purinbunnii

[purinbunnii]

My Cute Doctor Boyfriend 🥰

[purinbunnii]

Grassland romance Sylusmc ˚ ⋆｡˚ ✧

[purinbunnii]

It was an accident, you swear it was just a misclick.

Two texts that came in at the same time, one from your group chat with Tara and Simone, the other from Caleb. What you thought was being sent to your girls got sent to Caleb instead...

"What do you think of this?" A picture of you standing in your full length mirror, your bedroom dimly lit, a scandalous little black nightgown hanging off of your body. You never treated yourself like this, never felt the need to buy such short, silky nightgowns covered in frilly lace and a sleek satin shine. But Tara had convinced you.

Something about having a nice figure, just in case of an emergency, and that you'd look soooo hot in such an item. Hell, she even offered to pay for it, hand picking the little thing herself and well... now you owned it and now your face was red-hot as you stared at yourself.

“Holy shit, Pips.” You glance down at your phone, brows furrowing at the use of that nickname. Why in the world would Tara… oh. Oh no. Your mouth dropped open, realizing your fatal mistake way too late.

“Caleb! Oh my god! I’m so sorry!” Rapid fire, your hands trembling as you sent message after message. “I didn’t mean to send that to you! I was just trying it on, my friends convinced me to buy the damn thing!” You fell onto your bed, staring at your phone in genuine horror. Luckily, it was just Caleb. No one else. But still.

"No need to apologize, Pips." the text bubble popped up again a moment later. "You look gorgeous, good thing you listened to them." Now? Your face was hot for a different reason. "These friends are also girls, right? Don't tell me you're sending this to other men..."

"Of course they're girls! Who do you think I am lol." You swallow, fingers still shaking as you typed another message. "I appreciate the compliments but I really am sorry for the jump scare. Just delete the picture from our chat, forget you ever saw it."

Delete it? Forget? You've lost your mind. Still... "No worries, pips."

Caleb clicks the image again, cheeks flushed and pants uncomfortably tight. It's like he's looking at a real life goddess. He's zooming in shamelessly, committing every dip and curve to his memory. The way the lace hugs your breasts, the thin straps revealing you're not wearing bra at all. The nightgown itself ends just below the apex of your thighs. One little movement and...

"You're going to ruin me, pipsqueak." Caleb's fingers are undoing his zipper, eyes still glued to every pixel that makes up your dips and curves on his phone screen. "I should feel guilty, shouldn't I?" His voice is bouncing back at him, you had disappeared from the chat, likely sending your friends the picture that was intended for them.

He's freeing himself from his briefs, yanking open his bedside drawer to pull out one of the pairs of panties he had snatched from your apartment the last time he visited Linkon.

"Such a pervert, can't help it."

[purinbunnii]

The gang is growing

ADHD Rafayel, Autism Zayne, and Depression Caleb

[purinbunnii]

The Shot:

Behind the Scenes:

I haven't been feeling so hot about my art lately, so I drew Rafayel being a really supportive fellow artist bc obviously he would be (◞‸◟；) He's such a comfort character for artists fr,,,

[purinbunnii]

Is reckless on hiatus or did I miss some chapters😅

Sorry! Hiatus 💀 didn’t like how I wrote the ending so now I’m rewriting

[purinbunnii]

The scent of coffee reached you first.

Not the harsh, burnt kind from your tiny machine—but something warm, fresh. Familiar.

You stirred beneath the covers, blinking against the hazy golden morning light leaking through your curtains. The sheets were a mess—wrinkled and twisted and damp with memory. Suguru wasn’t beside you.

But his robe was gone.

So were your shorts.

You padded into the kitchen barefoot, rubbing your eyes—and there he was.

Suguru, in your robe.

Hair messy, a little damp from the shower. Belt tied loosely around his waist, just barely holding the fabric closed. The robe swamped him, clinging to his hips, his long legs peeking out beneath it. He was standing at your stove barefoot, pouring coffee, humming softly to himself.

“Good morning,” he said without turning. “There’s tea in the cupboard if you want it. But I made coffee the way you like it.”

You leaned against the doorway, arms folded. “You remember how I like my coffee?”

He glanced over his shoulder, smiling like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“I remember everything.”

You stared at him for a moment, stunned by the ache of it—how he fit so easily here. Like he’d always belonged.

“Is that my mug?” you teased.

He looked down, caught, then grinned.

“…Maybe. It says world’s sleepiest gremlin. Felt appropriate.”

You snorted, padding forward and slipping your arms around his waist from behind. He stilled, then melted into your touch.

“You smell like my soap,” you murmured.

“You smell like heaven,” he replied softly.

You rested your cheek against his back. “Stay.”

He turned in your arms, setting the coffee aside, hands warm as they slid under your oversized sleep shirt and came to rest low on your hips.

“I planned to,” he said. “Was thinking I’d make you breakfast. Something slow. You deserve it.”

Your brow lifted. “You cook now?”

“I dabble,” he said, smug. “I make a mean miso soup. Though I also accidentally set a rice cooker on fire once. So it’s a gamble.”

You laughed.

And his face softened—like your laughter stitched something back together in him.

He leaned down, kissing your forehead, your cheek, your jaw. “You’re so warm in the morning,” he whispered. “I used to dream about this. Waking up beside you. Kissing you with sleep still on your lips.”

You traced a finger down the line of his collarbone, peeking from your robe. “You can kiss me now.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

His mouth was slow and sweet, tasting faintly of sugar and coffee, tongue lazily sliding against yours. His hands slipped under your shirt, thumbs brushing along the dip of your back.

“Shower?” he murmured.

You nodded.

But you didn’t make it there right away. He kissed you against the kitchen counter first—hands sliding under your shirt, lifting you up to sit on the cool surface. His mouth never stopped moving.

“I love how quiet it is with you,” he said softly between kisses. “Just this. Just us.”

⸻

Later, you’d sit at the table wearing his robe while he cooked shirtless, humming some old pop song under his breath. You’d sneak up behind him, steal a bite of whatever he was stirring, and he’d laugh, pretending to be annoyed.

But in his eyes—it was peace.

The kind that only came after war. After regret. After nights like last night.

[purinbunnii]

It started in your living room, just past midnight—quiet save for the hum of the city outside. You hadn’t planned for this. Not tonight. Not like this. You were in an old t-shirt and shorts, curled up with a fraying blanket. Suguru hadn’t even taken off his coat yet.

But the kiss opened something.

You stood in front of him, bare toes touching his boots, heart pounding.

“Take it off,” you murmured.

His brow arched. “What—my coat?”

You nodded. “And stay.”

His hands moved slowly—unzipping, peeling back his soaked jacket, dropping it onto the hook without breaking eye contact. His shirt followed. Damp fabric peeled from his skin, revealing familiar planes of muscle and ink.

You stepped forward.

“Don’t stop me tonight,” you whispered.

He didn’t.

⸻

Your bedroom smelled like lavender and faint wine. Sheets rumpled. The dim light of the bedside lamp caught on his hair, on the flush rising to his cheeks.

“I never forgot how you sound,” Suguru breathed as he kissed down your neck, teeth grazing. “Always so sensitive right here…”

You whimpered when his tongue swept just beneath your ear. You were already soaked, thighs pressed together from tension and the years of wanting him in every way again—emotionally, physically, unreasonably.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” he whispered. “Any second.”

“I won’t.”

“Promise me anyway,” he said, dragging his palm slowly down your ribs. “I want to be good to you. Even if I’m bad at it.”

You caught his jaw in your hand. “You’re not bad, Suguru. You were just scared. Like I was.”

His mouth crashed into yours—wet, hot, open. Tongue greedy. It tasted like apology and something rougher underneath. Your shirt was pulled off. His hands mapped your waist, palms flattening over your hips like he could memorize you again. Like he never wanted to forget this time.

You gasped as he dragged his mouth down your chest, lips closing around a nipple, tongue swirling with worship.

“Fuck,” you sighed, hips arching.

He groaned. “Been thinking about this. About you. For years.”

His voice was thick. Slurred with need.

He kissed lower. Pulled your shorts down. You were soaked—messy, glossy with want—and he didn’t hesitate.

Tongue flat against your clit, he moaned into you like a man starved. He devoured you, lips dragging, tongue working you open until you were whimpering, thighs trembling around his ears.

“Missed the way you taste,” he growled. “So fucking sweet, baby. God.”

He was nasty with it—loud, wet, desperate. Slurping, breathing you in, letting his mouth get absolutely ruined on you.

“Need to feel you,” you gasped. “Inside.”

He looked up, eyes black with hunger. “Condom?”

You nodded. He fumbled for one in your drawer—hands shaking slightly—kissed you hard as he rolled it on, guiding himself between your legs.

“I’ll go slow,” he whispered. “Wanna make you feel good. Wanna make it up to you.”

He pushed in.

Your mouth parted in a gasp. He was thick—so much—and the stretch burned, perfect and raw. Your body knew him. Still. After everything.

“Holy—fuck, baby,” he groaned, voice breaking. “You feel the same. So warm. So tight.”

You wrapped your arms around his back, clinging.

He fucked you slow. Deep. Unhurried.

And talked the whole time.

“You feel that?” he whispered against your neck. “Every time I sink into you, baby, it’s like I’m home again.”

Your fingers clawed down his back.

“Missed this—God, I missed this. Missed you. Wanna be good for you. Wanna hear you moan like that again.”

His hips rocked into you harder—wet sounds filling the room, skin on skin, your name a chant in his mouth.

Your orgasm built like a wave. Your body arched into his. His hand slid between you, rubbing your clit in slow, tight circles.

“That’s it, sweet girl. Come for me. Let me feel you fall apart on me.”

You cried out, body convulsing. He followed right after, groaning deep in your ear as he buried his face in your neck, hips stuttering through his release.

⸻

You lay there after, still tangled, still pulsing.

He kissed your shoulder, your cheek, your temple.

“You okay?” he whispered.

You nodded. “Yeah. I think I’m more than okay.”

He brushed sweaty hair from your face. “I’d stay forever if you let me.”

“I know,” you said softly. “But one night at a time. I want this to be real.”

He smiled against your collarbone. “Then we’ll make it real. As slow as you want.”

Page 8

[purinbunnii]

It wasn’t a decision. Not really. Letting him in.

It just… happened.

One night, he walked you home like he always did now—two steps behind, never quite beside you unless you slowed down. You didn’t speak. The city did all the talking. The faint hum of wet tires on pavement, the shuffle of your boots, the steady beat of your heart that seemed to echo a little louder with him near.

When you reached your door, you turned.

He didn’t ask to come in. He never would. You liked that about him now. Suguru didn’t assume anymore.

But he looked at you like he was trying to memorize every breath you took. Like he might not get another night like this.

So you twisted the knob. Pushed it open. And stepped aside.

He hesitated just for a moment. Not because he was unsure—but because he was waiting for you to change your mind.

You didn’t.

And when he crossed the threshold, he looked at your space like it was sacred. He didn’t touch anything. Just stood near the window, wet hair dripping on your floor, arms folded loosely across his chest.

You made tea. Poured him a cup. Set it down on the table between you.

It was quiet. Almost unbearably so.

He watched the steam curl from the mug. “You didn’t have to let me in.”

“I know.”

“Then why did you?”

You didn’t answer right away. You just watched him, eyes tracing the shadows under his eyes, the way his fingers curled slightly as if he was holding something invisible.

You whispered, “Because I miss who we were. And I want to see if who we are now is still worth the risk.”

That was all it took.

He didn’t kiss you then. He didn’t even reach for you. He just nodded—once—and looked like you’d handed him the moon.

But the kiss came later.

A week passed. Maybe two. He stopped by more often. Still didn’t ask for anything. Still didn’t try to rush.

Until the night he found you crying softly on the fire escape, curled in an old blanket, an untouched glass of wine beside you.

He didn’t say a word. Just sat beside you. Pulled you close. Let you cry into his shoulder.

“You’re too good at this,” you mumbled bitterly, nose stuffed, voice small. “Being the version I needed back then.”

“I’m just trying to be who I should’ve been,” he said. “For you. For me. For us.”

And when you looked up—eyes swollen, lips trembling—he leaned in so slowly it barely registered. Like he didn’t want to scare the moment off.

But when his lips touched yours, it wasn’t a promise.

It was a question.

You answered with your hands in his hair.

He kissed you like he’d waited a lifetime for permission. Soft. Sure. No rush. No pressure. Just warmth. Just longing. Just the careful, reverent ache of two people afraid to lose the same thing twice.

When you pulled back, he didn’t say a word. He just pressed his forehead to yours and breathed.

“I’m not asking you to forget,” he murmured. “I just want to show you that I never stopped loving you.”

And somehow, that was enough.

For now.

Page 7

[purinbunnii]

You didn’t speak to him that night. You didn’t wave. Didn’t cross the street. You just stared until the light turned green and he disappeared behind the blur of passing cars. The world kept moving like it always did, even when your pulse didn’t. But from that moment on, he was everywhere again. You saw him in the back of bookstores. Not always up close, not always real, but always just close enough to make your breath catch. You heard your name once in the grocery store and turned around so fast you dropped a bottle of wine. It wasn’t him. But it could’ve been. And then one day, it was. It was raining. You were holding your umbrella with one hand, fumbling to pull your keys out with the other, when you heard footsteps behind you. Not rushed. Not stalking. Just… familiar. “You always forget the top lock,” he said quietly. And you turned. Suguru. Standing two steps down. Drenched. No umbrella. Just his black sweater clinging to him and those eyes—those dark, soul-fucking eyes—watching you like you were the last safe place he remembered. “You still know that?” you asked. He shrugged. “I still know everything about you.” You didn’t open the door. You didn’t invite him in. But you didn’t run either. And maybe that was the first crack. The first mercy. “You cold?” you asked instead. He didn’t lie. “Freezing.” So you gave him your umbrella. That was it. That was the first step back. Quiet. Small. Strange. You walked inside and locked the door behind you, pressed your back to the wood, and exhaled. It felt like closing a chapter and opening another all at once. After that, you saw him more often. It started slow. Bumping into him at your favorite café—he’d always leave a seat open beside him but never asked. Running into him at the record store—he’d buy the album you touched and leave it on your doorstep in a paper bag with no note. You tried to ignore the way your heart twisted every time. But it kept happening. The little things. The quiet care. A scarf left behind when you forgot yours. Coffee waiting for you on cold mornings. Never with a name, never with a face, but always him. Always Suguru. And you started to crack. Not because he was begging. Not because he promised to change. But because this version of him—soft, gentle, patient—was the one you always hoped he’d become. The version who watched you laugh with your friends from a distance, never interrupting. The version who never texted after midnight, because he knew you needed rest. The version who never asked for forgiveness. Just waited for you to decide. And one night, you did. You found him in the rain again. Outside your building. Soaked to the bone, just like before. You didn’t ask why he was there. You didn’t ask how long he’d waited. You just opened your umbrella, stepped into the storm, and stood beside him. “Still cold?” you asked. He looked at you. Eyes wet, not just from the rain. “Not anymore,” he whispered. You didn’t kiss. You didn’t say anything else. You just walked beside him, slowly, under one umbrella. Step by step. Back to something you thought you lost. Maybe you couldn’t fix everything overnight. Maybe the past was still sharp in places. But for the first time in a long time, the future didn’t feel so far away.

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[purinbunnii]

You thought walking away would be the hardest part. But it wasn’t. The hardest part was not looking back. Not turning around when you felt the heat of his stare burning into your spine, like a last touch he didn’t get to give you. You felt it. That ache in your chest. That awful tug that whispered what if. But you kept walking. Because you deserved peace. Because he didn’t fight for you when he should’ve. And if he wasn’t going to stop you, then you weren’t going to break yourself in half to stay. But that night, you couldn’t sleep. You kept hearing your name in the way the rain hit the windows. You kept tasting his silence on your tongue. Kept asking the walls if maybe—just maybe—he’d come after you. And then he did. Two days later. It was late. You were locking your door when you turned and saw him in the hallway. Hood up. Eyes wild. Like he hadn’t slept since the last time he saw you. “Wait,” he said, breathless. Like he’d been running through the city just to catch you. “I should’ve stopped you.” Your heart cracked open again. You hated how good it felt to see him. To hear that voice saying the words you needed when it was already too late. “Why are you here?” you asked, though part of you already knew. He stepped closer. Careful. Reverent. Like you were something sacred he wasn’t sure he deserved to touch. “Because I couldn’t let you leave thinking I didn’t care,” he said. “Because I still love you.” And there it was. The wound. The cure. Everything. You didn’t move. Couldn’t. Your body betrayed you, frozen between the urge to fall into him and the truth you had already stitched over the hollow he left behind. “It’s too late, Suguru.” You said it softly, like maybe if it didn’t sound like a knife, it wouldn’t hurt so much. He nodded like he’d been expecting that. Like he deserved it. “Then just—don’t hate me.” “I never did.” That made his throat tighten, his shoulders fold. “Even when you left?” “Especially then,” you whispered. And just like that, he was gone again. No grand scene. No kiss in the rain. Just silence. Again. And this time, you really tried to move on. You met someone. Someone kind. Someone who didn’t come with shadows and stories too heavy to carry. He made you laugh. He made you think you could start over. And for a while, you believed it. You even let yourself feel warm again. Safe. But then one night, you saw Suguru again. At a café. Across the street. He wasn’t alone. But his eyes found yours. Just like before. Just like always. And even with someone else’s hand in his, his gaze said everything. It should’ve been you. And yours said back, It still is. Fate doesn’t care how much time has passed. It doesn’t care who you’re with or how well you pretend to be okay. It just waits. Quiet. Patient. Until you run into each other again.

Page 5

[purinbunnii]

You didn’t expect to see him. Not here. Not like this. It had been months—maybe longer since the last time you spoke his name out loud. You stopped counting because healing isn’t linear, and time means nothing when someone still lives inside your chest. But there he was. Standing across the room like he never left. Like your silence hadn’t calcified into distance. Like the memory of his hands wasn’t something you still dreamt about on nights when sleep clung too hard and too soft. He looked older. Tired. The way grief looks when it settles into someone’s bones. And his eyes—God, his eyes—they met yours like they hadn’t been starving for this exact moment. Like they didn’t scream I miss you even though his mouth stayed closed. You froze. Something in you stilled, like a wounded animal watching the hunter return. He didn’t move at first. Just stood there. Breathing like he was afraid the air might give him away. You could’ve turned. Could’ve walked out. Pretended not to see him. But you didn’t. And neither did he. So you walked—slow, careful steps, like the floor might cave in under the weight of everything left unsaid. And when you stopped in front of him, there was no dramatic pause. No tearful reunion. Just silence. Thick and full and loud in all the places you used to kiss. “Suguru,” you said, voice steadier than you expected. His name felt foreign on your tongue. Too familiar to be a stranger. Too distant to still feel like home. He exhaled your name like it hurt. Like it healed. “You look good,” he murmured, and you almost laughed, because that’s what people say when they don’t know what else to say. “So do you,” you replied. A lie. He looked like regret. He looked like a man who finally understood what he lost. “I didn’t think I’d see you again,” he said. And you shrugged, because neither did you. And you were doing fine. Mostly. You had stitched yourself together with all the things he left behind. You had stopped checking your phone. Had stopped flinching at his name. You were building something new. Something soft. Something that didn’t ache. But standing there, in front of him, it all came rushing back. The good. The ruin. The almosts. “How have you been?” he asked, like that was something you could answer without unraveling. “Healing,” you said. “Trying. Moving on.” And his jaw clenched like those words were bullets. “I never stopped thinking about you,” he whispered. And God—part of you wanted to believe him. Part of you wanted to fall back into that voice, that warmth, that past. But the other part? The one that learned to live without him? That part just nodded. “But you didn’t stop me,” you said, eyes locked on his. And for once, he didn’t try to explain. He just looked at you like the apology was stuck in his throat. You don’t know how long you stood there. Seconds? Years? The past has a funny way of bending time. But eventually, you smiled. Soft. Sad. Final. “Take care of yourself, Suguru.” And this time, when you walked away, you didn’t look back.

Page 4

[purinbunnii]

Some things don’t shatter when they break. Some things just crack quietly, split down the middle like porcelain—still beautiful from far away, still whole if no one looks too closely. That’s what loving him felt like. Like holding something already fractured and trying to pretend you didn’t notice the sharp edges slicing your palms. Suguru was never loud in the ways that mattered. He didn’t scream. He didn’t beg. He didn’t chase. He just… stopped showing up. And for a while, you pretended not to notice. You told yourself he was tired. Busy. That the weight he carried made his hands too full to hold you properly. You gave him space, thinking it would help. Thinking he’d come back. But space turned into silence. And silence turned into distance. And you? You waited. You waited for a version of him that only existed in the soft, fragile places between memory and denial.

The truth is, you would’ve stayed. You would’ve stayed if he had just said something—anything. If he had reached for you with even half the desperation you felt. But he didn’t. And you reached a point where waiting felt like begging. Where loving him started to sound like a song no one remembered the words to. So you left. Not with a slam. Not with a scream. Just with a quiet goodbye. “Take care of yourself, Suguru.” And it nearly killed you. Because you loved him in a way that made your ribs feel like they were expanding too fast, too wide. Like your body had to grow just to hold it all.

You loved him without armor. And that’s the part that hurts most—how gentle you were. How much softness you offered to someone who didn’t know how to hold it. How you bent yourself into the shape of his shadows, hoping he’d step into the light. You weren’t looking for perfection. You just wanted him to try. And he didn’t. He let you walk away. Maybe he thought you’d come back. You always had before. But this time? You didn’t leave because you stopped loving him. You left because you finally loved yourself more.

It doesn’t stop the ache, though. Some nights, when the world is too quiet and the bed is too big, you wonder if he thinks about you. If he regrets it. If he opens old messages and rereads your words like they still mean something. You wonder if he sees your face in strangers. If your name still lingers in the back of his throat when he’s tired or drunk or alone. And even though you’ve moved on—started healing, started laughing again—you still carry pieces of him in the places no one sees. You still hear him in certain songs. Still feel the weight of his absence when things go quiet. You don’t want him back. Not really. But sometimes, you wish he had loved you right. That’s the part you grieve. The version of you that would’ve stayed if only he’d made you feel like you mattered.

And maybe in another life, he does. Maybe in another life, he sees you—really sees you—and says, Don’t go. I’m not whole without you. But this isn’t that life. This is the one where you had to walk away. The one where you loved him too much and he loved you too little, too late. This is the life where you heal without him.

And you are healing.

Even if sometimes, it still hurts.

Page 3

[purinbunnii]

“In Another Life, We Would’ve Gotten It Right”

Suguru Geto x Reader | Angsty, Emotional, Poetic | Post-breakup

It’s always quiet after a storm. Suguru sits alone in the dark of his apartment, the light from the street outside casting shadows across the floor. Your name isn’t on his phone anymore—not in his contacts, not on his lips—but it lingers in the air like smoke. Like a ghost. He opens old messages he swore he deleted, scrolling through conversations he thought he could forget. He finds the last one you sent. It was short. Bare. Too calm. “Take care of yourself, Suguru.” That’s all. No accusations. No begging. Just quiet resignation. That was the moment he should’ve known you weren’t coming back. That was the moment he should’ve realized he didn’t lose you—you left because he gave you nothing to stay for. You didn’t lose your temper. You lost your patience. And that hurts more than yelling ever could.

He reads the words again. Over and over. He hears his own voice in his head saying, You didn’t lose her. You let her go. You stopped showing up for her. You stopped trying. And it’s true. You waited for him. Through silence, through distance, through late nights and broken promises. You stayed. Until you didn’t. Until waiting started to feel like self-betrayal. Until you realized that loving someone shouldn’t hurt like that. And he just… let you go. He never chased. Never fought. Thought you’d always stay. You always had before. Even when you shouldn’t have.

Some nights, he dreams about you. Not the version from when things were good, but the version after—the one who doesn’t look back. The one he let walk away. In the dreams, he reaches for you, but his hands are too slow. You disappear every time. And he wakes up with your name in his mouth, tasting like regret. Some nights I still imagine what we could’ve been if I wasn’t so hard to love. And maybe he is. Maybe the damage he carries—the grief, the anger, the weight of everything he’s done—makes him hard to hold. Maybe he convinced himself that love was dangerous. That softness was weakness. That caring too much would only end in pain. But you didn’t flinch. Not once. You stayed. You loved him with all the strength of someone who knew he was breaking but believed he could heal. You loved him with hands that never closed into fists. And still, he pulled away.

He sees you once. Months later. Across the street. You’re laughing at something, sun in your eyes, your head tilted toward someone he doesn’t recognize. And he doesn’t move. Doesn’t call your name. Because what would he even say? Sorry I didn’t know how to hold you when I had you? Sorry I let you believe you were hard to love just because I didn’t know how to love you right? The truth is, I’m scared I’ll never be loved like that again. Because no one else looked at him like you did. No one else reached into the dark and said, “I see you. I’m staying.” And he let you go. He let the one good, soft thing in his life walk away without a fight.

Now, when he’s lying awake at 2 a.m. with nothing but the hum of the city and the ache in his chest, he whispers it to himself. Maybe in another life. Maybe in another life, I wouldn’t be so broken. Maybe I would’ve told her how much I needed her. Maybe I would’ve learned how to love her without making her bleed. Maybe in another life, I’d be the man she thought I could be. And she’d still be mine.

But not this one.

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[purinbunnii]

🆂🆃🅰🆁🆅🅰🆃🅸🅾🅽 ⚰

From the heart of unimaginable suffering, I want to sincerely thank everyone who has supported my family 🙏🏻

Right now, famine is hitting us harder than ever, my heart cries whenever I go to the market to buy any basic necessities! The prices are crazy, and most days my children survive on just bread Hunger and thirst are destroying us, and cooking on fire increases our suffering unbearably! Severe eye and chest sensitivity, in addition to constant stomach pain due to the type of food and the way it is cooked.

All this while we flee from one place to another in fear of bombing, bullets, and imminent danger! I cannot describe what I feel, but it is a feeling beyond exhaustion!

Despite the exhaustion, your support gives us strength and I hope you will not let us down

If you can donate, please do so, or at least help us by sharing, so we can reach those who can

Your kindness truly keeps us going

>> Our campaign is vetted by gazavetters list at Momen & his family

Gaza is full of oppression #The worst is yet to come #Genocide #A resilient people

[purinbunnii]

[purinbunnii]

i did art of all of the LIs with butterflies and finally had finished the last one ! enjoy <3