#short and late oof sorry

[lovsome]

just cried in the shower thinking about my bf !! who have i become 😳

[madsissads]

Chapters: 6/? Fandom: Deltarune (Video Game), Undertale (Video Game) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Sans (Undertale)/Reader, Asriel Dreemurr & Reader, Papyrus (Undertale) & Reader, Sans (Undertale)/Original Female Character(s), Asriel Dreemurr/Reader Characters: Sans (Undertale), Asriel Dreemurr, Papyrus (Undertale), Kris (Deltarune), Dess Holiday, Noelle Holiday, Asgore Dreemurr, Toriel (Undertale) Additional Tags: Slice of Life, College, Friendship, Slow Burn, yay arent we a happy family, first time posting on ao3 pls be patient, will probably end up editing as i go whoops, ill let you know if i do, Reader Is Not Frisk (Undertale), Reader Is Not Chara (Undertale), Reader Is Not Kris (Deltarune), reader is technically a named oc, but it still reads as a self-insert, Arcades, The Knight - Freeform, okay so maybe i threw in a once upon a time reference, sue me, also please excuse my lack of scientific knowledge, just go with it Summary:

Verily, if balance is to be restored… The Roaring Knight must ACT.

***

A short chapter of text interactions between characters! They’re important, I promise. 

[chuluoyi]

✎ mission: baby steps !

- gojo satoru x reader

the three times gojo tried to make his baby love him (and how he miserably fails)

genre: full crack, dad!gojo being a sore loser, your baby being mean (he only wants peace, really), and obviously, fluff !!

note: a little thing for father's day ehe <3 i know i said i'll work on smut in the polls next but uhhh, this comes first ok?! :') i just love the idea of gojo vs baby don't mind me *sobs* and all the scenario here come from the tiktok/reels you've sent me!

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

There are many things that come with being a jujutsu sorcerer, and when you are Gojo Satoru, those things seem to be multiplying like bunnies.

This essentially means less time with his wife and baby. Look, he could finish missions fast, but when sent to other cities, even he couldn't abuse his teleportation powers all the time to return to Tokyo.

And so, as much as he hated it, he couldn't fault his baby boy for forgetting him.

"Look, it's papa," you rocked your son with a smile, consoling him as he wailed right after Satoru held him. "Don't cry, don't cry! Papa just got back from a long mission, he's not scary!"

"Is he scared of me?" Ouch. The thought prickled him. It somehow felt sourer than seeing Principal Gakuganji's face.

You hummed, seemingly (or comically?) deep in thought. "Hmm, in baby's point of view: a big, bad man suddenly picks him up, of course he's scared."

"I'm not a bad man!"

Okay, he wasn't having this. Satoru adored his baby to bits and he would want him to at least know it. It's settled then—he would be taking paid leave just to spend some time with his baby.

This would be his mission for the next three days!

DAY ONE

The day started off great. Baby Gojo was relatively calm, a bit fussy here and there but Satoru could definitely handle him.

"Look, a plane is coming!" he said playfully, moving the spoon in the air to attract his baby's attention. "Open your mouth wide!"

Baby blinked at him with the straightest face ever. His two blue orbs were the very same as his father, and yet they held disinterest so great that it was a wonder Satoru didn't notice.

He then playfully smooched baby's face, but he scrunched up, cringing in response.

And later, another achievement unlocked: Satoru successfully got his son to sleep for his afternoon nap!

"You're so cute, sigh." Satoru poked his baby's cheek lightly. "You look like me, but when you sleep, you totally look like your mama..."

He might not say it out loud, but one of his favorite sights lately was seeing you sleep next to your son. Both of you looked so precious and vulnerable, so alike, and it made him warm.

And whenever he looked at this little creation between you and him, he also got the urge to poke him so bad.

So he did. Only this time, he poked him a little too hard.

And how wrong that move was.

His son immediately cracked his eyes open, his lips quivered, and then his whole face scrunched up, followed by—

"WAAA!"

"Oof! Wait— I'm sorry!"

Long story short, he refused to be held in Satoru's arms, so you took over and your husband could only watch you with dissatisfaction.

"Won't you let me hold you?" he asked despondently, pulling up a pitiful face and batting his eyelashes. "I have the warmest hugs! Mama can vouch for that!"

"Satoru, he doesn't want you."

DAY ONE RESULT : FAILED

DAY TWO

Okay, his baby would love him today. Satoru was sure of it.

He had ordered this baby ride-on toy via home shopping and not only that, he would play with him!

"Here we goo~! Honk! Honk!" Satoru steered the little vehicle with his son at the backseat, hyping him up and even made a weird sound that was supposed to resemble a... train?

You watched them both, giggling. Your husband looked positively ridiculous as he was too big for the small vehicle, but still persisted in entertaining your clueless baby behind him. "Oh my, Satoru, you're trying way too hard."

"I have to!" he retorted, sending pout and a glare at the same time. "You can't hog him all the time, he's my son too!"

"Well, good luck~ as it happens, your spawn isn't easy to impress."

"Just so you wait—!" Satoru begrudgingly shot you a look, eaten up by your taunts, not noticing the wall in front of him. "By the end of today, he'll— whoaaa!"

He was about to crash into the said wall, and you were prepared to jump to save your baby first. But then, Satoru did the next best thing to stop it—jumping out of the ride-on, rolling onto the floor... and crashing into the bookshelf that some of the things fell. "Ow!"

"Are you okay!?" you immediately picked up your baby before checking him over. However, Satoru's eyes were transfixed on your shared munchkin.

"Meh heh~"

And you too when you heard it— your baby was wiggling, all smiles, seemingly amused by the sight of his papa lying there pitifully. Satoru was aghast.

"Y-you have no filial piety!"

DAY TWO RESULT : FAILED

DAY THREE

Today, Satoru had gotten inside the playpen and brought a bunch of toys, planning to entertain his son with all of them.

"C'mon, don't throw that!" he pursed his lips when his kid flung the lego away. "Don't you want to play together with me?"

No. As if saying that, the baby crawled away from him. He seemed to have a target in mind though.

"Oi, what are you doing?" Satoru was puzzled, but he was in for a surprise when the child rose slowly.

"Oh, you're pushing yourself up..." he stated, observing how the baby, still wobbly, clutched on the edge of his playpen for support.

A huge grin spread across his face then. "Aww, look at you!" he gushed with pride. "You can stand already! Ooh!"

And suddenly, the sight tugged at his heartstrings. This was the first time he had ever witnessed such a milestone. He wasn't here when he first started teething or crawling, and now that he was here when his son was standing... he wanted to see more of this.

"Now, can you take a step?" Satoru moved closer to him, and the kid turned to him with those clear blue eyes and a little frown, seemingly unsure. "Go! Go! Come to me!"

He didn't think he would actually try to walk. But he did as baby let go of the support, alas suddenly he slipped—

And fell flat on his face.

"—! Are you hurt?!" Satoru immediately plucked him off the floor, horrified, and pulled him close when the baby started to sniffle. Soon, he began to wail inconsolably.

"Oh no, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—!" he didn't even know why he was apologizing, but seeing his baby so frightened made his chest tighten. "Stop crying, oh wait—let's find mama!"

You were engrossed in your evening TV series when Satoru came barging to the living room with your poor son while being hysterical. "Help him!"

"What happened?!"

"He fell! He fell!"

Of course, your main concern was to comfort your baby, and so you reached out to take him from your husband's arms, only that...

"Huh...?" even Satoru was stunned when his son clutched onto his shirt, continuing to cry but refusing to let go, burying his little face into him.

Suddenly, he felt warm, he felt needed, and most of all, his desire to protect him was so overwhelming that he couldn't help but squeeze him closer.

You looked between the father and son, feeling giddy at the sight.

"He wants you," you finally smiled, patting baby's back. Satoru glanced between you and his precious pumpkin, seemingly taken aback as he blinked several times. When the fact sank in, he felt like a mush and pressed a kiss on his head.

The clown was convinced that his kid hates him and you are the savior. So, the fact that this little innocent being wanted him to comfort him... it made his heart flutter.

"Sorry, kid," he sighed into him, smushing his face to his little one's. "Don't cry, yeah? You're making me sad too."

"Satoru... are you getting glassy-eyed?"

"...am not!"

DAY THREE RESULT : DUBIOUS OUTCOME

"He's asleep..." you placed your baby between you and Satoru on the bed later that night, he was now so peaceful, out like a light.

Satoru turned to face you and the baby, looking at both of you with a yawn, but a soft smile lit his face when he saw how you pecked his son's cheek lightly.

These three days made him almost forget that curses still existed out there. Spending time with his son blurred that fine line between reality and a perfect daydream.

"He is still so little, but he screams so loud," he mused, poking the baby's cheek gently. You swatted his hand away, worried he might poke too hard again.

"You keep teasing him, that's why."

"—? He keeps playing me, is why!"

You two burst into quiet giggles then, and you couldn't help but reminiscing about the journey from when you first found out you were expecting, through the first ultrasound, and all the way to delivering your son.

And it seemed like Satoru had an inkling of what you were thinking when he suddenly blurted:

"Thank you, for everything you do," he whispered then, his eyes crinkled so softly at you.

You playfully huffed to hide your misty eyes, and in that moment, Satoru knew, that you too were glad for this life you two shared.

. . .

And that, in and of itself, was enough for him to thank all the stars for bringing him to meet you in that most beautiful spring of 2006.

Epilogue

It was morning, and baby was awoken by... sounds.

He looked to the side to find his mama there— your hand on his tummy to prevent him from rolling.

And then he turned to the other side to find his papa... who is perfectly still, but emanating this low sounds with each breath he took.

The longer he heard it, the more irritated your munchkin felt. So he rose, put his fists together, and came down on him—

Whack!

"—?!" Satoru groaned when something hit his face, and he opened his eyes only to see his son readying his punch again—

"W-why are you hitting me!" he was mortified. "H-help! Sweets, wake up! He’ll murder me!”

OVERALL MISSION RESULT : FAILED

[pretentious-blonde]

trust

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: steve confesses something deeply personal, your reaction only spurs him on with his newly found confidence

warnings: 18+ this contains smut, f oral receiving, body insecurity, scars, whiney steve, it's real sappy

a/n: this is long and half of it is filth, but it's sweet so it's fine!! steve is smitten and a lil pathetic, idk what else to say

series masterlist

Robin sat at her kitchen table in rumpled pajamas, hair slightly wild, nursing a mug of coffee that smelled dangerously bitter. She didn’t expect to be out of bed at this hour, but she had a rather pressing matter that demanded her attention.

Her best friend was perched across from her, vibrating with nerves. Steve couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so frazzled before noon—especially on a Sunday.

“Are you gonna tell me why you’re here at eight in the morning, or am I supposed to guess?”

Straight to the point, huh? 

He raked a hand through his hair—he’d already done it so many times this morning that it stuck up at all angles. 

“...We went on another date.”

“Right. You and your mystery girl.” A smile pulled at Robin’s lips. “That’s great, Steve, really. Super happy for you. But you needed to wake me up just to tell me you went on a date?”

When she says it like that, it feels like the understatement of the year. 

“I think I blew it,” he said flatly, the words coming out in a rush.

She snorted into her coffee. “That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

“No, I’m serious,” he insisted, shoulders sagging. There was a dullness in his eyes that told her this was more than his usual overreaction. “I’m telling you, I ruined it.”

“Okay, sure,” she put her mug down, leaning forward with a sigh. ”You’ve totally, completely ruined it. Wanna back up and give me some context here?”

He drew in a breath, gaze drifting to the wall as if he might see yesterday play out on its surface. 

“Okay, so I saw her again yesterday. Picked her up, had a great time—like, amazing. I’m talking, she’s laughing…” He trailed off, letting that memory blossom in his chest. He cleared his throat, pressing on. “Anyway, I drove her home, walked her to her door. Smooth, right?”

“Peak romance,” Robin deadpanned, eyes narrowed as she tried not to smirk.

Steve shot her a withering glare that only made her grin more. 

“Yeah, so then we… we kissed. Which is not new. Told you what happened in the classroom couple weeks back? God, that was—” He closed his eyes for a moment, recalling how your lips tasted that evening, reluctantly forcing himself back to the present. “I mean, you know, right?”

Robin took another sip. “Yes, I know. Please continue.”

“Okay. Sorry. So last night, we’re outside, and she’s leaning against the door. We’re both kinda… reeling, and then she looks at me—like, that look—and asks if I’d like to come inside.”

“Inside, huh?” Robin’s coffee froze halfway to her lips. 

“Yeah.” Steve nodded fervently. “And look, I’m not an idiot, okay? It was late. I know what inside means.”

“I’m… not following.”

A frustrated groan escaped him as he slumped forward, elbows on the table, head in his hands. 

He doesn’t want to say the next part—he can barely stand to close his eyes without seeing the look on your face. Disappointed. And knowing he was the reason why. It was so stupid. He could have said anything else, but of course, his brain chose to short-circuit instead.

“I said… ‘No, thank you.’”

Silence blanketed the room. Robin’s mouth hung open for a moment before she found her words. 

“You said what?”

He groaned again, louder this time. 

“I panicked, okay? Just… You should’ve seen her face. She looked so—God, embarrassed? And I… I just—I was stuck. Couldn’t think of anything else.”

“So you turned down an invitation inside after a date—”

“—and then I turned around and headed for my car,” he finished, miserably.

Robin cringed, setting her mug aside. “Oof.”

“I know,” he hissed. He lifted his head, eyes pained, as if replaying the moment in mind-numbing slow motion. The memory felt like a stone in his chest.

Her gaze softened as she took in her best friend's posture, how his fingers trembled around the rim of the coffee mug he hadn't even touched. 

She knew he’d had it rough—anyone who’d witnessed what he had would understand. But since he primarily talked to his therapist about this sort of thing, she often forgot just how deep those wounds really ran.

“Hey,” she said, voice gentler now, “it’s okay if you’re… not ready for all of that yet. It’s a big step.”

He lifted his head, eyes shadowed with worry. 

“I am ready,” he countered, a hint of desperation colouring his tone. “I want—I want to be ready for that.”

And he did. He wanted it so badly, his body ached with the image of your skin against his, even if the touches had never gone beyond heated kisses and tentative caresses. 

For the last few years, his mind had been stuck in survival mode—always scanning for threats, flinching at sudden noises, bracing for the worst. But now, when he closed his eyes at night, instead of feeling dread burrow into his bones, he found himself imagining the curve of your lips, the softness of your laugh. 

He wondered how you’d sound if he whispered filthy compliments against your ear, what your breathy giggle might feel like against his neck if his fingertips trailed down your sides… between your thighs. 

Sometimes he even caught himself shivering from the sheer longing to feel you. 

All of you.

But wanting that also meant baring more than just his heart. The idea of letting you see every inch of him—scars that told stories he wasn’t ready to retell, the ridges and marks that still woke him in cold sweats—terrified him. 

What if you asked about them? What if you stared too long? Worse, would you be disgusted? He imagined your wide eyes taking him in and feeling pity, revulsion. The thought was enough to make his stomach twist, to conjure that old, familiar panic.

He swallowed thickly, struggling to force the words out. Robin slid her coffee across and leaned forward, reaching out as if to anchor him to the present. 

“You can talk to me,” she urged. “You know that, right?”

Steve pressed his lips together, trying and failing to steady the whirlwind of fear in his chest. Finally, he looked at her, voice barely above a whisper. 

“What if…” He inhales deeply, “what if she doesn’t... like what she sees?”

It took a while for it to click, but when it did, her chest caved. 

Her eyes flickered with regret as realisation sank in, remembering the countless times she’d watched her friend hurl himself into danger so that she and the others could walk away unscathed. Always the martyr, always the hero, always the one with the innate urge to rush in and save those he held close to him. 

It was such a rare gift, but it was one that left the worst as a result. The physical reminders—souvenirs he never asked for. 

“Steve,” she said quietly, “everyone has scars.”

He let out a soft, humourless laugh. 

“Not like mine.”

Her heart broke for him, but her resolve was far stronger. 

“Hey,” she spoke, tone turning firm, “we’re not doing that.” She locked eyes with him, showing him the truth behind her statement. “Do you seriously think this girl would judge you for something that’s basically the reason you’re still alive?”

That we’re all alive.

His gaze darted away, thoughts churning. 

Robin was always like this—blunt, even when she was trying to be comforting. A stark contrast to Dr. Avery, but sometimes he preferred it. At least it meant honesty.

“Well… people are—”

“That’s not what I’m asking,” she cut him off, levelling him with a look. “I’m asking if you think, with absolute certainty, that this would cause her to stop seeing you.”

He opened his mouth, closed it again, and racked his brain for any moment he’d ever heard you speak ill of someone without good reason. He couldn’t recall a single instance—except for that one time you’d jokingly insulted his father after hearing the reaction to Steve’s profession, but that was more than warranted. Otherwise, you never had a negative word for anyone. Even when you probably should. 

He couldn’t picture you reacting with disgust. 

It just didn’t… fit.

“It’s not that simple,” he muttered, though his voice wavered with uncertainty.

“I hate to say it, but it kind of is.” Robin pursed her lips. “She’s clearly into you, right?”

He hesitated. “Well—”

“Shh, yes she is,” she declared, waving a dismissive hand. “She wouldn’t be seeing you if she wasn’t. And if anything, that’s a bigger compliment, yeah? She wants you for you.”

“What if there are questions?” He gave a reluctant shrug, tension still rolling off him in waves. 

“Then be honest.”

He shot her a look. “Are you serious right now?”

“No, not that kind of honest.” Robin snorted. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” he said quickly, the mere thought making dread coil in his gut. That was the last thing he wanted to bring up in your presence. 

“There you go.” She lifted her eyebrows pointedly. “Tell her it’s hard for you to talk about. You’re not lying, you’re just… setting a boundary.”

“I’m not sure…” he admitted, leaning back in his chair.

“For God’s sake, Steve.” Robin sighed, exasperated but affectionate all the same. “I’m telling you this as your friend—you can’t let this hold you back forever.”

His jaw tightened. “I’m not.”

“You don’t know unless you try,” she pressed. “Do you trust her?”

“Yes,” he blurted, the word escaping before he even had time to think. You had never given him a single reason not to, the only thing you treated him with was unrelenting kindness. 

Robin’s lips curved into a gentle smile. “Well, there’s your answer.”

A beat of silence passed before he nodded, finally letting some measure of acceptance settle in his eyes. Robin grinned back, pushing herself to her feet, feeling proud that they had reached a solution. 

“Have you eaten?”

“No.” He shook his head. He came straight here as soon as he woke up. Barely slept the night before, too. 

“Pancakes, then.” She arched an eyebrow, making her way over to the stove. “You’re gonna need the energy for when you go talk to her later.”

“Later?” Steve spun in his chair, panic creeping back in.

“Yeah, it’s Sunday,” Robin rolled her eyes as she pulled out a frying pan. “No time like the present, right?”

Steve spent the rest of the morning holed up at Robin’s place, grateful for her presence and the easy way they could slip back into normal best-friend banter. It helped calm the churning in his gut, the lingering phantom of your expression—slightly crestfallen—when he’d refused your invitation the previous night.

By the afternoon, he felt marginally more composed. Maybe it was the pancakes, or maybe it was the way she all but shoved him out the door with the gentle instruction to ‘fix it’ and ‘try not to overthink.’

Easier said than done.

Either way, he found himself stopping by a local florist before driving to your shop. The tiny bell above the florist’s door tinkled as he stepped in, and he spent a solid ten minutes agonising over which bouquet to get, recalling Robin’s reassurance. 

“No girl’s ever upset by flowers.”

Eventually, he left with a bundle of soft-petaled blooms—light pinks and whites and a hint of greenery—and the distinct feeling that his heart might pound its way right out of his chest.

Your shop front, normally inviting, appeared closed from the outside—lights off, sign flipped to “Closed.” He knew you rarely opened on Sundays, which was exactly why he was hoping you’d be here catching up on inventory, or maybe just tinkering with whatever behind the scenes stuff you did. The street was quiet, the afternoon light softer than usual, and he paused at the door, bouquet in hand, taking a quick breath to steel himself.

He knocked gently, three times.

At first, nothing. Then, after a second, he saw movement through the side window: a glimpse of you rounding the corner, curiosity evident on your face—until your gaze landed on him. Even at a distance, he saw your expression flicker between shock and uncertainty. His heart plummeted at the thought that maybe he was the last person you wanted to see right now.

Still, you came over, unbolted the lock, and eased the door open. 

“Hey, Steve,” you said quietly, voice uncertain yet polite. “I… wasn’t expecting you.”

His tongue felt like lead. 

“Yeah, well, um…” He awkwardly tapped the toe of his shoe on the pavement before glancing down at the flowers. His head spun with everything he wanted to say. “Can I come in?”

Your eyes flicked from the bouquet back to him, and then you stepped aside, nodding. 

“Sure.”

As you closed the door behind him, he took in a calming breath. The shop was dim, lit mostly by the fading light filtering through the front windows. It smelled of you in a comforting, barely-there way: a hint of vanilla, maybe a touch of something floral tied with old paper.

“Um,” he started, holding out the flowers. “I picked these up for you.”

You glanced at them, your features melting into something softer. The corners of your lips tilted up in the faintest smile. 

“They’re beautiful,” you murmured, reaching for them. He could see the tension easing in your shoulders, though it didn’t vanish entirely.

When you sighed, he braced for the worst—but your voice was gentle. The words leaving you not at all what he expected. 

“Listen, Steve, I want to tell you I’m… really sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have been so forward, and if I made you uncomfortable—”

“Hey—” The words rushed out of him before he could stop them. “No, don’t—I’m the one who should be apologising.”

Are you seriously the one taking the blame right now?

“There’s really no need,” you insisted, although your gaze slid away as though you couldn’t quite banish the awkwardness in the air.

He inhaled through his nose, summoning courage. 

Here goes nothing. 

“I, um,” he said softly, stepping a little closer. “I—I haven’t been—”

He tried recalling every single word Robin had told him—her reminders that you liked him, that a small truth wouldn’t change that. He tried to remember all the pointers his therapist had ever offered about vulnerability and the importance of speaking up, but the moment he lifted his gaze and locked eyes with you, every carefully rehearsed line vanished.

It was just you. Standing there, holding the flowers he’d given you in your gentle grip, your expression open and patient and just the slightest bit worried. The shop’s quiet seemed to magnify the pounding of his heart.

“Listen,” he began, voice trembling despite his best effort. “I… I like you.” Heat rose to his cheeks immediately; God, he sounded like a flustered high school kid. “And I know that’s not—I mean, maybe it’s not what anyone wants to hear. Probably think it’s bull, but I haven’t felt this way in a… in a while.” He swallowed. “Longer than a while, actually. And I—I just don’t want you to be…” He let out a rough breath, tongue tripping over the words. “I don’t want you to be disappointed.”

“Disappointed?” You tilted your head, brow creasing. 

It was a single word, but it reached right in and squeezed his heart. 

He wet his lips. This was the moment—no turning back. He could almost hear Robin’s voice in his head telling him to trust you. 

So he did.

“Yeah,” he managed, letting out a humourless chuckle. “I…” His pulse roared in his ears as he extended his arm, tugging at the sleeve of his sweater. 

It felt like every second stretched and stretched, infinitely slow, while he carefully eased the fabric up. He revealed the pale, uneven skin on the back of his left forearm.

There, a gnarled mark ran angry and taut, though it had healed better than it once was. It was still jarring against the rest of his skin, as if it didn’t quite belong on his body. 

He had half a mind to yank the sleeve back down, to hide it all again. Every nerve in him screamed to do so.

You stepped closer instead, a soft, careful movement that sent warmth fluttering in his gut. he forced a small, shaky smile, even as his voice trembled. 

“It, uh, looks worse than it is.” A lie, but he couldn’t bring himself to fully admit the pain buried there. “I just wanted you to know… in case we ever… in case you wanted to…”

He trailed off, heart hammering. The jumble of words in his head was impossible to untangle, so he let them die on his tongue.

Your gaze flicked from the scar to his eyes, and a stillness enveloped the space for a moment. You could see how hard this was for him, and you were doing everything in your power to keep this conversation tender. 

“There are more?”

There was no judgment in your tone—just gentle curiosity. He could’ve laughed at how badly he’d feared that question. 

“Yeah,” he answered, a quiet, wry chuckle escaping his throat. “Unfortunately.”

You nodded. Your expression was so compassionate it nearly knocked the breath right out of him. There was nothing unfortunate except the pain he had once been in. 

“Is this why you said no?”

He felt the tension in his shoulders tighten. 

“I—yeah.” In a rush, he continued, “I just wanted you to know what you were getting into. Wanted to… to give you the chance back out.” He swallowed, voice dropping.

Even he could hear the raw, unfiltered insecurity there—every fear he’d harboured for years, twisted into one desperate confession. 

He didn’t want you to leave. But if you had to, do it before he fell any harder. 

And then you smiled at him—so softly, so gently, it felt like a sunrise breaking through storm clouds. When you spoke, your tone was certain. 

You had never been more sure of a decision.

“There is nothing that could make me want you any less, Steve Harrington.”

He felt his chest constrict, tears threatening at the back of his eyes. Every flutter of panic from before turned into a wild, dizzy sense of relief. You—the person who made his heart race just by being—were standing here in front of him, telling him that not even the physical parts of his past could drive you away.

And that was enough to make him break. His eyes burned, blinking back tears before they could spill. He bit the inside of his cheek to hold them back.

You didn’t look repulsed or the littlest bit shocked. You just looked at him the way you always did, like he mattered. Like his fears and his uncertainties weren’t hurdles, just parts of him that you could hold with the same gentleness you held everything else.

You're a fucking dream.

For a few moments, the floral bouquet resting lightly in your arms, his tears barely contained. You tilt your chin up, eyes still carrying that same warmth that makes his knees feel suspiciously unsteady. 

“So…” You pause, letting the word hang in the air like a gentle invitation. “Are you busy for the rest of the day?”

He blinks, the question startling him out of his reverie. “Uh…”

There’s that teasing gleam again. You roll your eyes, but it’s playful, a faint smile tugging at your lips. 

“Not for that.”

A sharp, nervous laugh escapes him before he can stop it, his cheeks flushing.

“Right,” he breathes. “No—Yeah, I can be free today.” He rubs the back of his neck, feeling that slight scratchiness of the sweater he still hasn’t rolled back down, and a wave of awkward self-consciousness washes through him. “Why?”

Your fingers flex around the stems of the bouquet as you look up at him, so much affection in your expression that he wonders if his heart can handle it. 

“Because I want to spend time with you… if you’re up for it.”

A warmth flutters through his chest, soft and giddy, making him feel as though he’s standing on the edge of something hopeful. He wets his lips, nodding. 

“I—I’d love that.”

He followed you up the narrow staircase, heart thumping with excitement at being welcomed into your space. It felt surreal, having spent so many days imagining what your home might look like—wondering if it would match the warmth you exuded—and now he was here, taking it all in with wide, fascinated eyes. Almost like the kids in his class. 

The flat upstairs was an eclectic oasis of mismatched pillows and faded rugs, vintage trinkets and framed prints. Everything seemed handpicked with care, though there was no strict colour scheme or aesthetic; it was simply you. 

Immediately, he found himself smiling. It was like walking into a technicolour daydream, a comforting patchwork of old and new. A soft blanket half-draped over an armchair, a scattering of books on the coffee table, and a hint of something sweet in the air—maybe a candle you’d recently burned.

He was acutely aware that he wanted to brush his fingers across everything, to learn more about you from the objects that made this space yours. Instead, he hovered in the middle of the living area, trying to keep his nosiness in check. 

He’d told himself a thousand times not to be weird, but his eyes kept drifting to the shelves crammed with random curios, or the cosy throws that didn’t quite match in colour but somehow still belonged together.

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” You turned to him, a gentle smile lighting your features as you placed the bouquet down. 

“Yeah,” he answered quickly—too quickly, but he couldn’t help it. The idea of sharing an evening with you, in your home, felt overwhelmingly domestic. “Absolutely,” he added, more composed this time.

“Good.” Your entire face brightened in response, clapping your hands together with an almost mischievous air. Without further ado, you strolled over to the small open-plan kitchen. “That means you get to be my sous chef.”

He walked toward you, leaning against the counter. “Seriously?”

“Oh, absolutely. You don’t eat for free in my house,” you teased, trying to adopt an air of authority. “You gotta work for it.”

Even though you were clearly joking, his chest flooded with warmth. 

“Yes, Chef,” 

You snorted a laugh at that, pulling open the fridge door and glancing inside. 

“Okay… I went shopping recently, so I’ve got a lot of stuff. Definitely vegetables, so maybe we can do something with pasta, or a ratatouille.” You kept talking, your voice lilting with easy excitement. “Are you fussy? I think I have some meat in here if you’d prefer that, or we could make soup—although it was kind of hot today, so maybe soup isn’t ideal. Or we could—”

Your words came out in a single breath, a rapid-fire list of possibilities. It was adorable, watching you in your element: your hair shifting slightly as you leaned into the fridge, rummaging for ideas, lost in your own thoughts. His stomach tightened at how earnest you sounded, so eager to accommodate him.

He stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder, feeling the softness of your sweater beneath his palm. 

“Pasta’s fine,” he said softly, gently drawing you out of your rambling.

You glanced over your shoulder, cheeks warming just a bit, as though you’d just realised how fast you were talking. 

“Yeah,” you agreed, shutting the fridge partway, “okay—pasta. Pasta is safe. Hard to mess up.”

“Hey, you’d be surprised.” He slid over to rest his hip on the counter, tilting his head and letting himself enjoy the way you flushed. “When I was younger, I didn’t realise you had to… y’know, put the pasta in water.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “What?”

“Yep. Didn’t occur to me.” He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Threw it straight in the pan.”

“Are you seriously telling me you burnt raw pasta?”

“Look,” he huffed, hands raised in mock surrender, “I am a lot better now, alright?”

“I should hope so,” you teased, a burst of laughter escaping you, brightening the entire flat. 

Reaching into the fridge again, you pulled out a bag of fresh vegetables, a small block of cheese, and a carton of cream—handing them off to him. Then you shut the fridge, leaving the two of you close in the small space.

That’s when Steve’s eyes landed on something pinned to the fridge door. A piece of paper, slightly worn at the edges, the pencil lines smudged but still recognisable. 

The sketch of you he’d drawn back in his classroom.

He froze, gaze locked on it. The memory flooded back—heart drumming in his chest, trying to capture your likeness with hidden, trembling hands. He hadn’t expected you to care that much about it, let alone display it so proudly.

When you noticed him staring, your expression turned a little bashful, a soft laugh slipping from your lips. 

“I… figured it deserved a place of honour,” you teased, brushing a fingertip against one corner of the paper. He could hear the truth behind the joke.

He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat, his voice characteristically gentle. 

“You kept it?”

“Course I did.” You replied, echoing something you’d once said to him. “Told you I always wanted my portrait done.” 

A flush crept up his neck, and he rubbed it awkwardly. 

“Yeah, but…” He paused, unsure how to convey the weight of this small gesture. You’d taken a simple drawing—something he hadn’t even considered that good—and made it into a keepsake.

Before he could figure out what to say, you cut in, a casual shrug that did nothing to hide the fondness in your eyes. 

“I wanted to put it somewhere I could see it...”

Emotion welled in his chest, warm and insistent. He didn’t say anything right away. All he managed was a small, lopsided smile that hopefully conveyed some fraction of the tenderness he felt. 

You felt slightly awkward under his gaze, clearing your throat as you handed him the knife and pointed to the chopping board. Confirming to him you trusted him enough not to butcher your vegetables—or your kitchen.

He lays everything out in front of him, reaching to roll up his sleeves. He hesitates—just for a moment—before deciding to go through with it. There’s no point in hiding now that it’s all out in the open, but the brush of air against his marks still feels foreign.

When he glances at you, you’re not even looking. Not staring, not reacting, not bothered in the slightest. And something about that settles him. He wonders if this is what it could always be like—if, someday, this could be routine. If your space could become a place where he doesn’t have to hide. A place where he can just exist.

He set about dicing an onion, practicing the technique Robin had drilled into him: fingers tucked in, careful horizontal and vertical cuts. It wasn’t Michelin-worthy, but he liked to think he’d developed some culinary skills.

You, meanwhile, grabbed a block of cheese from the fridge and started grating. 

“So, I’m guessing you know how to cook a little now, huh?” you asked casually, taking in the even slices of onion gathering on the board.

A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. 

“Yeah, I do,” he said, scraping the chopped onion into a neat pile. “Kinda like it, actually.”

“Oh?” you prompted, quirking a brow as though intrigued by this domestic side of him.

“Robin—I’ve mentioned her, right?” When you nodded, he continued, “Well, after she saw what a disaster I was in the kitchen firsthand, basically forced me to learn.”

You laughed gently, the sound like warm honey. “I feel sorry for her.”

“Ouch,” Steve shot you a mock-offended look, then shrugged. “To be fair, she was super patient—more than I deserved sometimes.”

You nodded and he went quiet for a moment, focusing on the task in front of him as memories crowded his mind. He could see Robin’s exasperated grin as she dangled a spatula in front of him, telling him if he didn’t at least stir the sauce, she’d let it burn. 

He remembered the nights he couldn’t get out of bed—nights where his own mind weighed him down like lead—and how she would simply appear, commandeer his kitchen, and coax him into joining her.

At first, it had been embarrassing. He hated the thought of needing someone to guide him through the simplest tasks, hated the idea that he was helpless. But Robin had this uncanny knack of turning it into fun—into a moment of victory, however small. 

If he managed to perfectly chop a pepper or make a sauce without scalding it, she’d give him a triumphant little fist bump, like he’d just won a gold medal. 

Over time, cooking became a small but tangible source of confidence for him—proof that he could create something from nothing, sustain himself with his own two hands.

He cleared his throat, blinking back into the present. 

“She didn’t let me off that easy. Dragged me into the kitchen most days—but you know, she actually helped a lot.” He went on, sliding the diced onion into a bowl you’d handed him. “Once she and I got busier, we stopped doing it as much, but…” He gestured around your cluttered kitchen, eyes travelling from the mismatched mugs on your shelf to the bright potholders hanging on the wall. “It’s nice.”

He didn’t say the rest out loud, but you could deduce what he meant. He liked making something, building something. He liked feeling safe. 

“You know,” you say softly, glancing up from the cheese you’d just finished grating, “she sounds amazing. I’d love to meet her someday.”

He sets down the knife he was holding, taking a moment to wipe his hands on a dish towel. The genuine excitement lighting his face is almost boyish. 

“Yeah, she’d… she’d really like that, actually.” There’s a flicker of pride in his eyes—like he can’t wait to show you off, show Robin that he’s managed to find someone this wonderful, someone who sees him. “She already mentioned wanting to meet you, so we’ll, uh—” He swallows, looking delighted at the prospect. “We’ll plan something. Once we’re, y’know, all free.”

“Hmm,” you give a thoughtful nod, a small smirk tugging at your lips, “so you’ve been talking about me?”

“Uh, yeah?” He immediately flushes, cheeks warming under your gaze. “‘Course I have. Why wouldn’t I?”

You shrug, your eyes dipping away for a half-second before meeting his again. 

“It’s just… it’s good to know you’re, I don’t know, serious.”

“Did I make you think I wasn’t?” He asks, a hint of genuine concern threading through his voice. He can feel his heart rate pick up—he doesn’t want there to be any room for doubt.

“No!” You shake your head, flustered. “No—not at all. I just mean—”

He steps closer, determined to chase away any lingering uncertainty in your eyes. He doesn’t know what comes over him—maybe it’s the weight of everything that’s happened today, or maybe it’s the way your voice falters, just slightly, sending a surge of confidence through him.

He feels safe here. Your reassurance settles something in him, makes him bold. And now, he wants to test it. To push just a little further, to see how far this newfound feeling can take him. 

To prove—to himself more than anyone—that he hasn’t lost it.

“Because last night,” he says, voice dropping a little lower, feeling how the teasing tone feels on his tongue, “you wanna know what I did?” 

He leans in, invading your personal space in that deliberate way that makes your breath catch. Your reply gets stuck in your throat, and you simply blink at him, gaze darting from his mouth to his eyes, waiting.

Gotcha.

He leans down, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he confesses.

“I spent the whole night alone in bed, thinking about what it would’ve been like to have you there with me.”

Your eyes widen, and for a moment, you draw in a quiet, shaky breath.

Christ—confidence looks good on him. The way he’s looking at you, like a man starved, like he’s been holding this back. And now you’re left wondering—has he always felt this way?

With your expression emboldening him, he dips his head to press his mouth to yours. The kiss starts slow, a gentle lingering of lips, but it deepens as he grips your waist. He wants—needs—you to know how fervently he means every word. 

He pours it all into the press of his mouth: the latent hunger that’s been building since the first moment he realised how important you were becoming, the searing need to prove that last night was never about not wanting you. 

When you make a soft, breathy sound that vibrates against his mouth, his entire body goes warm. His heartbeat pounds so fiercely it’s almost dizzying, and in that moment he’s sure he’s a goner, absolutely done for—you’ve got him.

He tugs back just enough to look at you properly. Your cheeks are flushed, eyes gleaming in the low light of the kitchen, and the sight of you nearly undoes him. You tilt your head, a hesitant little smile ghosting your lips. 

“Hey,” you murmur, voice soft but sure, “we don’t have to do anything if you’re not—”

“I am,” he says, voice rough with need. “Fuck—I am.” His hand cradles your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek in a way that makes your lashes flutter. “Do you trust me?”

Your gaze flicks to his, warm and steady. “Yeah. But… dinner—”

He can’t help the bark of laughter that escapes him. Dinner? Only you would be so concerned about practicalities when he’s two seconds from combusting. 

Still, he recognises the gentle out you’re giving him, a final check-in to see if he really wants this. 

And, oh, he does. 

“It can wait,” he promises, dropping his voice to that intimate purr that already makes your stomach flutter. “Please just—please, let me do this for you.” 

Let him show you. Let him take care of you. 

You meet his eyes, taking in the flush staining his cheeks, the raw want practically radiating off him. You manage a nod, hardly able to get the word yes out before he’s on you again—his mouth against yours with a heat that has you spinning.

It starts hungry, and only grows more desperate when your hands slide up over his shoulders, fingers curling into the short hair at the nape of his neck. A low groan escapes him, his body thrumming with adrenaline and desire. 

He forgot how good it could feel, how right it could be, to have someone he wants this badly—someone who wants him just as fiercely.

He crowds in close, big hands gripping your hips firmly, and in one swift motion he lifts you onto the counter. A startled gasp leaves you, and you toss a quick glance around as though you can’t quite believe the two of you are about to do this. 

“Here?” you ask, voice breathy with surprise.

“Yeah,” a cocky half-grin tips the corner of his mouth. “Right here.”

Any way he can have you. 

Every nerve in his body screams for more contact, more of you—he needs to taste, needs to feel.

He slots himself between your thighs, leaning in again to reclaim your lips. The tension in your muscles loosens as his hands drift beneath your shirt, sliding across the warm plane of your sides. The soft curves and dips of your skin drag a ragged breath out of him, especially when your hips roll against his.

You can’t help the little whimper that bubbles up, and the sound propels him deeper into the kiss. His entire body tingles with awareness of you, from the slight shiver that courses through you at his touch to the way your nails lightly scrape at his scalp.

When your fingers thread into his hair, a deep, full-throated groan vibrates from his chest—he’s powerless to stop it.

That breathy chuckle you give in response makes him shiver. You angle his head, your palm cupping the back of his neck. 

“You like that, huh?” you tease, eyes glinting with mischief.

His head falls back slightly as he exhales.

“Fuck—yeah—yes.” He’s beyond self-conscious at this point, need flooding through every cell. He rests his forehead against yours, breathing in the faint scent of your shampoo, before trailing his hand down to the waistband of your jeans.

“Gonna need you to do that again for me,” he murmurs, voice filled with confidence and trembling want.

You blink, momentarily puzzled, until he starts to tug at your jeans, his fingers hooking into both denim and underwear. Then you realise exactly what he means—and you waste no time in helping him rid you of the final barriers standing between his hands and your bare skin.

He tugs the denim down, heart thundering as he sinks to his knees between your thighs. He’s wound so tight he can practically hear his pulse in his ears. 

From his vantage point below, he takes in the sight of you, drawn to every curve and line. There’s something indescribably beautiful about seeing you like this, so undone, so ready.

He slides his hands over your legs, fingertips grazing soft skin and eliciting a shiver that makes his chest swell with pride. It’s been so long since he’s done this—too long. The anxious flutter in his stomach almost rivals the heat pooling in his lower body. 

But he wants to do this right. Needs to.

When he glances up again, you’re watching him through half-lidded eyes, a flush creeping up your neck. The way you part your lips as you inhale, the anticipation evident in your features—it all spurs him on. He lets out a shaky breath, leaning in to brush his mouth over your inner thigh first, planting a series of teasing, barely-there kisses as he makes his way closer.

Your hand tangles in his hair, fingers curling in a firm but not painful grip. It’s a silent command,  a reminder that you’re right there, in this with him. 

He shudders at the rush of arousal that flares through him. 

“Stop teasing,” you finally mutter, voice edged with impatience.

He flushes hot at your tone—low, wanting, confident. 

“Sorry, angel,” he murmurs, the endearment rolling off his tongue like a promise. “Gonna make it up to you, all right?”

For both yesterday, and right now.

You give a quick nod, and he takes that as all the permission he needs. Gently, he lifts one of your legs to rest over his shoulder, pressing a kiss to the sensitive skin just above your knee. Then he settles in, leaning forward until he’s exactly where he needs to be.

The first flick of his tongue draws a throaty moan from you, and his own breath stumbles at the sheer erotic charge of the moment. He’s nearly lightheaded with how good you taste, how you respond to every shift of his lips, every press of his mouth. 

It’s intoxicating, fueling him to explore every sensitive spot he can find.

“Should’ve done this last night,” in a husky, almost delirious voice. He hates that he ran from you, from this, even for a second. But it’s fueling him now, pushing him to worship every inch of you until he’s certain you’ll never doubt how badly he wants you. “Should’ve had you then,” he breathes, “So fucking stupid.”

Your fingers tighten in his hair, tugging him closer, and he lets out a muffled groan. You’re already trembling under his touch, each quiet whimper echoing in the small kitchen. The tile beneath his knees is hard, but he barely registers any discomfort—he’s too lost in you. The lust is overshadowed by a tenderness, a desire not just to please you, but to prove something to himself. 

That he can still be this person. 

Then you gasp, hips shifting forward in search of more, and your free hand flies out to grab at his arm. The moment your palm lands on the rough, uneven skin, his stomach lurches.

He half-expects to feel you flinch. But instead, you grip him tighter, holding on as though you need him close. That realisation sends a bolt of raw adrenaline right through his core, and he doubles down, dragging his tongue in deep, purposeful strokes.

Your desperate noises urge him on, and he moves in closer, pressing you more firmly against the counter. The scent of you and the haze of arousal in the air blur his senses. He’s focused on nothing but your pleasure—on coaxing more of those shaky, breathless moans out of you, each one sweeter than the last.

When your fingers tighten again in his hair, he lifts his gaze for a heartbeat, catching the dazed, blissed-out expression on your face, a wave of heat flashing through him,

He’s done for. 

He feels the telltale flutter in your core, the way your thighs tense around his head and the broken syllables of his name falling from your lips. His own heartbeat stutters at the sound of you gasping, higher and higher until you’re almost pleading.

“Steve—” you manage, voice trembling on the edge. “I’m gonna—”

He groans low in his throat, pressing in closer. 

“Yeah?” he murmurs hungrily. “C’mon baby—please—wanna feel you—”

That’s all it takes for you to come apart, back arching and legs clenching, trapping him in a burst of sensation. 

He keeps his mouth moving, coaxing every last pulse out of you. The tight press of your thighs around his head should be suffocating, but to him it’s pure adrenaline. He savours the moment, humming with open satisfaction at how your body shudders under his relentless focus, until you finally push lightly at his head, too sensitive to handle more.

He reluctantly withdraws, breathing heavy as he looks up at you. Your cheeks are flushed, lips parted, chest rising and falling while you come down from your high. For a split second, he stands there on his knees, watching your every expression like you’re the most captivating thing he’s ever seen.

“Was that… all right?” he asks, voice almost shy now that the immediate rush is ebbing, your release still glistening on his chin.

You offer him a dazed little nod, and he can’t help the proud grin spreading across his face as he rises to his feet. The minute his lips touch yours again, you taste yourself on him—a sharp, dizzying reminder of just how thoroughly he’s had you. He smiles into the kiss, smugness in the way his hand cups the side of your face.

Your own hands move with eagerness, tugging at the hem of his sweater. The first spike of panic darts through him, and he tenses. 

No. Not Yet.

He knows what it would mean—bared skin, the possibility of further questions, it's unpredictable. His heart thuds as he pulls back minutely, not wanting to flee but unable to hide the flicker of fear in his eyes.

You pause, taking in the hesitation etched across his features. 

“Not ready?” you ask, gentle but direct.

His lips part, but no words come out at first. A flush creeps up his neck, embarrassment and self-consciousness colliding in his chest. 

“I… I’m sorry,” he finally mutters, feeling every bit as uncertain as he did the night before. 

So much for the surge of confidence.

Your brows knit in understanding, and you nod softly. There’s no accusation in your expression, no frustration. Instead, you lean up to kiss him again—light and sweet and reassuring. 

“Can I still take care of you?” you whisper when you pull back, searching his gaze.

Take care of him. 

“You… you don’t have to do that,” he mumbles, voice rough at the edges.

“I know,” you say, voice calm but insistent. One hand drifts to the fly of his jeans, carefully brushing over the hard outline straining there. He lets out a hiss of breath, tension sizzling through his entire body at the contact. 

“I want to,” you continue, thumb tracing a light pattern along the fabric. “Please?” You look up at him, meeting those warm brown eyes, “I want to make you feel good, too.”

And how could anyone say no to that?

“Fuck, angel… all right.” He exhales a shaky laugh, tipping his forehead to yours. “Yeah, all right.”

You free him from his jeans—he’s so hard it almost hurts, and the cool air hits him like a shock. Every nerve ending is lit up, thrumming with excitement and a bit of residual caution. But the second your fingers curl around him, that caution is drowned out by pure pleasure. 

His head falls forward as soon as your hand wraps around him, burying his face in the crook of your neck with a low, trembling groan.

It’s been so long since he’s been touched like this, and he can’t contain the steady stream of whimpers and half-broken words spilling from his lips. Every movement of your hand drags another rasping exhale out of him.

“God—” he mutters, voice pitched higher than usual. “You—fuck, you feel—”

His breath hitches again as you start slow, deliberately teasing him. He can’t help the ragged little laugh that escapes, face still hidden against your throat. 

“You’re killing me.”

But even then, there’s no mistaking the appreciation in his tone. He likes the way you’re taking your time, savouring the vision of him, watching him go boneless under your touch. His entire body thrums with the urge to thrust into your palm; he’s holding back with every bit of willpower he has, trying not to lose himself too quickly.

When you chuckle softly, your breath hot against his ear, he lets out a needy little sound that he never planned to let slip. 

“Shit,” he curses under his breath, shoulders shaking with pent-up tension. “I—I can’t—”

“Does it feel good?” you tease, your voice edging on playful, as though you already know the answer.

“Yes,” he blurts, shoulders jerking as a ripple of pleasure sparks through him. “Yes, it—it’s so fucking good.” His fingers dig into your shoulders, gripping the fabric of your shirt. “Not gonna last—”

You giggle, and he could swear that sound alone just about knocks the air out of his lungs. His hips jerk forward involuntarily, drawing a guttural noise from deep in his chest.

“You gonna cum for me, Steve?” you ask, voice lilting.

Oh, you’re cruel.

That sweet look on your face—so deceptively innocent, when he knows better. Like a siren, the way your voice teeters between soft and sultry, pulling him under, not allowing him to summon a coherent thought.

His cheeks are bright red, eyes shining with a haze of lust. His mouth opens, but he’s too far gone to form sentences, so he just nods, hair flopping into his face in a disheveled mess. 

“Yeah,” he breathes, tone shaky. “I’m close—I, shit—”

You give him a knowing, devilish grin and draw him down into a kiss—slow, thorough, open-mouthed. He tries to respond, tries to match your pace, but the rising wave of release scrambles his thoughts and tangles his tongue. 

All he can manage are broken moans into your mouth as pleasure overtakes him, and you drink them in eagerly. His orgasm slams into him so fast it nearly buckles his knees, and he grips you tighter, riding out each pulse as it wracks his body.

You keep stroking, guiding him through it, until he sags against you, spent and trembling. His head comes to rest on your shoulder, breath ragged in your ear.

The feeling of you envelops him—your clean hand softly cradling his face, thumb grazing the curve of his cheek. It’s such a gentle, grounding gesture that it helps his racing heart settle.

After a few seconds, he manages to straighten, eyes flicking down to the evidence of his release painting your thighs. There’s a flash of panic in his gaze, but there’s also a thrum of arousal still sparking in his veins at the sight. He fumbles to tuck himself back into his jeans, cheeks more red. 

“Fuck—I’m sorry,” he mutters, his voice still rough.

“Shh,” you say simply, pulling him in for a kiss. He melts into it, relieved and just a little awed by how casual and reassuring you seem, like there’s not an ounce of shame. When you pull back, you brush a few strands of sweaty hair off his forehead. 

“Did you enjoy it?”

He lets out a huff of laughter—surprised you’d even need to ask. His face is still flushed, and he ducks his head. 

“Uh… yeah,” he says, a helpless grin curling his mouth. “Couldn’t you tell?”

“Good.” You give him a knowing smile. “Would’ve broken my heart if I couldn’t do that again.”

“Really?” he asks, blinking in genuine amazement.

“Mhm,” you tease, leaning in to peck him lightly on the lips. “Never gonna be able to cook normally in here again, though.”

That makes him laugh, a loose, buoyant sound that brightens his features. 

“Um, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go to the bathroom and… clean up a little.” You clear your throat, cheeks still pink. “Before we finish cooking.”

“Oh—shit, of course,” he says hurriedly, stepping back to make room for you. He tries to sound collected, but he’s still a little breathless.

You hop off the counter, bending to gather your discarded clothes. As you head across the room, you glance back, noticing him following your every move. A playful wink from you makes him chuckle under his breath, still riding the high of what just transpired.

Alone in the kitchen, he turns back to the neglected pot and quickly re-focuses himself. With a shaky exhale, he slides the diced onions into it. He sets the knife aside for when you return, mind swirling with the memory of your touch—the same memory that he would certainly be revisiting in the very near future. 

When you finally emerge, you’re wearing a pair of soft pajamas—something that looks cosy enough to curl up in. He catches the sight of you out of the corner of his eye and can’t help but beam, feeling that giddy high in his ribs all over again. He steps forward, gently tugging you back to your perch on the countertop.

“Hey now,” you warn, eyes dancing with good humour. “I’m not sure if I’m ready for round two.”

“No—neither am I,” he admits, pressing a quick, warm kiss to your cheek. “But I got this—just sit there and, I don’t know, look pretty.”

Your playful groan of protest is minimal, and he can’t stop smiling as you settle back. You watch him shuffle to the far side of the kitchen to grab a clove of garlic. He’s turning up the heat and chopping again with that same contented hum in his chest, as though he’s stepped into some domestic paradise.

He thinks about how someday, when he’s more at peace with his body, he wants to show you all of himself. He only hopes that next time, he’ll be a little bolder, a little braver—so he can give you everything you deserve.

taglist: @daisy-is-a-writer @chiliwhore @kvroomi @just-lilita @negomi123 @catluver02 @tinythebunni 

[nattheother]

over the counter and back ✧ jww

tags fluff, meet cute, izakaya!au / midnight diner!au, slight misunderstanding, few swear words, self indulgence (surprising), love me a sopping wet pathetic yn

wc 2.7k words

note that men’s nonno izakaya shoot with dk… yeah... *faints* the hirotaka allegations aint helping either [pic cr. jwwfile on twt]

note i was gonna put an alcohol on the tags but its an izakaya au, u know what ur getting into so :3

crossposted to AO3

—

It wasn’t the weekdays or the rush hour, it’s just the izakaya usually is not that packed. Only two couples on the tables and a woman tonight, who seemed to get off work quite late, sitting at the bar area, seemingly laid back on her phone over her unfinished beer. Old jazzy songs from your boss’ playlist softly filled the bar, warming up the mood.

Your head chef, well, your boss, Kouji, just bid you a farewell. The izakaya just opened about two hours ago this evening, but he had to clock early for his daughter in labour. She usually works part-time here alongside you until about a month ago, which is why you tried to fill her shift until she comes back. Not that you mind.

You wished him good luck before he tackled you into a light hug, resulting in a small “oof!” out of you.

Honestly, handling the diner on a slow day alone doesn’t really worry you. It’s always just the three or two of you. Kouji said the neighborhood was particularly safe, “also it’s a small bar afterall,” he adds.

As you came back from the kitchen after finishing the woman’s check, a new customer came in behind the bar island this time. Young man probably what describes him more. Looks about around his mid 20s, pretty thick rimmed glasses. You’re not sure if it’s his shoulder who’s wide or his button-ups were just oversized, but does he look lean. 

“Welcome! Anything for your order tonight?”

He sits on the barstool at the centre by himself. He adjusts his glasses as he glances around unsure, “yeah, um… just gyudon and draft beer, please,”

You walked around getting the tall glass to pour one from the beer machine. “Sorry, can I ask something?” he promptly starts.

”Yeah?”

”Where is Kouji-san?”

Looking up from the filled glass, you serve the beer on the counter, “Sensei? His daughter’s in labour tonight. I’m in charge for tonight,”

“Only you?” you smiled at his question and nodded, “‘Seems you know Sensei. You’re a regular?”

He took off his watch and chuckled, “Sort of? I do stop by pretty frequently but I’ve kinda never seen you,” he reasoned as he folded up his sleeves.

You laughed softly in the middle of wiping off the beer faucet, pointing to the back with your thumb, “I’m usually in the kitchen.” You put the rag into your apron, “So ring the bell or call up if you need anything.”

You felt the banter was enough as you turned your heels back to the kitchen because you had to make his gyudon, “Wait,” but his calling stopped you in your step. You turned around to him taking a sip of his beer.

“I haven’t gotten your name.”

“If it isn’t Wonwoo!”

Who?

Kouji’s whoop was muffled behind the kitchen curtain. You tried to calmly finish plating up the dish for a current customer so you can quickly move on to this acquaintance of Kouji. Putting his order is for later, so you swiftly deliver the tray full of bowls to the also full table at the back first.

You came back with another tray of empty dishes as you can finally see your next customer.

Oh, right… I forgot to ask his name.

He smiled at you as you confidently welcomed him, mirroring his smile.

In the middle of putting away the dirty dishes, Kouji came into the kitchen with a question, “Wonwoo said he knows you? You’ve never told me!”

You looked back at him in a slight surprise and a chuckle, “Not really, actually, we met around last week I think? You clocked off early.”

What you remembered from that day was after Wonwoo asked your name, customers piling up in a short time right after you served his food. That resulted in you spending most of your time in the kitchen and finished his check a little quickly because the other was also queuing behind him.

“Go take his order. A group just came in just now and I’m taking theirs,” Kouji ordered.

“What?? Why not you earlier, Sensei?” you whined.

After your half-playful complaint of not taking his order, you wipe off your hand dry and sighed on your way out.

“Another draft beer?”

You guessed as you walked up to him. He nodded, “And a mapo tofu, do you have that?” You took out your notes to write down his orders, “I’ll make sure and prepare that for you.

Anything else?”

Days after that, Wonwoo stopped by around eight to nine, assumingly whenever he had overtime. It’s always the same order. One (or more) glass of draft beer and any bowl dishes, that mapo tofu most of the time.

There was also the time where he came in at almost eleven. He usually never shows any signs of fatigue or weariness on his face but you can see the dim in his eyes. You tried to not approach him that much, spending more of your time checking up the kitchen before touching the baton to Kouji for the night.

You rang up his check right before you clock out. He looked a bit more refreshed after his meal, cheeks slightly flushed after a few refills of beer.

“Please walk safe home,” you gave back his card to the small tray alongside the bill.

Not expecting your non-customer service-way farewell, he stared at you for a few seconds before nodding his head, “you too.”

You swear in every language you can think of. Your heart squeezed. Wonwoo was starting to grow in your heart. It’s really nice to see him in the izakaya for a few days a week after that. You never sort of believed in any of those “at first sight” moments, if it works, good for them. While it did feel slightly heavy on your feet anytime you had to walk back to the kitchen instead of seeing him and talk to him, you had to put your mind in place. Focus. 

It could be because he’s one of your first regulars and, cough, is good looking, but you don’t know his background. Who are his friends and family and why does he always come in alone? You’re not even sure if it’s a crush or that you just found comfort with a customer. Either way, workplace is still a workplace and he is your client. This izakaya is your only rendezvous to him.

That is when Wonwoo ordered two glasses of beer. You tried your best not to halt when you stepped out of the kitchen and saw a young woman around his age beside him. You didn’t, and served him his usual bowl of rice. Gyudon this time, and mapo tofu for her.

You need to stop looking like a stalker, hiding behind the kitchen curtain. This is the second time he had brought her to this izakaya. You need to stop before someone accuses you as a total creep as you compare their interaction a few days ago with today. Almost the same. From outside it looked like they were having a quite serious and private discussion, noting down stuff on paper and their phone alternatively. As if someone’s life was actually on the line. You are also lucky Kouji will come later at night, because he might also accuse you as a total creepy stalker.

You try only focusing on attending customers. It’s almost the weekend and customers start piling up before you realize Wonwoo was already sitting alone. You try to not overthink why he didn’t take her home himself and let her go home by herself.

You walk up to the bar to check the beer dispenser. You can feel his eyes boring at you, slightly dim again like it was a couple weeks ago, and two empty glasses of beer.

“Need a refill?” you carefully ask, walking up to him.

“I’m good.” he slightly smiles before asking for his check.

You kept your sweet encouragement to yourself as you don’t want to force and assume anything towards him. He left the change and gave you a tip.

“Wonwoo?”

It was nearing autumn. Though the sun was already setting at five, the bar still opens at the same time. The rain pours hard, covering any sign of the sun setting with gloom. But nothing could’ve prepared you other than the six feet tall man crouching under the roof in front of the closed bar you’re working at, shading himself from the rain. You grip your umbrella tighter when he looks up to your call.

He calls your name in recognition as he stands up.

The rain poured harder above the roof of the izakaya when you hand Wonwoo the warm coffee on the bar. He’s in the middle of taking off his damp jacket when he looks up to you at the sight of the cup.

“On the house,”

“Thank you.”

You busy yourself behind the bar, checking and tidying stuff up under the bar as Wonwoo sips on his coffee. You peek glances over him. He doesn’t look as tired as the last time you saw him. But if your over-analysis and timeline matched, his reasoning behind crouching like a pathetic man in front of your workplace must have something to do with it.

“Is it okay if I ask you what’s wrong?”

Your sudden approach jolts him a little. He chuckles, “it’s fine,” you wait for his pause.

“I can say it’s family matters. Something came up and we had to figure it out somehow, a little stressful I might say,” you hum understanding.

“Did you not have work today? You usually come later. It’s not even six yet,”

He shakes his head, “No, I just finished super early. My seniors are having dinner, too, so,”

“Not going?”

“Not really my thing. Only works when I was new,”

He takes a sip of his coffee again. You space out for a moment not knowing what to respond. You were never the best at comforting someone. For as long as you’ve been friends with your best friends, you’ve always listened. Maybe give them some hugs and pats on the head, words of “I’m here” and “You’re not on your own” repeatedly said, affirming.

You felt sort of bad and truly embarrassed at how you acted behind him the past weeks, sort of suspecting his love life, getting (you admit) jealous at some random woman you don’t know and didn’t even try to know. Maybe what you thought a few weeks ago was right. Maybe you do have a huge cru–

“Yes, Wonwoo?” your ribbons of thoughts were snipped by Wonwoo calling your name.

“You’re usually bright, is something wrong?”

Confused by his question, you look around unsure. Guests usually come around an hour after opening, and you never wished someone to come in right now so bad through your whole career.

“M-maybe? I don’t know, sorry,”

Wonwoo was in the middle of wiping his glasses with the paw of his sleeves. He puts them back on.

“It’s usually me who’s quiet between us,” he adjusts them to the bridge of his nose, looking up at you from his seat, smiling.

Between us? He’s not making this any better. You scratch the back of your neck, not planning to come up with any reply or answer. You avert your gaze to the window, trying to avoid his eyes. Your wish of customers barging in is washed away by the rain—not slowing down any minute apparently.

“I just thought something came up and you had to like,” you chuckle at your assumption, “get off early or, run away or some sort,”

Wonwoo was still sipping his coffee. Not sensing his answer in any minute, you finish your prior thought with your remaining breath, “sort of heartbroken-looking.”

You organize the shot bottle on the under bar, again trying to distract yourself from the fact that he's now facing you, eyes boring. You didn’t budge and he stared at his coffee.

“I wanna get to know you, Wonwoo,” you finally look at him. Emphasizing on your tone, you don’t want him to feel like you’re just messing around.

“Can I?” you ponder at him, preparing yourself for the worst.

“I don’t know if it's possible. For all the time you came here, the past few weeks, I always get all... gung-ho when cooking, or preparing side dishes and bowls in the back. It’s like I want you to see me doing great like there’s nothing wrong in my mind. You know, "bright" like you said. It’s honestly stupid, fuck…” you breath out the last word.

“And then you came in super late that night, with that… heavy shoulders and countless refills of this damned beer, and then came in with that lady not once but twice, and this… serious tension between the two of you. You know, I just didn’t want to assume but it’s just… I don’t know, it was kinda confu–”

“With who now?”

You instantly pause, knowing full well he has probably catched on. So you sigh, “That… friend around your age. Pretty, slight tan, long hair,” you scratch your forehead in defeat. It’s like your pride just splurts out like a balloon being squished its air out.

You excuse yourself by collecting his empty cup on the top counter to refill it, but a hand halts your steps grabbing onto your arm.

“Don’t give me more, I don’t handle caffeine that well.”

“Just… let me put this back to the kitchen,”

“Later. Sit here.” he orders.

Your heart flinched at the slight octave drop of his already soft voice. Another sigh of loss, you put back the cup. Wonwoo slowly let go of your arm to let you walk around the bar counter.

It’s now a whole new view. Wonwoo is sitting right next to you and you can definitely smell his cologne. Even just one second of eye contact, you couldn’t handle it. How does one’s gaze be so soft and comforting? You dart your eyes and cover them with your hands with elbows on the table.

“Just… let's just finish this. I already feel ridiculous.”

All you can catch with your ears was his soft chuckle and fabric rustling, “you wanna get to know me right?”

You feel his fingers snake around your wrist, gently pulling your hands away from your face. Seeing his face up close does not help even one bit, you feel even more like shit of how messy and pathetic you must’ve looked.

“That… “friend”, is my future sister-in-law,” he starts,

Your eyeballs could probably see the back of your head as you whip your head away in another embarrassment, “Ugh, Wonwoo, enough of that,”

“Which is why we were so stressed we had to talk about it on our own. My brother’s marriage is on the line.”

You hear his tone indicating him smiling whilst explaining. To be frank, you kind of already gave up the moment his voice dropped an octave lower. All you can do now is just to sit next to Wonwoo with his thumb drawing circles on your palm. 

“It’s not stupid,” he softly assures, fingertips a little cold from sheltering the rain earlier. But it does feel so to you. Stupid crush at the ripe age of your 20s. Great. 

“So can I get to know you then?”

You look up at him, desperate for his answer and decision.

“Only if I get to know you, too. Here,”

He taps his finger to the table, hand still not letting go of yours. You make sure once more, “like right here?”

He nods, “until today’s first customer.”

You’re not sure if the smile on your lips is for him or just out of embarrassment, “Well technically you are one,” you chuckle, “at least let me put this back to the kitchen.”

Well, now that your stupid crush issue is all clear, you can finally find the courage to look at his face one more time, no meddling. All you can focus on was the soft and playful beam on his eyes behind that thick specs.

“Tell Kouji-san you got a date tonight.”

[18:06] sensei [18:06] i might have to clock off early

[18:12] Oh sure, something’s up?

[18:13] yeah umm [18:13] i just booked myself a date

[18:14] Oooh [18:14] Hahaha [18:14] About time that wonwoo

[18:14] ??? [18:14] sensei???

—

[m.list]

im bout to make a “try not writing scenario about another meet cute at 3 am” challenge (already failed)

[fake-mouthstatic]

baby fever

@bucktommyfluffebruary, day 20. rated G.

💕

"So sorry I'm late," Tommy says as Chimney opens the door with a tired but bright smile.

"No problem, we saved you some dinner," Chim says, ushering him inside and through to the kitchen where Evan and Maddie are sitting with a sleeping Jee and her new little brother.

Tommy freezes in the doorway, his brain short circuiting when he sees Evan carefully cradling little Daniel in his arms, grinning down at him with a smile so bright Tommy almost feels like he needs sunglasses.

read the rest under the cut or on ao3 // other days here

"Hi Tommy," Maddie says, looking radiant as ever as she smiles at him across the living room.

It's a moment before he answers, too caught up in the sight of his boyfriend so tenderly holding a newborn; he could easily imagine it being their child and the thought sends a pleasant warmth through his chest.

"Uh, hi, sorry," he says eventually, leaning down to peck Maddie on the cheek. "How are you doing?"

Maddie smiles, joy evident in her eyes.

"Tired but good."

"Everything went okay? No complications?"

"He took a while to actually come out," she says, casting an inordinately fond look at her son, "but other than that, peachy."

Chim reappears with a plate of leftovers and Tommy takes it gratefully, his stomach rumbling at the delicious smell of casserole wafting into his nostrils.

He sits carefully on the couch next to Evan, pressing a kiss to his temple.

"How was work?" Evan asks softly, finally tearing his gaze away from the sleeping bundle in his arms.

"Two alarm turned into a three alarm turned into a four."

Evan grimaces in sympathy. "Oof."

"Yeah, oof. How was your day?"

"Perfect," Evan says, returning his soft smile to his adorable nephew.

"You're really great with kids," Tommy tells Evan as they set off home a couple of hours later, the Jeep's engine rumbling gently beneath them.

Evan smiles, looking shyly pleased.

"I just love them," he says, practically beaming. "Kids are awesome."

His smile fades suddenly and Tommy can almost see the gears whirring in his head.

"You, uh, you want kids?" he asks hesitantly. "I know we haven't really talked about it yet."

Tommy smiles, reaching over to rest his hand on Evan's thigh; the rate their relationship had been going they'd barely had time to breathe, let alone talk about the important stuff.

"One day, yeah," Tommy says, his words putting a smile back on Evan's face. "Definitely one, maybe two."

"Okay, good," Evan says, seeming relieved, "because I definitely want kids."

"Yeah, I figured from the way you wouldn't let your nephew go all night," Tommy teases, grinning as Evan blushes. "And honestly? I've seen you with kids enough to know it'd be criminal for you not to be a dad."

Evan smiles, bright and shy all at once.

"You're gonna be a great dad too, you know."

Tommy smiles softly.

"I hope so."

Evan lifts Tommy's hand from his thigh, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles.

"I know so."

[c4qwp]

felix catton x fem!reader

| he falls hard for you

📎 tags : fluff, female reader, felix being older than you by a year, fanon of felix bc i’m such a bad writer guys, bad orthography, (my first post…), felix being a fucking cutie patootie, (y/n) not mentioned

📎 words count : oof idk but not a lot 💀🔥🔥🔥😜😜😜

📎 author's note : this is my first post (so first story), don’t hesitate to comment to help me to progress! english isn’t my first language, idk if felix is fanon but i tried my best to write him like i how i see him

felix was a charming, flirty, wealthy and captivating man. everyone loved him. everyone wanted to be around him. it exhausted him. people just wouldn't leave him alone. especially the girls. but he didn’t care about them, you were the exception.

you've only known felix for 6 months, but that hasn't stopped you from liking each other's personalities —and physiques. you're a new student from california studying at oxford, and the handsome british guy hasn't stopped coming to see you to find out more about you.

it all started with a laugh he heard in the hallway. a cute one he thought. and that's how he first saw you.

"hello?" you called loudly when you noticed eyes on you.

the sunlight illuminated felix perfectly as he met your gaze. you were just too cute. your doe eyes watching him while scanning him up and down due to his height.

"hey sorry- ive never seen you here before, are you new?" he asked.

as you were telling your friend to wait for you, an other guy appeared besides the stranger.

"felix where the fuck have you been mate??" a man with curly hair said.

"dude i’m busy let’s talk later" felix replied.

"hey sor-"

and you were gone.

felix didn’t even catch your name and it disappointed him. he likes to meet new people, even more when they’re cute like you.

a month passed after this rather short meeting. as you were revising in the library, a voice called out to you.

"oh hey arent you the new student?"

felix. you heard about him, only good thingd though. you’ve met him but his — pretty face, made you speechless. you felt shy in front of him. now there you are, sitting like an idiot and saying nothing. gosh.

"oh — uhmm hey!" you relied a bit nervously.

"hey! sorry i think we'd met before but hadn't talked more" he said.

"yes i remember." you introduced yourself and smiled.

"i’m felix catton nice to meet you as well" he smiled in turn.

"yeahh i heard about you, felix" you smirked and closed your book.

"oh yeah? i hope you've heard good things about me haha" he said.

"mmhh who knows?" you teased him.

while there was a small blank, he glimpsed your book.

"wait aint no way you’re reading harry potter?!" he said, trying to whisper as much as possible so as not to disturb the other students.

"way. i really like reading books. they're better than movies. and this is not the first time that i’m reading it." you replied.

"it’s my favorite book and it feels good to meet someone who thinks the same about it." he said with a big smile on his face.

it was getting late and you had to get back to your dorm to phone your best friend, who unfortunately wasn't at the same university as you. you exchanged phone numbers and then left.

one day.

one fucking day.

you two were apart for only a day. he sent you the first message and you answered them. he couldn't stop thinking about your smile, your eyes and your voice. it was the same for you.

even though you'd only been messaging each other for 2 weeks, he asked you if you wanted to go out somewhere. of course, you agreed and offered to go for a coffee to take a break from studying.

you put on a beautiful white summer dress that showed off your body.

‘i hope i’m not overdoing it...’ you thought.

03:17PM

"i’m so sorry for being late—…" you whispered to the man with a glass of soda against his lips, letting him know you were tired and done with the conversation. your eyes sparkling with joy, your lips curling up into a gleeful smile when you locked eyes with the person you had been craving to see all evening. he hadn't missed one night, not a single one. he was right on time. right there to stay with you, make you feel comfortable, talk to you all night.

you'd laugh, he'd watch.

he'd talk, you'd listen.

"no no don’t wo—" as he turned to answer you, he was stunned by your beauty.

his eyes wandered up and down your face. you noticed him and smiled at him.

‘i hate the way you make me feel — my chest begin to tighten when my eyes lock onto yours, yet i find it merely impossible to look away.’

[factual-fantasy]

Heya Factual! Hope things are going as good as they can on your end! Sorry it's been a bit since my last Ask, I got sick AGAIN and have been out of commission for a while now. But at last I have returned! Sorry to see your still having some technical troubles- really hoping you can figure it all out!

Also, I wanted to thank you! While I was sick, inspired by your art, I decided to give Sky a try on mobile (just got a new phone), and while I'm still super early in the game, it seems really cool! I'm not sure how linear the game is, but I figured I'd ask, as a veteran, do you have any advice or pointers for a beginner? Anything of interest I should check out or invest in? (Oh, and also, sorry about the color swap disappointments, sounds like a real bummer!)

And lastly, unrelated, I really liked the Pomni and Gummigoo art you did a few days back! I really like both of them together, and would love to see more of their story later down the road! Though I was wondering, you mentioned Max and Chad both stuck around in your AU too! Any cool redesign or story ideas for those two? Do they stick with Gummigoo, or have they branched out over time into the other friend groups?

(Color swap disappointment post) (Pomni and Gummigoo post)

Hello! Oof, sorry to hear that you got sick again <:(( But I'm glad you seem to be feeling better! As for my tech issues I have gotten a new chord for my tablet and have downloaded a fresh FireAlpaca. So far none of the screen glitches have come back and FireAlpaca is working perfectly! :))

Also thank you! :DD I'm glad you liked it!! :}} And while Chad's ref sheet is done, Max's is still in the sketch stage. I just haven't gotten around to finishing him <:/

Now their friend groups.. I was thinking that not many circus goers really vibe with NPCs all that much. So the number of people who they can make genuine friendships with is limited.. that being said I think Chad and Max would find a solid friendships with Gangle and maybe Zibble and uhhh... Ms. Wiggles..? Maybe? :0

Gangle has a soft spot for NPCs thanks to Bella and respects them more than others. So out of the 3 I think their friendships would be strongest with her.

Now sky.. ohhh boy prepare for a wall of text <XDD (Note there is a little spoiler for something in Golden Wasteland!)

Alrighty, so when I got this ask I sat down and made a list of every little nugget of sky advice I could possibly think of. Until eventually I took a step back and realized that a lot of it wasn't really solid advice or pointers <XDD so I cut the list down into somethings that I either wish a veteran would have taught me when I was a moth. Or things I found out too late and missed out on something or anything like that. Plus some advice I've tired really hard to beat into other moths heads for their own good but they never understand me in game <XDD

First off. Seasons, reoccurring events and non reoccurring events. Its important to know the difference between the three for this advice.

Seasons are limited-time themed events that come with the option of purchasing an Season Pass, which allows players to access extra Cosmetics and Expressions during the Season in exchange for an in-game purchase.👇👇👇

~~~~~

Special Events (also called Holiday Events). These are limited-time events introducing new cosmetics themed around real-life celebrations. Most Special Events recur annually. Some of these events take place in the Secret Area, accessible from the Vault of Knowledge. They are separate from, but may overlap with, Seasonal Events and Double Currency Events.👇👇👇

~~~~~

Non-recurring Events (or Short Events). These events are special or unannounced events that do not repeat or return due to their special characteristics. This list also includes events that have not been confirmed to return nor have a history of recurrence.👇👇👇

~~~~~

Alrighty, got that all processed? I hope so <XD Now onto my advice.

1: Collaborative in app purchase items (items you need to buy with real money) will never return. Let me explain.

In sky there is a reoccurring event made by sky called days of fortune. (Its basically a Chinese new year event) Its going on right now actually! :0 This event has come back once a year every year. And the cosmetics that you need to purchase with real money have come back every time too.

However, the Cinnamoroll collaborative event? That event and all of the items it brought with it will not reoccur.

You have to be careful and check every event and make sure its one that will return. If its a collab season like Cinnamoroll and you don't buy the items? They will vanish and you wont have the chance to buy them ever again :( I learned my lesson the hard way when I didn't buy the fox plush and the yellow scarf from season of the little prince years and years ago. 😔 Up to this point the little prince's in app purchase items have not returned since.

This goes for collaborative seasons as well. Season of the little prince, season of aurora and season of moomin, etc, will not have their in app purchase items return. Be careful to know which is which during the event/season so you don't regret anything!

Another note about non returning items: While individual spirits that you can relive the memories of, can return as traveling spirits once every 2 weeks.. any items that the guide of that season offers will be unavailable after the season ends. 👇👇👇

Also speaking of traveling spirits, here's some advice I had to figure out myself. As someone who has every single traveling spirit in the game? As long as you have 200 candles, 40 hearts and 20 ascended candles? You will be able to afford all the cosmetics from ANY traveling spirit that shows up. If you keep a nice candle run schedule this wont be too hard to keep up with!

Also note about traveling spirits. They can take a looong time to return. When I first started playing I bought out half the items a traveling spirit offered before he left. I knew he would come back so I wasn't upset. But it took 2 REAL LIFE YEARS. 2 WHOLE YEARS for him to FINALLY come back. So this is why I advise you be really careful with the 200🕯️,40💝 and 20🧨. It would suck a lot if a spirit showed up that you really liked!.. Only for you to not afford it and have to wait a year or two to see it again <XDD

Now currency. Sky tries to make out that ascended candles are the most valuable currency. This is a load of bologna. By far the most valuable and sought after currency is hearts. You can go and get ascended candles by yourself all you want. But hearts have to be given to you by other players in one way or another. Which makes them EXTREMELY hard to get for some people. My advice is to hoard those things like your life depends on it. Try to have a stock pile of at least 30 to prepare for any temporary and expensive items that may come your way. Don't go and blow them all on the home spirits like I did <XDD

Now candle runs.. a lot of players will tell you you have to do a candle run through the ENTIRE GAME to keep up with sky's bonkers prices. Which is sometimes true... However, I have recently discovered this candle run route on YouTube that has helped me loads! I modified it a little and don't do the turtle thing, but if you're worried about runs that take hours this could be very useful to you! About a week or soo of keeping up with it and I'm almost at 400 candles! :)))

Another thing I want to advise is the whole ultimate reward thing in the home constellations. (Random google images)

The game will tell you that if you ascend all the spirits in a realm constatation, that it'll unlock the "ultimate reward". Which is that question mark in the middle. Typically this means you just gotta buy every single item from every single spirit in that constellation and the reward will be unlocked.

THAT IS NOT THE CASE HERE!! You do NOT have to buy the VERY EXPENSIVE tier 2 capes that some spirits offer. Just everything else. So repeat you buy everything the spirits offer, but you DO NOT have to buy the super expensive tier 2 capes in order to unlock the ultimate reward. Save your hearts, you're welcome! XDD

Now the Golden Wasteland advice. As a veteran I NEED to teach you HOW to burn down this plant in wasteland.

This plant is in the last area before the temple in wasteland. Not to be confused with the GIANT PLANT that's in the area infested with Krill. This is the smaller one after it. And there has been DOZENS UPON DOZENS of times a moth has come by to help me burn it down and not known how to do it. I've sat there for 20 minutes each time trying DESPERATLY to communicate what order to burn the plant down but they never get it. So I shall teach you!

Hopefully that little comic got my point across! XD

Another word of advice is to check out nastymold on YouTube! She is a very sweet and soft spoken YouTuber that plays the beta version of sky. She gets all the updates early and makes short videos explaining everything you need to know about any events or seasons. If you're ever confused about anything or are afraid you may miss out on something in an event, just check out her channel! No doubt she's already covered it and explained it for you so you don't miss nothing!

Now my last word of advice for you is this. Take the game slow. Really soak up your moth days and take your time playing it.

Many veteran players are heartbroken that they let another veteran drag them through their moth days and didn't really get to explore or experience anything naturally for themselves. And other veterans just miss their moth days in general. When the game felt huge and there was so much to explore and so many things to save and grind for.

I don't think I'm like that personally, I'm way more relaxed as a veteran knowing I understand how the game works and I'm not missing out on anything. But I can understand missing those moth days feeling like a kid running around and seeing all the beautiful things for the first time.

So just take things nice and slow. Soak up the game at a nice pace. if there's an event that you'd like to partake in but don't understand it just watch nastymold. She always has a sweet little video that tells you all you need to know without really dampening your moth experience. You can only be a moth once.

Well that's all the actually practical advice I had on my list. I hope you find some use in this wall of text XDD thanks for reading and see you in the skies! 💞🕊️

[strwbrychffoncke]

"the most wonderful time of the year,, 1.2k words synopsis: you decide to surprise a certain doctor when your mission wraps up earlier than expected; quality time in the form of decorating takes place contains: lads greyson x reader (not lads mc but reader is a hunter!) ,v fluffy ,maybe ooc greyson (using what little screentime he has + characterization through others) , ,playful teasing/back n forths ,kisses ,hugs ,domestic feel(?) ,soft makeout ,he carries you ,ending might be suggestive (but doesnt have to be interpreted that way lol) ,thats mostly it :x note: (mostly edited! pls bare w me!) this one was simultaneously easy and difficult. the idea was there but w what little screentime greyson had i had to draw up character aspects from thin air sigh... i think it came out well? at some point i tried capturing the "warm, home-y" type feel that something like the holidays seems to bring w it so hopefully its conveyed well?

upon entering his home late in the evening, greyson notices a couple of things.

one, he absolutely did not leave music playing when he left, and certainly not the festive classics who's notes float their way towards the entrance, seemingly coming from the living room.

two, the boxes littering just at the end of the walkway were not there when he left for work this morning.

and three...

the special guest humming along to the music and scurrying around the living area was not expected for another day or so.

he haphazardly shrugs off his coat in realization, speedwalking down the short path towards the destination that would lead to you.

he was eager to hold you in his arms again, unable to stand another moment without you when you were right there.

. . .

upon finishing your two week-long mission earlier than expected, you managed to contain the excitement from telling your boyfriend or stopping by akso hospital (you did have some minor cuts and bruises, but figured it was too little to have greyson fuss over, thinking he likely had more important matters to deal with), instead settling to surprise him at his place when he got off of work.

though, when you got there in the early evening, the lack of decorations and the sight of a bare tree were too much for you to leave alone, deciding to dig around for any decorations you could find, and embellish the place while you waited for him.

. . .

something new you learned about greyson today: he had quite the amount of festive decorations.

you're looking around at the containers of decorations and ornaments you have out, checking to see that you have everything you might need when you're engulfed by a sudden weight.

you startle for a moment, not properly registering who it is before you both are quickly falling towards the ground.

in his excitement (and slight miscalculation of the actual distance between you two), greyson practically crashes into you.

in a split second, you're engulfed in his arms as he twists his body while tugging you, falling on his back with a small oof while cushioning your landing as you plop down right on top of him.

"g-greyson??!"

"sorry! are you alright?"

he's gripping your waist securely, looking up at you, automatically checking over you for any injuries.

you shake your head, hands on his chest, pushing yourself up slightly.

"i'm okay... what about you?? what was that?"

after assuring you're alright, he smiles.

"you didn't tell me you were back already. can you blame me for being a little excited?"

you let out a laugh, crawling off of him before offering a hand to pull you both to your feet, a sheepish smile overtaking your features.

"i wanted to surprise you, hehe... seems like it worked?"

"it definitely surprised me," he cups your face in his hands, and you instinctually nuzzle further into his warm hold.

"i missed you."

his voice is a little quieter, his honesty shooting straight to your heart, eyes shining up at him.

he doesnt let you respond, closing the distance and meeting your lips in a sweet kiss. your arms wind their way around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer to you.

after all, you missed him just as much, if not moreso.

after a minute the need for breath becomes too strong. you break the kiss first, eyes fluttering open, a quiet laugh escaping you as you watch greyson's lips chase yours for a moment before pulling back to look up at him, arms still around his neck. his eyes are bright as he looks back at you, thumbs caressing the sides of your face.

a playful look takes over your gaze before you speak.

"but you know, who knew the doctor greyson had so many christmas decorations?" you tilt your head, exaggerated surprise lacing your tone.

"even more, for someone who seems to like christmas so much, your tree is just depressing! so little time until christmas and the tree is as bare as it was when i left?"

you slip a hand from his neck to poke his cheek.

"for shame, doctor greyson" you finish, pouting playfully and shaking your head lightly.

a deep rumble escapes his chest at your teasing, gaze shining with mirth.

"well, you know how it is at the hospital," he moves in close again suddenly, noses centimeters from touching.

"and what can i say? i missed a certain hunter too much while she was away. how can i bring myself to decorate the tree myself knowing its your favorite part of the holiday?"

he pecks your lips, much shorter than the last before pulling back and booping your nose.

you feel your face warm at his honesty, gaze shyly darting to the side.

"w-well, in that case... would you like to help me?"

a bright smile overtakes his charming features.

"would i?"

-

you and greyson spend the next while sorting through the ornaments in the containers, thinking of a color scheme before deciding which ornaments to place and where.

"this one is too cute! let's put it in the center-"

"doesn't this one look better?"

"doctor greyson, i had no idea you had such a knack for decorating!"

"i'm not so sure id say that..."

playful conversation fills the living room, the music a quiet hum in the background as you both carefully assess and hang each ornament in place.

"oh! i brought some candy canes too, let me go find them~"

you scurry off to the kitchen, swiftly returning with a couple of boxes.

greyson's eyes widen at the treats in your arms.

"darling, i'm not so sure you know what the word 'some' means..."

you playfully gasp.

"well, i made sure to get the ones that you like and the ones that i like. plus, they were on sale!"

"you know I'm not picky..." he shakes his head, "but thank you for thinking of me."

you open the boxes before you respond plainly.

"im always thinking of you."

greyson's cheeks color a pretty shade of pink as he feels his heart skip a beat. he's not even sure if you've realized what you said, working to free the candy cane's from their confines before you hand him his.

what is he going to do with you? he thinks.

. . .

candy cane's in hand, you inspect the tree for a moment.

"do you think they'll all fit...?"

"i'm sure they will- there's still a considerable amount of space. see?" he says, placing one closer to the top.

"pfft, you only say that because you're so tall."

"i can always help you up here, too" he offers.

you ponder for a moment.

"if i can't find anymore space down here, i'll let you know."

he giggles, nodding.

"sure."

(you did end up taking greyson up on his offer, and he gratefully lifted you up to place your remaining candy canes closer to the top of the tree. when he gently placed you back down, you wondered aloud how you would get them down later, to which he replied "you'll just have to ask me, of course!" a little too proudly, but given your sweet tooth, you know he'll have the full-power to deny you of fulfilling your craving when the time comes. you couldnt help but shudder at the thought).

-

in just a couple of minutes, when every ornament and candy cane is hanging in place, you take a step back to admire your masterpiece, pausing before a question bubbles up.

"do you think the candy canes throw off the color scheme?"

greyson backs up to where you are, looking at the tree for a few moments before answering.

"nope. if anything, it gives it even more character, don't you think?" he shoots back, gaze wandering to you.

"yeah, you're right," you look back up at him. "and we did it together," you smile gratefully.

together.

yes, you did this together.

he nods before suddenly closing the distance in one step, engulfing you in a warm hug.

"greyson?"

"can we stay like this for a bit?"

you wrap your arms back around him, returning his loving embrace, breathing in his scent.

"of course."

he was so grateful to have you to spend christmas with, excited to do whatever you wished so long as you were both doing it together.

arms still secure around you, he pulls back enough to take a look at your face. you look up in question, parting your lips to speak before he dives down, silencing any words with the answer of his kiss, both your eyes slipping shut as your lips easily melt into his, returning the love and yearning he's pouring into them.

neither of you keep track of how much time passes like this, christmas tree lights twinkling on your silhouettes as it casts embracing shadows on the wall, festive music a gentle ambiance in the otherwise silence that engulfs the space, hearts laid out for each other in a soft warmth, words unnecessary in the loving gestures that you share.

-

extra.

you place a hand on his chest, pausing him from diving back in as you lift a hand to cover your mouth, letting out a yawn.

greyson's eyes crinkle.

"are you tired?"

"i guess so," you lower your hand. "what time is it?" you reach for your phone, but greyson is quicker, reading the time from his watch.

"its... 11 pm?"

greyson almost laughs at the way your eyes shoot open in surprise.

"what??! i didn't realize how much time had passed..."

"should we get ready for bed then?"

you give a sleepy nod before you're startled again as you feel yourself being lifted up.

"greyson?!??"

he hums in acknowledgement, making his way towards the bedroom.

"what are you-"

"my lovely miss hunter is tired, so im carrying her to bed," he states matter-of-factly. "is that a problem?"

"no its just..."

his gaze is soft at your sudden shyness, pushing the door open with his shoulder.

"you deserve some good rest for all of your hard work," he speaks quieter, placing you gently on the bed. "allow me to spoil you, miss hunter."

and spoil you he did. you think this is the best sleep you've gotten in the almost fourteen days you'd been away from him. how ever did you manage that long without him, you aren't even sure yourself.

-

a/n: had to keep replaying greyson voicelines in my head n read it in the dialogue i looooove his deep voice heheheh dr greyson marry me ? i wanna write for him more he's soooooo cute yet attractive at the same time?? i<3 him i can only hope i did him justice sigh

[the-music-maniac]

So Sephiroth accidentally calls Lazard daddy

IFHDJDJD I forgot to check my ask box because like...I almost never get asks??? OMG HI??? 👀👀 I'm sorry about the late response @snowbanshee (do I need to tag you? I have no idea if you get a notif when I respond 😅😅). Oof not off to a good start LMAO

SO! If Sephiroth calls Lazard specifically "daddy" (instead of "father" like it was implied in @rottenpumpkin13's ask) I fully think the man would short circuit for a second. Maybe not necessarily because he's into it at the beginning but because who wouldn't if Sephiroth calls you that out of nowhere. What does he do? Is this an HR violation? Do they even have an HR?

I know the ask implied it was by accident, but I think it'd be funnier if Sephiroth calls Lazard that in the first place because either Zack or Genesis managed to successfully convince him that it's a way to refer to someone you respect, informally because it's current slang. As a prank.

Sephiroth remains utterly oblivious to the implications of that word, and Lazard has to delicately try and explain it. Which is an awful conversation to have, because try explaining the sexualization of the word used for parental figures to a man that has no proper parents. 👀 Yeesh. Eventually, he just gives up and deals with it. So, Sephiroth continues to just. Call him "daddy". I think a bonus to it is it would probably both confuse and piss off Hojo in equal measure which is an even greater incentive for him to continue.

So Sephiroth just starts referring to Lazard as daddy in casual conversation. One notable time, during a meeting - that one was accidental cause Sephiroth didn't mean to be so informal - and was taken aback by the sheer magnitude of the reaction from the other meeting members. Well, he knows this is a professional setting, but he didn't think some use of casual slang should warrant such dramatics. He tells the entire room this. Lazard turns entirely red, and puts his head in his hands.

It sparks up some WILD ass rumours in Shinra. They'd expect this from Genesis maybe as a way to piss off the higher ups, or some of the more jokey soldiers in an ironic way but from SEPHIROTH??? SEPHIROTHHH?????? Obviously the only conclusion they can make is that this man is being serious??? They're dating? Is this a kink thing?? An inside joke??? What is happening???? Add that to the fact that Sephiroth often hides out in Lazard's office to avoid the science department?? The gossip mills are going crazyyyyy.

The silver elite puts out a statement that Sephiroth is dating the director of SOLDIER. Both Sephiroth and Lazard are separately congratulated on their relationship. Angeal attempts to sit Sephiroth down and give him a lecture on safe BDSM etiquette. It is about as mortifying as it sounds. Zack (or Genesis, depending on who pranked him) doesn't know whether to feel horrified or amused at how far this has gone.

At this point there's no way Sephiroth hasn't understood that something is up, but he's realized at this point that he's able to use Lazard as an excuse to get out of going to things. It doesn't always work cause Lazard is a director in Shinra so unfortunately he can't use it to get out of official events, but for escaping the science department? For getting out of people/fans trying to hit on him??? For getting out of stupid PR stuff? YES. He just has to hit em with a "Apologies, I'm already taken", "my partner has expressed discomfort over me showing too much of my skin in campaign photos" etc. etc. and he's scot free. It helps too that his partner is someone high up in Shinra. He's milking this for all it's worth. He tells people uncomfortable things about their supposed sex life with a totally blank expression to get out of conversations he doesn't want to have. Lazard is losing his mind a little bit.

He's losing his mind partly because of the sheer embarrassment of being called "daddy" by one of his soldiers one of his very attractive soldiers, that already liked hanging out in his office cause he views Lazard as a safe space, which already made him feel warm and fuzzy for reasons he will NOT examine AT ALL, but also partly because people are now noticing him because of the rumours. He has a fanclub now. There's people in Midgar raving about how attractive he is, thirsting about his gloves, his cheekbones, his suit, his hair, his glasses??? They're just glasses???? How strict is he if he has that kind of relationship with Sephiroth?? 🫢🤭🤭 He's so commanding when he talks!! Etc. etc.

People are agreeing that obviously the only one suitable for Sephiroth is Lazard. People are pointing out how hard he works, his diligence and confidence and intelligence. Lazard supposes he's at least glad that the majority of public opinion is good, despite the uptick of death threats he's been receiving in the form of letters. The partner of Sephiroth has no way of avoiding the spotlight.

It's annoying - but it's almost a saving grace. Now that he's well known, his asshat of a father Shinra would have a hell of a harder time getting rid of him. If the man reacts too strongly to Lazard's gain in popularity, it becomes suspicious. He can use this.

In addition to making slightly bolder moves in Shinra's internal politics, Lazard also starts getting in on the fun. He strikes me as someone who can have some very dry humour, there's no way he wouldn't find joy in making annoying conversation partners uncomfortable.

And while all this is happening, Sephiroth continues to seek refuge in Lazard's office. The science department has an even harder time finding him, because now soldiers and employees alike will run interference for him, just so he can spend some more time with his partner. Now it's no longer a soldier having a meeting with a director. Now it's Sephiroth trying to spend as much time as possible with his loved one, because he barely gets to see him otherwise. They find it sweet.

I think this entire debacle will also allow Sephiroth and Lazard to become closer. Lazard was already vaguely aware of the awful things the science department does, but I think the more details he learns, the more keen he would be in using his new found leverage to get Seph out of that situation. They're both men with heavy responsibilities, with fathers they'd rather not have, in precarious positions. They're strategist and soldier. They could very easily find comfort and understanding in each other. Sephiroth would see how protective Lazard is for his SOLDIERS, at how hard the man works, at the quiet way he cares, and the quiet way he tries to make life easier for others as a cog in a crushing system, and I think he'd be quite charmed. He understands why everyone was so taken with Lazard - who wouldn't be?

And conversely, one day Lazard will look over at Sephiroth, hair mussed from no sleep after hours of paperwork, grumpily curled up on his office couch (pretending he does have a couch and not just a big empty room of nothing like we saw in crisis core) and realize that he doesn't want him to leave. This man who was crushed and molded into a deadly weapon for Shinra's use, yet still manages to keep his quiet demeanour, his dry humour, his desire to be a good person, his care for the same subordinates Lazard tries to protect.

And this becomes the beginning of the awkward courtship of Lazard trying to get a cat boyfriend after everyone already thinks they're dating. But that's a story for another time. 👀👀

[lilahlovesjjk]

🇼​​🇭​​🇪​​🇳​ ​🇮​ ​🇬​​🇷​​🇴​​🇼​ ​🇺​​🇵

Chapter 5

synopsis: You and Satoru Gojo used to be inseparable—the kind of childhood best friends that promised to get married, rule the world, and never leave each other’s side.

Then life happened.

Now, years later, you’re both enrolled in the same elite psychology graduate program—only this time, you’re rivals. Gojo’s loud, flirty, obnoxiously charming, and infuriatingly good at everything. You're focused, sharp, constantly proving yourself—and desperate not to let the past (or him) throw you off course.

warnings: angst, slowburn (kinda), swearing, eventual nsfw, (i'll add to the list if I think of any more as the story progresses)

The campus was buzzing with its usual late-morning hum—students lounging on benches with half-zipped backpacks, others rushing by with headphones in and coffee cups clutched like lifelines. You stood in the short line at the campus coffee cart, toeing the ground with your shoe and watching the barista prep a drink with far too much whipped cream.

You were surviving on minimal sleep and residual embarrassment. Ever since your he dropped you off at your place a few nights ago, you’d been carefully orchestrating your schedule to avoid Gojo. Limited eye contact. Short replies. Strategic bathroom breaks. It was almost working.

Almost.

Because then you heard it—that unmistakable voice sliding in behind you like it was born to ruin your peace.

“Don’t tell me you’re here for my order,” Gojo said, leaning in just enough to make you flinch. “Sorry, angel. I only share fries. Not caffeine.”

You sighed. “Go away, Gojo.”

“Oh, come on,” he grinned, stepping closer until he was directly behind you in line, sunglasses perched like a crown on his snowy head. “You miss me.”

You turned just enough to arch a brow at him. “I’ve actually had three very peaceful days without you. You should try it.”

“But who would lovingly critique your fashion choices and hoard all your highlighters?”

“Literally anyone else.”

Gojo gave a dramatic gasp, placing a hand over his chest. “Oof. Wounded. Guess I’ll just be emotionally devastated while I order my—” He glanced at the menu. “—iced matcha latte with oat milk, light ice, two pumps of vanilla, and the sweet, sweet taste of my enemies’ tears.”

You blinked. “You realize you sound like a drama student with a food allergy?”

“I’m an experience, not a diagnosis.”

You rolled your eyes and stepped forward to place your order. Gojo did the same after you, flashing a peace sign at the barista like he was a regular. He probably was.

You stepped to the side, waiting for your drinks, trying very hard to ignore the way he subtly shifted his stance to face you directly.

“You know,” he started casually, “Dr. Yuki’s doing check-ins on our projects tomorrow.”

You perked up. “What?”

“Yeah. Just a quick review of what we’ve done so far. She mentioned it after class yesterday.” He smirked. “Guess who skipped that part?”

You scowled. “I had criminology. I left early.”

“Which means,” he continued, sipping from an imaginary teacup, “we’re gonna need to make it look like we’re not totally behind. You still have your notes, right?”

You gave a reluctant nod.

“Then we should meet up again. Tonight,” he said, too casually. “My place.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Your place? What happened to the library?”

“It’s always freezing in there,” he said, scrunching his nose. “Besides, Geto’s out with some girl and won’t be back till late. Perfect quiet study vibes. Just you, me, and the emotional baggage of early childhood trauma.”

Your coffee was called, and you reached for it, needing the cup to ground you. “Fine. But this is about the project, not—whatever it is you think this is.”

He raised a brow. “What do I think this is?”

“I don’t know. One of your weird games.”

Gojo leaned in slightly, tone softening just enough to make your stomach flip. “Maybe I just like hanging out with you.”

You paused. And for a second, you didn’t know what to say. But then he grinned again, all teasing and light, and the moment snapped back to its usual rhythm.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, turning to leave.

“I’ve been called worse!” he called after you. “Don’t be late! And no stripping this time unless you want another round of my unmatched chivalry.”

You didn’t turn around, didn't even acknowledge him as you walked away with a smile on your face.

Satoru Gojo had never deep-cleaned anything in his life. And yet, here he was—shirt half-tucked, hair damp from a frantic shower, standing in the middle of the apartment living room with a half-empty bottle of Febreze in one hand and a throw blanket clutched in the other like a life vest.

“I swear to god, Geto,” he hissed, looking around wildly, “why didn’t you tell me the living room looked like a frat house exploded?!”

“Because it always looks like that?” Geto replied from the kitchen, entirely unfazed as he leaned against the counter and watched the chaos unfold, sipping a matcha latte with the calm detachment of someone who had absolutely no skin in the game. “Also, your idea of decorating is putting a Supreme sticker on the microwave.”

Gojo glared at him. “This is not the time for jokes.”

“Are you... folding the throw blanket?”

“I’m staging ambiance,” Gojo said with all the seriousness of someone preparing a defense for court. He stepped back to observe the artful placement of the blanket draped over the couch. “She’s never been here before.”

“And?”

“And,” Gojo snapped, running a hand through his still-damp hair, “she’s gonna be sitting there, in that exact spot, for hours. Probably with her stupid little color-coded notes and that perfume that smells like peach tea and heartbreak.”

“You’ve memorized her scent?” Geto raised a brow.

“I have a nose.”

“You have a crush.”

Gojo’s face twisted. “Shut up.”

“Just admit it, man.”

“It’s not a crush.” Gojo looked around in alarm. “Is it hot in here? Why is it hot in here?”

“It’s called nerves.”

Gojo groaned. “She’s going to think I’m a mess, shes probably gonna think I only invited her here to hook-up or something."

“She already knows you’re a mess, and yeah that could be what she is thinking but if she shows up that is a good sign.” Geto grinned, grabbing his keys. “Good luck, lover boy. I’m gonna go before you start sweating through your shirt.”

He left just as Gojo let out an actual, audible whimper.

He stared at the couch again. Then at the snacks on the coffee table. Then at the project notes he’d half-assed for the past two days and tried to make look academic. He adjusted the blinds, lit a candle he found in the cabinet, then immediately blew it out because the scent was “Midnight Rain” and that felt too emotionally vulnerable.

When the knock finally came, his soul evacuated his body for a full second.

He opened the door.

And there you were—shoulders tucked into a light hoodie, hair a little windblown from the walk over, one strap of your backpack slipping off your shoulder. You smelled like peach tea. And, yes, heartbreak.

“Hey,” you said.

Gojo leaned in the doorway, as coolly as someone with a minor cardiac event could manage. “Hey yourself. Welcome to the chaos palace.”

You stepped in slowly, taking in the surprisingly clean apartment. “This is... less disgusting than I expected.”

“High praise,” he said, shutting the door behind you. “We had the maid in this morning. Her name’s Satoru. He cried twice and threatened to set the couch on fire.”

You gave a small laugh, and he felt it echo in his ribs. God, he was doomed.

You made your way to the couch and sat, pulling out a folder already bristling with colored tabs and printed journal articles. “Okay, so. I’ve been compiling sources for our breakdown of Bowlby’s four attachment styles, but I thought we could frame it through a developmental lens instead of just listing them—like, how they manifest at different stages of childhood and then in adult relationships.”

He blinked. “That’s actually... smart.”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“No, I mean. I was planning on showing up with a bag of candy and pretending to be charming, so you’ve officially outdone me.”

You tilted your head. “Did you at least bring candy?”

He grinned, pulling out a bag of sour gummies from behind a pillow. “Got the essentials."

You smacked his arm as he dropped down next to you, a little too close. The space between you buzzed. Gojo had to bite down on his instinct to shift even closer.

Your notes were spread across the table, along with your laptop. “Okay,” you said, clicking open a document. “We should divide the work. Maybe I’ll handle secure and anxious-ambivalent, and you do avoidant and disorganized?”

Gojo squinted. “Avoidant. Like you?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Excuse me?”

He lounged back with a smirk. “You’re clearly avoidant. Explain why you won’t text anyone back until they’re emotionally broken.”

“Oh, says the guy who jokes his way out of any serious feeling.”

“Touche.” He popped a gummy into his mouth. “Fine, I’ll take disorganized. Makes sense.”

“Why?”

He looked at you then—really looked at you—and his grin faltered. “Because it’s complicated,” he said quietly, but not without a hint of humor. “You know. Unpredictable caregiving. Mixed signals. Safety and fear all wrapped in the same person. It... hits close to home, I guess.”

Your fingers paused on the edge of your laptop. But just as the weight of his words started to settle, Gojo clapped his hands suddenly and said, “Anyway! Back to avoidant-you. Let’s dive into how you would rather walk into oncoming traffic than ask for emotional reassurance.”

You rolled your eyes, but your gaze lingered on him a second longer than usual.

He kept laughing, but his heart thudded in his chest. He wasn’t sure if it was from the confession he’d almost made or the way you’d looked at him just then, like you’d caught something cracking through the perfect surface.

You both turned back to your notes, your arms brushing now and then as you worked. Gojo tried not to visibly flinch every time it happened.

Thirty minutes later, you stretched your arms over your head with a groan. “We still have so much to do.”

Gojo swallowed hard. Your hoodie had ridden up just slightly. He looked away fast.

“We should eat,” he said, voice a little higher than usual. “You want food?”

“Sure,” you said. “As long as it’s not instant ramen.”

He jumped up. “Amazing. I’ll go order something. You keep being... scholarly and intimidating.”

Before you could respond, he darted into the hallway, phone already at his ear.

“Dude,” he hissed when Geto picked up. “She’s here.”

“Obviously. Is she murdering you yet?”

“No. But her leg touched mine and I nearly died.”

Geto’s laugh was a full cackle.

“I don’t think I can survive this study session,” Gojo whispered. “She’s got these little paperclips that match her highlighter colors. It’s deranged. It’s perfect.”

“Wow. You’re down bad.”

Gojo sighed dramatically, head falling against the wall. “I’m so screwed.”

From the living room, he heard your voice: “Everything okay?”

He cleared his throat. “Peachy! Just—uh—ordering food. Back in a sec!”

And with that, he dialed the number of a restaurant that delivers and ordered food before he stepped away from the wall, squared his shoulders, and marched back in.

Fake it till you make it he thought or until she figures out you’re in love with her and flees the country.

Whichever came first.

The apartment falls into a thick, wordless hush. There’s no music, no murmured jokes, no teasing remarks or commentary from Gojo to break it. Just the occasional scratch of pencil against paper and the low hum of the fridge in the kitchen. The only thing louder than the silence is the way Gojo’s mind refuses to shut the hell up.

He’s supposed to be reading over a journal article on Bowlby’s attachment theory—something about disorganized patterns and parental responsiveness—but all his focus is drawn to the girl sitting on the other half of the couch.

You.

You're cross-legged, hunched slightly forward over your notebook, brows furrowed as your pen races along the page. The soft, steady swish of your handwriting has a rhythm to it that should be mundane, boring even—but for some reason, it sounds almost hypnotic. Like a metronome he’s synced to without realizing it.

Your perfume—some light, sweet thing he can’t stop thinking of—is making it really hard to breathe like a normal person. And every time you shift, every time your knee bumps into his, even just slightly, it feels like a tiny static shock right to his ribs.

You’re wearing that fuzzy sweater again. The one he already knows is softer than it looks, because he accidentally brushed against your arm earlier when reaching for a highlighter. He still hasn’t recovered.

God, he’s pathetic.

His eyes drift from the pages in front of him to the curve of your cheek, to the soft line of your jaw, to the way you chew lightly on the end of your pen when you’re thinking. He could sketch you from memory at this point.

“Do you think we should include something about internal working models?” you ask suddenly, not looking up.

Gojo blinks. “Huh?”

You turn your head just slightly, not enough to notice the way he was staring—but enough that he has to scramble to recover.

“Internal working models,” you repeat, gesturing toward your notes. “Bowlby says they form based on early attachment experiences, right? So even in adulthood, people use those mental models to predict how relationships are supposed to work.”

He nods, grateful to latch onto something academic. “Yeah—like, if you grow up with unreliable caregivers, your brain just assumes that’s the blueprint for all future relationships.”

“Exactly,” you say, scribbling something down. “It’s not just about how you relate to other people, it’s how you perceive your own value too. Your self-worth.”

Gojo nods slowly. “Makes sense why people with avoidant attachment act like feelings are nuclear waste, then.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Sounds like you’re describing yourself.”

He grins, deflecting instantly. “I’m just projecting. You’re the emotionally avoidant one, remember?”

You roll your eyes, but your lips twitch like you’re holding back a smile. “Says the guy who panicked over a phone call and ran to the other room.”

“Hey, I was ordering food,” he says defensively. “We both need fuel to survive your study tyranny.”

You arch a brow. “Right. Survival snacks. And yelling at Geto on speakerphone was part of the nutritional pyramid?”

He narrows his eyes playfully. “Okay, first of all—”

A knock at the door cuts him off.

Gojo practically leaps to his feet, both to escape your pointed stare and because he’s genuinely relieved for the distraction. He grabs the food bag from the delivery guy, thanks him quickly, and heads back into the living room.

“Behold,” he declares, dropping the bag on the table with unnecessary flair. “Dinner of champions.”

You scoot over and start unpacking the food. It’s a messy spread: dumplings, noodles, egg rolls, some sort of meat you can't name, and a bag of pretzels.

“Classy,” you remark, holding up the pretzels. “Is this your idea of a five-star meal?”

“With the right company?” he says, grinning as he flops down beside you again. “Absolutely.”

You roll your eyes again, but he catches the faint pink tint at the tips of your ears.

The notebooks and pens are pushed aside, replaced with chopsticks and crumpled napkins. The conversation shifts, the tone lighter now. You talk about everything and nothing—your weird TA from Criminology class, how Geto once accidentally lit a microwave on fire, the way freshman dorms smell suspiciously like corn chips no matter what floor you’re on.

“I can’t believe you guys survived your first month in that hellhole,” you say through a mouthful of noodles.

Gojo leans back on his elbows, grinning lazily. “Geto almost gave up. He tried to convince me to move into a van and become psychology nomads.”

You laugh, a soft, genuine sound that does something wild to his chest.

God, he missed this. Missed you. Not that he’ll admit it out loud—not when it’s so easy to tease you instead.

You wipe your fingers on a napkin and sigh. “This is nice.”

He glances over, surprised by the honesty in your voice.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “It is.”

For a moment, there’s quiet again—but not the tense, academic silence from earlier. This is different. Thicker. Charged.

You’re both still on the couch, close. Closer than before. Gojo’s knee brushes against yours again, but neither of you pulls away this time.

Your head turns slightly, and he mirrors the motion.

There’s that look in your eyes—curious, searching. Your lips are parted, breath shallow. He notices everything about you, from the curve of your mouth to the way your lashes flutter when you blink. He doesn’t think. He just leans in.

And for a second, it feels like it’s finally going to happen.

You lean in too, eyes flicking down to his mouth.

But just before your lips meet—

BRRRRT. BRRRRT.

Gojo’s phone buzzes violently against the table, making both of you jump.

You pull back instantly, blinking like you’re just waking up.

He fumbles to grab the phone, heart hammering in his chest. It’s Geto.

He doesn’t answer.

When he glances at you again, the spell is broken. You’re already reaching for your notebook, avoiding his gaze like it never happened.

Gojo clears his throat, trying to sound normal. “That was… probably just Geto. Again.”

“Mm.” You nod, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “We should probably get through the rest of these notes.”

“Yeah.” He grabs his pencil, but he doesn’t write anything.

The tension is still there—muted now, buried under half-eaten food and unspoken things.

Eventually, the mood settles. You both get back to work, making slow progress on the outline. The almost-kiss doesn’t come up again, but it hangs there anyway, an invisible thread between you.

You pack up your things half an hour later, and Gojo walks you to the door.

“You sure you’re okay getting home?” he asks, rubbing the back of his neck.

You glance up at him. “I’ve done it a hundred times.”

He opens the door but lingers. “Still.”

You step into the hallway, then pause and look back. “Thanks for dinner. And… for the study session.”

His smile is softer now. “Anytime.”

You disappear down the hall, and he stands in the doorway long after you’re gone, wondering if you felt that too.

The next day the classroom felt somehow colder than usual. Maybe it was the air conditioning. Maybe it was the way your stomach was turning.

You hadn’t stopped thinking about last night.

You’d gone to Gojo’s apartment fully prepared to focus on Bowlby and academic rigor—and instead, you’d nearly kissed him over dumplings and color-coded notes.

Now you sat at your usual desk in Dr. Yuki’s Developmental Psych seminar, your leg bouncing under the table as you stared down at your neatly written outline. You’d barely said two words to Gojo since you arrived, too preoccupied with pretending like nothing had happened.

He looked entirely unbothered. Slouched back in his seat, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows, twirling a pen between his fingers with casual ease. You hated how normal he seemed. How unaffected. You hated even more that you noticed how nice his hair looked today.

“Alright,” Dr. Yuki said as she strode to the front of the class. “Let’s take today to do some informal check-ins. Nothing terrifying—I just want to hear how your projects are coming along.”

There was a wave of low murmuring across the room, a few groans, a few panicked glances at laptops.

“Each pair will have about three minutes,” she added. “No slides necessary. Just talk me through where you’re at, what your focus is, and where you’re headed next.”

You felt your pulse quicken.

Gojo leaned closer to you, his voice low. “You nervous?”

You didn’t look at him. “No.”

“Liar.”

You shot him a sharp glance, but his grin only widened.

A few groups went before you. Most stumbled their way through the updates, either still in the research phase or floundering with a partner who clearly didn’t pull their weight.

When Dr. Yuki finally waved the two of you down.

“Wish me luck,” he whispered, then headed to the front.

You followed a beat behind, heart hammering, palms cold.

Gojo did exactly what Gojo always did—he opened with a joke. “So, uh, we’re diving deep into childhood trauma. Real uplifting stuff.”

There were a few laughs.

Dr. Yuki smiled politely. “And your actual focus?”

He shifted gears smoothly, gesturing toward you. “We’re looking at Bowlby’s theory of attachment, specifically how early caregiver relationships can shape adult emotional behavior. You know—like why some people can’t commit and others text back too fast.”

More laughter.

Gojo had always been good at winning a room. But what surprised you—maybe even impressed you—was that he didn’t try to do the whole thing himself. After the first few lines, he turned to you.

You stepped forward, the words coming more easily than you expected.

“We’ve been studying secure versus insecure attachment patterns and how those predict interpersonal responses later in life,” you said, glancing at the professor. “We’re using a few real-world case studies—some clinical, some anecdotal—to analyze behavior through Bowlby’s framework. There’s more to attachment than just the childhood origin, though. We’re also looking into how adaptability plays a role in adulthood.”

Dr. Yuki leaned forward slightly, interest clearly piqued. “Can you give an example?”

You nodded. “Sure. For instance, we’re exploring how someone with an avoidant style might appear independent or emotionally closed off, but in reality, that behavior’s rooted in a learned response to unreliability in early caregiving. That same person could develop secure traits over time if they’re exposed to consistent, supportive relationships.”

Beside you, Gojo shot you a little side-smile. Proud. And, you realized with a flutter of panic, fond.

When you finally wrapped up, Dr. Yuki crossed her arms, thoughtful.

“I’ll admit,” she said slowly, “when I first paired you two up, I wasn’t sure how it would work out. But now I see that it is working.”

She looked between you. “You balance each other out. You keep things grounded,” she said, nodding to you. “And you…” she turned to Gojo, “…keep it interesting.”

Gojo beamed. “That’s my entire brand, Professor.”

Dr. Yuki chuckled. “Well, I’m looking forward to your final submission.”

You both returned to your seats, and as soon as you sat down, you turned slightly away from him, staring very intently at your notebook, like it held all the answers to your spiraling thoughts.

“Hey,” Gojo whispered, nudging your elbow. “You crushed that. Seriously.”

You didn’t look at him. “Thanks.”

“You okay?” he asked, voice a little softer now.

“Fine,” you said a little too quickly. “Just tired.”

“Right,” he said. “Must be that emotional avoidance again.”

You shot him a glare, and he grinned, unfazed.

Class ended ten minutes later, and as you were gathering your things, a girl from the row behind you leaned over toward Gojo.

“Hey, that was a great presentation,” she said, twirling a pen between her fingers. “You’re hilarious.”

Gojo smiled, that casual, charming grin he used like a weapon. “Thanks. I try.”

The girl tucked her hair behind her ear. “If you ever want someone to study with, I’m usually in the library on Tuesdays.”

You zipped your bag a little too forcefully.

“Good to know,” Gojo replied smoothly.

You didn’t wait to hear the rest.

You slung your backpack over your shoulder and slipped out the side door before he could catch up. Your pulse was spiking, your stomach a mess of knots.

You weren’t jealous.

You weren’t.

You were just… annoyed. Because flirting during study check-ins was unnecessary. Because Gojo was your partner and he was supposed to be taking this seriously. Because he looked at other girls the same way he looked at you sometimes, and that shouldn’t have mattered but it did.

You shoved your headphones in and headed toward the quad, determined to pretend like none of it bothered you at all.

“You’ve been so boring lately,” Shoko called from the bathroom, her voice muffled over the hum of the hairdryer. “You’re literally glowing with repressed sexual tension. Let’s fix that.”

You groaned from where you sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by a battlefield of half-folded outfits, a curling iron, and the faint scent of dry shampoo.

“Thank you for that diagnosis, Doctor,” you muttered, reaching for your mascara. “Very professional.”

“I aim to heal,” she quipped, stepping out with a cigarette tucked behind one ear and glitter eyeliner winged like she’d walked out of a runway show and into your shared apartment. She gave you a once-over. “You’re wearing that?”

You looked down at your oversized hoodie and gym shorts. “Obviously not.”

“Then pick something that says 'I’m fun and mysterious and maybe you’ll kiss me under fairy lights’ and not ‘I gave up on life in sophomore year.’”

You threw a pillow at her. She dodged it effortlessly.

“You’re lucky you’re pretty,” you grumbled, standing up and eyeing yourself in the mirror.

It had been a long week. Between classes, the project with Gojo, and the unexpected near-kiss that had haunted your every thought since it happened, you hadn’t had time to go out. Let alone try and flirt or be flirted with.

Honestly? You weren’t even in the mood for a party.

But Shoko had cornered you after class, flicked the side of your head, and said, “I’m dragging you out tonight, and you’re going to like it. Wear something slutty.”

That’s how you ended up here, digging through your closet while she sat on your bed cross-legged, sipping wine out of a mug with the words “World’s Okayest Student” printed on it.

“Okay, what about this?” you held up a dress—a short silky slip number that usually stayed buried in the back of your drawer for special occasions or confidence spikes.

Shoko raised an eyebrow. “Now that’s what I’m talking about. Very ‘Oops, did I just ruin your life?’ energy.”

You rolled your eyes but held it against yourself in the mirror anyway. Not bad.

As you shimmied out of your hoodie, Shoko suddenly asked, “So. Have you told him yet?”

You froze. “Told who what?”

She sipped her wine like this was an interrogation and she had all the cards. “Don’t play dumb. Gojo.”

Your blush gave you away before your mouth even opened. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“Uh-huh. So the way you were staring at him during class yesterday was just… what? Scientific curiosity?”

You scowled. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m right,” she singsonged. “Look, I get it. The history. The drama. The fact that he looks like a literal supermodel. But you’re clearly into him.”

“I’m not into him,” you argued, pulling the dress over your head. “I’m… aware that he’s attractive. Objectively.”

“Oh please,” she said, hopping off the bed and tugging the hem of your dress into place with precision. “You talk about him in your sleep.”

Your eyes widened. “I do not.”

She just grinned. “Only once. It was very scandalous. You said, ‘Satoru, no, not the whipped cream.’”

You smacked her arm, mortified. “Liar!”

“Okay, fine, you just mumbled his name, but let me have the whipped cream thing. It’s funnier.”

You tried not to laugh, smoothing your hands over your hips and checking the mirror again. The dress actually looked… good. Better than you remembered. And Shoko wasn’t lying—there was a warm sort of glow under your skin lately, and no amount of denial could explain it away completely.

Gojo had been taking up space in your thoughts for days. Weeks, if you were being honest. Ever since he reappeared in your life like a storm and crashed straight through your emotional equilibrium.

And last night—his place, the way he looked at you, that moment where the world went silent right before his phone rang…

Yeah. You were in trouble.

“You ready?” Shoko asked, grabbing her bag from the hook by the door.

You hesitated, casting one last glance in the mirror. “You think this is a good idea?”

She looked you dead in the eyes. “I think not going is a bad idea.”

You sighed. “That doesn’t actually answer the question.”

Shoko rolled her eyes and looped her arm through yours. “Come on. We’re going to drink cheap vodka, pretend to like the music, and you’re going to flirt with someone other than Gojo for once in your life. Sound good?”

You laughed, letting her drag you toward the door. “Sounds terrifying.”

“Perfect.”

The two of you stepped into the night, heels clicking on the pavement, the buzz of campus parties already starting to echo faintly from blocks away. You tried to shake the nerves, the lingering image of white hair and a lazy grin and the way he always smelled like sugar and mint.

Maybe tonight would help. Maybe you’d drink something pink and fizzy and kiss someone you didn’t have a years-long pining complex over.

And maybe, just maybe, you'd finally get Gojo Satoru out of your head.

The music hit first—low and pulsing through the hallway like a heartbeat you couldn’t quite catch. The kind of bass that made your teeth buzz a little as you stepped inside the off-campus house someone’s cousin’s roommate’s friend rented for the semester. Shoko was already ahead of you, shouldering through the crowd like a girl on a mission, hair shiny under the colored lights, a mischievous little smirk tugging at her glossed lips.

Now, weaving through bodies and red solo cups and the distinct smell of weed and cologne, you were starting to wonder if she was right. Your skin buzzed. The dress you’d spent thirty minutes debating was starting to feel a little too tight in all the places Gojo Satoru might actually look.

Not that you knew if he’d be here.

Not that you cared.

Okay—you cared. A little.

You scanned the living room, heart thudding.

And there he was.

Leaning against a doorway like a damn poster boy for bad decisions—white shirt rolled to his elbows, hair still an absolute mess and somehow pulling it off. He was mid-convo with a few people, laughing at something a girl said, flashing that stupid smile. His entire aura screamed effortlessly hot.

You forced yourself to look away before you stared too long. Grabbed a drink from the makeshift bar, something sickly sweet and glowing neon. Sipped. Winced. Made your way to the back patio for air.

You were halfway into a casual chat with a guy from your Criminology seminar—cute, genuinely nice—when you felt it. That sudden weight of a stare. The hair prickling at the back of your neck.

You didn’t have to turn to know.

He was watching you.

And when you finally did glance over your shoulder, Gojo didn’t look away. Didn’t even try to hide it. His mouth was a little parted, eyes dark under the lights, the muscle in his jaw tight.

He wasn’t smiling.

Oh.

Oh, this night was going to unravel.

You lost track of time after that.

There was music. Dancing. More drinks—two, maybe three. The patio guy had moved on to someone else, and you’d drifted through the party in that floaty way that always came with a decent buzz and the itch of knowing Gojo was somewhere close.

And then he was right there.

“You know,” he said, voice smooth as silk, “if you’re gonna flirt with someone else, at least pick a guy who’s not terrified of eye contact.”

You raised a brow. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you.”

He chuckled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m not jealous. Just disappointed in your taste.”

“Right,” you said, sipping your drink. “Because a guy who thinks Sour Patch Kids and chips are valid brain food is obviously the gold standard.”

Gojo stepped closer. Too close. His breath was warm when he leaned down to murmur, “You look so hot right now.”

It was the kind of line that should’ve felt sleazy. Except his voice dipped at the edges, almost reverent. And it made your whole body seize up with heat.

“W-what?” you managed, blinking.

He smirked. “You heard me.”

You stared at him for half a second too long. And then you were pushing him, just lightly, back against the nearest wall, dropping your cup without a second thought. His back hit the plaster with a dull thud, and he didn’t even flinch—just looked shocked, a little breathless, like he couldn’t believe his luck.

And then you kissed him.

God, it was everything you’d been trying so hard not to think about. Soft lips and heat and the way his hands flew to your waist like he’d been dying to touch you all night. You felt the press of his fingers at your sides, one of them sliding up, up, brushing the curve of your thigh just beneath the hem of your dress.

Your fingers tangled in his shirt. His teeth grazed your bottom lip.

It wasn’t neat. It wasn’t sweet. It was hungry and desperate and so full of tension it might’ve torn a hole in the air around you.

Gojo’s voice rumbled against your mouth, a low groan escaping. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

You barely heard it.

Barely registered anything except him.

His scent. His hands. The way he kissed like he’d been thinking about it for a long, long time.

Until—

“THERE you are!” Shoko’s voice cracked through the haze like a damn fire alarm, and you jolted back so fast your shoulder hit the wall.

Gojo blinked, clearly dazed.

Shoko stumbled forward, eyes glassy, her laugh too loud. “I was looking everywhere for you. C’mon, I need your help finding the bathroom.”

You swallowed hard. “I—uh—yeah. Okay.”

You barely glanced back as you let her drag you down the hallway, but when you did, Gojo was still watching you, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon. His lips were pink, his hair mussed, eyes locked on yours with a mix of disbelief and frustration.

taglist:

@linaaeatsfamilies @eolivy @whiter4bbitcorner

@oricaked @mullermilkshake @j3llyc4kes

[emojellyace08]

Found you're writing really good 😈😈 and now you're my next target 😂😂 How do you think gun would react finding someone 100x times beautiful from crystal with great body anddddddd 👀👀👀 is strong like ui daniel but is not quite rich and lives a normal life working at a part time cafe ??? 😮😮😮 lordddd 🤌🤌 the reaction would be priceless, please do it 🥲

Gun Park (Park Jonggun x Female Reader!) short story

A/N: Hello fellow human! Sorry if I ever replied back REALLY LATE. I'll still make Lookism x reader content, but I'm really busy rn so sorry if this felt rushed (and I have a periodical exams to take in Wedensday oof). Genre: fluff? Warnings: mild cursing and mentions of mafia activities (unedited)

Gun isn't exactly the type to easily fall in love, even impressing him alone without trying hard is challenging by itself as many successors, enemies, and other people tried to show their all to the Shiro Oni. But every blood, sweat, and tears were wasted just trying to lay a finger by the unstoppable man, if they would even call him one.

And it is also just a normal day for everyone, people in the city are either spending their money off by their personal plans or continue on with their daily lives. Other women were having their shopping galore either with their friends or alone with quite noticeable make-up plastered on their face yet making their face sparkle up with the cosmetics. Ulzzangs posting their new selfies getting tons, if not millions of likes and social media users having a debate who's prettier or more attractive. Students were stressing out with their school activities or gossip drama with the adults wanting to slack off and get a chug of beer after a long day of their shifts or just take a long nap like a lazy cat with their eyebags being dark and hollow like a panda.

And to most people, you're just an ordinary woman living her life in the crowded city of Seoul. You wouldn't exactly call it the best life ever, but you were somehow thankful to make it this far after long days of shifts and even sometimes working on Holidays even if you want to have a sip of your own coffee at your own place. You're already a functional and working adult yet you sometimes miss your home despite you and your family having your own personal problems. Yet you continue to strive not only for them but mostly for yourself. If it weren't for some men forcing you to have a chat with you by offering their numbers quite rudely, you might even have better days without them putting you into situations you don't even want to experience just because you were considered beautiful.

It was already five in the afternoon, yet you're still there at the cafe doing your duties as a barista and a waitress. The place will be quite silent, almost weird with the sound of silence if it weren't for the chatty customers with some chilling with their drink and pastries of choice. College students doing their research in groups, office-workers updating their marketing plans, and angsty teenagers listening to their melancholic music with their Airpods on. With the stress that you are feeling right now, you felt the need to listen to your own playlist while you watched the sun sank in the sky with a splash of pink, yellow, and blue creating a splash of colors that felt nostalgic yet different at the same time.

Hours passed with people coming in and out, the sky already turning night time with white stars sparkling at night. The yellow lights of the place illuminating at the dark to not only make the place more atmospheric, but to also make the customers feel comfortable with the chill yet warm vibe.

"Miss Y/N, are you already getting the order done for customer five?" your manager with a dark perfect bun for her hairstyle with pale foundation, reddish blush and lip tint, and sunken eye bags (reminding you of a porcelain doll) asked with a raised eyebrows and strict tone as you responded with a hum for agreement while you're mixing and preparing the drink condiments. "Yes Sajangnim (boss) I'm already done with the coffee macchiato and I already have the egg sandwich." you replied while hurrying to prepare the Americano. "Good, more tickets are coming you better hurry up." she replied while she scolds your co-worker that you are deeply annoyed at when she's slumping on the side clicking on her phone instead of helping you out. "She's probably texting someone to date huh?" a voice on your side whispered while you yelped in surprise. "Fucking, geez stop spawning randomly on the side like that." you hissed as he chuckles silently trying to minimize his voice while you also tried not to laugh hysterically. "Okay fine. You're working too much. I'll do the coffee latte and get the mango graham and the croissant." he suggested while your eyes widened in confusion and a bit of surprise. "You sure Jace?" you asked the young man with big ears as he raises a thumbs up "It's fine Eonni (older sister ; metaphorically). Now you go." "You just want your fees to go higher." you teased as he manners to go shooing you away. "I need it since I got to repair Vasco's phone." "Whatever, just do the job right and smooth." you smiled while he finger guns with a tongue-click sound.

You took the orders in your hand and approached the table before you quickly noticed the two familiar guys. You sighed before going closer to the very annoying customers just then the blonde with dark shades greeted you with a dramatic enthusiasm.

"Yo Y/N! It's nice to see you where have you been?!" Goo stood up while waving his hand making the other customers look in confusion. You not wanting to create a scene, you placed the tray in the table and planned to go away. But a hand held your own in a soft but not rather affectionate touch before you swat it away.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" you asked while you felt your blood boiling in frustration. "But we're here to-" "Shut the fuck up Walmart Ken." you scolded Goo while he created a insulting gasp while the ebony-haired man smirked in amusement. "We're here for Charles orders. We're going to take you back in the place where you truly belong for unfinished business." he commented in a calm yet teasing manner making you even more agitated. "This is my business, Gun." If it weren't for the other customers if they ever got frightened and with your manager firing you, you might created a miserable scene that you don't want to happen in the first place. But these people haunts down your biggest fears like a black hole swallowing your entire existence.

"And how did you even find me here? And don't you see the no smoking sign?" you rolled your eyes making Goo and Gun grin more while Gun huffs his smoke, "We have our own ways." "And c'mon Y/N, we know you miss doing tough missions with us!" Goo again interfered while you stood their in cold feet not knowing what to do with this situation. "And besides Charles is offering you a billion won with making the four major crews stronger for him to pay you, even make it thrice the price if you did the job well." Gun offered while taking a sip of his coffee and the other man looking at the menu sheet to order more of the sweets. "Well don't you contact me when either the Workers tried to interfere or your goons stabbing all of your backs." you replied with a sass while Gun just replies. "If that ever happens, I'm not going to hesitate to beat their-" "Yo Y/N, can I get a latte with a chocolate doughnut?" the childish guy ordered interrupting Gun's long speech. Though his eye accessory hides his orbs, you can imagine (almost see) Goo flickering his eyelashes like a puppy begging to play with it's owner. "Whatever, I'm leaving." you rolled your eyes in frustration before going to the employee room and aggressively slamming the door. "Wait what? Y/N We still have lots to talk about and my order-" Goo was about to chase you before Gun kicked him in the legs under the table, successfully earning a hiss of pain from the other guy. "Let her be, she'll change her mind." Gun interrupted while Goo raised his eyebrows. "Hah?! For fuck's sake we're just going to let her run away? Again? You'll be in fault if Charles scolded our scrawny asses again." Goo ranted as the people in the cafe started to weirdly glare at them for being to noisy. "I know where she's going, besides she would get scolded, even probably fired since she left during her shift. So just stay calm." Gun replied while stealing the sweet and umami food that Goo just offered that's been sitting for a minute now. "Hey! that's my sandwich!" "Just buy another one you got twenty thousand won on your wallet." Gun replied while he wipes off the extra mayo on his mouth with a tissue. "Says the one who's chomping off my toast right now, idiot." "Stop making Gordon Ramsey references or I'll kill you."

"Y/N where the hell have you been! Don't you see that there's lots of tickets flooding in here?! Oi you brat answer me!" your manager who's been flickering your guts scolded you while your co-worker from earlier smirks at your downfall, you not only fixing your bag in your locker but also trying to make yourself composed as you don't want to lash out your anger to the people who have done nothing wrong to you (they do, a lot but you just don't complain about it). "If you won't answer my question-" "Shut up." you murmured interrupting her speech in a lifeless manner. "I'll leave. You can fire my ass." "Hey Y/N what is going on in here?" Jace asked before you again slammed the exit door, leaving the poor guy confused and lots of responsibility in his hands...

You ran, as fast as you could. You kept running and running. You ran past the tall buildings filled with city lights creating a beautiful atmosphere, yet the familiar feeling of sorrow began to linger on your mind and heart reminding you of the memories of the past that you tried to bury deep down to start a completely fresh start of the first chapter of your life. But it looks like even books can have it's pages ripped and burned.

After a long mile, you stopped your movement as you breathe deeply trying to catch air like you're being suffocated by your feeling of dread. You didn't want to go in this place, but it is the only place that you called home.

This is the place where you met them, where you grew up, and where you were turned into a monster.

It is an old and abandoned park, the fake wood texture of the metal benches started to rust with the colorful paint with vulgar words and drawings adding to the stain. Trash were everywhere, even a scary place like this looks like it's been a hang out for runaway teenagers or addicts. The trees and plants look completely dry and lifeless since it's not been watered and just not being cared of, making the crunchy leaves fall down into the ground. Newspaper with the dirty and used ashtrays and used beverage bottles were also scattered in the area. It is a complete mess like what you are right now, but the smell of toxins and beer makes your mind hazy and in peace as you try to think of the good memories that you have in here (if you ever had one).

You thought that you can finally have your moment of peace and solitude. But it looks like you have to deal with these fuckers you kept whistling and cooing at your existence. Looks like they're drunk men who's been wasting their life, completely indulged in alcohol and other things that are addicting even though they mostly look formal, decent, and clean. The police were doing a bad job for shooing away people who don't have a home but doesn't arrest people like this. People who were supposed to act normal and responsible now that they have everything, not chugging on alcohol.

"Who is this chick over here?" a skinny man with a white polo asked as his friend's arms snaked into your shoulder, making you uncomfortable. "What are you doing here alone? Is your boyfriend supposed to take-" "Shut the fuck up and leave me alone retards." you swatted his hand away and getting distance from them, but this doesn't alarm the men keeping their annoying behavior in touch. They started making laughs and mocking faces making your blood boil. "Feisty huh? Don't worry, We will take care of yo-"

Everything went fast as you slammed him into the ground. His friends were caught off guard but the other goon decided to take you down. "You bitch!-"

It looks like a bad idea huh? Since you were so fast, you managed to capture and block his punch. You put pressure on his hand as you then twisted it making it dislocate and elbowing him on his armpit impacting pain on his shoulder and upper limb. He is now crying on the ground, coughing and crying like a little toddler who scratched his elbow as the other men decided to attack you besides the leader of the group who cowers in fear. Kicks, punches, and attacks are made by you causing them to get knocked out by your bare strength. You clicked your tongue in dismay when a familiar figure approached the scene. "I knew that you would be here." he muttered while you huffed in pure disgust as Gun smirked at the damage you have inflicted. "If you asked again for me to be a slave of your shitty management I'm not going with you." cutting him off with a unsatisfied tone, you started walking away from the place but then he tapped your shoulder. But you're not in the mood to interact with anybody. You didn't even thought twice that you punched him in the face yet he didn't even budged. A flow of blood starting to drool down on his chin. The masochistic Shiro Oni starting to get excited about your sudden aggression as he let himself get hit in the first place. "Will you stop following me around like a dog?! GET LOST YOU MOTHERFUCKER!"

"Punching me on the face would not end great for you, but this is why I like you Y/N. Now show me what you got can you?~" his demonic grin appearing on his scarred face.

[theworldofotps]

I Hate You (Drabble)

Pairing: Hook x Reader Word Counter: 567 Description: Y/n gets stuck sharing a room with Tyler on a trip and they hate each other.

Tag list: @omg-im-such-a-masochist @melissahausen @new-zealand-chic @writtingrose @99hook @madhatterbri @sjwrites22 @sassymox @mrsacklesevansmgk @xladyxfatex @adamcolesbaybay @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @demonqueen29 @itsicantbelievethis666 @lilred91 @rebellious-desires @claymorexpunisher @letsgivethisonemoreshot @ava-valerie @shortyiceheart @serpantscorpio8497 @thatpanpal @thatnerdwriter @wrestlersownmyheart @vebner37 @seeingstarks @whenimakeitshine1234 @legit9thlunaticwarrior @blaquekitty @ironshamelessyouth @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin @ripleyswhore @moonrosekk @xbreezymeadowsx @alyyaana If you wanna be added to the list lemme know. Hook Tag list: @wickedval _______ There were a lot of things in this life you didn’t like, being late for something important. Having to go to work after the weekend, taxes, the list could go on. But at the top of that list was your coworker Tyler or as the rest of the world knew him, Hook.

Honestly you weren’t exactly sure what started the rivalry between the two of you, but it was obvious to everyone that the two of you couldn’t stand each other. Although a lot of your friends said that it was just sexual tension neither of you wanted to admit too.

It was just your luck that you ended up being stuck in the same room with him on a cabin trip that one of your best friends planned. There had been a mix-up and there were only three rooms instead of the four rooms requested. And you got the unpleasantness of having to room with him since everyone had already paired up before you arrived.

Fixing the band of your shorts you stepped out of the bathroom frowning when he was laying spread eagle on the bed in a t-shirt and shorts.  “You’re taking up the whole damn bed laying like that will you please move so I can lay down, preferably laying on the floor.” Tyler remained silent, his chest slowly rising and following completely ignoring your requesting. Huffing, you turned the bathroom light off walking over to the bed. “I know you aren’t sleeping you dick I will kung fu kick you out of this bed if you don’t move.” Tyler opened one eye looking at you before closing it again that stupid smug smirk on his face that he wore so often when he knew that he was annoying you. “Yeah, sure I’d like to see you try.” Kicking his leg, you grab at it with both hands tugging Tyler curses grabbing the mattress and holding on for dear life as you tugged. “Knock it off, will ya? Just lay on the floor if you don’t have enough room, I got here first you snooze you lose.” “Fine.”

Turning the light off you walk over flopping on the bed and couldn’t help the satisfaction when he let out a ‘oof’ sound as you landed on him. Tyler groaned as he pushed you and the two of you started shoving each other. “Why are you such a jerk?” “Why are you such a bitch?” You asked simultaneously, grabbing a pillow you smacked him over the head a few times. Laughing at his slightly dazed expression before he tackled you onto the mattress. His fingers started moving along your sides causing you to laugh louder.

“I’m going to kick you!” “I’d love to see you try.” Tyler smirked as he continued tickling you, the two of you jumping apart when the door to the room opened. “Can you two stop making so much noise? I expected having to break up sex noises, not you squealing and laughing y/n.” “Sorry Ricky.” The two of you called back as he slammed the door shut and you laid there panting trying to catch your breath. “I hate you so much.” You smile watching Tyler chuckle as he laid back against the pillows making some room on the bed for you. “I hate you too y/n.”

[ppumeonae-bigvibe]

at the end of the day, it's you whom i come home to

↖ navigation: ateez masterlist || main masterlist 

pairing: bf! yeosang x gn! reader

↬ tags: yeosang being a sulky boy is so cute actually i need to thank my braincells for choosing him this time round paired with this scenario,, yeosang being an office worker (mm him in suits >>), mentions of wooyoung being his colleague and deskmate, basically a pining yeosang

summary: yeosang's morning routine got ruined because you weren't there with him (not entirely serious)

word count: 807 words

yeosang's alarm rang, effectively jolting him awake out of his slumber. with his eyes still semi-closed, he yawns as he reached out blindly, only to be disappointed by the lack of your warmth beside him. he pats the empty space again, groggily mumbling your name under his breath.

he pushed himself up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes before forcing them wide open: confirming that indeed you were nowhere to be seen and that he was alone in bed that morning. yeosang grabs his phone from the bedstand and noticed your message.

"sorry lovely, i know you came home late so i didn't want to disturb you this early. i have many errands to run today, so i left home first. by the way, breakfast is waiting for you in the kitchen, so eat well ♡ i love you! have a good day~"

yeosang sighs, a visible pout forming unconsciously on his face. he runs a hand through his bed hair, deciding to finally get ready for the day. body moving on autopilot, he realizes the mundane morning activities seemed so much more dull without you around: no good morning kisses, no hugs, no clingy you to be around him.

steps ladden with mild lovesickness, yeosang trudges into the kitchen, eating alone. even his food didn't taste as good as when you were with him.

a small smile graces his face when he spots the carefully folded attire placed on the sofa. despite you rushing off, you still picked out his office wear, as it was something you did every single morning before his work. yeosang puts on the selected button down and slacks, rereading your message on the post it note.

"I thought this would be fitting for today! I'm sure you would look really dashing as you go into the office today. work hard my busy bee!"

he takes a picture of his fit as he leaves for work, texting you many pictures he knows you would like. sending you a short text to have a good day as well, he leaves for work.

----

initial happiness gives way to moody brooding in the office as he stares at the lockscreen of you two for the umpteenth time that day. yeosang exhales loudly, the clock moving incredibly slowly. you did not reply to his earlier text, only sending him a picture to show you were busying scarfing down your lunch.

he unfortunately chalks it up to you being caught-up.

yeosang signs again, earning him a nudge from his colleague and deskmate wooyoung. "seriously, did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed today?" wooyoung joked, but only got a defeated eye roll from yeosang, "yeah, unfortunately-" he turns to face wooyoung, who had in that moment taken a rather unflattering photo of the pouting male.

"too late, i sent it to your lover!" wooyoung cheekily scampers away and yeosang shakes his head at his antics. the same dreary mood carried him through a handful of meetings and for the rest of the day.

finally when morning bleeds to evening, yeosang is the first to pack up, heart racing as he waits impatiently in the lift to go down. he rushes out of the office building, eyes scanning the passing crowd and finally landing on your figure waiting at the same spot for him as always.

his entire being feels so much lighter when he hears your voice calling out to him in the distance: the evening's lazy atmosphere almost turns electrifying whenever you're around him. your smile widens at the sight of him sprinting full force towards you. you catch him in your embrace with a soft "oof!" when he collides into you.

"i missed you so much." he greets you with a kiss, face flushed from running. you gazed up at him, his heart overwhelmingly burst into a thousand butterflies at how much warmth was radiating from you. "i missed you very, very, very much." he repeats again, holding your face in his hands.

you chuckled, raising your arms to tousle his hair, "i know. wooyoung told me how you seemed to be in a horrible mood. is it because i didn't wake up with you today?" you teased him, showing him the picture that wooyoung sent to you: a defeated looking yeosang grumpily typing away on his keyboard.

yeosang embarrassedly nods his head, but when he attempts to act more manly you tiptoe to press another kiss on his lips. "let's go home my big boy." he practically melts into your side, and it feels as if the world is tilted right back on it's axis. everything felt right in that moment: his fingers intertwined with yours as the two of you make your way home.

at the end of every day, it was you whom he came home to.

@ppumeonae-bigvibe 's work ; likes and reblogs are appreciated <3

[celira]

✨WIP WHENEVER🌟

tagged by the incomparable @scholar-hect - i am both honored and slightly mortified, because oof, i have 6-7 WIPs in purgatory ranging in age from 4 to 17 months (including a nearly-complete oneshot that i apparently wrote in one go while possessed in Nov 2023, forgot, and only just found because i checked... but it's part 2 of a triptych. part 1 is half-baked, part 3 doesn't exist) because life has been Life-ing...

also tbh the anhedonia & creative block (+ a couple of injuries/setbacks in the past few months) combo have landed me firmly in the deep "actually everything I make sucks, i think" doldrums. we're working on it! do it scared/self-loathing! let yourself make things that suck!!

ANYWAY here's a chunk from the 4-month old one:

Palamedes set the spinning toy aside and tugged her down to the arm of the chair. Then he picked up her hands, unfurling them one finger at a time from the fists they'd become. “Cam, should we, I don’t know—” Her level stare spoke volumes. “Right. Far be it I suggest that we bow to the vagaries of the state because it’s the path of least resistance—” “Mm.” “But, to be fair, there are limits to mapping an ideological stance to a practical concern—” She tucked the trailing corner of the blanket under him. “Palamedes—” and his name brought him up short— “are you asking me to marry you?” 

(^ this is probably not going where you think it is)

sorry if you've already been tagged lately & i missed it bc i am Inconsistent with Tumblr, but hot potato @arithmonym @theriverbeyond @fortjester + anyone who wants to ficpost; do!

[lightlycareless]

How could you break my heart on Valentine’s Day??? Waaaahhhhhh, it makes sense but it still hurts. You’re gonna give me a part three or else 🔫

Seriously though it was really good! I loved it. I calculated and rounded up how much Naoya paid Mei Mei in U.S. Dollars and this dude really paid her around $17,500 and that’s not including all the gifts he bought Y/N. If I was Naoya’s parents, his debit card is getting confiscated. That is INSANE. I can’t imagine if they somehow managed to force out what actually happened to learn he spent all that on a girl that didn’t even RECIPROCATE his feelings like oh my god. I can’t imagine the earful poor Ranta is gonna get especially since this was kinda his idea for Naoya to confess his feelings(Although I don’t know if Ranta thought he’d go about it like this).

I wonder though if Y/N would reconsider Naoya’s feelings if she read his letter. Oof but now I’m thinking about what she’d do if she learned Naoya was the reason why she didn’t receive any gifts. I don’t know how long he’d stay on her bad side after that.

Hello anon!

Gee this is surely a really late response, but I still hope you know I appreciate your lovely words about my work!! Thank you so much 🥺❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

I'm sorry that I broke your heart on the 14th haha it was kind of unexpected ngl, but that's just where the characters took me 🤭 though it's not all sad... if you know you know.

AS FOR THE MONEY HAHAHAH poor Naoya, he definitely got an earful from his parents, or more like the people in charge of the finances, I doubt Naobito cared enough to scold him (shall I make Tomoko involved? IF SHE WAS AROUND THOUGH THINGS WOULD'VE TURNED SO DIFFERENT) Damn I need to write a small drabble explaining what happened there, but in the meantime, it kind of went like this:

Ranta: What happened Naoya?

Naoya: nothing. *doesn't talk to anyone for weeks*

Ranta: That bad?

Naoya: :(

(he doesn't regret spending all that money on you. it's like a hobby of his lol he loves it.)

But anyways, I keep thinking that the third part for this series I would like something like an epilogue, a peak into the future…

Warnings: none. Fluff. A happy ending 😊. (By the way, this is the oneshot anon is referring to. Highly recommend reading this first!!!)

Happy reading!

“—And that, dumpling, was your papa’s and I first valentine’s day together! Kind of, not really, but it was the first time I got gifts from him. It was certainly different from what I expected, but if you look really closely, it was very sweet, and now, I’m able to look back on it fondly!” You smile; truly, who would’ve thought that you’d end up marrying that awkward, somewhat intense kid? And having a beautiful daughter too?

Though you could see in Naomi’s tense chubby face that this wasn’t exactly the romantic story she was hoping to hear, and you do not blame her, Naoya’s approach had been nothing short of alarming and unexpected, just enough to scare you off from ever considering something more from him!

But his subtle persistence, the small gestures he’d still give you even when openly denouncing he’ll never seek you again, is what eventually persuaded you otherwise.

Through his attentiveness when you were out on a mission with him, making sure that you were neither too cold nor too hot, either through offering you something to drink or his own sweater to wear.

Quick to save you from a curse that got too close, or a fellow student you were not in the mood to entertain.

Whenever you needed help with jujutsu—either a term you didn’t quite understand just yet, or plain practice. Naoya had much more experience than you, so it was only natural that you’d seek him; that wouldn’t change even with that awkward valentine’s interaction…

But above all, what made you see that Naoya might be the one you were waiting for all along, is the fact that he remembered all the things you liked, the ones that made you happy—from sweets, food, to even your favorite characters…

If his emotions weren’t genuine, he wouldn’t have done such a thing!

Perhaps your only regret is ever giving him the idea that you couldn’t come to appreciate him, or that he wasn’t deserving of love.

But that was long in the past, and after a few dates, and getting to know each other… you two fell in love.

Unfortunately, Naomi wouldn’t come to see it that way.

“What’s wrong, pumpkin? This isn’t the story you expected?” Naoya asks with a smile, enjoying the way she huffed in response—though that satisfaction wouldn’t last long.

“No, papa, you were creepy.” She pouted, and her mama could almost hear his heart shatter.

“Oh.” Naoya doesn’t even come to wonder how she knew of such word, undoubtedly from his cousins, but that would be a matter to tend to later after he mends his broken heart.

“Well, he’s done his due! Papa loves us very, very much and would never do anything to scare us!”

“Thanks, Y/N.” Naoya responds sarcastically. “That makes me feel much better.”

You giggle.

“Why don’t you leave us alone, pumpkin? Papa and I need to talk a bit.”

And Naomi obeys immediately after, not that it took much for her to do so, for her disappointment rapidly pushed her to seek something better, a bit more entertaining—like Mai and Maki’s daily occurrences, more ways to annoy her father and such.

Once alone, the two are able to freely look back on that fateful day…

“What I did back then was messed up, wasn’t it?” Naoya sighs.

“I wouldn’t say that necessarily.” You add.

“But nothing happened after that.” He says. “Things didn’t change until much later.”

“Well, I did get to see a new side of you, one I didn’t think you had.”

“What did you think of me…?”

“That you were… bold. Arrogant, a bit snobby too…” you say, Naoya’s face reddens out of shame.

“Don’t—Don’t say anything else.” He frowns. “I get the idea loud and clear…”

“But that you were sweet too.” You smile, taking his hand. “I’ve never been lucky enough to have someone hold such strong feelings for me… thought it to be something out of a fairy tale—Until I met you—someone that harbored so much love to give but didn’t know how to express it.”

“You make me sound much nobler than what I really am—I don’t know how you do it, Y/N…”

“It took me time to get there, love.” You laugh. “But it’s only because you’re so cute that I eventually thought otherwise.”

“Cute?” he huffs, ready to retort otherwise, until you lean in to kiss his cheek, gesture enough to have him willing. “Alright—but only you can call me that.”

“I better be the only one.” You warn. “Although I was hoping our dumpling would do so too when I told her our story…”

“…Well, I can’t blame her, it must’ve sounded crazy for her.” Naoya sighs. “…If someone dared do the same thing to my daughter you can be sure I’d send the kukuru to get rid of him! No jerk is going to impress her!”

“I don’t think that’ll happen; Naomi didn’t seem amused by us either way.” You reassure him. “And she’s too young to be worried about that too! All she cares about right now is when will her papa get her that kitten he promised her…”

“I’m working on it!” Naoya frets. “It’s just that kittens aren’t born until later in the year…”

“Well, let’s hope that you aren’t too late, something tells me that my sister might be already on the lookout…”

“NO, she’s not.” Naoya breathes. “I will never forgive her if she does!”

But you just shrug playfully, not really giving Naoya much of an opportunity to not worry about spoiling his daughter, fearing that he might lose the position of favorite human in the whole wide world against your sister! A rank Hinata has been coveting for as long as he could remember, competing with the rest of your family too…

A tough endeavor, though he’ll have something else to worry about now.

“By the way… I’m aware of what you did with with the gifts.” You say, he freezes.

“Ho—How?” he blinks.

“Shoko told me. Mei Mei wasn’t that… fond of keeping secrets that were too juicy to hide.” You reveal.

“That woman… she told me that—!” but he goes silent, understanding there was a much bigger issue at hand. “…Are you angry with me?”

“Yes, so angry, that I’ve decided to personally torment you for the rest of our lives!” You tease, at the mischief of your voice, a weight is lifted from Naoya’s shoulders. “I was angry, but… it didn’t last long, considering that some of those gifts were from people I didn’t really want to be involved with… so, you kind of did me a favor… though I did have to go through a whole day thinking I didn’t get anything…”

“…I’m sorry—I might’ve gotten ahead of myself trying to impress you…”

“Well, for all the chocolate I missed back then, you made up for me, tenfold!” you grin, wrapping him in your arms and placing kisses all over his cheeks until you could no more. “I love you, Naoya—you and all of your bold, extravagant, though a bit silly, ways. So don’t worry about that anymore, not when it was the reason that brought us together.”

Naoya blushes, letting himself be consumed by the incessant demonstrations of your affection and the acceptance of your words, for there was honesty behind them—even when a rocky start, it ultimately fated the two together.

What was once nothing but a dream, one that seemed so far away on the day you rejected him…

Now was his everyday reality—if not better, for it brought along a small bundle of joy that made both of your lives happier, although there were moments where she didn’t feel particularly the same, unamused by her parent’s antics from time to time…

But even then, he wouldn’t want it any other way.

They got their happy ending nonetheless :') Really, that day was only the beginning for them. It was enough for Y/N to finally set her eyes on him!! And the rest is history 🥺❤️

Thankfully I do plan to write a bit more of this HS AU, you know, the simple things like them slowly falling in love 🥺 ajfghajkghajghjkas this has to be one of my favorite au's (if not the favorite haha) can't wait to write them in time.

Now, thank you so much for your support and patience 🥺❤️❤️!!!! I'm really glad you're liking my work!!!

Take care, and hope to see you soon!!