#infinity vase

[funkyflowers12]

5 Funky Vases For Your Home

A funky vases is an essential part of any floral arrangement, and a simple, pretty one can make all the difference in your decor. Whether you're looking to fill your home with fresh blooms or you want to add a decorative touch, there are plenty of funky vases available to help you achieve the look you've been dreaming about.

The rustic vase trend is a classic and timeless style that works well for many decorating styles and flower types, so it's an easy pick for most homes. As Gabrielle Union shows, it can look best with a few natural elements like moss, branches, and twigs to complement the rustic vibe.

There are a few ways to make this design your own, including painting it and adding some sand or a marble finish for a more rustic look. You can also add a decorative piece to the front of it, such as a ruffle, a ribbon, or a floral print to really make it pop.

DIY Paper Mosaic Vases

This DIY project is a great way to spruce up a plain glass jar and give it a beautiful paper mosaic pattern without spending too much money on supplies. All you need are some squares of paper (the same kind you use for scrap-booking, art or papercraft projects) and a good quality glue.

Once the whole surface is covered, let it dry for at least twenty minutes and then varnish carefully, ensuring that all parts are firmly glued down. A second or third coat of varnish can be applied if you'd like a high gloss finish.

These are great for displaying flowers, stationary or trinkets and make lovely, home-made gifts. They're also a great addition to any child's bedroom or playroom.

Fruits and greenery are another easy, inexpensive way to fill your vases open florist near me. They're a nice change from traditional florals and will add a touch of color and flavor to any space. You can find these types of flowers at most grocery stores and even your local farmers' market, so it's an easy and frugal way to add some life to your decor.

Split peas are a perfect floral choice for spring and summer. They add a bright pop of color to any room and look particularly great in a white or yellow vase with a splash of greenery to make the whole thing pop!

Rock salt terrariums are another great idea for vase decoration. They're an inexpensive and easy way to create a natural-looking garden, especially for a Fourth of July party or patriotic theme!

Dyeing cheap rock salt can make it look like gemstones around your candles, which is a gorgeous way to decorate any home! They're also a fun project for kids to do with their friends.

Wood half spheres are another great way to decorate a glass jar! They're easy to cut and paint to a color of your choosing, but they can be stained or painted to match the rest of your décor as well. To know more information visit at www.funkyflowers.com.au.

[b4kuch1n]

langa special

[writing-for-marvel]

Day 4: Overstimulation

Mob!Bucky's Kinktober Honeymoon

Mob!Bucky Barnes × Wife!Reader

Summary: Bucky’s determined to give you an orgasm in every room of your private villa.

Warnings: strictly 18+, smut, fingering, oral (fem receiving), unprotected vaginal sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, squirting, spanking

Word count: 1.8k

A/N: dividers by me, please do not use. Banners by @vase-of-lilies

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The villa Bucky chose for the first week of your honeymoon is absolutely stunning - views directly out onto a white sandy beach from a large infinity pool, a built-in spa and sauna you are already eager to try out as well as being completely fitted out with the most lush furnishings and extravagant amenities.

But he doesn’t give you time to enjoy any of it, for as soon as you walk over the threshold, Bucky bends you over the substantial kitchen island, pushes your skirt up around your waist, pulls your panties down to your ankles and licks a stripe up your slit, paying no mind to the two bodyguards following you into the residence.

He starts out eagerly, pushing his warm, wet tongue into your pussy as his thick fingers spread your folds bare for him. His name falls from your lips in a low moan, but this only spurs him on, wanting to hear his wife repeat his name like the God the majority of New York believe him to be.

As he relentlessly devours you, your orgasm builds, the band in your lower stomach tightening with every flick of his tongue, lapping up the arousal flooding from your core that Bucky himself is responsible for.

“Fuck Buck, right there, don’t stop.” If it weren’t your beloved husband spreading your ass cheeks wide and nose deep in your pussy, you might be embarrassed by how quickly you are hurtling towards your release.

But James Barnes knows every inch of your body with exact precision, he has memorised the map of how to navigate to the height of your pleasure and has the uncanny ability to bring you right to the edge with a single touch. Something he prides himself on.

Your first orgasm comes when his thumb toys with your puckered asshole and his plump lips suckle on your clit. The smooth marble underneath your fingertips provides no grip, no traction to pull yourself away from Bucky’s onslaught.

Before you can even take a breath to stabilise yourself after your high, Bucky picks you up bridal style and walks your limp body over to the couch of the connecting lounge room.

He places you on all fours on the leather couch, and after ridding himself of all nuisance clothing, he drives himself inside your sopping entrance without any notice. Your velvety walls burn deliciously as you stretch to accommodate him - a stretch that you will crave for the rest of your life.

“Good girl, take it all.” Bucky commands. He starts out at a brutal pace, but somehow with each thrust he seems to both accelerate the movement of his hips and plunge deeper within you, filling you completely and kissing your cervix.

Wet, salacious sounds fill the grand room, along with your strained voice chanting Bucky’s name like a prayer. You bury your face in the top of the backrest of the couch in an attempt to muffle the obscene moans falling from your lips as Bucky grips your hips tighter and continues fucking into you relentlessly.

You feel him press an affectionate kiss between your shoulder blades before his domineering hand grasps your neck and pulls you back into him, the warm length of his body pressing against yours.

“Be a good wife and take everything your husband gives you. Every. Fucking. Inch.” His words are growled into your ear and a shiver runs down your spine. He punctuates each word with a hard slap to your ass.

He reaches around your body, his hand finding your clit with the ease of magnets attracting one another. As he begins teasing your sensitive bundle of nerves, you feel like you’re floating, unable to come down from the pure bliss Bucky has fucked you into, every collision of his hips against yours bringing you closer to your inevitable end.

“This fat cock feels good, doesn’t it?” Luckily it’s a rhetorical question because in your current euphoric state you can’t find any words to express how good your husband is making you feel. “Be a good little slut and cum on it for me.”

You don’t even realise tears are leaking from your eyes when your next orgasm slams into you like a train, thighs quivering, inadvertently trying to crawl to the other side of the couch to find some relief from the spasming pleasure, even though you know Bucky will never let you go until you’ve ridden out your entire high.

The next room you find yourself in is the adjacent dining room. The table had been set for your arrival, but Bucky soon sweeps the settings at one end crashing onto the floor as he lays your back gently on the mahogany tabletop.

“God damn, I’ll never get enough of this tight pussy.” Bucky exclaims as he pushes inside you again. You gasp at the sudden intrusion of his thick length, every part of your body twitching with heightened awareness.

His thrusts are more languid this time, longer and deeper, but you’re so sensitive from your previous orgasms that you’re already right on the edge with just a few pumps.

“You’re so beautiful when you cum, my love.” His voice is softer in tone, words soothing as he shifts the position of your legs so they instead rest on his shoulders. His eye contact is just as intense as the momentum of his hips slapping yours. “Need you to do it again for me. Want you looking in my eyes when I make you cum.” Bucky urges, his hand migrating down to where your bodies meet, his thumb rubbing tight circles over your puffy and oversensitive clit.

The pressure building within your core borders on agonising, you’re sure that this impending orgasm will be larger than any else of your married life thus far, and with how he’s hitting every spot inside you that engages an electric current surging up your spine, you know you’re so close.

It only takes another flick of your clit and you’re there, falling over a cliff and plunging into a deep ocean of pure pleasure.

“Fuck, I’m cumming again!” You announce as your back arches off the dinning table, eyes rolling to the back of your head as your entire body convulses by the sheer magnitude of your orgasm.

“That’s it baby, keep ‘em coming.” Bucky doesn’t let up, smirking as you writhe in front of him. “Soak me sweetheart.”

And you do just that.

Before you even realise what’s happening, your release gushes out of you, soaking Bucky’s stomach and thighs, the force of your squirt pushing him out of you. He rubs his bulbous tip frantically over your clit, prolonging your high and milking every last drop of arousal from you.

You sense him pick you up again, a soft kiss placed to your hairline as you move throughout the house again.

Much later in the night, you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve cum, the line between each orgasm blurring, waves of pleasure melding into one huge tsunami. You can’t even remember which room you last came in, mind in a complete daze, all you can perceive is Bucky’s looming presence over you and the way he’s playing your body like a fiddle, each stroke, strum and nip brings you closer to your next high like a symphony orchestra playing to a crescendo.

“Too much.” You attempt to mumble, unsure if you’re even articulating the words correctly, feebly pushing at his veiny arm to give yourself a semblance of a break from the overwhelming sensations your husband is subjecting you to.

It feels like your entire body is trembling on the king sized bed you get to call yours for the next week as you attempt to steady your breathing, trying to focus on anything other than the violently intense sensations Bucky is responsible for between your legs.

“Just one more, darling. I know you can give me another. You’re doing so well for me.” He coos before his lips latch onto your breast, the tip of his tongue lightly circling your areola before suckling your hardened nipple.

“I can’t.” A sob bubbles up your throat, understanding if you really wanted to stop you could use your prearranged safeword. It isn’t that you want to stop - it just feels too good, the pleasure so earth shatteringly intense that it borders on pain.

“Yes you can. I know you can, baby.” He praises, planting a sweet kiss to your sweaty forehead as you mewl, Bucky’s nimble fingers continuing to move in and out of you at a damaging pace. “Do it for me.”

All it takes is those four short words. Do it for him, do it for your husband, and you’re coming undone again for him. You whine his name as the most immense pleasure fires from the base of your spine, spreading like exploding fireworks through the rest of your body.

You don’t feel Bucky pull his fingers from you, nor do you discern his weight drop beside you in bed. It takes a couple minutes before your mind becomes a clear stream of thoughts and you can decidedly feel your extremities again.

“My perfect wife.” Bucky mumbles into your neck as you work to catch your breath and bring yourself assuredly back to earth after your visit to the heavens.

You turn your head to meet his gaze, and if you weren’t already breathless from the numerous orgasms he’s pulled from your body, the pure love and affection swirling in his stunning blue eyes you’ve fallen in love with would punch all the air from your lungs.

Warmth blooms in your chest at the soft, devoted smile painted on his features. He places a sweet kiss to your nose and then to your sweaty hairline.

“You still with me, darling?”

“Just barely.” You chuckle, finding enough energy to lift your arm up and draw along his sharp jaw with your index finger. Bucky takes your hand in his, kissing your knuckles and adjusting your extravagant wedding ring so that the scintillating diamond sits perfectly centred on your finger, before pulling your body into him so there is no space remaining between you.

“How about we run you a warm bath?” Bucky offers in a low tone, lifting your chin with a single bent finger so he can slot his supple lips against your own in a tender kiss. “We didn’t quite make it to the ensuite, so if we’re to complete the set, you still owe me one more orgasm.”

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Mob!Bucky’s Kinktober Honeymoon Taglist: @tilltheendofthelinepal13 @kandis-mom @buggy14 @opheliastark @auntiegigi @alovecraft @cinnxbunny @zincxxx @cultofcarter @rose-alyssa @kaitlin013106 @wandas-gurlfri3nd @beautifulrare4leafclover @queenyamimarrero @littlerya @noobzandboobzandhooz @wanda2themax @lonelywolfheart @Kbananaclip14 @depressed-gays-of-marvel @ur--mommy @jollyfirebattrash @lauratang @casa-boiardi @raging-panda @nicoline1998enilocin @melsunshine @stinkerbelle007 @mememe7147 @happycat547 @matchat3a @Sirmeowertheruthless7 @inlovewithficnalmen @katiemarsblog @irienanicole @buckyisveryhot @littleravengirl @whyamireadingthis @vase-of-lilies @Mrsrogers77 @saltyshluts @Wwhitewolff @buckysdogtagss @mylastnamesyuh @alexandria-fandom @andth3ywereroommates @avalongreene-09 @sargentbarnxes @keira324 @cherryschaos @missusbarnes-rogers @cherriesnwinee @Ellieangelbee @Shirayukiuzukaze @goldylions @elacinnamoon @buckysdollx @mrsmischief209 @capsbestgirl77 @its-just-smut-haha @ironmansson29 @Slutforderekhale @otome-loves-what @jacesswifey @winterslove1917 @black-mistress-of-evil @buckyscumwhore @purple-vegan @snapcapquartet @jacesswifey @nefelibatansoul @divinemoonlight31

[neoneun-au]

IN EARNEST; J.WW

―PAIRING: jeon wonwoo x fem!reader, yoon jeonghan x fem!reader ―GENRE: regency au, romance, fluff, angst, love triangle, childhood friends to lovers ―WORD COUNT: 13k ―WARNINGS: rigid gender roles, historical setting, angst & family in-fighting

―AUTHOR'S NOTE: this fic was rewritten from one on my old blog. it was majorly overhauled and i added around 1k worth of words. its one of my favourites, so i would appreciate hearing any thoughts you might have on it. please enjoy

The long, warm rays of the sun stretch over the fields of your childhood as you sit on the stone fence at the edge of your family’s estate, legs swinging in a manner unbefitting a young woman soon to be engaged. A gentle spring breeze stirs at your hair, blowing over you as it moves westward across the countryside on its journey as you sit, book in hand, wrapped in the warmth of the afternoon light. Words dance on the page before your eyes as you try and focus on the story, pulling your attention into the narrative only to have it drawn back out towards the horizon over the golden fields of wheat and rye. With a sigh, you snap the book shut and slip from atop the rock wall, landing on the soft earth below. 

Skirts dragging against the long grass as you walk, you make your way through the field--wheat stalks brush against your bare arms, parting for you as you stride forward past the cows and sheep and towards an old grove of trees tucked back at the edge of the property by the meandering creek where you spent so many of your days in childlike rapture and leisure. Amongst the flurry of balls, social gatherings, and visits expected of you these days, you’ve hardly had a spare moment to come and sit among the trees for the past few years. Social propriety and demands have all but replaced the imagination of your youth and yet the trees welcome you in as an old friend–beckoning you forth into their shade and kissing your cheeks with the morning dew. 

One old tree, of gnarled roots and rough bark, sits chief among them in the center of the grove. Images of your sister and you swinging from its long branches and knotted limbs spring to mind as you stride closer. Days long past spent nestled amongst its jutting roots for a midday picnic without a care for the mud on the hems of your dresses. With a smile you walk towards the tree, hand outstretched in greeting, and feel your way across the trunk. The knots and rough bark ripple under your fingers--a map of the tree's life spread out under your touch, and you move around it until you meet a familiar dip in the bark. A carving of a memory long forgotten.

Your fingers trace the loops of the heart, the curves of the letters, and a face swims into your vision to join your childhood self as she runs through the fields and trees. A boy of honey brown hair and an even sweeter voice with whom the days seemed to stretch onwards into infinity. A boy you had made promise you at 11 years old that he would marry you when you were both older so that you could live together until eternity. A boy with the spark of love buried in the dark browns of his eyes, obscured by the frames of his wire glasses, waiting for age and maturity to bring it to the forefront. A boy who just smiled, laughed, and chased you through the dawn soaked fields until you both collapsed from exhaustion by the river. A boy who leaned over with a soft smile some long hours later and whispered “I promise.” 

The promises of youth are delicate. They are made in the heat of summer, under the swell of the sun and the naive feelings that blossom in the hearts of every young person as they grow and change with daily discoveries. They are a glass vase, thin and ready to be broken–or simply tucked away on a high shelf to be left forgotten and collecting dust as time obscures them. 

Now, standing in the dawning of  your adulthood in the place of your youth, that promise is but a lingering nudge at the edge of your mind–a loose thread dangling free in the wind, waiting to be tugged on and unraveled. The boy stands with it, a denizen of the memory of a time when the sun shone down on you in smiles and in hope, lighting up your world with the wide-eyed exhilaration of young love.

You smile down at the carved imprint of a heart, transported back for a moment to that time, before someone clears their throat behind you, “what are you doing out here?” You spin on your heels, body moving unconsciously to shield the glyph from prying eyes, and see Jeonghan standing at the edge of the grove–sunlight filtering down through the tree tops and sprinkling him in flecks of golden light. He stands with a wry grin, arms crossed over his chest as he watches you regain your composure after the sudden interruption of your daydreams. 

“Nothing,” you reply after a moment with a light laugh, returning his smile–closing the lid on your memories as you take a step towards him. “Just out for a walk.” 

“Well, don’t wander too far,” he extends his arms for you to take and you accept, looping your arm through his and walking side by side out of the shade of the tree grove and  into the sunlight. “You might not be able to find your way back.” 

“I think I know my own family’s grounds, thank you,” you counter, peeking up at him as he stares ahead towards the estate in the distance, sprawling out over the field in a mass of grey stone. The wry smile has softened slightly, but still remains pulling gently at the corners of his lips. 

You hadn’t known what to make of Jeonghan the first time he stood off to the side of the village ball. New to the community by way of both work and friends, he was a source of fascination and aversion in equal measure by everyone in town. A community where everyone had known everyone and everyone was in everyone’s business made a newcomer stick out like the sorest of thumbs. You watched as he stood, making polite yet stiff conversation with the men of the village and keeping largely to himself  until your mother, not one to ever waste an opportunity, strong-armed your father into introducing the entire family to him. 

He seemed to sense in you a kindred spirit–someone there in a similar situation, bemused but disconnected from the gossip and frivolity of the ball. Placed at the center of it all regardless by mere social expectation and family ties. You spoke for a while, easing minute by minute from fateful acquaintances to fast friends, until you both succumbed to decorum and he asked  for a dance; after which your mother adopted him immediately as a friend of the family and he has not known a moment of peace since. 

A fact which you love to tease him about at any given opportunity. 

“What are you doing out here today, Jeonghan?” You ask as you walk past the cows grazing in the field, arm still tucked securely into the crook of his elbow. 

“Your father asked me round to discuss the merger of the mill in town,” he shakes his head and you laugh at what you can only imagine was an incredibly dry conversation. “Dreadfully boring. Then your mother noticed you wander off into the woods and sent me to fetch you.” 

“Scandalous,”  you tease, nudging your elbow into his side and eliciting a brief laugh. “A young man and woman out to pasture together? Unchaperoned and unmarried? My mother must really trust you.” 

“Yes, well if only she knew that the only reason I agree to come and talk to your father about all of this nonsense is to have the chance to speak with you,” the teasing lilt in his voice doesn’t go unnoticed; you can tell it’s meant as a joke, but there is an air of truth to it as well and the comment sinks under your skin, stilling the air around you. Suddenly, his arm against yours feels too real, too solid. You feel altogether too close to him and yet not close enough. You glance up and see his gaze still fixated forward towards your home, the sunlight gleaming over him and bathing him in the golden light of its rays. 

“When do you return to town?” you shift the conversation, eager for a reprieve from the constricting of your heart in your chest. 

“In three days time,” he replies, releasing your arm to step through the gate into the gardens–holding it open for you to pass through behind him. 

“So soon?” you glance at him in surprise. In the month he had been here, visiting in the afternoons and attending dinner parties, he had not made mention of the date of his inevitable return to town, so hearing the answer now was a slight shock. 

Jeonghan nods, and you loop your arm through his once more as you ascend the stone pathway towards the front of the house. “Unfortunately,” he sighs, “it was meant to be next month but I’ve been called away sooner than I had planned.” 

“I see.” Your voice trails off and you slip your arm free from his as you step through the doorway. A strange sense of melancholy takes over, sweeping the sunshine away from your thoughts and replacing them with the grey clouds that precipitate a sky before a storm. In barely two months time, you’ve come to enjoy Jeonghan’s company and his consistent appearances in your daily life. They became a comfort to you in a way you hadn’t felt from anyone’s company in a long time. Not since you were young, running wild and free without thought of propriety or the looming threat of your future. 

“I was hoping, actually, to talk with you before I left,” he starts, breaking through the clouds in your mind. You can hear the hesitation clear in his voice as he talks, a small shy smile painting his handsome features. 

“About what?” The heat of curiosity builds in your mind, swirling thoughts joining the fray. A buzzing excitement building as you watch him formulate the words–the wheels in his mind turning into place behind his soft brown eyes. He’s building to something, grasping onto a thread of courage and you silently pray that he manages to keep hold as you feel your heart rise into your throat. His fingers twitch at his side, as if fighting the urge to reach for your hand and you feel your skin prickle at the thought. 

“I was hoping–” Jeonghan starts but is cut off just as quickly as your sister, Lydia, comes crashing through the parlour shouting your name, skirts billowing behind her. She skids to an abrupt halt as she sees you and Jeonghan both staring back at her. 

“H-hello, Mr. Yoon, I didn’t–umm,” she thumbs the letter clutched in her hand, nerves plain on her face as she tries to regain some sense of calm after her frantic entrance, “I didn’t realise you were still here.” She offers an awkward curtsy in his direction and you can hear the stifled laughter as he bows back. 

“Hello Ms. Lydia, I trust you are well?” 

“Very, thank you,” she nods, swallowing, and you have to stifle your own laugh at the awkwardness seeping out of her and infecting the room. She turns towards you, eyes pleading, “may I speak with you a moment?” 

You glance at Jeonghan and he smiles, “I should be going.” All hints of what he had been planning on saying before the interruption are wiped clear from his expression and you can’t help the slight bitterness towards your sister that rises in your stomach like bile as he turns to leave. 

“Your mother invited me for dinner tomorrow evening before I take my leave,” he adds, hand on the brass knob of the door, “I hope we can finish talking then.” With a final nod and smile he closes the door behind him–you watch through the window as he walks down the stone pathway towards his horse before your sister calls your attention back to her with a pointed cough. 

“Did he ask you?” she asks, eyebrows raised in curiosity. 

“Ask me what?” you move away from the entrance and flop down onto the plush cream settee at the side of the room–legs grateful for the relief after an afternoon spent traipsing through the fields outside. 

“Don’t be daft, I know that you know full well he is planning on proposing to you,” she sits down next to you in a huff, splaying her skirts out below her and knocking you on the shoulder with a closed fist–envelope still clutched tight in her hand, but evidently forgotten for the moment.

“Oh, I didn’t realise you were in his confidence regarding the matter,” you tease, drawing a flustered expression from her as she pouts at you. 

“I don’t need to be to know,” she grumbles, “everyone says. Especially Mama.” 

The rumours had been circulating since that first ball and you were not oblivious to them. It would be impossible to be oblivious when the gossip that roamed through the village was as subtle as a bull. But rumours were just that: rumours. Unsubstantiated whisperings passed around by bored mamas and nosy servants at parties and in parlours, and you preferred to keep your hopes out of their baseless grasp as long as you were able to. You couldn’t deny, however, that the hope was there. That it had wound its way into your heart, filling your mind and soul with a buoyancy you hadn’t anticipated to feel. 

The thought of Jeonghan in front of you, extending his hand for yours, and asking to keep it forever is a thought that you couldn’t deny having had more than once. 

But you were not going to give your prying sister the satisfaction of knowing this. Instead you stare deadpan at her as she sits with a pout on her face, waiting for a reaction. The standoff continues for a moment in silence before she resigns and sighs, thrusting the letter she had been clutching in her hand towards you, “here, it’s for you.” 

You pluck the paper from and examine the envelope–torn open already by prying fingertips and eyes. “You opened it?” The accusation is more tired than biting, but she cowers under it anyway–crossing her arms in defence. 

“No,” she huffs, crossing her arms over her chest in a decidedly unladylike manner–a habit of which your mother had tried to scold out of her for years now. “Mama opened it.” 

“And then you read it,” you sigh, running your eyes over the script of the envelope. Handwriting both familiar and unfamiliar. A name you haven’t seen in years scrawled in the top left corner in looping cursive–Jeon Wonwoo. Your heart leaps into your throat at the sight, your sister's protestations fading into background noise, as you focus on the name written on the sheet of white before you–transfixed by memory and recognition. 

“Are you listening to me?” Lydia’s voice bleeds through the swell in your mind as you slip the letter out of the envelope–delicately, as if it might crumble to dust at the barest whisper of a breath–and unfold it in your hands. You brush aside her attempts at getting your attention and fix your gaze on the words unfolding on the page. 

Dearest ______,

Firstly, I hope you receive this letter in good health, and that your family is well. I am sorry we never kept up correspondence as we had promised when I first left for the city. I have so much to tell you and yet I feel that most of it is entirely pointless, so it might be better left unsaid for now; at least until we are able to speak in person. 

I’m not sure when this letter will arrive, but my intention is for it to precede my own arrival by at least a day or so. I had been planning on visiting for quite some time, but it was a thought always pushed to the back of my mind as life and present matters took over, but receiving your letter resurfaced the desire to return. 

I must say your letter was a slight shock, but certainly not an unwelcome one. Truthfully, there hasn’t been a day that has passed that I have not thought of you or of the time we spent together as children and adolescents. I hadn’t dared to hope that you remembered, or even returned the feelings that I had held close to my heart since those days, but reading your words brought that hope back to life. 

I look forward to seeing you again at last, 

Yours Truly, 

Wonwoo

You sit in silence for a moment, staring blank faced down at the letter as your sister leans over your shoulder trying desperately to read the lines of ink scrawled delicately over the page. “Well,” she whines, giving up on the task, “what does it say?” 

Without a glance spared in her direction, you stand up and race out of the parlour–brushing past your confused mother as you dart up the staircase towards your bedroom. 

“Oh, did you get the letter?” your mother calls after you as you run, leaning over the bannister, but you staunchly ignore her as you careen into your room to tear into the trunk at the foot of your bed. No mind paid for the mess you’re creating as you pull out ribbons, books, and trinkets from the large, ornately carved wooden box. Buried at the bottom of the trunk lies a small box of letters, hidden from the prying eyes of your family–or at least you had thought it was hidden from the prying eyes of your family. Looking now, as you sit splayed out on the floor of your bedroom amongst a haphazard pile of items, it’s clear that it has been rifled through since the last time you had bothered to check it. 

From amongst the pile of letters hidden away amongst your treasures and belongings, only one is missing. One tear-stained, hastily written piece of parchment snatched from the stack of otherwise inconsequential papers by the fingers of someone who was incapable of minding their own business or of leaving well enough alone. 

“Don’t be mad,” your sister’s voice pleads from behind you as she stands in the doorway playing with her fingers, watching your back as you begin to gather up your things with a sigh–tossing them back into the trunk and closing the lid with a snap before turning to face her. 

A slow seeping mixture of anger and embarrassment has overcome your thoughts and swells near to bursting as you glare at her through a fog of red. She opens her mouth to speak, fear dancing in her eyes as she scrambles for some words that might placate you. Tries to form some meagre explanation for her actions. You take advantage of her immobility and move towards her with a fury you didn’t know you possessed. A moment before you can catch her sleeves she turns and races down the hallway, leaping down the staircase, and hiding behind your bewildered mama–a desperate shield from your wrath. 

A sliver of clarity leeches through the haze surrounding you, sounding out like a bell through your angered mind, and instead of reaching for her with clawing hands like you’re itching to, you push past them and stalk straight through the front door and out into the gardens. A light drizzle of rain has begun to fall in the time between your walk through the fields and now, but you pay it no mind–only too grateful for the company of the raindrops alongside the tears that begin to fall from your eyes. 

You can hear the door open and close behind you, footsteps crunching along the dirt and gravel of the path you are currently trodding on towards no destination, but you don’t give them the satisfaction of turning. Instead you pick up your pace, hastening your already brisk gait until you’re nearly running towards the creek at the edge of the estate–searching for some escape, some reprieve, from the suffocating presence of your family to gather the frayed edges of your tormented mind. 

Missing the hint as usual, they persist. Voices call out from behind you, entreating you to turn and face them but the pleas and demands only serve to heighten the flush of rage through your veins.

By the time you reach the edge of the water your body is shaking. Whether from the cold or the overwhelming emotions you’re not sure. You stand, staring out over the water as it rushes downstream, blinking away the tears stinging at your eyes. “Oh, will you stop being so dramatic,” your mother finally catches up with you–her curls and skirts soaked in water and mud, a fact of which you know you will never hear the end of. “Apologise to your sister.” 

You baulk at her, mouth gaping with shock and horror, “me? Apologise to her?” 

“Yes, you scared her,” she nods, arms crossed and eyes set in a determined stare, “besides, you shouldn’t be racing down the stairs like a child at your age. Not when you are so close to being engaged, just think; what would your fiance say about this behaviour?” 

“I don’t have a fiance,” you shoot back, mirroring her stance, “and if I did, and if he were a man of any brains at all, he would say I have every right to wring her neck for what she’s done.” 

“Mama,” Lydia whines, still hiding behind the impenetrable figure standing before you in rain-soaked linens. “I didn’t do anything wrong, I just sent out a letter.” 

“A letter that was never yours to send,” you shout, earning yourself a withering glare from your mother. Thunder rumbles in the far distance and you sigh, feeling the rain as it falls against your tired limbs and a tired mind. The idyl of the morning feels so far away now. Jeonghan’s easy smile, the light filtering through the grove, the feeling of the rough bark under your fingertips. A morning of reminiscence scrubbed away so easily by the foolishness of one insolent sister. All the hope that had lifted in your chest now falling away from you with each raindrop and disappearing into the ground below. 

You open your eyes to watch your mother standing in defence of the sister that might have ruined both your past and future. All life, all fight drains from your body, and you’re left now with the only question that matters hanging in the damp, cool air between you. “Why?”

She doesn’t answer. She stares back at you, an expression of haughty defiance painting her face, and after a minute of silence–a cold standoff at the edge of the river–you brush past them once more and stride back towards the house. Resigning yourself to never knowing; to life never being that same as it was mere hours ago when you were standing peacefully in the midday sun, unaware of the storm brewing for you in the shadows of the day. 

Your mother hurries to catch up with you, “you’ll forgive her. She is your sister, after all, you’ve only got each other.” 

You feel the urge to shout again, to admonish her for always taking the side of your younger sibling even when it was clear she was in the wrong, but the feeling dies in your throat before you can even think to act on it. You’re too tired. Instead you halt in your step and turn to face her, another question pressing at the forefront of your mind, “you read the letter?” 

“I suppose we’ll be having two guests for dinner tomorrow night,” she muses, managing at least to look somewhat apologetic for your current state of affairs despite the obvious delight swimming behind her eyes. Two potential love matches for her daughter, and all the drama that a bored mama could possibly dream up, had finally planted itself in her lap and she was enjoying every second of it. 

“Don’t you have any shame at all?” you ask, knowing how fruitless the question was but unable to refrain from voicing it. Enough anger was still lingering at the edges of your mind to give voice to the words. 

“Oh, don’t pretend like you’re not excited to see the Jeon boy,” she says, trailing after you as you resume your brisk pace towards the house. “I always thought you two might get engaged when you were older, but then he left and well, Mr. Yoon seems an excellent second choice.” 

You pointedly ignore her as she continues to monologue her fantasies for life, following behind you as you head up to your room in search of dry clothing and some reprieve from her aimless talking. “Mama,” you spin towards her, stopping her at the threshold of your bedroom, “I can tell you are gleaning some great joy from this situation, but please for once in your life have some pity and leave me alone.” 

She opens her mouth to speak again but you close the door before she gets the chance, blocking out her protestations as you sink down onto the oak floor in a puddle of linen skirts and despair. 

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.

Dinner is suffocating. Your father relishes in the rare silence at the table while you coldly pass bowls of potatoes and vegetables to your sister, avoiding eye contact even as she nudges you under the table with her foot. You know your behaviour is childish–unbecoming of someone your age, as your mother would say, despite her own childish actions–but you can’t bring yourself to come to a place of peace and forgiveness quite yet. The letter still looms in your mind like a parchment monolith, a cloud hanging over all of your thoughts even as you try to distract yourself after dinner with a book by the fireplace. Even as your mother tries to entice you into friendly gossip about how you think Wonwoo might have changed over the years, how he might measure up to Jeonghan as a potential match. 

The evening drags on into night, darkness swallowing the estate, and your sister sits staring at you over her untouched needlework from the other side of the parlour. You raise your eyes to meet hers for a moment before turning back to your novel, resuming the standoff and sinking back into the staunch silence you’re treating her with. 

In truth it has been this way since childhood. The moment she was ushered into this world, the weight of responsibility settled onto your shoulders. The expectation of being the eldest sibling; of acting mature and setting an example for her to follow as she chased you through the fields, inserting herself in every possible situation with the carelessness of one who knows that they can get away with anything, should they so choose. 

Your only reprieve from the insistent pressure of responsibility was when cousins and family would visit, capturing her wandering attention for long enough that you were able to slip out unnoticed and find solace outside, in a book, or with Wonwoo. Peace from her endless questioning and imitations–from following you around like a lost, unceasingly precocious child. 

The heat of her unwavering gaze burns into the top of your head as you try to follow the narrative of your story in the dim light of the fire. Eventually you give up, slipping the book back into its place on the shelf, and dismissing yourself with a good night to your father–absorbed in his own book and entirely uninterested in the dramatics brewing within his home. Your sister scrambles up after you, following in your footsteps and rushing to say her own goodnights before chasing behind you up the stairs. 

“Stop following me,” you spin around in the doorway to your room, arms crossed in defence–levelling her with a glare that you can only hope she takes seriously for once in her life. 

“You have to forgive me eventually,” Lydia says, matching your posture and meeting your gaze with her own determined stare. “You can’t be upset about it forever.” It’s clear the silent treatment you’ve been giving her has wormed its way under her skin–plucking at the exact nerves that she tries so hard to ignore. Her disdain for being ignored–for being disliked, even momentarily–working against her now in the safety of her own home. 

“Yes, I can,” you state flatly, half-turning away from her towards and moving to close the door before she stops you with a hand on your arm. 

“That’s not fair,” she whines, “what are you so upset about anyway? That you have two men in love with you?” The truth seeps through her words and you find the answer to your question from earlier finally in the subtext of her complaints. “You’re jealous?” 

“I’m not jealous,” she bites back, but the pout that accompanies the statement indicates the exact opposite. “I just think it’s unfair that you’re marrying someone without telling them that you’re in love with someone else.” 

“I’m not marrying anyone,” you grit your teeth to keep from shouting and rousing your parent’s attention. The last thing you needed at this moment was the less than helpful advice of your mother. “I’m not even engaged. No one has asked me to marry them–no one.” You turn away from her, eager to shut her out for the night and sink into the comfort of sleep, “and I’m not in love with Wonwoo.” 

She snorts, unconvinced, “that letter said otherwise.” 

“That letter was written when I was fifteen and he was leaving,” you reply with a glare, “things have changed.” 

“If you’re not still in love with him,” a small smile quirks up the corner of her lip, bringing another wave of rage crashing through you at the sight of it. Her smug expression lit low by the lanterns burning on the walls, “then why are you so mad?” 

With a huff you close the door, blocking out any further comments she might deem necessary to add–anything further to provoke you to anger. You pause a moment, staring at the dark wood of the door, and breathe. The urge to scream floods your thoughts and you move to lie flat on your bed before it bursts free completely. 

Sleep comes in fits and starts. Your dreams chase you through the labyrinth of night cloaked in signs and symbols–always beginning and ending in that grove of trees on your family's estate. Each time you stand at the entrance to the greenery, hopeful anticipation bubbling up in your chest, and take a step forward. Everything is silent–still. No chirping of birds, no rush of the wind, no sound at all save your own footsteps over the trodden soil as you walk towards the gnarled oak at the centre of the grove–your hand outstretched towards the bark. 

The carved heart greets your fingers, initials swimming before your eyes. Wonwoo, Jeonghan, Lydia's, your own. They all traverse and coalesce on the expanse of broken brown wood, mingling with each other and transforming endlessly in front of your eyes. Before they have a chance to settle, a branch snaps behind you and you turn in anticipation to see who it is; a glimpse of muted fabric, a vaguely formed face, flashes in front of your vision before you are transported back to the field outside the trees–feet itching to carry you forward once again. 

You repeat this process, over and over, until the light breaking through the window above your bed stirs you to consciousness. You sigh and squirm deeper into the blankets, desperate to sink back into the embrace of dreams and avoid the inevitable disaster of the day waiting for you outside your room. 

A sharp knock on the door cuts off any hope that you had of delay. “Mama says to come down for breakfast," Lydia warns and you listen as her footsteps disappear down the staircase before slipping out of bed and preparing for the day. 

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The scent of eggs and ham greets you as you stumble down the stairs some time later; dressed in a simple frock belying the anxiety bubbling in the pit of your stomach in anticipation of the day. Your mother greets you with a cheerful “good morning”, the tone ignorant of the tension that underlay your last interactions with her. You offer her a tired smile in response–content with staying in silence for as long as possible this morning and avoiding any further bursts of anger she might provoke. It takes you a moment to notice the extra figure sitting at the table, one at the same time so familiar and unfamiliar. Wonwoo’s eyes, obscured as they are behind the glass of his spectacles, betray a similar mixture of delight and wariness at your presence. He offers you a hesitant smile over his plate of food and you feel your heart leap into your throat, mouth falling open in a silent gasp. 

“Wonwoo,” you exclaim, earning an admonishing tsk from your mother at the noise. He stands, bowing slightly in greeting–smile broadening marginally as he does so. 

“Hello,” he replies. You can hear a million different restrained thoughts and questions in the greeting. So many unspoken words it makes your stomach knot. You remain, mouth agape, standing feet away while the force of it hits you while your sister, on the other hand, laughs aloud at the look of pure alarm on your face. 

“Oh, sit down before you fall down,” she says, rolling her eyes and reaching for another roll from the centre of the table. “It’s only Wonwoo, you knew he was coming.” 

You resist the temptation to openly glare at her and instead gather yourself into the seat across from Wonwoo–returning his smile, finally, with your own. “You’re here much sooner than expected,” you say, offering it as the only excuse for your astonishment at his presence during your family breakfast. 

“I arrived rather early this morning,” he explains. The tension held in his shoulders ebbs away slowly, hesitation diminishing now that you’ve settled across from him. “Thankfully your father was awake and willing to sit down over a cup of tea.” You nod in acknowledgement. He and your father had always gotten along rather well, being of similar disposition. You would often find them sitting in silence together while your mama chased you around with her many complaints. “You look well,” he adds after a moment, a soft smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. 

He’s older now than the last time you saw him–his jaw defined by the sharpness that comes with age, the loss of the soft roundness of youth–but he still looks exactly as you remember him. His brown eyes still hold that same kindness and quiet humour that you were so fond of. His smile, though grown hesitant with years of distance, is still as bright as it always was; a warm smile, both welcoming and genuine. A smile that makes you wish you had sent that letter out years ago. Maybe it would have kept him here, with you, at this table. Maybe you could have watched these transformations occur instead of seeing them all now. Maybe you would have had time to accustom yourself to the new angle of his jaw, to the mature slant of his cheekbone. Maybe…

“I am well, thank you,” you reply, cutting off your wandering thoughts and into your breakfast. Turning away from the warmth of his gaze for a moment’s reprieve. “And you? Have you been–” Hesitation stops you in your tracks as you form the question. Keen awareness of the curious eyes at the table fixed firmly on you, intruding on this reunion with their unceasing attention. The knowledge that both your mother and sister are highly aware of the undercurrent of feelings–whether present or past–running between you stalls your speech. “Are you well?” you finish lamely, clearing your throat and gathering yourself into a state of stoicism.

“Very well, thank you,” he replies with a nod, similarly reserved. Knowing your family as he does, you’re sure he senses the shift in the atmosphere. Sure he’s adjusting himself accordingly. 

“Well,” your mother leans forward, towards Wonwoo, a conspiratorial glint in her eye as she begins speaking, “we are so glad to have you back with us after such a long time away. I can’t imagine why you didn’t visit sooner, but no matter. How long will you be staying?” 

“Only a week,” he replies, “I return to town next Sunday.” 

“And what brings you here so suddenly?” The brazenness of her question in light of everything she knows would shock you if you weren’t so used to her meddling. You bite your tongue, woefully resigned to allowing her to play out her machinations while you suffer under the brunt of them. A mere tool in her game of matchmaking and gossip-mongering. Lydia stifles a laugh next to you with a cough, drawing Wonwoo’s attention. 

“Ah,” he starts, watching you closely for any hint of caution but you remain as neutral as possible. “I had been meaning to return for years now, I’ve been too long overdue for a visit. It has been years, even, since I’ve seen my own family’s estate.” 

“I see,” your mother sighs, correcting her posture and sitting upright, disappointed by the lack of spectacle. Her desire for a dramatic breakfast proposal being thwarted, she changes topic and shifts to Wonwoo’s current business practices. How is he getting along as a barrister in town during these troubled times? He answers her inquiries, offering up tidbits of gossip from town that might interest her, and you feel a rush of gratitude towards him for so easily flowing with her changing moods and temperament. A feat not easily undertaken. 

Conversation continues late into the morning, with even your father chiming in here and there; forgoing his usual habit of staying entirely silent until reproached by your mother and instead offering up comments entirely unprovoked to the surprise and delight of the same woman who is usually provoking him. You pick at the food on your plate, watching Wonwoo from across the table even as your sister silently teases you for it from her own seat. Finally, the plates are all cleared away and you stand, ready to stretch your stiff muscles outside of the house.

“Why don’t you three kids take a walk,” your mother prompts–taking notice of your fidgeting. “I have to make preparations for dinner tonight.” 

“Oh, there’s no need to go to such trouble on my account,” Wonwoo holds his hands up as if to ward off the worst of your mother’s efforts. 

“It’s not just for you,” Lydia sighs, a sly grin tugging at the corners of her mouth, “it’s for Mr. Yoon.” 

“Who–” Wonwoo starts, glancing at you, a ripple of confusion passing over his face before your mother cuts him off. 

“Don’t be rude, Lydia,” she admonishes her, “it’s for both of you, Mr. Jeon. Mr. Yoon has become a very welcome part of our family gatherings since he arrived not two months ago.” She moves behind you, hustling the three of you out of the dining room and towards the front door in a manner befitting a sheepdog rather than a mother. “The girls will tell you all about him, I’m sure.” 

The door is closed on you before you have the chance to protest and you turn towards Wonwoo with a heavy sigh, “I guess we are taking a walk, then.” 

“Your mother certainly has not changed over all these years,” he laughs, more relaxed now that you’re away from the presence of your parents. He offers his arm for you to take as you descend down the stone path leading through the gardens and out into the fields.  The rain of the previous day is all but gone, leaving nothing but the odd puddle dotting the path as you walk along at an easy pace--grateful for the warm, golden sun as it streams down on you. 

You slip your arm through Wonwoo’s and marvel at the naturalness of the gesture. Though it’s been years since your last exchange of letters, and even longer since you last saw each other in person, the ease with which you slip back into old comforts in his presence is nothing short of remarkable. You spend the first half of the walk catching up–exchanging stories of the goings-on around the village and in town since you last spoke. Lydia walks a ways ahead of you, constantly looking back as if desperate to invite herself into the conversation before inevitably thinking better of it and turning around to resume her striding. 

The silence emanating from her is a worrisome gnat that wheedles its way into the back of your mind, but you brush it aside and focus on the feeling of your old friend back at your side. The feeling of his arm against yours, his voice no longer a mere echo in your mind, but a real sound to be heard and listened to. It feels as if he had never left; that despite the growth in each of you as a person, both physically and mentally, there had merely been a pause put on your relationship. A brief interlude that served only to bring you to this exact moment in time where you could be together again. 

The comfort is at once welcome and disconcerting. The thought of Wonwoo’s letter, the implication of his feelings, presses at the forefront of your mind alongside the image of Jeonghan with his hand outstretched towards you in the sun of the grove. As much as you want to ignore these worries, they sit there staring at you, tugging at your attention as you try and focus on what should be a joyous reunion. And as Wonwoo talks, regaling you with tales from his time at college and in his current employment, you can see those same worries brewing behind his eyes. The same hesitation keeping him from broaching either topic. You’re each waiting, hearts held on the blade of a sword. Enjoying each other's company while expecting someone to slice into it and spill the blood at any moment. 

“So,” your sister struts over to you as you sit in the grass by the river, knees tucked tight to your chest. She sits down in front of you, her skirts pooling around her in a puddle of blue and white. You brace yourself for whatever she had been planning during her extended silence on your walk. The tension built up from yesterday had still not eased and if you knew your sister as well as you thought you did, you knew she would not allow herself to be the first one to heal the rift. 

You fix her with an even stare. Careful neutrality painted on your expression in an attempt to dissuade the worst of her plotting. “Yes, Lydia?” 

“Did she tell you about Jeonghan yet?” she asks with a mirthful grin, and you feel the question jolt through your body. Wonwoo glances up at her, dropping the blade of grass he had been idly running between his fingers, and lifting a hand to adjust his glasses. 

“Ah, no,” he admits. His eyes flicker to you briefly before returning to Lydia–so quickly you might not have noticed had your own eyes not been watching him from the corner of your vision. “I don’t believe so.”

“And you’ve never met him before?” Her grin widens slightly, glee shining bright in the depths of her coal dark eyes. She was truly her mother’s daughter. 

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure, no,” he says, tolerating the leading questions with more patience than you would have ever been able to muster. But then, he always was more patient than you. 

“So you don’t know?” she asks, smile widening even further. 

“Lydia,” you warn, using every ounce of strength and resilience in your body to resist leaping forward and tackling her to the ground before she can spoil anything further. 

The warning in your voice doesn’t go unnoticed by Wonwoo. You can feel him stiffen next to you; the fear of whatever is being left unsaid creeping under his skin and nestling there like a slumbering bear at the cusp of spring.

“Know what?” he asks, curiosity overwhelming the fear. He plucks up the thread your sister has laid bare and you know there’s no going back once she’s said what she wants to say. You want to grab him by the hand and race away–towards the trees, to a place used as solace from her nearly everyday in your youth. To hide from her and from the realities of the situation you find yourself currently stranded in. To stay in this moment in between forever. 

Lydia smiles again, pleased to command everyone’s attention so completely. You wait, the knot of anxiety in your stomach tightening, and watch Wonwoo out of the corner of your eye. Waiting to see the regret over his return show itself plain on his face. 

“They’re engaged,” she says finally, pulling the pin and leaning back on her arms to watch Wonwoo’s face fall. His mouth pulls to a thin line and you feel a cavern open up in the hollow of your chest, ready to swallow you whole. 

“Lydia,” you all but shout her name, startling a bird resting on a nearby bush and sending it flying into the air with an alarmed chirp. “We are not engaged.” 

“You might as well be,” she shouts back, balling her fists up in her skirts and fixing you with a glare, “I know that’s why he’s coming for dinner tonight.” 

“You don’t know anything,” the cold anger seething in your voice surprises you, but the buttons have been pressed and you can do nothing now except ride the wave. “I don’t know what games you’re playing, Lydia–whether you’re bored or just jealous or what–and frankly, I don’t care. It’s not funny. Leave me alone.” 

Whatever outcome she had hoped to garner from engineering this confrontation, this was not it. You watch as she picks herself up off the ground in a huff and stalks back towards the house–no doubt seeking the solace of your mother’s ever-forgiving arms. The rage subsides as she disappears from view, leaving in its wake a hollow in the pit of your stomach as you’re left staring out over the meandering creek as it carves its path through the fields. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, glancing sideways at Wonwoo. He sits still, in a state of mild shock at the outburst, and makes no indication of either moving or speaking. Birds fly overhead, singing their soprano songs as they make their way towards some unknown destination–wings disturbing the otherwise still air surrounding you. Silence stretches onwards, and you sit with your head resting on your arms, wishing you could travel back in time to prevent this from ever happening. 

But what time would you travel back to? To prevent Lydia from ever finding the letter in the first place, would you not have written it? Would you have instead bottled up those feelings that, at the time, were so overwhelming they demanded a two-page long letter to express? 

Would you go back and refuse to meet Jeonghan at the ball? Spend your time against the wall and accepting dances from the unwed sons of families you rarely associated with? 

Or would you travel back the span of a day and make peace with your sister. Approach her not from a well of anger but from a space of understanding and diplomacy–if only to smooth her ruffled feathers and prevent the fight that had been brewing in the pot of tension between you. 

The answer never comes. All of the possibilities–of what could have been or what might have been–dangle before you, but you know there is no going back; you are left now simply to pick up the pieces in the aftermath of what is. 

Wonwoo breaks the tense silence himself after a few minutes. “Is it true?” he asks, the potent mixture of hope and fear in his voice sends a pang of guilt through your heart–piercing the already bruised organ further at the sound. 

“We’re not engaged,” you say, unsure of how else to phrase the inbetween state of being that exists between you and Jeonghan. That period of time when both of you know what the next step is but still have not moved a muscle to take it. 

“Why did you send the letter?” He asks, twisting the knife of guilt and shame further and deeper into you with the tone of despair leaking out over every word. You turn to look at him, meeting his gaze head on to see the heartbreak glistening in his warm, brown eyes. 

The threat of tears prick behind your own as you look at him, desperately searching your brain for an answer that will make all of this go away–but none surface. Instead you are left with nothing but a confused tangle of emotions churning inside of you, clouding your thoughts with the force of them. You brace yourself for his possible reaction to the truth, averting your eyes back towards the blue river, “I didn’t send it.” The confession rolls out of your mouth like a prayer for peace and you can hear Wonwoo’s sharp intake of air as he takes a steadying breath beside you. 

“Do you love him?” The question hangs in the air between you, bringing you at once closer together with the weight of it and thrusting you further apart in the implication. 

“I don’t know,” you had never been able to lie around Wonwoo. Not since you were children, forcing him to steal bread and cheese from the kitchens with you for your own tea parties in the garden. Not since you were youths of twelve telling each other your deepest secrets as you laid next to each other in the field watching the clouds pass overhead. The truth, however painful it may be, was always the only route you were ever able to take when held under the weight of his gaze–transfixed by the warmth in his honeydark eyes. 

“Could you love him?” 

“Yes,” you sigh, nodding. “I could.” 

His next question comes out as a whisper, barely heard of the sound of the water below and the birds overhead--almost as if he was too afraid to ask it, “do you love me?” 

What could you say? What answer was there to give? ‘Of course, Wonwoo, you’re my best friend.’ While it remains true, you know that it isn’t what he’s asking you; you can read the deeper meaning hidden in the question, you know the significance of the words he is choosing. You turn towards him, twisting the knife in your heart one final time, severing completely the hope he had sent by letter. “I don’t know.” 

Another moment of silence passes. You stare unblinking over the horizon, waiting for the rain clouds to form in the blue expanse overhead–to match your mood with their dreary presence–but the sky remains unashamedly clear. 

Wonwoo lets out a long sigh beside you. You keep your gaze forward as you feel him stand up until he reaches a hand out to help you up. You glance from his hand to his face in surprise at the gesture after your confession, but he just smiles down at you sadly. “Come on,” he prompts and you slip your hand into his hand. 

“Where are we going?” you ask, unclear as to his intentions now that everything has been laid bare under the afternoon sun. 

“I’m walking you home,” he says simply, before pulling you to your feet and heading back down the path away from the running water and golden fields of wheat. 

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The afternoon drags on, spent in the midst of an uncomfortable silence in the parlour with your sister and mother. Wonwoo excused himself to his family home shortly after returning back under the guise of getting ready for dinner. A part of you had been expecting him to feign illness and retire for the entirety of the evening, but no doubt the pressure of social graces–as well as his own unwavering politeness–entreated him to keep the engagement. 

The book open between your hands may as well be blank for all the attention you’re paying it; your mind swims with thoughts of your fight with your sister, and of the subsequent conversation with Wonwoo–replaying it over and over relentlessly. His face, crestfallen and sad, lingers in the forefront of your mind–a portrait reminder of the sharp ache in the centre of your chest. Lydia sits across from you, puncturing the fabric of her needlework aimlessly as she switches between pouting and glaring in your direction while your mother pointedly ignores you both in favour of hemming the dress her own sister recently passed down to her. 

Your father, attuned as usual to the shifting moods of the house, avoids the parlour entirely. 

The silent contemplation brings you no sense of reprieve by the time Jeonghan arrives for the evening. Hours spent pondering your options–alternating back and forth between him and Wonwoo and your confused feelings for both men–have brought no clear conclusion forward. In the wake of the afternoon, you prepare yourself for what was sure to be a bizarre dinner party, begging your mother not to sit you next to Lydia at the table for everyone’s sake. 

Thankfully she obliges, seating you instead between Wonwoo and Jeonghan for her own amusement–the latter of which being entirely unaware of the state of affairs he is about to enter into with this dinner. The table is set, the people are seated, and your mother begins with an overwhelmingly passionate monologue of gratitude towards the two young gentlemen joining your family that evening. 

“Mr. Jeon,” she smiles, passing a bowl of potatoes towards him, “how happy we are to see you at long last back home, as I already said this morning.” You roll your eyes at the emphatic speech, catching the gaze of your sister in a similar state of reproach and almost laughing with her before you correct yourself and turn back towards your plate of food. “I do so hope you will be back to visit much more in the future.”

“Of course,” Wonwoo nods his gratitude towards her, a placating smile stretching over his lips as he passes the bowl towards his aunt who had invited herself over as soon as she heard about the occasion. 

“I’ve already admonished him, Gloria,” she laughs, scooping a healthy serving of the starchy vegetable onto her own plate before handing it off down the line. “It has been far too long since I have seen my nephew and what does he do when he arrives? He comes to your estate for breakfast without even first saying hello to anyone in his own family.” She shakes her head and shares another laugh with your mother. They are, as always, two birds of a feather when in the company of each other–delighting in gossip and unwarranted comments as often as they can catch a breath to share them. 

“Now, Mr. Yoon,” your mother shifts her attention towards the man at your right side, smiling at him as if he were a newborn baby, “I am saddened to hear that you have to leave us so soon, but we have very much enjoyed your company these past few months and do so hope you will be back again soon.” 

“Of course,” he returns her smile with his own. You can feel the heat of his thigh next to your own under the table, the closeness of him on your one side and Wonwoo on the other nearly suffocating you in your seat. “There is a lot to come back for.” 

The comment doesn’t go unnoticed by either your sister, who has to feign a brief coughing fit to cover her laughter, or Wonwoo whose hand tenses around the fork in his grasp even as his expression remains impassive. The conversation is dissolved and dispersed amongst the table throughout the meal; your father catches Jeonghan’s attention and, unusually talkative, entreats him with a renewed discussion of the progress on the new mill’s construction. Both family matriarchs trade local gossip, as well as any anecdotes they can remember from the most recent ball, to keep each other entertained while you and Wonwoo sit in abject silence next to each other–eyes focused on the food on your plates in front of you. 

Everyone retires to the parlour after dinner, mingling in small groups with you and your sister sitting in silence at the edge of room–watching as your mother’s laugh grows louder with the heat of wine and your father’s passionate discussions about the price of rye take on a life of their own, while Jeonghan just nods patiently and listens. Gravity and familiarity pull the two of you closer together, seeking some solace in each other as the only two outsiders in your own home. 

“You were right,” she heaves a sigh, turning to you with a brief glance. 

“What was I right about?” You keep your eyes trained towards the room, watching as Wonwoo and Jeonghan strike up a conversation with each other and desperately wishing you were close enough to be able to hear what they were discussing. Lydia calls your attention back to her with a dramatic sigh. 

“I was jealous,” she admits and you look at her in surprise at the frank confession. “It was stupid, and I’m sorry. In my defence I didn’t know it was going to be so–” she pauses, waving a hand in a dramatic gesture towards the rest of the room, “dramatic.” 

You choke back a bark of astonished laughter, completely at odds with how you had been feeling for the first portion of the evening; all fight had been entirely drained out of you and despite the desire to continue dragging her over the coals for her sin, you give in to the shared bond that exists between you as sisters. “Me either,” you say simply.

“Do you forgive me?” she asks, a spark of hope lighting up her voice at your acceptance of her excuse and you laugh. 

“No,” you reply, grinning at her, “but I will.” 

“I suppose I can accept that,” she nods once, smiling back at you before drifting towards your mother and inserting herself into a conversation around pregnancy rumours in the village–a topic that is sure to keep all three of them enraptured for the remainder of the evening, as nothing is more exciting than the threat of children to women who have none to worry over anymore.

Left alone, you wander towards Wonwoo and Jeonghan; buoyed by the reconciliation with your sister and resigned to swallowing the rest of your fate as it stands before you. “Are we still discussing mills and rye?” you ask, nodding towards your father who has taken it upon himself to sink into silence with a book in front of the fire, having exhausted all avenues of conversation that he is even remotely invested in. 

Jeonghan laughs, shaking his head with a mock grimace, “no, actually. As it turns out, once you’ve already talked about the price of grain for well over an hour, there isn’t much left to be said.” 

Wonwoo nods, laughing–all hint of earlier heartbreak has washed clean from his expression for the moment and you can see that he and Jeonghan are getting along despite themselves. The confusion returns anew, revitalised in your mind, and you can’t be sure whether this development is good or bad even as you stand by to watch it unfold. 

“No,” Wonwoo says, “I was just asking him about his time in London.” 

“A truly horrible place,” Jeonghan shudders at the thought of the city, drawing another laugh forward from Wonwoo and plucking another thread of nerves inside your throat. “No, I am quite happy to be away from there for the time being. The peace and quiet of the countryside suits me, I think.” 

“It is certainly quiet,” Wonwoo nods just as a loud bout of laughter sounds out from the group of women on the settee near the fireplace, a wry smile dancing on his lips. 

“And you are from here originally?” Jeonghan asks, glancing over at Wonwoo’s aunt as she stands to deliver her well practised imitation of one of the other mamas from the village. 

“Yes, we grew up together,” he nods, gesturing towards you with the reply. Jeonghan glances between you, the new knowledge clicking into place in the wheels of his mind. 

“You must have a lot of stories from that time,” he says, following the thought. You watch it spin behind the firelit brown of his eyes. 

“Many, yes. We spent a lot of our time together,” Wonwoo affirms, and the truth of the statement sinks into you as he says it. Your past is filled with memories of him–painted with images of him splayed out in the fields, or leaping into the water, or simply falling asleep at the breakfast table after a sleepless night spent reading by candlelight. “If you want,” Wonwoo muses, lifting a hand to his chin with a sly grin, “I can tell you about the time she lost her shoe in the–”

“Stop,” you reach a hand out in panic, yanked unceremoniously out of your memories by the suggestion, and grab onto Wonwoo’s arm to cut off the story before it can begin. “No one wants to hear that story,” you let out a nervous laugh.

“I don’t know, I wouldn’t mind hearing it,” Jeonghan says, glancing down where your hand sits lingering on Wonwoo’s arm; you pull it back to your side and resign yourself to the embarrassment that is sure to follow. He turns his attention back towards Wonwoo as he begins the story–more than happy to offer up your pain as an anecdote for the evening. 

“We were having a foot race through the fields after a particularly intense summer storm,” he begins with and you groan inwardly, already dreading the narrative that you know will follow, “of course her skirts were at least an inch deep in the mud and were weighing her down rather heavily,” the story continues and Jeonghan stands as a ready audience as Wonwoo weaves the image together for him. You can picture that day so clearly in your mind, the feeling of the mud sucking you down into the field, Wonwoo nearly tearing your sleeve off while trying to pull you out, and then diving in to rescue the shoe that you were sure your mother would kill you for if she knew you had lost it. 

The rain beating down on you as Wonwoo carried you on his back towards the house–tears streaming down your face and the both of you covered head to toe in mud which earned you an, admittedly deserved, verbal lashing from your parents as soon as you tracked it inside. 

“I must say,” Jeonghan looks towards you when the story comes to its conclusion, laughing softly at the thought, “I can’t quite picture it.”

“Why not?” you ask, curious as to the reason behind his statement. 

“I suppose,” he pauses for a moment in thought, “you seem much more put together now. I can’t picture you as a wild child.” 

Wonwoo snorts, as if some inside joke has been shared, and shoots you a conspiratorial glance, “she’s definitely much more put together now.”

“Well, I’m glad you two have had fun bonding over my embarrassment,” you sigh. The clock on the wall chimes the hour and you see from the corner of your eye your father yawning wide over his book. Even the laughter and chatter from the other women in the room has died down–everyone now sporting a tired, weary expression in the lateness of the evening. 

Wonwoo’s aunt stands, thanking your parents profusely for the meal and the bed, before retiring upstairs to the guest rooms. Your mother and sister follow her in short order, with your father not too far behind, ushering the three of you towards bed as well. The wooden floors of the stairs creak under the weight as everyone files up towards their respective rooms for the evening; the house has not seen this many guests since the last time your cousins stayed with you, and despite the bizarre circumstances you were grateful for the company as a welcome change of pace from the everyday routine. 

You slip into bed after saying your goodnights and feel the weight of the day sinking into you. Left in solitude finally after hours of entertaining company, your thoughts return to the circular confusion that had been clouding your mind before dinner. They flicker back and forth between faces–Wonwoo, Jeonghan, Wonwoo, Jeonghan–both men swimming up to eclipse all your thoughts once again. You remember Jeonghan as he was the day you met him, cheerful and witty in the presence of a room full of strangers. The best company you had kept in months–more than willing to converse and joke with the ease of someone you could have known for years. 

And you remember Wonwoo, as he was when you were children–bright, kind, and willing to go along with every place you could cook up despite his own shyness and reserve. And you remember him as he was today, beside the creek in the fields; bathed in the light of the afternoon sun, face fallen in the wake of your confession. He had come all this way on the wings of hope towards you after years of separation, and you had to be the one to ground him with reality. Not once, in all your years of knowing him had you seen that expression on his face until today. 

Sleep consumes you after you exhaust your cyclical thoughts; you pray for a dreamless slumber–only too ready to sink into the relief of darkness–and for once, your prayers are granted. 

.

.

.

The house is abuzz with activity in the morning. Everyone wakes for breakfast early, eager to continue last night’s conversations or to strike up new ones, and you feel renewed after a blessedly restful sleep. The weight of indecision still rests heavy on your heart, but it isn’t as cloying and suffocating as it had been the night before–trapped between Wonwoo and Jeonghan at the table all while wrestling with your own thoughts. Instead you find yourself smiling more easily, even laughing openly at your sister’s jokes over breakfast. Relief washes through you at the reprieve from your tortured feelings until the meal once again comes to an end and Jeonghan stands, turning towards you with a question. “If I may,” he begins, capturing the attention of everyone still seated despite the attempt at keeping his voice to a low volume. “Could I request the privilege of an audience with you,” uncharacteristic nervousness shimmers in his voice and you feel it similarly ripple through your body, “alone?” 

In a rush your mother stands, abandoning her half-cut slice of ham and ushering everyone out of the dining room with glee and answers for you. “Of course, of course,” you sit paralyzed, your own nerves tying a knot inside your throat as you watch them leave the room. Wonwoo looks back at you, meeting your eyes with his own worried gaze before the door is closed and you are left in silence as Jeonghan gathers his thoughts to speak. 

“It should come as no surprise,” he begins, and you stand to face him–eyes slightly averted from his own to avoid the intensity of the moment, “that I–” he pauses, hesitating. The nerves that were in his voice before have built to a fine point and you watch his hands as they clench and unclench into fists at his side. 

“Jeonghan,” you start, hoping to offer some words to ease the palpable tension in the air but coming up entirely speechless. 

“I return to town soon, and I was hoping you would also–” he sighs, running a hand through his hair in frustration before giving up on whatever speech he had half-planned. “I love you,” he says, plainly, brown eyes seeking yours for any confirmation of the feelings he wishes to be returned, “quite a lot, actually, and I had to ask before I left if you feel the same, if–” he inhales, breath shaking with the force of his confession–with the fear of rejection or acceptance or both. “If you would do me the honour of marrying me?” 

The question hangs between you–caught in limbo as you ponder it. You had expected it, as much as you had tried to ignore that expectancy, it was there. Standing here, in the centre of your family’s dining room facing him now–the buzzing excitement, the sweeping sense of anticipation, and warmth that you felt before–it’s all miles away. The hope you had previously held for this exact moment is racing away through the fields, running free and far from you. The feelings that bore the hope exist still, they sit nestled in your heart, but they aren’t attached to Jeonghan; here in the light of day you finally come to the realisation that you have known all along where your heart belongs. 

It belongs in the fields of your childhood, running through the mud with your hand clasped tight in Wonwoo’s firm grip. It belongs at the feet of the boy who promised you at thirteen years old that he would never let you go. It belongs to someone on the other side of the door from you–whose heart you shattered only a day prior. 

Jeonghan stands silent–waiting for your response–and you wish in this moment you could give him something other than the truth that has formed on your lips, but it has broken free into the air between you before you can catch it. “I’m sorry,” you say, “I wish I could. I really do, but–”

He smiles, the expression not quite meeting his eyes as he nods in understanding, “I know.” The resignation in his voice catches you off guard and he laughs at your surprise, “I knew last night that this was a losing game for me, but still,” he sighs, “I had to ask.” 

“So,” you start, at a loss for what social decorum expects of you in this situation. Sinking into the relief of his acceptance of your rejection. “What will you do now?” 

He pauses a moment in thought, fixing his gaze on the ceiling before turning back to you with a slight grin, “maybe I will invest in the new mill.” 

Laughter cuts through the tension, dissolving the atmosphere of the room back into one of calm camaraderie, “I really am sorry, Jeonghan. For what it’s worth, if you had asked me five days ago I would have said yes.” 

“Missed my chance, then,” he smiles sadly, turning towards the door only to have it swing open under the weight of your mother and sister pressing against it. “Thank you for your hospitality, ma’am,” he bows towards your mother and, before she has a chance to inquire, leaves through the front door and heads off into the morning sun. 

“You rejected him?” your mother asks, surprise and astonishment colouring her voice. She glances between you and the door as it closes behind Jeonghan, mouth agape. 

“Where’s Wonwoo?” you ask, taking note of the absence of him from the small group gathered at the door to the dining room. They all glance around at each other, matching bewildered expressions, until, with a roll of your eyes, you push through them and head out the front door–propriety be damned. 

For a moment you hesitate; you have no idea where he might have gone in the span of time you spent talking to Jeonghan but a voice in the back of your mind directs you across the golden fields towards that old familiar grove of trees. Your mother and sister, accompanied by Wonwoo’s aunt, hover at the front step of the house, watching as you stride through the tall grass, through the stalks of wheat, past the cows and sheep, and towards the greenery beyond. 

You pause at the entrance to the grove, framed by old willow trees and inhale a steadying breath. Your feet sink into the soft earth as you step into the shade of the trees and you see Wonwoo standing, as you half-expected he would be, next to the gnarled oak tree in the centre of the clearing. A small smile plays at the corners of your lips as you approach him in silence, startling him when you come to a stop beside him–eyes trained on the carved heart in the rough, brown bark. 

“Do you remember when we did this?” he asks, tracing a finger over the old memory. You nod, waiting for him to continue the story, “a month before I left for town.”

“I remember.” 

“You told me I wasn’t allowed to leave without first promising to come back when we were older,” he laughs–a light, breathless laugh. “Do you remember that?” 

“I do,” you nod, turning towards him. “I remember you saying you would always come back for me.” 

“Right,” he nods, removing his hand from the wood of the tree and straightening his posture. You stand for a moment, in the silence of the morning broken only by the chirping of nesting birds in the treetops above. The shared memory lingers between you–wrapping you together in a knot of knowing. A knowing of each other, unlike anyone else–shared history, shared memories, shared feelings. 

“Are you going to marry him?” Wonwoo asks, breaking the silence first and glancing at you–fear of your unspoken answer, of what he imagines it might be, dancing in his brown eyes as he stands in the sun-dappled wood. You can’t help but feel strange in this moment, standing with the boy you’ve stood with so many times surrounded by these same trees. He looks the same–older, yes–but the same. The same brown eyes alight with hope and love, the same golden skin glistening in the light of the sun, the same tremor in his voice as he gives voice to a question that he fears the answer to. 

You pause a moment in thought. “Jeonghan would make an excellent husband,” you say, consdiering the possibility out loud. Wonwoo's face falls; a subtle almost imperceptible shift in his expression. Fear of an unknown solidifying into fear of an almost certainty in his mind.

He clears his throat, nodding, "he would." The tremor in his voice remains even as he tries to hide it, speaking softly and trying to steel his gaze. "You would be," he stammers, averting his eyes back towards the bark of the tree, “you would be an excellent match."

"We would, but Wonwoo," you say, catching his attention again with the mention of his name. You capture his gaze once more as you take a step forward, closing the distance between you. Your fingers itch to reach out and take his hand in yours; standing here alone in the middle of a copse of trees you're already laughing in the face of all decency. All it would take is one of you to reach out–skin to skin–as you had when you were children. Without care, without worry. No thought to anything save the moment. Save the feeling that trembles in the space between you. 

"Wonwoo," you begin again, steadying your hands at your side, "how could I marry him when I'm still in love with you?"

The dawn of realisation breaks over his face–clearing away the storm clouds that had been brewing behind his eyes–and his mouth falls open in silent shock. You stand there, bathed in the golden light of the morning sun as it filters through the tops of the trees overhead. Trees that have witnessed your growth together through life; running wild as children, escaping your parents as youths, and sharing your first, fumbling kiss at fourteen years old after racing each other through the rain to the solace of the grove. Trees that now stand witness as Wonwoo finally speaks, breaking the silence that had stretched taut between you for a moment–a silence filled with so many unspoken memories and words. “Can I kiss you?” he asks, voice a mere breath in the air; if you hadn’t been standing so close already you might not have heard him. 

You reach forward, allowing your itching fingers to finally grasp onto his–the shock of his warm hands in your own sending a chill over your body. Slowly, you raise his hand to your lips and press a chaste kiss to the knuckles, murmuring a soft “yes,” into his skin there. 

All the awkwardness of youth is gone; the stiff hands, the hesitation, all of it melts into the past as Wonwoo raises a gentle hand to your cheek, bringing you towards him. A sharp inhale in the wake of anticipation, and then your lips meet. His warmth sinks into you as you press forward into the kiss, deepening it as you feel the flood of feelings held back for years pour forth.

Wonwoo pulls back with a smile that lights up the browns of his irises as he looks at you. “What would your mother think of this?” he teases, entwining his fingers with yours. 

“Don’t ruin this please,” you grimace, and he laughs–bright and clear before pulling you back to him. You feel his smile against your lips and sink into the warmth of it, wrapping your arms around him and allowing the world outside to melt away. No thoughts of your family, no thoughts of your past, no thoughts of the future–just here and now, in the arms of the one you’ve loved and waited for. 

And it’s in this moment, as Wonwoo encircles you in his arms, that you know you���ve made the right choice. 

© 2024, neoneun-au. all rights reserved.

if you enjoyed this story, please consider reblogging and letting me know. its what keeps me writing

[lev1hei1chou]

Physics Class

Dad!Gojo x reader Genre: Fluff Synopsis: Gojo teaches physics to his child, and it doesn't go the way they want it to. Masterlist

It was a typical evening in the Gojo household, or so it seemed. Satoru Gojo was seated at the dining table with his teenage child and a pile of physics textbooks. His usual demeanor was replaced with a look of sheer desperation as he attempted to explain the intricacies of quantum mechanics.

"Okay, so imagine this," Gojo began, summoning his Infinity to illustrate his point. "You have a particle, and it can be in multiple places at once..."

Haru, stared blankly at his father, eyes glazed over with confusion. "But Dad, I still don't get it. How can something be in two places at the same time?"

Gojo rubbed his temples, mentally cursing the day he decided to take on the role of tutor. "Well, you see, it's like... umm... Hollow Purple!" With a flourish of his hand, he conjured the swirling vortex of energy, hoping it would somehow make the concept clearer.

Haru's expression didn't change. "It just looks like purple fog to me, Dad."

Gojo sighed dramatically. "This is harder than fighting curses," he muttered under his breath.

Suddenly, a light bulb seemed to go off in Gojo's head. "I know! Let's try a practical demonstration." Within seconds, he summoned a small rubber ball and a series of miniature black holes using his powers.

Haru's eyes widened in alarm. "Dad, are you sure this is safe?"

But before he could protest further, Gojo released the ball into the gravitational field of the black holes. Chaos ensued as the ball disappeared and reappeared in seemingly random locations.

"Dad, I think you just broke the laws of physics," Haru exclaimed, a mix of awe and terror in his voice.

Gojo chuckled nervously. "Well, umm... let's just say it's a... creative interpretation."

Despite the chaotic lesson, Haru couldn't help but smile at their father's antics. "Thanks, Dad. I still don't understand quantum mechanics, but at least I had fun trying."

Gojo grinned proudly, tousling his hair affectionately. "That's my kid. Now, let's tackle the next chapter: Kinetic Energy!"

As Gojo delved deeper into the world of teaching normal subjects, he realized that traditional methods simply weren't cutting it. So, he decided to incorporate his sorcery skills into the curriculum, much to the dismay of his teenager.

Satoru decided to demonstrate the concept of kinetic energy using his Infinity. He summoned a couple of marbles and set them rolling on the table, intending to show how their speed affected their energy.

"See, Haru, the faster the marble moves, the more energy it has," Gojo explained, trying to sound as convincing as possible.

His son nodded along, trying to follow his father's logic. But when Gojo decided to ramp up the demonstration by using his powers to increase the speed of the marbles to near-supersonic levels, chaos ensued.

The marbles careened off the table, ricocheting around the room like tiny bullets. Furniture was overturned, vases shattered, and Gojo found himself ducking for cover behind the sofa.

"Dad, I think we should stick to the textbook," Haru yelled over the chaos, dodging a marble that whizzed past his head.

Gojo emerged from his hiding spot, looking sheepish. "Right, maybe that was a bit much."

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the Gojo household. The door swung open, and you walked in. You were greeted not by the usual calm ambiance of home, but by a scene of utter chaos.

"Baby, what on earth happened here?" you exclaimed, taking in the overturned furniture, cracked decorations and the faint scent of burnt rubber lingering in the air.

Your husband looked up from his haphazard pile of textbooks, relief washing over his exhausted features at the sight of his wife. "Oh, thank goodness you're here. We've had a bit of a... situation."

Your son sat at the table with tears glistening in his eyes, surrounded by scattered papers and half-hearted attempts at calculations. He looked up at his mother with a mixture of frustration and defeat.

"Mom, I just don't understand any of this. We tried so much and nothing worked," he confessed, his voice trembling with emotion.

Your heart broke at the sight of your son's distress. You crossed the room in a few quick strides, wrapping him in a comforting hug. "It's okay, sweetheart. We'll figure this out together."

Turning to Gojo, you found her husband in a state of near-panic, his usual smirk replaced by a look of sheer desperation. "Love, what's going on? Why is everything in shambles?"

Gojo ran a hand through his disheveled hair, his frustration palpable. "I've been trying to help Haru study for his physics exam, but nothing seems to be sinking in. I've tried every trick in the book, and then some my personal tricks. It didn't do much though."

You couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of your usually unflappable husband on the brink of a meltdown. "Well, why don't we take a break, and then try some different approach?."

[tonixe]

Hey can I pls have upper moons with a goddess storm/ororo Munroe reader? Or a scarlet witch/Wanda Maximoff reader?

♰ ★ 𝖀𝖕𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖒𝖔𝖔𝖓𝖘 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖆 𝖌𝖔𝖉𝖉𝖊𝖘𝖘 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗

n.o.t.e.s - OMG YES, I LOVE THIS IDEA!

w.a.r.n - None, doma being a menace, and the reader not reading the room.

p.a.i.r.i.n.g - various!Uppermoons x godess!reader

w.c - 675

You slowly opened your eyes to see a man with oddly but bright rainbow eyes staring at you. As you blinked several times before pushing yourself far away from the man.

Before the creepy figure chuckled " She's awake!" his odd monotone voice, made your body shake. As you quickly whipped your hand across your body sending a gust of red magic going towards the unknown man before he quickly dodges the attack.

While you stood up, trying to balance yourself onto the ground. "WHO ARE YOU" you yelled, as you looked at the blonde-haired man, baring your teeth at him. Before you stared around your surroundings, you saw a bunch of people—no demons. Staring at you, "What the fuck" you cursed under your breath, as the demons looked at you curious.

"Where am I" you barked at him, you felt your hands turning warm as your eyes glittered with red color. "You're in the Infinity Castle, thanks to the biwa lady!" he clasped his hands together, giving you a smile. You lowered your hands down. The color of your eyes flickering into their natural color.

"Where's the exit" you muttered, "A-"

"There are no exits" Akaza cut Douma mid-sentence, looking at your pissed-off figure. "What do you mean there are no exits, why am I here!" you yelled, walking to him but stopping mid-way.

"No exits, how the fuck did I get here" you barked, "You were here before any of us" Daki interrupted, you as she looked at you oddly.

She crossed her arms against her chest, she was young but dressed in revealing clothes, "How old are you" you said, pointing at her, "HUH? WHAT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?!?" she exclaimed, puffing out her cheeks.

"You look 14, and I don't think kids are supposed wear something like that" you said out, before registering what you said.

"HUH?!?" she yelled before she almost attacked you before her brother grabbed her. You cocked your head at her before you felt a strong aura spawning behind you, you immediately saw the demons bowing down.

Before you turned around to see a man, with black hair and red crimson eyes. His aura was creepy for you, as your body conscious started heating up, feeling your eyes glittering with color.

The unknown man gave you a look, that made you shake to your core. You manage to look at him in the eye, though fear paralyzes you.

Before his body-chilling voice ranged through the infinite castle. "What's the update on the blue spider lily," he said, nobody said anything, the atmosphere was tense.

"I said, what is the update" he yelled out, before someone spoke up, "W-well, Lord Muzan. The location of it is unknown, but I do have some information about" one of them, you guessed demons said. His whole appearance was odd to you, it was a body coming out of a vase, and his eyes and mouth were in opposite places.

"Well, are you going to be an idiot or say it," Muzan said, it was a flashed, that the demon's head was in his hand. Before the he started rambling about the information he had, when he was done, his head was throwing to the ground, as you at the head rolling.

"Since you guys can't find a simple flower, I found something better," Muzan said before he shortly degraded the uppermoons.

"You" you were snapped out of though, as he pointed at you.

"You're going to find it" he said, turning his body towards, shortly all eyes were on you.

"Me?" you pointed at yourself, "what is a spider lily" you questioned, deadpanning. "Huh," Muzan said, "Do you seriously don't know what a blue spider lily is" Muzan said, twitching his eyebrows.

"No.." you said, cocking your head to the side.

"Are you serious right now" he closed his eyes, and put his hand on his nose bridge, in a pissed-off expression.

The upper moons just looked at you incredulously, "So.. could I go home now?" giving him a smile.

[phoxey]

French toast

Bada Lee x fem!reader

CW: none :3 this is pure fluff

AN: sorry for the long absence, and sorry that this is so short, but i promised a comeback, I am still struggling to write, but it's better than nothing.

I love writing, but like in any relationships there are ups and downs. and in such down phases love is hard work. But it's worth it in the end.

Valentines Day was approaching, and this would be the first time, that you wouldn’t spend the day with Bada. You two have been a couple for a few years now and she would always make Valentines Day special. This year Bada happened to be in a dance workshop on the other side of the world for a few weeks, missing Valentines Day. You tried to talk to her every day, but time zones were against you. When she was going to bed, you were waking up, and when you were going to bed, she was waking up. You only had a small timeframe for talking, and her schedule was tight. She thought you wouldn’t notice, but she woke up earlier and stayed up late just to talk to you. You wanted to scold her for it, but on the other hand you were also grateful for every minute you got with her.

You woke up to several messages from Bada, which she sent, when she knew it was midnight in Korea. It was some silly memes, asking you out to be her valentine, but with them came a long voice message.

“Good morning, beautiful. I hope you had the most wonderful sleep and the sweetest dreams. Maybe you even dreamt of us? I know, I always do. Especially when we are apart like this. I dream of holding you in my arms, your head on my chest, while we watch our favorite shows. It’s cheesy, I know. I really can’t wait for this moment to come. I will probably be at work when you listen to this. And everything I am about to say, I could have also written in a letter, but I wanted to say those things directly, so you can hear the sincerity in my voice. I want to tell you, how I feel. I am so very madly in love with you, it drives me crazy to not be with you for every minute of the day. Every day my love for you grows. How that is possible? I don’t know. Every day I seem to invent a new kind of infinity. I have been looking at your pictures a lot more these past few days, and since day one your beauty keeps striking me over and over again. I know you still can’t see what I see, but I swear to me you are the most beautiful woman on earth. I wish I could kiss every spot you are insecure about and make that feeling go away. I love all of you. You are truly beautiful inside and out. You are just perfect for me. To have such a kind, hardworking and understanding woman in my life, and to be able to call you mine, is truly the greatest blessing I have ever received. I love you.”

From the first word on, tears shot into your eyes. You were too overwhelmed to form a coherent thought. Just as you were trying to formulate a good answer, the doorbell rang. Confused, you walked to the apartment door and opened it. A giant bouquet of your favorite flowers stood in a vase on the ground. It was arranged in the form of a heart. You had to chuckle, this was so cheesy, but that was what you loved about your girlfriend. She always did and say cheesy things, but somehow it was never cringe.

“I see I am arriving in time.”, a familiar voice said.

You looked to the side and saw Lusher and Tatter walking up to your door, both of the carrying a suspicious number of bags.

“Good morning!”, you smiled. “What are you two doing here?”

Lusher and Tatter were grinning at each other for a moment. “We are playing Cupid.”, Tatter answered.

Inside, you put the bouquet on the dining table, as the girls sat down in the living room. You joined them after a moment, bringing them coffee.

You eyed the bags; your heart was racing.

“So!”, Lusher began, and Tatter got her phone out, to begin filming. “Your special someone instructed us to give you your Valentines Day presents. She is very sorry that she can’t be with you right now, but she still wants to make sure you are being spoiled on this special day. Like you deserve.”

You opened the first bag, inside was a shoebox. You recognized immediately what kind of shoes they were. The Nike Jordan 1s you had been wanting for a while now. You took them out to look at them. Suddenly something fell out of them. It was a polaroid photo. It was a mirror selfie of Bada pointing at her feet. She was wearing the same shoes.

The second bag was bigger but softer. Slowly you pulled out, what was inside. It was two pieces of clothing. Firstly, it was one of Badas pants, you always stole, when she made the mistake of wearing them to your apartment. The second item was one of her oversized hoodies. It even smelled like her parfum.

Speaking of it, the last bag was a little smaller. Inside were two things. One you recognized as your favorite parfum, which Bada also loved on you. Whenever you wore it, she stayed at your side, not leaving you for longer than one minute. But there was also a second parfum bottle. You sprayed it on your wrist and immediately the smell of Bada filled your nose. It was her parfum. Smelling it almost made you tear up. You missed her so much. Maybe spraying this onto her hoodie and your pillow would ease the pain of her not being with you finally.

With each present your smile got bigger and your giggles more frequent. Tatter smiled just as wide as she filmed your reaction.

“Do you like it?”

You spun around and there she was. Her tall frame leaning against the wall with her shoulder. Hands in her pockets. She wore her finest dress shirt and tie. She looked so beautiful. Tears welled up in your eyes as you ran into her arms.

“Happy Valentines Day, baby.”, she whispered and kissed on top of your head, as you buried your face in her neck, sobbing.

“I thought you couldn’t come for another week.”, you muttered against the skin of her neck, placing delicate kisses onto her pulse.

“I wanted to surprise you. Did you really think I can spend Valentines Day without my forever Valentine?”

Bada mouthed a thank you to the two other girls, who just winked at her and left the apartment, grinning.

“We have so much to talk about! I have so much tea for you! And you have to tell me all about your trip and your workshop!”, you said excitedly.

Bada smiled fondly at you and laced your fingers. Tenderly, she pressed her lips to your knuckles.

“Sounds good. How about we talk, while I make some French toast?”

[demonslayedher]

Today I went to the Zenshuuchuu-ten (Total Concentration Exhibition) for the Swordsmith Village and Hashira Training arcs today!

This is basically a chance for Ufotable to be like, "remember that cool thing we did?" and for we the fans to be like, "yup, sure do, that's why we're here."

It's not quite as extensive as other KnY events I've been to, and it doesn't particularly provide any new information, but it's fun to see some glimpses of the process from animation cells to finished clips. There's always a handful of fun displays to interact with, scrolls of character designs, and nice panels to display screenshots, especially centered around character arcs and impactful moments.

This time it was roughly as follows:

1. A room with large screen shots of Muzan the Upper Moons that appear in time with lines from the show and twangs of a biwa

2. A small room with a small swordsmithing game that they hurry everyone through. You need to strike the sword with just the right amount of force to get a ball into the middle of three slots, which I did, so I got handed a little piece of paper which is my certification as a master. I mentioned this to a friend afterword and her response was "of course you did."

3. A room in two parts dedicated to Muichiro's arc in SSV, with a hazy curtain you pass through sort of like Muichiro gaining his memories, and a model of his sword backlit in turquoise

4. A room dedicated to Mitsuri's arc in SSV, including a model of her sword which curves all the way across the room, and a little Mitsuri whom you could challenge to arm wrestling. She beat me pretty easily.

5. A Genya room of screenshots, and models of both his short little sword and his gun. Forgot to mention that their lines were playing overheard in each room!

6. A Gyokko and Hantengu room. A Gyokko only appeared over a model of the vase if you took a photo with flash, and there was a little Hantengu figure to look for, and if you found it, they'd give you a piece of origami paper on your way out of the gallery (pretty much everybody found it, but it was tiny).

8. The dedicated to Nezuko's mastery was not in-your-face triumph, but instead had a TV screen playing the Nezuko tribute music video version of her song, with the lyrics as scattered across the grey walls as the stream-of-consciousness lyrics.

9. Right after that, the staff ushers you in to the Hashira meeting, as though you were late.

Next to the meeting taking place, there is a model of Tanjiro's new old sword.

8. After that is a room dedicated to Giyuu's back story. I liked the design of the hanging screenshots in this one. Although the overall image is "water" because of the blue, the water design with light cast on the floor, and water droplet sounds mixed in with Giyuu's lines, the half-and-half effect was perhaps not intentional, but it was there. When you turn back to look through this room, the hanging screenshots--memories of Sabito and Tsutako--are all black.

9. The rest is a room dedicated to the different stages of Hashira training, with 3-D displays like riceballs, paper airplanes, pancakes with honeycomb and a ribbon, a board with ropes and sword cut marks (yikes), scuffed wooden swords, and a boulder you could push on. Along the tops of these displays were some eyeballs scoping everything out...

10. After that they put you in a theater room with three wide screens and headphones. At the last Zenshuuchuuten they did a reedit of the Akaza and Rengoku fight across three screens, so I figured this would have has plunging into the Infinity Fortress. After a preview review of Hashira Training highlights and Muzan's walk, yup, sure enough things got explosive and they plunged us in via the big screen, including some extra disorientation by zooming really closely in on some moving shots, or having multiple things happen at once across the screens.

11. Then they funnel you into a place with a TV playing the announcement for the Infinity Castle movies. No new content or news.

12. After that, these things tend to have a bright and happy Kimetsu Academy room! You could take photos, but there was a chalkboard with the voice actors have let their signatures and messages for the fans. I appreciated how they seemed to reflect their characters in their comments and handwriting, to some extent (certainly not Matsuoka (Inosuke) or none of it would be legible, but Hayami (Shinobu) has very legible, handwriting, and Hanae (Tanjiro) has comments like "I hope you'll feel like GUWAAA and GAAAAA!"). You could not take photos of the signatures, but you could take a photo of Mitsuri's art and figment of her imagination who says disparaging things to her (despite how she wants her art to make the world happy?? Oh, the irony):

13. The gallery concludes with a hall eyecatch illustrations, and a hall of Ufotable staff art paying homage to their favorite characters and scenes. Always treat seeing things in Ufotable style, but with individual craft and taste!

14. After that, you buy things. This is where they get ya.

Kind of thankfully, it's late enough in the exhibition's run that they've already run out of a lot of the smaller items I was intrigued by, so I behaved myself. I got the t-shirts I was planning on (I love the simplicity of them so so much, and really had to resist getting the paper airplane one too), a Daki ribbon item leftover from the last exhibition (though what I really wanted was Daki shoelaces), and an official pamphlet of the event. My friend got a couple Osaka-only badges,but since she got doubles of Zenitsuup the Umeda Sky Building, she gave one to me.

I really love that "nanikore" ("what the...?") design. It's so simple, and if you don’t know KnY, you might think they're just silly little circus dudes. But people who know will be like, "!!!" and their day will be a little brighter for having seen it.

Gonna do a quick self-reblog now with some extra photos!

[fatkish]

Alpha Muzan x Omega Reader

Muzan is no stranger to eating omegas

He’s come across plenty of them and they’ve always smelled delicious

But you were different

Back in the Heian era, it was a popular belief that true mates existed

When you find your true mate, you’re supposedly overcome with an intense desire to be close to them. Never wanting to leave their side

Alphas will feel an immediate urge to protect their true mate and a sense of responsibility for their maté’s wellbeing

An omega will feel an immediate attraction and a sense of comfort

When Muzan caught the scent of a particularly enticing omega, he followed the scent

When his eyes met yours he felt a spark inside of him

He never believed in true mates, but since he couldn’t bring himself to devour you he decided to kidnap you instead

He brought you to the infinity castle and made sure to keep you close to him as well as order his demons not to harm you

He had no idea what he was going to do with you but your constant whines and whimpers were driving him crazy with a sense to protect and provide for you

In order to shut you up he left the castle and gathered a bunch of necessities for an omega

He brought you plenty of nesting materials for you to build a nest with as well as food

When he’s working, if you ask him to cuddle with you, he’ll say no but after a bit of your pleads and whines, he’ll relent

He’ll crawl into your nest and let you snuggle up to him

Sometimes when you’re snuggling with him he’ll bring a book and read to you

He doesn’t know why but having you close to him brings him a sense of peace

He eventually realized that the infinity castle was not a good place for you

He made Kokushibo find a small secluded house that you could comfortably live in

Muzan brought you there and made sure that any demon who came near the house would immediately recognize his scent and would leave you alone

Muzan made a small office/study for himself to work in so that he wouldn’t have to leave as often

You started a garden outside and made sure to stay within earshot of Muzan, since he gets grumpy when he can’t see you

Your garden contains lots of vegetables and herbs and there are also some fruit trees in the surrounding forest

You mostly live off the land, you have a small chicken coop and you fish in the river nearby

If there are things that you need that you can’t grow or forage yourself then Muzan will get them for you

Muzan has taught you many things such as how to make medicine from plants and plant identification

His office has a bunch of books that you’ll read. You like to collect flowers and put them in a vase in his office

When he has to leave for a bit he makes sure that either Kokushibo or Akaza are nearby to assist you should something happen

Muzan is paranoid that the demon slayers will find you and take you away

Despite his cruel and selfish personality, he grows a soft spot for you and he is whipped for you

While he travels he’ll find things that he thinks you’ll like and gets them for you as gifts

He enjoys spoiling you, he’ll buy fancy kimonos for you, expensive hairpins, etc.

Despite his gifts which you deeply appreciate and treasure, you always tell him that he’s the best gift you could ever receive

When you ask him about his work or question his studies he’ll carefully explain them to you so that you can understand

Sometimes you’ll just sit in a chair and watch him work. He’s asked you why you do this and you always tell him that you’re fascinated by what he’s doing

He’s very protective of you. Whenever you’re cooking and handling a knife, he watches you closely, making sure you don’t hurt yourself

Sometimes at night when you both are cuddling in your nest, he’ll lay his head on your chest and let you run your fingers through his hair

Sometimes he’ll let you brush his hair. He even grows his hair long so that you have plenty to play with

He does plan on turning you into a demon but he just doesn’t know when he’s going to

He first wants to conquer the sun, then he’ll turn you into a demon who can also withstand the sun

[danceofthephilos]

Hanakotoba and the Meanings of Flowers in SK8 the Infinity

Ranging from very overt allusions in the text to single pieces of official art, almost every main character in SK8 has been associated with a flower. Hanakotoba, the Japanese language of flowers, is something that the creators were attentive to, evidenced by its mention both in the show itself and by staff in discussion about the episodes, and considering how hanakotoba might have been taken into account in the other examples of flower imagery can add an interesting layer of symbolism to speculate on.

The hanakotoba columns on GreenSnap were my primary source for this post, but I've crosschecked the meanings on multiple websites as much as possible to ensure the factual information here is accurate to the best of my ability. This is quite a long post, so bear with me.

🌹 Roses 🌹

Naturally, the first flower to start with is the one that is directly mentioned in the show itself:

As Adam says, red roses do mean "passionate love", though his particular wording (jounetsu no ai) is slightly paraphrased from how that meaning is typically worded. (If you look up the meaning of roses in hanakotoba, you may see netsuretsu na koi (熱烈な恋) instead.) They can also simply mean "love" and "passion" (ai and jounetsu, as Adam uses in this line), as well as "beauty" and "I'm in love with you."

In Japanese as in English, red roses are a very classically romantic gift, so in the finale and the Blu-ray box art, it seems Adam's passionate love hasn't waned.

There are also specific meanings for certain numbers of flowers in a bouquet of roses, and while it's never stated how many roses are in the first bouquet Adam brings Langa, extrapolating from how many flowers are visible in the shots and how many are hidden, as well as the bouquet at Adam's birthday display at the 2022 NAMJATOWN collaboration containing 50 flowers (as I was able to confirm from some fans' photos from better angles, that I won't be reposting here as they were personal photos on Twitter) I believe that the bouquet in the show also contains 50, which means "eternity."

Adam's bouquets to Langa are also not the only times roses appear in relation to him, nor is red the only color they appear in. Several flashback shots of Ainosuke and Tadashi as children feature red roses, which has quite clear subtextual implications, especially alongside the comparison between Tadashi and Langa made in the show itself.

But one prominent flashback also includes pink roses, meaning "deep impression."

In Ainosuke and Tadashi's last scene together in the finale, there's a vase of purple roses behind them, meaning "pride" or "respect."

And his graffiti tag from the 2022 Infinity Week art features blue roses, which, along with being in Langa's image color, mean "dream come true", "impossible" or "miracle."

Roses also have a lengthy history of associations with gay men, both in real-life Japanese gay culture and in the boys' love genre, and how this relates to the use of rose imagery in SK8 could (and likely eventually will) be its own post, but it's an extra aspect to take into consideration with Adam especially.

As a bonus, the mangaka for the official manga adaptation also drew Langa and Reki with red and blue roses (respectively) to celebrate the season finale:

And while Reki is never associated with roses in any more official capacity, Langa does have red roses in his house that are visible in a few scenes:

~

🌷 Tulips 🌷

This is another one that's directly confirmed, this time regarding Shadow's bouquet in the ending montage.

For love bouquets, Adam uses roses, so Hiromi-chan's was tulips and white baby's breath. In hanakotoba, red tulips mean "confession of love." Pink means "sincere love." Orange means "shyness", so we went with these three. Plus, white tulips are "new love" or "unrequited love" so we stopped there… (lol) By the way, in hanakotoba, baby's breath means "innocent love" and "gratitude."

(Episode 12 Director Masatoyo Takada, Skater's Backstage)

Tulips in general mean "charity" and "thoughtfulness", and Shadow is frequently associated with them outside of just this scene, whether on his clothes or in official merchandise. "Tulip" is also the name of the flower shop where he works!

He's holding another bouquet of tulips on the Blu-ray box art, as well, with the same colors as in the finale - but with the addition of the mentioned white tulips for "unrequited love", and yellow tulips, which can mean "honesty", but can mean "unrequited love" (or "hopeless love") too... Sorry, Shadow.

~

🌺 Hibiscus 🌺

Moving away from directly stated connections into slightly more obscure ones, Reki is nevertheless visually associated with hibiscus in several places, both in shots in the show and in his 2021 birthday art.

Hibiscus flowers generally can mean "new love", "trust" and "I believe in you" (a meaning thought to originate from Hinduism), while red hibiscus specifically (as Reki is depicted with) mean "bravery."

Hibiscus flowers are also considered as symbol of Okinawa as a whole, making them an especially fitting flower for Reki, who's implied to be of indigenous Ryukyuan descent and is the character who could be considered the most representative of Okinawa (and Langa's new life there) in the show,

~

🌸 Cherry Blossoms 🌸

This one is fairly self-explanatory; Kaoru's surname is Sakurayashiki (sakura being the Japanese word for cherry blossoms), his S name is Cherry Blossom, cherry blossoms feature on his costume and heavily in the decor in his calligraphy studio, et cetera. As one of the most well-known and famously Japanese flowers, they're well suited to Cherry's traditional Japanese image, and the whole aesthetic of his character is themed around them. Even his birthday is on March 27th, Sakura Day in Japan.

In hanakotoba, cherry blossoms' most well-known meaning is "moral beauty", a phrase referring to the beauty of someone's personality or character. They can also mean "graceful woman" or "pure-blooded", and the specific species of cherry blossom that the ones in Cherry's design resemble (somei-yoshino cherry blossoms) can additionally mean "noble" or "innocent." The fact that the same flower with such elegant meanings is related to both his public and S personas adds to the characteristic duality between his outward appearance and private personality.

While not specifically hanakotoba, the French meaning of cherry blossoms also appears to be well-known in Japan - "ne m'oubliez pas", or "don't forget me", associated with ending relationships.

~

💮 Chrysanthemums 💮

Another flower associated with a character through their surname, chrysanthemums are the "kiku" (菊) in Kikuchi. A chrysanthemum also features prominently in the design on Adam's skateboard.

Chrysanthemums also appear on both Adam and Tadashi's clothes in a few pieces of official art.

Chrysanthemums' meanings in hanakotoba are all variations of "nobility" and "purity." They're a flower with great cultural significance in Japan, being the crest of the Imperial family, and often appear as a symbol of Japanese society itself - including on the badges worn by both Diet members such as Ainosuke and even certain ones worn by their secretaries, making this flower one that's representative of a very important aspect of both their lives.

While there's no particular history to this meaning, due to the romantic color, red chrysanthemums such as the one on Adam's board can also mean "I love you."

According to director Utsumi in the 2022 Infinity Week livestream, the chrysanthemum on Adam's board was a happy accident, as Thomas Romain, the artist who designed the board, didn't know Tadashi's name or anything about his history with Adam when creating it. The double layer of symbolism is an incredible coincidence!

~

🌻 Sunflowers 🌻

Joe doesn't have any particular connection with flowers in the show himself, but there is one piece of official art featuring him with sunflowers, which complement the strong association he does have with the sun.

In hanakotoba, sunflowers mean "admiration", "longing" or "I'm only looking at you" - originating from the way sunflowers will always turn to face the sun. As this particular piece of official art was for a magazine feature for White Day (a Japanese holiday where men receive gifts from women they gave gifts to on Valentine's Day), perhaps they're meant to be a gift to him. As Joe's stronger association is with the sun itself (his tattoo is of the sun, his board has the word "sole" - sun in Italian - written on it and a sun incorporated into the design, his restaurant's name (Sia la Luce) translates to "let there be light") he could be seen as the sun that the sunflowers (his admirers) would look towards.

Along with the hibiscus in the image, Reki's birthday event in 2021 also featured sunflowers as part of the display, fitting his yellow image color.

~

❄️ Snowdrops ❄️

And finally, one more case with only a single piece of official art - but one with a very interesting history behind its meanings. In Langa's 2022 birthday art, he's shown holding snowdrops - a natural association with his S name and the fact that he's a former snowboarder.

In hanakotoba, snowdrops mean "hope" and "comfort." These meanings are said, as you will find on any Japanese hanakotoba site, to originate from a story about Adam and Eve dating back to at least 1925, if not earlier (with 1925 being the earliest version of the story the Japanese Wikipedia page on snowdrops is able to cite.) As the story goes, after Adam and Eve were cast out of the Garden of Eden, an angel took pity on them suffering in the winter cold and turned the falling snowflakes into snowdrops, to console them and give them courage. In that 1925 version of the story, the first snowdrop was specifically a gift to Eve:

The Snowdrop Legend When the first winter lay white upon the earth, Eve sorely missed the beautiful things of the field. An angel who pitied her seized a snowflake and, breathing upon it, bade it live, for her delight. It fell to the earth a flower, which Eve caught to her breast with gladness, for not only did it break the spell of winter, but it carried assurance of divine mercy. Hence the flower means consolation and promise.

With both the superficial connections of being winter flowers named after snow and their connection to SK8's intentional biblical themes (as producer Mari Suzuki described the show as a whole as "the story of Adam searching for Eve" in Animedia March 2021), these have some of the deepest meanings of any of the flowers depicted, despite only appearing in a single piece of art.

The flower imagery SK8 uses is fascinating and surprisingly layered, especially knowing the deliberate attention to hanakotoba that was paid in certain cases, and it'll be interesting to see how it might continue to feature in the future.

[mikobeautifulheart]

Touching their weak spot

-Part 2-

INCLUDING: GOJO, GETO and NANAMI

ALSO SURGESSTIVE.

~Gojo~

"I'm not gonna hurt you pookie, just turn your infinity off" You said smiling.

"Uh nope. Nuh uh you called me pookie, somethings up." Gojo said somewhat afraid for the first time in his life, he came home from a mission only to sense you from behind him.

"Look Satoru you've been gone for so longgggg I miss you so muchhhh."

"Its been 2 hours-"

"Aww and i'm touch starved, turn the damn infinity off."

"Baby I love you but your scaring me"

In reality you were no competition, you knew if you fought Gojo you would lose. Unless you pulled your special move.

"You know what? forget it." You said walking out the room leaving him confused.

Not even a second after there was a loud crashing sound from your direction, he panicked and rushed into the room.

There you were on the floor, seemingly unconscious, flower vase knocked over with shards of it everywhere. Flowers and petals alike scattered around the ground.

"Y/N?" Gojo said rushing to you and elevating your upper body, looking for injuries.

You opened your eyes and dramatically gasped for air before mouthing words.

"What, wait Y/n I can't hear you"

He leaned his head in closer to hear you whiper.

"Gottcha"

"Hu-AHH"

You had took the opportunity to glide your fingertips down the back of his neck.

"So you did really miss me huh?" He said with a smirk while you repaired the vase with your cursed technique.

"Not as much as you miss me" you said feeling something hard on your lower back.

It wasn't his hand or leg.

-Geto-

"Suguruuuuu" you whinned while throwing your arms around his neck from behind.

"Your so busy with work and missions all the time , spend some time with meee."

No response.

"Suguruuuuu pleaseee"

Still no response. You hummed in disappointment. He left you no choice but to do that.

You put your lips right behind his ear and whispered to him.

"God, Suguru I'm so lonley." And topped it off with a small sigh.

His body shuttered.

You felt his ear heat up against your lips and before you knew it you got his attention for sure.

"Your so needy" he said lifting you up and placing you on the couch.

His hands slowly went up your thighs until they reached the hem of your skirt.

"I told you not to go there, remember? Can't keep myself restrained if your going to keep going on like this ya' know."

"Whatcha doing Suguru?" You hummed as your eyes patiently locked with his.

"Whatever you want~"

•Nanami•

"Ken, you looked stressed" you said standing nexted to the very exhausted Nanami.

First he had to work over time, then he came home late and now he has to do all this paperwork by tomorrow without getting distracted by his very pretty wife.

"Mhm, I am." He hummed, turning the page over to finalise everything.

"You should have a break. It's not good on your health to be that stressed." You sighed

"I have to get this done now or I'll be behind in all my work y/n, I can't kust have a break."

"Not even for me?" You asked brushing your lips against his neck and loosening his tie slowly.

His breath hitched as your gentle lips only grazed his skin. His heart burst and he couldn't keep his composite any longer.

"Well that's another story." He said pulling you by your hips and guiding you onto an empty spot on your desk.

You pulled his tie to bring his lips closer and he pushed the paper work off the desk while he felt another hand play with him belt buckel.

"You really know how to deal with stress huh?"

"I don't know, let's find out."

THAKS FOR READING ♡

AUTHOURS NOTE: Yes this is a part 2, yes there will be a part 3, it will be a Yuta and Toge one, yes I take requests and reblogs r welcomed. Have a good whatever time.

[nicoline1998enilocin]

Dancing in the street

Pairing | Steve Rogers x Civilian!Female!Reader

Word count | ~ 750 words

Summary Steve hasn't been himself lately, so he returns to his roots and goes to the part of New York he grew up in. As he's strolling around Brooklyn, he suddenly spots you dancing in the middle of a crosswalk, and he can't help but smile at your enthusiasm. When he gets pulled into a dance, he lets himself go and dances with the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.

Warning(s) This occurs between Infinity War and Endgame but doesn't necessarily follow all canon events | Swearing.

Request @tittittoee | Hii!! Omg omg as soon as i saw this video I thought of Steve Rogers having a grumpy day and when he saw y/n dancing. He couldn't help but to let out a chuckle. (In the video when she turned to look at the other person while she pointed her hands at them) can it be y/n grabbing steve to dance with her. So they’ll just be dancing in the middle of the crosswalk 🥰

A/n I want to thank you for this sweet request! I enjoyed the video, and the idea is lovely because I always want to make a smile appear on his face 🥰 My requests are currently closed, and I will post the ones I already received over the next few weeks. Thank you to @ccbsrmsf1 for proofreading this one! 🖤

Banners: @vase-of-lilies | Divider: @firefly-graphics | GIF credit to the owner

Main Masterlist | Steve Rogers Masterlist | Read on AO3

It's been nearly two years since Thanos made the Snap happen, and half the popularity on Earth has vanished. Despite all his best efforts, Steve's still adjusting to this, but it's incredibly difficult without his best friend by his side.

Bucky vanished all that time ago, and Steve hasn't been the same. His only tether to the past he once knew and loved is gone, and he's been trying his hardest to adjust.

''He'll come back, don't worry!'' or ''He'll be back before you know it!'' were only a few of the things he heard almost daily, and he was getting sick of it by now.

And that's precisely why he stormed out of the Avengers Compound to make his way to Brooklyn. He needs to go back to where he grew up and where he met his best friend, back to his memories.

He took his motorcycle and drove off, not caring about the mess he left behind right now.

The wind blows through his long, golden locks as he makes his way to his old neighborhood, ready to get lost in his thoughts, all so he doesn't have to endure more pity from strangers, coworkers, or friends.

When he reaches his old neighborhood, he parks the motorcycle and takes the keys out of the ignition before taking in every building around him.

After a short walk of a few minutes, he arrives at the house he used to share with his Mom as he was growing up, and when he looks up at the windows, he feels a lump in his throat.

''I'm sorry, Mom. Sorry I couldn't be there for you before you passed,'' he whispers, wiping away a tear from his cheek, and he sits down on the stairs in front of the door, his elbows leaning on his knees.

His head hangs low, his hands constantly raking through his hair to calm his mind, but nothing seems to work. His mind is filled with pictures of his Mom, but also Bucky.

He still can't believe it's been nearly two years since his best friend vanished right before his eyes. It's been two years since he lost the last bit of hope he had. And it's been two years of a neverending battle.

''FUCK!'' he exclaims loudly, and a few people on the street look at him, but he doesn't care. The entire world could vanish for all he cares, with him included.

He stays on those steps for nearly an hour before he decides to go somewhere else because being here only makes him feel worse, and he wipes his tears away aggressively.

After picking himself back together, he makes the trip back to his motorcycle. He has to stop at a red light before a crosswalk, and that's where his attention is immediately drawn to you.

It is a beautiful day outside, and you take full advantage of it as you stroll through Brooklyn, getting to know the neighborhood you just moved into.

You were bouncing happily on the soles of your feet at the side of the road, and Steve couldn't help but smile at your enthusiasm. Seeing you like that somehow worked wonders for his mood as well.

As soon as the light turned green, you couldn't contain your excitement, and you danced onto the crosswalk and stretched your arms out at Steve, a stranger to you.

''Come on, dance with me!'' you exclaim happily, and Steve does, smiling from ear to ear at your happiness. He lifts your arm to let you twirl a few times before you pull him to the side of the road he just came from.

He didn't care, though, because he wanted to go wherever you were going, too. With a wink, you let go of his hands and turned around on your way to your destination, and Steve was left with a massive smile on his face.

All he could hope for was that he would see you again because seeing you made his day just a little brighter. Even if his best friend wasn't here, you managed to make him smile like an idiot, and he wasn't complaining for a single second.

Suddenly, it felt like a weight was lifted off his shoulders, and the drive back to the Compound wasn't so bad anymore. You showed him how you can make the best out of every day, even if it's just by dancing with strangers on a crosswalk.

And for that, he will never be able to repay you.

[pupkashi]

giving the jjk boys flower bouquets

a/n: hi hi friends !! i hope u guys enjoy these cute ramblings I’ve put together ,, let me know what u all think or any requests u may have :3

wordcount: 1,218

masterlist

— gojo satoru !

you smiled as you gently placed the cosmos flowers in the vase, an array of colors that you knew gojo would love. as you finished touching up the arrangement a bit you stepped back and admired your work, not the best but not the worst.

“sweets im home!” gojo called out, seeing you peek from around the corner with a wide smile on your face.

“toru! i got you something stay here” you commanded, about to turn and head to the kitchen but he grabbed your wrist and pulled you into his chest, you looked up at him with a smile.

“no welcome home kiss?” he pouted and you rolled your eyes, giving him a soft kiss before wiggling out of his grasp and scurrying to grab the vase.

gojo was distracted with whatever was playing on the tv, only tearing his eyes away when he heard you say a small ‘ta-daaa.’ his heart grew in his chest and he felt like falling to his knees and crying from how much he loved you.

“for me?” he asked, his voice a bit smaller than usual, you nodded, holding them out for him to hold. he took the vase from your hands, sniffing them a bit before placing them on the table. “my sweet angel thank you so much” he smiled, cheeks burning.

“ask me why i chose them” you grinned, giddy to explain the meaning behind the flowers. gojo would always listen to anything you had to say, so of course he asked, “why did you pick these beautiful flowers to give me?”

“I’m glad you asked!” you teased, “these are actually called cosmos” you spoke, moving from where you were standing to now sit next to your boyfriend, holding his hand and playing with his fingers. “cosmos represent self-resilience, beauty, kindness” you paused, looking at him and placing a kiss on his cheek, “and infinity.” a smile broke onto both of your faces as you uttered the the two words.

“you’re so clever, sweets” he grinned, placing quick pecks all over your face before settling on your lips for a slower kiss. you smiled into the kiss, intertwining your fingers with his once you’d pulled away.

— itadori yuji !

yuji was fast asleep on your couch, exhausted after the day he had but determined to pay you a visit. ‘i told you I’d go over today baby, I’m not breaking that promise.’

there was a small smile on your face as you stared at your lover. despite his obvious exhaustion he had stopped to get your favorite food for dinner and got your favorite snacks. you placed a gentle kiss on his temple, slipping your shoes on and sneaking out the door, rushing to the florist by your apartment.

you quickly grabbed a bouquet of lisianthus, rushing back home. as quietly as you could, you opened the door, finding yuji sitting up, showered and changed into some of the spare clothes he left at your place.

“g’morning baby” he smiled brightly, eyes landing the flowers in your hands, “what’s that?” he asked. you smiled and moved closer towards him, extending your arms out and handing the flowers to him.

“for you” a loving look on your face as you bit your lip gently, nervous as to what he would say.

“for me? what for?” the blush on his cheeks gave away how he felt, giddiness in his heart as he sniffed the flowers.

“just because,” the two words melting the boy in-front you, “they have a special meaning too” yuji looked at you confused before you added on, “the flowers.”

“oh? do flowers have meaning? is there flower language?” he questioned, looking at flowers in his hands with furrowed brows and a small pout on his lips. your heart grew in your chest at the sight.

“these are lisianthus, they mean appreciation, gratitude and charm,” you looked at him, placing a kiss on his cheek, “perfect for you.”

yuji smiled widely, placing the flowers on the table next to him and wrapping you in a tight hug, kissing you quickly.

the two of you needed up tangled in each others arms on the couch, watching his favorite movie. you looked at him for a quick second, smiling and placing a kiss on his lips.

“thank you for everything,” you mumbled, sincerity laced in your every word. yuji pressed another kiss to your lips, “thank you for being mine, baby.”

— fushiguro megumi !

you knocked on your boyfriends door, holding the couple of stems of yarrow flowers in your hands, heart racing with excitement to hand them off to megumi.

as megumi opened the door, his usual expression changed into a wide smile as he saw you, eyes flickering down to the flowers.

“hi i didn’t know you were coming” he smiled, already pulling you into his room and wrapping you in his arms. you hugged him back with one arm, the other taking care of the flowers so they weren’t crushed by the spiky haired sorcerer.

“i was on my way to run some errands and i found these yarrow flowers and there were so many colors so i thought why not pick these flowers for the most beautiful boy in the world?” your words causing his face to burn and his heart grow.

“you actually know what flowers these are?” you smacked him lightly as you handed him the flowers.

“don’t sound so impressed” a smile on your face as you continued, “they’re perfect for you, wanna know why?” there was a beat of silence before megumi let out a soft ‘hmm’ to urge you to continue.

“they symbolize bravery and courageousness, and that I’ll love you in spite of everything” there was a soft look on your face, looking at megumi as he watched you speak.

his features softened and he placed the flowers down gently on the table, taking you into his arms and placing a soft kiss on your lips.

“you’re perfect, you know that?” he whispered, you only giggled and placed a kiss on his cheek.

— nanami kento !

“dear, what are these flowers doing here?” nanami looked at you, eyes darting from the bouquet pale pink of bell flowers to you.

“i got them for you! i thought the apartment was lacking some color” a small sincere grin on your face, his heart melted. you always brought color into his life, ever since he met you.

“they’re beautiful, my love thank you so much” he pulled you into a small side hug, placing a gentle kiss on your temple, keeping you close even after he pulled away from you.

“y’know what they mean?” you asked, giddy with excitement to explain the meaning.

“enlighten me” you smiled, taking his tie in your hand and pulling him closer to you.

“affection,” you whispered, placing a quick kiss on his lips before pulling away, your hands finding his and intertwining your fingers together. you looked down at the sight, heart skipping a beat as your eyes landed on the ring on your fourth finger.

“and everlasting love” you finished, a smile on your husbands face as you finished the sentence. nanami pulled you back into a kiss, this time he took his time, not planning on letting you go anytime soon.

[chuuyrr]

Hello I would like make a request for BSD x Gojo! Reader, with the “Decay Of Angels” if you don’t mind.

In a story where all of the Mans in the “Decay Of Angels” (excluding Fukuchi) being fanboys to Gojo! Reader. Just like Miwa Kasumi being a fangirl to Gojo Satoru.

Make it separate please. Thank you 😊

paparazzi

bungou stray dogs x gojo! reader

masterlist of infinity

╰➤ CW(s): spoilers for bungou stray dogs, crack-ish and slight ooc! decay of angels (i don't really write for them)

╰➤ SYNOPSIS(s): a terrorist organization that specializes as a murder association can't help but take their eyes on the strongest ability user, or in which they simp for you.

╰➤ PAIRING(s): fyodor dostoevsky, nikolai gogol, sigma (separately with different scenarios)

excluding bram stoker and fukuchi as well because i honestly don't know how to write for them. also, i'm still quite new in writing for fyodor, nikolai and sigma, since i'm still catching up with the manga. despite them acting like miwa, i still stuck with their actual characters, but hopefully it's ok ! also, thanks for requesting anon dear ♡

being gojo [name], it's no surprise that you're quick to swoon people, may it be guys or girls.

one of their favorite things to do is literally gathering information and analyzing your every move. probably creepy, but not only were they keen on convincing you to join them, they really just wanted to see and adore you upclose, and when they do, may it be from a far in camera or personally, they're losing it in the inside.

apart from possessing sugawara michizane's six eyes and the limitless ability that makes you the strongest ability user alive, you're very charismatic person, and the decay of the angel is no exception to that. the instant they found and learned about you, they were stoked. they instantly became your biggest fans, despite being a terrorist organization that specializes as a murder association.

nikolai gogol !

nikolai is a die-hard fan of yours. he's head over heels in love with you, and he's a lot like miwa kasumi. he gets all giddy and excited as soon as he sees you, but unlike miwa, who is discreet, he is openly expressive.

"goodness, if it isn't an angel sent from above?" nikolai's calm demeanor crumbled when he saw you. he just can't help it.

nikolai practically pushes everyone around you aside and approaches you without hesitation or shame.

you weren't even on a mission. you were simply walking around yokohama by yourself when you were approached by a white-layered haired man dressed as a circus ringmaster. you watched as he pushed the man next to you away without hesitation before bowing with his hand to his chest and lifting his hat in respect.

"gojo [name], it's an honor to finally see you in person!" nikolai exclaimed a little too enthusiastically and theatrically.

behind your black round sunglasses, your eyes widened slightly. oh, how peculiar. he already recognizes you. perhaps a stalker? well, it's nothing to be alarmed about. you're type of person who eats death threats from higher-ups for breakfast—this was not actually a big deal, so you went along with it.

you proceeded to hold a baffled expression as you tapped your chin in a thoughtful manner, "oh, my. do i know you, kind sir?"

"hohoho, let me introduce myself! my name is nikolai gogol. i've heard everything about you dear! you're the heir of the gojo family and i'm a huge fan," he exclaimed enthusiastically, "do you mind if i quiz you, dove?"

"quiz me?" you tilted your head to the side, practically making nikolai squeal on the inside from how charming and adorable you were up close, especially when you did that—perfect, your charms were working well on him.

"mhm! it is but a simple question," nikolai hummed and chuckled softly as he nodded.

"alright then, go ahead," you smiled at him kindly as you clasped your hands together.

"a vase is what this usually adorns. be careful as it may have some thorns! but even so, it is as beautiful as a ravishing woman like you," nikolai declared with a wink.

it was a riddle.

"hmm, vase? thorns? beautiful?" you furrowed your brows and held your chin between your fingers, thinking of an answer. you snapped your fingers as you smiled at him, "ah, a rose!"

"ding ding!" chimed nikolai happily, and with that, he pulled a bouquet of roses from his overcoat and handed it to you, which made you gasp softly as he continued, "a beautiful rose, for a beautiful lady."

"well, aren't you quite the charmer?" your lips curved into a smile as you pushed your glasses down slightly, just enough for your blue six eyes to stare at him, "thank you, nikolai!"

nikolai found himself giddy at the prospect of seeing you this close up, especially those gorgeous eyes of yours, let alone hearing his name spill from your plump lips. you were truly as lovely as a rose, perhaps even more so.

however, as soon as he saw a familiar man approaching you from a distance, his eyes narrowed slightly. it appeared that it was now time for him to flee. his expression changed immediately as he extended his hand for you to take, and in return, he bent down and kissed your knuckles as he gently grasped your hand, catching you somewhat off guard.

"it is truly an honor to see you in person," nikolai exclaimed before smiling and pulling away.

"gojo-chan!" you turned around to see ranpo running towards you, holding his hat and huffing for air as he came to a halt.

"ah, ranpo-kun! what are you doing here?" you asked, blinking.

"it's urgent. i need to discuss something with you," ranpo said, his eyes widening slightly as he looked at the bouquet of roses in your hands, "eh, were you on a date or something?"

"nope. this kind man gave this bouquet of roses to m—your eyes widened as soon as you turned around and found nikolai gone without a trace.

"what man?" ranpo raised a brow at you suspiciously.

you lowered your black round sunglasses to scan your surroundings, but nikolai gogol had vanished without a trace. despite the vast perception your six eyes provides you, you couldn't see him from a mile away.

he was really gone.

you then returned your attention to the bouquet of roses he had just given you, only to discover a small card tied to one of the roses that read,

"i apologize, dove, but i have a show to run. don't worry, we will meet again, gojo [name]."

after reading, you froze and found yourself clutching the bouquet tightly.

this card appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

sigma !

sigma, unlike nikolai gogol, is the true miwa kasumi type. he fanboys for you more on the inside than on the outside due to his casino manager reputation, aside from being a part of the decay of angels.

"it that... gojo [name]?" the young man muttered himself, surprised.

sigma noticed you from afar as a customer in the sky casino—his very own casino—due to your ever-familiar black round sunglasses and signature snow-white hair. sigma's eyes widened and he found himself bobbing his adam's apple. you weren't even dressed in your usual attire. you were dressed elegantly in a sleeveless black dress with a slit exposing one of your thighs and matching black heels.

how could he possibly have missed your name? sigma was certain he had memorized his casino's customers because he was the manager. unless, of course, this is your first time here; it has to be your first time. he had never seen you here before, and based on your information, you work for heiwa in tokyo.

you, on the other hand, were sipping a soda that had been served to you because you don't drink alcohol as you casually flirted and smooth-talked this one customer, discreetly learning about this sky casino.

it may not appear so, but you were on a mission right now. heiwa, your organization in charge of tokyo, asked you to look into any leads related to the books.

sigma followed you as soon as you finished talking with the said man; he was envious of how close the said man was to you. you, on the other hand, could not help but smile.

you got the manager of the sky casino's attention exactly as you planned.

you set your drink down, handing it to one of the establishment's waiters, and smiled as you watched sigma approach you, nearly tripping on his heels. his heart was racing and his mind was pounding.

oh my god.

you just smiled at him.

"yes?" you sweetly asked, watching as sigma gathered himself, clearing his throat as he faced you. you were making him nervous.

"p-pardon me, gojo [name]-san," he cleared his throat, "as the manager of the sky casino, i would just like to check in my casino's customers. that man wasn't bothering you, was he?" sigma asked, glancing at the man you were talking to earlier.

oh, my. well isn't he a bold one?

aren't customers in this establishment coded? hmm, the fact that this man knew your name could only mean one thing—this person is well aware of who you are, whether as a member of heiwa or a descendant of sugawara michizane, or maybe as the head of the gojo family. but you maintained your cool as you acknowledged him.

"oh, so you're the manager!" you exclaimed, resting your chin between your thumb and index fingers, "no worries. he wasn't bothering me at all. thank you for the concern. goodness, i should commend you. i'm not really one for casinos and all that gambling, but this establishment sure is accommodating and well kept in order. you seem very capable, and you even check on your customers!"

sigma's eyes widened. he was caught off guard. oh my goodness. his heart was screaming. you simply complimented him.

'gojo [name] commended me. gojo thinks i'm capable,' he thought, fighting back a flush that was forming and spreading across his face.

you were making him fall in love with you so easily. good god. just how were you doing that?

"would you like to share a drink or two with me, mr. manager?" you asked, tilting your head and using your charm. you mentally smirked as you watched sigma's adam's apple bob up and down. this guy was a big fan of yours it seems.

"only if it's okay with you though! you must be a busy man," you chuckled later, "it's just that I've been meaning to talk to you."

"r-really now?" sigma blinked profusely.

"you see, i'm from tokyo, and a colleague of mine mentioned the sky casino being a worthwhile place to visit here in yokohama," you skillfully lied, your voice smooth as silk, "so places i've never been to or heard of before really interest me, so i was wondering if i could perhaps hear of this establishment's background perhaps? i'm genuinely curious."

"i don't mind at all, gojo-san," a smile graced his lips, "it would be an honor to enlighten you,"

"really? why, thank you! you really are dependable!" you clasped your hands together.

you then gave him a closed-eye smile, which caused sigma to blush furiously, causing him to cover his face and turn away from you, pretending to cough when you opened your eyes and straightened your posture.

fyodor dostoevsky !

now, fyodor is not as expressive and open compared to sigma and, especially, nikolai. in fact, he's very discreet. fyodor is similar to miwa in that he maintains his cool and calm at all costs despite his feelings for you.

it was a moonlit, dark night. you had just finished business in yokohama and were now craving some sweets due to your sweet tooth, and what better way to satisfy your cravings than to satisfy your cravings? it is possible to get some at your favorite coffee shop even if it is late at night. you cheerfully pushed the glass doors, the doorbell chiming upon contact.

fyodor was already outside the coffee shop when you walked in, having arrived only a few minutes before you. with the decay of the angel almost always watching you and your fondness for restaurants and shops selling sweets, it was quite easy to track where you frequently went.

fyodor wasn't the type to go wherever he pleased in public, but he'd been meaning to see you up close, not just through a camera or screen.

after ordering a slice of red velvet cake and a matcha crepe cake, as well as your preferred iced coffee, you took the only available seat by the window and clutched your receipt, waiting for your order. fyodor decided to order at the cashier as well, and then he decided to look around, pretending to look for a vacant seat despite already knowing you had already taken the last one.

fyodor smiled at the sight of you, sitting on the cozy chair, your heavenly blue six eyes drawn towards the full moon outside as you leaned your head against your knuckles, elbows propped on the arm of the chair, and legs crossed over one another—such grace.

"excuse me," your eyes widened slightly. the stranger's russian accent easily caught your attention.

fyodor felt a little nervous now that you were staring at him from head to toe. he couldn't help but be swooned by how intently you were staring at him, especially when you pulled down your sunglasses and stared at him with your heavenly six eyes. you were simply stunning.

"yes?" your lips curved into a friendly smile.

"do you mind if i sit with you?" fyodor asked, motioning over the other tables that were occupied to reason.

"sure, i don't mind," you replied nonchalantly with a shrug of your shoulders, looking around to see that despite the late hour, the coffee shop was packed, making fyodor extremely pleased with your response.

just then, one of the pick-up staff members called your name, along with another, as two trays were served, "orders for [name] and fedya are ready at the bar!" the man said.

"that my order; do you mind if you stay here while i go get it?" you exclaimed, standing up from your seat, but fyodor gently grabbed your shoulder, forcing you to stay.

"i'll get yours, mine's ready at the bar as well," fyodor reasoned, giving you a closed-eye smile. you tried to object, but he shook his head and insisted, "just think of it as my way of repaying your kindness in allowing me to sit with you."

you couldn't help but crease your brows as fyodor walked away to pick up your orders. that man had an odd allure, but you noticed he was quite attractive—shoulder length black hair and sharp deep purple eyes—even his clothing choices were odd, but you weren't going to judge. you straightened your back in either case as he returned to the table, smiling as he handed you your drink and sweets.

"your name's fedya, right?" you suddenly asked.

fyodor's eyes widened slightly as something within him ignited when you said his nickname—even if he may or may not have planned it when he ordered his drink.

but, goodness gracious.

it sounded so good to hear it from you.

"no, my name's fyodor, dear," oops. there was a slip, but oh, well. you don't seem to mind the small endearment anyway. hehe.

"oh," you remarked with interest, smiling with a hint of mischief, "well, thank you, fedya."

fyodor stifled a small chuckle as he sat down on the seat across you, "my name's fyodor, dear."

"well, yeah, but fedya sounds cuter," you exclaimed as you sipped your drink, "plus, if you don't want me to call you that, you should have given your real name instead."

"well, you're not wrong," fyodor smiled and waved it away as he sipped the tea he ordered.

"you're not from around here, are you?" you pointed out, as you ate a piece of your red velvet cake, "your name and accent are russian."

"yes, i'm just visiting," fyodor replied, leaning back against his seat, his hands intertwined on his lap, "yokohama's an interesting city."

"i guess i agree with you on that," you shrugged, nodding in agreement.

as you two ate and drank, fyodor continued to converse with you. to be honest, there was nothing hidden behind fyodor purposefully bumping into you. he just wanted to see you up close and talk to you, and he couldn't help but be amused by how you're talking and hanging out with him—you knew what he was up to.

even if you were being playful and casual, fyodor could see and sense your passive-aggression, especially when he started talking about ability users and how sinful man is.

you may appear to be a charming and chatty young lady, but you were gojo [name].

he knows about you. how could he not? not when the decay of the angel had been eyeing for some time now. apart from possessing a dangerously strong ability and the six eyes altogether, fyodor even knows how you came from a wealthy family—a clan that you head—and he knows exactly how to push your buttons.

"all that self-righteous talk you're getting there, tch, not really a fan of it," you scoffed as you stirred your drink, your eyes narrowing slightly.

"but when you look at me like that with those eyes of yours, my love," fyodor murmured quietly as he sipped his tea, "i sure am a fan."

"uh, what did you say?" you wondered, tilting your head, "i didn't quite catch that."

"nothing, dear," fyodor said with a closed-eye smile and a wave of his hand to dismiss it.

[zhongrin]

ー 𝓰ℴ𝓁𝒹ℯ𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝓇ℯ𝒶𝒹𝓈

a little bonus for ⎡∞ / 𝟔 𝟎 𝟎 𝟎 ⁺⎦, a zhongli 2023 birthday event

© zhongrin | 2024  ✼  no repost・translations・plagiarism of any kind・ai data mining. rebloggers get a free cup of tea ♡

𖧷 a/n ┈ IT'S FINISHED HSLDFJKSLDJ ough i think this might be the most i've written in a whole month for the past few months. maybe. probably. ah, anyway, to conclude this series, i prepped a little thing ー i don't think most of people noticed a lot of them, but i sprinkled little details here and there in the fics and the images eheh... so yes this is an explanation post that no one asked but I WANTED TO MAKE ANYWAY SHUSH /silly

𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒻𝓊𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓊 ❬ masterlist ❭ 𐫱 𝓂𝑒𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓅 ❬ taglist ❭

to clarify, yes, all the chapters in the series are sneak peeks of the numerous lives you've lived with zhongli (actual timeline not exactly in order as the chapters' releases). if you saw the masterlist, you might have noticed that the general tag said 'reincarnation!au' ;))

p.s. i think anyone who knows my selfship 'zhongrin' really well must have already noticed this, but yes the whole series is so zhongrin-coded bc i am an overindulgent shit but 1) it's hubby's bday and 2) it's my blog - so i'd like to think i get a free pass ✨ /smacked

𖧷 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫���𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬

ー day 1: morax giving you pebbles / stones just like how you offered him one to befriend him [day 2]

ー day 4: fresh yellow hibiscus is the same flower your past self put inside a vase in your restaurant [day 3]

ー day 5: mention of golden hair ornament which you gave him [day 1]

ー day 6: dragon biting behavior defined as marking possessions / territories [day 2]

ー day 7: how his favorite slow-cooked bamboo shoots soup recipe originally comes from you [day 3] + marigolds being your choice of flowers [day 4]

𖧷 "𝓏𝒽𝑜𝓃𝑔𝓁𝒾"

all the first letters (which is in a different font if you've noticed) in the series' works makes up "zhongli" (except the last one is basically just a heart emoji, hence 'love'). also, there are hidden letters in all the different headers' banners :3

𖧷 𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬

in the masterlist, if you put the dividers between the chapters together, it shows as this symbol:

which is basically zhongli's signature patterns in his clothing, accessories, hairclip, etc. and why i named the series as ♾️/6000+, which also fits with the whole 'i will spend an infinity with you out of my current 6000+ years of life' concept portrayed in the whole series 😌

i wonder which references did you manage to pick up on? hehe <3

[dei2dei]

Look at all the stuff in that mansion. It's full, in that carefully-organized-by-a-designer way, and it's fantastic--and it's also utterly, horribly terrifying and makes me sad on behalf of MK1 Johnny Cage, what little I can see. Because as much money has been splashed around, as glorious and gorgeous as that Cage’s Mansion stage is… that's a showpiece, not a home.

Johnny has Sento, a true Japanese katana with a history--and it's famous enough, presumably, he'd know its name. It's on display in a really nice setup with all its elements neatly aligned and included so you can see every bit of it.  

He has a very fancy glass chandelier, and what looks like a bust of Nefertiti. Open windows and he keeps the temp at 72F. Lots of white furniture, the random vases full of sticks (aromatherapy diffusers?), a variety of bar carts. Abstract art and sculpture, and what may be a bra abandoned by the one chair and ottoman by the fireplace. One chair and ottoman. Not two, where you'd expect to cuddle up with family if you had one, or a partner. Just one.

This place can seat dozens. There are at least four discrete seating areas (maybe five?) on the bottom floor, plus the infinity pool, and an outdoor porch/patio. Then there's the second floor and all its seating that we can glimpse. It’s made for filling with people, and not in a lived-in dinner parties and kids running around kind of way.  This is a place you fill with people for parties. It's a place you expect to need dozens of chairs and bottles and bottles of liquor for your get-together. But there's very little Johnny on display. 

It's all about external appearances- the bust of Nefertiti is a well-known piece of art, and historically she was considered an icon of feminine beauty. He's got one of the world's most beautiful women to look at, a fancy Japanese katana, and yet all of it smacks to me of a man who is desperate to find pleasure, to chase the high in acquisitions and throwing big parties and having lots of people, to drown and forget the emptiness inside.

We don't see pictures of people here. No photos of family, of a girlfriend, or even of himself (no posters or award photos on the wall). Johnny is a man on his own, and anyone who comes to his place is an ephemeral guest, leaving very little of themselves behind. What there is of him is hidden away from public view, where perhaps only a few guests would get to see--and if we're stripping down to bras in the main space and then heading to skinny dipping in the pool, it'll be a wonder if they make it to a bedroom. There's no dining room here, or kitchen (that we see)--all those private areas are hidden. All public-facing here, all carefully cultivated and maintained for appearances.

I think this new Johnny, the little bit we've seen, is hungry for something. He wants something and he doesn't know what it is. Acting lets him chase that; maybe he'll find what he's missing in a role, in a mindset, in a co-star. Maybe he's tried to buy things and see if one of them will fill the hole in him, but nothing takes. Maybe if he surrounds himself with enough people, he'll meet The One (or two, if it's a poly situation). But right now... he's flying solo. This isn’t a place you raise a kid in, curl up with your significant other on a couch in front of the fire and laugh or watch TV (is there even one?).

It's an ostentatious display of wealth and a desire to be a party animal, to be the one people come to hang out with, the social butterfly that has alcohol and plenty of space. I think Tony Stark would absolutely be comfortable in a place like this (in fact, that's what my first thought was - MK/MCU mashup when?), but what we're missing is the equivalent to Tony's lab and bedroom. There's no passion here on display, nothing that makes this an individual, unique home that says "Johnny Cage" on it. He's presenting a face to the world, and hiding the rest away where he has to be a real person who eats and sleeps. There’s a scene in the MKX comics where Sonya is gearing up for an op in their kitchen, and the incongruity is great, Johnny stumbling out in fuzzy slippers and bathrobe and her checking her gun with the fruit bowl on the counter. That wouldn’t happen here; that’s too human, too vulnerable, for this Johnny.

Until - I hope - he meets The One, and realizes that he can stop chasing after external happiness because he’s got somebody who makes all those paintings and awards pale in comparison. Someone who's worth putting another chair next to the fireplace for, maybe making that pristine mansion a little messy for. Someone who's going to shake him down to his well-heeled shoes and upend his world. And if MK1 isn't going to give him someone, well. That's what fanfic is for.