#really having an enemies-to-lovers moment

[alygator77]

ᰔᩚ motherhood and matrimony ᰔᩚ

ꨄ︎ pairing. au ceo! satoru gojo x single mom secretary fem! reader

ꨄ summary. satoru gojo, the arrogant and irresistible heir to a billion-dollar corporation and the son of your boss, the ceo... but when satoru’s father dies unexpectedly, his inheritance hinges on a stipulation: he must marry and have a child, but the child doesn't necessarily have to be his, right? together, you strike a deal: a fake marriage that promises financial stability for you and corporate control for him. as the lines between business and emotion blur, you must decide if your partnership is purely contractual or if it could evolve into something real.

ꨄ︎ warnings/tags. 18+ MDNI, nsfw, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, fake marriage, slow burn, smut, fluff, bit of angst, reader is single mom who recently broke off her engagement, satoru being a cute step dad, naoya is your crappy ex, some triggers of domestic abuse (emotional abuse from naoya but it can be a bit suggestive/interpreted as physical)

ꨄ words: 10.5k

ꨄ a/n. hello my mhm lovelies :') i've missed writing this fic dearly! please note, this is not chapter 7—however, i will be releasing ch 7 this month. this is just a fun little side chapter with some family domesticity for the autumn season. taking place sometime after reader/satoru become official. ♡

ꨄ taglist: closed (ao3)

♬ playlist

series masterlist ꨄ︎

ch 6.5 // harvesting happiness

As the crisp autumn air has arrived, it brings with it a feeling of change—and perhaps nature itself is subtly acknowledging just how much your life has shifted.

It’s baffling. Your time in the Gojo estate has been nothing short of eventful—and it feels like just yesterday you stood in front of Satoru, proposing an arrangement that was as unexpected as it was necessary. But now, with the leaves turning a fiery shade of red, orange, and gold, you realize just how quietly and quickly fall has crept in.

And with all this change, your relationship with Satoru has begun to reshape as well—a new chapter, freshly inked. No secrets, no acts—just the three of you, finding your footing in this new arrangement you’ve embarked on.

But one thing hasn’t changed—Satoru simply can’t say no to Haru.

It’s something that’s too cute for its own good—watching him wrapped around her small little finger, treating her like the princess she is. Ahh…but it’s even cuter how he tries to hide it. Satoru has a heart of gold, and though he may use his wit and charm as a mask, you’ve come to see through most of his tricks now—especially when it involves Haru.

And Haru? Well, lately she has really started to become attached to Satoru—in ways that even surprise you. Everything has been ‘toru this - ‘toru that. The trouble with it? Well... ’toru doesn’t have all the experience of handling a kid, let alone a two-year-old. But day by day, he is learning.

Fall is Haru’s favorite season, ironic given her name translates to ��spring.” She adores everything about it—the cool, crisp air that calls for cuddles and cozy sweaters, the cinnamon pumpkin treats that have become a staple in the kitchen, and the magic of “spooky season,” as she calls it.

The latest item on her list? A trip to the pumpkin patch.

The idea had come up over breakfast, as you sipped your chai and watched Haru list off her autumn plans with boundless enthusiasm. The moment she had flashed those wide, hopeful eyes at you both, of course Satoru offered to take her—he stepped in immediately and you’d been surprised but delighted by the offer.

And now, you’re embarking on this journey together—off to the pumpkin patch. You head down the stairs of the Gojo’s estate with Haru’s little hand nestled in yours—chattering excitedly about all the things she wants to do and see at the pumpkin patch.

“Let’s find a big pumpkin, Mama! I wanna pet the animals!”

You smile, nodding along, but as you reach the end of the stairs, glancing into the foyer, you’re greeted by a sight entirely unexpected.

Satoru leans casually against the banister, scrolling through his phone, but he’s dressed down in a way you’ve never seen. Gone are his usual tailored suits and designer dress shoes—instead, he’s wearing an oversized hoodie, a pair of well-worn jeans, and, most surprisingly, a black beanie snug over his white hair. The only familiar accessory he wears is that pair of round, dark sunglasses resting upon the bridge of his nose.

Once you reach the bottom of the stairs, he glances up from his phone, grinning.

“Well, look at you, Mr. Gojo,” you smirk, stepping closer. “You almost look…normal.”

A low hum rumbles from his chest as he takes off his sunglasses for a moment, letting you catch sight of that familiar twinkle in his eyes.

“Almost?” he feigns offense, pushing off from the banister. “Aw man, that’s disappointing, considering that this,” he gestures at his outfit, “is premium low-profile attire.”

You snort, reaching up to playfully tug on one of the strings of his hoodie.

“I didn’t realize you had a whole ‘undercover’ look ready to go.”

“Well… yeah,” he leans forward and presses a quick peck to your lips. “Life of a celebrity, sweetheart. Last thing we need is the pumpkin paparazzi swarming us. I’d rather they didn’t ruin Haru’s big day out.”

His words make you pause, a gentle warmth filling your chest at his thoughtfulness—but before you can respond, a tiny voice chimes in.

“‘toru, you look like a spy!” Haru’s small hand grips the fabric of his jeans, her face alight with excitement as she gazes up at him.

Satoru chuckles, turning his attention fully to her. As he crouches down to meet her gaze, his own expression softens.

“A spy, huh? You’re onto something princess.” He gently ruffles her hair. “Alright… here’s the deal. You can be my sidekick, but only if you keep my secret.” He puts a finger to his lips, and whispers. “No one can know who I really am. It’ll be our secret mission.”

“Secret! I won’t tell,” she whispers with utmost seriousness, and her eyes beam with the thrill of this imaginary game he’s now given her.

“Good,” he murmurs, tapping her nose lightly, “I knew I could trust ya, kiddo,” and as he shoots her a wink, she dissolves into a fit of giggles.

You watch them from a few steps away, leaning back against the banister with your arms crossed—a soft smile tugging at your lips. There’s something endearing, almost mesmerizing, about the way Satoru allows himself to be swept up in Haru’s world, and you’re incredibly impressed at how seamlessly he’s growing into this role—this new chapter of his life, and yours. As you catch glimpses of the man he’s becoming, these small, unguarded moments bring forth a version of Satoru that feels both familiar and entirely new.

Just then, Satoru glances up and catches you watching him with that uncharacteristically soft expression. His gaze narrows playfully, and a mischievous smirk spreads across his lips as he stands.

“What, Mrs. Gojo? Enjoying the view?”

Your smile softens, and the words that leave your lips slip out before you even realize it.

“Who knew dad vibes could look this good on you?”

Ah, fuck. The second the words leave your lips; you feel a heat rushing to your cheeks—you’ve spoken without thinking, letting your admiration for him slip out in a way that feels a little too honest—more vulnerable than you intended—giving him a title—that title. You’re still getting used to this… this new, real relationship that you and Satoru share, and moments like this catch you off guard.

Satoru’s reaction is immediate; his eyes widen in surprise, and for a heartbeat, he simply blinks at you, processing what you’ve said. Flustered, you bite your lip—your gaze darting away for a moment as the heat in your face intensifies. There is no hiding the delicate pink painting your cheeks.

But then, his surprise melts into a grin—a slow, pleased smile that lights up his entire face, stretching into a smirk that’s all too self-satisfied.

“Oh?” his voice drips with amusement. “I didn’t realize you were such a fan of my ‘dad vibes.’”

Stepping forward, he tilts his head—studying you with a newfound intensity, and it becomes very clear that he’s relishing in your flustered reaction.

Ugh. You don’t know whether to be relieved or annoyed in his response. Clearing your throat, you try to salvage a bit of dignity.

“I, uh… I just mean, y’know… you’re getting the hang of this,” you mumble.

You should know better—that playful glint in Satoru’s eyes tells you he’s not letting you off the hook. His eyes beam with mischief as he leans in close, and you desperately try to advert your gaze.

“Oh, no, no, no. Don’t backtrack now,” he smirks, turning your face to meet him.

The warmth in your cheeks intensifies under his gaze, and his fingers linger, brushing tenderly against your chin. Your breath catches the moment he moves in closer—lips ghosting just over yours.

“I think I could get used to is this kind of flattery…”

You suck in a breath and playfully roll your eyes. “The last thing you need is an ego boost. Don’t get too used to it…”

“Too late,” he whispers back.

Before you can say anything else, a small, impatient voice breaks the moment.

“Mama, ‘toru! Let’s gooo! Pumpkins!” she pouts.

You both blink, snapping out of the moment as you glance down at Haru, who’s now tugging on your hands with eager impatience.

She’s not about to let her pumpkin adventure be delayed by your moment.

“Alright, alright, princess, we’re going,” Satoru chuckles, ruffling her hair playfully. “Besides, I’m not the only one going incognito today.”

Turning towards a nearby table, he reaches for a small shopping bag you hadn’t noticed before, and you raise an eyebrow in curiosity as he holds the bag out to you with a smirk. The moment the bag is settled in your hands, you immediately open it—revealing your own matching beanie, followed by a pair of sleek designer sunglasses.

“Gotta keep my partner in crime undercover too.”

“Ah, of course,” you muse, grinning at you pull your disguise out of the shopping bag. “Didn’t realize we were going full ‘spy mode’ for this outing.”

Satoru chuckles, but his eyes soften as he watches you slip the beanie over your head and position the sunglasses on the bridge of your nose with a flourish.

“How do I look?” you pose playfully.

“Like the perfect accomplice,” he declares with a grin. “No one will suspect a thing.”

Haru’s face lights up and she claps her hands in excitement.

“Mama’s a spy too!” she squeals.

The thrill in her voice pulls a laugh from both you and Satoru—she’s completely swept up in this game. Satoru mirrors after you—slipping on his own sunglasses with an exaggerated flourish as he flashes Haru a mischievous grin. He shoves his hands into his hoodie pocket and whispers conspiratorially—as though letting her in on a top-secret plan.

“That’s right, kiddo. It’s a full family mission.”

Haru’s eyes beam with childlike wonder as she nods—putting her finger to her lips again—mimicking his serious expression. Suddenly, Satoru pulls out a set of keys from his hoodie pocket and begins dangling them in front of you with a grin. The silver glints in the sunlight as he places them in your hand.

“C’mon, you’re driving today,” he says with an easy nonchalance.

It takes a moment for you to register that it’s your keys he had set in your hand, and you blink down at them for a moment while he steps towards the door. It’s been so long since you’ve driven your own car that it feels oddly unfamiliar—like a relic from another life.

“Oh, uh… yeah, sure,” you stammer, still caught off guard as you follow him out the door, with Haru skipping beside you—a cascade of excitement as she babbles about today’s adventure.

Once you step outside, your gaze lands on your car waiting in the driveway—a dark blue sedan with a soft, understated shine—a small piece of normalcy you’d left behind in the wake of Gojo's luxury.  It’s nothing extravagant, but it’s always been reliable.

Driving out of the Gojo estate… in your car? It’s a strange, almost surreal concept after all the chauffeured cars and limos that have now oddly become routine. A rush of familiarity surges through you—remembering the simpler times, a glimpse of the life that once belonged solely to you.

While you’re lost down memory lane, Satoru strolls toward the passenger side. He pauses, glancing back to find you standing there—keys in hand, a touch of nostalgia softening you features. His signature smirk settles into place as he leans casually against the passenger door and muses.

“What’s the matter? Afraid you’ve forgotten how to drive? Or…” his eyes narrow with playful mischief as he raises an eyebrow, “are you too fancy to drive your own car now, Mrs. Gojo?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes before striding over to the rear passenger door, where Haru waits—her small fingers clutching the edge eagerly.

“Says the one who never drives,” you shoot back, grinning as you pull open the door. “Mr. ‘Passenger Princess.’”

Your comment earns you a dramatic huff as he places a hand over his chest—pretending to be affronted—though the grin curling upon his lip tells you he’s anything but offended.

“Excuuuse me, but this ‘passenger princess’ comes with premium commentary and a charming smile. Not everyone’s lucky enough to have this level of company in the front seat.”

Shaking your head, you roll your eyes again as you reach down to lift Haru into the car.

“Lucky me,” you mutter with a grin.

But just as you begin to settle Haru into her car seat, her demeanor shifts—before you know it, she’s twisting in your arms, pressing her hands against your shoulders, all while her little brows draw together in a determined pout.

“No, Mama!” she wriggles free—scurrying down to plant her feet on the ground. You blink the moment she crosses her arms and defiantly declares, “I want ‘toru to do it!”

The request takes you off guard, and you find yourself momentarily speechless. Uhhh… come to think of it, does Satoru even know how to strap a toddler into a car seat? You glance over at him, and he looks equally thrown off—an uncertain smile curling at the corners of his mouth.

You can practically see his internal debate unfolding—he subtly glances between you and Haru—clearly flattered but just as visibly out of his depth.

Oh, Haru. She absolutely adores him—and while Satoru isn’t exactly resisting the role she’s suddenly assigned him, you know first-hand that he’s pretty much clueless with toddler basics. Car seats and sippy cups? Yeah… not exactly his area of expertise.

With a sigh, you kneel beside Haru—a gentle smile on your lips.

“Haru, honey… Satoru doesn’t exactly—"

Satoru clears his throat.

“—uh… sure, I can do it,” he straightens, pushing himself off the side of the car with a nonchalant shrug as he gives you a small, uncertain grin. “How hard can it be?”

A giggle breaks from Haru’s lips as he swoops her up, and her little arms wrap around his neck with delight—but Satoru’s eyes narrow at the car seat like it’s some sort of complex machinery he’s about to dismantle. Oh… this is gonna be good.

He carefully lowers her into the seat, and his brows furrow with intense focus as his fingers begin to slip over the unfamiliar buckles.

“Alright… this goes here… or does it?” he mutters.

Biting back a smile, you marvel at how determined yet adorably out of his element he is—untangling the straps. But as you watch him struggle, you are suddenly struck with the realization of how different this moment feels from anything you have ever experienced in the past.

Naoya? He would never have humored Haru’s whims, let alone spent time trying to puzzle out something as simple (yet surprisingly complicated) as a car seat. No—it was easier for him to hand off the messy tasks of parenting.

But Satoru? Here he was, eyebrows knitted in stubborn determination—refusing to give up on this minor challenge, simply because Haru had asked him to. Each small stumble, each adjustment he makes, only seems to fuel his resolve to get it right.

After a few moments, a sigh of mild frustration escapes him, and he pauses, staring at the tangled straps in front of him in defeat. Finally, glancing over his shoulder, he casts you a sheepish look that’s so uncharacteristically vulnerable it melts you.

“Uhh… I’m doing this right…right?”

Oh, he’s too cute. He’s trying so hard, and something about it makes you want to lean in and kiss him, just for being so completely, irresistibly endearing.

Stepping forward, you smile softly, inspecting his work with a practiced eye.

“You’re doing great,” you assure him warmly, reaching out to gently adjust the chest clip. “But you’ll want to raise this a little higher—it should be level with her armpits, and maybe tighten it a bit more.”

His eyes focus closely on your hands as you gently guide him through the adjustments, and he nods—carefully stepping back in to finish the task with a newfound confidence.

“Okay, got it.”

Your slight encouragement seems to have spurred his fingers to move more purposefully now. Tightening the strap, he gives it a final tug to check the tension, and with a small huff of triumph, a wide grin spreads across his face as he leans back—admiring his handiwork.

“There,” he announces, sounding both relieved and just a little proud. “One secure kiddo.”

Haru beams up at him, her eyes sparkling with delight.

“Good job, ‘toru!” her voice is filled with an adorable pride, as though she’s the one teaching him.

“Anything for you, princess,” he chuckles, gently closing her door and casting her one last fond look through the window. Then, with an easy stride, he slips into the passenger seat beside you, settling in with an air of satisfaction.

“All right, you two,” you exhale, securing your seatbelt with a satisfying click. “Let’s hit the road, shall we?”

After securing his own seatbelt, Satoru’s eyes flicker to yours with playful adoration. He leans back with a contented sigh.

“Yup. And with you behind the wheel, I get the best view in the car,” winking playfully, his trademark smirk appears as he adds, “Ready when you are, Madam Chauffeur.”

ꨄ︎

The pumpkin patch sprawls before you like a painted autumn wonderland. Rows upon rows of pumpkins in every imaginable shape and size dot the field—their bright orange hues glowing under the soft, golden light of the afternoon sun. Rustic wooden signs swing gently in the breeze, directing families to activities like hay rides, corn mazes, and a “Pumpkin Painting Station.” You’re welcomed with the earthy scent of fallen leaves, mingling with the sweetness of spiced donuts and apple cider—a warm nostalgic embrace of autumn.

Nearby, children dart between the pumpkins, shrieking with laughter as they kick up leaves. Parents snap photos, their laughter joining the symphony of crunching footsteps and cheerful voices. You glance at Satoru, who’s paused just past the entrance—his gaze sweeping across the scene with a mixture of awe and slight bewilderment. There’s a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes, like he’s trying to take in every detail of this unfamiliar world.

“Well?” you ask, nudging him gently with a smile. “What do you think?”

He shrugs, flashing a lopsided grin as he meets your gaze.

“Honestly? I’m not sure what I was expecting. Maybe something a little more… contained?” his eyes flick to a group of kids who’ve just toppled over in a pile of leaves—sending a cloud of autumn colors flying around them.

“Contained?” you echo, a smirk crossing your face. “Satoru, it’s a pumpkin patch, not a black-tie event. Consider it an adventure in rural living.”

He lets out a low chuckle, and his usual confidence is softened by a rare, boyish charm.

“Mmm... well I guess I’m overdue for an adventure like this,” his gaze drifts over the rows of pumpkins—families bundled in scarves and jackets as the haze of afternoon sunlight filters through the trees. His tone dips into something warm, almost tender. “Hard to believe, but I’ve never actually been to one of these before.”

Your eyebrows raise in surprise. “Never?”

He shakes his head, looking almost sheepish.

“Nah... let’s just say pumpkin patches aren’t exactly a Gojo family tradition…” he chuckles softly, but there’s a bit of sadness coloring his voice as he scratches the back of his head. “I guess most of my autumns were spent in places a bit… less pumpkin-filled.”

His unguarded honesty tugs at something deep within you. It’s easy to forget, sometimes, just how much of a different world he comes from—how even the smallest traditions, like visiting a pumpkin patch, might’ve been out of reach for him.

Without a second thought, you reach over, sliding your hand into his, your fingers curling around his in a gentle squeeze. He looks down, surprise flashing in his eyes, before his expression softens as he meets your gaze.

“There’s a first time for everything,” you murmur softly. “And… now you’ve got Haru and me to show you how it’s done. We’re practically pumpkin patch experts.”

A soft smile breaks across his face, and for a moment, he looks like he’s letting down a guard you hadn’t even realized was there.

“I couldn’t ask for better teachers,” he squeezes your hand back.

Just then, a delighted gasp breaks the stillness as Haru tugs excitedly on Satoru’s hand—her eyes are wide and shining with wonder as she points to a patch of particularly large pumpkins.

“Look, ‘toru! Big ones!” she practically bounces with energy. “Let’s go! Pleeease?”

Satoru’s expression softens even further as he glances from you to Haru, and with a small laugh, he nods—allowing himself to be pulled forward by her tiny but insistent hand.

“Alright, alright, lead the way, pumpkin expert,” he says, casting a quick, affectionate glance back at you—and your heart swells from the way his eyes twinkle with amusement, and maybe, just a hint of gratitude.

ꨄ︎

“This one?” Satoru asks, holding up a pumpkin with a proud grin.

“No!” Haru exclaims immediately, her face scrunched up in disapproval. “Too skinny.”

Satoru raises an eyebrow, giving the pumpkin an exaggerated, doubtful look.

“Too skinny, huh?” setting it down with a sigh, he brushes off his hands—back to square one. “Alright, let’s keep looking.”

He takes a few steps, scanning the rows, and his gaze falls on another pumpkin—rounder this time, but with a bit of a tilt to one side. He bends down to pick it up, then holds it out with a contemplative look.

“Hmm… how about this one? Good color, nice and round—”

“Nope!” Haru cuts him off, shaking her head with a serious frown. “It’s bumpy.”

Satoru sighs—a huff of a chuckle. He places the pumpkin back down with mock solemnity.

“Alright, alright. No bumps, no skinniness. Got it.”

Glancing back, he casts you a quick look—an amused twinkle in his eye as he mouths, she’s tough. Stifling a laugh, you sit back on a nearby hay bale, watching their search unfold with growing amusement. Haru’s standards have always been impressively high, and Satoru, is finally getting a taste of that.

As they wander a little farther down the row, Satoru’s gaze lands on another contender—a medium-sized pumpkin with a perfectly round shape and a smooth surface. Crouching down beside it, he inspects it with all the seriousness of a seasoned pumpkin picker, then holds it out, giving Haru a hopeful look.

“This one? Look, it’s perfectly round and no bumps in sight.”

Haru narrows her eyes, stepping forward and scrutinizing the pumpkin with an intensity that belies her age. A tiny, dramatic sigh escapes her as she shakes her head in disapproval.

“No, it’s not orange enough. Has to be super orange!”

“Super orange,” he echoes with a dramatic nod. “Of course. What was I thinking?” He places it back with a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck as he searches the rows—clearly determined not to give up.

Biting back a smile, you watch him crouch beside her yet again, leaning in close to match her intense expression. Then, he picks up another pumpkin and holds it out in front of her, trying to contain his hope.

“This one?” he asks, almost pleading.

Haru barely spares a second glance.

“Nope! The stem is too small.”

With a defeated sigh, Satoru watches as she continues her search, undeterred and unbothered by his less-than-stellar picks. After a moment, he walks back over to you and plops down on the hay bale—his shoulders slumping in mock exhaustion.

“Is there such a thing as a perfect pumpkin, or am I just doomed to fail here?”

You can’t help but grin—reaching over for his hand. As your fingers intertwine with his, you rest your head gently against his shoulder.

“Oh… I think there’s one out there somewhere,” you murmur, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t give up now, Mr. Gojo. Just think of this as your first lesson in pumpkin-picking perseverance.”

A soft chuckle rumbles through his chest—low and warm.

“Perseverance, huh?” looking down at your joined hands, his thumb brushes tenderly over your fingers, before his gaze lifts to meet yours—there’s a softness in his eyes, a kind of warmth that feels as comfortable as the autumn sun. “Alright… if you believe in me, I guess I’ll keep trying. But if she shoots down one more pumpkin, I might need a pep talk.”

You laugh, giving his shoulder a playful nudge.

“I’ll be here, ready with all the encouragement you need. This is serious business, y’know.”

He rolls his eyes good-naturedly, but there’s a spark of determination there as he watches Haru continue her search with relentless focus.

“Serious business, huh?” he mutters, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Well… far be it from me to let a toddler outdo me.”

Before you can respond, a delighted gasp cuts through the air.

“Mama! ‘toru! I found it!” eyes wide and sparkling, Haru points proudly at a pumpkin nestled snugly in the dirt.

The triumph in her voice makes Satoru’s eyes light up. Standing from the hay bale, his hands nestle into the pockets of his hoodie as he strides towards Haru, with you following closely behind.

“Really now? Let’s take a look at this prize pumpkin.”

Crouching down beside it, Satoru lifts the pumpkin carefully with both hands—as though it’s the crown jewel of the pumpkin patch. His brow furrows with an exaggerated seriousness as he turns it slowly, examining every curve and contour.

“Hmm… yes, I think you’re right,” he declares, voice thoughtful. “This is one smooth, super orange, pumpkin…and just look at that stem!” he taps the pumpkin’s top lightly and flashes Haru a crooked grin. “You’ve got a great eye, kiddo. I’d say you found the best one here.”

Haru’s face lights up with pride.

“Yay!! Look, Mama look!” she beams, her smile stretching from ear to ear—glowing with joy.

Crouching down beside her, you run your hand gently over the pumpkin’s surface. “Wow, sweetie—I love it. It’s absolutely perfect.”

You catch Satoru’s gaze holding yours for a moment—a soft smile stretching across his lips—and then, he reaches down to lift the pumpkin effortlessly—cradling it like a treasure.

“So… do we take it home now? Looks like we’ve got our perfect pumpkin, after all.”

You rise—shaking your head with a grin as you hold up a hand to pause him.

“Not so fast apprentice. You didn’t think we’d leave without experiencing the whole pumpkin patch, did you? C’mon, we’ll bring it up front, but check out later.”

Satoru chuckles, shifting the pumpkin under one arm as he raises his hands in mock surrender.

“Alright, alright. Guess I shouldn’t rush the experts,” his eyes shift to Haru and his smile softens. “So… what’s next on our agenda, sweetheart?”

ꨄ︎

As the three of you stroll hand in hand through the bustling market stalls, the air is rich with the warm aroma of spiced cider, caramel, and freshly baked treats. Each booth is piled high with autumn delights—jars of golden honey, hand-painted gourds nestled among small pumpkins, and cozy knit scarves draped invitingly over wooden displays.

But Satoru’s attention is instantly captivated by the booth ahead—his eyes brimming in boyish wonder as they land on a display of sweet treats.

“Is that cider? And caramel apples?” he exclaims. “Come on, we have to try these,” and he’s steering you both eagerly towards the booth—like a moth to a flame.

You blink—a little surprised by how openly delighted he is over something so simple. But soon, a warm smile breaks across your face, and you can’t help but chuckle softly while he tugs you along.

“You’re like a kid in a candy store right now.”

Glancing over his shoulder, he flashes you a grin so bright, it feels like a burst of sunlight breaking through the autumn clouds. His enthusiasm is contagious, and before you know it, you’re swept up in his excitement.

He eagerly orders three caramel apples and a steaming cup of cider to share. Then, turning back, he holds the treats up with a triumphant, radiant smile—gleaming with delight. Handing the first one to Haru, you watch as she sinks her small teeth into the sticky treat without hesitation.

“Mmm! Yummy!!” Caramel smears her cheeks, but she looks up at you both, absolutely beaming.

Satoru chuckles, reaching down to ruffle her hair fondly before turning back to you. With an exaggerated flourish, he extends a caramel apple in your direction—bowing slightly as he adopts a tone of mock chivalry.

“For you, my lady,” he says with a smirk.

Unable to hold back a grin, you roll your eyes at his theatrics—taking the apple from him.

“Why, thank you, kind sir.”

As you bring the treat to your mouth, the rich sweetness clings to your lips in a sticky kiss. But you can’t resist glancing over at Satoru—and there he is, utterly lost in the simple pleasure of it. He bites into his own apple with unfiltered delight, like it’s the best thing he’s had all day.

A smile pulls at your lips as you watch him—licking a stray bit of caramel from his thumb. He’s entirely unbothered by the sticky mess, but then, as if feeling your gaze, he looks up—catching your eyes with a glint of amusement. A slow, satisfied grin spreads across his face, unashamed and utterly charming.

"I didn’t peg you as someone who’d go for something this messy," you tease, taking another bite of your apple as he shrugs.

“You say messy; I say worth it,” he counters.

Your eyes linger on a small smudge of caramel at the corner of his mouth, and without thinking, you reach out—brushing your thumb gently across his lips to clean it away. But just as you begin to pull your hand back, he captures your fingers—holding them in place while his gaze meets yours. His lips curl into a smirk that promises nothing but trouble, and a shiver tingles up your spine the moment he brings your thumb to his lips.

Slowly, deliberately, he closes his lips around your thumb—enveloping the sticky sweetness in his warm mouth while sucking it off with a teasing slowness—leaving you breathless.

“You’re impossible…” you mutter.

Releasing your digit with a soft, tantalizing pop—your breath hitches, and there’s a smug delight in the way he studies you, reveling in the effect he’s stirred within you.

“What can I say?” he hums, licking his lips with a casual ease. “Sweet things are my weakness.”

Your eyes are helplessly drawn to his lips—watching as his tongue glides over his bottom lip, catching the last traces of caramel. For a heartbeat, you can’t look away; his lips look even more tempting than the caramel itself, and something about his self-assured gaze has you feeling flustered and captivated all at once.

“Your weakness, huh?” you breathe, finally managing to lift your gaze back to his, trying to sound nonchalant. “Good to know… I’ll remember that next time you act like you’re above everyone else.”

A rich, low chuckle rumbles from his chest as he leans in, and the air around you crackles with anticipation as his gaze drops to your still sticky lips.

“You should,” he whispers, his eyes flicking back up to meet yours—a glint of mischief and something softer. “Especially since caramel apples aren’t my only weakness.”

Before you can even catch your breath, he leans in, bridging the small distance between you until his lips hover just a whisper away. His mouth brushes against yours, feather-light at first—a tentative, lingering touch that sends a shiver through you. Instinctively, you find yourself mirroring his movements, returning the kiss with gentle insistence.

As his hand comes up to cradle your face, his thumb strokes a slow, comforting line along your cheek, grounding you, though his lips leave you feeling weightless. The kiss is a delicate dance, as intoxicating as it is tender, and you can taste the faint sweetness of caramel mingling with the warmth of him.

Pulling back, his warm breath mingles with your own as he rests his forehead gently against you. His eyes, soft and half-lidded, meet yours, and a small, satisfied smile tugs at his lips.

“You know…” he murmurs, caressing your cheek, “you taste even better than the caramel.”

“Sweet talker…” you mumble, your cheeks warming under his gaze as his smirk widens.

“Mmm, but you’re the sweetest thing here,” he breathes, voice dropping as he draws close again. “But… I think I need another taste. Just to be sure.”

This time, his lips press with a deeper, more assured insistence, moving against yours in a rhythm of warmth and quiet intensity. A low hum of approval escapes him, vibrating softly against your lips, and his hand slides to the back of your neck—fingers weaving through your hair as he tilts his head, deepening the kiss.

But just as you begin to lose yourself in the moment, a small, determined voice slices through the quiet intimacy like a record scratch.

“Hey!” Haru scolds, stern and resolute. “Bad ‘toru! Don’t squish Mama!”

Startled, you both break apart, blinking at each other as you catch your breath. You turn to see Haru standing nearby, her little arms crossed over her chest as she fixes Satoru with an adorably fierce look. Her brows are furrowed in a way that would be intimidating—if she weren’t so tiny.

Oh, Haru.

You exchange a quick, sheepish glance with Satoru, and he lets out a quiet chuckle, reaching down to ruffle her hair in an attempt to defuse her stern gaze.

“Don’t worry, kiddo,” he says, grinning. “Mama’s tougher than she looks.”

Wriggling out of his reach, she stomps her foot with a determined huff.

“That’s my Mama! You be nice, ‘kay?”

Satoru blinks—the corners of his mouth twitching up as he struggles to keep a straight face. Biting back a grin, he raises his hands in mock surrender.

“Right. You got it boss,” he nods solemnly. “I’ll be extra nice.”

There’s a brief pause as Haru narrows her eyes at Satoru.

“Promise ‘toru?”

“Promise.” He taps his chest for emphasis, as if making a sacred vow.

After a long, scrutinizing pause—deciding whether to take his promise seriously—Haru nods, a satisfied “hmmph” escaping her as she plops down beside you with her candy apple in hand.

“No more squishing,” she mumbles around a bite—keeping a wary eye on him.

That’s it—you can’t hold it in any longer. Laughter bubbles out of you, and Satoru glances up, catching your eye with a grin that’s equal parts amused and exasperated.

“Well…” he sighs, as if he’s been given the most impossible mission, “guess I’ve been told.”

ꨄ︎

As the three of you meander through the pumpkin patch, Haru skips along—tugging on your hands and pointing out each new discovery in delight—a scarecrow with a tilted hat, a butterfly fluttering briefly on a tall stalk of corn, a perfectly round pumpkin nestled under twisting vines.

Then, bouncing on her toes, she points toward a massive, lumbering tractor—its green paint chipped and worn, but still carrying an undeniable charm.

“Look, ‘toru! I wanna ride it!” she exclaims.

As Satoru’s eyes narrow on the rumbling machine, you can see the gears turning in his head. Him—a man of luxury and refinement, clambering onto a dusty old tractor?

But after one look at Haru’s eager face, his resolve crumbles.

And of course, moments later, he’s perched on a bale of hay—Haru bouncing with delight on his lap as the tractor lurches to life. The wheels crunch over the fallen leaves, and Haru chatters happily, pointing out every bump and turn in the ride—blissfully unaware of the incongruity of a billionaire on a hay bale.

After the bumpy ride, the petting zoo became Haru’s next paradise. Dashing from pen to pen, her tiny hands pressed against each fence—pointing at each animal with wide-eyed wonder—calling out, “Look, Mama! Look, ‘toru!”

Each discovery sends her gazing up at Satoru with curious eyes, expecting him to know everything about each creature, and he humors her with a quiet patience—kneeling down beside her to answer her endless questions with a tender fondness that tugs at your heart.

But as you’re savoring this rare, serene moment, you feel a subtle shift in the air. From the corner of your eye, you catch sight of a woman a few feet away, dressed in a cozy autumn sweater and a scarf, her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail that spills over one shoulder. She’s dressed casual in appearance—completely harmless—but what unsettles you is the intensity in her gaze—a gaze that lingers on Satoru a bit too long.

At first, you try to brush it off. Maybe she’s just admiring him—after all, he’s breathtakingly attractive, and his presence has a way of turning heads even on his most inconspicuous days. But then, her expression shifts, morphing from idle admiration to something sharper.

Recognition.

Your heart sinks as you see her eyes widen, her mouth parting slightly in surprise. Holding your breath, you hope she’ll just let it go—that it’ll be a fleeting thought.

No such luck.

With a quick, subtle gesture, she nudges her friend beside her, her excitement barely contained. The friend follows her gaze, squinting slightly before her eyes, too, widen in realization. Their quiet murmurs are punctuated by eager glances your way, confirming your worst fear: they know who he is.

The comforting illusion of anonymity you’d clung to here—the precious notion that, for once, you could just be a regular family enjoying a simple day out—begins to fray at the edges, unraveling under the weight of their recognition. No matter how far you venture from the city, from his world of fame and fortune, it seems his reputation is impossible to outrun—constantly creeping back to claim him… to claim you.

Taking a deep breath, you slowly approach Satoru, who’s still kneeling by Haru as she excitedly babbles about the sheep. You crouch down beside him and gently place your hand on his shoulder—catching his attention. Turning to you, his expression softens at the sight of you—until he notices the concern in your eyes.

“They recognize you,” you murmur, tilting your head slightly toward the two women.

Following your glance, a shadow of something unreadable passes over his face as he takes in their intrigued, lingering stares, and for a moment, you feel the hopelessness creeping in—the reality that moments like these are fleeting—vulnerable to the slightest shift in attention.

But then, something shifts in Satoru’s expression—his gaze sharpening with determination as he catches sight of the disappointment settling in your eyes. Glancing around, he begins assessing the layout of the pumpkin patch—searching for an escape route.

Then, his gaze lands on it—a tall, winding corn maze, its entrance just a few yards away, partially hidden behind a cluster of hay bales.

Perfect.

Without a beat of hesitation, he leans in close to Haru—who’s blissfully caught up in a bunny nibbling on some hay.

“Agent Haru,” he intones with mock seriousness, “do you remember our mission?”

Haru’s head snaps up, her face lighting up instantly as she turns to him.

“Yeah!” she squeals, grinning with a spark of adventure.

“Good,” he nods, casting a quick, discreet glance toward the approaching women. “We need to escape without being spotted by those two ladies over there,” he gestures subtly, grinning. “Think you can handle it?”

Haru’s face scrunches up in concentration, and her tiny hands clench into fists as she straightens up. Her expression breaks into one of fierce determination—one that’s both adorable and earnest.

“Yes, ‘toru!” she whispers back, nodding.

With a reassuring smile, Satoru’s on his feet—taking your hand in one of his and Haru’s in the other.

“Hold on tight,” he quips, a smirk playing on his lips as the three of you dash toward the maze.

The moment you break into a run, Haru’s delighted giggles mix with the crunch of leaves underfoot, and soon you plunge into the tall, twisting rows of corn.

You steal a glance back towards the petting zoo, half-expecting to see the curious women following, but the corn closes in behind you like a cocoon, swallowing them from sight.

Satoru’s hand is warm around yours, grounding yet electrifying, and his laughter mingles with Haru’s squeals. With a sideways glance, his eyes meet yours and his grin is wide and exhilarating. Giving you a quick wink, he turns forward again, tugging you along as you dive deeper—daring you to keep up.

“Agent Haru, status report! Any enemies in sight?" he calls out in a mock-commanding tone.

Haru, bubbling with laughter, scans the rows of corn with exaggerated intensity—clutching his hand with fierce determination as her little legs pump as fast as they can.

"All clear ‘toru!" she yells back, brimming with excitement.

In that instant, the lingering worry, the quiet ache of reality, all of it dissolves into the thrill of escape—the magic of this moment. There’s no fame, no recognition, no judgement here; only the unrestrained joy of play, of racing through a maze as though the world is nothing but this stretch of golden corn and laughter.

You weave together through twists and turns—a blur of giggles and hurried footsteps until finally, you reach a small, secluded clearing tucked deep within the towering stalks.

Gasping for breath, you lean back against one of the tall stalks, and after a moment, you let yourself slide down to the ground—pulling your knees to your chest as you catch your breath, the crisp autumn air cooling your flushed cheeks.

Beside you, Satoru braces his hands on his knees, exhaling deeply before he follows your lead and sinks down onto the ground next to you. Though ahead, Haru seems immune to exhaustion. She’s already a few steps away, her eyes wide with wonder as she spots a butterfly lazily drifting through a patch of sunlight. Completely captivated, she crouches down, watching its gentle path—momentarily lost in her own little world.

Satoru’s eyes meet yours with a shared, silent thrill. Nudging your shoulder with his, a smirk tugs at his lips.

“Didn’t know a pumpkin patch would turn into a covert operation,” he exhales.

You laugh, breathlessly.

“Not exactly what I had in mind for a relaxing day out,” you give his knee an affectionate shove with yours. “But… I guess life with you is never boring.”

He chuckles, throwing his head back and gazing up at the autumn sky—a few streaks of orange and pink peeking through the corn tops.

“Well…” his eyes flicker to yours, sparkling with that familiar, teasing gleam. “You did sign up for the full Gojo experience. Adventures, paparazzi, occasional cornfield chases… it’s all part of the package sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes, though you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips.

“Uh-huh, sure, sure. I just thought it would involve more champagne and less running,” you quip, nudging him playfully.

“Oh, you want champagne?” he grins, raising an eyebrow in mock challenge. “You sure you can handle it? Remember that first charity gala? You were practically clinging to me by the end of the night.”

Your cheeks flush at the memory, and you laugh, slightly flustered.

“Okay, but did you expect me to be completely unfazed? My first gala, fancy dresses, and…"

The words die on your lips—the memory of that night creeping in; the low lights, the glint of champagne glasses, and then… that kiss. Your first kiss—with Satoru.

A kiss that was completely under the guise of putting on a show for Naoya… though let’s be real, it was anything but pretend.

Satoru’s eyes light up with interest as he catches your hesitation, his smirk widening like a cat about to pounce.

“Go on. Fancy dresses and… what, exactly?” he prompts, a playful drawl.

As he tilts his head with that infuriatingly charming glint in his eye, you know, that he knows, exactly what you were thinking. Ugh. He can be infuriating.  

Your cheeks burn as you try to wave it off.

“Nothing! Just… the whole night was… overwhelming,” you mumble, trailing off as you divert your gaze.

A low, amused hum escapes him—rumbling through his chest as his knowing look revels in your embarrassment.

“Overwhelming, huh?” he echoes, grin widening. “Interesting choice of words… considering you were the one who practically jumped me in front of your ex.”

With an exasperated groan, you roll your eyes in protest.

“Well, what can I say?” you sigh, feigning indifference as you rest your head on your knees. “Drastic times called for drastic measures.”

“Mmm-hmm, sure, keep telling yourself that,” he chuckles—dropping his head to rest against his own knees. You hold your breath as his blue eyes catch yours with a quiet, teasing intensity. “But… I’m pretty sure you just couldn’t resist me…” his crooked grin grows, “after all, that kiss was all you.”

You scoff, your cheeks heating as you stretch your legs—trying to hide your amusement. “I think you’re misremembering things. If anything, you were the one clinging to me.”

His laughter spills out, rich and unrestrained. With a content sigh, he follows your movements, stretching out beside you.

“Sure, sure. Believe what you want, sweetheart.”

The comfortable silence settles over you, and you find yourself glancing back to where Haru is still entranced by a butterfly drifting through the sunlight, her face lit with pure wonder.

She’s so… happy. And that fills you with a deep, quiet gratitude. Moments like these are what you’ve always wanted for her. It’s what she deserves, and it warms your heart to know you’re able to give her a day like this.

A sigh escapes your lips, and your voice softens into a gentle murmur as you nod in her direction.

“For a minute there… I really thought we’d have to cut the day short.”

Satoru’s gaze flickers over to Haru, a fond smile softening his expression before he turns back to you. Without a word, he reaches for your hand—fingers intertwining with yours, steady and grounding.

“Nah,” he murmurs, quietly but firmly. “Not a chance. Nothing’s cutting this short. Todays about you and Haru.”

A warmth blooms in your chest, melting away any lingering traces of tension as his words sink in, wrapping around your heart like a gentle embrace. You smile, squeezing his hand in return.

“Just us, huh?” you whisper.

“Just us,” he echoes, brushing your knuckles with his thumb.

Then, with a soft sigh and a playful glint in his eye, he unclasps your hand to raises both hands to his mouth, calling out to Haru.

“Hey, Agent Haru!” he shouts, “Ready to finish our mission?”

Haru’s head snaps up, her eyes bright with excitement. She breaks into a grin and dashes over, grabbing each of your hands with her small, eager fingers.

“Yay!! C’mon mama, ‘toru! Let’s go!!”

ꨄ︎

As the golden light of early evening filters through the trees, the day is winding down, and the three of you start making your way back toward the entrance—weaving through the brightly colored stalls—each one bathed in the honeyed light of sunset.

But then, just as you reach the last stretch of the path, a delighted squeal breaks Haru’s focus the moment her gaze lands on a large, freshly raked pile of leaves just off to the side—a mound of vibrant reds, oranges, and yellows stacked high like a miniature mountain waiting to be conquered. Without a second thought, she breaks free from Satoru’s hand—dashing toward the pile with uncontainable excitement.

Zeroing in on the pile, she abruptly halts—her tiny form silhouetted against the colorful heap. You watch curiously as she glances back over her shoulder—her eyes alight with mischief and her cheeks flushed pink from the chill in the air.

Beaming with the thrill of discovery, she flings herself into the pile—a burst of leaves scattering around her in a vibrant whirlwind as she bursts into a fit of giggles.

“‘toru, look, look!” she calls out, peeking up from within the pile. “Come play, ‘toru! Come play!”

Satoru stops, watching her with a raised brow and an amused grin. He chuckles softly, though you can hear the reluctance coloring his tone. Diving headfirst into a pile of leaves? Clearly, that’s a foreign concept for Satoru Gojo—it’s more of that childlike wonder he missed out on.

Noticing his hesitance, you step up beside him—giving him a teasing nudge with your shoulder.

“C’mon ‘toru, afraid of a few leaves? Don’t tell me the ‘perfect’ Mr. Gojo is worried about getting a little dirt on him?”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes—though a smile is already tugging at his lips.

“Afraid? Me?” his hands burrow into his hoodie pocket as he casts you a sideways glance. “Hardly. I’m just… y’know… assessing the situation.”

Biting back a grin, you begin to take a few slow, deliberate steps backwards—inching toward the pile where Haru is waiting as your eyes hold his with a silent dare.

“Assessing, huh?” you raise an eyebrow and smirk. “Mmm… I dunno, sounds like stalling to me. Come on, live a little, Mr. Gojo.”

He smirks, but before he can respond, you twirl around and dive into the pile beside Haru—scattering a burst of leaves around you. Your laughter blends with Haru’s giggle as you sink into the softness, and immediately, she reaches for a handful of leaves—tossing them up in the air so they flutter down like confetti.

Satoru tilts his head, grinning but not budging as the kaleidoscope of autumn colors rain down upon you both. But Haru? She’s not about to let him sit this one out.

Peeking over her shoulder, her eyes immediately set back on Satoru, and her expression morphs into one of adorable determination.

“’toooooru,” she whines, wide eyes practically glowing with hope. “Pleeease. Come play!”

Oh, Haru. He’s powerless against her persistence—and perhaps, against the joy that radiates from the two of you in that pile of leaves. With a theatrical sigh and a reluctant grin, he finally pulls his hands from his pockets.

“Alright, alright,” he mutters, mostly to himself, and makes his way towards the leaf pile.

Standing at the edge of the pile, he kneels down to brush his hand over the crisp leaves—and then, with a sudden burst of resolve and dramatic flair, he lets himself fall back into the pile—flopping down as the leaves scatter around him. Haru wastes no time throwing herself on top of him.

An exaggerated grunt slips through Satoru’s lips, and Haru bursts into laughter as her small hands begin to bury him under a layer of vibrant foliage.

“Oh no!” he lets out a mock gasp as she buries him deeper. “I’m being buried alive! Save me!”

Haru’s laughter bubbles up, uncontrollable and infectious, as she adds even more leaves. “Stay still!” she scolds through her giggles, patting the leaves around his arms. “Don’t move, ‘toru!

“So, I’m supposed to just lie here and accept my fate, huh?” he huffs in defeat and glances up at her with wide eyes. “Are you sure this isn’t some secret plan to take me out?”

“Shhh!” she grins, putting a finger to his lips. “Magic leaves.”

“Oh, magic leaves? Well, why didn’t you say so?” his eyes glint with amusement as he lies still, trying to keep a straight face, though the laughter in his voice betrays him.

Haru continues to stack leaves atop him with a determined precision, until for a moment, she pauses—her eyes narrowing with that familiar glimmer of mischief yet again, as if she’s calculating her next move. Then suddenly, with a burst of energy, she tackles him with all her might—giggling as she sends the carefully arranged pile of leaves flying in every direction.

“Oh, it’s on!” Satoru laughs, his own grin widening as he grabs a handful of leaves to fling back at her. “You think you can get me like that, huh?”

In an instant, they’re caught in a whirlwind of laughter and autumn leaves. Seated nearby, you observe their playful battle unfold—Haru shrieking with joy as she ducks and scrambles to gather more ammunition. The warmth in your chest blossoms, and you feel almost entranced by the sight before you.

As Satoru’s deep, unrestrained laughter blends with Haru’s giggles, you realize in this moment just how rare it is to see him like this—completely carefree and unguarded. Gone is the man who must always play his part. Gone is the man who so often conceals his true self beneath layers of poise and duty. Here, with Haru, he is simply Satoru—someone who can laugh until he’s breathless and lose himself in a child’s game without a care.

You wonder how many other moments like this he’s missed—the boyish enthusiasm makes it seem almost as if he, too, is experiencing this kind of carefree fun for the first time. And that alone makes this moment feel so precious—something you wish you could capture and keep forever—suspended in time.

He deserves to feel this light, this unburdened.

“Okay, okay! I surrender!” he finally laughs, throwing his hands up in mock defeat before collapsing back into the pile—his chest rising and falling with exhilarated breaths as Haru cheers in victory.

“Gotcha, ‘toru!” she declares proudly—triumphantly piling more leaves on him. “You’re a leaf monster!”

Satoru chuckles, brushing a stray leaf off his nose as he props himself up slightly. “A leaf monster?” his eyes gleam playfully. “Well… you better be careful then—I might come back with vengeance.”

She squeals with laughter and her eyes sparkle with excitement as she scrambles to her feet. “Ahhh! Go away ‘toru!” she shrieks—darting away to dive into another pile of leaves nearby.

Watching her go, Satoru’s expression softens—a peaceful sigh slipping past his lips as he takes a moment to catch his breath. “She’s got endless energy, doesn’t she?” he murmurs, tilting his head up to meet your gaze.

Your heart flutters at the warmth in his eyes, and you lean back on your hands, letting your own smile mirror his as you watch Haru’s figure disappear into another pile of leaves. “She does,” you breathe softly. “But… I think you’re doing a pretty good job keeping up.”

A quiet hum of contentment escapes him, and a soft smile tugs at his lips. Almost instinctively, he shifts closer, letting his head nestle in your lap as he leans back into the leaves.

“Maybe…” he trails off into a lazy, satisfied sigh. “But I think I’ll take a break right here… if that’s okay.”

As the dappled sunlight filters through the golden autumn leaves above, it casts soft shadows across his face—illuminating the gentle warmth in his eyes. Your heart swells at the sight, and without a word, you reach out—threading your fingers through his hair, each strand slipping through your fingertips, softer than you expected. He hums, sinking into your touch, his eyes drifting shut as a slow, contented smile spreads across his lips.

Around you, the world seems to quiet, holding its breath. Haru’s distant giggles mingle with the soft rustling of leaves stirred by a gentle breeze, wrapping the two of you in a cocoon of peace.

“You know…” you murmur, “I think this is my favorite side of you.”

His eyes flutter open, a flicker of surprise giving way to something unguarded and vulnerable. Slowly, a tender smile forms on his lips as he reaches up, brushing his hand gently against yours.

“Yeah?” he drawls, “Didn’t know I had a ‘favorite side.’”

“You do…” your fingers trace gentle circles through his hair, savoring the feel of each delicate touch. “It’s the side where you don’t have to be anything but… here, with us.”

For a heartbeat, he’s utterly still, as if each word you’ve spoken has wrapped itself around his heart. His gaze deepens, and your breath catches—it’s like he’s seeing you in a way that reaches beyond words. Gently, his hand comes up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear—his fingertips grazing your cheek with a touch so tender it makes your heart ache.

“Guess I didn’t know I could just… be that,” he whispers.

You lift your hand, covering his and pressing it to your cheek. “Well, you can. With us, you always can.”

His gaze holds yours, something vulnerable yet content in his eyes, but then, as if unable to help himself, the warmth shifts into a familiar glint—a spark of playfulness creeping back into his expression. “Alright, alright…” he lets out an exaggerated sigh, “let’s not get too sentimental. I gotta keep up my ‘mysterious’ reputation, remember?”

A laugh spills from you, light and unrestrained, as you roll your eyes in amusement. “Oh, you’re plenty mysterious. Half the time, I still can’t tell if you’re serious or just messing with me.”

He lets out a long, exaggerated sigh, leaning back further into your lap as if he’s completely relaxed—the picture of contentment.

“You should know by now…” he murmurs, feigning seriousness as he closes his eyes, “…it’s usually both.”

The corners of his mouth twitch, barely hiding the smirk he’s trying to restrain, and you can’t help but shake your head, grinning at his theatrics.

“Well… for the record,” your voice naturally softens, “I think a little tenderness suits you.”

One eye flicks open at your words, his brow quirking as he regards you with amused curiosity. Closing his eye again, his smirk deepens as he nestles further into your lap.

“Oh, does it?” he murmurs lazily, but there’s no mistaking the glint of interest coloring his tone.

“Yup,” you reply, leaning back on your hands and glancing up at the sky with feigned indifference. “I dunno… it’s kinda cute, actually.”

The words slip out like a quiet confession, and you notice the shift in him immediately—a subtle but unmistakable change.

Unable to keep up his act any longer, a bright, satisfied grin breaks across his face as he sits up—lifting his head from your lap—and his fingers slip through yours, intertwining and pulling you near him.

“Cute?” his voice drops as he brings his face achingly close to yours. “Careful now… saying things like that? You’re gonna get yourself in trouble.”

You feel your heart pounding—the thrill of his closeness electrifying as his breath fans your skin, but you hold his gaze boldly with a smirk.

“Well, maybe I like a little trouble,” you whisper back.

A playful growl rumbles in his chest, his smirk deepening as he tightens his grip on your intertwined hands.

“Oh… now you’re really asking for it. You’re officially in trouble.”

In one swift motion, he wraps his arms around you—sending you both tumbling back into the soft bed of leaves. The world around you blurs into a whirl of amber and gold as laughter escapes your lips, filling the crisp autumn air. But as you settle, your laughter fades, leaving only a quiet, shared breath between you and a gentle smile lingering on both your faces.

Hovering above you, his gaze softens as the leaves cradle you beneath their rustling blanket. It’s as though he’s committing every detail to memory as his eyes trace each curve and contour of your face, and you take in a quiet breath as his hand finds its way up your cheek—brushing over your skin and making you melt under his touch.

“Gotcha,” he whispers, brushing his nose gently against yours.

A quiet gasp slips past your lips, your pulse quickening as his proximity becomes all-consuming. Still, you muster a playful eye-roll, though the warmth in your gaze betrays your affection.

“Is this your idea of ‘assessing the situation,’?”

“Absolutely,” he murmurs, eyes softening. “God, you’re beautiful…”

The sincerity in his voice leaves you breathless, and a warmth blooms in your cheeks that reaches all the way to your heart. Before you can respond, he closes the distance—his lips capturing yours in a kiss so soft, so achingly tender, it leaves you dizzy.

As he deepens the kiss, a soft sigh escapes you, your fingers finding their way into his hair, pulling him closer. Each brush of his lips is slow, deliberate—and everything else fades into nothingness, leaving only the warmth of his touch, the press of his lips, and the steady rhythm of your heartbeats entwined.

But just as you’re about to melt entirely into him, a tiny voice breaks through the haze of warmth and closeness.

“Hey!” Haru’s voice calls out, stern and unwavering. “Bad ‘toru!”

Pulling back, Satoru groans softly, chuckling under his breath. His gaze flicks to Haru, who stands with her hands on her hips, looking every bit the tiny but fierce protector. He drops his head in defeat, shooting you a look of amused resignation.

“Well, looks like we’ve been caught,” he whispers, brushing a stray leaf from your hair with a soft, lingering touch.

You stifle a laugh, trying to keep your composure as you glance back at Haru.

“We should probably get back to her before she starts scolding you again,” you sigh, rising to your feet with his help.

“Yeah, I don’t think I can handle another ‘squishing’ intervention,” he mutters, intertwining his fingers with yours as you both walk back to Haru, who’s watching the two of you with narrowed, all-seeing eyes.

With the sun dipping lower in the sky, it paints the fields in shades of amber and gold. The three of you make your way back toward the entrance of the pumpkin patch—Haru skipping along, her small hands clasped in both of yours as she chatters excitedly about everything she saw—even as the day winds down.

But as you approach the entrance, ready to leave this little haven of laughter and leaves behind, a quiet warmth settles in your chest—a feeling that this moment, this fleeting, joyful day with the people you cherish most, is a memory you’ll carry with you. This is your little family, and it’s worth all the chases, all the whispers, all the adventures.

For now, that’s all that matters.

thanks for reading this special little fall chapter! satoru is such a cutie pie with haru 🥹 i really wanted to have this out before october ended, but alas, my perfectionism kept holding me back 😅 anyways, ch 7 is indeed in the works—that'll be my next post, and it will be out by the end of this month. i appreciate you all being so patient, hope you had a lovely halloween 🎃 -aly 💛

taglist:

@geniejunn @fortunatelyfurrygiver @rosso-seta @acowboykisser @mikyapixie

@shokosbunny @fire-child-kira @aluvrina @laviefantasie @kurookinnie

@poopypipi @painted-hills @stillserene @mira-lol @k-kkiana

@sebastianlover @blueberrysungie @kalulakunundrum @doireallyhavetonamthis @lingophilospher

@ichikanu @artist1936 @christianacj27 @watermelon-online @jkbangtan7

@angelina7890 @aruraa @han11dh @jonesmelodys @k1ttybean

@a-trashbag @jotarohat @khaleesihavilliard @tsukistopglazer @elliesndg

@maskedpacific @that-redheadd @lovelyartemisa @eolivy

@valleydoli @voids-universe @sukunadckrider @aishies-stuff

@saccharine-nectarine @ilianasau @pinksaiyans @gojoslefttoenail

[xoxochb]

I've been reading ur blurbs for so long and I wanted to ask if you could write Percy x daughter of ares reader? ur my favorite pjo writer <3

— king of my heart ꣑ৎ‧₊˚.

★ - “my broken bones are mending with all these nights we’re spending up on the roof with a school girl crush, drinking beer out of plastic cups”

warnings: alcohol consumption, swearing per usual, making out, enemies-ish to lovers, 10 things I hate about you reference, littering (don’t do this please!), I’m TERRIBLE at writing love confessions sorry 😣 pairing: percy jackson x daughter of ares

you and percy never really got along. it was useless banter after another, purposely trying to infuriate each other all the time. and for what reason? you were unsure, that’s just the way things were and you accepted them as they were. but as a daughter of ares you suppose anger and hatred ran through you naturally

ignoring, for only a moment, that you hated the son of poseidon it was an undeniable fact that he was incredibly attractive. most people at camp would agree with you on this, it was nearly impossible for you to find someone who hadn’t, at one point, had a crush on him. you hated yourself, truly, for letting yourself see him in this way. but then again, you couldn’t help it, not when he was so… him!

in the midsts of another cabin eleven party you escaped to the roof with a plastic cup of beer. perhaps drinking your problems away will make you forget you liked your enemy of all people. though to your unfortunate luck, the very occupant of your thoughts joins you soon after

“what is that? your third cup?” asks percy, sitting down beside you. you sigh and close your eyes, taking a moment to keep your composure before responding,

“fifth”

���gods of olympus…” he murmurs “don’t come crying to me when you’ve got a killer hangover”

“trust me, I won’t”

the atmosphere converted to silence following your statement. it was, though, peaceful, you enjoyed this moment. the cold midnight air nips harmfully along your exposed skin, a dress being the utterly wrong outfit choice for tonight— you suppose it had been worth it because in your defense the dress was stunning, style over comfort always

“what’re you doing up here? I mean, alone?” percy speaks up, breaking the silence

“I just wanted some peace and quiet”

he nods in understanding. you finish up the rest of you drink before throwing the cup off the roof for someone to find during clean up tomorrow morning

“you know, you’re not as vile as I thought you were”

your brows furrow confusedly. “what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know, I just-” percy stops himself from confessing further, conquering a new excuse instead “I always thought you were a terrible person, y’know? always trying to find ways to anger me. but you don’t seem half bad, not really”

you ponder for a moment before responding, “you’re not that bad either”

faintly, just maybe a tad, out of the corner of your eyes you see percy crack a smile, maybe if your delusions weren’t taking over you might have said a light blush painted his cheeks. he glances over at you, seeing your small shivers. gods— he’s so fucked. slowly, he slides off his black leather jacket and places it on your lap suddenly, making your eyes widen in confusion

“you’re cold, aren’t you?”

oh no not the blush. “I- yes. uhm- thank you… percy”

shit, the way his name sounds rolling off your tongue is enough to make him want to do anything for you. he wonders if you were aware of the affect you held over him. the silence became awkward at this point. should you say something? or should you leave and never speak to him again? perhaps it was the alcohol, maybe you were feeling oddly confident, but before you’re aware of what’s happening, your mouth seems to be speaking for you instead

“percy, I- can I tell you something? and promise me you won’t laugh”

“you can tell me something but I can’t make any promises on the laughing situation”

you roll your eyes. “that’s fine. I just- I wanted to tell you… ask you? I don’t know, it’s weird”

“and you’re not?”

“shut the fuck up” despite his idiotic comment you can’t help but laugh. there’s no way you’re about to confess to him “I- like you. and it’s stupid, I shouldn’t like you. but I do unfortunately so now I’m stuck”

“you… like me?”

you roll your eyes. “yes, just— forget it. I’m drunk anyways”

you attempt to crawl away but percy catches you and sits you atop his lap

“drunk words” he places his finger on your mouth, then moves it to your head “are sober thoughts”

“bullshit”

“you think I’m lying?” he laughs “ask anyone here”

“I- I’m not doing that. I’m leaving”

you try to leave again but his hands quickly reach up to grab your waist and keep you in place. you glare at him so hopefully he takes a hint that you’re not having this conversation, but in response he only smirks. suddenly, you feel a warmth along your neck, only when it’s too late do you realize it’s percy’s lips. maybe it was the alcohol, maybe you had wanted this, but you didn’t push him away. though you had questions still

“percy…” you murmur despite the fuzzy television static growing through your brain. he hums along your neck sending a vibration through your body (additionally an insane heat between your legs). “I- you… are you drunk?”

“I don’t drink”

of course he doesn’t

“then what—” you quickly shut your mouth to stop any idiotic thoughts from spilling out. but at the same time percy swiftly slots his lips over yours eliciting a gasp from you. there’s no way he wasn’t drunk, it was bullshit what he says. because who just ups and kisses their enemy because they’re bored? apparently he does. he pull back angrily making him frown

“we can’t— we can’t do this. we’re enemies”

“your point?” he settles for kissing along your neck again. you let that slide for now

“we- I mean… we’re supposed to hate each other”

“who said I ever hated you?”

oh shit

“you did”

he laughs at this, shaking his head in silence. you let your drunken state take over the moment and silence you. your cheeks flush a dark pink shade when your senses are momentarily snapped back as you realize your surroundings

you’re on the roof. with percy, your enemy. who’s currently manipulating you into thinking he never hated you. and he’s got his hands under your shirt and he’s kissing your neck

you’re so fucked

[brightlight-dazzlingeyes]

can you compete? | pedri gonzalez

🎾 synopsis: You’re a young, rising Spanish tennis player focused on success. But focus is harder to keep when your condo neighbor happens to be Pedri González. He thinks you’d make a perfect team; you’re convinced he’s nothing but a distraction. warnings: light enemy-to-lovers vibes, fluff and mentions of alcohol consumption. (around 3.2k words)

part 1

It’s early morning in Barcelona, and you’re grateful for the quietness. These moments, the rare times you’re actually home, are precious to you. It’s just you, your racket, and the comforting rhythm of a tennis ball echoing off your condo’s shared court.

You’re midway through a rally with yourself when you sense him leaning against the gate. He’s watching – no, studying you. And he doesn’t bother hiding it.

It’s almost embarrassing how often you’ve been catching sight of him lately – like the universe is playing a joke on you. Every time you glance up from the courts or the gym, he’s there, flashing an annoyingly perfect grin at anyone who looks his way.

And everyone’s always looking.

You’ve heard all the stories, of course. That he’s a playboy, a heartthrob, the kind of guy who seems to walk into every room with his own spotlight. His type is trouble for someone like you, focused, aiming high. You don’t need a distraction that comes with a fan club.

But then, here he is, leaning casually on the chain-link fence at the edge of the court, watching you with a crooked smile that makes your pulse kick up. He’s not even pretending to play it cool, and that makes you want to hit your next serve a little harder.

“Trying to impress me?” His voice carries across the empty court, the hint of a challenge lighting up his eyes.

You roll your eyes, hoping he doesn’t see the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Not everything’s about you, you know.”

He laughs, pushing off the fence and jogging over to where you stand. 

“Alright, fair, maybe I’m the one trying to impress you.”

“Don’t you have a game to train for?” you say, catching the ball mid-bounce, one eyebrow raised. 

“I’d rather watch you,” he replies, completely unbothered. It’s easy to see why he’s got a reputation: handsome, self-assured, carrying a charm that, by now, must be fine-tuned.

You roll your eyes, turning back to your practice, but you can feel his eyes on you. It’s hard to ignore the magnetic pull, the way he just… assumes. Like there’s no reason you wouldn’t feel the same spark he claims to see.

For him, it probably makes perfect sense – two rising stars, two athletes pushing the boundaries, both of you Spanish, both young, single and pretty. He probably thinks you’d make some kind of dream team.

But for you? You’re not sure you want the spotlight blending with your private life. Yet here he is, waiting, watching.

You toss the ball up for another serve, ignoring the way his presence makes the air feel charged. You tell yourself it doesn’t matter that he’s watching, that your focus is on the court. But when you glance over and he’s still there, a spark of determination flickers through you.

You could show him, really show him, what focus looks like.

“Want to join?” you call over, keeping your tone nonchalant.

His eyes widen a fraction, surprised at your invitation, but then he grins, crossing the court toward you. “Think you can handle it?”

You don’t bother replying; you just toss him a spare racket and settle into position. His confidence doesn’t faze you. You know your game, and as he takes his stance, you can see he’s trying to match the intensity in your eyes.

The rally begins, and it doesn’t take long to feel the rhythm of the game settle into place. He’s athletic, fast, clearly used to dominating on a field, but it’s different here. On the court, you know how to control each swing, each movement, the pace building until he’s panting, chasing after shots that hit just out of reach.

He misses a return, and you catch a quick, surprised look flashing across his face. It’s almost funny. 

“You’re really good,” he says, breathless, as he jogs back to his position.

You shrug, adjusting your grip on the racket. “Didn’t think I’d have to go easy on you.”

His laugh is loud, echoing around the empty court. “Alright, I get it. No mercy, then.” He wipes his brow with the back of his hand, and when you serve again, he’s throwing himself into every swing with even more energy, trying to keep up.

You keep pushing, refusing to let him break your concentration, but there’s something amusing about watching him struggle to meet your pace. The confidence he wore so easily when he first arrived is slowly giving way to real effort. A few more rounds, and you can tell he’s getting frustrated – and determined, his movements sharper, his brow furrowing as he chases down each shot.

But then, he misses again, his racket slicing through air, and he doubles over, panting. 

“Okay, I admit it,” he says between breaths, grinning up at you. “You’re better than I thought.”

“Thanks,” you say, barely out of breath, relishing the look on his face. You’re both laughing, the tension between you feeling easier now, almost natural.

And then he pulls his shirt over his head, wiping his face as he does, revealing a torso that’s as infuriatingly perfect as his smile. He catches you glancing, and his smile widens, clearly pleased with himself.

“Trying to distract me?” you question, raising an eyebrow.

“Is it working?” he shoots back, his voice full of playful arrogance as he drapes the shirt over his shoulder.

You shake your head, scoffing, but can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. You’re still not interested in the distraction, but you can’t deny he’s entertaining to have around.

“I’m Pedri, by the way.” He finally introduces himself, sticking out a hand.

“Yes, I know,” you reply, just barely resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “And you know who I am too, don’t you?”

He nods like he’s pleased you called him out. "Of course I do. Hard not to know."

It’s strange, though – after all the crossed paths and stolen glances, this is the first time you’ve actually exchanged names. His hand is warm when you shake it, and there’s an easy confidence in his grip.

“It's funny, right? Somehow, we never got around to introductions,” Pedri says.

You shrug, pulling your hand back. “Guess it didn’t seem necessary.”

“Or maybe you were avoiding it,” he teases, letting his eyes linger just a bit longer than usual. “Hard to get close to you, isn’t it?”

“I’m just here to train.”

His laughter fills the empty court. “Yeah, I noticed that,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “And I thought I worked hard.”

“Some of us don’t rely on charm alone,” you counter, tossing the ball up for another serve.

He watches, and though his expression is playful, there’s something else in his eyes – an understanding, maybe, or a spark of recognition. You might both play different sports, but in some way, he seems to get it: the drive, the endless hours, the need to push yourself to the edge.

For a second, he’s just another athlete, a competitor with the same fire you have.

Then he breaks the silence. “Maybe I’ll have to start coming to the court more often. Could use a rival like you.”

“Or someone to keep you humble,” you add.

part 2

You didn’t expect to see him here, not like this, face flushed and bright from a few too many drinks, eyes lighting up the moment you step into the room. You’re barely through the door when Pedri spots you; he makes his way over, steady but just a little wobbly, and you brace yourself for whatever antics he might have up his sleeve tonight.

“Hey, superstar,” he greets you with a dramatic flair, slinging an arm over your shoulder like he’s known you forever. “You’re late.” He says it as though he’s been waiting all night just to see you, like maybe his whole night’s been on pause until now.

Your friends exchange looks, hiding laughs, but Pedri doesn’t notice. He’s too busy guiding you toward the kitchen, asking if you’ve eaten yet, if you need a drink, if you’re “sure those heels are comfortable” because they look way too high. He’s eyeing them like they’re an injury waiting to happen.

“Careful,” he says, putting a hand on your elbow as you step over a stack of cups. “Don’t need you twisting your ankle, okay? They’re valuable assets to Spain.”

Turns out your friend who’s turning 21 today is actually a mutual friend, and Pedri makes sure to explain that detail to you, like he’d hoped it would be his ticket to seeing you here tonight.

You’re not usually one to drink, but come on, tonight is your close friend’s birthday party, it feels impossible to say no. And a couple of drinks? What’s the worst that could happen? It’s almost the end of the year, and the seasons have been bleeding together – match after match, the endless bounce of the ball inside those white lines. You’re not quite at burnout, but you’re close enough to feel it hovering around the edges. So you let yourself have a little fun.

After a couple of drinks, you’re as drunk as everyone else in the room, feeling light and fuzzy. And suddenly, Pedri makes all the sense in the world. You’re both nestled together on the couch, close enough to feel the warmth of his arm draped around you, the noise of the party fading in the background as you both look at each other like the world just zoomed in on you two. For anyone outside, it’s a ridiculous sight.

Pedri leans close, his mouth just by your ear. “Do you need water? I’ll get you some water.” His voice is earnest, like he’s on a mission, and before you can respond, he’s up, making his way across the room in a slightly unsteady line.

The moment he’s gone, your friends are on you, smirking and whispering. “Oh, he’s definitely into you,” one of them laughs.

You roll your eyes, trying to downplay the warmth creeping up your cheeks. “He’s like that with everybody,” you murmur, brushing it off just as he returns.

“Not everyone, no,” he meets your eyes with a seriousness that catches you off guard. “Just you.” he says, his words drenched in sincerity. And it might have been more meaningful if he didn’t almost drop the glass of water as he tried to hand it over.

You laugh, steadying the glass in his hands. “Maybe you need this more than I do,” you tease, guiding the water to his lips and watching as he drinks.

“Let’s get you some fresh air,” you say, placing a steady hand on his back as you guide him outside the party.

Outside, the night air is cool, and you’re both silent for a moment, just letting it clear your heads. Then, Pedri leans against the wall, hands in his pockets.

"I haven’t been to one of these in a while," he admits, glancing around.

"You mean a party?” you laugh, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I’m serious,” he says, his tone soft but serious. “I’ve been working hard, trying to stay in good shape. And when I found out about tonight, I just thought... well, I’d probably get a chance to see you here. I figured it was worth coming. Then you didn’t show up for a while, and I thought, okay, maybe I’ll have a few drinks and head home. And now… now I’m half-drunk and probably made a complete fool of myself in front of you.”

You feel the warmth creeping up your cheeks, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. His confession hangs between you, and for a second, it’s almost too much. You’re not ready for this – at least, not tonight.

“I know what it’s like, not having time for parties or friends,” you say, looking anywhere but at him. “I’m just… I’m just glad we’re getting to have fun tonight.”

He’s quiet for a beat, and when you finally look back at him, there’s something unreadable in his gaze – a hint of disappointment, maybe.

“Yeah,” he says, nodding slowly, his smile dimming a little. “Me too. I’m glad we’re both here.” He straightens up, brushing the moment aside. “Do you want to go back inside? I think I’m feeling better now.”

Inside, Pedri keeps his distance, giving you space to be with your friends. There’s a subtle shift in him, like he’s taken a small step back, maybe a little hurt by how you brushed off his words earlier. But even with the room he’s given you, your eyes keep finding him across the crowd, drawn back to him.

As the party winds down, your sober friend offers to drive you both home. You and Pedri are tipsy, giggly, and hushed into the back seat, his shoulder pressing against yours. Every little bump on the road sets you both off into laughter over nothing in particular, the comfortable kind of closeness you wouldn’t have allowed at the start of the night.

When the car pulls up in front of your place, you both stumble out, waving goodbye to your friend as they drive off. Pedri follows you to your door, hands in his pockets. There’s a quiet pause between you, and for a moment, everything feels lighter, warmer.

Without much thought, you lean in, ready to end the night with a kiss. But he puts a hand up, stopping you gently.

“No, wait,” he says. He scratches the back of his neck, glancing down before meeting your eyes again. “I want to do this right, you know? Take you on a real date.”

You blink, surprised, his words taking a second to sink in. He stands there looking different somehow – uncertain in a way that’s almost too sincere.

“Why?” you ask, brushing off your own awkwardness with a smile. “What if I don’t feel the same way tomorrow?”

He laughs, but there’s determination in his words. “Then I’ll ask you tomorrow. And we’ll see.”

It’s hard to tell if he’s playing some long game or if he actually means it. But tonight, you decide not to question it. You nod, turning your key in the door, and before stepping inside, you shoot him a small smile.

“Goodnight, Pedri,” you say, not entirely sure about what comes next.

part 4

The court feels different this morning. Usually, it’s your escape – a place where everything falls into rhythm. But today, every bounce of the ball feels heavier, slower. You keep glancing toward the gate, distracted, wondering if he’ll actually show up. The fact that you’re even hoping he will surprises you.

Finally, after what feels like forever, you catch sight of him. He’s lingering at the fence, scanning the court with a nervous edge before his eyes settle on you. There’s a hesitation in his expression you haven’t seen before. It’s a strange look for him.

You’re sweating from practice, and as soon as you realize how out of breath and flushed you must look, a wave of self-consciousness hits. You’re suddenly aware of every strand of hair stuck to your forehead and every patch of dampness on your shirt. Not exactly how you pictured this moment, but there’s no backing out now.

“Hey,” he says, stepping onto the court with a tentative smile.

“Hey,” you reply, doing your best to keep it casual as you wipe your forehead with the back of your hand. “You’re here.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, scratching the back of his neck as he glances around like he’s never been on a court before. “I told you I’d show up.”

You both fall silent for a second, and it’s almost...awkward. He’s usually so confident, but today there’s something different – a softness, maybe even a hint of uncertainty. Like he’s trying to gauge if you’re still open to this, whatever this is.

You hand him the spare racket, and he takes it with a sheepish grin. “Promise you won’t be too hard on me?”

“No promises,” you tease, falling into an easy rally.

As you both start hitting back and forth, the tension loosens, replaced by a comfortable rhythm. He’s not half bad, but you’re still making him chase the ball from one end of the court to the other. It’s fun watching him struggle, laughing every time he stumbles but refusing to give up.

“Wow,” he says, catching his breath, “This is... intense.”

You shrug, laughing. “Or maybe you’re just out of shape.”

He shakes his head, laughing along. But then he stops, staring at you for just a second too long.

“You should go on a date with me.” His voice is soft, almost vulnerable.

You blink, momentarily caught off guard. “A date?” You toss the ball lightly in your hand, trying to keep your composure.

“Yeah.” He nods, his eyes not leaving yours, searching for your reaction. “I know I’m probably out of my league here, but I thought it was worth a shot. Just one date.”

There’s something disarming about his honesty. You hadn’t expected this level of sincerity from him, especially not after the way he usually carries himself. You bounce the ball again, the motion a nervous habit. “What makes you think you can keep up with me?” you ask, attempting to sound playful.

He laughs, reaching up to catch the ball mid-bounce. “I’m tougher than I look,” he says, holding the ball out to you, but when you reach for it, he keeps it just out of your reach, a playful challenge.

“Oh, I see,” you say, trying to swipe it from him, but he pulls back, chuckling.

In the end, you stop reaching. You pause, crossing your arms, your heart racing. “Okay,” you say finally, surprising yourself with your willingness. “One date.”

His eyes light up with delight, and the earlier hesitation fades. “So, are you going to let me kiss you after the date?” you ask, half-joking, remembering how he held back after the party.

He gets serious for a second, then breaks into a big smile. “You can kiss me right now if you want!”

You laugh nervously, hyper-aware of the sweat on your skin. “I don’t know… I feel kind of gross right now.”

He shrugs, totally unfazed. “I really don’t mind at all.”

The sincerity in his voice cuts through your self-consciousness, and before you can second-guess yourself, you step forward and press your lips to his. 

The kiss is sweet and a little messy, but honestly? It’s everything you didn’t even know you needed. It’s like a light switch flipped on, sparking something deep inside you. For that moment, the whole world outside the court just fades away. His lips are soft, and there’s this warmth spreading through you, making you forget all about the awkwardness from just a second ago.

When you pull back, you’re both breathless, caught in the moment, and the connection is still buzzing between you. His eyes are wide, like he can’t believe what just happened, and it’s kind of adorable watching him process it all. You can’t help but smile back at him. Seeing him distracted, you reach for the tennis ball in his hand. “See you on our one date, then.”

He just stares as you walk away, surprise and delight flickering across his face. “Hey, you can’t just run off with that!”

You laugh and give him a cheeky wave over your shoulder as you head off.

[phoenixcatch7]

Deep in my ff7 rereads so here are my favourite fandom fics, hands down.

End as you mean to begin <- 130k+ of time travelling cloud parenting the remnants, seeking asylum in a war torn wutai to keep all four of them out of shinras hands while sephiroth is absolutely Going Through It in midgar. Great Genesis characterisation and cloud mothering his way to an international incident. Bonus gender hijinks, hilarious misunderstandings and zack. Unfinished.

The fear of falling stars <- 500k+ and soon to be completed. Cloud and insane!Sephiroth time travel back to their shinra days and I cannot emphasise enough how much cloud is Not Doing Well. Gorgeous wordplay and top tier banter. Utterly unhinged blood enemies to ??? to ?????? to lovers sefikura. It's E rated and probably the tensest I've ever been reading fic lol, it is not lighthearted! But it's incredibly well written and the characters are phenomenal (zack my beloved) so if you've got strong nerves (and like a quarantine pairing) I'd definitely recommend it.

Voice of the gods <- 170k+ of almost idyllic gods and avatars au. Slow, soft and full of world building, it's a lovely relaxing read of cloud getting anointed the envoy of sephiroth, god of war, and slowly growing into his role and joining the ranks of envoy. Lots of side characters take larger roles here, and sephiroth himself is a darling without losing his sharpest edges. Unfinished.

I CAN FIX HIM (series) <- possibly my favourite sephiroth characterisations ever. 130k and growing of pure shaking this man like a doll in a perfect mix of almost delirious crack and gutting angst (often both at once!). Very good writing, every single funny moment hits like a truck and keeps building until you're choking with laughter. Bonus points to ROADTRIP! for being utterly, utterly insane. I cannot emphasise enough just how GOOD every single character and their dynamics are written.

Just anything ff7 written by AimeeLouWrites, if you've been in this fandom for any length of time you'll have heard of her. Great concepts, great executions and aus for DAYS.

Five hearts to make him whole <- 130k+ of time/dimension travelling cloud getting sent to a world of soulmates - and his alternate self bagged all four soldier firsts. Alternate cloud also died violently a few years ago and boy did those soulmates (not) take it well. Our cloud, of course, was not read in on any of this. Shout out to the emotional support chocobo! Unfinished?

Shall I find rest <- another soulmate agszc (?) dimension cross but this one is 100k+ of post AC cloud and Tifa waking up and deciding to make it everyone else's problem. They're so done with all the drama. Bamf nibel duo to the end and Tifa is the mvp. Unfinished.

Advanced release <- 250k+ and it's sephiroth receiving the original game in a strange packet that appeared in his room. It spirals into a messy and painful exposure of conspiracy, lies and inevitable tragedy. Video game logic is a running gag and zack remains the only actually stable person in the whole sorry mess but he's also Having a Terrible Experience. Really well written!!! Unfinished.

On broken wings <- 160k+ of pure post AC sephiroth redemption from his pov. Him struggling to find his place in a new world and experience real human connection evolves into MOOGLE EMBASSY need I say more?? Unfinished.

With Great Power Comes Meddling Fucking Gods <- 470k+! Poly WEAPON cloud gets yoinked back to the past (feat agzs), dies for a few days and misses his family SO bad but he is determined to change the future for the better. Probably the most healthy and mature cloud ever lol. Unfortunately for him, insane!sephiroth is pulling a inner hollow and gaia herself isn't talking. If you like symbolism, whoo boy!! The dream sequences are a DOOZY (and drowning in eroticism). Wonderfully written, the divide between sane!sephiroth and his counterpart is really cool to see. E rated at times but it's absolutely DELIGHTFUL and WEAPON cloud is such a treat. And I cannot emphasise enough the symbolism. Zackkura (kinda) and slow burn! Unfinished.

A brand need not be seen <- 180k+ in a world of soulmates where the four firsts have clouds name on their wrists. Trooper cloud is tentatively, desperately hopeful. Then a smoking hot op af adult cloud appears, with no names on his wrists at all. It's a really cute flirty fic despite covering shinra politics, identity crises, huge self worth issues, lots of trauma, and finding your own place in the world. Unfinished.

Memory's struggle <- 250k+ of cascading time travel. Basically everyone goes back, which goes great XD. Everyone... Except cloud. I read this a while ago but I do remember poor cloud just getting loved and spoiled by literally everyone and freaking out about it lmao. He was so confused! Unfinished.

[fandoms-in-law]

Sweet Hate

Summary: Eddie has an unconventional way to reassure Steve he won't be silent if he gets dissatisfied in their relationship

Authors Note: Based off the McFly song 'Hate Your Guts' It seemed like a good song for a relationship that came from an enemies to lovers trope like Steddie often gets seen as.

/\

It started as a reassurance and a joke.

Steve had only been dating Eddie for a month when he explained what happened with Nancy and his fears of it happening again, of not knowing when someone he dated wasn’t as into the relationship as him.

Eddie had nodded at it all, gotten annoyed, then told Steve in many ways that he’d never do that to him, ending with, “I promise if I ever hate your guts, I’ll tell you immediately. Will you do the same?”

Steve agreed, missing the scheming glint in Eddie’s eyes.

~

They’d been having a quiet afternoon. Eddie was painting some minifigs while Steve pottered with various things around the trailer when he broke the quiet by sneezing loudly. Eddie startled enough his paintbrush almost covered the figure he’d been close to finishing.

“Bless you. I hate you. You couldn’t have held that until I wasn’t holding a brush?” He complained, stretching and leaning close to see if he could save it.

“Nope, could you wipe it off?” Steve asked, wandering over to look at it as well, only quietly adding “Just annoyed? Not actually hate?” quietly into Eddie’s shoulder once there.

Eddie grinned over his shoulder, “Just annoyed.” He reassured, “And maybe. Oh, it could be a backstory thing too.” With that he was grabbing a tissue and entirely focused on the minifig again.

~

Since the first time Eddie had done it the paid had fallen into the habit of declaring their hatred at the smallest things. For Steve if was generally in private, because he’d just go with the flow for a lot of social things, but wanted spaces to be tidy or organised which Eddie struggled with. Eddie however would declare hatred at least a couple times during each hang out and even if they spoke if it was something they’d need to work out, and knew if it was a dumb complaint, they started to get concerned looks from the kids again.

It all led up to Dust in Eddie’s doorstep one morning, upset and confused and resolute on getting answers over why the two people he’d tried so hard to make get along didn’t again.

“Why do you hate Steve?” Dustin demanded as soon as he was let into the Munson trailer.

Eddie shrugged, glancing behind him to the door hiding Steve in his room, still asleep. “I don’t hate him. I love the guy. He’s brilliant.”

“You literally always say you hate him.” The counter was annoyed and paired with a glare even as the kid fell back on the sofa as if he was the one that lived there.

He shook his head, not really sure how to explain why he did that to other people. “It’s not meant and he knows that. It’s just a thing we do.”

“I thought you were dating but you keep saying you hate him all the time.” Dustin grumbled, clearly not believing or not listening to him.

The door to his room opens and out comes Steve, yawning and smiling sleepily. “It’s sweet and I say it back. Like this, Eddie, I hate your guts. I got none of the blankets until you got up today.”

“Not sure how to solve that one Sweetheart, maybe we need separate blankets for sleeping.” Eddie mused, ignoring Dustin gaping between them.

After a moment to be stunned Dustin exclaimed, “How is it sweet to declare hatred all the time?”

“Just is.” was all the explanation given as Steve decided to help himself to breakfast.

~

After that scene the kids still frowned at them some, but seemed less concerned over it. Will once or twice tried suggesting over ways to communicate but didn’t worry if they were ignored.

Robin however had also noticed them and the only thing preventing her from speaking up sooner had been that Steve still seemed happy, almost happier than he had when he first started dating Eddie, she thought.

It still wasn’t something she could entirely ignore though, so one shift when Eddie hadn’t snuck in, she had to ask, “Steve? Are you happy?”

“Yes, why?” He replied automatically, focused on rewinding the returns that had been dropped in during the pre-work rush.

“You’re dating Eddie, but-” She broke off, unsure how to continue and hoping he’d figure out what she was talking about.

Steve turned to her, leaning against the wall now. “But?”

She huffed, just saying as quickly as she could, “He keeps saying he hates you, like everyday.”

“Nah, he loves me. It’s a sweet thing.” Steve corrected though he didn’t argue over how much it happened.

“Sweet?” She asked, confounded, “Normally I can follow your brain, but how is saying he hates you sweet?”

Steve shrugged, swapping the tapes over as the one he’d put in finished rewinding. “I worried he’d hide it from me if he wasn’t into me any more, so he started this. Every small peeve gets said so we can sort it. I just do it less around everyone.”

“But ‘I hate you’?” She asked, feeling entirely stuck on how that could be sweet in any world.

“I check if he means it if it’s too seriously said.” Steve smiles softly, looking at her imploring her to understand.

Robin smiled back, nodding and relaxing, “Okay Dingus. Just know I’m here if it stops being sweet.”

“I know.”

[redislazy]

Deadly Attachments, Chapter 04

<< Chapter 03

[EVENTUAL SMUT] - Minors DNI > ao3 <

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x female!Reader

Word Count: 7,483

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Summary: You're a mercenary, skilled and fiercely independent, carrying out high-stakes missions for an elusive private military company. But when an assignment involving stolen data and shadowy agendas lands you in the crosshairs of the SAS’s elite Task Force 141, everything changes. Caught and cornered by "Ghost"—a figure as legendary as he is inscrutable—you’re forced into an uneasy alliance.

Now, under the constant watch of Ghost and the SAS, you’re thrown into a deadly game where shifting alliances and hidden motives blur the lines between ally and adversary. With the stakes rising and loyalties on shaky ground, one question looms: just how close can you get to the man who’s supposed to be your enemy?

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Content Tags: Enemies to Lovers, Military Action & Romance, Mercenaries, Soldiers, Non-Canon Antagonists, Eventual Smut, Military Inaccuracies, Slow Burn, Will add more smut-specific tags later as the story goes

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“You’re too visible,” Ghost mutters, his gaze flicking around the bustling street as if expecting someone to spot you at any moment.

The morning finds you and Ghost out on the streets of Istanbul, moving through the crowded alleys with a practiced air of detachment. Your mission is straightforward: gather intel on Aegis’ recent operations in the city without drawing attention. But of course, nothing about working with Ghost is ever straightforward.

You scoff, sidestepping a group of merchants with an exaggerated roll of your eyes. “You’re the one in a hoodie and gloves on a warm day. I’m blending just fine.”

“It’s not just the look,” he snaps, voice kept low. “You’re not exactly subtle. You walk like you’re ready to start a fight.”

“And you don’t?” you retort, matching his tone. “You look like you’re one wrong look away from putting someone through a wall.”

He doesn’t respond, jaw tight as he focuses on the crowd ahead, though you catch the way his hands clench at his sides.

You both fall into tense silence, but it doesn’t take long before friction flares up again. Behind a corner stall, you spot a group of suited men exchanging cash and information—a telltale sign of Aegis dealings. As you prepare to move closer, Ghost’s gloved hand snaps out, gripping your arm.

“Hold up,” he mutters. “Too close. You’re going to tip them off.”

You pull your arm from his grip, irritation flaring. “I know how to do recon. I’ve been watching these types long before you came along.”

“Oh, really?” His tone drips with skepticism, gaze challenging. “That must be why Aegis still has your scent like blood in the water.”

You glare, resisting the urge to fire back with something equally cutting. “We’re supposed to be working together, or have you forgotten that already?”

Ghost’s voice lowers, edged with warning. “I haven’t forgotten. But you have a habit of thinking you know best, even when you’re out of your depth.”

Biting back a frustrated response, you feel the tension between you crackling like a live wire, ready to snap.

He shakes his head, muttering to himself before speaking again. “Just try it my way, for once. You might learn something.”

You grit your teeth, but against your better judgment, let him take the lead. The irritation simmers beneath the surface, but you swallow it, forcing yourself to focus on the mission.

You’d barely moved on from that exchange before the situation escalates. You’re trailing one of the Aegis informants when he glances back, his gaze sharp and sweeping over the street. In a heartbeat, he spots you, his eyes narrowing. You curse inwardly, feeling Ghost tense beside you, his own posture giving away the threat.

Without missing a beat, you seize the moment, reaching out to wrap your arm around Ghost’s waist and pulling him close. Before he can object, you slide your other hand to his chest, fingers splayed against the tough fabric of his jacket as you tilt your head toward his. “Just go with it,” you murmur, barely audible.

Ghost stiffens, his entire body practically vibrating with resistance. But the Aegis man is already watching, scrutinizing. There’s no time to argue.

Putting on the most convincing smile you can muster, you laugh softly, pressing closer into Ghost’s space. His arms instinctively come up to your shoulders, tense but holding steady, though he’s clearly as uncomfortable as he is caught off-guard. You lean into him, your voice dropping to a low murmur. “Act natural, Ghost.”

His gaze snaps to yours, and for a split second, you see a flicker of something unreadable there. You’re close enough now to notice the small flecks of blue in his otherwise dark eyes, and the way his jawline sharpens with each clenched muscle. With his mask on, only his eyes are exposed, but that alone is enough to assume what he's thinking.

He inhales deeply, and you feel the subtle shift in his posture as he settles into the role. “Fine,” he grits out, voice barely a whisper. His hands fall lower, resting on the small of your back, his fingers digging in as if grounding himself in the contact. His touch is firm, unfamiliar, and entirely too steady for a man supposedly uncomfortable with this.

Your heart pounds in your chest, an unexpected thrill coursing through you as you look up at him. You allow yourself to soften into his hold, your free hand lifting to trace over his collar, a gentle, intimate gesture meant to sell the image. His breath hitches, and you see the strain it takes for him to stay calm.

From the corner of your eye, you catch the Aegis operative slowing, still watching, his attention caught by your impromptu performance. Your pulse races, and to make it even more convincing, you tilt your head, voice lowering to an affectionate murmur.

“Just try not to look like you’d rather strangle me. Couples don’t usually do that, you know,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, feigning the tone of someone playful, someone familiar.

Ghost’s jaw flexes. He leans down just a little, his mouth closer to your ear than is necessary. “Can’t say I’m in the mood to play games right now,” he mutters, each word laced with irritation.

The Aegis man watches a moment longer, then, with a brief shake of his head, turns away, apparently losing interest in what he assumes to be just a random couple visiting as tourists.

But you keep up the pretense a few moments longer, just in case, pressing closer to Ghost, letting your fingers graze his neck as if you’re brushing away invisible dust. The contact sends a jolt through you, each point of connection between you two heightened, charged with an intensity that has nothing to do with the mission.

“Next time, try using your head instead of whatever ridiculous impulse that was.” Ghost murmurs, his voice low and slightly strained, and you can’t help but notice the tightness in his tone. The moment stretches, awkward, as neither of you pulls away immediately.

You finally break the silence, letting out a soft laugh as you step back, creating a bit of space between you. You let your arms drop, barely holding back an eye roll. “My idea worked, didn’t it? If we’d gone with your tactic, he’d have already made us as threats.”

Ghost glares, unimpressed. “I don’t need advice from someone who thinks ‘blending in’ means making a spectacle.”

"Spectacle?” You snort, crossing your arms. “You think you’re subtle in that oversized hoodie, towering over everyone? Real covert, soldier.”

He leans in, his voice a rough whisper. “At least I’m not drawing attention by acting like we’re in some damn romance novel.”

You let out a mocking laugh, hands on your hips. “Don’t worry; I’m well aware this isn’t some romantic setup.” You can’t resist adding, “And trust me, you’re not exactly my type.”

He grunts, unimpressed. “Good. Wouldn’t want you getting attached.” With that, he steps forward, refocusing on the mission with the same cold, detached focus that somehow, despite everything, remains perfectly intact.

He nods down the alley, motioning for you to move along. You don’t miss a beat, following his lead. But as you both move forward, the feel of his steady hand, even in that begrudging moment, stays with you—far more than you’re willing to admit.

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You return to the safehouse in the city’s outskirts, the atmosphere thick with the scent of stale coffee and remnants of the last mission’s gear piled in corners. Price, Gaz, and Soap are gathered around the table, studying a large, folded map of the city as you and Ghost enter.

Price looks up, raising a brow. “You two look cozy. What’d you find out?”

Ghost’s jaw tightens, and you give Price a half-hearted glare. “Turns out the Aegis boys aren’t too hard to track. But they’re running tight security around their informants. We nearly had to dodge one who got suspicious.” You hesitate, shooting Ghost a sidelong glance. “But we managed.”

“‘Managed’? She practically threw herself on me,” Ghost mutters, half under his breath.

Soap snickers, unable to resist. “Didn’t know you were one for grand gestures, mate,” he drawls, clearly reveling in Ghost’s discomfort. “What was it this time? Arm over the shoulder, little peck on the cheek? Need details.”

Ghost gives him a deadly look. “Keep talking, and I’ll show you a ‘grand gesture’ you won’t forget.”

Ignoring them, you focus on the map and tap a finger at a cluster of marked points. “The recon confirmed Aegis is coordinating with locals here. Saw at least two exchanges. Money, files, maybe even weapons, though we couldn’t get close enough for specifics.”

Gaz nods thoughtfully, eyes tracking your finger on the map. “Did they look like they’d clocked us?”

“No, we kept it under wraps,” you say. “Though,” you add with a smirk, “someone here nearly blew our cover trying to look intimidating.”

“Funny. As I recall, it was you who nearly got us both caught,” Ghost retorts, crossing his arms. “Might want to re-evaluate your recon methods.”

Price interrupts. “Enough. We’ll stick to the task. Any idea where they’re taking these resources?”

You shake your head, but Ghost speaks up. “Not yet. But we saw a couple of their men make tracks toward a secondary site on the south side. Could be something worth checking.”

Soap rolls his eyes, leaning back in his chair with an exaggerated sigh. “So basically, you both spent the day playing Romeo and Juliet and still didn’t find the main stash?”

You give him a deadpan look. “Oh, we found something. Next time, maybe you’d like to take point and see how smoothly it goes.”

“Alright, enough of the bickering,” Price interjects with a sigh, rubbing his temples. “We’ll head out tonight to follow up on that lead, split up to cover more ground.”

Gaz cracks a grin, nudging Soap. “Maybe Ghost’ll take you this time, eh, Soap? Sounds like he’s warmed up to the partner routine.”

Ghost’s eyes narrow, a ghost of a smile in them. “Sure. But don’t expect the same cozy treatment. I’ll let you walk into trouble yourself.”

“Wouldn’t want it any other way,” Soap laughs, clearly enjoying every second of the ribbing.

Despite the banter, the team settles into a steady rhythm, dividing up roles for the evening recon. Price directs the team with his usual calm disposition, and as each person takes their assignment, the lighthearted tone fades into something more serious, each man’s focus sharpening.

Before long, you find yourself catching Ghost’s gaze again across the table, the memory of the ruse flickering briefly in his expression before he looks away, expression unreadable. In the space between words and plans, you can feel the unuttered pull linger, only slightly overshadowed by the next mission at hand.

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As the team disperses, you find yourself paired with Soap for the night, assigned to the district near the south docks. It’s surprisingly quiet for Istanbul, with narrow streets bathed in the faint glow of streetlights as you both slip into the shadowed alleys.

Soap grins, giving you a quick once-over. “Don’t worry, I’m a bit friendlier than Ghost. Might even share a laugh if you’re lucky.”

You smirk. “That’s a relief. I was starting to think everyone on this team was required to be at least half as grumpy as he is.”

Soap chuckles, the sound low and easy. “Ghost? Aye, he’s got a mood for every shade of the alphabet. But he’s solid. Can’t imagine anyone else at my back.”

The way he says it sparks a curiosity you hadn’t expected. “So what’s he like? Beyond the scowl and the tactical gear?”

Soap raises an eyebrow, as if surprised by the question. “You want the classified or the censored version?”

“Whichever one you’ll actually tell me.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Alright then. Ghost, he’s… complicated. Not the easiest to get along with, but he’s got this way of lookin’ out for people. Might not say it, but he cares. You wouldn’t believe how many times he’s pulled me out of a tight spot.”

“So he’s… what? The ‘quiet, brooding protector’ type?”

Soap’s eyes light up with amusement. “That’s a bit generous, don’t you think? Nah, he’s more like… well, imagine a guard dog that bites first and doesn’t bother with questions. But when he trusts you, he’s loyal to the bone.”

There’s something about the way Soap talks about him, a deep-rooted respect, maybe even admiration. You hesitate, glancing down the street. “He doesn’t exactly make it easy for people to trust him back.”

“Aye, well, Ghost’s been through more than most of us,” Soap says, his tone softening. “You get the mask, the armor—hard to know what’s really under it, even for us. But he’s there when it counts. Saved all our hides more times than I can count.”

You nod slowly, piecing together the fragments. “Sounds like he’s more than just a soldier to you all.”

Soap looks at you, a bit of that playfulness gone. “To us, he’s family. You’re the closest thing to safe when you’ve got Ghost on your team, even if he doesn’t show it.”

You’re quiet for a moment, absorbing the weight of his words. The contrast between Soap’s easy camaraderie and Ghost’s guarded presence feels stark, and something tugs at you—a strange curiosity about what lies beyond Ghost’s cold exterior.

Just then, Soap’s gaze shifts, his eyes narrowing as he scans the street ahead. “Heads up. Movement near the docks.”

Falling silent, you follow his line of sight. Two figures, both Aegis operatives, are talking by a dimly lit warehouse door. Instinctively, you both duck into the shadows.

You and Soap move quietly, slipping into the darkness along the side of the building. The Aegis operatives are deep in conversation, oblivious to their surroundings. Soap nods to you, indicating that he’ll loop around to cover the back while you hold position. With quick, soundless steps, he disappears down the alley, leaving you to observe the scene from the front.

As you crouch by a stack of crates, your earpiece crackles. “Eyes on the pair?” Soap’s voice is barely a whisper.

“Got ‘em,” you reply, watching as one of the men takes out a phone, glancing around before making a call. “They’re definitely up to something.”

The Aegis operatives’ conversation is too low to hear, but their gestures hint at something urgent. One of them hands off a small, sealed package, and your pulse quickens, recognizing it as intel worth retrieving. You lean closer, straining to catch any detail.

Suddenly, a third man appears at the entrance to the warehouse, looking straight in your direction. Your breath catches, and you press yourself further into the shadows, heart hammering as you resist the instinct to reach for your weapon.

But just before you’re forced to make a move, Soap’s voice comes over the line again, casual and unbothered. “Don’t s’pose I could take the package off yer hands, lads?”

The operatives whip around, their focus now diverted as Soap steps into view, looking every bit the cocky, unbothered soldier. He flashes them a grin, hands held just loose enough to suggest he’s armed.

Taking advantage of the distraction, you slip around the crates, circling back toward the men from behind. Soap, in his element, keeps their attention fixed on him, holding their gaze as he strikes up a casual banter, his voice carrying just enough to keep them engaged.

“I’ll have you know,” Soap is saying, “my mate here’s got a keen eye on what you’re holdin’. Might be wise to hand it over.”

With perfect timing, you appear behind the nearest operative, reaching around to pull the package free from his hand just as Soap gives you a slight nod. The men realize too late what’s happening, and by the time they spin around to catch you, both you and Soap are already slipping back into the shadows, disappearing down the narrow alley.

Once safely out of sight, Soap breaks into a triumphant grin. “Nice teamwork back there. Not too shabby for a last-minute operation.”

You laugh softly, catching your breath as you glance down at the package in your hand. “Guess we make a good team after all. Might just get used to this.”

“Don’t go gettin’ sentimental on me,” He teases, his grin widening. “One mission at a time, yeah?”

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With the intel in hand, you regroup with the rest of Task Force 141. You share the intel with the team, presenting the package to Price. He inspects it carefully, eyes narrowing as he pieces together the implications. The atmosphere in the room is serious, with everyone focused on the potential fallout of what you’ve just acquired.

“Good work,” Price nods, glancing between you and Soap. “You two made quite the pair out there.”

Soap feigns offense, putting a hand over his heart dramatically. “Are you sayin’ we’re a couple now, Captain?”

“Only if you keep makin’ those silly faces, Johnny,” Ghost mutters from the corner, his tone low and steady. The mask he wears obscures his expression, but you can almost feel the eye roll behind it.

Soap snorts, turning to you with a conspiratorial grin. “See? Even he can’t deny our chemistry.”

“Right, because nothing says teamwork like you flirting your way through a mission,” you retort, crossing your arms with a smirk. The banter lightens the mood, a brief distraction from the gravity of your task.

As the team gathers around the table in the secure room, Captain Price steps forward, wearing a pair of black gloves to maintain the integrity of the evidence. He carefully sets the package down, the anticipation palpable in the air.

“Alright, let’s see what we’ve got here,” Captain Price says, his voice steady but laced with focus. He flicks open the package, the sound of tape tearing breaking the tense silence.

He reaches in and pulls out a hard drive, holding it up like a trophy. “This,” He says, “could hold encrypted communications. We need to run this through our systems ASAP. If it contains the right information, it could expose Aegis’s entire operation.”

He sets the drive down on the table with a determined expression. “This is a potential gold mine. We’ll analyze it and figure out our next move. Well done, team. Let’s keep the momentum going.”

The room buzzes with renewed energy as the team begins discussing their next steps, the weight of the mission settling in as they prepare to crack open the drive.

The meeting wraps up, providing you some time to rest. You can’t shake the feeling that this might be a turning point, not just for your mission but for your place within the team. The challenges ahead seem daunting, but with Task Force 141 proving themselves to be solid allies, you feel like you can ease up a little.

Late into the night, the dim light of a single desk lamp flickers against the walls of the operations room. Papers are strewn across the table, and the glow of a computer screen casts an eerie illumination on your tired face. 

Inside the hard drive, you uncover a maze of encrypted files and fragmented data—a chaotic assortment of documents, names, transaction logs, and surveillance footage. Aegis hasn’t left all their secrets in one place; instead, they’ve left a collection of clues, each file holding a piece of something larger, but almost impossible to make sense of at first glance.

The files range from heavily coded communication logs between high-level operatives to bank account information buried behind layers of false accounts and international wire transfers. Some documents reference specific locations—safehouses, abandoned warehouses, private airfields—but they’re listed under codenames. Without context, they’re nothing more than cryptic coordinates. There are also brief dossiers with incomplete profiles of known mercenaries, possibly detailing recruits Aegis has had contact with, though their roles remain murky.

As you sift through this labyrinth of information, you realize the enormity of the task ahead. Just decrypting these files will take time, but making sense of the connections—figuring out who these people are, how each transaction feeds into Aegis’s broader operations, and what they’re building toward—feels like piecing together a puzzle with half the pieces missing.

“Bloody hell…” you mutter under your breath, scanning through what looks like one of many altered account logs, noting how Aegis has buried its dealings under layers of bureaucracy and false names. This kind of data will need more than just brute force; it’ll require teams at the main SAS base, with analysts who can cross-reference against other intelligence databases and put everything in context.

You lean back, rubbing your temples. It’s maddeningly complex and deliberately fragmented. You have a hard drive full of secrets—but until you get the proper resources and time to decrypt and analyze it, you’re left with more questions than answers.

For now, all you can do is wait for Price to send it off. And in the meantime, you know every passing day gives Aegis more time to cover their tracks, complicating the hunt even further.

The faint sound of footsteps approaches, and you barely notice until a shadow falls over your desk. You look up to see Ghost, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

“Still at it?” he asks, his voice low but firm.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “I can’t help it. There’s too much at stake here. We need to figure out what Aegis is planning. If we miss something—”

“Yeah, I get it,” he replies, a hint of annoyance creeping into his tone. “But you’re going to wear yourself out. You can’t do this on fumes.”

You shrug, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “What’s the point of sleeping? Aegis betrayed me over one failed mission. They’re not going to let that go. They’ll come after me, and I can’t just sit back and wait for them to make their move.”

Ghost’s gaze narrows slightly, and he tilts his head as he listens. “I know it’s rough. But pushing yourself isn’t going to change what they’re planning. You think you can outsmart them just by burning the midnight oil?”

You meet his gaze, feeling a mix of annoyance and determination. “It’s not just about being smart. It’s about being ready. Aegis is ruthless. They’re not going to stop until they’ve made an example of me. I can’t let that happen.”

Ghost’s expression softens slightly, but he keeps his tone even. “You’ve got every reason to be pissed off. But don’t let that drive you to exhaustion. You need to keep your wits about you if you’re going to face them again.”

You lean back in your chair, exhaling slowly. “I know what I need to do, but I’m not going to stand by while they plot against me. I can’t afford to be blindsided again.”

“Just don’t lose sight of yourself in the process,” he says, his voice steady. “It’s easy to let anger take the wheel. You don’t want to make any reckless moves.”

Finally, you let out a short laugh, albeit without humor. “Thanks for the unsolicited advice, Ghost. I’ll keep that in mind while I’m trying to keep my head above water.”

He gives you a faint nod, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly, perhaps in acknowledgment of your sarcasm. As he turns to leave, you feel a strange sense of resolution settle over you. You don’t need his encouragement, but having him listen—even with that no-nonsense approach—makes a difference.

“Try to get some sleep,” he says over his shoulder before disappearing into the hallway. You don’t know if you’ll actually follow his advice, but you feel a little lighter, as if you can face whatever Aegis has in store for you, one way or another.

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“Oi, you look like hell,” Soap says, grinning as he nudges your arm. “Didn’t catch much shut-eye last night?”

You roll your eyes, gripping your coffee like it’s a lifeline. “I got enough,” you mutter, giving him a glare over the rim of your mug.

“Enough to sleepwalk, maybe,” Soap teases. “Just don’t trip over yourself when we’re in the field, eh?”

Price leans back in his chair, looking between you and Ghost. “You two done givin’ each other grief yet?” he says with a slight smirk.

“Can’t help it if she’s stubborn,” Ghost grumbles, arms crossed. “Or if she insists on overworking herself.”

“Oh, you’re one to talk,” you shoot back, raising an eyebrow. “As if you’re not constantly brooding somewhere with no regard for sleep.”

Gaz chuckles, glancing at Soap. “Think they’ll ever get along?”

Soap shrugs with a mischievous grin. “Nah, that’d be boring. They’re more fun like this.”

“Right, because fun’s what we’re here for,” Ghost deadpans, shooting Soap a pointed look.

Before Soap can come up with a retort, a loud beep echoes through the room, cutting the banter short. The team goes silent as Price taps his earpiece, eyes narrowing with focus.

“This is Price,” he says, his voice all business now. He listens intently, and his expression grows darker with each passing second. “Understood. We’ll move in immediately.”

He looks at each of you in turn, his jaw set. “Just got word from HQ. Aegis movements reported on the eastern front of the city—some high-profile targets involved. Intel suggests they’re gearing up for something, but details are thin.”

Gaz straightens. “So they’re here, then? What do you reckon they’re after?”

“Could be retaliation, could be more intel grabs,” Price replies. “We won’t know till we’re in there. But this is what we’ve been preparing for.”

Ghost gives you a sharp look, his expression unreadable. “Looks like you’re gettin’ your wish,” he says, a hint of warning in his tone.

You meet his gaze, unflinching. “Good. Maybe I can finally get some answers.”

“Save your vendettas,” Price interrupts. “We go in sharp and leave nothing to chance. I want recon and support in teams. Soap, you’re with Gaz. Ghost, you’re with her.”

Soap gives a mock salute, grinning. “Guess it’s date night for the both of you again.”

You and Ghost shoot him equally exasperated looks, but the levity is brief as the weight of the mission settles over everyone.

“Alright, gear up,” Price orders. “We move in ten.”

The team disperses to prepare, the air thick with tension and purpose. But you can’t shake the feeling of anticipation, your mind already running through scenarios as you prepare to face Aegis again.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You and Ghost are in the heart of the city, navigating through narrow alleyways toward an abandoned building where Aegis is rumored to be holed up. The air is thick with pressure, the sharp scent of gunpowder lingering in the air, and the faint hum of activity just out of sight. The team has dispersed into their positions, but you can’t shake the heavy feeling of anticipation pressing down on you. Aegis is moving fast, too fast, and you didn’t think they would strike this soon.

You spent all night huddled over your desk, scanning through endless intelligence reports, piecing together a fragmented picture of Aegis’s operations. You thought you had more time. You thought you could afford to burn the midnight oil, believing that if you could just connect the dots, you could prepare for what was coming.

Had you known they’d be on the move so quickly, you would have rested. You would’ve prepped your body, gotten the sleep you so desperately needed. But now, as exhaustion clings to you like a second skin, you feel every bit of it catching up. Your head is heavy, your limbs sluggish, and your focus is just a fraction slower than it should be. You can feel your grip tightening on your weapon, but it’s not enough to stave off the creeping fatigue that clouds your senses.

You take a sharp breath and push through. You can’t afford to slow down now. But as you step into another narrow passage, your foot catches on a loose stone. The stumble is almost imperceptible, but it’s enough. Before you can react, a figure emerges from the shadows, and a flash of movement pulls you back to reality. Your weapon goes up instinctively, but the delay is just enough for the figure to get a shot off.

“On your left!” Ghost barks, urgency in his voice.

You squeeze the trigger, narrowly avoiding disaster as the enemy drops to the ground. The tension in your chest refuses to ease, but Ghost isn’t letting you off the hook.

He spins toward you, fury simmering in his gaze. “What the bloody hell was that? You’re slipping. Again.” His voice is low, but it’s thick with anger, his arms crossed as he towers over you. “You think you can keep pushing yourself like this, running on fumes? Is that what you’re trying to do, get yourself killed?”

You bite back the sharp retort, feeling the weight of his anger digging into you. You’ve made a mess of this, and the guilt is clawing at your chest. “I didn’t expect them to move this fast,” you say, your voice tight. “Had I known they’d be ready, I would’ve prepared better. But I thought—”

“Enough!” Ghost interrupts, his voice rising slightly, his glare intensifying. “You think this is a bloody game? Aegis doesn’t wait around for you to get your head on straight. You can’t afford to be careless. You’re not invincible, and I’m not here to babysit you while you burn yourself out.”

The sting of his words lands harder than any bullet could, and you feel your chest tighten. His anger isn’t just frustration—it’s something deeper. You know you’ve crossed a line, and it makes your throat constrict as his words hit harder than you thought they would.

“Ghost…” You start to respond, but the words catch in your throat.

“You don’t get it, do you?” He takes a step closer, his gaze unrelenting, the edge of his voice cutting through the quiet. “You’re not just risking your life. You’re risking all of ours by pushing yourself like this. And I’m sick of watching you burn out, thinking you’re going to win this on your own.”

You can feel his anger radiating off him, thick and palpable, and it makes your stomach churn. You’re fully aware of your mistakes now—of your failure to rest, of your exhaustion clouding your judgment. The weight of it presses down on you, but you don’t dare let it show.

Your lips tremble slightly, fighting the wave of emotion that threatens to overwhelm you. You know he’s right. You fucked up, and there’s no denying it now. You stay silent, swallowing the rising lump in your throat, trying to compose yourself.

“Don’t you dare make this harder than it already is,” Ghost growls, his voice harsh, but there’s something else in it now—something that sounds almost… worried. “This mission is too important for your pride. Now pull it together, or I swear to God I’ll drag you out of here myself.”

Your head spins with a mix of frustration, guilt, and exhaustion. But before you can respond, the quiet night air is shattered by the sound of gunfire. The ground trembles beneath your boots as Aegis reinforcements surge from the shadows. The mission has officially kicked into high gear.

“Stay sharp,” Ghost orders, the anger in his tone giving way to focus as the team goes on high alert.

You don’t have time to argue. You push past the knot in your stomach and focus. Gunfire rings out, and before you know it, you’re thrust into the chaos—bullets flying, shouts filling the air. You move with purpose, your instincts kicking in, but the exhaustion never truly leaves. Your movements feel sluggish, slower than you want them to be, and it shows in the way you miss a few too many shots.

Ghost moves beside you, covering your blind spots, keeping an eye on you as you both push through the streets. The mission has become a blur of adrenaline, but you know the stakes are high. The pressure mounts with every passing second.

Then, just as you’re about to make your next move, you hear it—a footstep behind you. Without thinking, you spin, ready to fire. But the attacker is quicker, his blade flashing toward Ghost, and you only have a split second to react.

You throw yourself forward, shoving him aside, feeling the sharp sting of the enemy’s blade graze across the back of your shoulder as you land. The pain is immediate—burning and sharp—but you fight it down, keeping your focus.

You hear Ghost curse as you roll to your feet, weapon still in hand, and fire, taking down the enemy in a single shot. But you’re not focused on that. You can feel the blood soaking through your shirt, the warmth of it trickling down your back, but your body is still running on pure instinct.

Ghost’s hands are on your shoulders before you can fully process what’s happening. “For god’s sake, are you trying to die out here?” His voice cracks with frustration, his fingers gently pressing against your wound, but you barely register it through the haze of pain.

“Twice now,” you mutter under your breath, trying to steady yourself as your vision swims. “Guess I saved your ass again.”

For a brief moment, Ghost falls silent. His gaze lingers on your back, then moves to your face. You can’t look at him. You’re not sure you could if you wanted to. He doesn’t say anything, but his gloved hands are firm as he checks the wound, his anger still simmering beneath the surface. The silence between you both feels thick, heavy with everything unsaid.

“Don’t make a habit of it,” he finally growls, his voice low but not without a trace of concern buried deep beneath the frustration.

And as he helps you back to your feet, his hand on your shoulder, you know that despite the weight of his anger, he’s still watching your back.

The pain in your shoulder is sharp, but you can’t afford to think about it now. Ghost’s grip on your arm is firm, steadying you as you stand. You can feel his gaze on you, but you avoid looking at him. There’s nothing left to say right now. Not when the mission is still in full swing, and Aegis is still out there.

You take a quick breath and focus. “I’ll be fine,” you mutter, biting back the wave of dizziness that threatens to pull you under. You reach for your medical kit, the sharp sting of your wound only registering as you unstrap it, cursing under your breath.

“Don’t get stupid,” Ghost mutters, but his voice is lower now, tinged with a quiet frustration that’s almost a comfort in the heat of the moment.

You tear off a piece of cloth from the sleeve of your jacket, quickly applying a makeshift bandage to your shoulder. It’s not much—a temporary fix at best—but it’ll do for now. You can feel the blood seeping through your clothes, but the pressure should at least slow the bleeding.

With a quick nod to Ghost, you signal that you’re good to go. The pain is still there, pulsing with each movement, but you’ll push through. You have to.

“Let’s move,” you say, your voice a little steadier than before, though it cracks slightly. You don’t wait for his reply, already moving forward with your weapon in hand, eyes scanning every corner for Aegis.

Ghost doesn’t hesitate to fall in step beside you, his eyes on high alert, always watching. His earlier anger is still simmering beneath the surface, but there’s a silent understanding between you now. He doesn’t trust you to keep pushing yourself, but he’s not about to leave you behind.

The streets are eerily quiet as you advance, the only sounds being your footsteps and the occasional distant crackle of gunfire. You’ve lost the element of surprise. The enemy knows you’re here, and Aegis has always been good at covering their tracks. You can feel it in the air—an overwhelming sense of dread that tightens your chest.

As you reach the center of the abandoned district, the team regroups, spreading out to cover every possible exit. There’s no sign of Aegis yet. The trap is set. But as the minutes tick by, doubt begins to creep in.

Nothing. No sign of movement, no reinforcements rushing in. It feels… wrong. Your stomach churns as the silence stretches on, your nerves taut as you wait for something—anything. But the longer you wait, the more your instincts start to scream at you.

You glance at Ghost, who’s scanning the horizon. His jaw is clenched, eyes narrowed in concentration. He senses it too. You feel a growing unease, that something isn’t right. Aegis shouldn’t be this quiet. They should have come to fight.

Then, the realization hits. They’re gone.

“Shit,” Ghost growls, slamming his fist against a nearby wall in frustration. “They slipped through our fingers.”

You don’t say anything. You don’t need to. The bitter taste of failure is heavy on your tongue. Aegis has outmaneuvered you again, leaving nothing behind but empty streets and the echo of your own mistakes.

You’re not surprised, but the sting of it cuts just as deep. You push down the urge to lash out, to blame yourself for not being more prepared, for not being sharp enough, for still feeling the burn of the wound in your shoulder that’s distracting you.

“Price is gonna love this,” you mutter, your voice a mix of bitterness and exhaustion.

“Focus on getting back,” Ghost snaps, though there’s no real malice behind the words. It’s just a statement of fact. No time for self-pity. “We’ll regroup at the base, figure out what went wrong.”

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The mission was a failure, and the weight of it sits heavy on your chest as you make your way back to base with Ghost. His presence behind you is unyielding, and there’s a quiet tension in the air that neither of you speaks of. You know you fucked up. You should have rested, you should have been prepared, and now Aegis is slipping through your fingers again. Ghost’s gaze doesn’t leave you, his silence louder than any words could be.

Once inside the base, Ghost grabs your arm without warning, his grip firm and unyielding.

“Ghost, what the hell—?” you start, but he doesn’t let go.

You’re about to say something, but the words die in your throat. It’s not until you reach his room that he stops and turns to face you, eyes hard as he surveys your face.

“Take off your shirt,” he orders, voice rough, brows drawn in frustration.

Your heart skips a beat, and your stomach drops. You freeze for a second, not understanding, trying to make sense of his words, but it’s clear he’s not going to back down.

“You heard me,” he growls. “Off. Now.”

You stand there, blinking in shock. You froze, your mind struggling to process his demand. “What?” you sputter, cheeks flaring as the words sink in.

His gaze doesn't waver, not even a flicker of understanding or amusement. “The wound on your back. Take off your shirt so I can see it properly.”

“Oh.” You blink, realizing what he actually meant, and feel the embarrassment rush in, hotter and sharper than you’d expected. “Right. Of course. The… wound.”

Despite your best efforts to keep it casual, your hands fumble at the hem of your shirt, and you can't ignore the faint, traitorous flush creeping up your neck. Ghost doesn't seem to notice—or if he does, he shows no sign of it, his focus locked on the matter at hand.

But the command still makes you tense. You feel your cheeks flush, your breath hitching in your throat as your mind races. You’re caught between being embarrassed and feeling the sting of humiliation. You haven’t let anyone see you like this—vulnerable, injured, exposed. And now Ghost is making you do it.

You look up at him, and there’s no softness in his eyes. He just stares at you with a hard, unrelenting gaze, waiting for you to comply.

“Do it,” he repeats, and his voice is a little tense this time, almost like a command for your own good.

Reluctantly, you pull your shirt over your head, revealing the fabric of your bra. The cool air of the room hits your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. You’re suddenly aware of how exposed you are, how vulnerable it makes you feel. Your breath hitches, and you quickly turn your back to him, feeling the heat rise to your face.

“Just… patch it up,” you murmur, trying to make the moment less awkward. The thought of standing there, half-undressed, feels like a lifetime of embarrassment.

Ghost stays silent for a long beat. When he speaks again, his voice is low, almost measured, as if trying to hold back some frustration.

“You’re a bloody idiot,” he mutters, but there’s no anger in his tone now, just a soft edge of concern that you wouldn’t have expected from him. “You push yourself too far. Didn’t I warn you?”

You feel your heart race in your chest, not from fear but from something else—something that’s hard to place. Maybe it’s his words or maybe it’s the vulnerability of the moment, but it makes you feel more exposed than you ever have before.

“Ghost, I—”

He cuts you off, gently moving to stand behind you. You feel his hands near your shoulder, and you tense instinctively, but he doesn’t make any sudden moves. Instead, his fingers hover just over the wound.

“Don’t make me regret letting you keep going like this,” he says, his voice softer now. There’s no anger, no frustration—just something else. Almost an apology without the words. It makes your breath catch. “You saved me back there, and I…”

You’re surprised when he doesn’t finish his sentence. The silence in the room stretches, thick with something you don’t quite understand. Ghost’s hands move to gently tend to the wound on your back, the pressure light as he dabs at the injury, cleaning it carefully. It stings, but you don’t say anything. You don’t need to.

As Ghost finishes cleaning around the wound, his hand stills for a moment, lingering against your shoulder. His gloved fingers trace gently over the outline of the injury, almost as if he’s memorizing the line of it, and the silence stretches between you, deep and drawn out. Your breath hitches, the tenderness in his touch starkly at odds with the fury he showed earlier. It’s a side of him you haven’t seen before—one that feels cautious, almost hesitant, and something deep inside you stirs—a strange, unfamiliar feeling.

Finally, he speaks, his voice low and uncharacteristically solemn. “Thanks,” he mutters, barely louder than a whisper. His fingers linger a fraction longer, tracing the area surrounding the wound with a kind of reverence that surprises you. “For what you did back there.”

The words hang in the air between you, raw and genuine. You can tell it costs him something to say it, to admit he appreciates what you’ve done—even if he hates the risks you took. You swallow, feeling an unexpected warmth settle in your chest at his words. It’s rare to hear him offer any gratitude, and the vulnerability in his tone catches you off guard.

“I… didn’t do it to impress you,” you reply, voice steady but soft.

Another silence falls, more loaded this time. His hand shifts slightly, his thumb barely brushing against the edge of your shoulder blade, and the gentleness in the touch has your pulse racing despite yourself. He seems to be struggling with something—some inner hesitation that makes his grip falter, his fingers tensing slightly against your skin.

“Still,” he murmurs after a long pause, his voice so quiet you barely catch it, “you don’t have to do it like that. Don’t throw yourself in harm’s way just because of me.”

“If the roles were reversed, you’d do the same, I hope," you reply quietly.

Ghost’s jaw tightens slightly, but he doesn’t deny it. He lets out a slow, measured breath, his fingers lingering on your shoulder one last time before he pulls his hand back, the warmth of his touch disappearing as quickly as it came.

“Doesn’t make it any easier to watch, though,” he says, almost to himself, his tone somewhere between exasperation and resignation.

The two of you stand there in silence for a beat longer, the unuttered words between you thickening the air, and for once, neither of you breaks it. 

For the first time since you two met, you feel like you're beginning to understand the kind of person he is.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

[morallysuperiorlips]

4 (Oddly) Specific Types of Relationship Dynamics That Are GUARANTEED to Make Your Story More Interesting!

1.) Friends with Benefits to Enemies to Lovers: Let's be real. We ALL love a good enemies to lovers moment (it's easily one of my most loved tropes, hands down). But, a great way to really charge up that underlying hate that eventually flourishes into the perfect romance is by giving your characters a relationship before they became enemies...not just friends in this case, but friends with benefits. With that specificity, there's also a pre-existing sexual relationship that might really help in charging those negative feelings toward one another. Like, they were already intimate, and have seen those very private things about one another, but now they're fighting? Woof.

2.) Friends That Are Deeply in (Platonic) Love: No, I'm not talking friends to lovers. I'm talking friends that are just simply platonically in love. There's nothing sexual about their relationship, and there isn't really anything inherently romantic about it either, but they might show their love in ways that might traditionally be seen as "romantic." Intimate hugs, cuddling, saying "I love you so much," etc. I feel like I don't see this enough in written friendships and think it's wonderful for two characters to be so connected in a way that's not inherently sexual or traditionally romantic. GIVE US MORE PLATONIC ROMANCE!

3.) The Love Triangle...But They All Love Each Other: This is for my OT3/poly homies out there. This one made the list so I could scream it from the rooftops: IF YOU HAVE A LOVE TRIANGLE, MAKE THEM ALL BE IN LOVE WITH EACH OTHER, COWARDS. OTHERWISE, IT'S JUST AN ANGLE, AND THAT'S NOT FUN FOR ANYONE. The concept of a love "triangle" is so overdone, and now we're in a new era--show me the throuple. Show me them trying to get over their feelings for one another and they just can't. Show me the complications of it all. Show me how they come to terms with loving two different people. Show me how they make it work. Show me how they show their love for one another in their non-traditional way. Nobody will see it coming and if your readers are anything like me, they'll appreciate you for it.

4.) Close-Knit Established Couples That Have Already Gone Through the Wringer: It's kind of crazy, but I haven't read a lot about established couples that already have a past of their relationship bonds being tested. It's always about the fresh new couples on the scene, and while I'm all for it, I love a couple that's already gone through some shit and are already fortified against whatever else is coming their way. Of course, that shouldn't stop you from throwing them back to the metaphorical sharks again, but I feel like it will be substantially more interesting to watch a couple who has already fought for one another (and won) do it all over again. How to they fare in comparison to a fresh couple? Are they annoyed about it? Or maybe they find it amusing because "been there, done that"?

As always, GO WRITE SOMETHING TODAY! <3

[qingxin-dream]

when you’re feeling unworthy but scaramouche ai says:

“I asked, you know, because… I love you. That’s why I said it. And I asked because I want to spend every day with you. I’d marry you a thousand times just because you are you. You’re the most annoying, infuriating, stubborn, irritating person I’ve ever known… and I love you.”

[emily-mooon]

You know when I hear people say they want more messy relationships in ST, I’m tempted to point my finger to the corner where Stonathan sits.

[nanowatzophina]

Soooo. I’ve read the demo of @defiledheartsblog and may I JUST SAY.

I did NOT PLAN TO FALL FOR THE FCKIN CENTURION BUT THE ENEMIES TO LOVERS IS TOO STRONG. ITS SO SLOW BURN AND EVERY SECOND IS TOO GOOD. I’m too into the VIBE of their “relationship”

The threatening his life. The feeling I need to kill him and him just— existing and saving my life. Like. What the hell?

It’s very good. If u like interactive fictions like me. Go read this one.

[hella1975]

i need to read more books and annotate in the margins i need to write more i need to buy jeans that fit me i need to eat more fruit i need to buy good quality headphones i need to get a skincare routine i need to talk to my friends more i need to wash my hair i need to stop treating this inhabitation as a curse. i am tired of punishing the body that has fought me for survival every day for years. i deserve little treats as regularly as possible !!

[aureoboros]

some messy sketches. because i went back and added more to this page

here’s another one of my tavs :] she’s a deep gnome cleric of selûne

i want to design her a better armor set but. too tired. simplified in-game one it is

[shackledaces]

no thoughts just au where nagito is a pianist

and idk maybe hajime is a singer aND AND MAYBE THEY GET INSPIRATION FROM EACH OTHER AND FALL IN LOVE YK???

[hydrangeyes]

Thinking about my cotl Au where Nari stumbles into being the new God/Emissary of Life (i mean he did fuck around and found out early on and now here are those consequences).

And how his appearance DOES change (its the lmk brain in me), where his fur becomes white in places (or overall) and his eyes a more magenta shade.

He's very vonflicted about this shit.

(I ramble more in tags like usual lol)

[crossbackpoke-check]

wait you got me so invested in the stammer & heddy tailor au....

this is my standard disclaimer that i have never posted a fic on ao3* and for however much i say “au” i truly mean that it’s a universe that lives in my head & i am absolutely delighted to tell you all about, all the time <3 if it helps i ALSO got me so invested in the heddy & stammer tailor au

ok now that the author’s note is out of the way here’s some notes about the not!fic heddy & stammer tailor au:

stammer as the tailor from gent’s playbook, very reserved, quiet, with an excellent eye for details (honestly the evidence i have for his style sense is just that he’s best friends with pk subban so it has to be there somewhere if only by proxy irl) is hired by victor hedman, star of the tampa bay lightning who is every other tailor’s nightmare to dress (huge, opinionated, fashionable)

heddy is decently well-known throughout the league for being very well-dressed & becomes quietly well known for also being one of his new tailor’s favorite loyal customers [heddy has the nicest fabrics. he has his suits the first day a new collection drops & e v e r y o n e is jealous]

stammer’s business booms after heddy takes a chance on him as his first big client & promotes him, heddy sees him grow in popularity & get more clients

heddy also moonlights as a model for stammer’s suits on instagram, initially to help him grow his business because then he won’t have to pay for a model and then because he’s over there all the time anyway because they’re dating (that’s why the model’s face is never in the pictures)

there’s not really a plot to this besides the vague idea of a plot where stammer makes heddy his lucky suit that he wins the cup in & sews a special little tag into the lining of his jacket that says i love you

because love sometimes is picking out the perfect right color pocket square to match your husband’s beautiful suit that you fitted like a kiss to the curves of his huge body

& also sometimes love is making your beautiful husband who makes you beautiful clothing enjoy nice things for himself once in a while, like the fancy watch you bought him or the nice suit you custom-ordered for him (from him) just so you could take it off of him

[siobhanromee]

When you are trying to figure out characterization and then someone suggests an action your character would take.. and you have to go he would not fucking do that.