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Summary; Three years ago, you lost the love of your life. Now you sit across from a stranger on a first date, pretending to listen while the memories refuse to let go. All you have left is a voicemail, a ring that Gojo never got to give you, and a heart still learning how to beat without him.
Pairing; Gojo Satoru x Reader
You sit across from a man in a small diner, watching him drone on and on about the gritty details of corporate as if you yourself don’t deal with it every passing day. The world outside the window speeds by in a blur, just like it always has, ever since three years ago.
He offers a charming smile that has your heart curling in your chest. You smile back.
His lips move, and you have to will yourself to listen. “You’re staring at me. What, have you fallen already?”
You laugh softly.
You don’t fall in love anymore. Or believe in it.
But there was once a time.
You were once a kid, brave enough to chase the impossible. Naive enough to believe you could reach it. A dreamer, full of grand ideas, chasing some sort of utopia in which everything would end up fine, and you would lose nothing in the process.
But that’s not how the world works. There’s give and there’s take. There’s the living and the dead and the fact that nothing will ever remain truly stagnant. Not love. Not even you.
You were once in love.
Gojo Satoru was insufferably cocky. Reckless. Arrogant, even.
But he was brilliant. Brave enough to chase the impossible, and stubborn enough to achieve it. He believed that strength wasn’t about how many enemies you could bring to their knees, but how many people you could keep standing.
And he was good.
He had a penchant for getting in over his head and telling you nothing. He’d come home and curl up with his head in your lap like that made up for all the silences, the half-truths, the lives he lived outside your door. He said he was a teacher. But he never let you visit the school. He never let you all the way in.
He’d watch you drift off fondly and be gone by the time you woke.
And yes, he wasn’t always present. Yes, you never married him, too swept up in arguments over finances and commitment and you never think of me as anything but a way to redeem yourself to realize that he wanted to propose. Yes, you never got any further than small murmurs at 2 am about a white picket fence and two kids in a faraway land where nothing ever mattered.
But you loved him. And he loved you. Very much.
He’d take you out when time allowed, which wasn’t very often. You’d wait late into the night to hand him a bag of sweets and see him beam. He’d whisper names in his sleep that he couldn’t bring himself to say in the daylight, and you never asked. Just held him closer.
He looked at you as if you were some fragile thing, and he was breaking you, ruining you, just by being fragile himself. He held you as if you were worth everything, and his worth was determined by how close he could mold your body to his. As if your warmth might redeem him.
Sometimes, in the quiet of the evening, with the TV humming something forgettable in the background, he’d ask if you thought he was strong enough to protect you. Even though he failed others. Even though the weight of a million could-have-beens pressed into every word he uttered and every action he took.
You used to tell him that strength didn’t mean carrying the world. It meant being vulnerable enough to let others into that world.
And for a while, you believed that.
You believed a lot of things, once.
The man taps your hand softly, and you snap out of it, offering an apologetic look. “Sorry. I was just.. thinking.”
He nods, eyes crinkling. “Do tell.”
You stare at him for a moment, searching his eyes for some flash of blue that you know won’t be there. Searching his smile for the feigned arrogance of the man that held you close all those years ago. “Do you ever wish you could turn back time?”
He hums, taking a sip of his drink before responding. “Is this one of those first date opener questions?”
You muster a soft laugh. “Maybe.”
“Yes,” he responds. “All the time. The past is like.. sand after a long day at the beach. Sometimes you go home and sit in silence and realize there’s still grains left in your asscrack. But they’ll wash away. You can’t keep going back to the beach just to slip more sand in your bathing suit.”
You blink at his metaphor, then tilt your head. “You go to the beach a lot?”
He grins. “All the time. You?”
You nod.
You wish you could turn back time to that day three years ago and ask him to stay. You wish you could stop him at the door, hold his face in your hands, and tell him not to go. Not this time. You wish you’d begged. Screamed. Something. Anything.
Instead, all you have left is a voicemail.
It’s old. Glitchy. You’ve played it so many times the words have started to slur together, like the memory of his voice is disintegrating. Softened by time, warped by grief. You’ve listened to it while staring at the photo frame on your nightstand, as if you could will him back into existence just by refusing to forget.
Hi, baby. I’m helping one of my students, so I might come back late.
..hey.
When I get home, let’s get married.
A weak laugh follows. It hurts to hear it every time, like he knew he’d never get the chance.
Let’s buy that little house on an island somewhere no one knows our names. We’ll build a fence. Two kids. No more work. No more secrets. Just you and me. I promise.
I love you, baby.
I’ll be home soon.
But he never was. Not really.
Not even a body. No final words beyond that message, stuttering through static like some ghost caught on repeat.
All they gave you was an apology. Gutted and formal and not nearly enough of an explanation to excuse the fact that he was gone. And a small, weathered box his subordinate found beneath your shared wardrobe. With a ring inside.
The one you pointed to years ago in a window you passed once and never mentioned again. Still gleaming. Still waiting.
Sometimes, in your lowest moments, you play the message back and whisper that you would’ve said yes. Because you would’ve. A million times over.
But the line’s long dead.
You blink and you’re back to the present, watching the man across from you motion to his bicep. “And that’s where the jellyfish stung me.”
He looks up at you as if waiting for some sort of awestruck look. Or concern. Or maybe both.
You hesitate, then muster a small “oh.”
The man pauses at your reaction, then laughs, sheepish. “It wasn’t a bad sting though. Anyway, yeah.. that was the first time I went to the beach. The real beach, not the metaphorical one. I’ve been hooked ever since.”
You let yourself giggle at his joke, hand coming up to twist at the ring hanging on your necklace. A nervous tic. “..I always wanted to live somewhere tropical. Remote. With shore for miles.”
He grins and nods enthusiastically. “Me too. Somewhere fun, you know? A fresh start.”
“Right,” you whisper, looking down at the ring. “Somewhere peaceful.”
He catches the shift in your tone, and for a brief moment, something unreadable flickers in his eyes. Not suspicion, or pity. Quiet understanding. “..an ex?”
“My boyfriend,” you murmur. “He was – is – somewhere peaceful. I hope.”
You clear your throat and let the silence settle like dust. Let it say everything you won’t. He doesn’t try to sweep it away.
The server comes by with a smile and a check you barely remember asking for. You both reach for it at the same time.
“I’ve got it,” he says, hand brushing yours.
You let him.
Outside, the sky has turned that soft sienna that only comes at the end of a particularly long day.
You wonder, briefly, if he’s up there.
If the stars twinkle less to mock you for remembering and more to remind you he’s smiling, watching, from somewhere you can no longer reach.
He holds the door open for you. “Want to take a walk?”
You stare at him, then smile softly. “Yes. Thank you.”
You walk side by side through streets you’ve walked before, by a sunset you’ve seen a million times over. But it’s different, somehow. Lighter.
“Do you think people only get one true love?” you ask, voice barely a whisper.
He thinks for a moment, then looks down at you. His hand touches yours, light, then he intertwines your fingers with his when you don’t pull away. “I think if you’re lucky, you get one true love who teaches you something. And if you’re brave, you’ll keep your heart open long enough to find it again.”
You stay quiet. But your shoulders drop, and the words seep through your ribs, somewhere between the neverending ache and something softer.
The ring on your necklace lies warm on your skin. The sun disappears beneath the horizon line, winking out like a bittersweet goodbye.
Maybe you were right. Maybe nothing stays stagnant.
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synopsis ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ nanami accidentally finds your small, anxious-but-sincere vlogs and quietly falls for you through the screen. and when you meet, he becomes a gentle, faceless presence behind the camera—helping you grow, and loving you all the while.
tori’s notes ᝰ.ᐟ this was so fun to write
nanami doesn’t really use youtube. it’s too loud, too cluttered, too full of people trying too hard. he’s more of a quiet reader or podcast listener—he likes his content slow and thoughtful. but sometimes, during quiet lunch breaks or sleepless nights, he finds himself scrolling, searching for something simple to fill the silence.
the first time he sees your face, he skips the video. it’s nothing personal. the thumbnail just seems… ordinary. a soft smile, a blurry background of what looks like a street food stall, and a simple title: “trying something new today (๑•́‿•̀๑)”. he doesn’t think much of it.
but youtube, in all its persistence, keeps putting you in his recommendations.
every few days, your face reappears. new title. new blurry background. another small smile. there’s something oddly comforting about it, even if he hasn’t clicked yet. eventually, curiosity wins. one night, half-asleep and curled up on his couch, he taps on a thumbnail without thinking.
the video is quiet. not silent, but there’s no obnoxious background music or jump cuts. just you. talking a little nervously to the camera, explaining how you’ve never tried this kind of food before, how it makes you anxious to eat alone in public but you’re doing it anyway, for yourself. you pause a lot. laugh at yourself. your editing is minimal—sometimes you just leave long clips in where you sit there silently, debating the next bite.
and nanami… stays.
he doesn’t mean to. he thinks he’ll just let the video play in the background while he dozes off. but he finds himself watching. then clicking on another one. and another. you talk to the camera like it’s a friend. you say things like “i know no one’s really watching this, but…” and “this was scary for me, but i’m proud of myself anyway.”
there’s no performance. no show. just you, trying. trying to live a little braver. trying to make the world a little softer for yourself. and even though your videos have only a few thousand views at most, and a comment section with maybe ten or twenty kind words, nanami can tell you read every single one. you reply with gratitude and sincerity. you sign your replies with hearts and “thank you for watching!!” even when someone just says “nice vid :)”.
he doesn’t comment for a long time. he watches quietly, always late at night, a silent companion to your small adventures. his favorite video becomes one where you try to bike through a park trail you’ve never been on before. the camera shakes the entire time, the sky is gray, and you end up getting rained on halfway through. soaked and breathless, you laugh and say, “this was a disaster. but i don’t regret it.” and something about that sticks in his chest.
he comments on a video one day. it’s short, awkwardly formal:
“i admire your courage to keep stepping outside your comfort zone. thank you for sharing.”
a few hours later, you reply.
“thank you so much!!! i get really nervous about posting sometimes so this means a lot ;; i’m trying my best!! ♡”
nanami reads that reply more times than he’d like to admit.
—
he doesn’t think he’ll ever meet you. you feel like a little glowing orb in his private world. something precious that lives on his phone, just a click away, not real, not tangible.
but then, he’s at a weekend market. the kind of place you’d probably vlog, actually. he’s just there to buy fresh bread, enjoy the quiet, maybe grab a coffee. he’s walking past a stand selling handmade keychains when he hears a familiar voice.
soft. a little unsure. asking for the price of something.
he turns.
and you’re there.
you look just like your videos—maybe a little shorter, bundled in a cardigan despite the warmth, your bag too big for your frame, holding a small camera that’s not even recording. your hair’s a little messy. your eyes bright, darting around nervously. you’re alone.
and suddenly, nanami is nervous in a way he hasn’t been in years.
he debates not saying anything. he could let this pass. keep you as a digital secret. but then you glance in his direction, and smile—just polite, a brief flicker of recognition for another passerby—and nanami finds himself stepping forward before his brain catches up.
“…excuse me,” he says, and your eyes widen a little.
“yes?” you ask, voice soft.
“i’ve… watched your videos,” he says, and you freeze for a second. “they mean a lot to me.”
you blink. your mouth opens a little in surprise, then closes. and then you smile.
“really?” you say, a little breathless. “you… you actually watch them?”
“yes,” he says simply. “i think you’re brave.”
your hand flies up to your mouth, eyes darting away. “oh my god,” you mumble. “that’s—thank you. that’s so nice. i didn’t think anyone recognized me. my channel’s tiny.”
“doesn’t change the impact,” he says, and it’s honest. the way he always is.
you talk for a while after that. awkwardly at first—your nerves, his reserved nature—but slowly, something soft and lovely builds in the air between you. you laugh a lot, mostly just nervous. he listens a lot, mostly because that’s just the way he is. he tells you his name is kento. you tell him you were scared to even leave the house today, but you’re glad you did. he smiles.
before you part ways, you ask, very shyly, if he’d be okay with you filming just a little. not his face, of course—just his voice, his presence. he agrees.
that night, a new video goes up.
“a tiny adventure at the weekend market ✿ i made a new friend today…”
nanami watches it from his bed, and when his offscreen voice appears—gentle, amused, offering to carry your bag for you—his heart does something strange in his chest.
—
the first time nanami appears in a vlog, it’s his hand passing you a coffee.
you call him “a friend i made recently,” and giggle when he corrects your pronunciation of a pastry. he’s never shown — not fully. a shoulder here. the back of his head. your viewers are very curious. you just smile, almost bashful, and say, “he’s camera-shy, but he’s very sweet.”
you start mentioning him more in your vlogs. he’s still off-screen, but you’ll glance his way and smile. say something like “he helped me set this up,” or “he picked this place,” or just “he’s here with me.”
you don’t have to say his name. he stays a faceless figure in your videos. your viewers start to notice something more.
you never confirm anything. you just smile, cheeks pink, and say, “he’s really sweet. i’m lucky.”
nanami doesn’t need the spotlight. he’s happy to carry your bag, offer a steady hand when you’re nervous, and hold the camera when you want to capture something new. he’s happy to be the one encouraging you behind the scenes, whispering that you’re doing great when you doubt yourself.
you film together more and more. he goes with you to bookstores, little food stalls, quiet museums. he carries your tripod. holds your coat. gives you gentle encouragement when you freeze up in public and smile too hard when it’s over.
he falls in love with you quietly. over time. he doesn’t say it at first. he lets it bloom through little gestures — buying the tea you liked, learning how to edit videos just to help you with cuts, leaving voice notes when you’re too anxious to leave the house. he listens. he supports. he stays.
and he’s happiest when, in a quiet clip near the end of a video, you look off-camera and say, “i think i’m a little less scared of the world lately.”
he squeezes your hand off-screen. you smile at the touch.
and your viewers never hear the softest part—how, when the camera stops recording, you lean into his side and whisper, “thank you for finding me.”
nanami, who never believed in fate or chance or algorithms, just kisses your cheek and replies, “thank you for being found.”
“you think i don’t care about you?” he’d growled hours ago, sharp as razors.
you hadn’t flinched. you’d just looked at him with red-rimmed eyes and whispered, “you don’t act like it.”
and that had fucking stuck. even now, hours later, as you lay beneath him, breathless and quiet, he still heard it echoing through his skull. you don’t act like it. not when he bit, not when he barked, not when he used your body like it was the only thing he could touch without breaking.
but you were still here. still letting him climb between your legs, still looking at him with wary hope like maybe this time would be different. and he was trying.
fuck, he was trying.
he cupped your face like it was fragile, like you were fragile, and not the only goddamn thing in the world that made him feel human. his thumbs brushed your cheeks, lingering under your eyes.
“still mad at me?” he asked, rough, but not cruel.
your throat moved when you swallowed. “i’m just tired.”
that made something behind his ribs ache. a thing that shouldn’t have existed. not in him. not like this.
“i don’t want you tired,” he muttered. his lips hovered by your throat. “i want you sated. quiet. shaking.”
“i want to feel loved,” you whispered.
and that shattered him in a way no cursed energy never could. he didn’t speak again. he just kissed you slowly. it felt wrong on his mouth, too soft and tender, but you sighed into it, fingers curling in his hair, and that made it right.
so he kept going. kept touching you like he meant it. like he wasn’t trying to own you, but understand you. his hands didn’t bruise this time. they cradled and traced every inch of skin like a map he hadn’t studied well enough. you were warm and too sweet.
he didn’t deserve this, but fuck, he needed it.
when he slid inside you, it wasn’t rough or frantic. it was slow, like he was giving you a chance to run.
you didn’t and pulled him closer. “i hate fighting with you.”
“i hate making you cry,” he rasped.
your nails dug into his back. “then stop doing it.”
“i’m trying.” it sounded like a lie, but this time it wasn’t.
he kissed you deeper and harder then, his mouth was the only way he knew how to speak. i’m sorry. i’m here. i’m yours.
you moaned softly, thighs wrapping around his waist. “you feel different.”
“i’m not fucking you,” he said, eyes locked on yours. “i’m loving you.”
your breath caught and he almost looked away. but then your hand touched his cheek and he stayed right there.
he kept thrusting, slow and deep, watching every tiny reaction play across your face like a prayer he hadn’t learned how to say. your lips trembled and your hips rose.
and he realized that this was the most intimate he’d ever been. not the sex. the look. the watching. the being watched.
you could see it all now; the hunger, the guilt. the desperate, bitter hope that maybe this could be enough. maybe you’d still want him, even after seeing how broken he was inside.
“i’m not good at this,” he whispered.
“i know,” you breathed.
“but i want you.”
“i know.”
“and i don’t want anyone else touching you. ever.”
you smiled softly. “that part, you’re very good at.”
he huffed and pressed his forehead against yours. you wrapped your arms around him like you finally believed it that he was trying. that he cared. and for once, he didn’t need to say anything more.
he held you and moved inside you, because he belonged there.
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sukuna owning a hostile cat. hostile to the point that any person who tries to get close to the feline ends up with horrendous bites, or at the very least, scratch marks.
one day, the cat goes missing for a good five hours, and when he slinks back into the house, sukuna's quite surprised to see him all soft and pliant and sporting a bright red lipstick mark on his furry forehead.
Can i request Sasuke x fem uchiha s/o? Sasuke meet s/o after war ended, S/o and Sasuke was introverted and loner basically have lot of similiarities (sasuke sometimes think s/o was mirrored version of him), S/o was kind of cat lady. Please make hc about how they interacted w each other, also understanding each other and then they found out s/o was pregnant. Thank you! Sorry if my request was too detailed, hope you received and write it 😄😁.
loved me back to life; sasuke uchiha
synopsis — post timeskip sasuke x uchiha!reader
a/n — again i am very apologetic for those who have excitedly requested and have waited so long.
— you arrive in konoha with nothing but your mother’s cloak, a sealed scroll of her recipes, and three cats who follow you like they’ve sworn loyalty.
— the uchiha crest is stitched clean across your back not loud, not proud — just there, like a wound that hasn’t finished healing. the villagers look, then look away. except him.
— sasuke uchiha sees you from across the training grounds. he doesn’t move. just stares — sharp-eyed, tense, like you’ve summoned something buried. before he slowly makes his way over
“…where did you get that cloak?” he asks.
his voice is low, scratchy, weathered. his left sleeve is empty — pinned just above the elbow.
you’ve heard the rumors. you know who he is.
“it was my mother’s,” you answer. “she was uchiha. so was my father.”
“…and?”
“he stayed behind.”
you don’t say the rest. you don’t have to, he exhales through his nose.
“…i’ll walk you to where you’re staying.”
— he doesn’t say much on the walk. but his eyes never leave your shoulder. your crest.
when you reach the house — an old rental on the edge of the village — you’re the one who speaks first.
“you can come in, if you want.”
“…i shouldn’t.”
“you look like you have questions.”
“…i do.”
“then come in.” he steps inside.
— the first thing he does is crouch to look at the cats. they stare back like they know who he is.
“they’re named mochi, okami, and soot,” you say, sitting your bag down, as you examined the place. not too bad.
“…this one looks judgmental,” he mutters, making you glance at him.
“that’s mochi.”
“…hm.” he stands slowly, eyes on the cats, then on you.
“…i need to tell you something.”
“alright.”
“i’m sasuke uchiha. i’m the last of the clan—”
“you’re not.” he falters. his eyes flick up.
“…you knew who i was.”
“everyone knows who you are.”
“…then you know what i’ve done.” you nod.
“i tried to kill my best friend. i abandoned the village. i almost destroyed it. i’ve hurt people.”
“and you came back, do you want tea?”
he’s quiet. stunned, but slowly, he nods.
“…you’re not afraid of me?”
“no.”
“you should be.”
“maybe. but i’m not.”
“why?” you shrug, looking him in the eye.
“because broken things still belong somewhere.” he doesn’t speak, but he comes back the next day.
— over the next few weeks, sasuke shows up in small ways. he brings you soup and rice balls. brushes mochi’s fur when he thinks you aren’t looking.
he lets your cats sleep on his cloak. he even reads aloud once — a travel scroll — and stops mid-sentence when he catches you smiling.
“what.”
“your voice is nice.”
“…don’t be weird.”
“you’re the one reading to cats.”
“…they looked bored.”
— naruto finds out immediately, i mean, he practically keeps tabs on his best friend
“YOU’RE DATING??”
“no,” sasuke says flatly.
“THEN WHY ARE YOU LIVING THERE??”
“i’m not.” you open the door behind him.
“he is.”
“…traitor,” sasuke mutters under his breath.
“do you love her??” naruto yells in excitement.
“leave.”
“do you kiss??”
“…do you want to die?” naruto flees. loudly. but smiling.
— sakura and sai aren’t far behind. ino pretends she just “happened to be walking by.”
— when they meet you, you’re polite. reserved. but kind.
“you’re not what i expected,” sakura says softly.
“neither is he,” you reply.
— sasuke hears that from the porch. he doesn’t say anything, but his heart is racing. he could only think, is this how naruto felt, when he liked sakura?
— your first kiss happens on a night too quiet to ignore. you’re sitting side by side on the roof, your legs swinging over the edge.
“…you’re always calm,” he says.
“not always. just with you.”
“…why?” you tilt your head.
“because you’re not afraid to sit in silence. most people fill it.”
“…you don’t need to fill something to feel it.”
you nod. he turns and your lips brush. then meet. it’s soft, warm, a little hesitant.
“…should i apologize?” he murmurs.
“only if you regret it.”
“…i don’t.”
“then kiss me again.”
he does.
— your first time is after he comes back from a long mission. he’s tired, stiff, and bruised across the ribs.
— you undress him slowly, carefully. help him out of his gear. kiss a scar near his collarbone. he sits on the edge of the bed, quiet. vulnerable in a way you’ve never seen before.
“…i’ve never done this with someone i trusted,” he admits.
“you trust me?”
“…i want to,” he confessed, staring into your eyes, before pulling you into his lap. resting his forehead against you.
“then let me love you.”
he makes no sound, but his arm wraps around you like a vow. he kisses your throat, your jaw, your lips.
he learns your body like he’s memorizing a map he’s afraid to lose again. afterward, he lies on his back, eyes on the ceiling, your hand over his heart.
“…you make me feel like i deserve to breathe,” he says.
you kiss his cheek.
“that’s because you do.”
— the proposal comes one morning when you’re feeding the cats. you’re still in your robe, hair a mess, hands full of kibble.
he walks over, stands beside you, clears his throat.
“…marry me.” you blink, glancing at him like he’s crazy.
“was i that good last night? you haven’t even dressed yet,” you eyed him, wearing his typical black clothing
“…it was fresh on my mind, from last night,” you laugh. he steps closer.
“i’m serious,” he says. “i want to build a life. with you.” you look at him — at the man who’s lost everything and still chooses you.
“…yes.”
“really?”
“ino and your friends have reminded me of how you were, but sasuke, none of it matters to me,” he kisses you — making mochi meow.
“i think that’s approval,” you whisper.
“…we’ll invite him to the wedding.”
— then came pregnancy
— you know before the test confirms it
— your appetite shifts, your balance is off, the cats won’t leave your lap
— you tell him on a quiet afternoon, he quietly ate the fruit you had prepared for him, while you folded laundry
“…sasuke?”
“hn?”
“…i think i’m pregnant.”
— he stops mid chew, before he starts to choke. coughing harshly, he finally stops, before glancing at you — he blinks once
“…ours?” you almost laugh
“yes, sasuke. ours.”
— he stares at you for what feels like a full minute
— then he moves the bowl from his lap, crossing the room, going to his knees, and pressing his forehead to your stomach
“…i never thought i’d have a family,” he whispers.
“you do now.”
“…do you think they’ll like me?”
“they’ll love you. they’ll probably cry less than naruto, too.”
“…i doubt it.”
— while he is always away for your first three months, trying to save as much as possible, he slows down as you begin to show
— every mission becomes optional
— he takes shorter ones. insists on reporting back in person
— he stocks the pantry with tomatoes, rice, and ginger tea
— reads books on chakra-safe birthing techniques even though you’re not a shinobi anymore
— he won’t let you lift anything. one time you tried to carry a bag of groceries and he throws a kunai at it
“you could’ve just said no.”
“…you weren’t listening.”
— he talks to the baby constantly. when you’re asleep, when you’re pretending to be asleep, when you’re both awake but quiet
“…your mother’s the strongest person i know.”
“…you’ll be small at first, but loud, probably. like naruto.”
“…please don’t inherit my temper, just my strength, and good looks,” you laugh, while he smirks. mochi keeps trying to sit on your bump.
“move it…” sasuke grumbled, moving the cat. why couldn’t he be chill like the others?!
— at last the wedding came; small. simple. sunlit.
— naruto cries before he even starts officiating
“i’m so proud of you, man—”
“…read the vows.”
“you’re my brother—”
“read. the. vows.”
— sakura smiles, soft and sad, but happy. ino compliments your hair and whispers, “if your kid looks like him, i’m stealing her”
— sai sketches the scene while holding a cat. kakashi shows up on time, which freaks everyone out
— sasuke kisses you with both eyes closed
“…i never thought peace would feel like this,” he says. you rest your hand over his heart
“get used to it.”
— you go into labor at night, thankfully, sasuke is home.
— it’s long, painful, and terrifying
— your grip nearly snaps his wrist
“could you loosen up-,” he tells you
“i hate you so much right, i’m never giving you sex ever again—”
“…actually, just keep squeezing,” he sighs.
— you scream and he stays by your side the entire time
“you’re doing well.”
“you say that again and i’ll kill you.”
“…you’re doing terribly.”
“thank you.”
— when she cries, it’s loud and alive. your body shakes. your throat is raw. your heart is full
“…she’s perfect,” he whispers
“she’s an uchiha.”
“…she’s ours.”
— he named her sarada, because it sounds strong, because she kicks with precision, and because she looks at you both with eyes far older than they should be
“…she has your smile,” you say
“…thank god,” sasuke mutters. “i was worried she’d inherit my brooding.”
mochi curls up beside the crib, the baby tries to grab his tail
“…uchiha reflexes,” sasuke says
“…uchiha trouble,” you reply
— you fall into rhythm, you take care of the home, while sasuke comes and goes for missions
— when he is home, sasuke gardens while sarada naps strapped to his chest, she grabs tomatoes before she can sit up properly
— the cats follow her like security detail
— naruto comes over uninvited every other day
“do you need help? food? encouragement? backup bottles?”
“leave,” sasuke says every time
“he loves me,” naruto tells sarada
“…no i don’t,” sasuke mutters
“yes you dooo~”
— sarada’s first word is “mo”
— you think it’s “mama”, it’s actually “mochi”
sasuke wins that argument, but you win the war when she says “papa” next
— one night, long after she’s fallen asleep, you and sasuke lie on the roof together
— you’re wrapped in a blanket, he has one arm tucked behind his head, the stars are wide and endless above you
“…you still think you’re the last?” you ask, as he turns to you
“…no,” he says. “i’m the beginning again.”
you kiss him, he doesn’t ask for it. but he always kisses back like he needs it to breathe
“…you loved me back to life,” he whispers
“…you never stopped being alive. you just forgot.”
mochi meows from below, sarada stirs in her crib, and for the first time in a lifetime of loss—
you’re not grieving — you’re not running — you’re not alone
of all dreams: you ─ songs of love & devotion.
⠀⠀⠀⠀pre-boyfriend!sasuke, tender fragrant confections.
PRE-BOYFRIEND!SASUKE who listens to all your dreams. whether the dreams that visit you at night or those that are born during the day, sasuke would always listen to your dreams. when you lost yourself in the mystical words of your memory, sasuke would simply be lost in your existence. your sentences seemed to gain light, bathed in the stardust that adorned our entire sky; your expressions were echoes of the legends of the ancients; and the enthusiasm that painted your eyes was enough to manage to steal from sasuke a small and shy smile. in the persistence of your adventures, sasuke saw in you the certainty of a future, as if all your dreams were a call for what could exist. ‘tell me your stories. let me hear what your heart creates to understand what i can give of myself to satisfy you.’
PRE-BOYFRIEND!SASUKE who still remembers the day he met you. the first day, it was just a glimpse. like a delicate breeze on a summer day, your figure passed by sasuke as if he didn't exist. They were brief seconds that didn’t manage to form a minute, but an entire eternity resided in them. in a simple exchange of glances, sasuke noticed your simplicity, an almost natural light contrasting strongly with the last rays of sunlight; in a small, forced, cordial smile, so often exchanged between so many people, sasuke noticed your identity, a celestial intensity that beautified your existence; and when he heard you, when your voice very discreetly introduced you as the new neighbor, sasuke knew that that couldn’t be the last time he heard your words.
PRE-BOYFRIEND!SASUKE who believes in your superstitions. if you asked sasuke, he would say he didn’t believe in those legends; i mean, how could you have an unlucky day because you walked under a ladder? and a child’s height was ruined if you walked over them? how ridiculous — the universe isn’t waiting for a mistake of yours to punish you. the universe didn’t need any excuse to punish anyone. but when you asked him not to spill the salt or put his shoes with the soles facing up; when you asked him to knock on wood three times or not to sweep your feet; when you explained each and every one of your superstitions to him, sasuke became more alert. it was one thing for him to risk the wrath of the universe, to bring bad luck or good luck only to himself. it was another thing for you. you couldn’t be the victim of the universe. sasuke didn’t want you to suffer, not like that. that’s why, for you, sasuke believed in your spiel and did everything he could to bring you good fortune. ‘wait, are you telling me you’re not going to dinner because there are 13 of us? how does that bring bad luck? no, no. i'm not doubting you, but i wish you would go.’
PRE-BOYFRIEND!SASUKE who likes it when his clothes smell like you. sasuke has already stopped wondering how your scent constantly clung to his clothes and, quite honestly, he didn’t care. at the end of the day, already tired of his own existence and without patience for life, sasuke took off his clothes slowly, with regret, wishing that this need was completely non-existent. but when the shirt passed over his face and your sweet and familiar scent lodged in sasuke’s nose and heart, he stopped. the memory of the day was clouded, a little blurry, completely ruined by the extreme fatigue that he felt; but your scent, that cosmic essence of yours that had clung to sasuke, brought him a peculiar comfort wrapped in sheets of security and eternity. for a few seconds, when the smile on his face lost its shyness and reminded him of a day with you, sasuke forgot his fatigue and realized that life, perhaps, was not a task but a possibility.
PRE-BOYFRIEND!SASUKE who hides all the smiles you draw on his face. it was a secret that sasuke would have difficulty confessing. he knew perfectly well that that simple curve that you drew on his face was something more than a simple smile. with your words, your kindness and tenderness, the smile that tore across sasuke’s face was shy and new, bathed in the blossoming of an emotion that had not yet been discovered by him. with your gestures, your joy and security, the smile that painted sasuke’s face was unique and special, marinated with the certainty that it would never be stolen. ‘no, i’m not smiling,’ was what sasuke said. ‘there’s nothing on my face. shut up.’ but you knew that his words were disguised as indifference. you knew that beneath that thin layer of ice there was a fire lit by you and that you would ensure that it would be eternal.
PRE-BOYFRIEND!SASUKE who sees through your voice what’s in your heart. sasuke learned to know you. spending so much time with you, between missions and outings, it was easy for sasuke to get to know your soul. at a glance, looking at you quickly just to make sure you were okay, sasuke could find a movement in your body that betrayed your melancholy. in conversations, between exchanges of wise words and others that were unnecessary, sasuke deciphered the tone of your sentences that reflected what was in your heart. wherever you were, however you were, sasuke knew you like no one else and there was no need for a request for him to help you. ‘sometimes it’s easier to accept our past than to try to run away from it. the choices that brought us to this moment shouldn’t be forgotten. despite everything, despite so much, you’re here, aren’t you? and isn’t that enough in itself?’
PRE-BOYFRIEND!SASUKE who had to gather courage but managed to talk to you. sasuke would never admit how long it took for him to gather courage and talk to you. all that matters is that he talked to you. kind of clumsy and not knowing how to formulate sentences, but, even so, sasuke spoke to you and it was that first step of his that made your whole story eternal. ‘i never thought i would get to this point in my life. to tell the truth, i never thought i would feel at all what is inside me. but i feel like there is no more hiding or containing it and i really need to talk to you before i burst from so many words that want to come out. the darkness that resides in me finds its light in you. it is as if the darkness in me was created from the softest silk and you are using it to weave a path to me. a bright and warm path, as if your own soul was a flame lit just to warm me. and i like that feeling. i like how you let me be vulnerable without being afraid of being judged. i like the way you make me feel safe. and i like you.’
He didn’t even want one. The idea of training someone to breathe like him—let alone survive him—was as ridiculous as it was insulting. Most couldn’t keep up with his pace, his rage, his jagged edge of living. But you? You had the kind of reckless endurance that annoyed him just enough to keep you around.
And you were loud. Not in the same way Tengen’s brats were, but in this quiet, smug, knowing way. You grinned through missions like you were in on some joke. You took beatings, bruises, hell, even a near-impalement, and still said dumb things like, “I’m good, Shinazugawa-san,” with that lopsided grin of yours.
So he trained you harder. Yelled louder. Pushed further. You didn’t break.
But you also didn’t reveal much. Not really.
Until that mission.
౨ৎ
You were heading to a village nestled in the far northeast, rumor of a Baki-level demon lurking in the mist. It was one of those jobs the higher-ups had originally assigned to Sanemi alone—but you’d refused to stay behind. Not arrogantly. Just… persistently. Like you knew he’d cave eventually.
He didn’t say yes. He just didn’t stop you from walking beside him.
You didn’t talk much that trip. And that made him curious. You were always talkative, even if you weren’t saying much. But this time, it felt different. Like your mind was full. Heavy.
The village was a ghost town by the time you arrived. Doors shut, windows boarded. Ash in the air. The wind told him what the villagers didn’t. Something had been feeding here—brutally, fast.
And then… during that lull before dusk, just before you’d go demon hunting—
He saw it.
You sat on the low roof of a ruined shed, one leg bent, the other dangling off the edge. And between your fingers—thin, practiced, casual—was a cigarette.
You exhaled. Not fast. Not nervously. Not hiding.
It wasn’t reckless. It was intentional. Like a ritual.
And in that moment, Sanemi felt something. Confusion? Betrayal? Curiosity?
The wind shifted. You didn’t turn to look at him, but you knew he was there.
“You’re smoking,” he said, flatly.
You took another drag and said, “Mhm.”
“…You’ve been hiding that this whole time?”
“Not hiding. Just didn’t seem relevant.”
You exhaled again, this time through your nose, smoke curling like breath in cold air.
“You’re outta your mind,” Sanemi snapped, walking over. “Smoking? In this line of work?”
You looked at him, finally, and your eyes weren’t smug this time. They were calm.
“Everything I do is intentional. This too.”
He scowled, but didn’t say anything.
You tapped the cigarette once, ash fluttering off the roof edge. “My breathing style is Smoke Breathing. It’s derived from Wind. My body’s used to filtering smoke, using it to manipulate breath control. Every inhale is calculated. Every exhale can be used in a fight. The longer the draw, the longer I can extend the attack.”
Sanemi stared.
You continued. “I can use smoke as a visual distraction. Cloaking, even. And I can trick demons into thinking I’m losing stamina when I’m not. The shakier my breath sounds, the more aggressive they get.”
He blinked slowly, jaw tense. “You’re telling me you built a breathing style… around smoking?”
“Smoking taught me how to breathe.”
You offered him the cigarette. Not as a tease. As proof.
“Try it. You’ll see.”
He slapped your hand away, more startled than angry. “Are you stupid? I’m not putting that in my mouth.”
You just laughed, soft and airy. “Didn’t think you would. But you get it, don’t you?”
And he hated that he did.
Because everything about your stance, your flow, even the flick of your wrist on missions—it made sense now. You’d never once run out of breath, even when sparring. You dodged in these sharp, sudden bursts, like clouds of smoke changing direction. Your attacks weren’t brute force—they were disruptive. Wild. Chaotic.
Just like his.
But refined.
Sanemi looked at you differently after that.
He noticed the subtle shift in your ribs before you launched forward. The way you always exhaled right before a critical strike, masking your movement behind a puff of heat. The scent of smoke always lingered, but it never slowed you down.
That night, when the demon came—large, fast, unpredictable—you moved like mist.
You were everywhere. Not once coughing. Not once slipping.
And when the demon roared and slashed the roof in half, smoke curling around its vision—Sanemi caught the glint of your blade before he even saw your body move.
“Second Form: Ghost Embers.”
A burst of smoke, and then—shhk—your sword was already buried in its neck.
The demon’s head rolled. The mist cleared. You stood there, cigarette between your lips, eyes unreadable.
Sanemi didn’t say anything right away. He just looked at you like he was seeing you for the first time.
౨ৎ
Back at HQ, a few days later, he cornered you during night training.
“Still think it’s a bad habit?” you teased, spinning the unlit cigarette between your fingers.
Sanemi frowned. “Still think it’s reckless.”
Then, after a pause:
“But… I get it now.”
You blinked. “You do?”
He didn’t look at you. “You’re not careless. You’re controlled. Smart. Annoying as hell, but smart.”
You grinned. “You admitting you underestimated me?”
“I’m admitting I didn’t see it before. That’s all.”
Another pause. You stepped a little closer.
Sanemi could smell faint smoke on your uniform. Not overpowering. Just you.
“…You gonna yell at me again?” you asked, voice lighter now.
He glanced at you, eyes half-lidded. “No. But don’t blow it in my face.”
You leaned in slightly, mischievous. “What if it’s a love puff?”
He glared. “I will stab you.”
You laughed, flicking the cigarette away and crossing your arms. “Noted.”
As you walked off, Sanemi watched you go. His tsuguko. His smoke-wrapped pain-in-the-ass with a habit he should hate—but somehow didn’t.
And for the first time in a long time, he realized something warm had settled in his chest.
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hey kana babeee💕 so i finally finished season 2 and......i still don't feel anything for jinwoo i'm so sorryyy😭😭😭😭 NOW LISTEN I STILL THINK HE'S GOOD LOOKING AND HIS VOICE IS SEXY DON'T GET ME WRONG😭😭😭 i just don't see myself simping for him🤧 but hey IGRIS STILL HAVE ME DROOLINGGG😍😍 but like i hope u don't kill me for not liking jinwoo and i'll still read your jinwoo fics because they look fun and your work is always a pleasure to read🤭 okay i'm running away nowww before you kill me byekanailoveyouuu😭
....
me to all jinwoo girlies: "get her girls"
LMFAOOOOO I'M KIDDING HAHAHAHA CHLOE IT'S OKAYYYYY YOU'RE AN IGRIS GIRLIE THAT'S FINE TOO 😂 understandable really 😌 but damn you're really one of the three people i know who are not simping for jinwoo like y'all are different breeds fr they should do experiments on you i'm so serious rn we need to see how your brain works cause for you to be able to resist that gentle masculinity he exudes??? his ethereal face card??? his mesmerizing eyes?????
like you look at this pic:
and you're saying you just go "meh" ????? before my king??? my liege??? my glorious shadow monarch???? that's a superpower fr
MY HEART BROKE A LITTLE AT THE START😭😭😭 but im fine now lmaoooo
AND OMG KANA😭😭 NOT YOU TRYNA CONVERT ME WITH RAUNCHY PICS OF YOUR MAN???😭😭 like i said he is fine but not enough to have me in a deathgrip😭 AND NO I DON'T HAVE ANY SUPERPOWER HAHA😭😭 i simp for so many of these men already its crazyyyy
and you can't stop me from reading your stuff🤭 i've read a few with jinwoo and ngl the thought VERY BRIEFLY ran through my brain like "damn he's actually kinda nice....do i like him or nah?" or "hmm he's good husband material" LMAOO💀
MAYBE JUST MAYBEEE my mind will change all because of your nonstop jinwoo content👀
LMFAOOOO IT WASN'T A RAUNCHY PIC THAT ONE WAS AN OFFICIAL ART HE WASN'T TRYING TO BE SEXY HE WAS JUST WET That sexiness just exuded out of him he couldn't help it 😌
(i'm actually trying my best to NOT give you any raunchy pics because i want you to love him for the sweet, selfless family man that he is not the fuckboy aura farmer persona the dudebros usually portray him as 😞)
but i will include some pics in this post NOT FOR YOU but for all the jinwoo girlies reading this (cause jinwoo girlies already know how perfect my man is so they deserve some porn 🥰) LOOK AWAY CHLOE
HAHAHAHA KANA STOPPP WHY ARE THEY GETTING RAUNCHIERRR👹👹👹 and these pics are not helping the fuckboy aura LIKE WHO THE HELL SAYS "arise" SO SEXY???😭😭
AND YOU KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING WITH THESE PICS THEY ARE NOT ANY GIVING SWEET SELFLESS FAMILY MAN😭😭😭😭 you say oh its not for me YET HERE YOU ARE PRACTICALLY TRYNA FORCE FEED ME JINWOO💀💀 its not gonna work kana babe because igris have my heart and soul rn and i can barely find igris fics FUCK I MIGHT TO WRITE IT MYSELF😭😭
sighhhh but okay kana okay its all canon because beru told you yeah yeah i believe you and you're practically married to jinwoo🤭
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