depending on me!”

you shake your head, your voice breaking. “maybe not. but i’m carrying something too—loneliness, doubt, the fear that i’m just a placeholder until you’ve ‘made it.’”

his eyes flash, hurt and frustration mingling. “i’m trying! you think i dont miss you? you think i want to disappoint you? i can’t just stop everything because you’re lonely.”

“and what about me?” you snap, stepping closer so your voices are the only thing filling the room. “what about how lonely i feel every time you choose your goals over me? how invisible i am when you’re here but not really here?”

the air between you crackles. his fists clench, and his voice drops, a harsh whisper. “you don’t get it. if i lose focus, everything falls apart. this isn’t just about me—it’s about the future i’m fighting for. our future.”

your throat tightens, tears spilling over. “and if you lose me, what good is all that?”

rin’s eyes harden, the softness gone like it never existed. “maybe you’re just not strong enough to be part of it,” he spits, voice cold. “maybe you don’t deserve this life i’m fighting for.”

his words cut deeper than you expected. shock and hurt crash into you all at once.

“what are you saying?” you whisper, voice breaking.

“i’m saying this isn’t a game for people who can’t keep up,” rin snaps, stepping closer, his gaze piercing. “if you can’t handle me being busy, being focused, then maybe you’re the one who’s the problem.”

you want to scream, to tell him he’s wrong, but the pain in his eyes—mixed with that cruel distance—leaves you breathless.

“i thought you cared,” you choke out. “i thought i mattered.”

rin scoffs, voice dripping with bitterness. “caring won’t get you anywhere if you slow me down. this is bigger than you, than us.”

your world feels like it’s crumbling. the man you love—the one you believed in—is gone, replaced by someone you barely recognize.

you shake your head, voice barely audible. “i’m not slowing you down. i’m asking you to see me.”

rin’s expression hardens further. “maybe you should stop asking, and start accepting.”

the silence after is suffocating, the distance between you wider than ever.

you swallow the lump in your throat, voice trembling but steady as you say, “you don’t treat me like someone you love anymore.”

rin’s eyes flash with anger and something unreadable. without another word, he storms past you toward the door.

the slam echoes through the apartment like a thunderclap, leaving you standing alone in the cold silence, heart pounding in the emptiness he left behind.

you stare at the door for a long time. the air still trembles from how hard he slammed it, but the apartment is quiet now—so quiet it almost hurts.

your eyes burn, chest hollow. you wait—maybe for footsteps, for the sound of him coming back, for anything. but nothing comes.

you exhale, soft and broken. then you whisper, “i’m done.”

not in anger. not even in pain. just the quiet truth of someone who’s finally had enough. 

you pack your things. not everything. just enough.

a duffel bag. your charger. a few changes of clothes. your toothbrush.

you move slowly, methodically, like if you think too hard you might fall apart.

you leave the sweater he gave you hanging in the closet.

you don’t take the photo on the nightstand.

you glance at the bed—the one you shared, the one that’s felt cold for weeks.

you leave the spare key on the counter, the metal cold and final beneath your fingertips.

next to it, a folded piece of paper—your handwriting small but certain.

“you don't have to choose between me and soccer. i already made the choice for both of us.”

no anger. no pleading. just quiet closure.

you glance around the apartment one last time—your shoes by the door, the empty dinner plates in the sink, the framed photo still turned face down on the shelf.

then you walk out, closing the door gently behind you.

this time, it doesn’t slam.

you go back to your apartment— the one you barely visit anymore, the one you never unpacked from when you moved in with rin.

you unlock the door with a key that still fits. the air is stale, the lights dim. everything’s just as you left it months ago, like the version of you that used to live here never really left.

you set your bag down by the door and kick off your shoes slowly, quietly, like you’re afraid to wake the silence. it’s too quiet.

you walk through the small space, brushing dust off the counter, your fingertips ghosting over the couch, the sink, the light switch—things that once felt normal, now strange.

then it hits you.

everything.

you sit on the edge of your old bed, your breath caught somewhere between your chest and your throat.

and you cry.

not because of rin slamming the door.

not because of the cold dinners or the missed calls or the things he didn’t say.

you cry because you loved him. deeply. quietly. fully.

and it still wasn’t enough.

and now you’re here alone again, starting over and wishing you didn’t still want to go back.

pause

it’s late when rin returns.

the apartment is dim, silent, like it’s holding its breath. he pushes open the door, expecting the same tension that always follows a fight—strained silence, maybe the flicker of the tv in the background, the faint clinking of dishes as you clean even when you’re upset.

he expects you to be curled up on the couch with your back to him. or maybe locked in the bedroom, door closed, waiting for him to say something that resembles sorry—waiting to make up, like always.

because that’s the pattern, isn’t it?

rin screws up. you get quiet. he leaves to cool off. then comes home and finds you still here. always still here.

he kicks off his shoes, glancing toward the living room. empty.

no blanket tossed on the couch, no quiet sniffles he pretends not to hear.

his brow furrows.

he walks toward the hallway, slower now. maybe you're already in bed. maybe the fight wore you out. maybe you're pretending to sleep, letting him stew in the guilt you’re sure he won’t admit to.

he pushes open the bedroom door.

the light is off.

the bed is made.

and untouched.

his hand hovers over the light switch, hesitating before flicking it on. the room is still. the air hangs heavy. something feels… off.

he crosses to the closet.

opens it.

some of your things are still there—but not all.

the hanger that always held your favorite jacket is empty.

the little travel bag you used to keep under the bed is gone.

he blinks, confused, stomach starting to knot in a way he doesn’t like.

he walks back to the kitchen. looks at the counter.

the mug you always left out is gone. the vase you kept flowers in—empty. no signs of you cooking or cleaning or eating after he left.

something’s wrong.

really wrong.

he moves faster now, checking the bathroom. the sink is dry. your toothbrush is missing.

he checks the entryway—your shoes, the ones you always kick off without untying, the coat you wore today—gone.

his pulse stutters.

“y/n?”

he calls out, louder this time.

the apartment doesn’t answer.

his voice fades into the heavy silence, swallowed up by the empty rooms. his chest tightens, breath catching in a way that’s unfamiliar—like the air itself has turned heavy.

he moves to the bathroom, every step slower, heavier.

his eyes scan the sink, looking for something, anything— but your toothbrush isn’t there.

not misplaced, not hidden, just… gone.

his throat tightens as a cold knot forms in his stomach.

he stares at the empty spot where it used to rest, memories flashing—your tired smile in the morning, the soft hum you made while brushing your teeth, the way you’d always lean into him when you thought no one was watching.

he blinks away the sting in his eyes and turns away.

in the kitchen, the dim light casts long shadows. there, on the counter, something glints—a small silver shape catching the light.

his heart lurches when he sees it. your spare key.

and beneath it, a folded note.

his hands tremble as he picks it up, unfolding the paper slowly, as if the words might shatter if he’s too rough.

his eyes skim the familiar handwriting.

“you don’t have to choose between me and soccer. i already made the choice for both of us.”

the words hit him harder than he expected. a quiet ache blooms in his chest, spreading like wildfire.

he drops the note onto the counter, but it doesn’t fall—his fingers clutch it as if it’s the last thing holding him together.

he sinks onto the kitchen floor, the weight of everything crashing down— the missed calls, the forgotten dinners, the silences that filled the spaces between them.

and now this.

this final goodbye.

his throat tightens.

tears sting the corners of his eyes, hot and sudden.

he wishes he could rewind time.

wishes he’d held you tighter, said the words you needed to hear, been the person you deserved.

but wishes don’t fix broken things.

he closes his eyes, the apartment feeling emptier than ever.

he’s alone.

and so are you.

and that’s the hardest part.

he calls your phone. straight to voicemail.

his thumb hovers over the screen, heart sinking deeper with every silent ring. no buzz, no vibration, no sign that you even heard it.

he tries again. and again. each unanswered call like another crack in his chest.

the cold silence of the apartment presses in on him, louder than any words he could say.

he lets the phone fall to the floor, staring at the cracked screen as tears blur his vision. the weight of your absence is crushing, and for the first time, he feels the full force of what he’s lost.

you stare at your phone, the screen lighting up with rin’s name flashing over and over. dozens of missed calls.

your heart twists—part of you wants to pick up, hear his voice, maybe fix things.

but the heavier part, the one that’s been growing for weeks, keeps you frozen.

you press your lips together, swallowing the lump in your throat. 

a part of you aches, but another part feels numb, like you’re already halfway out the door. you hesitate.

a flurry of messages flood your screen, one after another, relentless.

rinnie<3: y/n. please. rinnie<3: i’m not giving up on you. rinnie<3: tell me what to do. rinnie<3: i can fix this. rinnie<3: please just say something. rinnie<3: don’t shut me out. rinnie<3: i messed up but i need you. rinnie<3: answer me. rinnie<3: please. rinnie<3: i love you.

your fingers hover over the screen, heart pounding, tears threatening to spill.

the noise from his texts feels overwhelming—like drowning in a storm of words you’re not sure you’re ready to respond to.

you close your eyes, needing the quiet, needing space.

for now, you stay silent.

rinnie<3: i’m here. rinnie<3: just say the word and i’ll come over. rinnie<3: don’t make me wait. rinnie<3: you’re the only thing that matters. rinnie<3: i’m sorry for everything. rinnie<3: please don’t let this be the end. rinnie<3: i’ll prove it to you. rinnie<3: whatever it takes. rinnie<3: i love you more than anything. rinnie<3: please come back to me.

a fresh wave of messages floods your screen, relentless and urgent. 

rinnie<3: y/n. answer. rinnie<3: i screwed up. yeah, i know. rinnie<3: i don’t care about excuses. i care about fixing this. rinnie<3: don’t just disappear on me. rinnie<3: tell me what you want, and i’ll do it. rinnie<3: i’m not good at this crap, but i’m trying. rinnie<3: don’t make me regret letting you go. rinnie<3: i’m serious. don’t give up on us. rinnie<3: just say something. anything. rinnie<3: please.

you stare at your phone, the screen lighting up again and again with rin’s name.

each message cuts through the silence like a small stab, desperate, urgent, raw. your fingers tremble as you read and reread his words, feeling torn between the ache of missing him and the weight of all the hurt that led to this moment.

tears blur your vision, but you can’t bring yourself to reply. the flood of texts feels overwhelming, like drowning in a storm you don’t know how to escape. your heart pounds painfully as you press the phone to your chest, whispering to yourself that maybe someday, when things are different, you’ll find your way back.

but not yet. not now.

[wondeurland]

— always in your orbit.

character ; itoshi rin || wc ; 1.0k contains/cw ; gn!reader, they/them pronouns, she/her pronouns used not for reader synopsis ; you and rin run into a stray kitten when you walk home together one evening after school.

when you and rin were schoolmates, there was a large land-locked lake that you and him had to pass on your way home since you and him were neighbors on the same black. a large, vast mirror, it often reflected the setting sun and it was a sight for you to savor and engrain into your memory. there was indeed a shortcut to get to the block faster, but you insisted on walking there to take in the view.

in your third year, just before you left for college, you and him ran into a stray kitten, abandoned and left to die in a shallow cardboard box at the bottom of the hill leading into the lake. probably the runt of litter, it was small enough to curl into the palm of rin's hand, the noir of its fur spreading like ink, mimicking rin's own locks. its mewl was just barely there, clearly malnourished and weak.

you had burst out into tears at the sight, your heart clenching so tightly at the sad scene unfolding before you. given how close it was to the water, it might’ve accidentally tossed itself in and drowned. fate was on its side today at least. you wanted to take the poor thing home so badly, but your mother detested cats and your sibling had a severe cat allergy. rin, in a panic at the sight of your overflowing tears, had babbled that he'll take it home and nurse it to take it to the shelter. that shut you up good to his relief.

"can i visit it?" you had asked, wiping your face on your sleeve.

rin nodded shyly as he picked up the box with the kitten in it, making sure it rested properly in the safety of the scrappy box as he wondered what he had gotten himself into just because he wanted to make you stop crying.

because you and rin had found him just before you and him left for university, you only got to visit the kitten a spare number of times before you left the suburbs and into the big city. but in the times you were able to, rin couldn't help but let his affection for you grow as you played with the small kitten, happily laughing whenever it did any tricks to your pleasure. he supposes the addition of the kitten mewling for you to pay attention to it whenever your eyes weren't on it didn't help either, both parties clearly having an affection for each other.

"are you gonna name her?" you had asked on what would be your last visit for awhile, "i thought you guys were gonna take her to the shelter once she was nursed back to health."

rin shrugged, watching intently from his desk as you wiggled your fingers and tickled the kitten's small, now much more plump belly thanks to rin and his parents' care. "dunno. we just call her kitty for now."

you deadpanned. "you named a kitten 'kitty?' you can't be serious."

"i'm not the best creative," he muttered as he returned back to his homework. "it's not like we're gonna keep her anyway, i don't want to get too attached to her."

years later, unbeknownst to you, the cat, now four times bigger and a little chubbier than most, still resides within the walls of the itoshi residence. because you only got to visit home a spare number of times, you hardly had any times to visit your neighbors on the block to check up on how they were doing, how rin was doing. a small ditch formed itself between you and rin's friendship, as he went to study abroad in paris so he could play for pxg while you stayed in the country to attend the local city school, meaning that communication was often scarce. but you still tried, though it often ended up with emptiness from his end.

eventually it was clear that your energy for him was going nowhere, so you stop trying to text him to see how he's doing. so you're a little surprised when one weekend that you come home, your parents tell you to get ready for a surprise dinner with the itoshis, and that though you only think it'd just be rin's parents, their youngest son sitting in the living room.

it was the first time you had seen him in three years. he was taller, more handsome, more mature. you don't see it, but when rin looks back at you, something glimmers in his eyes when he spots you looking prettier, more elegant, more sophisticated. both of you are clearly in the awkward pool, trying to gather up the right words as you're reunited for the first time in years.

he swallows thickly after two anxious "hello"'s have been exchanged. he coughs.

"you look—" rin's voice cracks.

at twenty-one years old, the ghost of puberty still seems to haunt him and he can't think of a more embarrassing moment for his voice to enact in such a manner.

both of you abruptly pause. a flush of pink scatters across his face in the moment of silence.

"... good. you look good," he mutters, his voice tight in embarrassment.

you giggle, that same giggle that rin would often replay in his mind when he was abroad in paris and feeling homesick, the sound of your bubbly laugh reminding him of home.

"not too bad yourself," you murmur softly, grinning as you give him a light, teasing punch. a quiet forgiveness blessed upon him at your gentle eyes looking at him, ones he's missed looking deeply into.

rin would never tell you, but there was something about your touch that'd always send his nerves rushing a certain warmth through his veins, always feeling a little lighter for some reason, less tense.

when you and him settle down at the table, his father perks up as he plates the pickled vegetables.

"oh, rin," he says and turns to his son, "before we eat, make sure to give (y/n) her tuna with her food."

at the sound of your name, you lift your head, confused. next to you, rin's eyes widen and a panic bubbles inside of them at his dad's reminder.

"oh, um," you begin to start, blinking. "thank you, but i'm actually allergic to fish."

suddenly, a loud meow is heard from behind you and the sound of a cat perks your ears. before rin has a chance to reply, you turn and see a familiar black cat strutting into the kitchen, tail swishing in the air.

"i thought—!" you turn back to rin, who has another fluster of rouge running across his face and the tip of his ears.

"ohoho, oops," rin's father laughs heartily to his son's disdain. "forgot about that. you see..."

rin shoots daggers at his father. "dad, don't."

his father only smiles at him before he turns to you, tittering a bit with his wife who seems to know where he's headed.

"... our cat's name is also named (y/n)."

a/n ; not the best thing i've written but i still wanted to write it since i was inspired by this one page from ao haru ride and thought that kou and rin would def be one in the same if rin were ever a shojo protag. esp since both characters have conflicts with their older brothers lol

[tobiospoiltmilk]

I love you, I’m sorry.

—

summary. in which megumi could not handle avoiding you anymore. apologizing to you by letter, given he could not face you in such circumstances. could this also be an accidental confession?

cw(?). sfw, swearing, !megumi x !femreader, mentions of tsumiki, gojo and your !sister, slight angst, fluff, not proofread, terrible capitalization, reminiscing, reciprocal feelings, childhood friends, mutual pining, things not being casual, lyric/title name mentions (i love you, im sorry, casual, kaleidoscope.), basically megumi is so in love with reader his heart hurts and yearns for her

a/n. omg guys i love this so much agdydhdhsj… very first post so i hope this does well! might consider releasing pt. 2 if it does -sob-

Dear Y/n,

It’s me, Megumi. And before you decide to throw this thing out, or whatever it’s supposed to be… hear me out. Please. I know I haven’t been the greatest to you these past weeks. i’ve been a total jerk, and i’m guessing it really wasn’t a secret now, was it? Yeah… whatever, anyways. I guess i’d like to tell you that i’m sorry. I really, truly am… and i know i don’t seem the type to apologize, but i guess when it comes to you, apologies come easy. Because you deserve every damn apology in the world, and if i had one wish given to me, I wouldn’t… hesitate to use it on you. I don’t know what i’d wish for, but i do know that no matter what, it would always regard to you. When it comes to you, I’m selfish, i guess…? Please don’t make fun of me. i’m only trying to make things right. Not that i should have a say in that right now… because I know i’ve hurt you deeply, i don’t deserve your forgiveness nor your kindness, but yet, some part in my heart believes that you’ll forgive me anyway. No matter what shit, twisted way i had caused pain in your precious life.

Remember when we first met? We were both as tiny as we would ever be in our lives— so pure, (not really applying to me.) You were taking one of those daily afternoon naps like usual, and unbeknownst to you, a tiny me would be lounging around in your own family’s estate— with the exception of a loud and rowdy Gojo speaking to your sister, of course. I remember when you finally woke up, and i got to see that glass face of yours for the first time. you were 8, i was 7. Yet you looked so beautiful with that droopy and puffy post-afternoon nap face of yours. We played til’ evening in the courtyard that very same day. It’s not like you forced me to play dolls with you, i actually kind of enjoyed it… only because you were my playmate. i just wish Tsumiki would’ve been there when Gojo first took me in from those dreading streets. Yes, i was a grumpy little toddler with somehow the ability to summon a specific arrangement of creatures, you never questioned anything about it. An 8 year old like you, and a 7 year old like me, should have no reason to know anything about curses or techniques at our age. it was so cruel, and although you were older than me by a year, i still felt the need to protect every fibre and aspect of your existence. An existence i hold very dear to my heart, every damn night.

Remember our middle school days? Yes, where my grumpiness piqued at an all time high, a burning flame that threatened to burst if not carefully dealt with. I was considered a delinquent— no, i was a delinquent. It’s no use trying to defend that title, anyway. I beat up kids left and right, totally abused my gifted strength to terrorize other bullies and jerks who were entitled to popularity. Hey, atleast i only went after the bad people, haha? Nonetheless, you never considered me a bully, or a bad person. That sweet, little mind of yours thought that little 12 year old me could never do anything wrong. Yet you know every action i did proved you so wrong. You watched from afar as i would beat up several kids above grades older than me at once in an old, abandoned baseball field. A small smile on your face, sat prettily on a bench with your friends while happily eating away at your bento your sister made for you every day for school. And during recess, while i was being the usual grumpy jerk that i was, you’d somehow find away to cheer me up. One day, when things got so bad i almost lashed out on Tsumiki, you were there to comfort me. Your small little hands wrapped around my arm, rambling on about how your day went as if being this close of a proximity was casual in anyway. It immediately snapped me out of whatever bullshit show i was about to put on against Tsumiki’s teasing. Part of me hoped—no, wished the way you were with me wasn’t casual, was it casual?—

—You and Tsumiki were the bestest of friends, given you both were the same age. I loved seeing you bond together, even if i never made an effort to show my appreciation. In conclusion… i was never really necessarily a good person in my life, but during the years you were gone— two years, i’ve managed to learn how to calm down the raging fire burning within my heart. i would think about you and Tsumiki when things would get tough. Whether it be controlling my emotions, or when i’m somehow losing a battle against a curse a slight grade level above me. I always won, thoughts filled with the both of you. Minus the injuries. The most important people in my life. Someday i’ll be able to thank you for your help, and in another life, Tsumiki.

Those days you were absent from my life, i spent reminiscing our greatest memories. Not one memory have i forgotten that the two of us shared. And the one that stuck the most in my head, was the one spent at the hospital when we were 9 and 10, waiting outside the comatose room where your dearest sister lay. You were crying into your small little arms, wailing and mourning for your sister’s comfort yet you knew she wouldn’t be available right now. All you wanted was for her to wake up, why wasn’t she waking up? Your 10 year old brain asked yourself. I watched as you wept from the chair beside you, peeking to see those glossy tears falling from those God-gifted eyes of yours from under your wrapped arms, hugging your small frame. My heart ached so much for you, i swear i was going through heart murmurs at that moment. Little 9 year old me had no idea how to comfort someone… because i was never really familiar with comfort to begin with. The only solution that appeared in my young mind… was to share my red bean stuffed panda bun with you. And so that’s exactly what i did. My small, yet experienced hands immediately got to work, reaching into my little side bag to search for the familiar wrapping on mind. Once in my grasp, i carefully tore the packaging, revealing a wonky, yet delicious red bean stuffed panda bun still warm and ready to eat. Yet instead of stuffing it inside my small little stomach in 4 bites, i tore it in half, not the most symmetrical halves, but it still did the job. And with that, i reached out to give a little tap on your bony shoulder, snapping you out of your sobs as you turned to me with puffy, red cheeks stained with raw tears. I proceeded to (nonchalantly) hand you the other half of my red bean stuffed panda bun— I gave you the bigger side, of course. You deserved it more than anything. Oh the butterflies i felt in my jittery stomach when i finally saw that sad face of yours light up in appreciation and excitement. Especially when your precious smile was caused by little ol’ me. It was safe to say, that we both happily indulged in our savoury snack that day. Not to forget, I also remember Gojo taking us out for ice cream the same day. I wasn’t proud that it cheered you up more than my attempt, but as long as you’re happy, i guess.

When I saw you the first time in 2 years at the Sister School Games Event, i swore my heart stopped beating in 3 exact intervals. I saw a kaleidoscope of bursting colours grow within my blurry vision as i tried fathom if it was really you or not, but that radiant aura of yours that you carry was so igniting, i knew i wasn’t mistaken. It was you, you, you, you. Where did you go, and why did you leave me with no closure? I know i have no place to say whether i’m mad at you or not— in fact, i was more mad at myself than i was at you. I was mad at myself for letting you go so easily, without even trying to reach out to you when your clan sent you away to become a sorcerer at Kyoto Jujutsu Tech. Who were you to leave me behind for so long, only to come back happy as ever, like nothing ever happened? Not that i’m… complaining, obviously…— After those 2 years, you had become even stronger than you were before. Stronger than me, in all honesty. It was hard to admit the fact you were a higher grade level than i was at first, but i’m happy for you regardless. I remember those days when i was the one to protect you from mosquitoes and critters hungry for your precious, sweet blood whenever we’d play outside in your courtyard. 7 year old me, and 8 year old you, were practically inseparable. You loved my divine dogs so much, some days i’d think you only hung out with me to chase them around with mud all over your clothes. You always assured me that you ‘loved’ me more though, if that was casual. I don’t know.

Now… back to what i was saying at the start.

I love you, and I’m sorry.

-To my dearest Y/n L/n.

From Megumi Fushiguro.

a/n. LET ME KNOW IF U ENJOYED IT ?? 😔

and once again, i might consider releasing pt.2 of reader responding/reacting to the letter! who knows, maybe you’ll even spill out some confessions… wink wink.