#BB Bakery too good to go

[stenoodie]

Too Good to Go Surprise Bags in December 2024

Too Good to Go Surprise Bags in December 2024. #lotsofsurprises #neworleanschicken #finallygotthesoupbag #pattiesfordays #funsurprisebags

18 surprise bags purchased in December 2024 Use the Too Good To Go app to rescue unsold food from going to waste!  Participating restaurants and stores will put together “surprise bags” for one third of the retail price and customers purchase it on the app and then go to pick it up in store.  It’s a fun way to explore new restaurants and stores around you while saving food from being wasted and…

[haerni]

심재윤 ✶ 𝑮UESS WE’RE 𝑴EANT TO 𝑩E

𝒞ontent . fluff ﾉ strangers to lover ﾉ meet cute ﾉ down bad sim jaeyun ﾉ love at first sight ﾉ attempt at crack ﾉ layla is the greatest wingdog ever . minimal proofread ﾉ 1.2k words .

ℒove notes . erm.. smth about jake this week has me whipping out my phone and typing all this this is literally so self indulgent & just cute layla (my bb)

wherein a cute dog suddenly comes out of nowhere, and you just can’t really help yourself and get to know her handsome dad.

having a dog has a lot of benefits.

for one, they reduce stress according to a research by just simply petting them it lowers the cortisol hormones, or whatever that was.

two, they stave off loneliness—if someone were to ask jake how he is after having layla, he definitely would say how amazing he’s been and how happy he is. after all, layla is just the cutest. unlike some dog his friend has, but that’s beside the point—sim jaeyun doesn’t need anything else.

and for the last one, is that they provide companionship! layla is a smart dog, just like jake. like father like daughter, some would say.

who knew that a simple detour from the dog park and layla’s incessant want to go to the nearest neighborhood has jake left with no choice but to comply. who could say no to that cute face? layla has been a good girl, right? so why not take another thirty minutes walk? sure it might be a little weird that she specifically wanted to go there, but it is probably nothing right?

but when sim jaeyun said they provide companionship, layla had a different idea about it.

jake never knew there was this side of the city, the wind blew just a little colder, the aroma of the flowers that were displayed outside hangs in the air and not far from where they came from, a small quaint bakery shop comes into view. layla who is visibly ecstatic as if she had walk down this road numerous times, which jake has suspected that maybe when the dog walker—his mom—has been taking his baby all this time.

not much is there to work in your little humble shop, as expected on a wednesday noon.

the bell chimes with its usual rhythm, there’s not much customer at this time of the day. usually, you would be greeted by a beautiful classy woman who seems to be middle age, but has a young heart with her cute little dog, whom she called layla.

but you supposed mrs. sim is pre-occupied as of the moment, because why the fuck is there a cute guy at your shop with the same dog who you give free treats every wednesday at noon, instead of mrs. sim who smiles warmly and orders her favorite blueberry cheesecake with hot tea on the side?

oh my gosh. there’s a cute guy at your store and he is obviously new — you would’ve definitely remembered that face anywhere — and you have to act normal now. you straighten up as you ready your usual greetings to any customers.

a soft ambiance wafts through the air as jaeyun walks in. as layla basically drags him in faster and further into the shop, not really noticing upfront because he was too busy looking for signs and posters if pets were even allowed in here. not really wanting to cause any trouble or pay any fine — though let’s be real, he is more concerned if layla were to have a record than to pay a measly fine that wouldn’t put a single dent in his bank account. though the amount of few pets that are scattered across those tables tells him that it’s fine.

before he knew it he was right in front of the counter, with disheveled hair and a little breath and layla wagging her tail swiftly with shiny eyes as if expecting something.

“hi layla!” a soft voice suddenly spoke and as if on cue layla barks and tilts her head — so layla knows you?

his eyes now meet yours.

as if the world is getting a little faster, is this what they say in the movies? though, he thinks it was a little different. your eyes are pretty — you are pretty. it’s absolutely breathtaking — you are breathtaking. does the light give you a different kind of glow? you were absolutely beautiful with your apron a little tattered on the side — he can definitely buy you a new one if you let him — your little hairs astray to your face is perfect, can you get anymore amazing?

is he going insane? was this normal? is any of it normal? is he even normal at all?

because why is jaeyun seeing you in the kitchen with the same apron you wear right now, a small smile on your face, a spatula in your hand, the aroma that permeates through the entire walls of the house, your house. and he doesn’t know what you are cooking, but right there and then sim jaeyun knew. why was he fantasizing your future? together?!

he’s definitely gone insane.

why is he looking at you like a deer in the headlights? is your hair okay? is there any dirt in your face? are you really going to embarrass yourself first before you even have a chance to get to know this cute guy?

gathering yourself, mustering up to talk to this man — who you think is probably the prettiest you’ve ever seen? hello? — you really need to get yourself together.

“hi? i’m yn, can i get you anything?” you cringe slightly from your voice.

a minute passes and the atmosphere grew to be more awkward than you had initially anticipated.

you try again, no matter how embarrassing it is and how much you want the ground to swallow you up. “uhm—”

“can i get your cake?” what.

someone please strike down jaeyun right this instant. why the fuck did he say that to you? great. now you think he’s a creep.

now how did he even mess up between asking you for your number that was supposed to be later and also asking for that carrot cake that looks so tasty in your menu?

“pardon?”

jake panics at that, “no, omg i’m so sorry! that’s not what i meant- wait no! i meant it, but i mean it differently, but i also mean it.”

wonderful. now he’s rambling and fumbling in front of you, what more can be worse than this?

and then he hears you chuckle. oh god now you’re laughing — how can someone laugh as gracefully as you? — but no, wait are you laughing at him? you sound so heavenly though. wait no, focus sim jaeyun!

jake lets out a sigh, a shy smile hanging on his lips, a hand coming up to his neck. “—i’m sorry, i don’t know what i’m doing.”

“no, you’re fine! i should be the one who’s sorry for laughing, that was totally unprofessional of me.” you frantically waved your hands in front of you.

jake finds your mannerisms adorable, “you’re okay,” he reassures you, feeling a little sorry. “let’s start over, shall we?”

“yeah,” you breathe out. “i would like that very much.”

the smiles forming in your faces are contagious.

“hi, i’m yn. would you like anything?” you start again.

surprisingly enough, jake didn’t mess up this time. thank goodness you were willing to start over — he might as well die from the utter humiliation he just felt a while ago — but he’s glad he didn’t.

“hello, pretty. i’m jaeyun, can i get that carrot cake?”

and if he’s lucky, your number will find its way to his contacts, just like how he found your quaint shop.

he’s glad he let layla drag him all the way to you.

𖹭 likes and reblogs are highly appreciated! this was so rushed omg

[whiskey-tango-matcha]

Chatterbox (M, cold, 'drabble')

A little prompt-based fluff for you guys :) Reed and Greyson go out to dinner, but Reed realizes something is up when Greyson won't shut tf up lol. I'm loving writing this relationship, I can't lie, so sorry if it's too much Reed and Greyson lately - I'll get back to my other guys soon!

1.6K words (just a tiny lil blip of a story haha) CW: Male snz, coughing, fever, contagion mention. Hope you like it :)

Chatterbox

Reed looked down at his phone as he waited on Greyson, rereading the stream-of-consciousness texts his boyfriend had sent throughout the day.

Greyson

1:42PM

sooo pumped for tonight bb :)

1:56PM

should I wear a suit…? I know it’s a new spot but the website definitely reads ‘fine dining’, like fine-er than most of my clothes know how to be...

2:24PM

I think I’ll do dark jeans & a black button up. johnny cash style. cant go wrong w that. hahah.

3:17PM

I know ur working still but im just really excited to see you:):)

It was cute – borderline adorable – how nervous Greyson seemed for their dates, even after almost a year of the two of them being together. Reed had, of course, answered Greyson’s plethora texts throughout the day, but had tried to keep himself subdued so he wouldn’t give away his hand; tonight, he was going to ask Greyson to move in with him.

He knew it was a bit of a long time coming, but Reed was really trying to keep from scaring Greyson off by doing anything too quickly. His boyfriend certainly had a bit of past-relationship trauma that Reed tried valiantly to navigate; it was hard to figure out what the right time to do anything was. Sometimes, he wasn’t sure there was ever going to be a right time to push their relationship to the next level. But things had been good lately; like, really good. Tonight felt… right.

Greyson’s presence was palpable before Reed even saw him blow through the door. He looked up from his phone and clocked his boyfriend, standing out side the restaurant with his elbow locked over his face; Reed cocked his head a bit, confused. Was he… coughing?

The chef, clad in the Johnny-Cash-getup he’d promised, shook himself out before pushing the door to the restaurant open. He pawed at his nose with the back of his hand while asking the hostess to point Reed out – she gestured towards their table, and Greyson smiled when the two of them locked eyes. Reed waved, smiling back. Something was certainly… off.

“Sorry I’m late, baby,” Greyson said, kissing the top of Reed’s head before sitting across from him. “The fuckin’ train was running late again.”

“I’ve told you a million times I’ll come pick you up for dates,” Reed said, squeezing Greyson’s hand across the table. “You don’t always have to take the train.”

Greyson shrugged, smiled a little loopily. “I like the train,” he said, picking up his menu and squinting at the small font. “Lots of time to think. I’ve come up with my best dishes on the subway, I’m pretty sure; you remember that tart I made for the writer’s dinner, the one where we saw each other for the second time? Came up with that on the train. I was sitting next to this girl, probably a student, and she was eating one of those little egg tarts, the ones from the Japanese bakeries? I thought, damn I bet a root vegetable in one of those would fuckin’ slay – spoiler alert, it so did. Where would I have come up with that if not for the train? Plus, it’s one of the most sustainable ways to travel. I get my good karma for not actively killing the environment in. Win-win. What’re we eat – HTSHH! NXTSHH!” Greyson’s explosion of word vomit was very suddenly cut off to stifle two painful-sounding sneezes into the back of his hand.

Reed blinked for what was maybe the first time since his boyfriend sat down. “...bless,” he said after a beat. Greyson nodded, sniffled a little, and picked the menu back up.

“What’s this place’s thing anyway?” Greyson continued, flipping the menu over to look at drinks. “I can’t seem to figure it out; are they Italian? Mediterranean? Fine dining? Just high-end? No tasting menu, but prices are high enough to warrant one. Wine list reads very Italian, but there are like three dishes with hummus on them? I’m half-expecting to be served babaganoush bolognese. Which… maybe would work? Actually, eggplant, tomato sauce… I could see it working. You never know. Can’t judge a book by its menu, right? What’re you drinking? Want to get a bot -?”

This second monologue was cut short when Reed reached across the table to place a gentle hand on Greyson’s face. Just as he expected: hot.

“Babe,” Reed said gently, taking his hand back, “you’re burning up.”

The chef cast his glance down, embarrassed. “You weren’t supposed to figure that out till after dinner,” he muttered. Reed laughed.

“Seriously? You had to know I’d figure something was up. You’ve been monologing since the moment you sat down. Have you been sick all day? You should’ve told me, honey. How much cough medicine did you take before you showed up here?”

Greyson looked up at Reed and gave him a little half-smile. “Pretty sure I downed half a bottle of Robutusssin, not gonna liiii – hh! HhNXTSHH-ue! Huh-TSHH-ue!” Once again, Greyson attempted to stifle, to no avail. He allowed himself two painful little coughs before righting himself again.

“Bless you,” Reed said again. “I wish you would just sneeze normal, that always sounds so painful.”

“We’re in a restaurant,” Greyson said, a huskiness beginning to creep in to his voice. “That’s so gross.”

Reed rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. Who cares? No one’s looking at us. They’re too busy with their many, many hummuses.”

A laugh bubbled out of Greyson, and with it came a flurry of congested coughs he directed into the sleeve of his shirt. “Don’t mbake me laugh,” he muttered, taking a drink of water. “You’re gonna get us kicked out.”

“Good,” Reed said, flagging the waiter. “I’m so sorry,” he said when the young, well-dressed server came to their table, “something’s come up and we’re going to have to go.” He handed the kid a fifty. “Thank you for your help.”

The server nodded, said thank you to Reed, and went to grab the two men’s jackets. Greyson raised an eyebrow, confused. “What’re you doing?”

“Taking you home,” Reed said. “You need tea and soup, not…” he glanced back down at the menu, “fattoush flatbread.” Greyson visibly deflated.

“I wanted to spend the evening with you,” he said, his voice subdued. “I’m sorry. I should’ve called and canceled, I just… I mbiss you when we don’t see each other all week. You’re always busy, I’mb always busy, it just fucking sucks. I don’t even know how I got fucking sick… oh wait, yes I do. Elijah had a cold last week – was that last week? Did I tell you that? I can’t remember. I think the servers gave it to him. Fuckin’ servers, I’ve never met a group of people who get sick mbore than theehh – huh! Fuck – HUHETSHHH-ue! Huh-! HhITSZZZCH-ue!” Greyson folded in half, his torso practically beneath the table in an attempt to keep the entire restaurant from hearing him. It was, of course, at that moment that the server returned with their coats. Reed took them silently, and stood to gather his boyfriend, who slowly unfurled himself from his own lap.

“Bless you,” he said, gently helping Greyson to his feet and slipping his coat over his shoulders. He lead the two of them past the host stand and onto the sidewalk, where he turned Greyson to face him.

“First of all,” he said, sweeping Greyson’s hair out of his eyes and caressing his cheek, “I know a subset of people who get sick more than servers, and it’s chefs. You and all your chef buddies are pestilence incarnate because you work nine hundred hours a week.” This prompted a little laugh from Greyson. Perfect, thought Reed. Break the tension.

“Secondly, yes, you did tell me that Elijah was sick, and I told you, and I quote, ‘Don’t get too close, I know you two love to share a cold’, but I know you don’t like to listen to authority, so not sure what I expected.” Another laugh. Greyson pushed his hair back, rubbed his nose, and pulled Reed in to hug him. Reed continued from this spot, pressed into Greyson’s shoulder.

“And thirdly,” he said, “I miss you too. All the time. Which is why I asked you out tonight.” He pulled away, reached into his pocket, and dropped a key into Greyson’s palm. “I don’t want to miss you anymore. I don’t want you to have to take the train from Brooklyn every single night, I don’t want us to hang out once a week, I don’t want to drop you at your apartment to take care of yourself. I want to see you when I wake up every morning. I want to hear you sneak in at three AM after you and Matt go clubbing. I want to take care of you, at home, when you’re sick.” Reed smiled, a little embarrassed, as Greyson stared at the key. “Move in with me,” Reed said. “Please.”

Greyson’s mouth opened, then shut without words a couple of times before he looked Reed in the eyes. “Yes,” he said, nodding. “Okay. Yes. Yes, please.”

Reed felt a smile bloom on his face, huge, goofy, unashamed. He took Greyson’s face in his hands and planted a kiss on his lips. Greyson held his boyfriend by the waist, then picked him up to spin him around. “I love you,” Greyson muttered into Reed’s mouth.

“I love you more,” Reed said, smiling. Greyson turned away then, suddenly to -

“HRRSHH-ue! HhhITSHZZCH-ue!” he sneezed away from his boyfriend, which prompted a laugh from Reed.

“Probably too late for that nicety,” Reed joked, elbowing Greyson playfully. The chef huffed out a laugh and rolled his eyes.

“I figured sneezing directly into your face would probably kill the moment,” he said, sniffling. “But I’ll go ahead and just do it next time.”

“Oh, shut up,” Reed laughed, kissing Greyson again. “C’mon. Let’s get you home and in bed. Sickie.”

Greyson smiled a little. “Yeah,” he said, looping his arm into Reed’s. “Let’s go home.”

[thepupperino]

keely bb have you done #7 (...to shut them up) for the kisses yet? 🌈✨❤️

Omg HI noooo I haven't (but I have now😏)!

7. ...to shut them up

Mickey is losing his mind over this wedding.

And it’s not like Ian really minds. Part of him thinks it’s cute that Mickey’s putting this much effort into their special day; Ian really would’ve been happy with the courthouse, but after what went down Mickey said he deserved the wedding of his dreams.

Ian just didn’t know the wedding of his dreams would involve this much planning.

He got an earful after the chair incident, and Mickey still bitched at him about it even after he fucked him in the shower.

Now there’s something about a soloist, and the right kind of flowers, and renting the right tuxes from some place downtown. Honestly, it’s enough to make Ian’s head spin.

“Sandy’s my best man, and I’m assumin’ you’re goin’ with Lip?” Mickey asks, continuing before Ian even gets a chance to respond. “He’s gotta pay for his own suit, I’m not coverin’ that shit. You send me your measurements for the tux?” Again, Ian opens his mouth to reply, but Mickey just keeps going. “Checked with the bakery and they agreed to do the rush order for an extra 50 bucks, you believe that shit? Best cake in town though, so we’re gonna have to make it work. You still good with vanilla cake and buttercream—“

His words are cut off by Ian’s lips, his hands gripping his face. Mickey tries to pull back, but Ian grips him tighter, holding his face in place so he can kiss him. He’s not sure how long this will keep him occupied, but he’s figured he’s earned at least a few minutes.

Friendly reminder that you can prompt me too :)

[pompadourpink]

hello ! what would you say are the beauty standards for girls in france ?

Hello,

I took a few days to think before addressing this question because the keyword is natural, which complicates giving a list. The main rule is that if you are going to do something, do it well or don't bother. Here are a few general notes:

Good skin, as we typically don't wear a lot of makeup and have a lot of excellent products/brands - we favour good foods and hydration (although many of us smoke)

Trimmed, maybe filled, natural-looking eyebrows

Thin, toned, surgery-free bodies - we are walkers

Groomed hands, filed nails (no chips)

Well-cared-for hair, short if you can't bother, in a low maintenance style, usually kept in its natural colour

I prefer to name things that can be worked on; of course, we could talk about things like racism and skin shades but I don't think your question is meant to be political. Here are a few elements from classic French style:

No heavy foundation, maybe concealer or BB, maybe nothing

Either mascara/liner or a red lip to dress the face, both are a bit much (as illustrated here with Garance Doré)

The rule of 3: an outfit usually has three colours or less

And also a single pop of colour, like a red shoe, or a pattern

We love a monochrome outfit

And a signature perfume (I mostly wear Libre by YSL, Alien Goddess by Mugler and Gentleman by Givenchy)

Simple cuts, quality fabrics, typically no fluff

We aim for comfort but chic out of respect: many tourists mention getting looks when they go to the bakery in pyjamas or sweatpants (we are the annoying people wearing a shirt and loafers at the airport)

Invest in nice blazers, coats, jumpers, and shoes, and avoid anything too tight or too oversized (the outer layer is typically the large piece and everything else fits well)

Jewellery is often dainty and minimal, maybe one big or more colourful piece here and there; as long as it doesn't wear you

Foreigners have been filming the people of Paris for inspiration, feel free to explore TikTok for more intel (Pinterest is also a good ally). Obviously, depending on people's cultures, personalities, desire to play with colours, cuts, styles, genders..., this is now one option amongst many others. You can look up Garance whose pictures I used in this post since she's a perfect example of the traditional style.

Hope this helps! x

[apprenticestanheight]

I don't know if your taking requests still 😭 but I would kill for some reader and adam angst, like Adam and reader were in the trap and are both suffering with the aftermath of it, but they have eachother to help, fluffy and angsty💔❤️ but bit more angsty for reader, maybe PTSD triggers if your okay with that?.. thankyou!! I love your work and you're fr keeping my obsession alive 😭 idk what I'd do without your works, love you bb <3

We'll Be Okay- Adam Stanheight x gn! reader

Hi!! I love me a good post-bathroom trap centric fic (nearly all of mine for adam have been aus where he lived because I refuse to think otherwise) and writing this was a good distraction from my life as it is now so thank you for sending this in!

One thing before we get into it--Adam is where Lawrence was in terms of the trap, and the reader is where Adam was. They wake up in the bath tub like Adam did because I needed their fear of water to make sense and that was the way to do it.

Fic type- this is hurt/comfort with angsty elements

Warnings- mentions and depictions of undiagnosed PTSD (the reader does mention going to therapy eventually but that's not until the fic is near it's end as to my understanding, therapy wasn't that big of a thing nor was it normalized in a big way until the early-mid 2010s. Might also be wrong there but google refused to tell me very much so meh), depictions of flashbacks, mentions of a fear of the water and such hindering the ability to shower for longer than three or so minutes (make up wipes are used in place because it was my first thought), a mention of serial rapists (in terms of Jigsaws victims), mentions of guns and bullet wounds and guns misfiring, mentions of drowning and being shot into the bathtub, reader is afraid of water and the dark post-trap

TWO MONTHS POST BATHROOM TRAP

You'd escaped the bathroom trap with Adam two months before you found yourself standing in a garden in Jersey after having left your apartment for the first time in two weeks. You were wearing basic outfitting--a pair of black jeans, a white cable knit sweater because Jersey was finally cold enough for you to dig it out of your closet, black Dr Marten boots that you'd owned since high school and would never give up on despite the wear they'd accrued in the eight years since you'd graduated, a black cardigan and a white beanie because when Jersey was cold it was better to wear too much than wear too little.

You hadn't known what your goal of the day was when you'd woken up--grants that your closest friend had applied for for you to get funds after the traumatic incident covered your medical bills and had been covering your rent for the two months post escape. You were applying for jobs after quitting your other one because there were too many reminders of the trap there, but you'd decided the night before that you weren't going to go job hunting that day--but you knew you had to do something.

So, you got up. You did your best to shower--waking up in the bathtub and nearly drowning in it had hindered your capabilities to be under water for longer than three-ish minutes--and you told yourself that that was enough while you made sure you didn't stink by using make up wipes that smelled like your favorite scent.

You got dressed in the cable knit sweater you'd thrifted when you were eighteen, put on the black jeans you'd borrowed from a coworker that July but would probably never return, put on a couple of pairs of socks to help combat the cold while acknowledging that the Dr Martens you'd splurged on just a couple days before you were taken still needed breaking in. You grabbed the cardigan off of your coat hanger by the door, did up the three buttons on the waistline, and grabbed a hat when you remembered you needed to grab your phone and apartment and car keys before you left.

Then, you left your apartment. You decided to walk instead of drive and stopped by a local breakfast bakery because you'd been meaning to start supporting locally owned businesses anyway. You grabbed a cinnamon roll and your hot drink of preference, then you left the store and kept walking.

You found yourself standing in one of the only gardens in Jersey, the mornings frost dusting the grass in a way that makes it look almost more beautiful than it does in spring.

You breath in deep, the air bitingly cold, but you find yourself thankful for it. You've started noticing that you're thankful for a lot lately--after a couple of bullet wounds from Zepp and Adam both, you had to spend three weeks in the hospital just...healing.

The minute you stepped out of the hospital, you found your case wasn't quite old news and press just kept hounding you, going so far as to wait for you in the lobby of your apartment complex.

Coupled with that was the fact that you had to go to the police to give a statement while the events were still clear in your mind. Because of complexities on the force and with the Jigsaw case, your statements kept being interrupted because of how thin things were stretched even with the FBI on the case, so that occupied the first week of your second month out.

Then, it was a myriad of issues. You were too afraid to have the spaces in your place be dark, you couldn't handle being in the water for too long because Zepp had shot you into it when he shot you in the shoulder and the chest, being unable to move because Adam had misfired and shot you in the leg when the gun was within his reach and Zepp had tried to wrestle it away from him.

But, still. You took a deep breath in, watching the ground, and were grateful for that capability. Just like you'd thanked the barista who'd taken your order, thanked your luck that you'd woken up in your apartment rather than the bathroom like your nightmares had told you you would. Just like you would thank the first stray cat who ran up to you and rubbed their cheek against your hand when you extended it--Jigsaws aim had been to make sure you felt grateful for the life you got, and while it had left you traumatized, the innate urge to thank things that you'd taken for granted before seemed to come along with the fact that you'd survived.

You weren't grateful for the fact that you'd been trapped--the trauma you inherited along with the survival had kind of hindered that. Instead, your time was spent angered at Jigsaw for doing as he'd done.

"Y/N?" You hear your name being called, recognize the voice calling it instantly. "What are you doing in the garden? It's the middle of November."

You laugh a little bit as you turn to face him. "I don't know," you say. "I just--it's standing in the garden that will be relatively free of people until the spring or job hunting. I've been using a grant to pay my rent since we escaped, so I chose to do this instead."

Adam laughs a bit in turn, and you let yourself approach him.

He looks good--his hair has grown out a slight bit, he's got his camera slung over his hip. He's wearing glasses, too, and oddly enough they suit him.

He's wearing outfitting that you just think is so him--a pair of blue jeans, henley layered with a flannel or two, and a leather jacket. He looks better than good--he looks amazing.

"What do you do for work?" You ask in the interest of making polite conversation. "Are you still working as a--"

"PI? No," Adam says. "I work in photojournalism now. Don't even smoke as often as I used to, I get so damn terrified he's around and watching me."

You snort. "Oh, believe me, I can relate. I've debated adopting a dog recently but I'm too afraid that I'll see an old man sitting somewhere sketching away whenever I take them on a walk. I hate it, but it's the new normal so I guess all we can do is adjust."

"You could adopt a cat," Adam suggests. The two of you start walking toward the garden entrance. "Unless, of course, you decide to leash train them. In which case, just make sure they don't climb up a tree and I'm sure you'll be okay."

You laugh a little and realize that you haven't laughed so much since before the trap. It's a little disheartening, but you and Adam were dropped at two separate hospitals. You couldn't have talked to him before that moment, and you were going to cherish it and all the laughter it brought along.

"If I did adopt a cat, I would want to make sure I had a job beforehand. The grants my friend got me on can be used to pay for rent and other expenses but I don't want to adopt a cat using 'hey, you were traumatized and we can't fix that but here's some money!' money. You're able to apply for them up to three months after the incident, so if you're needing something to cover the rent and make sure you have adequate groceries from paycheck to paycheck, I'd look into it."

Adam shook his head. "Pfffffftt," he breathed. "What--rent money and grocery money? In this America? How foolish a thought!"

You laugh. You'd not experienced any trouble with putting food on your table thanks wholly to the grants, but before the trap you were making enough to cover rent and rent only and as such would frequent the foodbank nearest your apartment.

"Seems a luxury until you realize that living without roaches is, in fact, your right as a tenant. Does your new job at least pay you enough to move somewhere?"

"They gave me a place, actually! It's near my job and the rent is cut from my paycheck. I get five hundred for groceries which goes a long way when one is shopping sales and at places like Aldi," Adam says. "I'm also using a company owned car--my friend Scott knows someone who knows someone else. Got an interview, didn't flunk my way through it, and now I've got a solid set up, I think."

You smiled. You were so happy for him.

When you're within a foot of the exit, Adam sidesteps, gestures at it and lets you through first with a sarcastic grin on his face. "The one who's got more bullet wounds gets to leave first," he says as you exit.

"I don't have that many more than you do," you say.

"You have four," Adam says. "Two in the chest, one in the shoulder, one in the leg. I have one--a shoulder wound is nothing, especially considering that Zepps aim was off."

You smile close-lipped at him, and Adam shakes his head.

"I know," he says. "Too soon. 'M sorry I didn't visit you--I meant to find your number in the phone book after I'd gotten out of the hospital, but I didn't know if you'd gotten out yet and I didn't want to leave a voice message. Doing so would've felt pathetic, I think."

"It's all right," you said. "I was a mess until my last four days in--had I seen you, I think that I would've needed to be sedated. John definitely got to me in a way that was not very fun at the start."

"You're on a first name basis with him now?" Adam asks, sarcasm dripping from his tone.

"Oh yeah," you said. "Kramer and I get coffee every Wednesday, and I hear all about the relatively innocent people he plans to put into his murder machines. Not a lot of photographers, though--you must've been a one-off."

Adam snorts and you laugh, leaning against him a bit. It's like something in your dynamic has cracked, returned you to the people you were in the bathroom--Adams sarcasm, your riffing off of his responses and hitting back with your own. The difference is that Adam found the key to the chain around his foot in a cracked and lifted area of the floor two feet away from where the chain on his foot kept him, and left after finding that the key required for the cuff on your foot was different. You were stuck for a few days before Kramer and one of his accomplices freed you after asking if you'd held out hope and when you responded yes desperately because you were dehydrated and hadn't eaten and you were bleeding out.

Adam sighs. "I have to get to work, but I'll call you, okay? You have a landline?"

"Yeah," you nod. "It's the number beside my name in the phone book."

Adam nods. "Okay," he says.

And then you're watching him go, and the coldness of reality is returning.

FOUR MONTHS POST BATHROOM TRAP

In the months that follow, you end up with a job working in marketing. Adam calls your landline and you give him the number associated with your flip phone. You start meeting for coffee when your shifts line up and let you do so before or after work, and on the weekends and most weekdays you two are inseparable until midnight comes and you're telling Adam to call you in the morning while you go about your nighttime routines.

Adam stays over on the weekends, or you stay at his. It depends on who's place the coffeeshop or bar you go to after work is closer to because the two of you take turns choosing where.

When, two weeks into your second month post escape, you adopt the pair of stray kittens you find in the dumpster behind your apartment, Adam starts picking coffeeshops that are closer to your apartment than his own.

The cats are both boys and are named Cinnamon and Nutmeg for their brown coats. Cinnamon is completely brown all over and blue eyed, whereas Nutmeg is a calico that has shades of brown all over his back, paws, face and tail, where white is on his tummy and neck area.

Adam has spent more time taking photos of them than he'll willingly admit, but as time develops he also has a ton of photos of you doing anything and everything--opening the windows, falling asleep while you two watch a bad horror movie, doing some work from home, making coffee and tea, holding a joint, making breakfast, eating an edible.

He also realizes as time goes on that you are a lot worse off than he is. Three months in and you can't stomach the thought of going to the part of Jersey where the trap was located. You can't exist in spaces absent of light for too long, you look over your shoulder constantly because you're afraid that the act of lighting a cigarette while in a public space will have you trapped again. You cry a lot and are sometimes terrified to be in your apartment because you were taken from there, just like Adam was.

There are days where something sets it off and you're thrown off kilter so bad that you have a panic attack. Nutmeg the cat is very receptive to moments like that one, often rushing to your side with Cinnamon the cat on his toes, ready to press his face against your tear stained cheeks while you idly pet at the fur on the top of his head, and Adam lights the lavender candle you use because the scent of lavender is calming.

Three months in and Adam is suddenly fond of notebooks because he likes to keep track of the things that trigger it for you. Winter-era power outages from the wind are not at all helpful in your recovery post trap, he discovers. You hate it, even with the candles lit. You cannot stand living in the dark--it reminds you of waking up in the bathroom, waking inside a full bathtub with your foot chained to a pipe on one side of the room while Adam was chained to one on the other. You can't stand the smell of the sewage in downtown Jersey or the smell of the dumpsters behind your apartment building because it smells too much like the bathroom. You get anxious about the idea of taking baths and being submerged in the water and find showers difficult most days.

You thank baristas and hold the doors open for people. You thank Nutmeg and Cinnamon whenever they cuddle up next to you or in the all-too-common instance that Nutmeg tries to use kisses as a reason for you to feed him two dinners. You laugh at dogs in the park doing silly stuff and you love the taste of coffee. You watch the news warily whenever a new Jigsaw victim or survivor comes out of the woodwork and you love the job you ended up with. You can't stand the sight of Walkmans or the sound of cassette tapes. You seem to thrive off the sound of Adams laugh in the way he thrives off yours.

By the fourth month, Adam has realized that his lists of the things that set you off and their solutions have just become lists of things you do and don't really notice while you do them--the smile on your face when you feed Nutmeg and Cinnamon or choose to donate a dollar to whichever charity when you and Adam are ordering your coffee from the coffeeshop you've both taken a liking to near your apartment.

The way that you look when you're baking or the way that you look when you watch the sunset, the sound of your laugh in the mornings.

The way that you look when you've just woken up and are registering the fact that Adams hand is carding through your hair because he's been awake fifteen minutes longer than you have. The sheer excitement you seem to radiate while you make your first cup of coffee of the day, the serenity that takes you over whenever the two of you watch the sunset from Adams fire escape, the way that you lean against him, arm looped through his elbow, when things get too much or when the world gets too quiet.

His lists of the things that he likes about you and the ones about things that set you off are eventually put into two separate notebooks after a while of meaning to separate the two things and have two different styles--the ones of things he likes about you are rambles. They go on for pages at a time and there are more run on sentences than there aren't.

The lists of things that trigger your trauma responses are simple--Adam writes the trigger and the solution.

Staying in the dark for too long--consider buying a small lamp for corner of room as Christmas gift, light candles, open windows (cold is good--Y/N likes the cold. Helps keep them grounded) play shitty 80s horror movie so that there's light from the tv

The smell of sewage and dumpsters behind apartment complex--avoid the areas of Jersey where the sewage is prominent, tell Y/N to plug nose and breathe through mouth when taking the garbage down

They're simplistic in their own right, complex in that too, but they're good.

Adam is holding a six pack of donuts and a tray with two coffees from your favorite local breakfast bakery when he opens your door, startled to find it unlocked. Your apartment door was always locked unless Adam called beforehand and you knew you'd be in the shower when he showed up, thus unable to let him in, but he'd not called that morning. He knew you didn't have to work and neither did he, so the fact that your door was unlocked set him on edge almost instantly.

He proceeds in with caution, setting the coffee and donuts on your coffee table. Nutmeg the cat meows at him before starting in the direction of your fire escape, the curtain drawn to a close over the window through which you got to it. When Nutmeg turns around to make sure Adam is following, Adam starts to.

He pulls the curtain over your window back, blinking a little in the surprise he feels as he realizes that it's mostly closed. Your back is pressed against the railing, your body facing the window, your eyes closed but your face tilted skyward.

Adam opens the window, steps onto the fire escape. He closes the window behind him after gently shooing Nutmeg the cat indoors so that he doesn't have to deal with the cold bite of Jersey in January.

"Y/N?" He asks in a voice that's barely above a whisper. He's helped you through panic attacks as you've helped him through the same, but he's never seen you like that before.

Your eyes open. You don't look at him.

"Do you ever get nightmares?" You ask.

Adam inhales sharply. His capabilities as far as sleep are concerned have been detrimentally affected since he escaped the bathroom trap. He went from getting somewhere just past the seven hour threshold on weekdays and nine or ten on weeknights to nightmares no matter how mundane the day. Because of the nightmares, he'd averaged out to three or four hours a night, two on his worst and five on his best.

"Every night since I left," he says. "When I escaped, I had a nightmare about leaving you behind--which, I did at first. I'm sorry about that, by the way."

You were chained to a pipe near a bathtub. Adam had been chained to a pipe near the door. Adam had found the key in a cracked and lifted part of the floor about two feet away from him after several hours of bickering and telling Adam to shoot you despite his protests. That day had been one of the worst days of your life.

Still, four months after your escape and well into a January in the city of Jersey, the days you spent starving to death, fading in and out of consciousness and bleeding from four wounds barely managed to top that.

"I didn't have too many," you say. "Not until recently--went for a three month visit to check on the wounds in my chest. Think that spurred me on a little, and I've been having them for three weeks now."

"What are yours about?" Adam asks.

You meet his gaze. Adam is startled to find that he can probably drown in the relief he feels as you do, following it by a gentle shake of your head and a smirk while you stretch your right leg out, crossing your ankle over his left foot. Adam presses his back against the window and idly wishes he could smoke.

"Nah," you say. "Nope. You first."

"Leaving you behind, mostly," he admits. "Some are about one of us being put into a trap again, the other of us being forced to watch them die. Mundane stuff compared to what old man Jigsaw is known for, right?"

You laugh. "Mine are somewhat the same," you say. "You leave me behind, but it's your choice to do so. Others center around my experience escaping, most are about drowning in the bathtub while you hold me, though. Sweet stuff--you're sobbing and you kiss my forehead and you ask the sky 'why, why them?'"

Adam snickers. "Had that been how it happened, I absolutely would've done that," he says. "God isn't really someone I believe in, but I would've stopped believing in him had you died. I uh--well, people have been put into Jigsaw traps for worse than us, right?"

"Worse reasons, and pettier ones, too," you say. "You spy on people, I fudged the data on a couple of marketing reports when my old boss promised me a raise, which you ended up investigating."

You approach and Adam welcomes your embrace, settling with you sitting against the fire escape railing by the window, one of Adams legs up and your leg tucked beneath it while the other sat near his foot, your foot resting against his calf.

"We're going to be okay," you say. "I mean--not now. Probably not by March, but we will be, I think."

Adam scoffs. "You think?"

"I don't know," you shrug. "Nothing is certain, really, but if I'm remembering correctly, 'time heals all wounds' was, in fact, my senior quote. Either that or something from a Jane Austen novel."

Adam laughs, presses a kiss against your forehead. You relax for a minute, eyes closing as you breathe the cold air in and whatever kicked up that trauma response seems to settle.

"For the record--I think we'll be fine," he says. "I mean, my margin for fine is a little on the low end, but I really do think we'll get there one way or another. We have to."

You grin at him, take his hand.

An unspoken truth exists there--you'll be okay if you have each other. You'll claw your way to okay if you have to, but you'll get there and you'll do with hands entwined, no matter how exhausting it becomes.

SIX MONTHS POST BATHROOM TRAP

You were working. You liked your job. Yours and Adams romantic relationship had been going on for a month when you decided to turn on the news on a crisp evening somewhere near the second week of March.

Another case. Another victim and survivor both, another instance wherein Jigsaw completely evaded capture and no leads on his location are findable.

Sometimes, despite the number of good days you have, you have bad ones, too. Adam is the same--his trauma isn't as bad as yours in the long run, but sometimes his nightmares throw him for a loop or he finds the darkness too unsettling or he gets too close to the part of town where the trap was without realizing until it's too late.

You both have your bad days and your bad weeks, and you've both come to rely on each other during those times. Adam knows how to get you onto the ground again when you feel like you are floating outside of yourself, and you know how to help him when his nightmares have left him helpless, drowning in the thought that he'd left you to die alone in the bathroom.

Adam knows your signals well enough, which explains the closeness he keeps to you when he shows at your apartment after his shift where yours had ended only forty-five minutes beforehand and you'd been home for all of thirty.

You'd managed to take a shower in that time, but in combination with your trauma exacerbated by a nightmare when you'd slept the previous night, it still left you reeling. Every drop of water against your skin was another reminder of the fact that you'd been shot into the bathtub, would've drowned if not for the fact that Adam pulled you out in a panic.

So, you were standing in your living room, your hair was damp. the news was on in the background, some reporter droning on about the specifics of the newest set of survivors and the victims who'd been identified thus far.

You were wearing a pair of adidas joggers and one of Adams hoodies, socks covering your feet because your floors were always cold. You were asking Adam if he wanted to order a pizza while he interlaced your fingers and nodded, pulling you back toward him when you started walking away and pressing a kiss to your forehead when you melted into his embrace for a split second.

You ordered the pizza while your brain was still trying to process everything, some part of you wanting to go back to watching the news despite knowing that such probably wasn't in yours or Adams best interests.

Once the pizza was ordered, you and Adam went to your living room. Adam looked at you how he looks at you when he's trying to determine the best way to help and ends up pulling you close, the two of you swaying along to the tune of the weatherman reporting the next week of Jersey springtime temps.

You're shaking, still a little on edge. You've been the way that you are for six months, and in those six months you've tried everything that you can short of going to therapy.

You bought melatonin gummies to combat the fear of falling asleep and thus falling victim to another nightmare and you take them as the fear sets in.

You've started gradually working on your fear of water rather than doing as you used to--forcing yourself under the shower head and trying to wash and condition your hair while in the midst of a panic attack--and you're slowly starting to work on your fear of the darkness, though you doubt you'll ever again find solace in it like you used to.

Adam, though, is a delightful constant in a life that, before your trap, was almost completely absent of them. You see each other daily, have each others backs and can read each other like neither of you can read anyone else.

Adam knows you inside and out, and that's why he knows to keep close while you sway, hands interlaced in order to keep yours from shaking.

Externally, you just seem like a couple in their mid twenties, swaying along to the music in their hearts while the news talks in detail of the latest local and global tragedies.

Internally, though, you're stuck in the bathroom again. Your chest is stinging with the reminder of the two bullets that were shot into it. Your leg aches like the wound is new and your shoulder begs for a reprieve from the burn of a bullet wound.

Internally, you're watching Adam try to jam the key into the lock attached to the chain on the cuff attached to your foot. He's angry because it's not working and you're begging him to go because you don't want him to see you bleeding out.

You're telling him "If you go, you have a shot at saving me. Go and get help, Adam. Please."

And he's responding. "I'm not going to leave you behind," and your hand is against his face, one of his is on your hip and you're both covered in blood that is his and yours both. Zepp Hindle is dead. The doors have slid open and Adam can go.

You push him away. "Please," you croak.

And then you watch Adam go, hope leaving you as he turns his back after promising that he'll come back and find you, even if it kills him.

Internally, you are once again the person who fell into murky bathtub water, and you're hearing Adams shouts as Zepp tries to drown you but Adam fights him off and yanks you out.

Internally, you are person startled awake by the feeling of two hands against your shoulders. You're mumbling Adams name.

"No," says a grizzly voice. It's the kind that just...has to belong to an older guy, the kind that you would hear from some sixty year old who'd chainsmoked his way through the previous ten years of his life.

"I have a question for you, Y/N," the voice is saying. "Have you held out hope for Adams return?"

In your bouts of consciousness, the first thing that you've spoken has been his name. "Yes," you're croaking, voice raspy from the disuse and the fact that you haven't drank water in days.

"Congratulations, then. You've passed your test, and it is time you got to a hospital."

Internally, you're hearing the sound of keys being inserted into the lock on the chain that holds your foot captive. You're being carried bridal style out of the building by a woman, dropped into an SUV. You're blacking out, starving and dehydrated, while you're driven to the hospital.

Then Adams voice meets your ears. "Y/N?" One of his hands moves to the small of your back. Your hand starts shaking but Adam moves it to his face, your thumb against his top lip. "Come home. We aren't in the bathroom--not anymore."

You're breathing in. Your eyes are opening as you trace your thumb over Adams lips. Adam steps just a little closer as your hand moves from his lips to his shoulder. You're careful not to touch the wound there.

"We're okay," Adam says. "It's been six months. Today, actually--it's the six month anniversary. I made it out and I called for help while I was sitting on a gurney in the ambulance. I didn't leave you behind, I promise. I told you I wouldn't and I didn't."

Despite the inklings of progress you've made, Adam senses that the reassurance isn't bringing you back like it's meant to. He tries to think of what you'd told yourself after a series of flashbacks--he's got it written somewhere, and despite himself, knows it almost like the back of his hand.

"Your name is Y/N L/N," he starts. "It's been six months since you escaped the bathroom trap, which you were placed into on September 10th, 2004. You were put into the trap because you fudged data for the promise of a raise that you desperately needed because your boss had lowered your pay to the point where it was either covering rent or eating on payday."

You did it like that--your name, the duration of time since you'd left the trap, the day you were put into it, the reason. That was always how it started.

"You are twenty seven years old," he continues. "You have two cats named Cinnamon and Nutmeg and you thank everyone for everything all the time. You say sorry a lot, too, and you like weed but you find nicotine a little disgusting because of how it tastes and the headaches smoking leaves behind.

"You like the coffee and baked goods from Maries on the corner of Cornelia and 45th. You hate the water and you hate the dark and you hate being left alone when the loneliness of that sets in, but you love things too. You love sunrises and sunsets, the smell of coffee and Jersey in the winter."

You squeeze his shoulder a bit, press your forehead against it. Adams hand moves from your lower back up to your shoulder, falling down your arm. He gives the hand of yours that is still tucked into his a squeeze.

"You love it when Nutmeg meows at you, the way that Cinnamon always runs to the good spot for sunbathing in front of your fire escape," he says. "You love late nights and the opportunities they give you in the realm of stealing my sweaters. You love cinnamon buns and music and the sound of birds chirping, and in an unexpected turn of events, your favorite movie is 1987s 'The Princess Bride'. You escaped the trap and we're in your apartment, we've ordered food, and everything is as okay as it can be right now."

You take a deep breath in. Adam squeezes your hand again, presses a kiss to your forehead.

"You surprisingly put up with my music taste despite the fact that ours differ," he says. "And you survived. You survived, Y/N. We both survived, and that has to count for something, at least."

Internally, the flashback ends. You exist outside of yourself for a solid thirty seconds more before Adams lips against your forehead brings you back to the ground.

"Thank you," you say, offering a weak smile. Adam grins back, reassuring and warm.

"Anytime," he says.

Six months in, things are okay. They could definitely be better, but they're okay enough and that's what really matters.

TWELVE MONTHS POST ESCAPE

The six months to follow are relatively decent--Adam moves into your apartment and his paycheck is bumped up significantly as he's not living where the company was paying for him to.

You find a therapist you like in order to work on your residual trauma and start going in every Saturday from two to four. You and Adam buy Cinnamon and Nutmeg a cat tree almost as tall as the wall in your living room and every single morning becomes one full of tired, groggy voices, hugs from behind and the sound of exhausted laughter.

The morning of September fourteenth comes quicker than you or Adam had expected for it to, but you try to go about your day as normal. Jigsaw is still at it, wherever he's ended up. You wake that morning to news of a detectives disappearance and one of his past victims having been tested again. There were two survivors in total--Amanda Young and Daniel Matthews, the son of the missing detective.

You try not to let it dampen your mood and decide to order breakfast rather than make it--you have the day off, as does Adam. You took it because you figured it wouldn't be a very good day and Adam took it because he wanted to suffer with you, in his words.

Off the bat, there's nothing that triggers it. Sure, the news has you in a tizzy as you discover that a group of people was placed into what evidence is reportedly calling "The Nerve Gas House," and you feel a moment of resentment for the fact that all of it is being sensationalized by the media, but that barely scratches the surface. It doesn't trigger much more than mild anxiety and resentment as you really start thinking about it. More people dead. Two left alive.

You wonder how Eric feels, how Amanda feels--both of them are being bombarded by the media just like you and Adam were, and you remember that much as though it were yesterday.

The true crime reporters were a different kind of ruthless, some of them trying to visit you while you were still in the hospitals recovery unit. News reporters also kind of sucked, but then it seemed like everyone wanted a scoop, and you could recall being told to "savor your fifteen minutes of fame" once by one of the particularly ruthless reporters who tried to visit you, even going so far as to open the door to your hospital room and enter while you were high on morphine and still being hydrated through an IV.

The entire thing has made you angry in recent months--Jigsaw, you can admit, puts a very wide scope of people into his traps. It ranges from people with a history of drug addiction or people like you who'd committed relatively minor offenses for decent reason to serial rapists and people who were the direct cause of someone elses death.

The ones who survive his traps are usually left with something to serve as a consistent reminder. For you it is back-of-the-mind worry about things in relation to your heart because two bullets were lodged there for several days. For Adam and you alike, it is the fact that you feel the bad weather before the bad weather hits because you'll get pain in your legs and your shoulders. For others, its the scars that self mutilation has left behind, sometimes even as far as consistent reminder of the loss of a limb coupled with the trauma and the responses developed from it.

So--the thing that makes you angry about all of it is that people survive the things that Jigsaw puts them through, and then, traumatized and having been given a hefty medical bill, the media circus will start. They'll be harassed by reporters as they walk down the street or after giving their statement to the police and the harassment will just continue until the next case comes around.

But, you suppose its better to digress. You turn the news off as you get a call that your food has arrived. Adam, having woken up and taken a shower only to get redressed into a pair of sweatpants and one of the baggy cableknit sweaters you loved digging out of your closet come the first of September, gets it from the door and thanks you for ordering food.

You sit and eat your breakfast while laughing at Cinnamon as he tries to steal Adams bacon, where Nutmeg the cat has settled between your side and the corner of the couch, head on your thigh as he purrs because you'd given him a few pieces of shredded cheese earlier, when you were snacky before you stepped into the shower and braved your way through standing under the water longer than five minutes.

Adam looks to you for help, and you shrug. "You're the one who took it upon yourself to feed him a small piece of bacon when he was nine weeks old," you say.

He laughs a little, holding his bacon egg sandwich in the air and laughing at Cinnamons persistence as he jumps from Adams lap to his shoulder, stretching out over Adams arm.

"I aided in the raising of a demon cat," he says. "You adopted a demon cat."

"I adopted two demons," you said. "I just don't happen to like bacon and Nutmeg calms down when I give him a little shredded cheese once every few weeks."

Adam shakes his head and relents, ripping a small piece of bacon off and letting Cinnamon have it. He's able to eat peacefully from there, Cinnamon settling on the couch cushion behind him.

You eat breakfast in a medley of calmness, talking about work and the apartment and getting snippy at one point, Adams sarcasm coming into play and you reminding him of how quick witted you can get when you riff off his sarcasm like it's nothing. You both mention how good a walk in the gardens sounds while the gardens are still walkable and not bitten by frost, but don't end up deciding to go right then.

There comes a point where Adam moves closer to you and you curl against his side and there's a silent knowledge that passes over you.

The one year anniversary of Adams escape was four days ago. The one year anniversary of your escape is today. Three days exist between the 10th and the 14th, all of which you spent alone. You were alone in that hospital, just as Adam was alone in his. Neither of you had reached out to your families beyond a few stunted phone calls, but you were still alive. A year gone and you were still standing.

Adam presses a kiss to your forehead. "'M sorry I left."

"I told you to go."

"I know, but I feel like I should've stayed."

You turn to look at him, shaking your head. "No," you say. "Had you stayed, we both would've failed and we would've been left for dead. You left because I begged you to go, you got to stay alive, and so did I. We both passed the test that Jigsaw set up for us and now we're here. You can't wallow in the what-ifs, okay? I already know how it would've ended had you stayed and I am relentlessly glad that you didn't."

You press your forehead against his. He grabs your hands. You interlace your fingers and give his hands a squeeze. Of course that day was not going to be an easy one--a year gone already? A year of nightmares, of flashbacks, of good and bad moments both, passed you by like it were a blink.

"We're okay," you whispered. "And we're okay because you left. You left, Adam, and you saved my life."

You pull away, meet his gaze. He's looking at you like you're the love of his life and he hates that leaving you was something he had to do at all.

"We're okay," you whisper.

"We're okay," Adam nods.

To tell the truth of it, you're not sure whether or not you're lying to yourselves. If you are lying to yourselves, however, then the lie is pretty damn convincing.

--

You and Adam end up walking through one of the only gardens in Jersey as the sun goes down. It's the first time you've been to the garden in ten months, and the ten months that have passed have been ones that were good, bad, everything.

Adams hand is interlaced with yours. Your cheek is against his shoulder. Things don't really feel okay, but you know that they will start to eventually.

But, there is also the truth within that that 'okay' is not a constant. There will be moments of your life wherein the thing in its entirety comes crashing down upon you, moments where you feel like breathing is a struggle, like blinking will make you exhausted. There will be moments wherein you're okay, moments where okay elevates to good. Good elevates to great, and great elevates to amazing.

There is not one constant state of feeling or emotion, there is not one constant state of being. Things will fluctuate, as they do, and as Adam lifts his camera to snap a photo of a stray cat, you think, for the first time since your escape, that you're fine with that.

Whatever the next phase of your life looks like, whatever it means for the trauma that still lingers from your time spent in the bathroom trap, you can handle it. With Adam by your side, with your apartment and the adorable cats you adopted two and a half months after you'd been dumped at a hospital with severe bleeding, blood loss, and several bullet wounds, you can handle it. Whether or not you'll be okay throughout all of that time, you'll handle it, and that's what matters.

[nohoney]

omg k sweetness! sweetness!! I have a question and a small req… how is touya’s bond with his family/siblings and could we get a drabble of it pretty please (my hc is that touya is the big cool older brother and has a relatively ok bond with his siblings while sometimes awkward, it still doesn’t deter him from bullying poor shoto)

ty for clarifying bb! i almost thought this ask was for us series! touya and was gonna go well actualllyyyy he doesn’t＼(º □ º l|l)/ and didn’t want to write a downer for a cute ask about siblings lol

i headcanon that he has a decent bond with his siblings! touya is kind of like the “i’m going to mcdonald’s ur coming with me” kind of older sibling instead of the “i’m going to mcdonalds what do u want” sibling

Four sweet treats are packed inside a small box and a cake is packed inside a medium sized white box. Touya taps his phone to make a payment and declines needing a receipt. He grabs the smaller box and hands the bigger box to his younger brother that accompanied him to the bakery. “Here, carry that and be careful. I need to text Fuyumi that we got the cake.” Touya says as he opens the door to exit out the bakery and walk back to the car. “Shouto, do you remember what else she said we had to get?”

“She said we need to get the flowers too and that the bouquet she ordered should be ready for pick up.” His younger brother answers, “Can you get the door for me?”

Touya opens the passenger door side of his car for his younger brother, watching as he ducks his head down first and makes sure both feet are in before shutting the door. He sets the smaller box of treats into the backseat before starting up the car and putting in the location for the florist that he needed to stop by.

Shouto looks back at the separate box of baked goods and asks, “Why did you get more dessert? Is it for mom too?”

“No, it’s for (Name).” Touya answers as he sets the directions and begins to drive towards the new destination.

“Why? She’s not here. You said she couldn’t make it because she got sick.” Shouto points out, making sure to hold the box steady in his lap.

He watches his older brother look at his blind spots before using the turn signal to switch lanes. “I’m gonna give it to her when I head back home to her, duh.”

“Did she ask for them?”

“No, she just expects me to bring her something. And she’ll bitch at me if I come back with empty hands for not getting her something when she wasn’t feeling good.”

Shouto leans his head back against his seat, shaking his head a little to get his bangs out of the way of his vision. Touya’s girlfriend was always really nice whenever she came to visit, she always asked him questions about how he was doing and what he liked. He was a little disappointed that Touya announced she wasn’t able to make it for family dinner due to being unwell.

“Are you supposed to do that kind of thing? For girlfriends?” Shouto asks, his eyes looking to the GPS displayed on the screen for how close they are to the florist.

“Depends on the girl. You’ll find out whenever you start dating.” Touya takes one hand off the wheel and reaches over to ruffle his younger brother’s hair, chuckling when his hand gets swatted away and he’s told a firm ‘stop that.’ It was funnier to mess with Shouto as a teenager seeing as he could actually talk back and sass him. Back then he would just get a time out or reprimanded.

The car pulls into the lot for the florist and Touya is looking for a nearby parking spot. He lowers the volume of the music to concentrate on finding a spot and curses under his breath that the lot seems really packed.

“Touya, it’s Natsuo.” Shouto points out.

The car jerks to a stop and both brothers lurch forward, their seatbelts doing their job of keeping them strapped in. The cake is still safe.

Touya honks the horn of his car and rolls down his window to wave over Natsuo along with a sentimental call of ‘hey dipshit!’ to get his attention.

Natsuo comes up the driver side, holding the bouquet in his arms and peering in to look at both of his brothers. “What are you guys doing here?”

“We were picking up the flowers, why the fuck didn’t you text me that you were gonna get them instead?” Touya asks with a slight annoyance in his tone. If this was already gonna be taken care of by someone else then he wouldn’t have wasted his time to fetch it himself.

“I texted you but got the automatic message that you were driving so I texted Shouto instead.”

Touya turns his head and glares at his younger brother. Shouto carefully reaches into his back pocket to pull out his phone.

“Natsuo texted that he’s gonna pick up the flowers-“ Shouto reads his notification.

“Fucking thanks Shouto!”

[daisytrails]

9 People You Would Like To Know Better

or in my case, i only have five mutuals so i’m tagging everyone bc you all seem really cool and i would love to get to know you more!

Tagged by @likemonstersinlove !! <3

1. Three Ships: in no particular order - Ineffable Husbands from Good Omens, Liam Wilhelmina/Primsy Coldbottle from D20 Crown of Candy, and the 13th Doctor/River Song (I know they’ve never met in canon but listen, shhh) from Doctor Who

2. First Ever Ship: Percabeth from Percy Jackson

3. Last Song: If You’re the Coffee by The Arcadian Wild!

4. Last Film: Rocky Horror Picture Show! I rewatched it to show to a friend who had never seen it. Truly iconic. I barely understand any of the plot in that movie but I honestly think it’s better that way.

5. Currently Reading: Right now I’m not reading anything but I just finished Against The Currant by Olivia Matthews. It’s a cute little mystery set in a family owned Grenadian bakery in Brooklyn. (Yes, the title is a currant roll pun. There’s a recipe in the back!) It’s really good, I highly recommend. And I’m about to start reading the Dungeon Master’s Guide for 5th edition DnD later today. I’m very excited to see where that takes me!

6. Currently Watching: Dimension 20’s Burrow’s End on Dropout tv. Dropout content has consumed my brain almost entirely since I started watching D20 in February and this is no exception. Also Big Brother. I’m not a big reality shows person but I have been watching BB since 2009 at the ripe age of way too young and now I cannot stop.

7. Currently Consuming: A banana oat breakfast bar thing (?) that I found on pinterest and some water.

8. Currently Craving: I’m going to make pumpkin snickerdoodles either tonight or tomorrow, so definitely those rn.

Tagging: @ace-geographer @auteurdefeu @yourstrullyme @terriblethanksforasking !!!!

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #204

The power is out at my house. It has been out since 1:30pm. It is currently 7:43PM. The estimated time that it will come back on is midnight tonight. But… I'm a little skeptical of that. Because the first estimate was 3:45PM. Then it was 5:15PM. Then it was 8:15PM. Then midnight. And now 5am tomorrow. I wonder what happened. It must have been a bigger problem than they initially thought.

It's extremely hot and windy at my house today. It got up to 94 degrees F today (34.4 degrees C). The humidity is at 75% and climbing. That hurricane called Beryl is moving over the Great Lakes right now, in some kind of northeasterly fashion. Check it out:

The Great Lakes are those big ol' blue blobs of water to the west. The land is the white stuff with all the fancy labels in black ink. We have the Atlantic Ocean to the east; that's the super big ol' blob of blue on the east side. And the rain is the green-yellow-red blobs.

We have tornado watches in my area, which is very unusual for the geography and climate of where I live. But it looks like the bulk of it might just squeak right past us, for the most part, maybe. There's still that westernmost blob of precipitation that still might hit us later, though...

Hell, to have a storm system travel so far over this continent is unusual by itself:

But I went to work at the bakery today, and that was very nice! Normally, my supervisor Mi and my coworker Ma is with me. But today it was different; Mi is on vacation and I'm not sure where Ma was; maybe he just wasn't scheduled for today. But this other lady L took Mi's place, and there was some other lady, Ra, who was there! And both of them were delightful! I won't see Le as my manager again in the coming weeks, though; someone else from some other store will be coming; I hope they're nice, whoever they are. And I found a feather along the way:

My outfit for work is all black, like this:

...And my hair has to be tied back and out of the way, like this:

But!! Under all this black, I get to wear my crazy colorful socks!!!

...Sometimes I wonder if you wear colorful socks under ordinary things, just like I do.

We ended up going to the library, because our house has no power. They had a fish tank!!! It had three Plecostomuses, and two were albino, and there were so many others, too!! Look!!

Sometime after that, I had to go pick up the dress for my best friend BB's wedding. I got a picture of a robin at her house:

...And then I got a picture of a rabbit on the way home:

...Don't worry. I chased this one away from the road. It doesn't belong there.

Now we are at a hotel, because M and I need it for our CPAPs. Can't sleep without 'em unless we wanna suffocate multiple times in the night. I need mine because my lower jaw is too small to properly accommodate all the soft tissue on the inside of my face, and so when it gets relaxed (like when we sleep), my airways collapse because there's simply not enough space for everything. It's really super lame like that...

It becomes late; goodness, I got distracted a bunch of times while writing this. It's like 12:31am now. So I guess I'll stop writing, because I'm well into "rambling" territory at this point. Sorry about that.

...I really hope you liked the pictures of the cute scaled and feathered and fuzzy animals, though.

I love you. I'll write again soon, okay? So please stay safe...

Your friend, Lumine

[onlyseokmins]

But i hope you are rested and slept well aksjsjhj 😂🩵 yes of course i enjoy them, i love these little fics. You're right!! I know right haha hmm that would be a very good idea 🤔😏 would you like to read that too?

Of course not haha 🤭 btw how is your sunday going?

P.s. for you <3

Ty bb I had a migraine and was p ill but I'm home now and eating some pizza :3 I would def read a bakery!au haha esp bc u work in one! My Sunday was gross I'm Ngl but I'm glad it's the evening ☺️ tomorrow we are getting our summer intern so I think I will get even busier! But tysm for blessing me w/ cute AND thirsty seokmin pics, def made my day better. I am sending u all the wonu love ur way beloved I hope ur Monday starts off well!

[bblues-ocs]

Radiant Garden/ BBS timeline: (not a lot of Sakushi)

Her Mom and Dad used to work for the Castle. Well Dad, used to. Mom still does. Dad doesn’t let me see her, and mom never comes to visit anyway.

Dad runs a bakery.

Her parents are Castle guards. there is NO WAY 3 guys were it. Sakushis dad is under Aeleus and Sakushis Mom is under Braig.

Her parents cared about each other and probably loved each other. They are childhood sweethearts

Sakushi is born prior to BBS

Sakushi grows up happily, until BBS. Post-BBS. See, there's this one guy who was found in the courtyard, and Ansem was running some weird heart experiments before, but NOW, it's (more) sketch.

Sakushis Parents used to kidnap people for the experiments. You don’t think the heartless maker chamber came from nothing did you?

Her Dad is concerned that this might not be the best sort of environment to raise her in. Sakushis mom calls him soft and says that “we were raised in this environment and we turned out fine!”

they continue to argue and at one point Sakushis mom threatens that if Sakushi and her dad leave, Sakushis mom would never forgive him and never visit her child. she’s crying when she says this.

Sakushi is 5 years old when her dad hands in his resignation.

It’s hard, at first, living in a studio from his savings caring for an kid who isnt old enough for school, while trying to work. A Baker and his wife take pity on them. The Baker would provide the rooms above the bakery and his wife would provide childcare, if Sakushis Dad would provide labor. Unpaid of course lol (They enter negotiations once Sakushi is school age)

Thus begins the Bakery Apprenticeship.

Sometimes Guards will come and try to convince (Harrass) Sakushis Dad to come back, but it drops off very fast one day (The Bakers guild threaten to withold grain from the castle if they didn’t knock it off)

At one point, after BBS, Sakushis Dad is worried about her, because it’s getting dangerous with the these strange Unversed (Heartless), more people going missing (not that he knows anything about that), and the guards are hanging around the bakery again.

He goes to the blackmarket after tucking Sakushi in. He doesn’t have much money after years of unpaid labor and living off his savings, but he needs something for his daughter. She’s so *small* and loves the world around her and thinks things should be fair.

He runs into his Ex here. They actually have a civil conversation! She asks what he’s doing here (rudely) and he explains the situation. She’s quiet for a moment, before telling him to follow her and walks away. She leads him to a pawn shop that sells Stolen and Less-Than-Legal Goods at night. She waits while he haggles down a price, for a Protective Necklace. It’s good, says the seller. Why is it so cheap S-Dad asks. “It doesnt preform the function it’s supposed to.” “well thats no good then” “Well, it’s still protective and the quality of the spells is top grade!” “that sounds fine, why does it not preform the function?” “because it can’t activate at will” S-Dad haggles down the price and gets the necklace. S-Mom and S-Dad step outside together.

They lean against a wall in an alley. “Are you happy?” He asks hesitently. “Yes” She says, looking away. “Are you?” “Yes.” Quieter, “...Is she?” “Yes.” He smiles. “That’s good” She stands abruptly, and glowers at him. “I still don’t forgive you.” And leaves him there.

He looks at the necklace in his palm. “That’s ok.” He walks back to the bakery, to Sakushi. “I don’t forgive you either.”

When Radiant Garden falls to Darkness, Saku-Dad Dies. Like with a capital D. Hits his head. Sakushi is getting dragged down into the Darkness, and they're crawling all over her, she's crying, she's so scared, why isn't dad moving?

She gets a Dark Scar from this; a heartless's claw gets in her mouth and it knocks out 2 of her teeth and tears her bottom lip. It tastes cold and she has nothing to compare it too because she's never been so cold it burns.

She's struggling and flailing as best she can being drug down, when her hand suddenly feels heavy and she grips something she can't wrap her hand around. The heartless are suddenly dissipating into light, pink hearts floating into the sky. More heartless come, attracted to the keyblade.

Sakushi is 6 years old, never wielded a keyblade before, is tired and injured and she quickly collapses and is over taken.

Her necklace finally, finally activates and takes her to Scala Ad Caelum

Sakushi

This is my first serious kingdom hearts OC, Sakushi! It’s written with the kanji, 昨 (Yesterday) and 子 (child) or at least I think it is XD hence why this verse is called Yesterday’s Child.

Sakushis conception: Sakushi came about because I wanted to a) make a kingdom hearts OC and b) delve into KH:UX and it’s ramifications on the KH timeline. So in order to do this, I decided to have Sakushi be a reincarnation (X) of a previous keyblade wielder who died in the Keyblade war; X was not a dandelion. I actually had no idea that Xehanort is an incarnation of the player when I came up with X and Sakushi’s relationship.

Master of Masters straight up led hundreds of keyblade wielders to their deaths. I found out recently that they say, “I’m not planning to sacrifice anyone; I’m preparing to save them.” Which is. Hm. Hypocritical. But yeah! I felt Bad so many people died! So I wanted to give them a chance; thus X and Sakushi came to be. 

So it’s explained at the end of Kingdom Hearts Union X that when a keyblade wielder dies, they can either combine with their Chirithy and become dream-eaters or they can be reincarnated. Who knew? As said, X chooses the later. You know, I just thought of this, but what happens to reincarnated key wielders Chirithys?

I chose to make a new OC, X, instead of having the player character be Sakushis past life because I didn’t want X to be “special” or a “protagonist,” or happen to have the right friends. X is just like you or me (plus the key blade) who died a tragic death in a preventable war. Sakushi isn’t really the chosen one either (that’s Sora), but she’s special in that she’s my OC  shes Sakushi. She’s not some grand hero like Sora, or a princess of the heart like Kairi, or like Riku, whatever he’s doin; she’s just…herself. Doin’ her best.

Plot: Still working on it! Sakushi is a classmate of Soras on destiny island (because that’s where everything begins, it seems haha).

Here’re my current notes!

I’m debating if Saku-dad dies or not during the heartless attack; like die-die, not “heart stolen by heartless and may be revived” die. They might get some Dark Scars from the ordeal, but this is where Sakushis keyblade reveals itself

It’s dull, rusty, and sun bleached, like it’s been in a desert for decades…

She ends up in Traverse Town with Sora–they get some information from Sora about what had happened to him, but not much else. They decide to travel together to find their friends, except Sora accidentally ditches her. 

So Sakushi is on her own lol

She steals a gummy ship from Cid somehow after listening in on how they work. 

How hard can it be to drive?

Extremely.

she crash lands in Scala ad Caelum; most of the world is abandoned, so no one really notices. 

They make their way to the central mountain, she picked arbitrarily.

Most of the cable cars are broken, and Sakushi loots the abandoned homes and stores

She grinds by attacking the heartless that inhabit the place.

She arrives and shockingly, no one seems to care

There’re no more keyblade weilders here btw; I found it hard to believe that they would let xehanort fight in SaC…So sometime in the last 70 years, more keyblade wielders died out…xehanort perhaps?

There aren’t many citizens there, mostly old people. Sakushi trades for other items and gets hired for odd jobs. It’s during one of these jobs that Sakushi wields her keyblades and an old person tells them that she should explore the ruins of the old Keyblade Academy. (There’s some disagreement from his SO who says to “let the dearies not have to fight! Have some cookies :)”)

They do, and they find a lot of information! Some of it’s ruined, so they try their best to fill in the gaps. They spend weeks on this before they discover that there are MORE ruins under the city.

This requires more investigation.

[blkchxrryblyss]

🙈🙉

Hi love ! It’s me again ❤️

Your Shoto piece was phenomenal and I have a teensy weensy request because I’m hooked 🥴.

Can you give me Pro!Himbo Kirishima asking the cute girl from the bakery that fixes his coffee just right and always has a special strawberry muffin, to match his hair 🥺, for him when he comes in the mornings before patrol. Then could you tell me what happens on said date. If you don’t mind 👉🏾👈🏾

Thank you bb ❤️

you always ask for such cute requests, I love it bby🥰So here you go

•••••

himbo!kirishima x blk fem barista!reader

w.c - 1.4k

warning: reader has dreads (here’s a hair visual https://twitter.com/turahjeannie/status/1481790488902615044?s=21 )

•••••

The young hero loved coming to see you in the cafe you worked. He would always order the iced caramel macchiato and you took it upon yourself to throw in your specially made strawberry muffin that was so red it matched his vibrant red hair. He came and got it so much that his brain basically wired that no one can make the coffee and muffin how you did. He was starting to think that you put a spell on the items to make him keep coming back for more. But he didn’t think it was a spellbook spell, no, he figured your beauty was the spell. He found you so beautiful. Your dark smooth skin, your doe-like eyes, your full lips, your bright smile, your dreaded hair that sat in a palm tree-styled ponytail with your edges swooped smoothly on your forehead. He couldn’t get over how gorgeous you are. He found you so gorgeous that he could barely keep a conversation with you.

He stuttered a lot whenever you smiled at him. Would look down whenever you maintained eye contact too long. Absolutely turned blood red when you passed him that special muffin and told him ‘have a wonderful day, Mr. Riot’. He adored your presence and looks and just wanted you all for himself, but he couldn’t do that if he couldn’t even ask you on a date. So he practiced with the help of his most favorite dysfunctional couple and best friends Bakugo and Shinsou.

“Good morning, miss- no no that’s terrible.” Kirishima nodded at Shinsou, clearing his throat again.

“Hello, sweet thing- fuck no, you creep.” He flinched from Bakugo’s yell and pouted, “But she is sweet so I wanted to call her sweet.”

“Kirishima-kun calling her “sweet thing” is something my 60-year-old grandfather would say to a 20-year-old he saw on the streets. Let’s not use that. Okay, buddy?” Shinsou proposed, playing with his boyfriend’s fingers.

Kirishima sighed and squeezed his broad body between the two as if they weren’t noticeable cuddled up in their couch, making both men groan in annoyance.

“I just want to ask her out perfectly. That’s what she deserves. How did you ask Bakugo out, Shinsou?” Shinsou was about to answer, but Bakugo quickly interrupted to cut the conversation short.

“That’s none of your business. Look, dipshit, just ask her out as if you were ordering a drink. ‘Can I get an espresso, a strawberry muffin, and possibly a partner for this date I planned out for tonight?’ Then boom.” Kirishima slowly nodded but gave his friend a questionable look.

“But I don’t drink espressos or have a date planned.” He said genuinely confused. Bakugo gave off a heavy sigh and glared at the man.

“DUH DUMBASS! IT WAS AN EXAMPLE!”

The next day Kirishima pumped his head up with some encouraging affirmations to prepare himself for his big goal today. He was feeling so confident when he walked out of the house, walked down the street, and walked inside the cafe. Unfortunately, it all slipped away when he was met by your bright smile. Your hair was in its signature high ponytail but a few dreads dangled in your face, giving it a slightly different frame.

“H-hey, Y/N. Can I get y-your usual? Wait, no, I’ll g-get my u-usual. We-well I can’t re-really get it since I d-don’t work here. Haha, sorry.” He stumbled to get out scratching the back of his neck.

You smiled at the nervous man while you made his drink. He decided to sit down and watch you so you took this chance to talk to him.

“You don’t have to be so nervous, Mr.Riot. I’m just a regular worker. You’re the real superstar.” You gave him a wobbly smile sliding his cold drink towards him, “I should be the nervous one, to be honest.”

He was so zoned out he didn’t pay attention to anything you said. He was too busy staring at your lips when you talked. He didn’t even notice the next words that came out of his mouth.

“Go on a d-date with me?” He recited still staring at your lips.

Your face upturned into shock and so did his when saw that you stopped talking. Both of you were stuck as to what just occurred. Kirishima felt so embarrassed because what if you didn’t even like him. Yes, you surprised him with that specially made muffin, but you were probably just being nice because you are a disgustingly nice person. He was beginning to feel stupid.

“I’m so sorry. I just blurted that out like it was just a regular day. That probably made you so uncomfortable, I’m really sorry. Please don’t hate me, you probably don’t even see me like that and I just embarrassed myself informs of this whole cafe. Oh my god, I can’t even handle-“

“Okay.”

“-this. Wait, what?”

“I said, okay. I’ll go on a date with you. I would be honored actually.” You laughed softly.

Inside Kirishima was spazzing out. He couldn’t believe you said yes. He was so sure that you didn’t like him. You were too perfect. But you said yes. You said yes to him. And he still hadn’t said anything back.

“OKAY-ahem- I mean okay, okay that’s great. I’ll pick you up tonight. Bye!” He raved, happy as ever completely forgetting his strawberry muffin and the fact that he doesn’t even have a date planned.

Later that night your shift ended and as you were locking, you turned around and was met with a tall red-haired pro hero holding a bouquet of…..lilacs? You immediately began sneezing and backing away, worrying the young hero.

“W-What’s wrong? Did I do something?” he questioned in a concerned tone. Finally catching your breath since you backed a good distance away, you gave him a reassuring smile.

“I'm allergic to lilacs, Kirishima.” his eyes widened looking down at the purple flowers that he was sure were your favorites.

“I overheard you talking to your co-worker about flowers and I heard you say lilacs were your favorites,” he recalled in a small voice.

“Lilies are my favorite. More specifically oriental lilies are my favorite. You must have misheard.” you chided, biting your biting lip to hide your upcoming giggle.

“Oh my god! I could've killed you! Can't believe I almost murdered my crush with these deadly flowers.” he scrambled to get rid of the flowers and luckily a man riding on a skateboard polled next to you both.

He shoved the flowers in the kid's hands and saluted him, “Enjoy the flowers. Very manly to receive flowers.” he smiled brightly as the man nodded looking at them.

“Thanks, dude." The boy rolled away and you both pulled your attention back to each other.

“I’m sorry for almost murdering you, Y/N.” he sulked looking down ready to get reprimanded. Instead of rejection, he felt a small hand interlocked with his.

“Next time just get some lilies. Those will give me more life.” The statement made you both smile and walk towards the park.

Now even though Kirishima had nothing planned, he did set up a small picnic area for the both of you, compliments to Bakugo for cooking up some quick dishes on such short notice. For the next two hours, you both talked and laughed, learning about each other. He learned about your upbringing and why you moved to Japan. You learned about his hobbies and the goals he has towards being a pro-hero. The chemistry between you two was so strong that you felt as if you have known him for years. Sitting in front of the small lake, you both were in comfortable silence, eating your onigiri. The silence only lasted for so long before you remembered that you had to give him something. You reached into your bag and pulled out a small container.

“You forgot your muffin, Mr. Riot.” The blush rises on his cheeks and it gave you so much happiness. It made you so happy that you pressed a light kiss on his cheek.

“I should probably forget it more often if I'm going to get kisses.” he laughed taking a bite out of it.

“I'll give you kisses whether you forget it or not, silly.”

You both sat in comfortable silence, thinking that this was one of the best dates you've both ever been on.

taglist - @pervysenpaix @dabilovesme @angwritez @dejwrites @tenyaiidasslut @xogabbiexo @thotty-tatertot @presidentmonica @plussizeficchick @blackreaderatrisk @nasty-quillz @bookwormsenpai @luna-indigoduh @riozakii @sintiva @chaoticevilbakugo

if you want to be a part of the taglist, please comment under this post.

[rayslittlekitten]

Vixen

Part 1 | Part 2

A/N: Okay this all started with a seed of an idea of accidentally texting the person you are thirsting about, then it became a Christmas thing and it went a little crazy. I think this is by far the longest one shot I've written. Thank you so so much to @green-socks and @lovebarefootblonde for beta reading this and helping me fine tune and shape this story. I also wasn't sure if I'd be able to finish this in time for Christmas especially since my booster shot kicked my ass but I'm happy I did.

Rating: E (18+ ONLY)

Word Count: ~4,980

Pairing: IT Guy!Will "Ironhead" Miller x Work Wife F!reader

Plot: A text messaging mix up turns into an early Christmas for you.

Contains: heavy flirting and banter, teasing, unprotected office P in V sex, oral sex (F receiving), biting, size kink if you squint, moment of panty sniffing

Overplayed Christmas music is blasting from a Bluetooth speaker connected to somebody's phone which occasionally gets interrupted by an incoming message or email. Gaudy tinsel and cheap decorations are scattered all over the office. A few people are gathered around the water cooler chattering away. There's a makeshift poker table somewhere and they're betting with red and green M&Ms. One of your colleagues is hovering in the kitchen area trying to push their homemade potluck surprise. It looks like they took all of their Thanksgiving leftovers and attempted a casserole. You were somehow able to dodge the questionable dish.

The only things getting you through this company holiday party are the beer, chips, and the anticipation of your best friend coming to make it a little less miserable. Your boss is very flexible and allows his employees to bring a guest. Thank goodness, because you don't know how long you're going to last playing Cards Against Humanity. It was entertaining at first, but after the third game, it gets a bit stale.

Also, Will, your work buddy, abandoned you because his brother is in town. The two of you gossip with, vent to, and confide in each other especially when it comes to work-related things. You are basically work spouses. Even though you both work in different departments, you two spend the most time with each other, whether in person or through email and messaging.

Since he’s the head of IT, he’s given you a lot of permissions on your computer so you can go on websites you technically shouldn’t be on. There are times where the two of you flirt, but it seems innocent, at least on his end. He definitely helps make your job more worthwhile.

While waiting for the cards to be dealt, you send a simple text to him:

"Traitor."

You then text your best friend:

“Willa bb, where are you?”

You put your phone down and gather up your cards, frowning at your mediocre selection. While deciding which card to use, your phone pings. As you go to check the text message you just received, another comes in.

“Literally just left the bakery.”

“I’m actually on the way there. What am I missing?”

You quickly shoot back a message.

“Not much. Shitty food, boring card games and definitely not any hot guys. The only one hot guy there is, isn’t here.”

You put your phone down mid-texting to play a card and then continue with your message:

“I wanted you to see him in person because pictures do NOT do him justice. Like, it should be ILLEGAL for some1 to look like that. That tall glass of water. He should be in a museum, not in the Geek Squad! He has to know how gorgeous he is, right? I wanna run my fingers through that blonde hair. Don't even get me started on those CRAZY blue eyes!”

“He is SO fucking sweet too. Totally oozes BDE. Like, how has nobody nabbed him yet? Maybe he's not looking for anything serious, but if he isn't, I'm totally DTF. I’d climb that tree. UGH, I'm getting flustered just thinking about Will.”

You see the three small dots bouncing on your screen but it suddenly disappears.

“Definitely gonna be fantasizing about him tonight in bed. Pls get here soon bb.”

You didn’t win this round and it’s your turn to be the Card Czar. You quickly read the prompt out loud and wait for everyone to choose their card.

You continue playing the game and at some point in the middle of it, the group takes a break to use the restroom, stretch out, maybe grab a snack. You actually end up abandoning the game to go grab another beer and after you pop open a lukewarm corona, you hear a commotion.

“Hey, you made it!”

You walk over to the front of the office in your new pencil dress, four inch heels you regret wearing, and light-up reindeer antlers on your head to see the man you’ve been texting about, standing next to another man with similar features. As he’s briefly chatting with one of your colleagues, Will glances over behind them and makes eye contact with you.

“Hey, you!” Will waves over to you with a wide grin.

You finally make your way to the two tall glasses of water.

“Wow, you got all dressed up for me?” Will asks with his hand over his heart. “You shouldn’t have.”

“Look who decided to show up! And with a plus one,” you say, ignoring his sarcastic question.

“Yes, this is my brother Benny. Benny, this is my favorite coworker.“

“Ah, the work wife. I’ve heard a lot about you. Nice to finally meet you.” Ben extends his hand.

“Oh, have you?” You take his hand and shake it. “I've heard quite a lot about you too so it's nice to put a face to you. So what the heck are guys doing here?”

“I figured we could swing by for a bit. Not really doing much for the rest of the day," Will answers. "Plus, I keep getting emails that the server is acting up."

"Well, there's some shitty food and shitty beer, but they're free," you say, leading them to the kitchen area.

The three of you step into the open space and Will greets his other coworkers and introduces Benny to them. As Benny chats with some of the others, you and Will are picking at the leftover food.

"What the hell is this?" Will asks, pointing to the mystery casserole.

"I don't know, something Glenn brought in. Potluck surprise!"

"I don't think my dog would even eat that.” Will grimaces. “And he eats anything you give him."

"I dare you to eat it," you challenge him.

"What do I get out of it?" Will asks.

"Bragging rights?" you shrug.

The two of you are always finding ways to make the work day more interesting including but not limited to daring each other to do things.

"I'm gonna need more than that if the risk is me shitting my pants," Will laughs.

"It's a dare, not a bet. I double dog dare you!"

"Double dog dare? Wow. You really hate my digestive system, don't you?" Will asks, then shakes his head while shoving a tortilla chip into his mouth.

"Listen, I've been here for three hours already and the most interesting thing that's happened so far are the texts I've sent to my best friend," you tell him.

Will chokes on his chip and you slap his back, but he signals you that he's fine. He takes a sip of his beer to help wash it down.

"You alright, dude?"

He nods as he clears his throat.

"Should have had that potluck surprise. Probably would have helped that chip go down a little easier," you tease.

"Hey, bro. Where's the bathroom?" Benny asks as he walks over to the two of you.

"I'll show you," Will tells Benny. "I'll be back," he says to you.

After they walk off, you text your friend again.

"OMG HE SHOWED UP AFTER ALL! His brother is here too and he’s kinda cute but he seems more like your type. He’s an MMA fighter and I know how you like those brawlers. I wouldn't mind a few rounds with Will though 😏"

You notice your phone's battery is a little low so you walk over to your desk to plug it in. Also to relieve your feet from these new shoes. You get a phone call from your friend so you pick up.

"Willa, where are you?"

“Ugh, I’m stuck in traffic. It might be another 20 minutes.”

"Did you get my text about Will? Oh my gosh, he's actually here and he brought his brother. I think you'd totally be into him," you tell her.

"No, I haven't. My phone is being stupid again. Or it’s my service. Freakin' T-Mobile. Sometimes I don't get texts from people until days later," Willa says. "Anyways, I'll be there ASAP. These cookies might not survive the ride though. I've probably eaten half of these while sitting in traffic."

"Don't worry about that. See you soon!"

"Save me some beer and a Miller brother! Byeeeeee!"

You laugh and hang up.

"What are you so giddy about? Santa letting you guide his sleigh?" Will flicks your flashy and furry headband.

You jump out of your seat and look up to see Will hovering over your desk.

"Not cool, Will! You sneaky motherfucker."

Will smirks. "So where’s your BFF?" He crosses his arms and sits on the edge of your desk.

"She's stuck in traffic."

"Yeah, I think there was a motorcycle accident or something on Redwood and Charming," Will says.

"Well, I'm so glad you showed up because I don’t know how many more rounds of Cards Against Humanity I could have taken. I used to love that game, but it's been ruined for me," you roll your eyes.

"You can always go climb some trees," Will suggests. "I hear that's your thing."

You shoot him a confused look. "Why would I climb a tree?"

Will shrugs. "It can be fun I guess. Depends on the tree you're climbing, right?"

"Why are you being so weird?" you ask. "Are you drunk?"

"No, I’ve only had a couple of drinks," Will chuckles. "I'm not even buzzed."

"How long are you staying for?"

"I don't know." Will shrugs. He checks his watch and taps and swipes the screen on his smart watch. "At least long enough to make sure the server is stable. It’s been acting up all week."

"Don't make me start ripping out wires," you threaten.

"Why don't you just leave? You're not obligated to stay."

"Well, Willa is on her way so I gotta wait for her at least.”

"How about we ditch the party to go somewhere else and you can tell her where to meet us?” he suggests as he pulls out a piece of gum from his pocket and pops it into his mouth.

"Well, that sounds like an idea." You think for a second.

“Or…” He pauses, and then leans in closer to you. “It could just be me and you. Ditch my brother and your friend.”

“Oh, yeah? And where would we go?” you ask, leaning in closer against your desk.

Will looks down at you with a smirk while chewing his gum. “You tell me, Rudolph.”

Will suddenly checks his watch again and taps on it a few times. "Fuck. I gotta check the server. I’ll be back." He pushes himself off your desk and walks away.

You send Willa another text hoping she’d get it. You don’t want to call her while she’s driving.

“Omg he wants to hang out. Like alone. What do you think? Should I make a move?”

A few of your coworkers pass by your desk on their way out and you wave goodbye to them. A few minutes later you get a reply.

“I triple dog dare you.”

You stare at the message for a few seconds and start to feel uneasy. You then double check who the text was from and the last few text messages you sent this person. Your stomach drops as you just realize the entire time you thought you’ve been texting your friend Willa, you had been texting Will. You then check the messages between you and Willa and see that you in fact never replied to her. You don’t know if you’re more upset that Will had read all that or that he didn’t tell you you’ve been texting the wrong person this whole time. The tree climbing comment makes so much sense now. You are so mortified, you want to just sneak out, quit your job and move to another country to start a new life.

Just then your phone rings and it’s Willa. You pick up and let out a heavy sigh.

“Hey, please tell me you’re here so you can whisk me away because I am such a freakin’ idiot.”

“Yeah, I think I’m on the right floor. Why are you an idiot?” Willa asks.

You leave your desk to get Willa from the front.

“Oh my gosh, you haven’t been getting my texts because I just found out I’ve been sending them to Will, not you! He knows everything!” you whisper loudly.

“So? Did he say anything about them?” Willa hands you a half eaten box of cookies.

“Yes? No? Kinda?” You show her the text exchange.

“Girl, he’s offering you a sip of that tall glass of water. Go quench your thirst!”

“Or he’s just being a dick and poking fun of me.” You place the box of cookies on your desk.

“Hey! Have you seen— oh, hi there!” Benny comes out of nowhere. The Millers sure know how to be light on their feet. “I’m Benny!” He extends his hand out to Willa with a huge grin.

“Hey there yourself. I’m Willa!” She takes his hand and shakes it.

“Do you uh, work here too?”

“No, I'm a friend of hers.” Willa points to you. “Why don’t you go get that drink you’ve been dying for?” She nudges you.

“Right. Uh, I’ll be back.”

You start walking off, taking your phone with you. Your feet are moving involuntarily but you don’t even know where you’re going. You pause for a moment to take your phone out and reply back to his text:

“Triple dog dare? You really want me to die from humiliation, don’t you, asshole?”

You continue walking aimlessly until you hear your phone chirp.

“Look who’s finally caught on.”

You anxiously pace around watching the three bouncing dots appear again, making you even more nervous.

“I’m just curious what you fantasize about.”

You start walking again while responding:

“Well I’m never gonna tell you now 🙄”

You smugly hit send and continue your stroll with an extra pep in your step.

“Hey, Rudolph!”

You turn your head to look behind you. You see Will’s head popping out of a room. You then realize you had just walked past the server room.

“I’d like to think I’m more of a Vixen.” You turn your body towards him and pull your antlers off your head.

“There’s no denying that.” Will trails his eyes up and down your body.

”So how’s the uh…” You point the antlers to the room. “Everything good?”

“I think so. Just waiting for the server to reboot.” He quickly scans the empty immediate area before directing his attention back at you. “Wanna wait with me? I could use the company.” He nudges his head toward the room.

You take your time shuffling over to him. When you reach the door, he creates space for you so you can step in. As you walk past him, your body brushes up against his. You feel a shiver run through your body, but you don’t know if it’s from that or sudden temperature drop. He closes the door and locks it behind him.

You walk further into the room and put the antlers and your phone on a nearby desk.

“I’m sorry you got all those texts. You weren’t supposed to see them. I’m super embarrassed. I hope things aren’t weird between us now.” You turn to face him a couple of feet away from you. He’s stood much closer to you before but right now it almost feels like he’s on top of you.

“But also you’re a dick for letting this drag on for so long.” You playfully shove him.

“I’m not sorry.” Will laughs, stumbling back a bit. “I honestly didn’t know you were texting the wrong person until I knew you were talking about me.” He puts his hands up in defense. “But I’m glad you did.” He walks closer to you.

“Because I like you.”

“I mean, sure I like you too. That’s why we’re friends,” you say matter-of-factly.

“You know what I mean.” Will licks his bottom lip.

The both of you stare at each other, not sure what to do next. All you can feel right now is your heart pounding against your chest.

“Oh! Willa finally showed up and her and Benny are really hitting it off,” you say, changing the subject.

“I honestly don’t care what’s going outside this room right now.” Will shakes his head. He steps even closer to you, into your personal space and the coil in your gut tightens. You put your palms on his chest, welcoming his warmth.

“You’re shaking.” Will holds your hands in his. “Are you cold?”

“N-no.” You shake your head. “Just uh...” You let out a shaky breath as he brings your hands up to his lips, gently blowing on them to warm them up.

You look up at him, staring into his ice blue eyes as he looks down at you.

“Am I making you nervous?” Will asks.

“Mmmaybe a little?” You tilt your head and squint an eye.

“Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry. I’m probably coming on strong—“ Will releases your hands and takes a step back from you.

“No!” You take a step in closer to Will, almost colliding with him. Your hands go back on to his chest and you slide them up to the back of his neck, your fingers lightly grazing his hair at the nape.

“M-maybe I am a little chilly in here. What are some ways I could keep warm?” you ask, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

Will starts shedding his navy blue bomber jacket. Not quite the response you were hoping for. Expecting him to offer you his jacket, you’re surprised when he tosses it onto the desk instead.

“I think I can find some ways to get your blood going.” He dips his face down and nudges the tip of his slim nose against yours.

You can feel your heart rate increasing already. You both watch and wait for the other person. His breath is warm against your red lips. He is still chewing his gum from earlier and a faint scent of mint still lingers. Despite your four inch heels, you still need to tiptoe to close the distance. You brush your lips against his and he follows your lead, but you pull back at the last moment, teasing him. He smirks and dips his head down further, but you giggle and bite your lower lip as you move your head to avoid his lips.

“This part of your fantasy? The chase?” Will asks and then takes the gum out of his mouth.

“No, I just think it’s fun–”

In one swift move, Will sticks the gum under the desk and then grabs your waist, pulls you in, and captures your lips with his own. It takes you a moment to process what is happening. Once you do, you pull Will down closer to you and kiss back. The two of you continue to kiss for a few seconds, testing out the waters. He then wraps his arms around your torso and pulls your body up against his, deepening the kiss. You feel his hard chest pressed against your breasts and feel his hard dick poking your belly. You slip your tongue into his mouth and he offers his as well. While making out, Will backs you up until you hit a wall. His denim-covered thigh slips between your legs and your hips start gyrating against it as your kisses become more feverish and urgent. His hands snake down to cup and squeeze your ass. You feel the front of his body, particularly his rock hard nether region, pressing against yours. You moan into his mouth and run your fingers through the golden locks on top of his head.

Will pulls away for a moment and moves his mouth to the side of your neck. Your eyes roll back and knees buckle when you feel his warm velvety tongue graze the spot behind your ear. He quickly pulls your body up and pins your body between his and the wall, his thigh pressing harder against your crotch.

“Will…” you pant.

“You want more, Vixen?” Will breathes into your ear.

“I want this.” One of your hands travels down his body to cup the bulge straining behind his zipper. Will groans and thrusts into your hand.

“Fuck,” Will grits. He buries his face between your neck and shoulder as you massage him. He takes a deep breath as he inhales your scent.

You start unbuckling his belt and undoing his fly. You slip your hand down his pants and rub the palm of your hand over his cotton-covered erection. You tense up for a second feeling his impressive size. Again, he pushes himself against your hand. You feel a sudden sting on your shoulder as Will sinks his teeth into it.

You moan and press yourself down on his thigh, riding it. He pulls back and starts kissing you again. He hikes up the skirt of your dress until there’s just enough space for him to access your bare ass. He cups and squeezes you before running a few fingers over the front of your lace thong. Your arousal is seeping through the fabric and lightly coating his fingers. The both of you continue to make out and rub each other until you start trying to pull his bottoms down but only his jeans slip over his hips.

Will breaks the kiss and adjusts his stance to help you. You glance down just to see what he’s working with. The sexy outline of his thick dick pushing out against the white boxer briefs makes you even more excited. Will pushes his boxers down and his gorgeous cock springs free. You reach down and start stroking him.

Will groans and then slips his hand between your legs again. He hooks his fingers under the front of your panties and pulls them aside to dip a finger inside you. You gasp and try to move with his hand. You stifle a moan when you feel him drag his soaked finger over your clit, making you buckle again. Your heels are throwing off your center of gravity and if it wasn’t for the wall and Will, you’re confident either your face or your ass would be on the floor.

You kick your shoes off and you suddenly shrink in size. He now towers over you even more, making you feel small.

“I want you to fuck me, Will.” Your breathing is getting shallower, as is his.

“Yeah? Is this one of your fantasies? Me fucking you in the server room?” Will’s fingers zero in on your clit.

“Sometimes,” you manage to let out, unable to concentrate on petting him. You moan loudly and thrust against him, feeling him easily slip two long slender fingers inside of you.

“Shh. You gotta stay quiet,” Will says as his fingertips are putting pressure against the engorged spongy g-spot inside of you. “You don’t want anyone to hear us, do you?”

“Will, I’m going to cum if you don’t stop.” You feel a warmth forming between your legs and your gut tightening.

Will looks down at you with half open eyes as he watches your face. You are just about to explode when he pulls out of you. He yanks your dress up over your hips and hooked his fingers to the sides of your panties, then pulls them down. He gets on his knees as he continues to move them down your legs and off you, tossing them aside.

Will tosses one of your legs over his shoulder and looks up at you as he puts his mouth over your swollen clit. You throw your head back and run your fingers through his hair again. You feel the tip of his tongue teasing your opening, flicking it and quickly dipping in and out of it.

“Fuck,” you let out in a shaky breath.

You feel the warmth spreading and radiating. He starts sucking on your clit hard. The bumpy texture of his tongue stimulates the bundle of nerves so perfectly.

“Will, I need you to fuck me now!” You lick your smudged lips and swallow to try to lubricate your dry throat.

Will’s mouth stops his assault on you and he gets to his feet. He kisses you once more and you taste yourself on his lips and tongue. He then tries to align himself with you but the height difference isn’t quite making it easy.

“Let’s move over there.” Will nudges his head towards the desk. He takes your hand in his and guides you to it.

“Hop on here.” Will pats the top of the desk.

“Is it going to hold?” you ask, glancing at it.

“Yes, trust me.”

“You’ve fucked other women on it before?” you ask curiously, craning your neck to look at him.

“No,” he shakes his head and chuckles. ”I just know it’s a sturdy desk. Come on.” He pats the desk again.

You hop on to the desk and he immediately steps into the space between your legs. He grabs your hips and pulls you closer to the edge of the desk. Next, he tries to align himself again with you and starts teasing your slit with the tip of his dick. He puts gentle pressure to your opening and pulls back, then puts a little more pressure before pulling back again.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Will.” You are hanging by a very loose thread. “Please just fuck me.”

You suddenly feel the head penetrate you, but he pulls back out. He starts giving you slow, short strokes. You wrap your legs around his torso and try to pull him in, but he’s not allowing it.

“You’re driving me fucking crazy, Will!” Your body feels like it’s on fire now. The cold server room now feels too hot for you.

“I love watching the fucking faces you make while I’m teasing the fuck out of you.”

Then without warning, Will thrusts himself all the way inside of you to the hilt. You gasp as your body tenses up.

“Holy shit, you’re so fucking wet.” Will moans as he pulls back and pushes back into you.

He keeps a steady rhythm as he pumps in and out of you. You reach your fingers down between your legs and start rubbing your clit as the head of his cock is massaging your g-spot.

Your pants are increasingly getting louder and shorter until your eyes roll to the back of your skull as you convulse on his cock. You continue to stimulate your clit and gasp as you’re riding the wave. Will continues to hit a spot that makes your orgasm feel like it’s never going to end as one starts before the previous one stops. He clamps his hand over your mouth as you uncontrollably cry out.

Your contracting muscles bring him closer to his own release and he grunts as he spills himself inside you. It feels like he’s shooting at a hundred miles an hour as his seed hits your cervix. He groans as he slows down, trying to get the last drops out.

Will leans his forehead against yours as the two of you try to catch your breath. You make eye contact with him and he grins at you. You smile back at him and then lean in to kiss him. He welcomes it and lazily kisses back. The urgency and tension is no longer there, just sensual post-coital euphoria.

Will pulls back and then slowly pulls out of you, spilling some of both of your bodily fluids onto the desk.

“Damn. I just cleaned this desk yesterday too,” Will chuckles. He tucks himself back in and you hop off the desk. He reaches for a roll of paper towels he pulls out of a desk drawer and rips off a piece for you.

“Thanks.”

While you clean yourself up, he cleans the desk area.

“How are you feeling? You okay?” Will asks you.

You look over at him and smile. “Yeah.” You then reach up to wipe the lipstick stains on his face and blonde beard with your thumbs.

“Your beard is so red,” you laugh as you try to get it all out. “I probably look like a clown right now.” You grab another paper towel to wipe the smudged makeup off your face. Will reaches up to help you with it.

“It’s honestly not that bad.”

Your phone pings and you look for it. Once you find it, you check it and realized you somehow missed a whole bunch of texts from Willa:

“OMG Benny is THE cutest. He’s adorable and funny AF.”

“Hope things are going well btwn you and Will.”

“Okay, I’m guessing you and Will are hitting it off. You’re not answering my texts. Or I’m just not getting yours. Anyways Benny and I are making possible plans to hit up a bar nearby.”

“Willa and Ben are gonna ditch the party,” you say as you read the texts.

As you start replying to her text, Will presents your underwear to you.

“Maybe you should hold on to it,” you suggest.

“Do you think I’m some sort of perv?” Will asks.

“Just thought you might want a souvenir. Something to remember this by,” you shrug.

Will brings the delicate fabric up to his nose and he sniffs it.

“Wow, I think you’re a perv now,” you laugh and Will smirks.

“Whatever.” He shoves your panties into the front of his jeans pocket and then pulls out a fresh piece of gum to pop into his mouth.

“Come on," he says as he grabs his jacket off the desk and as you slip you feet into your heels. "Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Will grabs your hand and you both walk off together, heading towards the nearest exit.

[violettelueur]

GOJO SATORU || CIVILIAN S/O

| featuring : gojo satoru from jujutsu kaisen

| warnings : grammar errors but other than that n/a

| form : headcanons

| published : 20 december

| request : omg imagine that the gojo has a sweet gentle caring wife who radiates maternal vibes, she is an ordinary civilian, but knows about curses and his students, and is very worried about them, and when yuji appears, she takes care of the bb orphan boy, and he starts call her "mom"🥺🥺 i live for this scenario

| barista’s notes : hi there! while i was typing this out, i was listening to Howl’s Moving Castle - Merry Go Round of Life and i really want to watch the movie again ʕ≧ᴥ≦ʔ it was basically my childhood and i want this song at my wedding - PERIODT ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ but moving on from that, i hope you enjoy your cup of classic black coffee (jujutsu kaisen request!) and come again soon ʕ •ᴥ•ʔゝ☆

From the beginning, you and Gojo first met each other when you were both in your second year of education. With him being a second year at Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College and you being in a normal well known Tokyo high school.

You both probably met in the most chaotic way possible by him saving you from a curse while he was in the middle of one his mission that he was assigned to.

Of course, he was somewhat annoyed at the fact that you had slowed down his progress but made sure not to express it too much before leaving to go on about his day, leaving you both starstruck as his beauty - because the man was popular with his handsome looks you know... - as well as confused about what was going on.

You both thought after that you will never see each other again, until you just kept bumping into each other at the most random locations like in the middle of the street, in a bakery, at the front of your school and his - since that was the way you needed to go to head home.

After the constant random encounters, you and Gojo decided to start to talk to each since it was becoming awkward that you knew each other but really didn’t at all - the stiff ‘hi’ and ‘hey’ just working out, were they?

After a few random day outs here and there, there was no denying that you and Gojo were becoming closer than ever - sometimes sneaking out of his dorm room late at night, just to chat to you for a bit in person before sneaking back in as best as he could.

“You need to go back to your dorm Satoru,”

“But I want to stay with you honey~ don’t make me leave”

Ah....I forgot to mention that it was quite difficult for you to make him go back to his dorm since the fool wouldn’t want to go at all..

Over time - probably near the end of second-year - you both realised that you had feelings towards each other and began to start a relationship with one another - much to his clans’ dismay, but Gojo really didn’t care.

Of course, he does tell you about curses and jujutsu sorcerers before fully committing into a relationship with you since he wanted to give you a chance to end this whole interaction between the both of you for your safety - BUT YOU WERE TOO STUBBORN

As time went on, you both had gotten married and you had fully educated yourself (with Gojo’s ‘guidance’) on the Jujutsu world and how everything worked - basically having the full knowledge like a sorcerer would have, you just had no curse energy.

And when Gojo became a teacher at his school, you saw the students like they were your kids and took care of them when needed - to which they highly appreciated since some came from difficult households/clans like the Zenin clan.

Fushiguro was a great example of how you portray your maternal instincts since you were basically his mother the second Gojo had introduced him and his sister to you - you would take the siblings to school, make food for them, help them with their education, basically everything.

Sometimes Fushiguro would call you ‘mom’ and this would prompt Gojo to try to tell him to call him ‘dad, only to get an annoyed look.

When Itadori came into the picture, it was basically the Fushiguro situation all over again but with just a teenager that was more energetic then the shikigami user was.

You immediately took him into your care the millisecond Gojo had informed you that his only guardian - his grandfather - had passed away and he came to Tokyo by himself - leading you to completely worry for the boy, even though he seemed genuinely fine.

Since then, you made sure he was taken care of from making sure he was eating, making sure he was prepared for the next day to even take care of some of his injuries when Ieiri wasn’t available.

In just a short amount of time, Itadori started to call you mom - Fushiguro took a little longer - and that made you really happy since you knew that meant he really trusted you with his health and happiness.

“Mom, what do you think we should get steak or sushi?”

“Mom, how long have you known Gojo-sensei for as well as Fushiguro?”

“Mom, don’t worry, I’m safe!” - when he says that to you, that makes your day a whole lot better since you knew some of these missions were dangerous and you always worried about them every time they were off somewhere.

And ever since Kugisaki joined the team, you basically had three new children within the first-years, with the others being in the years above - little note, you love patting and rubbing their heads before saying ‘good work’ or ‘welcome home’

Overall, every single student with Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College sees you as their mother that they want to protect due to you being a normal civilian and Gojo is really thankful for them - even though he still a little salty that they don’t call him ‘dad’ when they all call you ‘mom’

[wri0thesley]

hi, nat! i am horny™️ for nanamin fluff bc he deserves all the happiness ok. so, i would like to request nanami in a coffee shop/bakery au but with an enemies to lovers twist!

repeat customer - nanami x reader, sfw (5k)

You absolutely hate your 8:05AM regular, and nothing is going to change your mind. 

warnings: none. gender neutral reader.

a/n: this is the first request from my 5555 follower event and it is soft! i hope you all like it bc i had a lot of fun writing it. o(*°▽°*)o

You absolutely hate your 8:05AM regular.

You hate him, because he comes in at exactly the same time every single day and orders exactly the same thing; one of the freshly baked almond and chocolate croissants and a cup of the local organic coffee that your boss orders in because she doesn’t want to sell anything that she wouldn’t drink herself.

Oh, you don’t hate your job. Aoki, your boss, is perfectly nice – always understanding when you’re a little scatterbrained in a morning, making sure every one of her employees always has something to eat before the shift starts, asking after you all like a mother hen. You like the coffee shop come bakery too; it always smells like the sweet treats Aoki’s husband makes in the back, a cosy, quiet little space that has a relaxed pace and none of that weird ‘corporate trying to be homey’ feel that bigger chains often do.

You just really hate that regular.

He’s in five minutes after the shop opens; always with his hair perfectly combed and parted, always wearing an impeccably pressed grey suit and a surprisingly loud yellow and black tie. He has sharp cheekbones and narrow eyes, you’re pretty sure he’s a natural blond, and broad, muscled shoulders fill out the outfit he wears perfectly.

The worst he ever looks is a little tired; a light dusting of lavender beneath his eyes.

But he’s always achingly polite, waiting for his exactly-the-same order, making disinterested small talk with the workers behind the counter if they ask him pleasantries like how his day is going.

He’s perfectly coiffed, and perfectly poised; lucky to have been born with good looks and clearly an abundance of wealth (the watch on his wrist, you’re certain, is six hundred thousand yen minimum). He takes his croissant and coffee and sits in one of the more uncomfortable, secluded tables that most people avoid – he pulls out a newspaper from his briefcase, and reads for twenty minutes. After that, he wishes you a polite and clipped good morning, and leaves.

Always.

Without fail.

He’s always seemingly on top of things, he’s always self-assured, and you hate him for it.

At seven thirty in the morning you’re hardly ever dressed, bleary-eyed in old pyjamas as you stumble around your little one-room studio apartment and stifle a yawn. Your shower and beauty routine takes ten minutes, maximum – and then you have to power-walk to work to make sure you get there five minutes before you open. Then, there’s the rush of tugging on your apron and checking everything is alright, before you have to plaster on a customer service smile when the shop officially opens at eight--

The Blond Businessman (BB, you always call him in your head) is almost always the first customer through the door, the clink of the bell signalling your failure to have your life together.

The first time he’d seen you, he’d paused for a moment, his eyebrows scrunching together.

“You don’t look well,” he’d said, his eyes lingering on your shoulder. You self consciously touch the spot, noticing that your left side does feel like it’s been getting heavier and lagging recently. “Do you get enough sleep?”

Immediately, you are on the defensive. You do not get enough sleep, because you are a student and you work in a coffee shop and you are barely making ends meet and getting your classwork done at the same time; you are not supposed to get angry at customers, though, so you press your lips into a thin line.

“Yes, thank you,” you’d said to him, all clipped and thorny. BB had cocked his head at you, tired eyes scanning over you – and then, reached over the counter to take his coffee and pastry and murmured;

“Good.”

He’d left you a five thousand yen tip, and a crudely done drawing of a yawning face wearing a nightcap on a napkin. Next to it, in beautiful calligraphic hand-writing, was written; ‘You should really get more sleep’.

You console yourself with the fact that his drawing is horrible, so he clearly hasn’t been blessed by the Gods in every department. Still. From that moment on, you had decided that he was your enemy.

BB tries really hard with you.

He hovers by the counter, asks you how you’re feeling; if you’re sleeping better. His eyes always seem to linger on that same left shoulder, like you have an invisible monster peering over it; but you chalk it up to him not being good at eye contact. Business guys are like that, sometimes, you find.

You can’t help but be filled with frustration every time you see him; like something inside of you is saying that he’s a bad omen, and you shouldn’t be around him. You’re never outright rude – you work in customer service, after all! - but you always find your tone a little sharper than it should be, your hands shake a little more. One day, you ‘accidentally’ give him a day-old croissant with his order, and watch him from your perch behind the counter with a kind of twisted satisfaction. You hope that he’ll complain about it.

He takes one bite, and looks thoughtful. He places it onto his plate. He looks up, catching your eye (you feel your cheeks heat despite the fact you told yourself you were going to play it cool), and his lips and eyebrows tilt the barest amount in a sympathetic smile.

He leaves the croissant and doesn’t say anything to you.

He also leaves another napkin note – a very ugly drawing of a sad-faced man and a croissant that really, unfortunately, looks like something else – and another five thousand yen tip.

You think he must feel sorry for you.

You hate that, too; hate that this well-dressed perfectly turned out salaryman who probably has more in his bank account than you’ll see in a lifetime pities you, with your worn-out shoes and your messy hair and a pimple on your cheek that just won’t clear up. If you were proud, you’d put his pity tips straight into the charity collection pot on the counter; but you aren’t, so you squirrel them away and wonder if you’ll ever feel secure enough to buy something with them.

“Do you do anything else except work here?” He asks you, one morning, whilst waiting for his coffee to finish brewing; you’re absent-mindedly doodling on a stack of coffee cups with a thick black marker, and you don’t appreciate either the question or the implication behind it.

“I’m a student,” you say to him, shortly. “I need to fund boring things like eating.”

That gets another of those twitches to his thin lips. Nicely shaped, but thin. You do not dwell on just how good-looking BB is more than you have to.

“Eating isn’t boring if you know what to eat,” he says, sounding horribly certain and also horribly tone deaf. You’re sure that BB regularly goes to five star restaurants and orders expensive whiskey and fine steak, but you . . .

“Eating is boring on your sixth instant ramen of the week,” you tell him, as his coffee finishes brewing and you pour it into the coffee cup you’ve just doodled a very angry golden retriever on. You imagine it barking loudly at BB to protect you. You hand him the coffee cup, napkins, and the plate with his eat-in croissant on. “Have a nice day, Sir.”

His eyes are stuck on your left shoulder. It feels so heavy you think you might simply keel over, right there.

A war is being waged in his eyes. You’re on edge as he lingers in front of you; normally, BB cannot get away from the counter and into the relative anonymity of his little corner table soon enough.

“Yes?” You ask him, summoning your best customer service smile. “Can I get you anything else?”

His shoulders drain of tension. He turns, sighing.

“No,” he says.

He attempts to ask you what you’re studying. He notices that you’re standing leaning very hard on your right side, and tells you that you should see a doctor (right – how are you going to find the time for that?). He points out a hole in the shirt you’re wearing.

You hate him.

He keeps lingering after taking his order, too – looking at you and pursing his lips, as if he’s thinking about doing something. You’re not sure what – maybe he’s just looking for ways to attack your confidence even more thoroughly – but you make sure your customer service voice and face are extra aggressive when you tell him to have a nice morning and a good day.

It comes to a head, as all good conflicts do, on a rainy Monday morning. You’d taken great pleasure in telling BB that you did not have any almond and chocolate croissants this morning; the local store that provides almonds to Aoki’s husband had a delay in their supply chain. He pauses for a moment, before he selects a pain au chocolat from the display case.

“You’re almost always on the morning shift,” he says, whilst the coffee brews. “You seem tired.”

You hadn’t had time to brush your hair this morning. BB’s long fingers rake through some of his own blond locks, as if in sympathy. Forced customer service smile, you can do it.

“It works best with my classes,” you say. “I can go straight to school from here.”

“That makes sense,” he says. “But – you really should rest--” “I don’t have time,” you say, your smile cracking just a little. Hopefully, he won’t notice. The coffee is almost finished. You’ve drawn a poisonous snake on his coffee cup today.

When you look at him, his face is drawn but sure – like he’s finally made a decision. You pour the coffee, put the plate with the pain au chocolat on the counter – and BB leans forward, swiping his hand very hard over your shoulder as if he’s going to hit you.

You don’t move back in time to dodge, and his fingers brush the shirt you’re wearing just a little too hard. He steps back, grabbing his coffee and his pastry, making his way to the table that he usually sits on – agitation clear in every muscle of his body.

You stand there for a moment, dumb-founded. There’s nobody else in the shop right now except you and BB. You see him pull out his wallet, rifling through more thousand-yen bills than you’ve ever seen at once. And you decide:

Fuck it.

You stomp over to his table. You’re so mad that you barely register that the weight that’s been lying heavy on your shoulder for weeks has all but gone; you’re running on adrenaline and spite and frustration at all of his needling, prying questions at this point.

“Don’t even think of leaving me that tip,” you tell him, your voice shaking in ill-disguised rage. “Where do you get off, huh? Why do you think it’s so funny to come in here and make fun of me every morning?”

BB looks surprised, thin eyebrows raising high on a proud forehead.

“I don’t--”

“You leave me these pity tips and weird little doodles – by the way, they suck, you can’t draw – and you point out my clothes need replacing and I need to sleep as if you have ever had to work a job like this in your life and I just have money and time to burn on shit like that--”

You shouldn’t be taking out your anger on the customer. Aoki would be so mad at you. But you’re so tired of him; his perfect hair, his perfect face, his perfect clothes and perfect watch. You cannot carry on doing this any more!

“I didn’t--”

“Stop being so rude to me and then so nice to me!” You almost have the churlish urge to stamp your foot. “Just come in here, get your coffee, and sit here – I’m not some charity case you can deride and then pat yourself on the back for leaving some cash!”

He blinks at you, dumbfounded, but you’ve said your piece now. Your shoulders relax. You turn and walk back to the counter, ignoring him trying to pull his words around him to say anything in response to you.

Wow. You get back behind the cash register, feeling as if a ten-tonne weight has been lifted off of you. Your shoulder feels better, too. Maybe it was a stress-related psychosomatic injury?

When you look back to his table, he’s gone. He’s left his steaming cup of coffee and his replacement pastry – and, your lip curls, another napkin and a thick wad of bills.

(Later on, you’ll learn that the napkin had a crudely drawn caricature of him with a sad face. You don’t look at it at that moment in time, though. You simply shove it hard into your pocket.)

A week and a half passes, and you don’t see BB.

Then two weeks.

Then three.

Then, a month.

Your shoulder doesn’t hurt and your sleep is more fulfilling, and you realise . . . you kind of miss him. You miss seeing what he would blurt out to you next. You miss the eye candy of seeing him in a morning; the little rejuvenation that someone handsome walking into the shop would give you. You even kind of miss the ugly little napkin doodles (weirdly, you find yourself missing those far more than the tips).

Aoki asks you about it one day; you’re so often the morning shift, but in the few she’s done in the last month she hasn’t seen the regular with the briefcase and the ugly tie--

“Oh?” You ask, wondering why your heart is pounding so strangely. Guilt, you assume. “No, I haven’t either.”

You hate him even more for making you miss him. What was that guy’s problem?

It’s a question you ponder a lot. More and more often, you find BB crosses your mind when you don’t really want him to, at the most inopportune moments.

Today, you’d overslept for work, called Aoki in a panic and gotten her blessing to open the shop a half-hour later (“Just make sure you get there safely!” She’d stressed over the phone. “Hardly anybody comes in before half eight anyway!”). You’re thinking about how nobody comes in before half eight now because BB isn’t your 8:05 regular any more, when you walk past the Starbucks two blocks away from your own little coffee shop.

You don’t drink there, because you are loyal to Aoki, and you can afford Aoki’s beverages with your employee discount much more easily than you can afford to go around drinking Starbucks. You’ve barely even looked at it before; but today, something compels you to peer into the industrial-chic dark coffee shop.

It’s all steel beams and ugly furniture and weird exposed brickwork; the chairs look uncomfortable. But it’s not that you find yourself zero-ing in on.

You check your phone. 8:15.

There, in a window seat where he looks uncomfortably exposed, is BB. He has a croissant in front of him that doesn’t look half as good as the ones from your shop, a white-and-green Starbucks coffee cup with a scrawl on it that is definitely a name, and definitely not a weird animal.

Your first thought is: ‘traitor’.

Your second thought is: ‘good. At least I won’t have to see him again’.

And your third thought is: ‘oh God, oh fuck, I’m staring and he has seen me and oh my God he’s lifting his hand and waving and he’s smiling at me what the fuck I need to leave right now immediately--’

You pivot on your heel and power walk to your shop, not daring to look back.

You are hot and bothered and distracted all day after seeing BB in the Starbucks window. You spill coffee on yourself and drop bakery items and find yourself thinking of him, and how uncomfortable he’d looked in all of the cold brutalism of the Starbucks hellscape. So different, you think, from the way that your coffee shop looks – the warm orange glow of cosy lamps, the walls festooned with art by local artisans, the armchairs squashy and full and draped in inviting blankets and cushions.

You hate that you keep wondering what the name written on his cup was.

You tell yourself that you’re curious because he was such a constant presence in your life for a few months; because you feel guilty you have over fifty thousand yen of his money in crisp bills tucked inside an ugly trinket box in your living room. You very carefully avoid thinking about how you always liked the sound of his voice, deep and sonorous and comforting even when he was telling you in slightly nicer terms that you were a mess who should sort their life out. You go home, and think about him, and you’re glad that you have no classes the next day and an evening shift at the coffee shop.

When you enter the shop, one of the other workers – an excitable young woman named Fuka – is immediately around you in a flurry of strawberry-scented shampoo and bustling hands.

“A man came in asking about you!” She says, all excitable and bright.

You swallow, your nerves sinking into your stomach.

“A man?” You ask, as you make your way to the back room to tug on your apron. Aoki’s colours for the coffee shop’s logo are gold and warm maroon; putting on the apron makes you feel warm and safe.

“A handsome one!” Fuka continues. “Tall, a blond, wearing a really expensive watch-- he was here at five past eight in the morning, and he really didn’t look pleased to see me behind the counter!” Fuka throws her head back and laughs, a glossy waterfall of dark hair streaming down her spine. She looks back at you with a sly look on her face. “Is he your sugar daddy?” The laugh falls out of your mouth unbidden, along with a bite of guilt about the trinket box.

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “He’s just an old regular.”

“He sure didn’t look that old,” she wheedles, batting her eyelashes. “And he was really interested in you, asked when your next morning shift was--”

Your next morning shift is tomorrow. You swallow the lump in your throat as you check the area behind the cash register to make sure that everything is in order.

“He’s no-one,” you assure her. “I . . . I got a bit mad at him last time he was in here, that’s all.”

“Oh!” Fuka brings a hand to her chest, faux swooning. “The difficult waves of love, tearing your ship asunder!”

“I don’t know him like that,” you insist, heart beating very fast. You hope that your face hasn’t given away how hot your cheeks suddenly feel. “F-Fuka, shouldn’t you be leaving?”

She gives you one last, final, searching look – her lips curving into a mischievous smirk.

“Fine,” she sighs. “But tomorrow evening, I want every juicy detail!”

You try and call after her that there’ll be no juicy details to share, unless BB is going to complain to Aoki about you and get you fired – but one of the yoga classes at the leisure centre opposite your coffee shop has just let out, and a stream of pretty, trim young people are streaming into the store, laughing and joking with one another about just how hard their instructor had ridden them that evening.

Your stomach ties itself in knots, but you try to ignore the lingering sense of doom.

You don’t sleep well. But at least your shoulder doesn’t hurt any more.

Aoki is in the shop before you the next morning, and when you see her you feel absolutely terrified. She gives you a reassuring smile as she sees you trembling.

“Don’t worry,” she says. “I’m just here to wait for a plumber to fix the staff bathroom; we’re finally getting that leaky pipe looked at!” She gives you a conspiratorial wink. “I’m glad that he’s back.”

You’re not – are you? You’re all fingers and thumbs getting ready for the day, needing to re-tie your apron twice before it even looks close to passable. Aoki takes a Danish pastry and sits at one of the tables closest to the counter; ostensibly so she can have a good view of the door, but you feel like it’s more that she wants to eavesdrop on whatever conversation you and BB are going to awkwardly have. Ugh. You guess it’s a good job she’s here; she can hear the whole sordid tale herself, and then look after the shop after she’s fired you.

BB is three minutes late today. He’s not quite as well put together as usual. He’s wearing a pair of unusual tinted glasses, and not carrying a briefcase – and when he comes to the counter and stands in front of you, he nervously shifts from side to side.

You meet his eyes behind the green-tinged glass.

“The usual?” You ask him, your voice very dry. BB nods, still looking lost. His hands are balled in his pockets. You see Aoki looking at you surreptitiously over her phone.

Almond and chocolate croissant. Special blend organic coffee. You turn to get started brewing when he says--

“Wait.” His voice is a little less sure than usual; wavering. It’s still deep and pleasant and nice, though, and you guess at least he isn’t going to cause a scene with shouting and screaming like some customers might. You turn back, expecting him to tear into how rude you were-- but instead, he mumbles;

“I’m sorry.”

You blink at him in confusion.

“For . . .” He swallows, a bob in his throat. “For being rude. I didn’t mean to. I’m . . . Ah, this is a little embarrassing. I’m not usually so hesitant.” He brings a hand to scratch at the back of his neck, where his hair is in an undercut (cute, you think, against your will). “But I’m trying to be better at saying what I want.” He looks you, dead in the eyes. “I’m not good at talking to beautiful people. I was just looking for an inning. To a conversation, I mean.”

You’re . . .

Well.

You’re dumbfounded, to put it quite bluntly. Whatever you were expecting from BB, it certainly wasn’t this. You stare at him, lips slightly parted. For once, you’re lost for words, and it takes you ten seconds to manage to say;

“You think I’m pretty?”

“More than,” he says. He squeezes his eyes shut, as if he’s embarrassed to have admitted it, but when they open again they’re cool and certain behind the glass. You don’t know for sure if it’s because of the glasses or not, but the shadows under his eyes seem to have all but disappeared.

“I would really like to take you out,” he tells you. “On a date. For coffee. Though I suppose, if you’re sick of it--”

“They’re free right now,” Aoki says, and he starts as he turns to face her. You see in his side profile, a spot of pink on his high cheekbones, and your stomach does a little twist at how cute the blush is.

“I—I have to work,” you say, but Aoki immediately shakes her head. She stands up; she’s six inches shorter than you and a good bit shorter than BB, but she still radiates fierce matriarchal energy as she regards you both.

“You can sit in here,” she says. “Drinks on the house. They’re more than free. I can look after the shop.”

Even BB seems a little intimidated by her, giving her a little bow and a helpless look at you as he walks over to his favourite table, the plate with the croissant in his hand. You figure you’ll have a cup of the same coffee BB is having, just to make it easier on yourself – and you silently thank him for preferring the table that nobody else wants.

Aoki might be able to see you from the cash register, but she definitely won’t be able to hear you.

His name is Nanami Kento.

“The Starbucks was awful,” he says, with emphasis. “I missed the coffee shop. Your coffee is better than anywhere else – and don’t get me started on what Starbucks thinks can pass for a croissant--”

It turns out the coffee isn’t all he missed.

He admits it in painful little squeezes.

“I thought I was being helpful,” he tells you. “I’m a little awkward with new people. I was stressed at work. You just seemed like you needed a break. I wanted to find the magic words that would make you talk to me--”

A smile rises to your face despite yourself.

“You probably shouldn’t have done the; ‘you have a hole in your shirt’ thing,” you say. He wrinkles his nose, as if he can’t believe that’s something he said with his own mouth, and you can’t stop thinking about how much younger it makes him look.

He’s taken the glasses off now, after enduring some teasing that they look like a steampunk costume gone wrong, anachronistic with his suit and tie.

He takes it surprisingly well. He still holds himself stiffly, like he’s not used to being so casual with somebody – but he genuinely seems to be trying his best, and it’s endearing.

You find out that he’s twenty seven. He quit his job the last day that he was here in the coffee shop; the day with the shouting, and the weird arm thing. He’d been gone for nearly a month, because he’d had to sort out some things about the new career he was choosing--

You can’t help concentrating on the weird arm thing, though.

You ask him about that, and he goes quiet.

“Well,” he says, eventually. “Your left side stopped hurting, right?”

You look at him.

“Yeah,” you reply. “Are you a . . . witch, or something? Like, crazy religious? Should I be worried – should I tell my boss?”

He smiles at you, the expression softening his face.

“Or something,” he says, “but that’s not important.”

He admits that he missed your frown in a morning; that he thought the pucker between your eyebrows and the pout of your mouth was cute. He admits he missed the little doodles on his coffee cup--

(“I liked the moth,” he tells you, “the day I told you about your shirt. I washed it out at home and kept it for a few days before I realised I was being weird.”)

You admit to him that you kept the last ugly napkin drawing.

It’s . . . easy to talk to him. Natural. You accept his apology for making you feel like a charity case; he accepts yours for snapping at him that day. He tells you very seriously that your insult to his artistic skills were emotionally damaging and you feel your heart drop, but then his cheek twitches and you realise he’s attempting – badly – to make a joke, and you feel a surge of an unusual emotion when it came to the subject of Nanami ‘BB’ Kento.

Fondness.

“I never meant to make you feel like that,” he says. He swallows, and you give him a smile that trembles at the edges. It feels strange and new and vulnerable to be looking at him like this; to be existing in a bubble with him as something more than merely customer and barista.

“It’s fine,” you try and say, but Nanami shakes his head.

“I’d really like to make it up to you,” Nanami mumbles, a little awkwardly. “I . . . if that’s something you’d be interested in.” Almost shyly, his fingertips brush your own, where they’re folded on the table in front of you. An electric pulse shudders through you; his fingers are warm, and large, and a little rough around the edges. “Maybe a date, or something?”

“I’m paying,” you say, your heart rapidly thumping in your chest. “You gave me so much money in tips, it’s the least I could do--”

He frowns.

“You should have used them to buy a new shirt,” he says – and then he smiles again, this joke clearly landing right. He’s so handsome when he does it. You almost can’t believe what’s happening. It feels like a romcom plot; your surly coffee shop customer with the expensive watch who you thought hated you, admitting to a secret crush. Asking you on a date.

You missed him, you realise, it all hitting you like a truck.

You missed his constant presence, his quiet surety – now, looking back, you can see that his barbs were awkwardly worded concerns and attempts to find common ground with you. Yeah, he’d sucked at it, but he’d tried – and that’s really the most endearing part, isn’t it?

You missed his ugly fucking napkin drawings.

“I’m sorry about the day I gave you an old croissant,” you say, all in a rush – and his eyes widen, and he laughs. The sound is deep and rich like the bourdon in a bell tower.

“I didn’t eat it,” he says, “don’t worry. You didn’t poison me.”

“I felt like I should say it,” you insist. His thumb skates the inner veins of your wrist, his eyes fixing on your own; your heart beats ten to the dozen against your ribcage, filling your head with the rhythmic thumping and the feel of blood rushing to your ears. He leans into you, closer and closer--

And your lips are touching, over his regular table in the corner of the coffee shop. He tastes like the croissant and coffee and mint toothpaste, smells like freshly-laundered linen – his hand cups your cheek, pulling you in, certain and sure and right on your bare skin.

You feel like you’re falling as you kiss him, your stomach turning somersaults.

You only pull back from him, because you hear a quiet whooping, a cheering, and a smattering of applause.

Aoki is staring at you both with the biggest grin on her face.

[lovely-keii]

Hey Viv <3

I recently followed your blog and I’m already hooked :)

I would like to put in a request if that’s alright :) I’m currently studying in Uni and I need a bit of motivation. I was hoping you could do “how Haikyuu Characters would treat their pharmacy student GF for working hard”. It could be treating them in any sort it way, feel free to get as creative as you like with it :) I can’t think of any specific treats. I have a couple of exams coming up and this would really help lighten the mood </3. Sorry if this is too vague !!

Thank you sm <3

Characters: Atsumu, Osumu, Kuroo, Iwa & Bokuto

(If you can’t do all characters that’s fine !!)

Treating Their S/O for Working Hard

Characters: Miya Atsumu, Miya Osamu, Kuroo Tetsurou, Iwaizumi Hajime, Bokuto Koutarou

MIYA ATSUMU

probably more hyped than you are lmaooo

pulls you over for a bunch of kisses and just rolls around the bed hugging you. he’s just so proud of u <33

so much kisses!!! its insane how happy he isss <33

“i love you so much!! you’re awesome!!”

he’s lovesick and it’s obvious <3

although you probably wont get anymore studying done,,hes laying on top of you telling you how cool you are. don’t bet on getting up anytime soon

MIYA OSAMU

pulls you from your work with some treats for you!!

he’s made some of your favorite food <33 and it’s all made to perfection <33

probably gives you some massages too and some head kisses for good measure

he doesn’t know much about what you’re doing but he’s willing to learn some of it and enjoys watching you work.

and when he thinks you’re getting a bit stressed he goes and gets a batch of comfort food for you.

nothing if not the best from miya osamu <3

KUROO TETSUROU

no joke, he’s going to hype you up!!!!

he has the tendency to be a workaholic too, so study dates are a must!!! even if he has no idea what you’re doing he likes to observe you work ya know?

it makes him feel productive when you’re productive!! buys you two some drinks and light snacks every hours to make sure you aren’t too stressed

afterwards, he just sits by you and probably falls asleep on your lap

he’s proud of you, no doubts about that, he’s just tired too!! and kind of hopes you go and take a nap to rest too <3

study buddy kuroo <3 <3

IWAIZUMI HAJIME

drags you outta there!! in a good, gentle way ofc. no way hajime would ever risk hurting you!!

he takes you out on a date!! nothing too extravagant, maybe a trip to your local coffee shop or to a bakery for some sweets!!

might offer some advice if you’d like it but he won’t push it.

iwa takes good care of u!! bc he absolutely adores you

likes to ask about what you’re studying and tries his very best to understand <3

BOKUTO KOUTAROU

so proud of you!! bb will be twirling you around and giving you big kisses!

takes you anywhere you wanna go, gets you anything you wanna get!!

he spoils you so much!!! snacks, movies, dates, shopping, anything you want

he likes to listen to your explanations about what you’re doing and he kind of wants to try for himself too!!

he likes hanging out with you and this time he does absolutely anything to make you smile <3333