Something Something Violence Has Always Been The Primary Love Language For Waynes, Something Something.

Hello sir,

How do you do ? I hope to be in a good condition.

This is my special campaign

We hope to help us by donating or sharing to others.

Every donation makes a different even if it a small.

As you know, the war began on October 7 and lasted ten months. During this period, we were unable to obtain food, drink, or treatment because we did not have money.

There is no source of income for the family at the present time, so we are unable to buy food, clean water, and medicine, especially after we are afflicted with the ongoing infectious diseases spread in the north like Hepatitis C disease.

Our house has been damaged a lot since the beginning of the war. We are from the north of Gaza and we are still in the north and have not displaced to the south. We displaced 10 times from place to another seeking to safety .

We hope for your help and support, even if only a little.

This is the link if you would to read our story well 👇👇

https://gofund.me/4e896ac1

Thank you all

!!!! please help and boost their campaign to support them

𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬

𝜗𝜚 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄: fluff, established relationship, down bad wonwoo (he’s a certified simp) 𝜗𝜚 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: idol!wonwoo x fem!reader 𝜗𝜚 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 1.6k

⦗💌 ⦘ though it didn’t bother wonwoo that his girl wasn’t a gamer like him, he was over the moon when one day she proudly declared she started gaming. one thing he forgot to ask - what kind of games she was playing.

𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐚'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: guys if i play dress to impress does it mean im finally a gamer?

wonwoo was having a stroke. 

months ago, when you first started going out, he of course had to mention his love for gaming and computers, no matter how lame it made him - he figured if it bothered you then you simply weren’t fit for him. but, thankfully, you didn’t find it unappealing whatsoever, you even asked him questions about games and whatnot, sounding genuinely interested. 

and he wouldn’t lie - it’d be cool if you were a gamer as well, but… 

“no, it’s not for me,” you said when he asked if you played. “i don’t really get the hype, and to be honest i just suck really bad.” 

…but wonwoo understood that you didn’t have to share his every passion, besides - you had your hobbies, he had his, and that was perfectly fine. he was more than happy to indulge in activities that you enjoyed and getting to know you even better through them. 

during the course of your relationship you still didn’t show any interest in his games. well, maybe except for when you wanted cuddles, then you suddenly took a great interest in what was happening on his computer, but wonwoo didn’t mind. it was cute how you tried to keep up with the game though you had no idea what it was about, especially when you were sleepy.  

sometimes, though, you felt bad that you didn’t share his passion, that you didn’t know about all of the new updates, and gaming terms, or what the different keys on the keyboard were responsible for, but wonwoo was always quick to shut down those silly thoughts of yours. “i don’t mind, honey,” he always said and kissed your cheek. “i really don’t”. 

so it was safe to say that he had never expected to hear, "i'm a gamer now, baby. i play games," with a proud smile on your lips. 

wonwoo’s day had been long and hard, his muscles were aching from the hours spent on dancing and moving around the stage, and his head was begging for a moment of silence from all the yelling and yapping of his members. 

but that, that just woke him up like no amount of coffees or red bulls could. 

“huh?” he managed to say in utter confusion. 

he didn’t like how you were smiling. there was something sinister about it. 

“there’s this game everyone is playing now. i saw some videos on tik tok,” you had to stifle a giggle seeing your boyfriend’s expression upon the mention of the app he considered cursed, “and it looked fun. so… i’ve been playing it ever since you left for work.” 

well, maybe you did find it on tik tok, but a game was still a game, so wonwoo figured he should count that as a win. 

“let me show you,” you declared and took his hand with an excited grin, before he could say anything else, let alone ask you what kind of game you were talking about. 

you quickly pulled him into his bedroom, totally dismissing mingyu’s “hello”, and made him sit on his gaming chair. 

“i know you don’t like it when people touch your computer-,”.

“you can use it, honey, i don’t mind,” he cut you off and wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him. as ecstatic as wonwoo was about your breakthrough in gaming, he could wait to go to bed and finally get his well deserved cuddles from you. 

“okay okay,” you said and unintendedly ran your fingers through his hair. “so here it is,” you pointed at the screen behind him. 

wonwoo had no idea what game could have finally caught your attention. even the adorable characters from animal crossing weren’t cute enough for you to spend more than five minutes on the game, but what he saw on his computer...

"what, uh," he gulped. "what is that?"

“dress to impress!” 

well, it certainly did not impress wonwoo. 

“it’s like a dressing up game,” you added, when your boyfriend didn’t say anything. “here.” 

you rolled him a bit away from the desk so you could take your designated place on his lap, and disconnected the headphones from the computer, which made everything so much worse. the music that was playing in the background had to be one of the worst sounds he had ever heard. 

“look,” you pointed at the timer at the top of the screen. “the game is starting.” 

he could feel how you were buzzing with excitement, clapping your hands in tiny, waiting for the time to run out. 

“okay, see? here’s the theme,” wonwoo nodded sceptically, but nonetheless tightened his grip on your waist. 

album cover. 

then the screen changed to what looked like a large walk-in closet the size of his and mingyu's apartment. a bunch of other characters were running around, and the god awful music was still playing, and you started to run around as well, and, “oh my god, what was going on?”. 

“who should i dress up as?” you bit your nail, clearly very focused. wonwoo took a peek at your furrowed brows, and small pout and for a second he drowned out the annoying sound coming from his computer, just to focus on your adorable expression.  

“i can do you!” you said, and turned around to quickly place a kiss on his cheek. “from the “face the sun” concept photos. technically it’s not an album cover, but… no one here is ever on theme anyway”.  

wonwoo could only watch as you slowly changed your outfit into something that was supposed to resemble one of his concept photos, only in a more cutified version, because as you said, "you're a babygirl". with the minutes ticking by, he couldn’t help but smile at you being so focused on putting the whole outfit together. 

"okay, it's done," you said, leaning back so you were resting against wonwoo's chest. "now it's show time."

one by one, the characters walked the carpet, presenting their… whatever their outfits were. 

“ugh, this fit sucks ass,” you groaned, and nuzzled your head into his shoulder. “wait til one of them hits the twenty eight pose,” you said, and by the tone of your voice wonwoo did not want to see that. 

“why are you giving everyone one star?” he asked, confused. “that one wasn’t that bad,” he pointed at the character that dressed up as ariana’s dangerous woman. 

“you never give anyone more than one star,” you stated as a matter of fact. “oh, look,” you squealed. “it’s me.” 

indeed it was you, and for what it was worth - your outfit looked the best in wonwoo’s opinion. but then again you were best in everything to him, so his opinion didn’t count. and then the screen turned black again. 

the winners are… 

“now we’ll see who placed on the podium,” you explained, and grabbed his hand that was still resting on your waist. 

wonwoo nodded and put his chin on your shoulder. “i’m sure you’re going to be first, honey.” 

“huh,” you huffed. “i wouldn’t be so sure about that.” 

and yeah, you were right. in the first place there was a character that wasn’t dressed up at all, in the second someone with the vip sign dressed as if they were going to the circus, and in the third there was a very creepy character of a man.

you clicked your tongue annoyed. “told you.” 

well, that was an experience wonwoo had never thought he’d have the, uh, pleasure to go through. 

“so,” you got up, and just when wonwoo was about to whine about the lack of your warmth, you straddled his lap. “what do you think?” you cupped his cheeks and smiled at him brightly. 

he wasn’t sure he was thinking at all, at this point. 

the annoying music? unbearable. the clearly not on theme outfits? hideous. the weird poses that freaked him out? he was sure he’d get nightmares from them. 

wonwoo must’ve been thinking too long about his answer so as not to hurt your feelings, because the smile slowly started to disappear from your face. "you think it's weird, right?" you asked and looked down.

"what? no, it's not that, it's-,".

"sweetie, i understand," you laughed quietly. "it's a game for kids, and a little cheesy at that but-,".

"no no," wonwoo quickly said and grabbed your face in his hands so he could lift your head. "i just didn't expect this. you always said you didn't like to game and i didn't know what to expect."

"yeah, but still-,".

"oh could you be quiet for a second?" he smiled when he saw the corners of your lips lift up. "i didn't mean to make you feel bad and i'm sorry if it did.” 

yeah, the game might not have been his style, and he would never have played it himself, but you liked it. and that was all he cared about. he had never seen you smile like that when he was gaming - your eyes were practically heart shaped when you were dressing up your character, and if this wasn't the most adorable thing ever he didn't know what it was. 

if it made you happy, then it made him happy too.

"you have no idea how glad you found a game you like," he ran his thumbs over your cheeks. "and you know what? if i played myself i'd definitely give your outfit five stars."

you giggled, and wrapped your hand around one of his wrists. "thank you, wonwoo."

"of course," he muttered and pecked your forhead. "now tell me, is there a way we could play it at the same time?"

"wonwoo, you don't have to-,"

"but i want to," he said.

for a moment you just looked at him with a raised brow, as if you were trying to figure out if he was really telling the truth. and he really was. wonwoo would survive any horrible outfit and that annoying music just to see you so excited and happy again.

"are you sure?"

he quickly nodded.

"okay, then let me get my computer."

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Details of half return

The narrative starts with y/n going back to their old house, where they start with reminiscing about memories from their old home. They admire every mark they left in their home when they were a kid not knowing that was the last time they were gonna live and make memories there. It's also a perfect situation where you can relate to Adrianne Lenker's lyrics, specifically in which she says, “standing in the yard, dressed like a kid,” which indicates a moment of nostalgia. To me, this song is highly associated with missing the innocence, youth, childhood, or simply who you were in the past.

 If you're wondering why the reader goes to their old house, it's because it's a way of letting go for them. As they have said in the story that it was a way of letting go and mourning that version of them. Because you can never really let go if you're not mourning/did not mourn even the slightest.They saw it as a necessary step in the process of growing and becoming a new person.

In the old house scene, you can see the memory of the reader, where they see the life they want in the lives of others, making them yearn for that. The space between two windows, reader and their neighbor, indicates or symbolizes their current life (reader's window), while the other mirrors the life they long for (neighbor's window), like a window to their desired reality. So watching the Barbie movies/shows through their neighbor was them actually watching the life they wish for. 

Also, the puppy she found on a random day while she was alone. The puppy is a symbolic object of the reader. As you saw in the first scene where they both first met, it was said that the puppy was just crying for its mother and father, hoping, waiting. (That's eerily familiar, don't you think?) And! The reader named the puppy “Amara,” which, if I'm not mistaken, means forever loved, which she is. Amara was a mirror of y/n's soul. And y/n treated them the way they have always wanted to be treated. 

But Amara is not a mirror to the current reader's soul. Do you get it? Because Amara was the symbol of the past version of them, which means they were the beacon of youth Y/N once had. Amara staying and waiting within the walls of where they both grew up just connects to y/n’s journey of letting go. That is why when the reader saw her, whispered gently to her and reassured her that it was okay, that she could rest now. representing readers' way of saying goodbye to the old y/n and letting them rest. The scarred innocent of their younger self is now free from the heavy pain of the things they went through. 

The scene where the reader “made up” with their mother and the fact that their mother admitted she never hated them that much but couldn't confirm that she didn't entirely hate them is SO important. It was a moment where their mother finally acknowledged her faults and apologized bitterly but with sincerity. She was very honest in that scene, as she knew that was what you needed and wanted. No sugar-coated words, only the truth. Also the fact that they made up, but it was also going to be the last time they would see each other!! Because the reader cut them off on good terms, and that was the final step in making peace with everything that was part of their past. 

Also, if yall were wondering how the reader “moved on” with the Bat family, it was actually the first ever step they took in making peace with their past. As their way of doing it was just accepting. Accepting that they will never see them as family, and they will never be interested in them in any way. (Guess who got clowned.)

And Alfred, who was driven by his own selfish desires. Now we all know that it was Alfred who took care of the reader the moment they got to the manor, so naturally it would be Alfred who first spiraled into yanderism. I like the idea of Alfred; despite wanting what's best for the reader and what makes her happy, he is still a yandere. And that means he still has traits of a yandere, which is what made him come up with a heavily detailed plan. 

Hello 👋 This is Shaima and his family from Gaza. Please help us evacuate to safety, complete schooling for our children and find a source of income after the destruction of what we own. We live in difficult circumstances and a difficult life 🙏🏼 ❤️ Please share and spread the campaign because I urgently need help and the matter is urgent. Because the campaign is going slowly, there is no water and little food. It is very difficult for us to get a little food. Please donate and please share. Shaima, Diaa and their four children. https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-shymaas-family-reunite-in-egypt?utm_campaign=p_cp+share-sheet&utm_medium=copy_link_all&utm_source=customer

Please help us bring awareness and boost their campaign!!!

💪💪💪💪

I want the next chapter to be long so yall are gonna have to wait for a lil bit for the next chap. I want to make it as long as possible for yall🫶

Moonstruck

jason todd x reader

aka sober thoughts and all that

warnings: intoxication

Jason has a thing about drinking around you. He’d kind of skirted around it for a while when you were first dating, but after a while you’d noticed he never really has more than a drink or two regardless of how much you had. The only times you ever see him drink more is when he’s downing whiskey as a pain mitigater when he needs stitches. You’d initially assumed he just wasn’t a big drinker, but eventually you’d come to realize it was more of a matter of not wanting to lose his inhibitions around you. 

You know he’s still working on trusting himself, even sober, because he’s terrified of accidentally hurting you. But you have a hard time imagining him losing control like that in any state and you’re nearly certain he’s just being hard on himself.

You’ve been falling in and out of less than peaceful sleep for the past few hours, having trouble easing yourself while your boyfriend is still out. You at least attempted to get to bed earlier tonight because for once he isn’t out fighting crime and risking injury, though you haven’t found much more luck than usual. 

You lie on your back, half ready to give up and turn on a movie while you wait.

You’re momentarily startled to hear Dick bellow out your name, no regard for the fact that it’s nearing three in the morning and you have neighbors. He’s not much of a shouter so you’re instantly on alert, worried that he or Jason are hurt.

You fumble out of bed and rush to the living room, surprised to find your fire escape empty. You turn, proceeding towards the front door, opening it cautiously. 

“Dick? What—” You don’t need to finish your question because the second you take one good look at the two of them, the state of them is immediately clear. Dick, who’s barely standing upright on his own, supports your boyfriend's weight via Jason’s arm slinged around his shoulder.

“Hey!” Dick grins at you, far more lively than he has any business being this late at night. “Sorry, couldn’t remember which apartment was yours.”

You nod pensively, “Well the perspective’s different than when you’re coming in through the window.”

He continues on past that without thought, “I’ve come to deliver,” he says, gesturing up to Jason with a bit of a strain. You’re pretty sure there were supposed to be a couple more words at the end of that sentence but you understand well enough anyway.

You nod, eyebrows raised and try to hide a smile. “Thanks, Dick.” He shifts your boyfriend off of his shoulder to lean him up against the door frame, where Jason places a majority of his weight.

You eye him warily, not confident in his steadiness. He seems to hold well enough against the heavy door though, his eyes drifting around the tiled floor. Your attention shifts to Dick, who’s clearly satisfied with a job well done and ready to go.

You tilt your head, seeing him turn away. “You good?”

“I’m great!” He calls out with a thumbs up. You watch as he staggers away, nearly missing the exit.

You look back over at Jason, who’s already staring at you with a soft gaze. “You’re pretty,” he fawns, irises blown out and flickering all over your face.

“Oh you’re drunk drunk.” You grin, watching him stumble forward a bit.

He shakes his head, looking a bit dizzy after, “Shoulda seen Tim.”

You pause mid laugh, “…Who drove you here?”

He falters at that, gaze falling to the floor. “Uh…” He winces, “Damian…”

You nod slowly, eyes wide, “We’re gonna talk about that tomorrow.”

“He’s better than you’d think.” You’d hope so. 

Well, at least he’s spending time with his brothers.

You sigh, straightening your posture in preparation for the job to come. “Alright, come on big guy,” you pull him up from his slant against the wall, hauling him into the same position he’d been in with Dick—though you’re struggling significantly more to hold him upright. “You gotta help me out here, Jay,” you grunt, trying very hard not to fold under his weight. You swat the door shut behind you, making peace with the fact that he’ll scold you in the morning for not locking it.

He presses an uncoordinated kiss to the side of your head as you try to shuffle him along, not interested in the least in easing your labor. His self discipline isn't quite gone, but his awareness of how big he is sure seems to be. 

You wobble from the heavy weight of his arm around your shoulders, holding onto him by his waist. You manage to get him to sidestep your cat, narrowly, though Salem hisses at him all the same. Jason takes no notice. You stumble into your bedroom with only about 30% of his usual balance aiding your effort.

He collapses onto the bed the second his legs hit the frame, pulling you down with him. You lie, somewhat awkwardly, on his chest as he holds you tight—probably tighter than he would if he were sober. It feels nice though.

You lie your cheek flat on his chest, relaxing against him. “What’d you guys do? Thought you were just having an easy night.”

He takes a deep breath before answering, “Raided Dick’s liquor c—” he stops, mulling over his words. “...Bruce’s liquor that was in Dick’s cabinet.” He annunciates every word in that sentence very carefully.

You squint speculatively, “Didn’t take Dick for the stealing type.”

He grumbles, “He’s not. ‘Less it’s Bruce.”

You can’t help the smile that breaks out on your face, “Aw, you really do take after your big brother, don’t you?” 

He scoffs at that, “I don’t. I’m the one who gave him the idea.” Yeah, that sounds right.

He taps on your cheek lightly and you pick your head up to find him looking at you with puppy dog eyes.

“What’s that look for?”

“Can I kiss you?” his eyes drop down to your lips, “I really wanna kiss you.” He’s nearly whispering and you feel your heart skip several beats at the feeling of his eyes on you like this.

You press a light kiss to his lips and he practically purrs.  

You pull back, admiring the serene expression on his face. “You taste like whiskey.”

“I like whiskey,” he says honestly.

You smile, nodding. “I know. Don’t know why, but..”

He leans in for another kiss but you parry, only letting his lips meet your cheek. He frowns grimly, attempting to chase your lips. 

“Lemme kiss you,” the pout on his face is adorable and while you hesitate to deny him, you retreat, resting your chin on his chest.

You smile wistfully, tracing his cheekbone, “You’re drunk, baby.”

“‘M not that drunk,” he tells you, though everything about him says otherwise.

Your hand falls flat on his shoulder. “Your eleven year old brother drove you here.”

He shrugs, “He can drive the bat…batcar? Bat…”

“Batmobile,” you finish.

“The batmobile.” he nods, as if he was seconds away from remembering. You suspect he wasn’t. 

“Bruce lets him drive it?” you question, wholly disbelieving.

“No.”

Enough said.

“You’re gonna be hungover as hell in the morning,” you mumble, taking in his uninhibited demeanor.

He nods that off, “‘S okay. You’ll be here, right?”

You tilt your head, observing him chalantly. “Where else would I go?”

His arms snake tighter around you at that, giving you a little squeeze before relenting. 

“I wanna marry you,” he murmurs, brushing your hair out of your face and tucking it neatly behind your ear. 

You blink rapidly a few times, “What?” You push yourself up on his chest, sitting up on his abdomen.

“Wanna marry you.” He repeats, eyes lidded as he breathes easy under you. “You’re m’favorite person…want you t’be my wife.”

Your breath gets caught in your throat. “..You want me to be your wife?”

His lips are slightly parted and his pupils are wide as he stares up at you, taking in your features carefully. “‘Course I do.” He brings his fingers up to your cheek, touching you softly with all the wonderment of a little kid. “You’re so pretty.”

You’re quick to return, “So are you.” Especially right now.

He shuts his eyes momentarily, shaking his head morosely, “You gotta stop bein’ so nice t’me,” he lets his hand fall to rest on your thigh. “Don’t deserve it.”

“Shut up,” you lour, “You deserve it more than anybody.”

“No. Not more than you,” his hands knead at your thighs like it’s an instinct. “You deserve everything.” He closes his eyes, tilting his chin up as his head sinks further back into the pillow. “Think I’d do anything you wanted.”

“Jay—”

He continues on, “Want you t’be happy. Wanna make you happy.”

Your face falls into an expression of dazed awe, “You do make me happy.”

He dwindles at that, “No, really happy. Take care of you. Build you a house, give you babies. Wha’ever you want.”

He paws at your thighs, trying to get you to come closer again to him. You lay back down on top of him and his hand instantly buries itself in your hair, stroking softly. “You’re just…you’re so perfect…” He turns his head to mumble against your forehead, “Feel like I dreamed you, sometimes.”

You breathe deeply against the crook of his neck, eyes feeling glassy. “I love you.” It’s all you can get out, and it’s not enough, but it’s all of it. 

“I love you,” he says like he’s trying to turn it into gospel. “So much. I love you so much, so fuckin’ much.” His words start to get lost in his weary babbling.

Your chest feels full and you can distinctly feel every beat of your heart against it. Or maybe it’s Jason’s heart. But what’s the difference?

You press a tender kiss to the nape of his neck. “You’re really sweet when you’re drunk, you know that?”

He hums lowly, head lulling against yours.

You still for a second, finding his breathing has slowed and his hand has seized its movement in your hair. His soft breaths fill the air as you press a kiss to his collarbone before settling in completely. “You’re gonna love when I tell you about this in the morning,” you whisper, letting your eyes shut too.

💗 likes are the poor mans reblog 💗

"To change for you..."

⋆°• ☁︎ - Things the Blue Lock boys do after picking it up from you Feat. Michael Kaiser, Isagi Yoichi, Nagi Seishiro, Shidou Ryusei, and Rin Itoshi

AN: I have the freaking cutest idea for a Wakasuki fanfic but nobody knows him and it's so sad...

Michael Kaiser ⋆°• ☁︎ - Listening to certain songs that he knows you like when he’s traveling

He never realized that he would have missed you this much when he was traveling. For the few months that he was still back in Germany with you, the thoughts of traveling had crossed his mind many times, and with a scoff and the thoughts that he used to do it alone all the time pushed the ideas to the back of his brain, well until now; Now when he was sitting on the Bastard München bus on the way to the PXG stadium for their next match, the long, almost 14-hour, bus ride they had, and every second since he had been on that bus, he missed you. Not that he would ever admit that to anybody, including you. So what better way than to either A. attempt to text you, But that sounded desperate, or B. do something that reminded him of you. And with his limited options, he scrolled his phone to find something that could bring him back to the thought of you, even if you weren’t there with him. To which that’s when he found it. A couple of weeks ago you had stolen his phone, saying that you were just looking at the weather, but rather, you knew he had a Spotify account and only listened to the songs he wanted to, so you put together a playlist for him of some songs you think he should listen to, including some of your favorites. He couldn’t help but give a little smile when he saw the playlist cover being a picture of the two of you at one of his previous games, and within no time he pressed the play button and started to listen through the songs, thoughts of you running through his head matching up with every song lyric.

Isagi Yoichi ⋆°• ☁︎ - Using more creative insults on the field after you used them against him

It all started a couple weeks after you had started dating and you got into a little spat about where to go for dinner, him trying to be nice and let you decide and you being indecisive and pushing it back on him. All going relatively nicely until you turned around and said:

“You decide, you wet noodle! I can’t pick.”

And he stood there for a second, a little surprised. A wet noodle? That wasn’t something you heard every day. So he let out a slight chuckled and picked a place he knew you would like and the two of you went there for dinner that night. The same thing with a couple other insults had happened a few times, being called a multitude of other things, and even hearing you’d snide comments sometimes about how you hoped that a person that cut you off in traffic ‘stepped into a puddle with only socks on.’

Now with these thoughts inside his head, and Barou running his mouth he could only turn towards him and give a dirty glare before pulling this out of his pocket:

“I hope you’re sleeves slide down while you’re washing your hands.”

Before turning back around and heading anywhere else in the building where he wasn’t. To which the rest of the people standing there could only look surprised, the same guy who called Barou much worse, just wished a minor inconvenience on him? What was happening?

Nagi Seishiro ⋆°• ☁︎ - Showing a little more effort rather than just in scoring goals

Reo could only look confused at the white-haired man as he was actually trying on some of the new training regiments given to them by Chris Prince. Even when he looked over to the coach, he looked a little shocked. It wasn’t that Nagi didn’t try, it’s that he had never tried this hard before. He did everything just enough for it to be acceptable and then move on with his life, well that was until he saw how hard you worked for things. He never understood why people worked hard until you had come home with a good grade on your test, the same test he had watched you work for hours and hours trying to study the material and cram into your head before you had to take it. The way that you smiled and were so excited that the work you did paid off gave him this spark of inspiration that he needed to see what it was like to train hard and then have that achievement pay off in the end. So when he went back to practice, he tried harder than he ever did before, even earning a couple comments asking if he was okay, or if he was dying and trying a little harder was his dying wish. All of which he responded a simple ‘no’ to before walking off to get water or work on something else. The only person who could actually figure out the truth was Reo, who had asked him if it had something to do with you. He just shrugged and nodded.

“They came home all happy one time because they studied hard and got a good grade and I wanted to know what that felt like… They clung onto me for a whole 15 minutes after… and I liked it so maybe If I do good I can do that to them..”

Reo could only laugh a little as he watched Nagi walk away. He would definitely have to send you a thank you card, Chris Prince’s signature in there as well as he had tried to ask Nagi the same question and it totally backfired.

Shidou Ryusei ⋆°• ☁︎ - Trying to settle arguments with words instead of his foot

The famous fighter, Shidou Ryusei, was actually trying to have a conversation. Nobody ever thought there would be a day. Well, except for one person, you. The same person who had told him off a multitude of times that he can’t just hurt people whenever he was pissed off at them, and there were much better ways to go about it. Even after days of him trying to get you to see his side of it, and you already, after hearing his explanation a few weeks ago, deeming it not the best way to settle things. So here he was now, putting his ego aside to make sure that Loki or Ego didn’t have to call you for the 4th time this week to try to get him to behave and attempt to try to not kick Rin square in the face after he stole a goal from him. Even Loki was surprised when Shidou was about to raise his foot, just to stop himself, mutter something, and then turn to Rin, attempting to try and talk it out. The first thought in everybody's mind, was this even Shidou? After Rin had walked away from him Loki came jogging over to him and trying to make sure he was okay.

“Ya’ I’m fine, jus’ the pretty thing back home ya’ always have to call told me to get my shit together, so I’m tryin’ talk it out with lower lashes.”

Loki looked surprised, I mean he knew from talking to you before that you were close with Shidou, but little did he know that you basically had the man wrapped around you’re finger. They’ve been trying to get him to talk something out for the entire time he was in Blue Lock, but he leaves for a few days and comes back a whole new person? The staff would be sending you thank you cards, as well as a small gift instead of having to pay the hospital bills from anybody else Shidou would’ve sent.

Rin Itoshi ⋆°• ☁︎ - Trying to be a little nicer to others

The world must have stopped turning and we were all gonna die. That was the only thing Isagi could think after he heard Rin actually complimenting somebody. Was it a backhanded compliment? Absolutely, but did he still say something nice to Nanase, yes. Isagi could only stare in shock as he walked over to him next, ready to be degraded or ignored for anything he did, until Rin stopped, cursing under his breath.

“You’re a shitty person, but at least you can score a decent goal..”

The world stopped, he was sure of it. There was no way the Rin Itoshi, had just come up to him and told him he could score a decent goal. So when he stood there a little confused Rin couldn’t help but curse a little more.

“This isn’t because I like you. It’s because I like my partner. Got it?”

And with that he headed off again, going who knows where.

Thought he didn’t learn the fully story until much later on when Shidou had been talking about it Charles and he had overheard. Apparently, Rin’s partner had been pretty upset when they realized that he was pretty mean overall, and wanted him to at least attempt being nicer, so the next time he saw somebody he knew he at least tried to give them a compliment, just attempting to make his partner a little less upset with him.

Isagi knew that it was just a little thing, but lord, he was sure that if Rin would go around complimenting other people, if you asked for the world to burn, he would set it on fire just so you wouldn’t be upset.

𝐈𝐧 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐞

fluff | Bf!Theodore Nott | 🧸🍊🧡 🌅✨| Masterlist | Taglist | requests are open

Summary: When Theo playfully claims dominance in their relationship, Y/N decides to prove him wrong in front of their friends

Authors note: based on a tiktok I saw. Need to write some fluff before settling into my darkfics so here you are.

Word Count: 540

The room buzzed with laughter and chatter as Y/N and her friends gathered in the cozy slytherin common room. It was one of those rare nights where everyone managed to get together, and the atmosphere was vibrant. Draco, Matteo, and Blaise were lounging on the couch.

Theo, with a playful glint in his eye, leaned back in his chair and announced loudly, "I’m definitely the one that's in charge in our relationship."

Y/N rolled her eyes, a small smirk playing on her lips. Draco, Matteo, and Blaise chuckled knowingly, sharing amused glances.

Determined to prove a point, Y/N straightened up and looked at Theo with a mischievous smile. "Babe, stand up," she commanded.

Without hesitation, Theo stood up, his expression curious but compliant.

"Sit down," she said next, and he immediately sat back down, mirroring the same attentive look.

Pointing to the corner of the room, Y/N instructed, "Look over here."

Theo followed her hand and turned to look at the designated corner. The boys couldn't contain their laughter any longer, their chuckles filling the room.

"Hmm, interesting," Y/N mused, crossing her arms and looking at Theo with a raised eyebrow.

Theo turned back to her, realization dawning on his face as he joined in the laughter. "Alright, alright, you got me," he conceded, grinning.

Draco wiped a tear from his eye, still laughing. "Well played, Y/N. Well played."

Matteo and Blaise exchanged high-fives, their mirth evident. "Guess we know who’s really in charge now," Matteo teased, nudging Theo.

Y/N leaned closer to Theo, her voice soft but teasing. "Told you, didn’t I?"

Theo chuckled, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Yeah, you did," he admitted, a hint of admiration in his eyes. "And honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way."

𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐃 — 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈𝐈

♡ — FIND PART ONE HERE . . .

♡ — SUMMARY: After what happened to you & your son, Satoru couldn’t stop drinking . . .

♡ — CONTENT: fem! reader, canonverse, violence & blood, reader celebrates Christmas, mentions of food, Gojo not eating, heavy drinking, & wanting to die. Mention of Gojo’s son & the reader struggling with their disabilities.

♡ — WC: 5.4K

♡ — A/N: thank you @sircatchungus for the idea!

There was so much blood.

It stained the walls of your home. It covered the little markings on the archway of your kitchen where you and Satoru marked the growth of your little boy.

No amount of scrubbing could ever get rid of it.

It soaked into the hardwood floors, the floors that had formerly only known the soft pitter-patter of tiny feet running along it as your little boy would run across it, arms out as he eagerly ran to his father whenever he stepped through the doors after a long mission.

The curses attacked at night, fifteen days before Christmas.

Your baby boy waddled towards the Christmas tree with a blue ornament in his hand, carefully placing it on one of the lower green branches — as high as he could reach.

Despite the holiday classics gently playing in the background, and the sweet smile across your son’s face — he was missing a tooth or two, but even so — you couldn’t manage to crack a grin. Not even a fake one.

Satoru promised that he would return home on Christmas Eve. But, for you, it wasn’t good enough.

He knew that your little family often put more effort into the days following up to Christmas almost even more so than Christmas Day itself.

On that important day, you opened presents. But, on the days leading up to it, you put up the Christmas decorations. Watched cringy Hallmark movies and drank hot chocolate. Went ice skating. Baked cookies. Visited your family. Wrapped gifts for his students.

And he would miss all of it.

“Mommy?” Your baby boy looked up at you with eyes brighter than the lights twinkling on the Christmas tree. “When dad come home?”

You didn’t respond immediately. You didn’t want him to cry when you told him that his dad couldn’t watch How The Grinch Stole Christmas with him this year.

He was used to Satoru disappearing at random times for unknown periods, but Satoru never missed the important stuff. Birthdays. Events. Holidays.

He never missed it until now.

“Hey,” you leaned down, placing your hands on your knees as you looked at your son. “Wanna get ready for bed? Let’s go pick out a book!”

“Okay!” He squealed, making his way for the stairs as you followed closely behind.

But, on your way to the stairs, you noticed something lying on the floor in your foyer.

“Sweetheart, what did mommy say about leaving your toys on the floor?”

Approaching the item, you started to pick it up, and it unraveled.

It wasn’t a toy at all.

It was a finger. A cursed object.

“Mommy?” Your baby boy called out, standing on the stairs. “Let’s read, Mommy.”

The curses emerged from the darkness of your dining room, drawn in by the cursed object.

The sight of the horrifically disfigured monsters brought your son to tears. He ran for you instantly, screaming for you. It only made the curses move faster. They went straight for your loud, crying son first.

There was so much blood.

—

“I never thought you’d fall in love in general,” Kento Nanami sipped on his glass of water as he chatted with Satoru. “But to fall in love with someone who isn’t a sorcerer is risky.”

“How so?” Satoru shrugged, leaning back on Kento’s living room couch as he sighed in utter relaxation.

“Does she know about curses? About how powerful you really are?”

“Of course she does,” Satoru smiled at the other sorcerer. “I’m gonna marry her, ya know. She knows everything.”

“You could also get in trouble for that,” Kento rolled his eyes at his friend’s idiotic behavior.

“No, I won’t. She’s just like you.” Satoru smirked a bit, thinking about how strong his future wife really was. “She can see curses, and she can kill them too, but she decided not to become a sorcerer. She hates the system, and wants me to leave it as well, just like you did before you came back.”

“I see,” Kento sat down on the couch next to the white-haired man. “So she’s one of us, kind of.”

“Yeah,” Satoru smiled fondly. “My girl doesn’t mess around.”

—

There was so much blood.

Nearby neighbors heard screaming and called the police.

Sirens blared through the neighborhood as a police car and ambulance arrived at your home. When they stepped into your house, blood coated the bottom of their heavy black shoes. They were certain that you and your son were dead.

No one could survive having lost that much blood.

Not a normal human, at least.

But you and your son weren’t exactly ordinary, and despite being unconscious, your chests were rising and falling. Faintly, as it certainly wasn’t a fate that would last, but it was enough for the emergency services to rush you and your baby boy to the hospital.

The skilled surgeons spent hours operating on your bodies — fixing what they could.

To ordinary investigators, it seemed as if a woman and her son were attacked by an intruder, and survived.

But, to the sorcerer society who picked up the presence of cursed energy in your home, they knew what really happened.

That you fought two first-grade curses and one second-grade curse.

It was a brutal fight, but you killed them.

Even so, when you awakened from your coma, doctors and the sorcerer society elders staring down at you as you lay helplessly in your hospital bed, you were forever changed.

—

No one told Satoru Gojo the truth.

Only the surgeons, first responders, and the elders knew the real fate of Satoru’s family, and the elders didn’t allow the surgeons and first responders to contact the father and husband of the two victims.

Instead, they told him that his family was dead. That it was Sukuna’s fault. They took advantage of the situation and fed him a pack of lies, all so they could convince humanity’s strongest sorcerer to allow them to execute Yuji Itadori.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he spiraled.

He went on a killing spree. He moved to a new town and nearly drank himself to death every single day.

And, little did he know, his little family had moved to the same town as well.

—

SEVEN YEARS LATER…

Your ten-year-old son walked down the streets of his small, cozy town. The brown and crisp fall leaves crunched underneath his shoes as he made his way down the sidewalk, and headed to your coffee shop after school.

His thumb was tucked underneath the strap of his backpack.

As he walked, staring at the ground so the setting sun didn’t shine in his eyes, he couldn’t help but frown.

School was rough today.

His class went on a field trip, and he had to witness his classmates bring their fathers along with them to the planetarium.

It broke his heart. He barely remembered his father.

He could faintly remember a man — a tall man who used to pick him up and play with him, but he couldn’t remember his face.

And, after the day you and he got attacked — although he couldn’t truly recall the event — you both never returned to your old home, where all of your pictures were.

All of your memories.

All he knew was that he wanted a dad. And he wanted to remember the man who once filled the role and figure out what happened to him.

What was he like? What did he look like? Did he have the same head of hair? Your son felt like he might have, but he wasn’t sure.

What did he do for a living? How old was he? Did he ever love his son? What happened to him?

God, his heart ached. He wanted answers, and he couldn’t get them. Not from you. Not from anyone.

He couldn’t help but wonder if his dad would have even liked him.

Perhaps, it was better if he didn’t have one, as he couldn’t play sports like most dads wanted their sons to do.

The great incident had left him with a bad leg, and he walked with a limp that often exhausted him.

He was even tired now, despite the incredibly short distance between the school and local shops.

He should have used his forearm crutch today. The field trip took more energy out of him than he expected.

And, the fact that he refused to let you leave the coffee shop, pick him up from school, and return to the coffee shop certainly didn’t help.

A tear rolled down his cheek. Even if he did have a father around, what father would want him around?

He already felt like a burden, although you never treated him as such. He just couldn’t help it.

He didn’t bother wiping away his tears, even as they clouded his vision of the leaves coating the sidewalk.

As he walked past the local bar, a tall man gently bumped into him.

“Excuse me,” your son mumbled politely.

The man reeked of alcohol.

“Sorry,” the man slurred out, walking around the boy as he made his way down the street.

Your son never looked up.

And Satoru never looked down.

When your son arrived at your cozy coffee shop, greeting the familiar regulars as he made his way to the counter, you smiled at the sight of your sweet boy.

He sat down at one of the barstools, slinging his backpack onto the counter as he pulled out his math notebook.

“Hi mom,” he greeted.

“Hi sweetheart,” you made him a cup of water and handed it to him.

“Thanks,” he said. “My homework’s on decimals. Joshua tried to eat a bug during lunch today during the field trip. It was awesome.”

“Nasty,” you playfully wrinkled your nose, which made your boy grin. “Did you have fun? I’m sorry I couldn’t go.”

“Yeah,” taking a much-needed sip of water, your son pulled out his wooden pencil and started working on his math problems. “And it’s okay.”

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise. We’ll do something really special for your birthday.”

The boy simply nodded.

Folding your arms across your chest, you couldn’t help but wonder if your lack of attendance was better.

Not only could you not afford to close the coffee shop during business hours — your only other employees were busy with college classes — but you didn’t want to scare any of your son’s classmates.

After all, the great incident took a toll on you as well.

You lost your left eye and had a deep scar running vertically down your face. Most kids thought that it was cool, claiming that you resembled a pirate with your black eye patch. But you didn’t want to risk the chance of anyone finding it scary.

You had your fair share of other scars as well, and one missing finger.

But, none of your physical injuries could compare to your mental ones, as you also suffered from amnesia.

When you awakened from your coma all those years ago, you couldn’t remember what had happened.

Or anyone.

Or anything.

A couple of old people forced you away from the home you couldn’t remember and the loved ones you couldn’t cherish, and into a new life in a new town.

The horrific head injury you suffered while trying to protect your baby boy wiped away your past until you were nothing but a blank slate. But, after a year of being around him and constantly seeing his face, you started to remember your son.

Years later, he was all that you could remember.

Everything else was fuzzy. You remembered people, but you couldn’t remember their faces. You remembered love, but not who you shared it with.

You remembered how to do things — such as make delicious coffee, of course — but not who taught you.

But, even so, you thought that it was odd for a group of old people to rip your old life away from you.

They said it was for your safety, so the person who attacked you and your son wouldn’t find you again, but, you couldn’t help but wonder if there was anyone out there who missed you.

Who loved you.

Who you might have forgotten.

And, technically, you knew the answer to that question. After all, your son had to have a father, but who was he? Where did he go? What did he look like?

Perhaps, you’d never know.

—

The very next day, on his way to the coffee shop after school, your son bumped into the drunk man again.

“Excuse me,” he said.

“Sorry,” the man slurred.

Several moments later, as your son passed the entrance of the local bar, the bartender opened the door, and shouted, “hey!”

The drunk man never turned around, as he didn’t hear the bartender shouting for him. Your son stopped walking, looking up at the bartender.

“Poor guy forgot his wallet,” the bartender frowned, clenching the leather pouch in his right hand. “Guess I’ll hold on to it. He’ll be back tomorrow.”

Your son flickered his eyes between the bartender and the drunken man making his way down the sidewalk.

The bartender couldn’t leave the bar unattended, even for a second, but your son figured that the man might have needed his wallet before tomorrow.

“I can give it to him, sir,” your son smiled kindly, holding out his hand.

“Thanks,” the bartender handed the wallet to the boy but stood at the bar entrance as long as he could to make sure the kid actually returned the wallet to the stranger.

An unofficial challenge between the drunken man and the limping boy was underway; a challenge to see whether or not your son could catch up to him.

But, as the man staggered around, headed nowhere in particular but in the general direction of his home, your son caught up.

He reached up and tapped the tall man’s arm.

“Excuse me,” he said politely. “You dropped your wallet, sir.”

“Hm?” Satoru stopped walking, his hands in his pocket as he looked down. He made eye contact with the young boy who held his wallet up at him.

—

— ONE YEAR AGO —

Three gentle knocks were heard throughout Satoru’s home. It was a Sunday, and the bar was closed. Even so, the depressed man had enough alcohol at home to make it through the day, but he wasn’t nearly as drunk as he wanted to be. It just wasn’t enough.

When someone knocked on his door, he knew immediately that it was Kento Nanami. No one else visited him. No one else knew where he was.

Satoru opened the front door, leaning against it as he glared at the man with bloodshot eyes.

“Hey, Satoru,” Kento greeted softly. “Happy birthday.”

Satoru stepped away from the door. The other man walked inside.

Kento stepped into Satoru’s living room, which was unpleasantly cold, and he turned around to face his old classmate, who took a swig of his beer, loosely gripping the bottle.

“I won’t stay long,” Kento said. “I just wanted to bring you a gift.”

“What?” Satoru blinked at him.

Silently, Kento handed him a bag.

As Satoru hesitantly grabbed the gift, Kento grabbed the beer bottle.

Satoru slowly pulled out a heavy-framed photograph. A tear slipped down his cheek as his heart snapped into pieces.

“When someone passes away or goes missing, there are people who create photos and art to show what the person might currently look like using age progression.” Kento pushed up on his glasses. “I contacted one of them. Your wife looks the same, pretty much, but . . . that’s your boy. He would have been around nine years old, and that’s what he would have looked like.”

Hot tears fell from Satoru’s eyes and splattered onto the glass.

It was really you and your son — what you would have looked like if you were still alive.

His beautiful, dead family.

“Thank you,” Satoru mumbled. His hands were starting to tremble.

Kento wrapped his arms around the other man, hugging him tightly. He had to use all of his strength to not cry as well. “You’re welcome.”

—

“Sir?” Your son tilted his head a bit in utter confusion, as the drunken man hadn’t yet taken his wallet back. “Do you need some help? Getting home and stuff?”

Suddenly, Satoru kneeled.

Maybe it was just a coincidence.

Maybe he simply had too much to drink.

Maybe he was imagining things.

Because what Satoru thought — what he wanted to think — was that he was staring into his child’s eyes. That he was looking right at his baby boy, who he missed so much.

But that wasn’t possible. He was told that his family was murdered. He saw the blood.

“Thank . . . you,” Satoru slowly took the wallet back. “You . . .”

Satoru closed his eyes, and opened them again, fluttering his eyelashes as he tried to shake off what he thought was yet another vision.

Therapists told him that it was a response to grief — seeing his deceased wife and son when they weren’t there. And the alcohol running through his veins didn’t help either, as it distorted his vision a bit.

But . . . maybe, just maybe . . .

“You have’a name?” Satoru slurred out, his drunken words laced with hope.

“Noa,” your son smiled softly. “What’s yours?”

Satoru’s heart ached as his spirit was crushed once again.

His boy’s name was Ren.

The hallucinations must’ve started to return once more. Slowly, Gojo rose to his feet, putting his wallet in his back pocket.

Without another word, the man slowly started to walk off, nearly tripping over his own feet as he did so.

“Mister? I don’t think it’s safe for you to walk home by yourself, you could get hit by a car or something.”

Satoru didn’t respond.

“Let me help,” the preteen limped over, grabbed Satoru’s arm, and slung it around his shoulder as best as he could. Truth be told, he didn’t help much despite his best efforts, but at the very least, he would be able to rest knowing that the stranger was safely at home.

By now, Satoru was convinced that maybe he was with a real person, perhaps an actual kid, and he was simply imagining that the young boy had his hair, nose, and eyes.

Together, Satoru and Noa walked up the steps belonging to the drunk man’s homey brownstone, and after stumbling around with the keys, Satoru managed to get the front door open, and Noa helped the man collapse on his couch.

Suddenly, his phone started ringing. Noa had five missed text messages from you.

“Mom’s gonna kill me,” Noa thought.

After all, he wasn’t responding to your messages, he was inside a drunk stranger’s home due to his overly kind heart, and he wasn’t at the coffee shop like he was supposed to be at this hour.

Not to mention; the great incident had resulted in you becoming even more protective over your boy, if that was possible.

“Hello?” Noa answered nervously.

“Noa? Are you alright? Where the hell are you?”

“I’m okay, mom,” your son said. “I was helping out a . . . friend, I’m sorry.”

“Get to the coffee shop. Now.”

“Yes ma’am.”

After hanging up, Noa faced the slumped-over stranger.

“I’m gonna go now, my mom’s waiting for me,” Noa announced awkwardly. “Do you have somebody around to watch you?”

“You look like a . . . like my son.”

“Okay,” the young boy shifted his feet on the hardwood floor. He truly didn’t know how to respond to the poor man. He must’ve been spouting drunken nonsense. “Well, have a good night, sir. Be safe.”

Noa turned around, coming face to face with a beautiful brown, brick fireplace. But what caught his attention was the photos hanging above it.

There weren’t many — only about four framed photos.

The first one he saw was a picture of a baby. It startled Noa, as the kid did look just like him. It wasn’t surprising, as Noa resembled the drunken stranger, but he had seen other people with white hair before.

“Maybe he’s my cousin’s neighbor’s dog’s mother-in-law’s brother’s uncle,” Noa childishly thought, giggling aloud at his own joke.

Then, he looked at the next picture.

It had that same kid — but it also had you. His mother.

The next picture was just of you and the stranger.

Then, finally, he looked at the last photo. It was an age-progressed picture.

It was you. It was him. But, at the same time, it wasn’t. He didn’t quite understand it — any of it — but it was creepy. And the child didn’t know what to do.

Noa turned to face the stranger, but he was fast asleep on the couch.

The young boy pulled out his phone, snapped a picture of the photos, and left as quickly as he could.

—

Satoru awoke the next morning with a pounding headache.

What snapped him out of his sleep was the sound of his front door opening and closing. He didn’t bother raising his head to see who it was, as he already knew the answer.

“If you’re just going to leave your front door unlocked,” Kento called out from the foyer, stepping into Satoru’s home and shutting the door behind him. “Then I shouldn’t have gone through the trouble of having a key made.”

“What are you doing here?” Satoru croaked. “It’s only . . . it’s only — uh, Saturday.”

“No,” Kento stepped into the living room and glared down at the man. “It’s Sunday.”

Satoru frowned. If it was Sunday, then the bar was closed.

Not only that, but he went to the bar on Friday. He must have spent Saturday on the couch, doing absolutely nothing except making an occasional trip to the bathroom.

And Kento could tell. He looked horrible.

No human being was made to endure such self-inflicted mistreatment, no matter how powerful.

Kento had a key to the man’s home for emergencies, but eventually, he started to visit him every Sunday to help him out in any way that he could.

“Come on,” Kento sighed, “get up. You need to get out of the house and go somewhere that isn’t the bar.”

“No,” Gojo mumbled weakly.

“Gojo,” kneeling, Kento tried to look at his friend’s face, but Satoru’s eyes wouldn’t meet his. “Gojo, listen to me. You’re going to die if you keep going down this path. Maybe not soon, but eventually. When was the last time you had food and water?”

Satoru shrugged.

Kento raised to his feet. Walking away, he headed to the kitchen — which was incredibly nice for a man who didn’t cook — and opened the refrigerator.

It was empty. Of course.

“Alright,” Kento said to himself, walking back into the living room. “I’m dragging him to the grocery store.”

—

It was incredibly difficult, but Kento helped his friend get cleaned up and dressed and managed to get him outside. Satoru hated every minute of it. He felt nauseous. All he wanted to do was sleep and drink, or drink and sleep.

As the two men walked into the grocery store, Kento grabbed a cart and instantly started grabbing a variety of ingredients to put together at least a week’s worth of nutritious meals for Satoru.

He’d cook it and store it away in Satoru’s fridge and freezer, and all the man would have to do was heat it in the microwave.

After making his way through the produce section, Kento headed towards the cases of water, and Satoru sluggishly walked down random aisles to find a jar of pasta sauce that the other man asked him to go get.

He had to do some things on his own.

—

“I’m thinking we should go with asparagus instead of broccoli,” you scanned your eyes over the fresh, green vegetables, before smiling down at Noa.

“Asparagus is fine, but can you put cheese on it? Pleaseee?”

“You know what, as long as you’re eating them, I don’t care what I have to put on them,” grabbing the asparagus, you tossed them into your cart as your son clenched his fists in celebration.

You ruffled his head of white hair with your four-fingered hand.

“Stop it, mom. We’re in public,” he frowned playfully.

“Fine, fine,” you started to push your cart forward and reached over to grab a pack of tomatoes. “Go pick out your cereal. Gonna switch it up this week, or get Lucky Charms again?”

“Lucky Charms, always,” your son grinned as he started to limp away. Today, he had to wear his forearm clutch.

Helping that stranger a few days ago took a lot of energy out of him.

He didn’t speak of what happened a few days ago, either.

After all, who would he tell?

You wouldn’t have the answers — or, rather, you wouldn’t remember the answers.

He had planned on returning to the drunk man’s home to ask him the questions running rampantly through his mind.

But Noa wasn’t stupid.

He knew exactly what the pictures meant.

But he didn’t want to give himself any hope, just in case he was wrong somehow, and the drunk man wasn’t his father.

A forty-pack case of water bottles was what you needed, as you and your boy chugged water constantly. But, a careless worker had shoved the cases incredibly far away, and you couldn’t reach it and pull it onto the lower shelf of your cart. You’d have to lift it, and you simply weren’t strong enough.

The nicely dressed blonde-haired man standing further along down the aisle was.

He was rather tall and buff, standing by his cart as he scrolled on his phone, simply waiting for you — the lady in front of him, whose face he couldn't see — to move so he could grab his own case of water, grab his miserably sober friend, and take him back home.

“Excuse me,” you called out softly. “Can you help me? I can’t get this case of water.”

“Sure,” he said, shoving his phone in his pocket and he walked forward, reached down, and pulled the case of water on your cart.

“Thank you,” you said softly.

As the man was about to say “you’re welcome,” he finally looked at you.

His skin paled instantly as if he was staring at a ghost.

And he was certain that he was.

He stood there — staring at you, his throat drying to a crisp.

“I don’t know why the employees always shove the water back there,” you attempted to make small chatter, glancing away from the stranger, as you assumed he was staring at you oddly due to your eye patch, and the scar running along your face right beneath it.

“I . . .” the man couldn’t find the right words to say.

Suddenly, your son made his way down the aisle, putting his box of cereal in the cart.

“Mom, did you know they make Lucky Charms with just the marshmallows now?”

The man’s eyes flickered down to your son, and his eyes widened.

“This isn’t . . . possible,” he mumbled.

Both you and your son were still alive, and yet, you didn’t seem as shocked to see him as he was to see you.

Didn’t you remember him? He was your husband’s best man at your wedding. He babysat your little boy quite often. He cried when he heard that you and your son were killed.

And yet, you only gave him a stranger-friendly smile.

“I-”

“Y/N?”

Kento was interrupted by Satoru, who had suddenly walked down the aisle.

He dropped the jar of pasta sauce on the ground.

It shattered.

“Renny?” A tear slipped down his cheek.

He wasn’t hallucinating — he was sober enough right now to know that.

Your eyes darted back and forth between the two unfamiliar men. After all, you knew well that you suffered from amnesia, your doctors had told you, and considering the man with the white hair called you and your son by your old names — the elders made you change them — you figured that they must have been old friends of yours.

But the white-haired man bore a resemblance to your son as well.

“Hi,” you smiled awkwardly, flickering your eyes between the two men. “You two must know me. I, um, I suffer from amnesia, so I don’t really . . .”

“Remember us,” Kento finished your sentence for you.

He thought that he was going to pass out.

“Well,” he gulped, pressing a hand against his head, closing his eyes as he spoke. This was insane. “I’m . . . I’m Kento Nanami. I was an old friend of yours. And this is Satoru Gojo, he is . . . he was . . .”

Kento glanced back at Satoru. The poor man hadn’t moved an inch. He only stared at you with the saddest eyes, an occasional tear slipping from them.

“I was waiting to die,” Satoru spoke — his words struggling to come out as he did so. “I was waiting to die so I could see you two again, and you don’t . . . remember me.”

The tears were falling even faster now. It was a blessing and a curse at the same time, one that he couldn’t bear. He wanted to laugh and sob. He wanted to hold you, but he was afraid to move. His hands started to shake, but the rest of his body was still frozen.

For years, he dreamt of reuniting with you and your boy again, perhaps in the afterlife. Or, sometimes he’d dream about you coming back to life like a silly child. But a fate as cruel as you being alive, but suffering with amnesia was like a direct punishment from a god and a devil at the same time.

Gojo wanted to fucking die.

He wanted his life to end right now, even glancing up at the ceiling of the grocery store, hoping one of the gods above would grant him his silent wish.

“You don’t remember me,” Gojo repeated. None of it seemed real. “You’re alive, but you don’t remember me.”

By now, other nosey shoppers were strolling by, listening to the conversation, but pretending that they were simply searching the shelves for drinks.

Your eyes darted in Kento’s direction, and he knew that face.

It was the same face you gave him when he and Satoru returned home two days late from a mission. It was the face you gave him when you came home one day and discovered that he accidentally let your baby boy stay up past his bedtime.

That face meant that you wanted answers.

“I don’t know any better way to say this,” Kento frowned. “That’s your husband. And the father of your child.”

Noa — or, rather, Ren — limped forward.

“I knew it,” he whispered happily, approaching the crying man as a tear slipped down his own cheek as well. “I was right.”

Ren looked up at his father with the happiest grin of relief.

And, god, your son grew. He was only three when Satoru had last seen him, and now, he was staring down at his beautiful boy, who was turning eleven soon.

Your son hugged Satoru with the arm that wasn’t holding on to his singular forearm clutch.

“Finally,” your boy said, holding on to his dad as tightly as he could.

He couldn’t remember him, but he didn’t care. He was simply happy to have a father.

Satoru didn’t hesitate to hug his son back.

“God, Renny . . .” the man cried, as his heart ached terribly. “It’s really you, it’s my baby boy.”

Running a hand through his son’s white hair, Satoru pulled away from the hug, only so he could look his boy in the eyes, and see him.

“You’re all grown up now, aren’t you?” A sad chuckle fell from Satoru’s lips.

He only looked away from his son when he felt another pair of arms wrap around him.

It was you — you were hugging him.

Satoru closed his eyes in relief, his tears soaking the front of his shirt, and dripping onto the heads of his family.

You hugged him lovingly, although you couldn’t remember loving him.

Your husband — the father of your child — was nothing more than a stranger to you, but he needed this hug. You could tell how badly he missed you. How badly he wanted to hold you.

As Satoru held onto his wife and son, none of you truly understood what had happened seven years ago.

But Satoru was determined to find out.

And, in the meantime, you’d try your hardest to recover your sweet memories of him, just as you once recovered the memories of your son.

Perhaps, you’d start by making new memories as well.

♡ 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓

♡ 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠! 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤? 𝐈’𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰!

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