One More Time! - Michael Kaiser . . Kaiser Thinks That He Was Destined To Meet You In This Lifetime.

❊ one more time! - michael kaiser . . kaiser thinks that he was destined to meet you in this lifetime.

it's january when kaiser firsts asks you out. and it's january, when, in response, you laugh in his face and decline.

he'd met you in a coffee shop. your aunt's coffee shop, to be specific. he'd been a regular for a while but had never seen you there before. sitting at a booth in the back, by a window, rare winter sunlight kissed your cheeks and bathed you in a brilliant soft white light.

eyes dead-set on your textbook and laptop, sitting on the small table in front of you, he watches. kaiser thinks you're just so cute, with your fingers thrumming against the ceramic mug that holds something light brown and steaming, and with your headphones blocking everything but your notes out. actually, he's so enamoured that he ends up walking right into a table.

with a rather unattractive 'oof,' he hunches and grabs the table with both hands to stop it from rattling; unfortunately for him, the damage is done. the sweet older barista is laughing at him. customers in line snicker. and you? you look up from your work, blink, and then crack a small smile. and oh, kaiser thinks his bruised ego and battered side are all worth it now. because you smiled at him. and god, it was the prettiest thing he's ever seen.

in line to order, he's thinking about you the whole time, and stealing furtive glances (that he hopes are more subtle than they feel) back at your table. and at the counter, he orders a caffé mocha instead of his usual large iced chai latte with oat milk, 1 pump of caramel syrup, and 3 pumps of sugar-free vanilla syrup. the barista, who knows him from his daily overly-complex orders, gives him a raised eyebrow. kaiser simply shrugs and smiles. he tells her that he's testing a hypothesis. she gives him the stink eye and upcharges him.

once his drink is up, he's on the move, taking confident strides over to your table, where he asks, "is it okay if i sit here?"

and karma is in his favour today, because when you look up and around, the café is busy and bustling and the tables are all full. and he thinks that if cool guys swooned, he'd be swooning hard as you give him the tiniest, polite smile and a brief "sure" in response.

he thinks he's the smoothest man in the world, really, as he takes a seat across from you (like a date) and glances at your beverage. it's the same shade of caramel-ly brown, same kind of mug, same everything. he's fairly sure he's got the same drink as you-- a perfect conversation starter, just like he planned. kaiser clears his throat. "you order a caffé mocha? me too."

you look up again and glance at his drink before turning to him. "uh, no. not quite."

damn. kaiser's really done himself in, now. but he's cool. he can play it smooth. "really? what do you order, then?"

he then moves to shift his hands and, with an incredible lack of grace for a professionally-trained sportsman, he knocks his drink into his lap, spilling the lukewarm beverage all over his white sweater and jeans. he curses under his breath, and then remembers he has a really, really cute person he wants to impress, so he sucks up the embarrassment and grins (grimaces, more like) at you. "i don't suppose you ordered some napkins, too."

you let out a huff of laughter that makes him forget about his permanently ruined sweater as you fish around in your bag for a small, cloth napkin which you hand to him. "hopefully your sweater isn't too stained."

he hums. and a small smile takes over his face. "so, do you give a handkerchief to every guy who spills his coffee, or am i special?"

you raise your eyebrows in amusement. "you're the first guy whose spilled his coffee on himself while trying to talk to me. so i guess you're special."

kaiser beams, and he's sure satisfaction makes his grin grow on his face when he catches you flustering ever-so-slightly at his smile. "that's what i like to hear."

"what about you? you come here to impress strangers often?"

"only the ones i want to take out on a date."

and that's when it happens. that's where you laugh. and he's sure he looks appalled, absolutely shocked, when you stop, and say "sorry, no thanks."

he's a little speechless, when you look at him next, so you very helpfully fill in the silence. you offer, "any guy who drinks a caffé mocha isn't my kind of guy."

he splutters, cheeks likely redder than he'd like, reeling from embarrassment. "that was only because i thought you liked them!"

"why would you think that?"

kaiser doesn't reply. he's dug his grave, he knows, as you blink. in real time, he watches you connect the dots. "oh. you walked into the table because you were trying to see what i got. so you could talk to me, right?"

maybe he could still salvage this. if not his chance with you, then his dignity. "maybe i did. it worked, at least."

you're staring at him again, a contemplative look on your face. and he's willing his heart to stop racing under your gaze, and he's begging his face to return to a normal colour, and he's practically praying for the butterflies to stop churning windstorms in his stomach, when you say, "it's hot chocolate. and i'll be here tomorrow. same time, same table. if you want to try again with the right drink."

he's never believed in fate. kaiser is a realist. he's practical. he knows, or at least, pretends to know what he's doing. kaiser believes life is what you make it. kaiser believes his future is in his hands. but then you smile at him again. and it's a different kind of smile; one where your eyes crease and it's more on your left side than your right, and he thinks that maybe, if one thing was bound to happen in this lifetime, it was to walk into this café and meet you this winter morning.

"hot chocolate," he smiles back at you, "i'll remember that."

you take your textbook and slide it into your bag before standing. "i'll see you then."

you're already gone when he realises that he still has your napkin. but, he smiles to himself, it's okay. he can just give it back to you tomorrow.

flowers chosen: sweetpea & tarragon . . thank you for the lovely time & lasting interest

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"I like you, okay?!"

summary: katsuki struggles to confess to his crush.

tags: fluff, fem!reader

Katsuki is good at a lot of things, but when it comes to romance, he is a hopeless fool.  

In his defense, it’s not his fault. He’s spent the vast majority of his life focusing on one goal and one goal only—honing his Quirk so that he can become the Number One Hero. And he always thought that his attention would never sway, free of any unnecessary distractions.  

Until he met you.  

At the start of the first year at U.A, Katsuki didn’t think much of you. Well, he didn’t think much of any of his classmates, for that matter, but slowly but surely, the days passed, and he found his gaze lingering on you for a lot longer than he would’ve liked to admit.  

Katsuki tries to deny it at first. Something about you makes him feel... off. He's not sure why his chest gets uncomfortably tight when you speak to him, and it also doesn’t make any sense why his face heats up like never before. Maybe he’s sick, but if that were really the case, then he’s somehow been sick for the past few months.  

It takes someone else’s meddling for Katsuki to finally put the pieces together.  

“So, Bakugou, what’s up with you and [Name]?” Kaminari asks. “It feels like you treat her a bit differently than everyone else. Do you have a crush on her or something?”  

Kaminari was half-joking, but when Katsuki’s cheeks flush a deep shade of crimson—enough to rival his piercing eyes—everyone around him gasps.  

“Dude,” Kirishima chuckles. “No way. You actually like her, huh?”  

“The hell I do!” Katsuki immediately snaps back, but his voice cracks, and based on the way everyone smirks at him, he can tell he must not be very convincing.  

Kaminari grins. “Wow, I hit the nail right on the head! You’ve gotta confess, man! [Name]’s really popular, so if you wait around too long, someone else might beat you to it!”  

“You idiots are out of your damn minds,” Katsuki grits out, and without wasting a beat, he shoves his hands in his pockets and stomps off.  

They’re just being stupid like always. Seriously, him, having a crush on someone? The Bakugou Katsuki? As if he has the time or energy to waste on mushy shit like that. It’s so ridiculous he’s almost tempted to laugh.  

But then he takes a moment to consider Kaminari’s words.  

“If you wait around too long, someone else might beat you to it.”  

Katsuki isn’t sure why, but he briefly imagines you being asked out by another person, someone who isn’t him. He imagines you laughing with them, hooking your arm around theirs, and last but certainly not least, leaning forward to meet them in a kiss.  

The image evokes a visceral reaction from him, and in that moment, he swears his heart nearly stops beating. 

And then comes the realization.  

Oh, fuck.  

He’s in deep shit.  

As much as Katsuki would like to say that he’s made progress since realizing that he likes you, that unfortunately isn’t the case.  

If anything, the self-awareness has just made things worse. Before, he could at least talk to you like a semi-normal person, but now, your interactions usually go something like this:  

“Good morning, Katsuki,” you greet. “How’d you do on yesterday’s assignment? To be honest, I was kind of rushing to finish it on time. It felt like it was harder than usual.”  

Katsuki parts his lips to respond, but the longer he stares at you, the faster his heart races.  

He ends up walking away out of sheer embarrassment.  

“Man,” Kirishima sighs. “That was painful to watch.”

“Shut up!” Katsuki hisses. “What the fuck do you want me to do?!”  

“Just be normal. Be yourself.” Kirishima pauses for a few moments. “Actually... maybe that’s not the best advice.”  

“Oh, piss off!"  

It goes on like this for a while. Every time you engage him in casual, friendly conversation, Katsuki finds himself freezing up completely. It’s ironic, because he has the confidence to take on fearsome villains with ease, and yet this is what has him scared shitless.  

Goddammit. Katsuki never realized that liking someone would be such a test of his strength.  

Unfortunately, he’s too caught up in his own feelings that he doesn’t stop to consider how all of this looks from your perspective.  

“Katsuki,” you approach him one day, and for some reason, you’re frowning. “Hey. Can you please be honest with me? Did I do something to upset you, or what? Because it feels like you’ve been ignoring me lately.”  

He blinks. “What? No. If I had a problem with you, I’d tell you.”  

“Well, that’s what I thought too. So then... why do you keep avoiding me? Does it just bore you having to listen to me talk?”  

Hardly. Katsuki could probably listen to you talk for hours upon hours without getting bored. You have a pretty face, a pretty voice, and whenever you smile or laugh, it makes him want to do the same.  

It suddenly dawns on him that this is probably the best chance he’ll get. It’ll be bad news if he lets this misunderstanding drag out any further. He doesn’t want you to think that you don’t like him, because that’s the furthest thing from the truth.  

Come on. He can do this. He’s Bakugou Katsuki, for fuck’s sake. It’s time to stop acting like a coward and own up to how he feels.  

“I,” Katsuki starts shakily, “I...”  

You raise a brow. “You...?”  

“I...”  

“...?”  

Holy shit, this is so much harder than he anticipated. He’ll take a punch to the face over a confession any day of the week.  

But no, he can’t give up, goddammit! Again, he’s Bakugou Katsuki! Resident badass! The (self-proclaimed) future Number One Hero! 

The words feel like bile rushing up his esophagus, and even though they burn like hell, he finally, finally manages to spit them out.  

“I like you, okay?!”  

He did it. He’s violently flushed in the face and keeps having to gasp to reclaim his breath, but at long last, the truth is out in the open.  

And now for the part that he didn’t even stop to consider. Seeing how you'll react.  

“Oh,” you blink in response. You’re visibly taken aback, and you clear your throat, stopping to ponder your next words. “Well, that’s—”  

“Shut up, shut up, shut up! I don’t want to hear it!”  

Katsuki books it the hell out of there before he can hear what you have to say. He supposes he’s unlocked a new fear: rejection. The way he handled this whole situation is lame, it’s childish as hell, and he knows it, but when it comes to this stuff, it looks like he’s much more of a coward than he first thought.  

Meanwhile, you giggle softly as you watch him run off.  

“What a dork. He didn’t even wait for me to say I like him back.”  

when you’re inebriated and don’t recognize them — gyomei, kyojuro, sanemi, giyuu

Author’s Note: a lil lighthearted (+hopefully humorous) fluff for tn. 🥰

when you’re inebriated and don’t recognize them — gyomei, kyojuro, sanemi, giyuu

Himejima Gyomei x Reader, Rengoku Kyojuro x Reader, Shinazugawa Sanemi x Reader, Tomioka Giyuu x Reader

Word Count: ~1,400

CW: alcohol, explicit language

Suggestion Fulfilled: how do you think the hashira will react when you're clearly drunk and they want to help you, but you push the away, clearly not recognizing them, and then you say something along the lines of, " No I have a S/o, don't touch me”

~faqs~

“Don’t touch me! You! Gigantic! Oaf!”

*big sigh* 🥲

Smiling gently to himself, Gyomei takes another slow step forward

Thank goodness we’re home he thinks to himself, well aware of how this current situation would appear to unknowing onlookers 🙃 

“I’ll bite you!” 😤

Newsflash: slapping at his outstretched hands is doing next to nothing 🥴

The man is a wall 🧱

“Please,” he tries again, “Let me help you.”

You huff, eyes rolling, “I don’t need help.”

“Your shoes are still on, as is your coat, and you’re heading in the opposite direction of the bedroom.” 🤨

Somehow, the calmness of his voice riles you even further 😒

“How do you know?” you scoff, “Maybe I’m taking the long way around.” 🙄

“Love, I live here,” he can’t help the fond exasperation creeping into his tone, “I live here with you.”

“No,” you snort, “You wish you lived here with me, but that honor belongs to my amaaazing boyfriend.” 😌

“And where might he be?” Gyomei asks politely

“He-” your eyes narrow, confusion clouding your vision as you frown slightly, “I’m not sure.” 😖

“Well how about you call him?”

Glaring at the looming (actually, Gyomei is standing quite casually and relaxed) man in front of you, you tug your phone out of your pocket

“Hey Siri, call The Love of my Life.”

Interesting Gyomei’s heart flutters —> you’ve never actually showed him his contact info

—Fortunately for you, he’s too much of a sweetheart to ever hold this secret against you

—What happens when you’re drunk, stays with when you were drunk 😉

“NO WAY!” you exclaim as his phone begins ringing, “YOU’RE HIM?!” 😳🤯😭

“Yes, love,” Gyomei chuckles tiredly, “I’m him.”

“I’m sooooo sorry,” you whimper, suddenly falling willingly and clingy into his arms, whining now as you pout up at him, “I’m going to have the worst hangover eeeverrr,” gasping dramatically, “Gyyyomeeeei!!!!!”

“As flattered as I am by your interest, I have a boyfriend,” you say, politely brushing off the warm hands of the stranger attempting to help you as you sit haunched on a bench 😮‍💨

Aforementioned stranger’s brow furrows, mouth pursing before stretching into a bright grin, laughter ringing through your ears 🤗

The hell is this guy on? 🧐

“I promise your boyfriend would be okay with me helping you,” Kyojuro chuckles, arms crossed as he watches you carefully 

“Oh yeah?” you mutter, hiding your confusion beneath a cool tone, “What’s his name then?”

“Rengoku Kyojuro!” he immediately answers, still grinning, “Not many people look like him…” ❤️‍🔥

Your face crinkles as you take in the man’s appearance once more, eventually shaking your head as you huff

“Nice try,” you smirk, “But if I was really drunk, then my Kyojuro wouldn’t think twice about getting me home, no matter how difficult I was being.” 😌

*cue a particularly fond memory of Kyojuro carrying you all the way home from the bar when you refused to get in a cab but didn’t want to walk and definitely wasn’t sober enough to sit on the handlebars of a bicycle* 😝

Kyojuro blames the blossoming warmth in his stomach at your my Kyojuro for his next actions

Aka scooping you into his arms and hoping his cologne does the trick 😅

(it usually does — he assumes his sweatshirts go missing for this exact reason 🫢)

“PUT ME DOW- 🤬 BAAABYYY! 😍” you squeal as soon as his sweaty, familiar scent hits your nose, “You do love meee!!!!!”

“I absolutely do,” he murmurs adoringly, unfazed by your sudden switch in demeanor, “After all, your Kyojuro always gets you home, right?” 🥺

“Right!” you beam up at him, your hostility all but dissipated as you nuzzle into the crook of his shoulder, “M’gonna sleep now, ‘kay?” 🥱

Kyojuro thinks about how long the walk home is, flexes his forearms, and smiles 🥰

“Of course. Sweet dreams, my heart.” 😴

Send help pls and ty 🙃

This man is at his wit’s end

On one hand, you’re refusing to Uber home with him 😕

On the other hand, he can’t just leave you at the bar 😒

And the last thing he wants is to order two separate rides home, and then have to patiently explain that he isn’t stalking you, nor is he breaking in, because 

“For fuck’s sake, I’m literally your boyfriend!” 😐

“My boyfriend would never speak to me like that!” you retort, eyes narrowed 😠

Actually Sanemi thinks wryly to himself Your boyfriend doesn’t know how to speak in any other way

“Because your boyfriend’s so damn perfect?” he growls, “Doesn’t ever cuss or lose his patience?”

“Well,” you begin pertly, “He is perfect! He brings me breakfast in bed, holds open doors for me, mends the holes in my socks, washes my back when we shower together…” ☺️

Sanemi is very pink rn 😃

He’s torn between wanting to kiss you square on the mouth and never doing a nice thing for you ever again 🫠

“... but he,” you trail off, tears abruptly brimming as you come to a startling realization, “But he’s so ruuude,” wailing as Sanemi simply watches you unfold, “He teases me whenever I stub my toe on something, pushes me off the bed when we wrestle, and, and, and-”

“And what?” he asks dryly

You gulp, refusing to meet the gaze of the handsome, persistent man still standing in front of you — despite your resolute rejections of him, “I think you might actually be my boyfriend.” 😭

He actually laughs, arms opening as you barrel into him, sobbing into his embrace, thin olive shirt sticking to his skin as you squeeze his sides

“Sanemi,” you whisper, embarrassment coating your voice

“Mmm, darling?” his own rich with amusement

“I want to go home,” you mumble 😔

“You sure?” he smirks fondly, “Even with me?”

Groaning loudly, you press your face harder into his chest, eyes closing as you focus on the steady warmth of his heartbeat 💓

Dismay might as well be Giyuu’s middle name

Because he has no idea how he’s going to get you home 😓

Shinobu abandoned you guys earlier, flitting from one bar to the next

And for the sake of his dwindling dignity and pride, Giyuu is not about to interrupt Tengen and his wives at their table to ask for ~assistance 😬

Kyojuro would be an option, if he wasn’t the lightest weight of all, and already home in bed (he left over an hour ago) 🙃

Shit

“Hey,” he waves at you, heart in his throat

“Hey yourself,” you glance up at him, frowning, “I told you like five minutes ago, I. Have. A. Boyfriend.” 😒

The urge to curl up into a ball and cry has never been stronger 😃

For Giyuu, that is 😭

“I know, I know,” he holds his hands up in a careful surrender, awkwardness in his movements as he ponders his next words, “I just… I think you should go home.”

“As in, go home with you?” 🤨

“Uh…” yes 😞

“Look, you’re super attractive and all, but you’re not my boyfriend.” 🙄

Giyuu is hitting his forehead against a brick wall 😵

Repeatedly 😵

Internally, ofc 💀

“What if I was?” he winces as his voice cracks at the end 🥲

Damn it 🫠

“Well that would mean breaking up with my boyfriend…”

He’s staring at you equally exasperated and in love 😖🥰

All you process, unfortunately, is deadpan 😐

“Speaking of which, where is he?” you mutter 😕

I! AM! RIGHT! HERE! 🫨

Giyuu is still hitting his forehead against a brick wall

+screaming every time he makes contact

Internally, ofc

“Can I at least give you my number?” 🥺

“How about this,”  you snap, “You find my boyfriend for me, and ask him if that’s okay.”

Regret isn’t an option as Giyuu immediately spins in a circle, striking a Tada! Pose when he faces you again 😎

🧐🧐🧐 <— you rn

“It’s me, your boyfriend. Tomioka Giyuu.” 🥳

You blink

He holds his breath

“Y’know what,” you finally say, “I believe you.”

Giyuu doesn’t bother digging for details

He grabs your hand (and exhales when you promptly intertwine your fingers with his, hugging his forearm to your chest 💞), and heads toward the exit

—

“Why did that convince you?” he asks the next morning, breath soft on your skin as he sprinkles soothing kisses across your forehead

You smile slyly—despite your pulsating headache—all four limbs squeezing tighter around his body to keep him in place as you murmur quietly, “Because only my boyfriend could make me cringe that hard.” 😌

“Heyyyyy,” he whines, pouting as he squirms in your embrace, exchanging his kisses for gentle bites as you shriek playfully, “That’s not very nice.” ☹️

OPEN ARMS, OPEN EYES ┊ GOJO SATORU

tags: GN reader, no curse au, meet-cute, gojo has a visual impairment (modern take on his six eyes), the divine dogs are service animals (seeing-eye dogs), original child character, reader is babysitting, fluff + flirting, (takes place in my foster dad au)

wc: 3k

Overhead, the bell rings a soft welcome. You quickly shuffle Kota out of the drizzle and into the warm embrace of the cafe. A full staccato can be heard over the soothing music as the wind begins to whip the rainfall against the windows. You sigh, having escaped the worst of it.

Kota squirms, his pink face scrunched into a glare as you bend to undo the buttons tucked beneath his chin and let down his raincoat hood. Free from the nylon confines he shakes out his hair and swipes at the strands stuck to his damp forehead with a whine.

“I know little man,” you murmur placatingly, reaching for the napkins on the nearby condiment bar. You pat his skin dry from his cheeks to his neck, and then under his cuffs around his wrists. His sniffling has allayed, to your relief. “Is that better?”

When he doesn’t answer you look up and find him entranced by something across the threshold. You follow his line of sight and feel the breath stolen from your lungs.

The stranger is imposing and beautiful in a way that is hard to look at; yet it’s the intense air of confidence and ease about him that makes it impossible for you to look away. Standing tall at the counter he’s all slender angles and fluid movements in his fitted white dress-shirt, rocking on his heels as he waits.

The shelves fixed to the wall behind the counters are littered with decorative trinkets doused in warm-gold light that crowns his white hair like a halo. Everyone’s focus has gravitated toward him, so much so that they don’t appear to notice the large black dog at his feet.

Kota, however, paid the man no attention. Instead his chubby fingers curled around your shirtsleeve to tug insistently at your arm, “Puppy!”

There’s a blue padded harness strapped to the dog’s torso, ‘assistance’ printed in bold reflective letters across the chest and along the adjustable handle. Their body language shows that they’re comfortable but alert, ears standing tall and twitching in Kota’s direction. Kota, who has managed to free himself from your grip.

And is tottering towards the service dog.

You rise to stand and amble after him, frantically whispering his name. “Kota—no. You can’t pet the dog,” your arm scoops around his belly to keep him from tripping as you grab the back of his coat and gather him to your front. The boy stomps his foot and whines, forcing his body pliant in protest and becoming deadweight.

Nervous about causing a disturbance you survey the surroundings. Nobody stirs. A woman and her two young children are seated nearby, and she offers you a sympathetic smile. You grimace, steadying Kota on his feet.

“But I wan’a pet the puppy,” Kota warbles, making grabbing motions toward the dog.

“You can’t sweetheart. Look,” you run a soothing hand down his back. Bringing him close you point at the blue harness. “See what they’re wearing? Can you read that word?”

Kota’s brow knits in concentration. “S’big word,” he says. You smile at his seriousness and suppress the urge to squeeze him.

“That word says ‘assistance’,” and he repeats it with imprecise intonation, thrice before he’s satisfied. “That’s right,” you praise him, sneaking a kiss to his temple. A frisson of happiness has him burying into the crook of your neck. “Do you know what it means when an animal is wearing a coat like that?”

Kota shakes his head.

“It means,” you cast a quick glance to the owner and almost swallow your tongue. His face is angled in your direction, as if listening in on your conversation, though his eyes are well hidden behind a dark pair of glasses. “It means that dog is working. They have a very important job to do, so we can’t interrupt them. It would be bad if they got distracted, right?”

Kota thinks long and hard about this. A litany of emotions wash over his expression. It ranges from confusion, to petulance and sadness, then finally, acceptance. “Yeah. Okay,” he nods, staring longingly at the fluffy tail sweeping back and forth across the tiles.

“Good. Now you’ve learned something new today. You can tell your parents all about it once I get you home,” you stand straight and brush down the front of your jeans. “How about we get some cream puffs to celebrate once it’s dry out, hm?”

“Yeah!”

The disruption thankfully hadn’t bothered the dog. You watch as the man drops his hand to his hip and they immediately nuzzle into the touch. “Good girl,” you hear him croon as his fingers crook behind her ear. Then he cocks his head and a pair of lustrous eyes are visible over his opaque, round-rimmed glasses.

Hair prickles on the nape of your neck. His stare settles just beyond your shoulder. The pigment in each iris is oddly dispersed and startlingly light, a clear blue with infinite depth, as if they were plucked right from a celestial body. “Thanks for keeping him on a leash,” he tells you with teasing cadence, mouth curled into a smile. Kota gives an affronted grumble and you laugh, combing your fingers through baby-soft hair.

The man inclines toward Kota, “Her name is Maya, by the way. You can’t pet her but you can say hello”.

Enthralled at this development Kota bends his knees in an bouncy little dance. “Maya-chan. Hi. My name is Kota,” he gurgles, hands covering his cheeks. Maya simply snuffled, a long tongue licking at her snout, and shifted on her front paws.

The attractive stranger nudges his dark glasses higher up the bridge of his nose. He wets his lips. “And what’s your name?”

It takes an embarrassing amount of time for you to realise he is asking you. Rattled by the prolonged silence you set your sights firmly on Kota and clear your throat to introduce yourself, “It’s nice to meet you”.

“Yeah? I don't get to hear that too often,” he replies, mouth thin as if fighting a broader smile. It’s a lovely shade of balmy pink. “I’m—”

“Gojo-san?”

The barista glances up from reading the name on the ticket, visibly flustered that he interrupted. “I’m sorry. Your drinks are ready,” he makes an aborted motion to hand the tray over and then seizes. “Ah—would you like me to take this to your table, Gojo-san?”

“That’d be great,” nothing about Gojo’s visage, nor his posture, changes. You feel pinned under his broad scrutiny. Anticipation swoops through your stomach as he angles his gaze in Maya’s direction, where Kota remains besotted. “Y’know, my other dog is here too. She’s actually retired now, so you can come and pet her if you want, Kota-kun”.

You balk. This guy.

“Yeah!” Kota effuses, crashing into your legs. He pats at your thighs. “Please. Can I, can I?”

You cast a lingering glance at the poor weather, a sheet of rain obscuring the view to the street, and ponder what Kota’s parents would want. As he’s an only child they’ve expressed their desire to get a pet in the near future. It could be a good lesson for him, and you have nothing to do until the shower calms.

“That's—kind of you. If it’s no trouble…?”

“Wouldn’t offer if it was,” Gojo replies. You are at least reassured by the fact that he doesn’t sound all that put-out. More than anything he looks pleased, like the cat that got the cream. He gestures toward the poor barista, waiting to the side with fingers flexing around the tray handles.

You nudge the little boy, “What do you say?”

Kota takes a deep breath, the air pushing out his cheeks. He bows, hair falling over his eyes, and gives an emphatic: “Thank you!”

Gojo’s runs a hand through his hair. It looks silky. A smooth glide, no tangles caught on his knuckles. Then he rolls his shoulders, expression schooled into something comically serious. “In that case I’m going to need you to do something, Kota-kun,” he says.

The tone has Kota’s spine ramrod straight. “This guy here is going to my table. Think you can walk behind him and lead the way for Maya?”

Kota’s eyes are wide and sparkling. He vibrates at the promise of responsibility. You observe the exchange with an odd fondness. Gojo is a stranger. Yet he has somehow has managed to win over the most stubborn kid you know.

“Maya,” he kisses his teeth. Maya rises to attention, locking onto her owner while he readjusts his grip on the harness handle. She tracks the movement of his free hand through the air as it comes to lightly tap Kota’s shoulder. “Follow,” he states.

Spurred into action as though commanded himself, the barista leaves to find Gojo’s table. Kota looks to you seeking permission. You nod and he wanders closely after the man on his little legs, glancing back every few seconds, brighter each time he notices Maya trotting onward at his heel.

Gojo’s gait is languid and purposefully slow. There's buoyancy to him as he navigates the space, trusting Maya completely to get to their destination. You walk a suitable distance from his side, inwardly dithering and unsure whether or not to push aside the few chairs obstructing the path. Maya doesn’t appear concerned. You’d hate to break her focus.

She takes Gojo deeper into the cafe with confidence. Tucked away in an alcove at the back of the room is a booth. In the booth is another dark haired boy, much older than Kota, around twelve or thirteen if you had to guess, and curled under the table is another large dog.

The boy is not impressed in the slightest. He frowns at the sight of you and Kota, disgruntled. Thoughts visibly pass over his face and whatever conclusion he comes to he glares up at Gojo for it.

As the barista sets down the tray of drinks the cups rattle against their respective saucers. He bows and slips away. Kota is beginning to squirm again. You can tell his patience is waning.

“I’m being glared at, aren’t I?” comes Gojo’s amused murmur. Though the boy’s ire isn’t directed at you it feels awkward to be in the line of fire.

“You are,” you reply, pinching the back of Kota’s hood to prevent him from diving under the table. “Are you sure this is fine? If your son isn’t—”

Gojo waves his hand as he strides forward, carefully resting it on the backrest of the cushions and he uses it to pivot himself into the booth. “Not my son. More like a nephew, or something. Right, Megumi?” the boy—presumably Megumi—flares his turned up nose and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Or something,” he says.

“Maya,” Gojo continues in a clear voice. “Down,” Maya is deliberate in where she rests, remaining within his reach. “Stay,” her paws cross one over the other, and she rests her chin atop her wrists. When she’s settled, he coos another, “Good girl”.

Maya’s tail swishes happily. Megumi grunts. “Don’t be like that, Megumi. The kid only wanted to meet Ren,” Gojo drawls. At the mention of her name Ren crawls out from under the table seeking attention. “Why don’t you show Kota-kun how to pet her?”

“Why me?”

“You’re older. Set an example,” Gojo rests his cheek in his palm, taking his glasses off to hook them on the end of his slender finger. Those startling eyes drag aimlessly over your form as he sighs, “Tsumiki would be so disappointed if she knew”.

At that Megumi’s arms drop in deference. He scoots out of his seat and coaxes Ren to sit. She’s a lovely dog, and big, with a luscious thick white coat and soulful eyes. He sticks his hand out, expression a complex mix of boredom and determination. Like he didn’t want to do it, but if he really had to, he wanted to do it well. “Kota-kun, right? Give me your hand,” he says.

Kota bounces on his toes and obediently drops his hand into the older boy’s. “You have to let animals smell you first. Let them decide if they want to be touched,” Megumi guides it toward Ren, proffered and upturned for her to scent. She nuzzles into Kota’s small palm and licks it for good measure, making him squeal.

Gojo melts into the booth cushion, entirely mellowed out. You stare at his profile, appreciating the soft line of his cheekbone right to the shell of his ear, just peeking out under fluffy white hair; lightly cow licked at the ends from the rain, curling right around the stud in his earlobe.

Feeling the weight of your gaze his eyes slide over and you quickly turn away. In the seconds you spent distracted Megumi has shown Kota where Ren likes to be scratched the most. Kota beams as he strokes down her flank, making her tongue loll out and her hind leg reflexively twitch.

You clear your throat. “She’s very pretty isn't she?” you muse, bending to Kota’s height and smiling gently at Megumi. Ren’s warm puffs of breath fan over your fingers as you let her smell them. “Is she the same breed as Maya-chan?”

“Yeah. They’re cousins,” Megumi answers stiffly. There’s a tinge of pink in Megumi’s cheeks now as he buries his hand in Ren’s fur, vying for reason not to look directly at you. “We’re letting them spend time together before we send Ren away”.

“Eh?” Kota’s bottom lip wobbles. His head whips around to Gojo, “Away?”

“Not like that,” you quietly reassured.

Gojo crossed his ankles under the table and reclined with his royal milk tea, wisps of steam curling over the rim. “Ren is too old to do her job now,” he smiles behind the cup, “She’s going to live with a good friend of mine and his two sons. Don’t worry”.

This comforts Kota a bit. “What, um,” he pats Ren’s face, and your heart aches, because he’s being so uncharacteristically gentle. “Maya-chan really has a job?”

“She really does”.

“But babies can’t work,” Kota beseeches. “Mama told me so”.

Megumi huffs, though you think it’s more of a laugh. “Maya isn’t a baby and she isn’t a puppy anymore either,” he says. The proud gleam in his gaze doesn’t escape you as he points at the younger dog. “She’s the best of her litter. I helped pick her”.

“Megumi has a good eye for that kinda thing,” Gojo sets down his cup and gestures to his uncovered eyes, framed by pale and unfairly long eyelashes. You are secretly grateful for the excuse to look at them again. “My eyes? Not so much. That’s what I have Maya for—and Ren before her. She helps me get around”.

Kota’s jaw slacks and he makes a long, drawn out sound of understanding. Ren bounces from paw to paw and you marvel at just how good she is with him. Calm, and attentive. Reacting whenever he reacts. Remnants of her training that she’d likely never lose.

“Go—go…”

“Gojo-san,” you prompt gently as Kota’s brow knits in that very familiar ‘I-don’t-want-to-cry’ manner.

“Gojo-san,” he tries again. “M’sorry your eyes don’t work good”.

Mortification washes over you. “Kota, sweetheart. You can’t just say that—”

Gojo barks a laugh loud enough to draw the attention of onlookers. While he remains unaffected, growing evermore amused, you shy away from their curious stares with a grimace. “Don’t worry. He meant no harm,” he says. “And look, it’s not that I can’t see anything. Want to know something cool?”

Megumi sighs indolently and you suspect he’s heard this spiel before. Kota unfurls from his brief flinch and nods. Gojo tips his chin and bends forward. Kota stares right into his lucent eyes, mesmerised.

“I can see shapes. To me you’re just a weird smudge,” Kota giggles from behind his hands as Gojo pretends to wet his thumb and makes a rubbing motion, like he were wiping Kota from his vision. “But I have too much pressure inside of my eyes. So I don’t just see shapes,” Gojo leans closer and lowers his voice into a conspiratorial whisper, “I see colours around things, like when you squeeze your eyes shut real tight”.

“Woah,” Kota breathes. His fingers clench and unclench where they’re clutched around his coat. “What colour am I?”

The older man decides to entertain the question and pauses to consider Kota with a ruminative hum. You find yourself waiting with bated breath, a shamefully scant portion of your brain focused on the vibration from your jacket pocket. Numbness is spreading up your feet to your calves, knelt on them for too long, but you don’t want to disturb the atmosphere.

“Red,” Gojo answers decisively.

Kota covers his mouth. He swivels on his heels to find you. “That’s my favourite colour!”

“It is,” you echo as you rub his shoulder, your tone gentle and indulgent. Your phone buzzes again and you slip it out from your pocket to check the screen. “Ah,” a brief glance toward the cafe window informs you that the rain has mostly stopped. Gold slats of sunlight are flooding the wet pavement. “It’s your parents, little man. They’ll be expecting us home soon so say your goodbyes”.

“No”.

“Kota”.

A stubborn beat passes. Sulking, Kota is deliberate and slow while he gives Ren a final stroke. “Bye bye, Ren, Maya-chan. Bye bye Megumi-nii. Bye bye Gojo-san”.

“Sure,” Megumi chokes somewhat at the honorific. “See you, Kota-kun”.

Gojo listens to the interaction with a smile. Close lipped and genuine. Though small the weight of it causes his eyes to crinkle slightly at the corners. “It doesn’t have to be goodbye forever,” he suggests.

You hesitate, “Meaning…?”

“If we exchanged numbers then Kota-kun could keep in touch with Maya and Ren. I’ll send cute pictures”.

Megumi scoffs and it makes the blood prickle under your skin. Your face feels hot. “Right. For Kota,” you reply dryly, mouth trembling as you valiantly try to keep the smile out of your voice. He must sense it anyway, because his own widens and he holds his phone out to you.

Kota claps excitedly while you input your name and number. “And how do I know you’re not a bad guy?” you ask, saving the details before closing out the app and handing the phone back.

“I pinky promise?”

Shaking your head amusedly you fix Kota’s coat collar, refastening the buttons before petting Ren farewell. “I suppose I’ll take your word for it,” you tell him. “Thanks again, for letting Kota meet the dogs”.

“My pleasure,” Gojo returns.

“I’ll—we’ll be seeing you, then,” you wave at Megumi, directing Kota toward the front of the cafe. Gojo drapes his lithe body over the table surface and rests his chin to his hand, as if watching you go.

“I’ll text you,” he chimes after you. People lift their heads as you scurry through to the entrance.

What have you gotten yourself into?

cw f!reader , mild fraternal violence , atsumu’s terrible lying skills

“I know something you don’t know,” Osamu singsongs, standing in the doorway of their shared bathroom and peering over his brother’s shoulder at his reflection in the mirror.

“Yeah?” Atsumu grunts, yanking a comb through his hair and glaring back at his twin. “Spit it out, shitty ‘Samu. I got places to be, you know?”

“Ouch, don’t shoot the messenger,” Osamu drawls, leaning against the doorframe. “I know that you have a date tonight and you think you’re being sneaky about it.”

“Do not,” Atsumu scowls immediately, dropping the comb and turning around, because he is the worst liar ever. “I don’t even—what are you—I’m taking myself on a date, how about that, it’s called self care, ever heard of it? Huh? Okay? Huh?”

“Okay,” Osamu says, “You’re wearing a tie.”

“I can wear a tie if I want to,” Atsumu sneers, fiddling with it.

“Last summer, at Uncle Jun’s wedding, Ma had to literally threaten to shave your head to get you to wear one.”

“I’m a man now,” Atsumu sticks his chin up, examining his jaw. “I can wear a tie. Hey, did I miss anything while I was shaving?”

“You don’t have any facial hair to shave. And you have a hickey right there.”

“What? Seriously? Where?” Atsumu panics, turning back and forth.

“Ha, I got you—hey!!! Don’t hit me, asshole! I’ll tell Ma!!! And you—you left your fucking bouquet out on my desk, by the way. I told you to stop putting your stuff—no I swear I’ll kill you get offa me get off!—on my desk just because yours is too messy!”

“It was there for five seconds! You left all your laundry on my bed the other day—“

“Where was I s’posed to put it, the floor?”

“Your closet!” Atsumu roars. “Oh, shit, what time is it?” He drops his brother’s shirt collar abruptly.

“5:30,” Osamu says, dusting himself off. “What time you gotta be there?”

“She’s walkin’ over here now, probably,” Atsumu says, rushing back to the bathroom. “Fuck, well since you know, can I use your cologne?”

“It’s the same one you have?”

“It’s better, I don’t know,” Atsumu argues. “Just gimme it, it’s like one spritz.”

“Fine,” Osamu grumbles. “Hey, ‘Tsumu, I know something else you don’t know.”

“What,” Atsumu rolls his eyes as he walks around, frantically shoving his keys and wallet into his pockets, picking up the bouquet—delicate red and white flowers, not bad, scrub, thinks Osamu.

“This ain’t your first date,” he says smugly.

“What are you, Sherlock Holmes?” His brother says. “How d’you figure that?”

Osamu mock-stretches before counting off on his fingers. “One, you never walk home with me and Suna anymore. Two, there’s some flowery shit that appeared in our shower, and I know I didn’t buy it, and you’re not walkin’ around smelling like lavender and honey, so you’ve gotta be sneakin’ someone in. Three, you came to practice two weeks ago with an actual hickey, y’know, when you kept missing sets ‘cause you were in such a good mood.”

Atsumu blinks at him, finally lost for words.

“And,” Osamu says, tone somewhat gentler. “You seem a lot happier lately. Less, y’know, hard on yourself. Whoever it is, I think she’s good for you.”

“Thanks,” Atsumu says, swallowing roughly. “You’re so sappy.”

“Says the guy holding the flowers.” And trying not to let his eyes water over, but Osamu doesn’t say that bit. He can spare some of his brother’s dignity.

“It’s our six-month anniversary,” Atsumu says quietly. “Please don’t tell Ma yet, okay? She’s always on about volleyball bein’ enough of a distraction from school, I know she thinks dating is too. I just wanna—I want her to like my—”

He says your name just as the doorbell rings.

“Her? You’re dating—?” Osamu’s tone is incredulous. “Hold on, you can’t go yet. She’s like a million times out of your league—”

“I know!” Atsumu beams at him. “Keep your mouth shut or you’ll regret it. Tell Ma I’m sleeping at the dorms with Suna. Bye!”

don’t mess with a sorcerer’s beloved apprentice