#the one thing I’ve always wanted to see peach as

[solarblitzzzzz]

The way I literally screamed when I saw mermaid peach

[moonstruckme]

Hi! I would love to see Steve being really affectionate with shy reader? Maybe at the beginning of their relationship when everything is really „big” for reader? Only if it’s something that you like. Lots of love and thank you! 🩷

Thanks for requesting!

Steve Harrington x shy!reader ♡ 745 words

Selfishly, Steve has an easier time being brave when you’re so clearly the nervous one. 

“So this guy, he wasn’t being a dick or anything,” he says, fingers loosely intertwined with yours as you walk down to the 7-Eleven, “but he just wouldn’t leave Rob alone. Couldn’t take a hint, you know?” 

You hum. Your hand starts to slip in his, and you tighten your fingers almost imperceptibly. Steve adjusts, taking your hand more securely in his so it doesn’t happen again. A bit of pink tinges your cheeks that he doubts has much to do with the warm weather. 

Steve doesn’t mean to fluster you, but if he waited on you to make the first move there’d be no moving at all. That said, he doesn’t mind flustering you either. You get this sweet, startled look on your face and sometimes you try to hide behind your hair so that he gets to move it away. He sweeps his thumb over the back of your hand to soothe you, and you press your lips together like he’s done something far more brash. 

“What did she do?” you ask.

“She told him we were dating.” 

“What?” You laugh, the sound starting up a pleasant buzzing in Steve’s chest. “But she tells everyone else you’re ‘platonic with a capital P’.” 

“Exactly!” He shakes his head, grinning at you. You smile back for half a second before your gaze drops to his chest. “He’s gonna find out as soon as he brings it up to literally anyone, and then she’s gonna have to cover her ass all over again. I don’t know why she does this to herself.” 

“Maybe she’s panicking,” you muse. “Just, like, saying the first thing she can think of.” 

Steve guesses you’d know something about that. The first time he’d tried to ask you out, he’d suggested going to the drive-in and you’d blurted that you didn’t watch movies. 

“Maybe,” he says, unable to mask the amusement in his tone (and not trying very hard, if he’s being honest). 

You look at him curiously, then shy at whatever you see in his expression. “Oh, I forgot.” You duck away under the guise of digging through your bag. “I got this off my neighbor’s tree today.” 

You hold a peach out to him, and Steve thinks he’s going to melt on the spot. His heart feels all heavy and made of mush. “No way.” His voice is soft, reverent. “You stole from your neighbor for me?” 

He takes the peach from you, and you immediately turn from his gaze, pretending to adjust your bag over your shoulder. Steve knows you didn’t really forget to tell him earlier; you just hadn’t wanted this display in front of your roommates. It’s cool. He’s fine with adoring you in private. 

“I didn’t steal it.” The smile is evident in your voice, and Steve waits until you turn back to shoot you the best one he’s got in return. The pink spreads to your ears. “I asked. They always say they have too many to eat by themselves.” 

“Still.” He thinks about mushing a kiss into your temple, but even Steve’s not feeling bold enough for that yet. He settles for wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “It’s sweet, thanks.” 

“It was no problem,” you murmur, tilting your head so your hair curtains your face. 

Steve is gleeful at this development. He reaches forward with his other hand to brush it out of the way, hooking what he can behind your ear. Your eyes flit to him bashfully. He knows he’s smiling like an idiot, but he can’t help it. It’s just the way his face likes to be around you. 

“Well, I appreciate it,” he says, then decides to put you out of your misery. “So, what kind of slushee are you gonna get?” 

“Mm, dunno,” you reply softly. “You?” 

“Blue raspberry every time.” He nods certainly. “Never wavered since I was a kid.” 

“I don’t think I’ve tried that one,” you say. “I usually get a coke and cherry mix.” 

“You can try mine,” Steve offers. 

“You don’t mind if I sip from your straw?” 

“I mean, I was thinking you could just kiss me to taste it,” he says. And fine, now he might be stirring the pot a little bit. It’s worth it when you put your face in your hands. Steve squeezes you tighter against his side, affectionate. “But that works too, yeah.” 

[myfirstandlast]

made my first dnd character yesterday :DD

[leclsrc]

can i please request a forbidden relationship with charles? like maybe a verstappen!reader or a wolff!reader? angst to fluff please 😩

name calling – cl16

Charles develops a new nickname, but it's not for you. (wolff!reader)

auds here... i love u anon and i hope its okay that i did not write angst into this!!! i needed a feel good thing to get the trope going. listened to this a lot while writing, one of my favorite cutesy love songs ever!

“There’s peach and apple,” you say over the phone, inspecting the juice box flavors in the well-stocked fridge of the Mercedes motorhome. Apparently, over at Ferrari, the supply is running dry, a report generously provided to you by your boyfriend.

“Is there lemon?” You two have the same favorite. You rifle through the stock and find a lone lemon flavor collecting frost at the back of the pile.

“None.” You say, clearing your throat. “Come on, man. Peach and apple.”

He makes a noise of suspicion, but gives in. “Peach then.”

“Okay.” You tuck your phone in-between your ear and shoulder and collect multiple to find the coldest one, an accompaniment to the heat this weekend; your call is cut short when your dad walks in, eyebrows set in a straight line of contemplation.

They raise when he spots you harboring a bunch of peach juice boxes. “Gotta go, bye,” you add in a rushed whisper, and he says a quick see you thanks before hanging up.

“Dad,” you say casually. You raise one of the six boxes in your hand. “Juice?”

“Is there lemon left?”

“No luck. Peach and apple,” you say sweetly.

“I’ll have apple. Listen, I’m going to a principal’s meeting using your scooter.”

You toss him a box. “Okay. Stay safe,” you respond, letting him pull you into a one-armed hug. “There’s too many people in the centre so I’ve been scootering behind motorhomes to get to places faster. Might help.”

“Okay, spatzi,” he says, punching a straw into the box and departing. This signals a greenlight for you to call Charles again—despite your best mutual efforts, you’ve both been almost caught calling or being near each other by your dad. And, in the words of your lovely boyfriend, he’s not yet ready to die. But the hiding is worth it; after all, it’s hiding from the public, which you both wanted from the get go, and your dad. Your mum and several friends know, which makes the lying ease up a little bit.

He picks up in the middle of the first ring. “Hey. Got my juice?” 

“Yeah. Back door.” A routine crafted over years of knowing each other—first as friends, then as lovers—serves you well, a rushed meeting at the back door of a garage or motorhome to discuss date night plans or to hand over a gift or plate of food. In this case, it’s a juice box, half-tossed in your rush to not be spotted by one of your dad’s friends.

And, as always, he blows you a kiss as you close the door.

—

Four sips into his peach juice, Charles sneaks past the Mercedes motorhome and moves back to Ferrari, but not without spotting a mess of long limbs on the ground beside a forgotten scooter. Upon closer inspection, his suspicion of it being a deranged superfan is rejected—it’s Toto Wolff.

“I must have tripped on a wire,” Toto grunts, eyes scanning the ground. He meets Charles’ eyes. 

“Let me help you,” Charles says, immediately offering a hand and pulling. The guy is jacked, so he exerts a bit more effort than he’s willing to admit; the job gets done nonetheless, so potato-potahto, really. 

“Thank you,” wheezes Toto, sitting up, all six feet five of him, “son.”

Charles is slack mouthed. Oh my God. Son???? “You are welcome, so welcome,” he responds kindly, despite the awkward tension. “Um, Papa.”

Toto pauses his ascent and stares pointedly before shaking his head. “I… must go.”

“Well, drive safe. Watch the roads. And all.” Charles says, laughing sheepishly. “Toto. Watch the roads, and all, Toto.” He emphasizes, like that takes back the fact that he called the big boss Papa just ten seconds ago. He chews at the straw of the peach juice, gnawing nervously.

“I will. Thanks again.” He falls quiet, staring. Then a knobby finger points to the juice box, waving back and forth in-between the juice box in the garbage bin a few metres away. “They’re… your juice box… is that from the Mercedes… motorhome?”

“No,” lies Charles with unrivaled stiffness.

“It is a German brand we special order for my daughter.”

“No—see, I am very into German juice.” He ignores the way it sounds like a euphemism. “What’s that? My phone is now ringing. Okay. D’accord. Au revoir.” He walks away as he makes up additional excuses, not missing Toto’s laser stare that seems to permeate through walls and asphalt, finding reprieve only when he’s back in his room.

He chucks the juice box into the nearest bin and prays to all the gods.

—

Charles ends up getting P1. He’s surrounded by whoops and cheers and receives a very solemn “good effort” nod from Toto across the paddock, which he feels cements his apology and effectively keeps your relationship hidden. He’s handled it well. For once, he’s the mature crisis handler in the relationship, and you don’t need to know about any of this, you really don’t.

You congratulate him at the back door like always, when he’s on the way to the parking lot.

A kiss to his cheek. Then: “I have something to ask.”

“What’s that, darling?”

“Did you, um. Call my dad Papa?”

He presses a palm to his mouth in a very Charles-esque overdramatic way. “Oh my God, he told you?!”

“Oh my God, it’s true?!” You detect the volume in your voice and usher yourself out, quietly shutting the door before facing him again. You raise your eyebrows.

Your boyfriend, your adorably aloof boyfriend, just sputters. “Well—he called me son!”

“Yeah, because he’s old! Old people do that.” You gesticulate wildly “I can’t believe you called him Papa.”

“I can’t believe he told you.”

“I can’t believe you both thought I did not know,” comes a voice from the door that is, unfortunately, not Lewis’ or George’s or yours or Charles’.

The door swings open and there your dad stands, eyebrows raised quizzically, windbreaker-clad arms crossed over his chest. “Charles, I know you don’t ‘like German juice.’ Spatzi, I know you don’t ‘enjoy exploring Monaco hotels by yourself.’” Stoically, he raises air quotes.

“… Sorry?” You offer, smile sweet.

“It’s okay.” He allows a small, warm smile directed to you. “I’ve known a while now.”

“Sorry, Toto,” Charles says profusely, visibly anxious.

The smile chills. Your dad just nods, waving him off. “Cool down on the Papa, though, Leclerc.” 

[earthnashes]

Since that last episode of Melon’s Adventure isn’t done yet, here’s something to tide ya’ll over a tad! Concept sketches of the giiiiiiiiirls! owo

I originally wanted to do these three AND Pauline, but I never got around to Pauline so I figured I could go ahead and post these. I’ll probably try to make a full sketchdump for Pauline to make up for her lack of being here though. o3o Anyway, some funfacts and thoughts on these:

I really liked how feisty Peach was in the movie so I decided I wanted to mix that in with how I personally see her. I see Peach as a woman who is unapologetically girly, and has a wild, adventurous side. I tried to make show that by filling her out a little more, largely by giving her more angles than I previously had when I drew her. Basically, a bit more box-y and not entirely soft. owo

Then there's Daisy! Since Peach, Pauline, and Rosalina all have long hair, I wanted to contrast that with Daisy by giving her much much shorter hair. I also tried to make her a little more masculine and a tad rough. Finally, her eyes; nearly every character (with the exception of Bowser) in Super Mario has blue eyes. While I've already broken that canon, I decided to try out something a lil extra with Daisy by giving her red eyes instead the original green I gave her. It surprisingly fits! o3o

And of course Rosalina! I really like her base design, as I do for all the characters honestly. But I also wanted to try and make her look far less like Peach than she does in game, so I played with her facial features a little bit. I wanted her to look visually older than either Peach or Daisy; physically around the same age as Pauline, even if she herself is thousands and thousands of years old. Given my headcanon around her, I was hoping to make her look a little... tired. Being an immortal goddess comes with many pitfalls, one of which is her being kinda lonely, and I was hoping to convey that in her design. She's sweet as she can be, but there's always some sort of longing about her, if that makes sense. Good thing she makes friends this time! ;w; I'm not terribly sure about her hair overall, and her side profile gave me so much trouble, but I think it's in a place I can accept it at least.

But ye! Some design headcanon for ya’ll to chew on. uwu I hope you enjoy! More to come soon! :)

[mango-bango-bby]

Hello! I have a platonic yandere Miguel request!

So platonic yandere Miguel with reader who’s been on a strawberry kick lately. Like they will just make strawberry things(ie cakes cupcakes smoothies milkshakes extra.) and will just eat them as a snack. Reader has gotten used to being kidnapped by him and just makes food for themselves like that. He notices and is like: is this healthy? And asks Lyla if it is and stuff.

I’ve been on a strawberry kick for the past few weeks so yeah. Thank you so much! Have a good day/night/morning/evening!

♡ Strawberry ♡

Content Warning ⚠️: Yandere, platonic yandere, dad!Miguel, teen!reader, mentions of possible kidnapping, Lyla messing with Miguel, I didn’t proofread this 💪

Summary: Your father is concerned for your health because you seemingly only eat strawberries (Platonic!Yan!Miguel O’Hara x GN!teen!reader)

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

You only ate strawberries. Every single day, all day. You had strawberries in your oatmeal for breakfast. You would have a salad with strawberries in it for lunch. You’d have strawberries with your dinner. And then you’d end the day with strawberry ice cream. It was almost all you ate and of course Miguel took notice of this.

He didn’t mind but the amount of strawberries you ate per day could not be healthy. Even if you wanted a snack, it would always be strawberries. He wants you to be healthy. And yet you’re so sarcastic with him, yet you’re teenager so he guesses that’s what happens.

“Is that even healthy?” he asked one day, watching your eyes focused on the TV in front of you. You hummed, taking a bite out of one of the strawberries you were eating as a snack.

“Hmm, strawberries are fruit. Fruit are healthy. Maybe you should try it sometime” you say, sitting in the couch, not taking your eyes off of the TV. You even had a bowl of strawberries in your lap, snacking on them. It’s like you’re being frustrating on purpose sometimes.

He let it go but he still couldn’t help but be worried for you. He wants you to be healthy, he looks after you. He is your father, even if you refuse to call him that. He’s supposed to protect you. And that also means he’s supposed to make sure you’re healthy and safe.

Miguel stands in HQ, looking over his monitors. But he can’t focus. “Lyla?” He asks, her immediately appearing in a flash of peach and pink. “What?” She asks, she can see he’s frustrated. But he’s always frustrated so it didn’t bother her much.

“Are strawberries healthy in a large amount? What the limit per day to still be healthy?” He asks, immediately hearing her start teasing him. The hologram can’t help but snicker. “Why? You eating to many?” She laughs out loud but Miguel only huffs at her. “It’s not me, now answer my question” He scowls, seeing her adjust her heart sunglasses as she realized

“Oh-” She mumbles in realization, immediately smirking at him. “It’s that kid you stole, huh? I’m right, aren’t I?” She smirks, squinting at his reaction. She chucked at him once again “You worried about them?” She coos, pouting to tease him,

Miguel rolls his eyes at her. “I didn’t steal them, I saved them. Answer my question” He practically growls, she sighs dramatically as she finally caves. She pulls up a small hologram monitor, looking over it as she reads.

“They should be fine. It should be healthy. It’s recommended only eight strawberries a day though” She says, her eyes focused as she reads the screen. Miguel murmurs something, nodding his head.

Well, you’re definitely eating more than eight. He’s going to have to cut down how many you’re allowed. Although you’re definitely not going to be happy about that. But he’s your father and it’s his job to keep you safe and happy.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Thank you for reading, darling!!

(A/N: I wrote more Miguel for you all, I’m on a Miguel kick, like I can’t stop writing him!! So I hope you guys like Miguel O’Hara because I’m writing a lot of him run 😭😭 I thought this idea was so cute, plus I liked writing Lyla, she’s so fun to write. I definitely think her and reader would be friends 🫶)

Masterlist ➸ ♡

[dawnagustd]

like that || jjk

⇝ title: Like That ⇝ pairing: jungkook x f!reader  ⇝ genre: slight college au | house party au | smut ⇝ summary: Running into an awkward situation at a house party? Your first instinct is to hide. And because you have the worst luck, your hiding spot is already being occupied... by another awkward situation.  ⇝ rating: 18+  ⇝ word count: 1.7k  ⇝ warnings: unedited | strong language | rejection | a little tension | mentions alcohol but no one is drunk | consent because that’s hot | biting | scratching | bit of a strength kink | jealous/possessive!jk | soft dom!jk | praise | protected sex | dirty talk | eye contact | f*cking against the wall | restraints (wrist pinning) | teasing | big dick!jk because that’s the brand | ass grabbing | body shots?...idk what to call it but not exactly body shots | i think that’s all  ⇝ author’s note: See how late I am? This is why I’ve been absent. I have so much going on, when I have free time I just... yeah. Anyway, here it is as promised. I know it’s a mess lol.

masterlist | permanent taglist form | read on ao3

Shit.

You’ve always known your luck was shit, but running into your crush at a party was the last thing you thought would happen. Especially the day after you finally talked to him only to discover he has a girlfriend. You found out also that he’s an asshole who likes to lead people on until he feels like crushing their feelings.

You can’t see him right now. Not like this. 

Peach Cîroc staining your top, now soaked into your flesh… It’d be too embarrassing.

So, you hide. But the room you’ve chosen is already occupied.

“The fuck are you doing here?”

“Oh, shi–”

Someone’s in here, and their voice startles you. Your right palm lays flat on your chest, trying to settle your racing heart. You turn around expecting to give an apology and be on your way, but once again, shitty luck.

“Jungkook? Seriously?”

How can things go from bad to worse?

Let’s just say you’ve been… Well, you’ve been avoiding one guy so you can chase another. A couple of months ago, you went on a blind date with a guy, and he just so happens to be the person standing in front of you. Only one person enjoyed that date, and it damn sure wasn’t you.

You knew by the way your friends described him that he was too good to be true. On paper, Jungkook sounds amazing—brown eyes, healthy hair, smart, talented… hot. But no one talks about his competitiveness. The 8-year-olds at the trampoline park will never be the same.

Instead of attraction, you can only feel annoyance when it comes to his arrogance. You would rather take the walk of shame than be stuck in here… with him.

“I’m leaving.”

“No,” he interjects. “You’re hiding.”

Jungkook takes the remaining steps to close the space separating you two, and like a deer caught in headlights, you’re frozen.

“Is someone bothering you?”

“What?! No, I’m not.”

The beginning of a chuckle travels past his lips, openly mocking you. 

“You squeaked. You’re lying.” Jungkook tilts his head. “He’s out there, huh?”

Great. Everyone knows.

“Fuck off, Jungkook.”

This time he doesn’t even try to hide his amusement. His smirk just continues to grow as he stands toe to toe with you.

“Or I can do you one better,” he suggests.

Your eyebrows lift involuntarily as curiosity invades your thoughts. The thing about people who are full of themselves, they sure do talk a good game.

Tension appears to grow after his finger beckons you to come closer, his minty breath hitting your skin when he leans closer. The vibration from his words sends a tingle through your body. You suppose lack of sex will make the smallest things feel electrifying.

“...I can fuck you senseless right here against this door.”

“Oh, you’d like that, huh?”

Jungkook pulls away, taking the soothing scent of his Versace with him.

“I would,” he agrees. “And so would you if you ever gave me a chance.”

“You wouldn’t even know what to do with me.”

“You wanna bet on that?”

Silence dominates the dark bedroom as the stare-down begins. Neither of you wants to look away because that would mean defeat. That’s not an option when it comes to Jungkook.

“Scared you’ll want more, huh?”

“The lies you tell.”

Jungkook’s crooked smile never fades as he shakes his head. “I bet you’re a runner.”

“Shut up.”

In the morning, you’ll think back on this and be mad at yourself for allowing him to get you worked up.

But that’s tomorrow's problem.

“Why? Don’t want to hear the truth–”

“You get on my nerves.” You grab Jungkook’s shirt and even he’s surprised. You could care less about his taunting because this is how he behaves when he wants your attention, but that smirk has got to go. 

“I don’t care. Do something about that.”

Those glossy dark orbs hidden beneath his thick lashes focus directly on your lips. Your eyes explore his features, lingering on the tip of his tongue peeking out to bring moisture. He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and slowly releases.

“Give me an excuse to pin you against this wall,” he whispers.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Kissing Jungkook was not in your plans tonight, but something comes over you, and you do just that. Your teeth click, and you grab at each other’s clothes as he guides you backward. When your back hits the door is when he finally comes to a stop, and his mint-tainted lips begin to venture lower. 

Jungkook grips your ass while he nips the skin of your neck, leaving traces of him along your feverish skin. Your hair entangled in his hair pulls him closer as if there is any more space left between you.

“Hold on,” he breathes. “I smell alcohol. You good?”

Thinking about earlier, you roll your eyes as you recall some frat guy bumping into you.

“Yeah, I’m okay. I just got here. Some guy made me spill my drink all over myself.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He grips your hair and tilts your head, granting him more access to your collarbone and cleavage, two areas he can’t seem to abandon. “Remind me to kick his ass before we leave.”

A shuddered gasp escapes your lips when Jungkook’s teeth attack your flesh. He scoops you off your feet in the same motion, pinning you against the door with his hips while he leaves your skin wet and bruised. You can feel his bulge when he pushes up your skirt.

“Jungkook,” you mewl, raking your nails down his biceps.

He removes his jacket so you can feel more of his warmth beneath your palms. You feel Jungkook’s hand slip between you so he can pull down his pants. In this position, it’s impossible to see what he’s working with, but you can tell by the pressure probing at your panties that you’re going to feel every inch of him.

“One sec,” he murmurs.

Jungkook reaches for his wallet and finds a condom instantly. He opens the package and rolls it effortlessly. He’s probably done it more times than you can count, but that’s none of your business. It’s your turn now.

You pull your panties out of the way, and the blunt tip of his dick begins teasing your entrance, testing the waters until he’s sure it’s okay for him to sink into your pussy.

He makes you look at him while his cock slips inside of you, wanting the image of your initial reaction in his memory. You try to give him something decent to remember, but the stretch is so overwhelming your eyes roll back.

Jungkook eventually buries his face in the crook of your neck, trying to muffle his own moans, but you hear how desperate he is to fuck you. With your permission, he makes small strokes until you both can overcome the sensitivity. 

“Pussy’s too good for you to be stressed over a piece of shit,” he murmurs into your bosom. He licks the sticky substance coating your breasts and moans. “...And you taste too good.”

He starts thrusting harder, and your bodies cause the door to rattle and shake. Your cries begin to fill the room, and Jungkook encourages them by filling your head with praises.

“You’re so hot and beautiful. You think that guy deserves to fuck you like this?”

He grabs your hands and pins them above you, supporting you with nothing but his slender but toned waist. You’re left in awe as he bounces you on his dick.

“Even if he deserved it. He couldn’t,” Jungkook adds. “He could never fuck you like this.”

“Jungkook!”

You sob his name as your muscles tighten, pressure building within you as you near your peak. His forehead presses against yours, and he looks into your eyes while he fucks you. 

“But I can do it. I can fuck you like this.”

“Please,” you rasp.

“Why should I?”

You knew he’d be a little asshole. Your pride does not compare to your pleasure, however. 

“I need to come,” you mutter.

“What was that?”

After gritting your teeth, you just allow the words to flow from your mouth.

“Please let me come!”

“Fuck. Okay, love.” His pace quickens, and your moans get louder, startling everyone outside the door. Sweat forms on Jungkook’s forehead as he puts in the work to make you reach your high. “Your moans are so fucking beautiful.”

His praise drives you over the edge, and your orgasm ripples through you without warning. Your body shudders as Jungkook guides you through an intense wave of pleasure before his thrust becomes wild and he spills his load into the condom.

“You owe me a second date,” he sighs as his dick slips out of you. Both of you groan. You from the emptiness, and he from the loss of warmth. “You’re paying this time.”

“I swear you get on my nerves.”

“I still don’t care,” he laughs.

Jungkook keeps you in this position while he caresses your thighs. You’re enjoying the gentleness of his touch. So, you don’t even complain. It’s a peaceful moment, and all the concerns you had recently have been buried underneath your dickmatized state.

After some minutes go by, Jungkook finally speaks.

“I’m going to put you down now, okay?”

“Okay.”

When your feet touch the ground is when everything sets in. You bask in it all as you both rearrange your clothing. You try to avoid Jungkook’s gaze, but it wouldn’t be him if he didn’t demand your attention.

“So, two options.”

“I’m listening.”

“We can pretend it never happened, or…”

“Or what?”

Jungkook smirks.

“We can pretend it never happened and go back to my place for round two,” he suggests.

The thought has you smiling before you even realize it. 

You respond a bit shyly. “I like option two.”

“Oh, yeah?... Well, let’s go then.”

He grabs your hand, but you both pause before opening the door. There’s no way to explain this situation to anyone, and the second that door opens people will begin talking. You aren’t entirely sure how you feel about that.

As if he can read your mind, Jungkook speaks up.

“Come on. We’ll deal with it tomorrow.”

And you know… Maybe Jungkook does deserve a second date. 

No trampoline parks, though.

[harrywavycurly]

What You Deserve Part 5: Details

Masterlist: Here

CW: brief mention of toxic ex

Tag List: @littlered0000 @saramelaniemoon @ali-r3n @sapphire4082 @sweetmoonlove0214 @eddies-girl-22 @darknesseddiem @peaches-roses-sins @blckburd @comeonatmebruh @daisy-munson @cultish-corner @mrsjellymunson @aol19 @micheledawn1975 @2000babies

A/N: I hope y’all enjoy this update it answers some questions and shows another side of Eddie, it’s a long one and I broke it up into sections!✨

“What…are those?” “They’re called flowers.” “And who..are they for?” “They are for you…you didn’t expect me to show up to our first…date empty handed did you?” “This…this is a date? You’re calling this a date? We are on a date?” “Hey hey relax a bit please it’s okay…I just…I mean yes? I’d call this a date because it’s…well it’s when we are going to discus our…relationship so yeah…it’s a date.” “Okay…” “is that okay? It doesn’t need to be a date if it’s too-” “No no it’s a date…yeah we…are going on a date.” “Perfect…uhm do you want to maybe…get in the car now?”

“Holy shit.” “What’s wrong?…are you cold? You can wear my jacket if you’d like?” “Sorry I’m fine it’s just….I didn’t get a good look at you in the car because I was distracted by the flowers but…seriously…do you always just look like…this?” “Uh…yes?” “You…you look like you just walked out of a magazine and…well I look-” “Amazing…you look amazing…now unless you have anymore questions…we do have a reservation that we are almost late for.” “This place looks nice…you come here a lot?” “Oh yeah…I take all my first dates here.” “I can see why…” “you…do know I was joking right?… I’ve actually never been here before.” “Oh yeah…yeah I knew that.”

“So…uhm what are some things you…don’t want me to do?” “Oh right to the point huh? Can’t even let me order you a glass of wine first?” “You want to order…for me?” “Oh forgive me….I didn’t mean for it to sound like you can’t order yourself a glass of wine I know you’re more than capable of telling people what you want.” “It’s okay I’ve just…never had someone offer to order for me before.” “Well I’m more than happy to if you want…” “thank you…so-” “hi welcome to Enzo’s what can I get you to drink?” “Hello…I’ll have a glass of your house red and a water to start.” “Perfect…and for you dear? What would you like?” “Uhm…uh…there’s a lot of uhm choices…uh-” “if you’re not sure I can just come back?” “Uh Eddie can you-” “I’ve got you sweetheart…she’ll have a glass of your white wine and a water with lemon please.” “Excellent choice…I’ll get those right out to you.”

“So you asked easier what are some things I would prefer for you not to do…and that’s actually a tough question to answer because I don’t want you to feel like you have a set of rules to follow because you don’t…” “Okay…well there are uh some things…that uhm I’d like if you…didn’t…do.” “Such as?” “I don’t like being around uhm…men when they drink too much so…if you do want to go and get drunk please just…don’t invite me along or…show up at my house banging on my door or yelling my name from the front porch.” “Has…that happened before?” “Yes…several times…and each time it ended…badly.” “It ended badly?…do you mind explaining what that means?” “I don’t want to ruin…the mood by talking about what an asshole my ex is.” “Understandable…so what else would you like for me not to do?” “This one might sound a little odd but..I don’t like being called babe…it just…I don’t like it.” “It’s not odd…we all have names we don’t like to be called…is there anything else?” “I don’t think so.” “Well if you think of anything else…just let me know because I don’t want to do anything or say anything that’ll upset you.”

“How was your dinner?” “It was great…that place was really good and so cute I can see why you picked it for our…uhm first date.” “I’m glad you enjoyed it…do you mind taking a walk with me? I know we have a few more things to…discuss.” “A walk sounds nice…oh you’re a hand holder? I didn’t see that coming.” “Really? Why? Do I not look like someone who likes to hold hands?” “No you look like a…shove my hands in my jacket pocket type of guy or…let me act like I’m busy on my phone so no one bothers me kind of guy.” “I see…well your hands just looked too good not to hold.” “I have been told I have nice hands once or twice.” “You know what? I actually believe that…so I was wondering if we could talk more about what we both want out of this…and maybe set up some…boundaries of some sort?” “You start…what do you want from all of this Edward?” “Ah back to Edward are we?” “Oh shit sorry Eddie.” “It’s okay…well what I want out of this is just…to spend time with you doing things as simple as this…a walk around downtown or more…extravagant things like trips to wherever you’d like to go…but most importantly I just want to make your life easier.” “And…all of that would make…you happy?” “Yes…it would.” “I just don’t see how spending money on me will make you happy?” “It’s not necessarily about spending money on you…yes I have the money to spend but it’s about having someone to do things with…and knowing you’re not stressed or worried about things that I can…easily take care of for you.” “Okay…that kinda makes sense.” “I have managed to build this wonderful life for myself and…I just want someone to enjoy it with me that’s all.” “And that someone is me?” “If you want it to be.” “Okay…but you just have to know this is going to take some getting used to.” “I understand…you’ll have to be patient with me as well because I’m used to doing things alone.” “So we both have to be patient with one another…that can be one of our ground rules.” “Okay…if we are making ground rules let’s add honesty to that list…that’s a big one for me because I don’t have time for games…just tell me the truth…even if you think it’ll hurt my feelings.” “That’s a good one!”

“So…what about you? What do you want out of this?” “I just…I just want to know what it feels like to be…treated well.” “I promise you I can do that.” “Oh trust me…I know.” “Is there anything else you want or…need from me?” “There is one more thing.” “What is it?” “I need you to save Dave.” “You…need me to save…Dave?” “Yes because he means a lot to me and I just…I need you to save him.” “Okay sweetheart…I’ll save him.” “You promise?” “Yes…even if it means he gets a whole heart and brain transplant…I’ll save him.” “Oh thank god…I was so worried you’d tell me you can’t do it.” “Why wouldn’t I be able to do it? You don’t trust my abilities as a mechanic? That hurts…that actually hurts.” “Oh no no I’m sure you’re great with your hands and…getting dirty and…stuff i just…thought maybe you’d say it was a waste of money or something.” “I’ll be honest with you…I could buy you a new car for what it’s going to cost me to fix Dave but…I get it…he means a lot to you.” “Thank you Eddie.” “Anytime.”

“This…was really nice Eddie…thank you.” “I’m happy you had a good time.” “I just…I have one more question.” “I was waiting for this one…go ahead and ask it.” “What do I call you now that we…have set up the ground rules and are actually…moving forward with…this.” “What would you like to call me? Besides Edward.” “I…don’t know? What…do you want to call me?” “Is it wrong that my first instinct was to say mine?” “You…want to call me…yours? Like…like…I’m…yours?” “I would…but if that’s too assertive or makes you uncomfortable-” “I’d like that.” “You would?” “Yes…uh I…would.” “Okay…well you can call me whatever you’d like.” “Uhm does…that include like…boyfriend or…something?” “Sure…whatever feels comfortable.” “Okay…thank you again…for everything.” “You’re welcome…have a goodnight sweetheart…don’t forget to put those flowers in a vase with some water.” “I don’t own a-” “I’ll bring one by tomorrow.” “You don’t have to do that.” “I know…now I have a question for you.” “What is it?” “What time do you normally get up in the morning?” “Oh uhm…like nine or so on weekends.” “Perfect…I’ll be here at ten then….goodnight.” “Goodnight…uhm can you uh text me when you get home?” “Sure…can’t have you up all night worried about me.” “Exactly…” “You’re going to have to go inside or I’ll stand out here and find an excuse to keep talking to you all night.” “Oh..right…goodnight Eddie.”

[bellaxisworld]

april 12, @jegulus-microfic prompt: amortentia. word count: 682.

The iridescent sheen of the potion enchants Regulus; he could stare at the lovely pinkish-pearled swirls for hours, dazed and happy to be smelling the things he loves the most. He smiles down at the cauldron, reminded of his happiest memories, reminded of every good thing that makes life worth living. 

He leans forward to inhale, eyes blissfully falling shut. Today is one of his favorite Potions days—they finally brewed Amortentia. He’s an excellent potioneer, and he’s waited years for the day they brew it in class. Regulus sighs, content, and catalogs each distinct smell and their origin.

(1) He smells lavender and roses. This one isn’t hard to decode—Pandora smells like lavender, and she leaves pink rose petals in his bags and pockets when she senses he needs good luck. 

(2) The next smell is far more sugary and rather… artificial in nature. Peach candies, he realizes. His chest warms, reminded of summersweet memories with Sirius, sneaking to Hogsmeade to steal candies together and scurrying home, tripping over gangly feet and laughing too loudly for the still night. Midnights spent huddled together under too-hot covers, quiet giggles and sticky hands grabbing for the pile of sweets between them. Peach candies were always Sirius’ favorite. 

(3) Next he smells grass and wind, which he is not surprised to find, and likely derives from his love for Quidditch. No, his love for flying. Regulus feels most at peace when flying, whipping around the air with precision and skill. He feels free, when flying. 

This next part is where he gets confused. 

Regulus Black finds himself squinting at the cauldron, begging it to tell him its secrets. It’s rather mysterious, he thinks, a potion that can tell you everything you love. He folds his arms over his chest, huffing quietly. 

(4) Regulus smells apples. 

He smells… apples? He’s not familiar with apples, you see, so he cannot distinguish what kind of apple he smells. But there is a distinct apple smell wafting from his cauldron, and he leans back, blinking down in concern. 

An important thing to note—Regulus Black hates apples. 

At least, he hates eating apples. He won’t eat apple pie, or apple sauce, or apple juice or artificial apple flavors—he dislikes the taste and texture of them. The smell of apples isn’t too overpowering, so he isn’t too far bothered in that sense, but to find apples in his Amortentia perplexes him more than anything. 

He thinks again, quill tapping against his notebook beside the cauldron. The Amortentia told him he loves Pandora, Sirius, flying, and… he doesn’t know what the apples could possibly signify. Apples. Apples. Apples. 

The apples have stumped him. 

Regulus thinks about apples for the rest of the day. He thinks about apples and fruits and any correlation, and he thinks why, why apples? 

He’s walking with his friends to the dungeons later that evening when it hits him square in the face like a bag of bricks. He almost trips over his own feet, barely holding himself properly upright. 

“No. No, no, no, no—it can’t possibly be. No, I refuse.” He shakes his head violently, stomach lurching and eyes watering. He sprints all the way to his dorm room bathroom, locking himself tightly within and avoiding the worried shouts of his friends. 

He recalls the memory, crystal-clear now. He recalls the distinct smell of apples. He recalls the playful smiles and loud, booming laugh of the boy beside him.

He recalls the apples. The apples. The apples. 

He recalls the apples, because Regulus Black was sitting under an apple tree with James Potter the first time he thought, James is the prettiest boy I’ve ever seen. That day was the first time he got butterflies, his belly in an uproar over the proximity of a boy like James, a boy with a smile brighter than every star in the sky. That day, Regulus looked at James and realized he wanted to know what it felt like to fall. 

He takes out his Potions notebook, scribbling furiously:

Pandora, Sirius, flying, and… James Potter.

part of a collection of microfics on ao3(2/?): in every life, my heart finds yours.

[dilftaroooo]

݁ ִ ࣪⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ "𝙜𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙞𝙨 𝙚𝙥𝙝𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙧𝙖𝙡 "

ﾟ𐦍༘⋆ after some convincing i finally decided to write this nasty lil imagine or whatever this shit is, enjoy, mwah~ (p.s. for the native spanish speaking girlies, pls lmk if i fucked up on anything)

ﾟ𐦍༘⋆ wrd count: 2.2k+

ﾟ𐦍༘⋆ tags/tw: mdni 18+ race/ethnicity neutral + age gap (reader can be from 18 to early 20s! so college aged) + dilf!miguel (mid to late 30s) + don’t trust him he’s using u!!! + afab reader + sweet nothings + spanish petnames + cursing + unprotected sex + miguel is a perv + exhibitionism(?) + expensive cars + money + and big booty bitches (you).

Just thinking of you stumbling upon dilf!miguel as you go by door to door offering to wash peoples’ cars for a few bucks. You weren’t expecting a behemoth to be behind the tall, mahogany, double doors to answer your languid knocks – a handsome one at that. One that stood six-nine feet tall paired with honey drizzled orbs surrounded by hooded lids. Soft tufts of hair shimmered burgundy with silver specks which were gifted to him from prolonged time. His tan skin brightened under the powerful sun but it still wasn’t enough to obscure the fine forehead wrinkles and smile lines that adorned his features.

“Can I help you?” The deep baritone of his voice rumbled so deeply you wouldn’t be surprised if you were to look down and see the bucket of soapy water you brought ripple at its force. It should be you that’s supposed to be helping him. You’re the one going from neighborhood to neighborhood asking uninterested people to wash their cars for some cash that wouldn’t even last you a few days. But a side hustle is a side hustle, you thought. Nothing wrong with a stash for a rainy day.

You take note of how seductively the black wife beater he wore embraced his torso and how his pecs puffed out at you like some majestic penguin in the cool lands of Antarctica, staring down at you, a piece of flopping fish dreading to be eaten as he cocks his head to the side waiting for a response. His shoulders are broad and his muscles are taut and veiny – you ponder on what his reaction would be if you were to trace his veins from his neck down to his finger tips and tell him how badly you want them inside you. Gulping down the saliva that was building up on top of your tongue, you spoke your first words like a toddler.

“Would you, um-” Why couldn’t you finish your sentence on the first try? Did you forget how to speak English? Perhaps that’s only the case around him and a few other gorgeous people you’ve met in the span of your years living on earth. “Do you need to have your car washed – sir? I can wash it for fifteen.” You sounded so weak and frail to Miguel, just like how most college-aged girls sounded when they managed to have some sort of interaction with him – their hands clasped firmly around their elbow as they sway from side-to-side, asking him frivolous questions before poking their chest to get him to catch a glimpse of their cleavage that peeked out from their low cut tops. They all played the same game – a game he always loved to play.

He takes this moment to observe what you had on; a peach colored camisole that matched the flower placed delicately in your hair along with the daisy dukes that revealed your plump thighs. Not too skimpy. At least you were somewhat modest. A cute, weak, little thing you are.

He grins and you can see his crows feet crinkle at the gesture, his canines looking sharper than most. “Of course. Been a while since I’ve gotten her cleaned up.” He reassures you to wait for him as he gets his car from the garage and when you lay eyes on the ‘Ferrari SF90 Spider’ he displayed to you, your eyes nearly pop out of their sockets. It was a car model that you couldn’t even afford to dream of, glowing a dark navy blue with a rear wing that was coated in a vibrant red. Its engine roaring loudly and aggressively, telling you who the alpha is in the midst of asphalt concrete and dotted yellow lines. Miguel twitched at the gasp you couldn’t contain.

“A-are you sure you want me to wash this?” You ask while ogling at the car parked in front of you. This wasn’t a car some teenager bought with the aid of their low minimum wage job at a department store, this was a sports car – a Ferrari! This was something that should be washed professionally. “I’m no expert car washer or whatever those guys are called. As much as I would love to help you I don’t think I’m fit for something so…luxurious.” He lets out an airy chuckle that kisses your eardrums.

“No worries, cariño.” He would say and it makes your heart tremble and thighs clench. You’re not proficient in Spanish. Only remembering the fundamentals you learned when you were still in grade school and several language apps you’ve downloaded on a whim but you heard that word before in several love songs you’ve come across. ‘Darling’ is what it means. An affectionate pet name.

Miguel drinks up your reaction like drinking water in the Sahari desert. It was the last drop left in a flask that was so kindly offered by you, smiling at him with dry lips as he sticks his tongue out, aching for the pure droplet. You were so considerate – not wanting to risk destroying his five hundred-thousand plus car that he deliberately squandered his money on. But it was ok with Miguel. He always has money to spare.

He finally convinced you to do the job and get his vehicle all cleaned up and tidy. You instantly got to work but not before murmuring a sugary ‘thank you’’ and taking your sponge to the roof of his car. You and Miguel would conjure up some small talk such as your hobbies or careers. You’ve learned that he was a father of a little girl named Gabriella. His ‘sweet sunshine’ is what he would call her. You found that attractive – a father who is willing to take care of their offspring with genuine affection. His wife must be lucky…well, if he had one she would be, you think.

Miguel didn’t go deep into explanation at his lack of a spouse. A typical “It just wasn’t meant to be.” fell from his lips as he looked off to the direction of his house. Sensitive topic, maybe. Which is why he decided to shine the light on you. “You’re in college, right? Anyone there sweep you off your feet?”

All of a sudden, you feel coy. Embarrassed and bashful at your answer being a firm “no, there has not, Mr. O’Hara.” There’s a slight quiver in your voice but Miguel can tell that you’re trying to remain neutral and not break into tiny pieces under his watchful gaze. And just like every man thinks when they see an attractive young woman who claims they don’t have a partner, he asks why – why hasn’t anyone stepped up to you and asked for your number in hopes for a date? Why hasn’t anyone paid for your meals at semi-expensive restaurants? Why hasn’t anyone told you they loved you more than anyone they could ever imagine before clasping their hands under your chin, gazing at soft, plump lips before pressing them onto theirs? Why hasn’t anyone dared to run mischievous fingers up the hem of your dress before tasting the sensual keen you let out due to the fingertip teasing your throbbing clit?

Then Miguel remembers there’s a difference between boys and men.

You would notice how sinful Miguel’s gaze is on you. Like a stray cat preparing to pounce on a small alley mouse, the feline waiting as patience is his best friend. The mouse is aware of the cat’s presence and stiffens like a rock. “I just haven’t found the right, uh, time. Though, I would like to…” You try your best to conceal your face, you felt as though he was staring too hard. Miguel adjusts his stance to be directly next to you and you smell his scent – like masculinity, vetiver, and sweat. Your knees buckle.

Then the cat sluggishly leaned in on its prey, familiarizing itself of the little mouse’s smell. “No time for it, huh, amor? Guess pretty girls are too busy for romance, what a shame,” His tsks were faux but they still made you feel bad however you didn’t have the time to empathize with his breath streaming down the curve of your neck and his hand caressing your waist. His hips were practically against your lower back as a result of his staggering height and you can feel his bulge poke you excitedly. “Who will I have to love me at night? It gets so cold sometimes.”

Finally that cat strikes, working its fangs in the fragile neck of the weak mouse. With hands firmly planted on the hood of his sports car, your shorts were practically ripped away from you as Miguel takes its place with his big hand, digits rubbing over the cotton fabric of your panties at the direct spot your swollen clit lays, aching and pulsing for his attention. Your back was securely glued to his chest as he loses his patience and rudely shoves your panties to the side, pushing back your clitorial hood with a skilled finger to hear you squeak like said mouse under the grip of the fervent cat.

“Mr. O’Hara. We can’t. Not out here.” The words exhale from your lips so elegantly as you try to prevent Miguel’s free hand from lifting up your loose camisole top above your breasts, to no avail. They glistened under UV rays and sweat, your areolas were puffy and craved Miguel’s assertive touch. You both were out in the open driveway of his home with dozens of other beautiful houses encasing the area yet there was no one in sight but people still had windows they could look out from. Everyone looks out their window from time to time, right? Maybe not unless they hear the muffled moans and wet squelches coming from outside to which they wouldn’t be able to contain their curiosity and feel compelled to take a quick peek between their blinds only to be met with their hot neighbor ramming the living daylights out of some young woman they’ve never seen before.

Both rocking in harmony as you relish in the filthy pleasure you are both given. The suds from the soapy water covers the expanse of your tummy and forearms as you feel Miguel abuse your guts with the hard tip of his reddened cock. Filling you like a hand in a latex glove, you feel so full, so stuffed, so cramped with all of his veins and precum as he grips a hand around your neck like your favorite, pink, choker – reminding you of oh how dumb you sound taking his dick like the ‘buena puta’ you were made to be. His trimmed, pubic hairs tickled your ass each time he plunged his way back in you after teasing you lightly whenever he pulled out to the head.

“Ay Dios, amor. You’re clenching around me so tightly. You aren’t gonna let me go? Want me to cum in your filthy, young, pussy out here in the middle of my driveway? Have you any decency? Mierda.” He would groan in the shell of your ear. His canines brush against the skin softly and you bite your lip for the fourth time that afternoon as he continued to have his way with you.

“I do,” You pathetically start. “I do have some, ugh, decency, sir. I do.”

“But you’re not showing that to me, love. That isn’t what I see here now, is it? Is this the same girl talking to me while she lets me stuff her full with my cock, hm?” The tap-tap-tapping of his thighs colliding with yours crescendos into a louder pitch, one much more noticeable than a few minutes ago and you wish you could cover yourself with an invisible cloak. He kisses his wet kisses and speaks his sweet nothings as he hovers over your small, mouse-like, appearance with his hulking form. It would have scared you if not for the pecks he left on your body and the conjuring of soft coos he knows you would like to hear.

It was too hot, metaphorically and literally. The sun was blazing and the combination of both of your body heat was not ideal for this kind of weather but Miguel just looks so good fondling your tits and pumping his warm seed into the wet cavern of your insides while he slurs out cursed spanish phrases from his tongue that you couldn’t even bother to pick up, too busy savoring the spurts of cum leaking in your used cunt.

Fortunately, in the middle of your fucked-out daze, Miguel was nice enough to pull the panties and shorts back in their reserved spots (you felt his cum pile up in your underwear as soon as he lifted them up and you shivered at the feeling). You feel something wiggle its way between your hip and the hem of your shorts just for you to look down and catch sight of the wads of cash he stuffed there like you were some cheap whore (perhaps you were).

You glance back up, getting ready to tell him it was only fifteen dollars but he beats you to it by giving you a quick peck on your cheek. It was softer compared to when he was balls deep inside of you.

“Take it. For being so good to me, corazón.” His crow’s feet appear again and you silently wish to give each line a kiss but it was already too late once he turned around and stepped foot into his house, locking his door shut with a loud ‘click’.

©This work belongs to @dilftaroooo. If you see any work similar to mine, please notify me for plagiarism will not be tolerated.

[etherealhoneybee777]

I have a lot of goofy mob psycho perfume headcanons, but one of my favorites is that Reigen wears Bath and Body Works Champagne Toast but is ashamed of it.

Champagne toast is a juvenile, fun scent that smells like hyper-sweet champagne and peach. Reigen LOVES this scent but he HATES that he loves it because even though he’s crazy about sweet femme scents, he doesn’t want people to know that he wears a cheap scent designed for tween girls.

So when people ask what scent he’s wearing, Reigen lies and says “Nautica Voyage for Men” Reigen shamefully keeps champagne toast stashed in a locked drawer in his desk. It’s his secret.

It’s his secret to everyone except Teru.

See, the thing about Teruki Hanazawa is that he has an amazing nose. He knows the name of a fragrance just by smelling it. And Teru ADORES bath and body works. He collects it. So Teru smells Reigen and immediately knows reigen is wearing champagne toast.

Their interaction goes like this:

Teru (who proudly wears scents designed for tween girls) I never knew you liked champagne toast, Reigen-san!!! We should talk bath and body works sometime!! I’m somewhat of a collector myself. I’m actually wearing the tutti dolci collection right now!

Reigen *visibly sweating*: dunno…dunno what you’re talking about. I’ve never been to bath and body works in my life. The only scent I wear is nautica voyage for Men

Teru *squinting* You don’t smell like nautica voyage. You smell like champagne toast.

Reigen: I guess your smeller is off.

Teru *visibly distressed at reigen gaslighting him at the tender age of 14*

Later, for Christmas, Reigen unwraps his present from Teru. It’s an unboxed bottle of nautica voyage for men.

Teru: go ahead, spray it!

Reigen starts sweating. He’s been caught in a lie—now everyone will smell the ACTUAL nautica voyage for men, and know that Reigen smells nothing like that, thus proving that Reigen has been lying the whole time about what fragrance he’s wearing.

People will discover he’s a fraud. A fraud who wears champagne toast.

Unable to think of an excuse, Reigen sprays the bottle of nautica voyage for men.

It smells exactly like champagne toast.

It smells like champagne toast because it IS champagne toast. Teru had bought a bottle of nautica voyage for men, emptied it, refilled it with champagne toast, and gifted it to reigen. The reason? He wants Reigen to be able to keep his perfume on his desk, to spray champagne toast without feeling ashamed.

Tears come to Reigen’s eyes. Teru knows Reigen’s a fraud. At least when it comes to the fragrances he wears. But Teru doesn’t care!! In fact, he’s HELPING Reigen lie by gifting him champagne toast disguised as nautica voyage. The idea that the kids see him—the real him, the liar—and accepts him anyway, is almost too much for reigen to take.

But Reigen keeps going. Like he always does. He says thank you to Teru. Gives him a hug. He sprays champagne toast, and is proud.

[seeingivy]

the party scene

roommate eren x f!reader 

you and eren won’t dance 

**find the series masterlist here

content warning: drinking, hitch and marlowe being annoying, someone gets pushed into a pool, marco getting clowned for his halloween costume, toilet humor 

an: ok yall. here’s the chapter. heheheheheh. and you should listen to the song, when you get to it. for vibes of course. to many anon who guessed correctly, hundreds of kisses. not my fav roommates chapters me thinks (but also it seems like everyone else has different fav chapters than I expected so)

previous part linked here

- 

“What are you going to be for the party?” 

You can literally see Eren’s ears perk up, breaking his concentration from the dinner he was cooking on the stove. You tried to make ravioli for dinner. Key word, tried. He didn’t let you stand there for longer than two minutes because he didn’t want you to “burn the apartment down.” 

You put foil in the microwave one time and suddenly he thinks you’re some arsonist. 

“The party on Friday? You’re going, peaches?” 

“Yeah. Jean invited me. Kind of being a wingwoman for him and bringing my classmate Marco, who I’m like ninety percent sure he has a crush on.” 

Eren turns his face back to the pan, dishing the food around on the plate. You get up occasionally, grabbing things you know he’ll need before he asks for them. Setting the dishes, grabbing the salt (because this man doesn’t know how to season), the Yerba Mate Eren claims to hate but drinks anyways. 

“Hitch and I are going as Anakin and Padme. From Star Wars. Apparently, Marlowe loves that crap and she never gave him the time of day for it. She thinks it’ll make him real mad if we show up like that.” 

“You should put a braid in your hair. You know, like from the second movie.” 

“Ew. I’m going as the third movie look.” 

“Good. He’s hotter in that movie anyways.” 

He flashes you a smile as he dishes out the food, lifting the plates and setting them on the table. You join him with the drinks, the two of you sitting right next to each other. 

It was getting easier. Eren was your friend. Maybe even your best friend. You’d still get the occasional heart pounding, flustered cheesk whenever he walked past you or said something that made your heart flutter, but other than that, you were making progress. You can live with a heart flutter here and there. 

“What are you going to be?” 

“Jean wants to do some basic angel/devil thing for the party. I’ve got a white dress and he apparently has a halo already so it should be fine.” 

“Have you ever been to a party?” 

“Yeah. Not really my thing though, but I don’t mind helping Jean. It can be fun with friends. Dancing, letting loose and all that.” 

“Hm. Save a dance for me, peaches?” 

“I’m not riding up on you, Eren. That’s weird.” 

He drops his fork, an exasperated expression spreading across his face. The vein in his forehead is prominent and you always enjoy when it shows up because you know you’ve won. He’s just that easy to aggravate. 

“Who said anything about you riding up on me? I didn’t mean it like that. That’s like…perverted. You could expect that type of shit from Jean or something but-” 

You place your hand against his forearm, laughing in his face. He stops immediately at the sight of your laughter, glaring at you. 

“You’re so easy to piss off, Eren. I’ll save you a dance, okay? A normal one.” 

He holds his hand out, gesturing for you to shake.

“Deal?” 

“Deal, Ren.” 

 - 

“Hey.” 

“Hi Ren.” 

He steps into the bathroom, standing directly behind you as you finish doing your makeup for the party. Jean was supposed to be here in thirty minutes and the two of you were going to go pick up Marco. Meaning, you were going to have to deal with their awkward pining for the ten minute drive to the party. 

“Can you help me with something?” 

“Sure. What’s up?” 

“Can you help me draw the scar?” 

“Oh, yeah. Show me the picture.” 

He hands you his phone as you inspect the picture, the scar starting before the eyebrow and breaking just underneath the left eye. He sits on top of the toilet seat, his ankles crossed over each other. 

“Ah. Hitch gave me this to use. For the scar.” 

He hands you a tube of lipstick, which you slide open and swatch against the back of your hand. Too glittery for a scar.

“Do you mind if I use mine? Hers is kind of glittery and it’ll look kinda weird?” 

“Yeah, sure.” 

You bend over, digging through your bag to find the one tube of red lipstick you own, that Pieck forced you to buy for her wedding. You can’t show up to my wedding in lip gloss, that’s an atrocity. You find the tube at the end of the drawer, walking over to where Eren was sitting. 

As you amble over, you realize that the toilet seat is way too low and you can’t properly reach Eren’s face to reach. You were towering over him, his long legs sprawled across the floor of the bathroom. 

“Why are these toilet seats so low? I can’t even get the right angle.” 

“Levi. Kenny told me he hates having his feet dangle over certain toilets so he makes sure to get the shortest ones when picking his apartments. As if Levi’s going to come shit in our toilet at some point.” 

You nod, trying your best to lean over and indent the mark over Eren’s face. Out of all the angles you try, not one of them works - your head is blocking the light, your hands are in a weird position, you’re all up in his space. 

“Just sit on my knee. If it’s easier.” 

He splits his legs, tapping on the top of his thigh for you to sit. You nod, setting both of your legs on each side of his one as you lightly perch on top of his leg. 

“That’s hovering. Not sitting, Y/N. It’s fine.” 

You sigh, pressing your full weight against Eren as you lean back over for the phone and check the picture. As you slide over reaching for it, Eren puts his hands on your waist, holding you from falling off of his knee. 

“Thanks Ren. Just wanted to check again before I started.” 

You focus on the picture, the light shining against your face as you check where the scar was exactly on your eyes. Eren locks his fingers together behind your waist, pulling you closer so you can get a better look. 

“Okay. I think I’ve got it down.” 

You cradle the side of his face in your hands as you start drawing the scar on, trying to be as gentle as possible. Trying to avoid the fact that you’re basically straddling him right now. You can feel his cheeks warming under your touch and you try your hardest not to let the smile spread across your face. At least it’s not just you. 

“What’s so funny?” 

“Nothing Ren. You’re just blushing, that’s all.” 

“You’d blush if you were in my position too.” 

You shake your head, pressing your fingers against his lips so you can stop him from moving. You’re only halfway through the scar and if he talks again you’re going to smudge it. 

“Since when do you wear red lipstick?” 

“I don’t. Pieck made me buy it for her wedding. It’s for special occasions.” 

You lean back, cupping his face in your hands as you glean your eyes over the scar. You compare it to the picture and figure it's semi accurate, giving him a smile to signal you’re done. You slide off of his legs, beckoning him to join you in the mirror. You watch him lean forward, eyeing your work. 

“Thanks.” 

“No problem.” 

“Can I try?” 

“Try what?” 

“Doing makeup on you.” 

You pause, dropping your lipstick tube back into the box. 

“I don’t have a scar for my costume.” 

“I know. But you must have something left to do. You just looked so focused, like you were face painting, and I just wanted to try.” 

“Um, okay. You can take this glitter. You basically just dip your finger in it and swipe it against my eyelids. And then along the collarbone too, because it's body glitter.” 

He nods, taking the white glitter into his hands. He inspects the box first, turning it over and over again, holding it up against the light, smelling it. 

“Do you need to do a police inspection on the box? It’s just glitter.” 

“Shut up. I was just checking if it was okay to use.” 

“It’s obviously okay to use if I’m giving it to you. I’ve used it before.” 

He rolls his eyes, learning down. He sets his hands on both sides of your face, angling your face to inspect you this time. 

“You’re short.” 

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.” 

“Do you always have to give me attitude?” 

“Pretty much.” 

“Sit on the counter. It’ll be easier for me to do if we’re closer to the same level.” 

You brace your palms against the counter, trying to push yourself onto the counter. You clearly misestimated how tall the counter was because you barely hit the back of the top, stumbling in the air. 

“Okay, Humpty Dumpty. Let me help you.” 

He reaches down, securing his hands around your waist to lift you up to the counter. You can feel your cheeks burning at the sensation, unable to look him in the eyes. 

Right. Because it was getting easier, because he was becoming your friend. But there were still moments like this. Ones where you can feel your cheeks burning, your heart pounding, your fingers shaking. 

You hate that he still makes you feel this way. 

“Okay, widen your stance.” 

“What?” 

“Open your legs.” 

“Ew. You’re so vulgar, Eren.” 

“Well, I said to widen your stance and you gave me that stupid look on your face. It’s your fault.” 

You roll your eyes, parting your legs. He steps in between the space, leaning close to your face with the glitter still in his hands. 

“So, the eyelids and collarbones?” 

“Yeah. You can just use your fingers. You wash your hands after you pee, right?” 

“Of course not.” 

“What?” 

“It’s better for the environment. If I just wait until I have to poop, I can just save water by washing my hands once. You should try it.” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. 

“As if. Girls don’t poop.” 

“Yes, they do.” 

“No, they don’t.” 

“There’s no way girls don’t poop.” 

“Ask your mom. Or Mikasa. They’ll tell you the same thing.” 

“Okay, stop fucking around. We’re running late.”

“You started it with your stupid toilet humor.”

“Shut up. Your attitude is going to kill me one day.” 

“That’s a promise, Yeager.” 

He rolls his eyes, a small smile spread across his face as he dips his thumb into the glitter. He cups the side of your face and you flutter your eyes shut, his fingers gentle against your eyes. You can hear him laughing and you squint your eyes, glaring at him as you open them. 

“What’s so funny?” 

“Nothing Y/N. You’re just blushing, that’s all.” he responds, his tone mocking. 

“Did you do this just to prove a point? It looks like finger painting, my ass.” 

“Close your eyes. I’m not done yet.” 

You shut your eyes again, Eren sliding the last bit of glitter along your eyes. You open your eyes to find him staring at you, his eyes wide. 

“What did you do? Don’t tell me there’s glitter on my forehead.” 

“No, it just looks pretty, that’s all.” 

You look down, focusing on his hands as he dips into the glitter again. Stupid fucking hands and voice and smell and hair and soft cheeks. You can literally feel your heartbeat all the way in your stomach and he’s barely even touching you. 

He uses his hands to tilt your face up, lightly pressing the glitter against the exposed parts of your neck. You feel your body shiver, instantly remembering the last time you and Eren were like this. Pressed up in the bathroom, with him kissing your neck. He presses his hand to your shoulder, his eyes washing over in concern at you shivering. 

“You okay?” 

“Yeah, sorry. Got a weird sense of deja vu, that’s all.” 

He nods, finishing off the last of the glitter. When he’s done, he locks his hands across your waist again, lightly setting you back down on the counter as you both stand there. You’re both staring at each other, neither one of you talking first. 

Right. Because what are you supposed to say after that? Oh, sorry, I was just thinking of your lips on my neck, my bad.

The doorbell rings and Eren gives you a soft smile before squeezing your shoulder and leaving. You can hear Hitch in the doorway and you try to ignore the way your entire body is steaming. 

  -

“What are you even supposed to be, Marco?” 

“I’m a space cowboy, Y/N!”

“You’re holding a glittery gun and wearing a flannel. You look like a kid who got lost at Party City and picked the closest thing you could find. You don’t even have a cowboy hat.” 

“Ignore her, Marco. I think you look great.” 

You watch Marco’s cheeks turn a bright pink, awkwardly stuttering to respond to Jean. Great. They’re going to do this whole oblivious idiots thing all night. 

Marco slides into the front as you and Jean walk to the other side, unlocking the car. 

“Ignore her, Marco. I think you look great.” you say, mocking Jean’s high pitched voice. 

He rolls his eyes, lightly shoving you as you settle into the seat behind him. They’re both talking animatedly, forgetting you were even sitting in the back. You unlock your phone, playing Wordscapes as they go on in the background. 

- 

Eren’s eyes were trained on your figure, as Jean and Marco were spinning you around on the dance floor with them for a better part of the last forty-five minutes. He’s been waiting, staring at you, anticipating when you’ll look at him. 

You’re driving him crazy. Today, especially. Soft glitters, a willowy white dress, that stupid flowery perfume you wore during the concert. He even likes the stupid halo you have on your head. 

He wants to touch you. Press his hands against yours, drag you out and leave with you so he was the only one who could see you like this, your stupid eyes glittering in the light. 

He hates that you can still make him feel this way. 

He sees you leave, waving off Jean and Marco who were still left on the dance floor. Marco’s wearing your halo and you have the glittery gun Marco was holding. 

He’s still watching you. Shamelessly. You weave around people talking, wait to walk forward so you don’t get in the way of pictures, compliment strangers on their costumes. 

“What are you staring at?”

“Nothing, Hitch.” 

She’s been annoyed for a better part of the last hour, not that he’s been paying much attention to it. Marlowe still hasn’t shown up. 

He doesn’t mind the guy. He doesn’t quite understand why Marlowe and Hitch have to play these games - circling around each other, making each other jealous, making up. He figures a part of it is the chase, but he’s always found that part the most agonizing. He’d catch you if he could. He’s been waiting long enough. He’d make you feel good right here and right now. 

He watches you leave the room, leaving the heat of the room to the patio outside. 

“Mind if I leave? Just call me when he’s here, okay?” 

Hitch nods and Eren basically bolts out the door, ready to follow you where you went. But before he can, Jean all but falls right off the dance floor, piled on the floor in front of him. He can see Marco’s hand under him, dragging them both up by their arms. He can tell Jean’s already too far gone and that he has to deal with this first. Then you. 

-

Your feet hurt. Like a bitch. You made the wrong choice of wearing your Doc Martens to the party. You had figured you wouldn’t be moving much, just sticking to the walls and talking to whoever you knew there. But no, of course Jean’s nervous ass had to drag you onto the dance floor with Marco, the three of you spinning in circles. 

You had made your safe escape, sitting outside on the patio. You had been watching the wind whistle through the trees in the dead of night, watching the lights in the pool change colors. They had been changing every minute - switching from purple, to red, to green. There were a few stars glittering out, barely sparkling in the sky. 

“Anyone sitting here?” 

You look up to find a guy with black hair and pale green eyes kneeling down, crossing his legs next to yours. 

“No. Well you are, now.” 

He smiles, the two of you sitting in silence. You watch people swerve around the pool, girls holding hands, people leaning against the chairs, everyone nursing drinks in their hands. 

“I’ve never seen you around here.” 

“Yeah. I don’t really come to these things, I just came here with my friend Jean.” 

He nods, leaning down to feel the temperature of the water. 

“Do you want to play twenty questions?” 

You hike your knees against your chest, tangling your fingers together across. 

“Sure.” 

“Your name is…?” 

“Y/N. Yours?” 

“Marlowe.” 

Right. Hitch’s Marlowe. The guy she was trying to make jealous, the reason Eren was seeing her and not you. Well, not exactly. He said you two were just a mistake but you could have convinced him if she wasn’t in the picture. Semantics. He taps your shoulder and you forget that it’s your turn. 

“You play a sport, Marlowe?” 

“Water Polo.” 

You nod, lightly turning your head to the side. This is wrong. Surely Hitch wouldn’t be the happiest that you were sitting with Marlowe and not her. You can hear the party getting louder behind you and you swear you can hear her screaming in there somewhere. 

“Seeing anyone, Y/N?” 

“Uh, no. You?” 

“Not exactly, Y/N.” 

“I have this friend, I think you’d like her. Her name is-” 

“Hitch?” 

You pause, swallowing as you turn your face to look at him. He’s sitting way too close, an all-knowing look plastered on his face. 

“Yeah.” 

“Thanks for the suggestion. I’m okay, for now. It’s your turn to ask.” 

“Um, okay. Why don’t you want to see Hitch?” 

“Because I’m talking to you.” 

He untangles his legs and stands up, holding out his hand for you to follow. You press your hand into his and he pulls you up, not letting go of your hand as the two of you stand. The party is getting even louder, the sound of voices drowning out the sound of the music. You’re positive you can hear her now. 

“My turn. Do you know a guy named Eren? Plays soccer, green eyes?” 

“Uh, no. Never heard of him.” 

He nods, squinting his eyes at you. He must know Eren’s your roommate. Maybe he’s found out their together and he’s trying to get you to admit it. You let go of his hand, the two of you standing awkwardly by the pool. 

You can’t really tell what he’s getting at, but every part of him irks you out. He’s perfect for Hitch. 

“My turn, Marlowe. Are we done now?” 

“That’s barely even twenty. But fine, one more question.” 

You teeter on the balls of your feet, ready to take off the second he asks his stupid question. He turns to the side, eyeing the window, before asking. 

“When was the last time someone kissed you?” 

Before you can respond, Marlowe crashes into the pool, with Eren suddenly standing at your side. Eren just pushed Marlowe into the fucking pool. You can hear the sound of footsteps behind you - Hitch, Jean, and Marco at your sides. 

Jean and Marco - well wasted beyond their minds - swing their arms around you, slurring as they ask you if you’re okay. Hitch on the other hand is pissed. At Eren. 

“What the hell is your problem, Eren?” 

“Him, Hitch. He was pissing me off.” 

“This wasn’t what I meant when I asked you for help with this Eren. And your stupid roommate wasn’t helping the case either.” 

You feel your eyes widen, as you make eye contact with Hitch, awkwardly crossing your arms across each other. You turn back to Jean, who still isn’t paying attention, instead playing rock paper scissors with Marco on the floor. 

“You want to be with Marlowe so bad, Hitch? Go ahead and join him.” 

He leans over, lightly pushing Hitch into the pool where Marlowe was still watching. He turns to you and ou can tell he’s pissed - that stupid vein on his forehead is showing again. But not in the good way. 

“We’re leaving, Y/N.” 

He grabs the edge of your wrist, dragging you towards the door as you shake on his hand. 

“I drove here with Marco and Jean, Eren. And they’re way too drunk to drive home now.” 

You both turn back, leaning over Marco and Jean. Jean’s way too out of it, but Marco looks up, smiling at the two of you. 

“You guys are so cute. I love your Anakin and Padme costume.” 

Right. Because he took your halo and you took the glittery gun because he kept hitting Jean with it. Eren turns to you, shaking your hand again. 

“Armin will come get them. You and I are leaving. Now.” 

“But how will he even find them? And what about Marco’s car?” 

Eren turns around fully, stopping in the center of the door. He’s pissed, at you now, and you can lightly hear Marlowe and Hitch arguing in the background. 

“You can hear them right? Knowing them, they’re going to walk up in a few seconds and start arguing with you and me. And if he says some shit again, I’m going to do worse than just push him into a fucking pool. You and I are leaving.” 

He tangles his fingers around your wrist again, his touch still gentle, as the two of you file out of the party, making it back to the apartment. 

 - 

Eren doesn’t say anything to you as you walk to the car, when you drive home, or even when you stare at him from the confines of your kitchen. He can tell by the look in your eyes that you’re waiting. For an explanation. 

But he can’t do that can he? Tell you that the reason he pushed Marlowe in the pull and argued with Hitch is because he can’t stand the thought of him being with you? He can see the entire scene in his head, like he has been for the past hour, his anger burning every time he does. 

“Jean, get the fuck up. You too, Marco.” 

They both stand up, half leaning on each other. Totally gone. 

“Eren. Marlowe’s here.” 

He turns to find Hitch at his side, her face scrunched up in anger. Eren waves off Marco and Jean, pushing them towards the kitchen where (he hopes) they’ll find water and sober up a little. There’s no way he’s letting them drive you home, that’s for sure. 

“Where?” 

“With your stupid roommate outside. What is she doing?” 

Eren turns his neck to find you, where he was just about to join you, sitting by the side of the pool. He can see Marlowe sitting next to you, leaning way too close for his liking. He turns back around, pressing his hands against Hitch’s shoulders. 

“Get him to leave. Now.” 

“How the hell am I supposed to do that?” 

He drags Hitch out by the arm, the two of them leaning their necks so they can hear what you and Marlowe are talking about. 

“Seeing anyone, Y/N?” 

That’s enough. Eren moves forward, not exactly sure what he’s going to do, but Hitch stops him, pulling him back by the wrist. 

“What are you doing, Hitch?” 

Hitch digs her fingers into Eren’s wrist, turning to glare at him. 

“What the fuck is she doing?” 

“He asked her the question, Hitch. Shut the fuck up.” 

He’s getting angrier. He can feel it - burning hot, red anger. Because why the fuck is Marlowe talking to you? Asking you if you’re alone? Why are you talking to him when you know he’s here? And why the fuck is Hitch pissed at you like Marlowe’s not the one all over you right now? Don’t you know he’s been waiting for that dance you promised him all night? 

“Not exactly, Y/N.” 

“I have this friend I think you’d like. Her name is-” 

“Hitch?” 

He turns back, his turn to glare at Hitch. 

“See, Hitch. It’s fucking Marlowe. Now go and stop him.” 

“How the fuck am I supposed to stop him? And I have no interest in chasing him.” 

“Get mad. Argue and then kiss and makeup. I don’t give a fuck. Just get him to stop fucking talking to her. Now.” 

“I already told you. I’m not chasing him.”

“This isn’t fucking about you. Do something now or I’ll call the deal off now. I’ve already done more than enough and you can’t do one thing for me?” 

“Why do you even care?” 

He turns his neck again, to find you and Marlowe standing, his hand in yours. He can’t stand it. Your hand in his. Because he doesn’t deserve you. No one does. Because he can’t treat you right and Eren can. He’d praise the ground you walk on if you let him. 

He hears the last question and he can’t take it anymore.

“When was the last time you were kissed?” 

So he does the only thing he can think of. Push Marlowe in the pool. Drag you out of the party, where Hitch and Marlowe and Jean or Marco or anyone can’t talk to you. See you. He hates it. Being possessive, getting jealous. He knows you’re not his. But he can’t fucking stand it. It makes his skin fucking burn thinking of an asshole like Marlowe even touching you, let alone kissing you. 

“Earth to Ren?” 

He looks back up to find you staring at him, awkwardly brushing your hands against your forearms. Right. Because you’re still waiting for a fucking answer and he can’t tell you. Tell you that the thought of another man touching you drives him crazy, that the only person who could touch you right, make you feel good was him. 

“You’re doing that thing again. I can see the steam coming off of your head.” 

He deflates, leaning against the counter as he watches you. You’re moving from the side, pressing the glass of water in your hand to the dispenser in the kitchen. It’s pissing him off even more. The thought of someone seeing you like this - bedhead in the morning, focused when you’re doing your makeup, half asleep on the couch. He can’t fucking stand it. 

“So. Do you want to talk about it?” 

“No.” 

“Okay, Darth Vader. No need to growl at me.” 

Fuck. Everything is pissing him off. Everything. 

“Let’s think about something else, yeah? We don’t have to talk about it just….stop being so pissy.” 

You’re at his side, circling the glass of water in your hand. 

“Fine. The answer to the question. What was it?” 

“What question, Ren?” 

“The one Marlowe asked you. Before I pushed him in the pool.” 

When was the last time you were kissed? In the bathroom, when Eren had his lips pressed to your neck. 

“A real kiss, Y/N.” 

Eren Yeager, mind reader.

“Oh. Um. A while ago, maybe a year? It was back when I was dating Floch.” 

Eren turns his neck, his eyes flashing at you as you look at him. He looks less angry, his eyes more concerned than murderous like they were a few seconds ago. 

“I don’t even think I can remember. I don’t know - he never really liked that stuff. Affection, compliments, all that.” 

“Did you ask him to? Do that stuff?”

“At first, yeah. But he never did.” 

Now he’s even more pissed. Because an asshole wanting to kiss you, him doing it all wrong is infuriating enough. But the fact that you had to ask someone to do it? He’d literally drop on his fucking knees if you gave him the chance and you had to ask someone for it? 

Eren does the only thing he can. The only thing he knows how to do. He wraps his arms around you, tucking your face against his neck as he holds you. 

It was either this or kissing you, full on like he wanted to. But he can’t really do that. So hugging it is. He hears you murmur against his shoulder, your arms pressing against his back. 

“S’okay Eren. What are you so mad about?” 

“You said we didn’t have to talk about it. And no. It’s not.” 

“We don’t. But I think this is less about whatever happened and more about whatever just-” 

He tightens his grip on you, the pressure of his arms silencing you. 

“I’m mad because you should be kissed. Often. And by someone who knows how. Like they can’t get enough of you, like you’re the air they breathe, like you’re inventing kissing just by putting your lips together.”

Shit. He said too much. 

You stand in silence, staring at him as he finishes talking. Oh he messed up big time. 

He watches the smile spread across your face, your eyes still in the dim light of the kitchen. Stupid fucking glitter. He’s going to go into the bathroom and throw it out. 

“Didn’t realize you cared so much, Ren.” 

He doesn’t respond. 

“Why do you?” 

“Why do I what?” 

“Care so much, Eren?” 

You watch him constrict his fists again, his jaw clenched.

“Selfish reasons.” 

You walk up to the counter where he’s leaning over, lacing your arm through his. You push your hands into his fists, forcing him to stop clenching his hands so hard. You can tell his anger is dissipating, his shoulders slowly tensing as you touch him. 

“Selfish reasons?” 

“I don’t want to see you unhappy or anything. You’re like...my best friend right now. Is it so weird that I want you to be happy?” 

You smile, leaning your head against his shoulder. Fucking idiot. 

“No, Ren. It’s not weird.” 

You both stand like that for a while, your head pressed against his shoulder. He’s still tense, his heart pounding against your ear. 

“So I say all this nice shit to you and you have nothing to say back?” 

“Nope.” 

“Nothing at all.” 

You shake your head, watching him begrudingly smile at you as you two smile In the kitchen. You stand there for a while, the anger, awkwardness, wearing off. It’s just you two, standing in the light of your kitchen. 

“You promised me a dance. You never even gave me one, Ren.” 

“I’m not riding up on you, Y/N.” 

“I’m heartbroken.” 

You both laugh and Eren leans over, grabbing your phone from the side. He puts a song on - I Won’t Dance by Fred Astaire - and holds his hands out. You lean forward, knotting your hands behind his back as he presses his hands to your waist.

“You know Fred Astaire, Ren?” 

“Old timey shit. My parents love it.” 

You tangle your hands behind his neck, the two of you dancing in the dim light of your kitchen. 

You hate this. That you want to lick all his wounds, hold him till his anger goes away. That you want to dance like this in the kitchen with him, all the time. 

He hates this. That it’s this easy for you to fix it all for him. For you to make it better. That he wants to hold you, make you feel good every night. 

Do you love each other? 

- 

next part linked here

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[alittletaste]

THIRD TIME’S A CHARM

↳ In which Y/n and Harry have a whole day just to themselves and they couldn’t think of a better way to spend it than having sex. However, not everything works out how they want it to.

Warnings: 4.1k words (longest fic I’ve written! So please show some love and support) 18+ as there’s a lot of mention of smut. Dad!harry (ygmd universe) Enjoy 🫶

***

The January chill made it near impossible not to layer up. Y/n tugged a jacket onto Indi, his arms easily slipping in, a smile on his face as Harry worked on wrapping up their youngest, Stella with a scarf. The oldest two of the Styles clan, Jude and Beau, were already all wrapped up and warm, ready to go.

Schools were back on and the mornings were once again the busiest time of the day. The kiddos, now all nice and ready for school, were lined up by the front door. Y/n lays a soft kiss on each of their foreheads as Harry goes to grab his car keys off the hook. He walks back to y/n with a smile, “ready to go my little loves?” He asks the kids, before coming into drop a quick kiss onto y/ns lips, catching her off guard. He winks as he pulls away, y/n already feeling her face warm up.

Jude groans upon seeing the affection between his parents whilst the younger kids giggle. “Right, have a good day at school, my angels! Learn lots!” Y/n speaks, as she practically shoos Harry and the kids outside, if they weren’t gone within the next few minutes, they would be late and the last thing the parents needed was a telling-off from one of their kiddo's teachers.

An influx of “bye mum!” came from her kids as she makes her way back inside. Once she was alone in the house, she couldn’t help but replay the kisses Harry gave her this morning, it was obvious he was hinting at something. Especially since they finally get to spend a full day together. Gemma had decided on collecting the kids from school (and Stella from her nursery) so she could take them over to her place tonight and Harry had a day off. A full day together was something that hardly ever happened now that the couple had four of their own kids and whenever they did have one, the day was spent catching up on some much-needed sleep.

But this time, y/n didn’t want that. Y/n wanted. No, she craved her husband. She needed his touch, she felt as if she went way too long without it so today, she was set on changing that. She rushed to her bedroom, finding the lingerie she got gifted for Christmas from Harry and tugging it on.

The material of the lingerie was lace, the sheerness meant that nothing was left to the imagination and y/n knew Harry would be drooling once he saw her in it. Especially since the lingerie was in his favourite colour on her, black. She was the sight of seduction, a sight for sore eyes. Y/n actually felt confident in herself, and proud of her body, something she hadn’t felt since she’s given birth to Stella, two years ago, despite Harry trying his hardest to show her and convince her that she was and is the most beautiful woman to him.

Her thoughts are cut short as she hears a whistle come from the door of her bedroom, she looks up to find Harry leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed over his midsection. He shifts his weight back onto his feet once he realised he’s caught his wife’s attention, his eyes dark and scanning over her body. “This is a nice surprise” he hums as he makes his way over to y/n, biting his lips, “wow”

“You like?” Y/n asks, despite feeling confident, she still wanted his approval.

“Lookin’ fuckin’ gorgeous peach” he speaks, his voice rough with lust. His eyes were still scanning her body, hungrily. His hands going to grab at her hips. “Makin’ me so hard”

“Hmm, wanted you all morning” y/n replies, her hands dragging up and down Harry’s arms, she squeezes once she gets to his bicep. Despite being 38 and a dad with a full-time, sometimes demanding job, Harry kept up with his health /fitness regime; never skipping any gym sessions and always trying to eat healthy food though he definitely did have his cheat days. Harry was still fit and the sight of his beautiful body had people all around the world, screaming.

“Yeah? What did you want me to do, love?” He asks, guiding y/n back to their shared bed. He pushes her onto the mattress lightly before climbing on top, kissing her neck. “C’mon peach, don’t get all shy on me. Tell me what you want me to do” Harry asks again before going to suck and lick at her exposed skin again. He loved teasing her, getting her to speak and tell him what she wanted was one of the sexiest things for Harry. He loved knowing his wife wanted him to do all these things to her.

“I, I want you to fuck me” she whines, her hands tangling into his hair. She keeps Harry there, against her neck and he continues licking at the skin, dropping a kiss here and there. He didn’t want to suck too hard, scared of leaving a hickey which he knows y/n hates having to cover up.

“And how shall I fuck you?” Harry asks, pulling away breathlessly, he begins to trail his kisses down to y/ns chest, showing her barely covered breasts some love. His tongue was working skilfully on top of her lingerie, the wetness seeping through the material making y/n's eyes roll back.

“Want you to fuck me hard” she half moans as Harry continues to assault her breasts, the sounds of his mouth against her skin filling the room. “Like, like you used to before”

“I’ll do whatever you want baby” he smiles, a fuzzy look in his eyes as he pulls back and moves towards her lips. He was intoxicated with her, obsessed with everything about her. Obsessed with the fact that she was his wife, a woman he could call his own and share everything with, a woman who blessed him with four of their babies, a woman that was with him every step of the way.

Just as Harry’s lips met y/ns, he groaned “love when you scratch my back” he speaks, pulling back, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Harry, I didn’t scratch your back” y/n giggles, confused about what Harry’s on about. Upon hearing that, he quickly turns to look behind him, his hand coming down to press against the mattress unknowingly pulling y/n's hair in the process. They both scream however not from pleasure, more from agony if anything.

“Harry you’re on my hair!”

“Bella get out of the room!”

They both shout, Harry quickly pulls off her, reaching over to pick Bella, their cat, up as Y/n gathers her hair, rubbing at the sore spot on her head. Bella had been the one scratching Harry’s back.

“Bella, out!” Harry says sternly, but instead of moving, she leaves Harry’s grasp and finds herself a comfy place to sit on their bed. Just as Harry goes to grab her again, their dog, Oakley makes his way into the room, finding himself a spot to lie down on their carpet.

“Oakley, out boy” Harry speaks, pointing at the door so his pets catch on and leave but they stay sitting there nonchalantly, acting as if Harry and y/n do not exist.

“Harry, leave it, we can do this later” y/n speaks up from the bed, she was still massaging her head as Harry walks over to her with an annoyed look on his face.

“I love those pets to death but damn, they’re just as bad as our kids when it comes to cockblocking us” Harry laughs making y/n giggle as she moves to plant a kiss on his lips. “I’m sorry I pulled your hair, I didn’t realise,” he says against her lips as y/n sneaks her fingers into his hair, she scratches at his scalp lightly.

“Don’t worry babe, just caught me off guard is all” she replies, leaning in for another kiss. Just as they pull away the front door rings.

“Guess I’ll get that�� Harry speaks, pressing a kiss onto y/ns forehead.

“I’ll go have a shower” his wife replies and he nods before leaving to get the front door which happens to be the postman dropping off some bits and bobs Harry ordered for the kid's bedrooms.

As he made his way back up, he decides he’ll carry on what he started earlier with y/n in the shower. He slips into the bathroom, making sure to lock the door this time so no unwanted guests showed up, he starts stripping before joining his wife under the hot stream of water.

“You love your boiling hot showers” he chuckles as he feels the scalding water glide down his back, his muscles and defined body looked extra good wet. Y/n licks her lips as she moves her hands up and down his body.

“Better than your ice baths” she replies and he growls playfully.

“Touch��” Harry says, leaning towards y/ns ear, “guess what?” He whispers, his voice sending a pleasurable shiver down y/ns spine.

“What?” She asks breathlessly as she feels Harry’s hands trail up and down her naked body, stopping to squeeze one of her breasts before finding purchase on her ass and he groans, whimpering out a fuck.

“The doors locked. I can finally give you what you want” he replies to y/ns question in a playful whisper. “I’m going to fuck you so hard” he groans, his voice gravelly and dripping in lust. His eyes were dark and his cock was hardening as he spun y/n around, bending her over.

He angled the shower head to her ass, to where they’d soon be connected. Harry’s hands travel up and down her back, he leans down to press kisses to her shoulder “you good?” He asks and she nods, wanting nothing more but for him to enter her and fuck her stupid.

“Tell me you need my cock” he growls against her skin, his hands trailing down her back to spank her ass. The force of Harry’s hand against her ass sends y/n forward, making her squeal. He didn’t realise the force and before he knows it, y/ns heads hitting against the side of the shower wall after she loses her footing.

“Fuck” she whimpers, standing up to her full height as she rubs her head for the second time today. “Ouch, that hurt.”

“Fuck, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to spank you that hard” Harry rambles, feeling guilty for causing any sort of pain to his wife. He pulls y/n into his chest, his hand rubbing up and down her back. “Are you okay? Not feeling dizzy or anything?” He questions, worry in his voice which y/n soon dismisses.

“I’m ok, just lost my bearings” she giggles, kissing Harry’s chest. Y/n leans her head against him, her ear placed right over his heart, she could feel his rather fast heartbeat. “Baby, I promise, I’m ok. Maybe shower sex isn’t for us, but I’m all good. No concussion or anything” she reassured her stubborn husband.

“Ok, I’m glad love. I’m sorry once again, let’s just go cuddle, you can be the big spoon if you want” Harry suggests to which y/n is quick to agree on. They swiftly finish off their shower before making their way back to their bedroom to have a cuddle.

“Have we truly been out of practice for that long?” Y/n asks, as Harry pulls her closer towards him. She tucks into his armpit, her arm going over his broad chest as he leans to kiss into her hair.

“What do you mean, peach?” He asks, his fingers drawing soft and delicate patterns onto her arm.

“Like, have we lost our passion? We’ve tried to have sex twice so far and they’ve both failed. And It’s only 11 am” she questions, her eyebrows furrowed, something Harry loved about her. Every time she got angry or confused, her eyebrows furrowed and he believes it was the cutest thing ever.

“I wouldn’t say we’ve lost our passion, I mean I was dead set on fucking you into oblivion. We’re perfect but sex isn’t. It’s never perfect, you know that, sometimes I get a leg cramp from all the thrusting or your boobs get way too sensitive. Shit happens, we can always try again later, we’ve got the day to ourselves love, don’t worry over it” he speaks, slowly and gently, trying to find the right words to make y/n feel better. She nods and kisses his bare chest, nuzzling her face into his side.

“You’re right, I’m sorry, just get too into my head” she sighs and Harry kisses her hair once again before moving to lift her face towards him.

“Peach, don’t be sorry. It’s ok to feel anxious about stuff like this, I’m glad you spoke to me about it. We’ll have sex don’t worry” he smiles and she nods, cuddling closer towards him. Harry doesn’t let up on his promise from before and he’s turning on his side so y/n can spoon him from behind, the two slowly drifting off to sleep in the position.

After a good hour's nap, the two woke up feeling nice and refreshed. Harry gazed sleepily at his wife, his fingers moving to push her hair back behind her ear. “Hey, you” he spoke groggily, smiling lazily.

“Hi” y/n squeaked, her eyes drowsy and voice soft, “that was a nice nap”

Harry smiles down at her, his hand beginning to rub soothing patterns onto her back, he was fully facing her now. “Yeah, I’m feeling nice and awake now,” he says, “think we should have sex”

“Hmm, should we now?” Y/n teases, running her fingertips up and down Harry’s chest whilst biting her lip. She looks up at him, excitement in her eyes, she really wanted this. She craved it and she didn’t want anything to ruin it.

“Yeah” he murmurs, a slight groan and strain present in his voice. “want your pretty mouth wrapped around me. Be a good girl and show me some love”

“Hmm, guess we should lock the door first” y/n spoke, leaving the bed to lock the door, she walks back graciously, her hair a mess from the nap but nonetheless she looked amazing. Once she’s back on the bed, she begins to slither her hands down Harry’s body, feeling the ridges of his toned torso before finding purchase on his boxers. Harry lifts his hips and she pulls down the boxers, freeing his already aching and hard cock.

She curled her fingers around his thick cock, a breathy exhale leaving Harry’s perfect lips as she started sensually tugging at it. Y/ns lips slowly come to close over his tip, eyes focused on his as she drags her tongue over the head of his shaft, licking it lewdly and sliding her tip around it. The sensation of the teasing, has Harry moaning, voice low and brimming with lust.

Y/n slowed the movement of her stroking hand as she started to take him in deeper, her kissable lips wrapped around his shaft, sucking sensually. Harry moaned deeply at the feeling of her lips sliding over the head of his shaft repeatedly, he was big and filled her mouth out perfectly.

Y/n was moving her head up and down, slowly beginning to take more of him into her mouth, tongue lavishing the head of his cock with a slew of wet licks, teasing the tip repeatedly as her hand comes up to play with his balls. She squeezed lightly, watching as Harry’s mouth parted in a silent scream and his head fell back. His hand comes to cup the back of your head, nudging her down a bit. “Stop teasing me peach” he groans, taking his lips in his teeth as she looked up at him.

He’s greeted with a soft hum, the vibrations making him buck his hips up a bit, wanting more and she obliges, taking him in even deeper as her tongue pressed against the underside of his cock. Y/n pursed her lips snugly around his shaft and slurped right back to the tip before going back down again, repeating this motion a couple of times all whilst her hand continued to play and tease his balls. He was hissing and groaning at the contact-making her smile against him. Y/n took pride in the fact that she was the reason he was a withering mess.

Her other hand left his cock, now resting on his thigh to keep herself steadied as she continued bopping her head up and down, her drool running down his girth and making wet-sounding slurps.

Pushing down on her head more insistently Harry got y/n to move faster, a shudder of pure ecstasy travelling up his cock as she sucked him off. He leaned back onto his hand, groaning as he looked down at y/ns nearly bare back, only her bra straps present. Harry reached forwards and undid the bra in a second, freeing her breasts from the constraint. He threw the bra off the bed.

His cock twitched deep within y/ns mouth and he groans, “fuck, I need to be inside of you right now”

Y/n pulls back, a line of saliva still connecting her to his wet cock and speaks “please, fuck me” she begs causing a growl to escape from Harry. He was quick to lift her, flipping them over, trapping his wife beneath him.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard” he rasped, grazing her nipple with his teeth, pulling a gasp from her. Harry was ruthless when it came to the bedroom, a man that knew what he wanted, a man who had someone that would give him exactly what he needed. In a sense, that would make him dangerous, pulling orgasm after orgasm from his lover, watching and loving the way she squirmed on the bed, overwhelmed by the pleasure.

Licking. Sucking. Biting. Harry did whatever he could to satisfy y/n's needs, loving the way she threw her head back at the sensation of his warm wet tongue gliding over her soft skin, her fingers getting lost in his hair. His hands smoothed their way down her legs, caressing the skin, he positioned them over his hip, his hard-on coming in direct contact with her dripping core.

“Babe, please” y/n moaned, her head resting against the pillow, giving him more access to litter her skin with kisses.

“I’m getting to it” Harry murmured against her neck, continuing to leave a series of light kisses there, teasingly. “I fucking love you” he spoke, his hand sliding up her body, gently cupping a breast and then tugging at the nipple making y/n squirm and take his cock into her hand. She’s had enough of the teasing and needed him. She quickly discards her panties, whimpering upon feeling the weight of his cock in her hands.

“Need you in me” she whimpered, guiding his leaking cock towards her entrance. Harry looked down, his eyes on the way y/n had a tight grip around his cock. He loved watching the way she ran the head of his shaft up and down her weepy core, gathering some of her wetness, to make the first thrust easier. It was in these moments, that Harry was glad he had a vasectomy, no longer worrying about having to use condoms or the effects birth control pills had on y/n. He was free to enjoy the warm and wet walls of y/n engulfing around him, and what bliss that was.

“You’re always so wet for me” Harry observed, watching as y/n bit her lip upon hearing him. “Love watching this cunt take me, you always take me so well baby” he speaks lowly, as y/n finally places his plump cockhead where it needs to be. Harry slowly thrusts his hip forward, pushing into her, earning a gasp from his lover.

Y/n squeezes her eyes shut, her head thrown back as Harry begins his steady rhythm of thrusting, withdrawing slowly before pushing in and bottoming out again, profanities slipping from her lips. Her hands were clasped around his back, and her legs wrapped around his hips.

Harry flattened his tongue against the base of y/n's neck and licked all the way up to her ear “fuckin gorgeous” he moaned, his hips still keeping up with the pleasurable pace. His thick cock was engulfed with y/n's warmness, he felt as if he was in heaven.

The burning friction from Harry’s powerful thrusts. The bang of the headboard hitting against the wall. The scent of their combined sweat. The slapping sound of skin against skin. Her fingers drawing blood from his shoulders. The sensation was powerful and the couple have never felt better. Y/n feels a little stupid, thinking she lost her passion with her husband, she knew now for sure that, that would never ever happen.

Harry’s heavy breathing soon turns into grunts and y/n's soft moans into squeals, they were both so close to falling off the edge and into the pool of absolute pleasure. “M’so close. Fuck, you’re so good to me” he growls, his thrusts picking up in pace and force. His pelvis was hitting against y/ns repeatedly, her walls clenching and getting impossibly wetter for him and him only.

Harry shouted her name as he starts to come, his hips slamming against hers as liquid heat begins to fill her up. Every one of his thrusts was punctured with a loud groan and profanity. Y/n lay there as she took his cum, watching her husband shudder and whimper in front of her made her lose her mind. She was so obsessed with him and so was he with her.

He slowly pulls out, watching as his cum leaks out of y/n's puckering hole. “Fuck, you’re going to be the death of me” he growls playfully making her chuckle breathlessly. Harry leans forward to kiss her lips, he slowly sucks on her bottom lip before pulling back. “Can’t let you go without giving you an orgasm m’love. What sort of husband would that make me?” He asks as he begins to move down the bed, back to y/ns core.

He lowers his head, sticking his tongue out and pressing it flat against her clit, he kitten licks it, his eyes closing as he laps up her sweet wetness. Harry wasn’t the type of guy to shy away from cum, even his own, so he had no problem with slowly bringing his fingers to her entrance, pushing his cum back into her.

Y/n's lips separated and a string of profanities spilt from them at the feeling of Harry’s long fingers slowly dipping inside of her and his tongue teasing her clit. He lapped up her juices, his tongue expertly knowing exactly what to do to get y/n to orgasm. He circled her bundle of nerves, over and over with his tongue, occasionally sucking, sending tingles up her spine making her shiver with ecstasy.

She was so close already and with a few more thrusts of his fingers, the lap of his tongue sliding against her clit and the suck of his mouth she came, her legs shaking. She was breathless, completely overtaken by pleasure.

Y/n lay limp against the bed once she came down from her high, Harry slowly pulled his hand out of her warm and deliciously wet cunt and bought his fingers up to his mouth to suck them clean. “I love you so much” she heaves, “didn’t know me looking half sleepy was such a turn on” she joked making Harry chuckle as he fell to the space next to her on the bed, his body heaving with each breath he took.

Harry nipped her ear, pulling her closer to his own body, “you turn me on in every way imaginable, peach” he confessed, pulling a soft smile from y/n. “I love you so much, glad I got to fuck you again”

“I’m glad you fucked me too” y/n giggles, reaching up to press a soft kiss, a complete contrast to how fast and hard they were previously fucking, “you’re the best husband ever” she speaks just as her phone rings. Y/n lazily reaches over to grab it, reading the caller ID with a playful frown, “you got them late again didn’t you?”

“Heyyy, the kids wanted some snacks and who am I to deny?” Harry defends making y/n chuckle. She not only got the best husband ever but she also got to give her children the very best father, a man who would do absolutely anything for his family.

[seoafin]

dog days are over | chapter eight

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader x geto suguru warnings/tags (for this chapter): gojo word count: ~9.6k

fic masterlist read on ao3

“No need to look so nervous! Loosen up!”

You try your best to smile, despite the nerves bundled in your stomach. “Thank you for inviting me out, Ikeda-san.”

She beams at you, opening the menu in front of her. You stare at her glossy, perfectly shaped nails and the smooth skin of her hands. You remember the softness of them. Still, there is no ring on her finger.

“Please, call me Meiko. And of course! Don’t tell Gojo and Geto, but I’ve always wanted to talk to you.”

Surprised, you say, “Me?”

“The mysterious fourth classmate of Jujutsu High’s 2008 graduating class. I was always so curious about you.” She smiles, and you are drawn to the cherry red of her lipstick. “Especially since those two are notoriously tightlipped about you.”

You’re sure it’s because there’s nothing to talk about when it comes to you. 

“I’m not that interesting,” you say politely, because in your opinion, you really aren’t. “I’m sure you weren’t missing much.”

“Is that really what you think?” She leans forward, placing her chin on top of her threaded fingers. “I think you’re plenty interesting.”

Your face warms. Nobody’s ever called you interesting before. You meet her gaze. “Is there something you need, Ike—Meiko-san?”

She laughs. “Please, you’re so formal! No need for the honorific, you’ll make me self conscious. We’re nearly the same age! If I’m being honest, I just wanted to get to know you.”

“Because we have…” you consider her carefully, “a lot in common?”

Once again, she bursts into laughter. It’s not mocking, but amused. “I thought maybe you’d feel a little more comfortable if we had…common ground.”

The common ground being…

Your face flushes with heat. “Is it…” you stare at the plate laid flat in front of you, stomach churning in distress, “obvious?”

You think back to every single semi public interaction with Suguru and Satoru. Maybe someone had caught a glimpse of Suguru’s knuckles brushing against yours, walking a little too close to you to be considered casual acquaintances. Maybe someone had seen Satoru draw you close to him. It hadn’t been discreet. Satoru’s never been discreet. Not enough. And now you’re paying the consequences.

Your palms go sweaty.

“Oh, it seems I’ve worried you,” Meiko looks concerned. “It was just a guess,” she murmurs gently, reaching out for your hand. Your heart starts with a jerk when her hand closes around you. “An inkling if you will. Woman’s intuition?”

They are soft. They smell like peach flavored hand lotion. Relief sweeps through you like a cool balm. “Oh,” you say breathlessly. “Thank god.” It slips out before you can help it.

“It’s rare to see Geto and Gojo so ruffled,” she chuckles. “Geto especially. I can never tell what he’s thinking with that smile of his…I just wanted to tease them a little, you know? Make them sweat.” She studies you, face sobering. “They hold you in the highest regard.”

The she winks, and calls over a server.

She must be a regular here because she easily strikes up a conversation with your server about the new seasonal specials. You then watch in slight awe as she proceeds to order one of every single thing on the menu.  

At your expression, she grins. “Instead of deliberating, isn’t it easier to just order the entire menu? That way we can try a little of everything. Besides, my palate gets a little bored with one plate.”

You blink. It strikes you as something Satoru would do. Order every single sweet on a menu to have his pick. The world of jujutsu elites and their bottomless bank accounts is truly something beyond your understanding.

“When Ieiri-san said you were coming to my reception as her plus one, I was surprised,” Meiko says. “I asked Gojo for your availability, and he said you were busy. Honestly,” she huffs, “selfish men are the worst!”

Satoru said you were busy? You wonder if he thought you’d somehow embarrass him and Suguru. Somehow, you can’t fault him. People just don’t seem to like you, and it’s probably your fault. “You wanted me to come?” 

“Of course I did.” She makes a face. “Instead I had to deal with that Kumiko. The nerve of her to seat herself at my table! In your seat!”

She scans you, as if to gauge the measure of your outrage. You simply only look at her, unblinking as your mind runs wild with all the possible ways to navigate the rest of this conversation without stepping on any landmines. You're not good at this. 

“I wasn’t aware you two were acquainted.”

Meiko’s smile turns tight. “We were briefly homeschooled together. Flower arranging class.” She spits out.

Her face clouds darkly.

You quickly change the subject. “I wonder when the food—”

Meiko’s eyes narrow. “ Wait. Are you acquainted with her?”

“J-Just briefly…”

“That snake,” her fingers fist tightly. “Of course she’d worm her way into your life!” She slams a fist onto the table. You wince. “It’s Geto isn’t it?” She scoffs. “I heard she got stood up by Gojo, but to think she was that shameless—”

“She likes him,” you say, a little more firmly than you intended. A look of surprise paints her face at your sudden boldness. You settle down, embarrassed. “I think…her feelings are genuine,” and it’s wrong to undermine them. The fondness in her eyes is real. You of all people understand her feelings. You love Suguru too.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize weakly.

Meiko exhales deeply. “No, I am. I always get carried away when it comes to her. We’ve always had bad blood between us. I suppose we’ve just never seen the world the same way. It’s always been her dream to be married to an influential man,” her voice turns bitter. “To be a perfect wife. To bear sons with cursed techniques. You could say we were bred for it. Disgusting pigs like that Zenin Naoya are a dime a dozen in jujutsu society. But unlike me, Kumiko was actually born with a powerful cursed technique.” There’s a bitter note to her voice. “What a waste.”

You don’t know what to say to her. You’ve never been good at knowing what to say at the right time. Not like Suguru.

But Meiko continues, “I suppose that’s why it’s a surprise to everyone she’s still not married. A lot of people think it’s because her clan elders are holding out for Gojo.” She snorts. “I guess everyone is expecting him to get married soon too, and have children. Lots of children.” She pauses, “Though I suppose they don’t mind the unmarried part as much as the not-impregnating-women part.” She raises an eyebrow. “They do make quite the pair, don’t they?”

You get the strongest feeling of deja-vu. 

Your face warms, looking at anything but Meiko. “I…”

“They work even better together too,” she remarks with a sigh. “Unfortunately, good looks can’t save them from their lousy personalities.” She shoots you a sympathetic look. 

L-Lousy personalities…

Clearing her throat, she says, “The Gojo clan elders and higher ups from Fukuouka are convening in Tokyo to try and convince Gojo to get married. To secure the Gojo line.”

You stare at her.

Meiko’s expression gives away to surprise. “You didn’t know?”

“Nobody mentioned it,” you answer truthfully. It clears up a lot of the happenings at the school. Perhaps they had come to Tokyo because Satoru refused to come to them. You knew Satoru’s less than enthusiastic feelings towards the burdens pushed on him by clan politics, such as marriage. A part of you can’t help but wonder if that had spurred Satoru and Suguru’s actions towards you. That and pity you suppose. In your first year, Satoru often used to remark that you seemed like you’d be the type to die alone. He wasn’t wrong. 

“The Zenin and Kamo’s want him to take a bride from their own families, but the Gojo clan’s own preference is someone like Sasaki. Someone from a distinguished lineage and a clan that’s not as powerful as one of the big three. They don’t want a strong clan interfering in interfamily politics. It’s all terribly political.” She makes a face. “They want him to consider mistresses from other families too. He’s not the only one. Geto’s been fielding all kind of offers too. His cursed technique is too valuable, and the Zenin’s have always been greedy.”

Of course the Gojo clan would want someone as delicate and refined as Sasaki. She’s beautiful, talented, and holds a revered cursed technique. It would be easy to fall in love with her, if the way Suguru talks highly of her means anything. 

You try to process the rest of the information, but all you can think of is marriage, marriage, marriage. Your head is spinning. Had your parents’ marriage been rife with such difficulties? This can’t be normal. You are confronted by the realization that the day Satoru and Suguru get married might be closer than you think. It throws your thoughts into disarray. All this time you’ve been unaware of the specifics and complexities of jujutsu society as it pertains to someone of Satoru and Suguru’s positions. They’ve never confided in you, and you think it’s for good reason. You’ve been so caught up in your own head that it never occurred to you that they might be troubled too. What a friend you’ve been lately. 

Spirits dampening, you lower your gaze. “Is…that right…”

Luckily, you’re saved from a more coherent answer because the food comes. A line of waiters approach your table. Twelve plates, large and small, are set down in quick succession. You stare at the colorful array of dishes. Another waiter makes an appearance with a bottle of expensive looking wine, pouring the two of you a glass. 

Meiko loads food onto your plate. “Eat up! You seem like you could use a good meal.”

“Thank you…” Eating saves you the trouble of having to speak when you don’t have the words. It’s easy. The food is delicious.”

“This is the restaurant that catered my food during the reception,” Meiko says, taking a bite of her ricotta peach salad. “I hope you enjoyed the food, then and now.”

“It’s delicious,” you admit with a smile. “Thank you for bringing me.”

A wide smile hangs on her face. “Of course! It was a terrible night, but it might have been a little better if you had been there.”

A warm flush creeps into your face. “I would’ve liked to have met you too,” you say shyly, hesitantly. You like Meiko, you think. It’s easy to like her, with her bold personality. There's a frankness to her that reminds you of Shoko. A familiarity. You wonder what she sees in you. You wonder if your night would’ve been different had you met her instead of Hideo.

You’re thoughtful. “You didn’t seem very happy at your wedding.” The words come out before you can stop it.

Meiko goes quiet. You quickly move to retract your statement, realizing it was insensitive of you to say something. “I’m so—”

Meiko lifts her wine to her lips and slams it down, emptied. “I didn’t want to get married. Not then, not ever. I thought my father had given up on it, after I scared the fifth suitor away.” She takes the bottle and nearly fills her glass to the brim. “Only to find out my father had given away my hand without my knowledge when I came back from visiting my mother in Hokkaido.” She takes a long drink. “To a politician of all people! It was horrible. I threw a fit, hoping to convince my father. You can imagine how well that went.”

You can’t imagine being unknowingly married, bound to spending the rest of your life with a stranger. It feels like the puzzle pieces are slowly coming together. Meiko’s sour expression throughout the entire reception. Shoko’s comment about the unwilling bride. You can’t do anything but commiserate with her in silence.

“My father said he’d be willing to break off talks if…” she trails off, looking vaguely uncomfortable for the first time since the evening started. “At the time, I hadn’t realized those two were into women.”

You nearly choke with laughter.

It’s an understandable mistake. The nature of Satoru and Suguru’s relationship have always raised eyebrows. They’ve never hidden it. It’s a truth, never presumed, never spoken, lest it be true. Or spreads. Satoru and Suguru have always enjoyed making people uncomfortable to an almost sadistic extent. You’ve seen people squirm in their seats beneath Suguru’s pleasant smile, Satoru’s creeping menacing grin.

Meiko looks amused now, eyeing you with an understanding you don’t quite get. “My mistake.”

You sober. “The reception…”

“He spent the entire time with Gojo and Geto, trying to worm his way into their good graces. He has ambitions, you see.” A mirthless smile. “He wants to be prime minister of Japan one day, and everyone knows it’s Gojo’s vote that matters the most when it comes to selecting the political face of Japan, and my father already has very strong ties to the current Kamo head.”

Oh you knew that. Upon watching a political debate with Shoko in the common lounge your first year of jujutsu tech, Satoru had taken up all the space on the couch with wide legs, eaten all your popcorn, and watching the current prime minister’s effective response to the burgeoning inflation, had commented that it was an aggressive policy for the mild and meek man who had cowered in the face of him and the Zenin and Kamo heads.

Shoko and Suguru had simply looked at him until Satoru shrugged and said that between the current prime minister and his former opponent, personally, he had flipped a coin before casting his vote. Suguru gawked at him, and had spent the rest of the week questioning the legitimacy of the political institutions in Japan.

To this day, you’re unsure of whether or not Satoru was joking.

Sometimes, the thought that the fate of your nation rests in Satoru’s hands makes you a little uneasy.

You try not to think about it often.

She snorts. “It wasn’t as bad as our first night.” 

You straighten immediately.

“He didn’t touch me,” she clears up quickly. “Or force me, if that’s what you think. He slept on the couch actually.” Her face goes thoughtful. “It’s more than you can say of a lot of men in jujutsu society,” she completes darkly.

Relief shoots through you. “If you ever need help…” This time, it’s your turn to squeeze her hands reassuringly. “I’ll do whatever I can.”

Meiko looks touched. “You’d help me?”

“I’m not all that impressive,” you respond truthfully, a little embarrassed at your bold proclamation with nothing but intent to back it up. You aren’t in a position of any strength to be promising easy help. But you’d do anything you could. “But I’m sure I could ask Satoru and Suguru to help if necessary too.” And if whatever you could meant pleading to Satoru and Suguru on the behalf of someone else, you wouldn’t even have to think about it.

“Satoru and Suguru are good people,” despite the opinions of others. Despite…what Meiko may think. They are, you know it. You’re sure they’d intervene if needed, not because you asked.

She sniffs. You look at her in alarm. Then you realize the bottle of wine is empty.

“I’m sure…” she swallows, eyebrows furrowing as she tries to piece together her sentence. “I’m sure they’d do anything, if you asked them.”

You’re sure she’s just flattering you, so you smile, and motion for the waitress before Meiko can order another bottle. You hope she doesn’t cry. A pretty, crying woman would have you flying into a panic. You prepare yourself to call Shoko for advice just in case, although for crying women matters Suguru would probably be your first choice.

The bill is placed. You figure you should pay since she took the liberty of inviting you out in the first place, but there’s a black card in her hand before you can even blink. The waitress smoothly takes it, just as Meiko’s fist slams down onto the table.

“They don’t deserve you!” She exclaims, drawing stares from other tables. “You’re too good for them!”

The server hurriedly rushes away, presumably to quickly check you two out.

Your server returns with Meiko’s card and helps you collect her. Luckily, she’s not drunk enough to be immobile, but she tilts precariously as you two walk her outside. The weight of her body leaning on yours is almost pleasant. She must be a lightweight. Like Satoru. You don’t mind it. It reminds you of the time you had had to drag Satoru to his room after he mistook Shoko’s flask of alcohol for apple juice. Outside, a sleek black car awaits.

“Meiko,” you say, “would you like to stay at my apartment tonight?”

Her voice is small as she hides her face in the crook of your neck. Your heart nervously starts in your chest. “...Do you mind?”

You manage a smile. “Not at all.”

The driver (the same driver from before you recognize), a kind looking middle aged man, takes Meiko as you thank the waitress. When the two of you are seated, Meiko slurs to him that she’ll be following you home tonight. You tell him your address.

When you arrive, the driver does a double take at your apartment building. Meiko sobers up enough to be able to walk up the three flights of stairs to your apartment by herself so she shoos the driver away as you promise to take care of her.

“Go,” you call as you open the door. “I’m home.”

Go is seated in front of the door, above the platform of the genkan, as if he’s been waiting for you, tail excitedly flicking from side to side on the floor as he regards you.

“Wow,” Meiko says. “That’s a beautiful cat.”

Pride blooms in your chest at her words. Go’s grown big enough to nearly encompass the length of your arms. You wonder if he’ll ever stop growing, but you don’t mind. More of him to hug and pet. You love him regardless. 

After taking off her heels, Meiko clambers to her knees and immediately starts petting Go. You can hear Go’s pleased purr as Meiko showers him with bellyrubs. 

When she finally pulls away, you lead her through the living room and then into your room, Go following beside your ankles. 

“You can take my bed.” Meiko opens her mouth to argue. “I insist.” You’re no stranger to sleeping on the couch anyway. And having Go next to you made things substantially better. You leave to the kitchen to get her a glass of water.

Clutching a tall glass of water, you return to your room to see the top dresser of your drawer opened, and a white envelope in Meiko’s hand.

“O-oh,” you say quickly, placing the glass of water down on your desk. “That’s…”

“Did you write all of these?” Meiko places the envelope back down at the top of the stack in your drawer. You had momentarily moved the letters there until you could finish Satoru’s latest one to ensure all the postage was up to date. His birthday was coming soon after all. But you couldn’t risk the letters being seen by any of the recipients. Your letters weren’t meant for them—not as long as you were alive.

With Satoru's tendency to snoop through your things, their usual home was in a shoebox inside a bigger storage container underneath your bed, covered with spare blankets. You hadn’t been expecting visitors.

Meiko gestures to three stacks of letters, each stack addressed to a different person.

“Three every year,” you reply, with a small smile, closing the drawer. She must have seen Satoru’s name written on the envelope. You’re relieved when she doesn’t say anything else, only gazing at the picture frames on top of your dresser. 

“Your apartment,” her voice is quiet, “is very empty.”

“I’m not good at decorating. I’ve never had a lot of things.”

“The unsentimental type, huh.”

Meiko raises her hand, as if to examine the picture of Shoko on your desk, but then drops it. You open the covers for her. It’s easy to see how tired she is, the darkness of the night casting shadows on her face that make her expression muted. You should let her get rest.

Slowly, she gets into your bed.

“I wanted to enroll into jujustu high,” her voice is barely a whisper, covers pulled to her chin. “My father said my cursed technique wouldn’t amount to much as a jujutsu sorcerer. That I’d be killed on my first mission. I wanted—” her voice warbles, and you worry she might cry. “I could’ve been an auxiliary manager.”

Hesitantly, you reach out and pat her hair. You like it when Shoko pats your hair.

She blinks slowly, before her eyes close. A few seconds later, Meiko is peacefully sleeping in your bed. You exhale, relieved that sleep had come to her easily.

Freedom. It’s easy to take it for granted. Despite everything in your life, at least you had that. You could quit being a jujutsu sorcerer, move to the mountains unaccounted for, and live the rest of your life surrounded by rocks. There would be no great impact on jujutsu society. You’d be a fading memory at best.

You’re still thinking about it when, settled on the couch, with Go in your lap as you brush his fur, someone knocks on your door.

At this hour?

You set Go and the brush down, walking over to the genkan. You open the door.

A tall, slightly disheveled man greets you. From what you can make out in the sparse light coming from the small lamp of your living room, he’s nicely dressed, in an expensive looking suit, but his tie is loose around his neck in a way that reminds you of drunk businessmen splayed out in the streets awaiting the trains to open.

“Is Ikeda-san inside?” He asks sharply. You try to make out his face, but the darkness encroaches on his face, creating shadows. Your eyesight is going bad. Too many late nights in the archives. 

“She’s sleeping—”

You immediately move to block him from coming in when he takes a step forward. Go hisses from in between your ankles.

“I’m her husband,” he says, in a tone that leaves little room for argument. “I’m here to retrieve my wife.” After a slight pause, as if remembering to be courteous, he dips his head. “Thank you for taking care of her.”

“Of course.” You meet his gaze. “Though I don’t think it’s wise to move her now. Like I said before, she’s sleeping.” You don’t share that she had been drinking.

You think you imagine the flicker of displeasure on his face, but then his face is smoothly dispassionate. “It’s only proper that she should rest at home.”

You don’t move.

“If I’m being honest, I don’t feel comfortable letting her go home with you.” Not in her current condition.

“Forgive me,” he says. “But my relationship with Ikeda-san doesn’t pertain to you. It’s a separate matter altogether. I simply want her to rest at home.” In other words: it’s none of your business.

A politician through and through, you think. Despite the fact that this straitlaced man seems to be the very opposite of smiles and fake goodwill. 

It’s not. Your business. But you don’t think you can let her go home, not in good conscience. You wonder if this means making enemies with the future prime minister of Japan. Well, there wasn’t much he could do even if he wanted to retaliate.

“I’m sorry,” you say firmly. “I’ll take care of Ikeda-san until the morning. I may not look like it but I’m also a jujutsu sorcerer. A Grade One. I’m more than capable of watching over her.”

You leave out the part where your own missions have been on the backburner as of late. You’re sure Yaga-sensei is being considerate after what happened in Nagoya. You mentally thank Satoru and Suguru for all their hard work. 

Surprise on his face. “You’re a jujutsu sorcerer?”

Y-yes… “I am.” 

His fingers curl, unhappy. You can tell he’s hesitant. You understand it, but you already decided you wouldn’t let Meiko go home. It’s not something you’ll budge on. You’ll stand your ground.

“Then I leave her in your care,” he says curtly, straightening. He bows his head and you bow back. Then he’s gone, leaving you wondering if you imagined the entire interaction. You stare at your empty doorway until Go meows.

You close the door and sigh, sitting down on the elevated floor connected to the genkan as you scratch Go’s ear.

“Do you think the future prime minister of Japan hates me?”

He bumps his head into your thigh. You sigh again, picking him up as you stand. Like he said, it’s beyond you to assume their relationship, a nobody like you. Go immediately rolls onto his back in your arms, paws kicking up, nuzzling into you.

At least Go would never hate you.

You tread back to the couch, and put on a documentary about African meerkats. Go doesn’t take his eyes off the screen, entranced by the slim animals and their dietary habits. You eventually doze off.

—

You wake up to the sound of eggs sizzling and the smell of breakfast. You blink, cold winter sunlight streaming in through the window. You sit up.

“Good morning,” Meiko says. “I’m making breakfast.”

You look at her.

She snorts. “What, did you think a rich girl like me couldn’t cook? I lived by myself in college, you know. No servants at all.” Meiko must mistake your blank eyed stare for something more because she hastily says, “O-on the weekdays anyway.”

You didn’t know you had food in your fridge.

“I went to the grocery store around the block,” she says, answering your unspoken question. “What do you live on? All you had was cat food in the fridge!” She opens a cabinet and points. “And this huge jar of sugar!”

“Satoru’s,” you answer. Meiko looks even more confused.

You yawn. Go is already awake on your lap, awaiting his breakfast no doubt. “There were some eggs…” Leftovers from the groceries Shoko had bought you a week prior. 

“I can’t believe you…” She shakes her head, muttering something along the lines of ‘hopeless,’ before shooing you into the bathroom to wash.

After a quick stop to the bathroom, you feed Go and take a seat. Meiko puts a plate of eggs, bacon and sausage, and buttered toast in front of you.

“You didn’t have to.” You stare at the food. When was the last time you had breakfast in your apartment out of ingredients that had been bought? 

“It’s the least I could do,” she sounds exasperated. “I can’t believe you let me take your bed!”

You feed Go a leftover piece of raw bacon which he gratefully accepts, nudging into your hand. “As long as you were comfortable.”

She huffs, and you thank her for the meal. The two of you eat in brief silence.

“Have you ever wondered what you’d be if you weren't a jujutsu sorcerer?” Meiko asks suddenly, spearing a sausage with her fork. “Like if you had never known curses existed.”

You wonder where this is coming from.

“Not really,” you admit slowly, staring at your plate of food. “It’s not like it would have ever made a difference. It was also highly probable I’d be killed during a mission anyway.” No need to think about the possibilities, no point in contemplating the path of your life unless you were debating the merits of suicide.

“Oh. That’s morbid.” Then she says, “Do you still think that?”

You think about your last missions, and the last time you had a close call with death. It could be tomorrow, it could be next year. You suppose that’s always been the inevitable reality for you. Who would you be if not a jujutsu sorcerer? You had little to no experience of life outside the world of jujustu sorcery. No other friends. No family. “I do. I don’t even know if I’ll survive to the next year,” you say plainly.

“What if you do survive?” She presses. “What if you don’t die? Next year, the year after the next…What would retirement look like for you?”

You consider it. It’s a difficult question. It must show on your face because Meiko laughs as if she’s torn whether to be amused or sympathetic. “Is it really that hard?”

“I would move somewhere peaceful,” you say slowly. “The countryside. Maybe somewhere along the coast, near the beach.” You’d like that. Somewhere aligned with nature. Somewhere where you could watch the sunrise and the sunset. Somewhere, where the stars are visible.

“By yourself?”

“By myself.” You would live in solitude, once again, content knowing Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko were living happily. Nobody would ever hurt you again. Go headbutts your ankle. Your lips curl, leaning down to pet him. “With Go,” you correct. No, you wouldn’t be entirely alone.

“And then?”

“Die.”

Meiko makes a face.

It wouldn’t be bad, you think. It’s all you can ask for out of life, if any higher existence is merciful enough to grant it. A peaceful death. 

Meiko gawks at you. When she finally regains her words, she says, “Either you live as a jujutsu sorcerer or you die?”

You nod.

She opens her mouth. Then closes it. She sighs. “You’re so morbid.”

–

There are flowers on your desk. They’re lovely, a bouquet of a colorful array of flowers, some of which you recognize as japanese iris’, peonies, and wisteria. 

You examine them, fingering their delicate petals, running your hands through them to try to find a card. You think it had accidentally been delivered to the library by mistake. You don’t know who would send you flowers. 

There’s no identifying information on them, so you gingerly pick up the bouquet and walk out the library, all the way to Shoko’s office on the third floor of jujutsu high’s main building.

She raises an eye at the bundle in your arms when you knock and open the door.

“I’m glad I caught you before you went on break,” you say. “I found these flowers in the library, and I thought they’d brighten up your office.” You wrap your hands around the stems of the carefully trimmed flowers, and feel the thrum of your cursed energy imbue the flowers.

You place the bouquet down on the closest cabinet to you. As long as nobody intentionally destroyed them, they’d stay beautiful forever. “I’ll find you a vase.”

She swivels in her chair to face you, scrutinizing the flowers. “Are you sure? Those look like serious money.”

You play with a petal. “I think they were delivered to the library by mistake, but I can’t find a card.”

A knowing smile plays on her lips. “Men give women flowers when they want to apologize. Any groveling men in mind?”

You look at her. “No.”

She huffs a breath of laughter. “I’ll take them,” she says airily. She stands. “Are you going to join me on my break?”

You give her an apologetic look. “Paperwork.”

She narrows her eyes. “Fine, fine, but you owe me some of your time this weekend. It’s been a while since we went shopping.”

Shopping with Shoko always meant a good time. You’re looking forward to the weekend already. You wave her off, and back to the library you go. Just as you step into the gardens leading to the library, you hear a voice call your name.

“How’s your cat?” Hideo asks in greeting, jogging up to your side. “Have you named him?”

“Hello.” You smile. “His name is Go, and he’s very big.”

“Go…” Hideo’s eyebrows momentarily draw together, understanding dawning on his face. “I’m guessing it’s not because five is your lucky number, huh.”

You laugh. “He looks just like Satoru.” You adore him. 

The two of you continue to the library. 

“Has Go met his namesake yet?”

“Not...” Your smile slips, thinking of your last encounter with Satoru and Suguru. “Yet.”

“Well, all in good time, I suppose,” Hideo says easily, after a beat of contemplative silence. 

You think about the flowers in Shoko’s office, and what type of vase they would look best in. Maybe Meiko would know. “There were flowers in the library.”

Hideo grins, amused. “A secret admirer?”

You blink. “I don’t think so.” A secret admirer? You? “I’m sure it was a mistake. I gave them to Shoko to brighten up her office.”

A wince crosses his face. It melts into a chuckle. You look at him curiously.

“You’re just a normal girl, huh?”

He grins, eyes bright, fond with a familiarity you still aren’t used to, but for some reason the comment makes your chest ache. 

Normal. 

You must be making a face because he straightens, mostly sobering. “Ah…how do I put this,” he scratches the underside of his chin. “When we were younger you always seemed…older. Somehow. It’s easy to lose sight of what’s normal in this world. I guess talking about love and secret admirers just reminded me…”

You tilt your head. 

He clears his throat. “I prefer the person you are right now though,” he says easily. “You smile now” —like a normal girl— “and get sent flowers from a secret admirer” —like a normal girl—

You stare at him. Then lower your gaze to your feet. “Is that…bad?” You wonder if he’s making fun of you. You don’t think those flowers were intended for you.

Nobody has ever called you normal. If anything, you were abnormal. If you were a normal girl, maybe you’d be married like that woman you saw months ago. If you were a normal girl, maybe everything would be better.

If you were a normal girl would you be happier? Would things make more sense? You can’t imagine it. First Meiko asks you about a hypothetical future, and now Hideo seems to be under the mistaken impression that you are a normal girl.

It…

You don’t hate it. The thought peeves you more than you thought it would.

Hideo blinks rapidly. “No, of course not!” He frantically waves his hands. “Ignore me! I have a bad habit of running my mouth occasionally!” His gaze turns worried. “I’m sorry—”

“It’s fine,” you respond, meaning it. You smile. “I don’t mind.”

Normal, normal, normal.

Hideo walks you inside the library. Out of the corner of your eye you can see his neck crane to look at the domed skylight in the center of the library, the interest clear on his face. The building is in a unique shape: a heptagon, walls lined with bookshelves that fit the shape of the building. “I didn’t know this building was a library. Cozy.”

“I think they converted it,” you say. You’ve always liked this library, away from the bustle of the campus. Not many people knew about it. You discovered this building your second year of high school, and found a thin layer of dust on all the books and scrolls. It was clear it hadn’t been occupied in a while. It wasn’t until you had stayed inside for a day or two, unaccounted for, reading whatever you could salvage, that Shoko had found you, Satoru and Suguru not too far behind. Yaga thought you had never come back from a previous mission.

Shoko helped you clear the library. Satoru and Suguru carried a desk and chair into the center, right beneath the skylight, and suddenly, it was a study. Yours.

“I like it here,” you say quietly. “It’s peaceful.”

As soon as you finish your sentence, you hear the large wooden double doors open and slam shut as Satoru strides in. You flinch at the noise.

“...?”

Satoru folds his arms as he rests his weight against one of the bookshelves. He doesn’t need to take off his glasses for you to know he’s keenly unhappy in a way that fills up the entire room.

“...”

“...”

“...”

Satoru’s jaw ticks.

You move your gaze to the floor, sensing Hideo looking from you to Satoru curiously. Greater men have scurried away from the palpable tension Satoru has injected into the room, but Hideo seems oblivious to it.

“Guess I should leave the two of you to it,” Hideo finally says. “Sorry for the intrusion!”

You startle, looking up, mouth opening to deny his statement, but Satoru’s flat expression snaps your mouth back shut.

“T-Then I’ll see you…” you say quietly, wanting him to stay, to buffer conversation between you and Satoru anyway. But that would be unfair to Hideo. Satoru and Suguru have vocalized their dislike of him, for what you aren’t sure. You think Hideo is similar to Haibara in temperament, with his winning personality and easy going conversational air, and the two of them seem to get along with Haibara just fine.

He stops. Then turns back. “Next week, right?”

You blink. Next…week…? “Yes…?”

Hideo smiles, as a crease forms between Satoru’s eyebrows. Hideo slightly bows in Satoru’s direction before taking his leave. You hold your breath as the doors close once more, leaving you alone with…

Satoru is in front of you before you can blink, pushing you back into your desk. Your knees slightly buckle. 

“You didn’t want him to leave,” Satoru says, accusatory, pulling his glasses off his face. “You wanted that third rate sorcerer to stay!”

You frown. “That’s rude.”

He ignores you. “Where’s your phone?”

You look at him curiously. Where had you left it again? Satoru opens his mouth, then closes it so quickly you hear the click of his teeth.

“Is…” you sigh. “Is something wrong?” You would rather he just get it over with. Telling you your outburst that day was unwarranted, and that you had been a terrible person and friend and human being in general. He wouldn’t be wrong.

“No,” he says through gritted teeth. “Nothing is wrong.”

Something, you think, is clearly wrong.

Silence.

All you can think of are Meiko’s words. The Gojo elders who traveled from Fukuouka just to convince Satoru to get married, preferably, to Sasaski. They want him to wed a woman of standing and lineage. They want him to have children. Then take a few mistresses, and impregnate them for backup heirs. 

Freedom, you once again think, is immeasurable. You’re sad for Satoru. You want him to be happy. It’s all you’ve ever wanted for him and Suguru and Shoko. It makes you relieved and happy to know Suguru would always be by his side. Any sorrows or joys, would be shared together. 

Satoru exhales roughly. In seconds he goes from bearing down at you, gaze alight, to sinking down to his knees in front of you.

You stare at him, confused.

There’s a loud slap of noise that has your eyes going wide.

When Satoru looks back up at you, his cheeks are stinging red, and handprinted. You reach out immediately, fingertips brushing over the heat of his sculpted face, wondering why he had slapped himself.

“Sato—”

“You know, Suguru and I were idiots.”

Oh. “No,” It wasn’t their fault. It was yours. “I shouldn’t have—”

You’re fully backed into the desk, taking a small seat (there’s nowhere else to move) as Satoru rises, hand closing around your nape. He brings you close and kisses you greedily, a moment’s indulgence, until he draws away, letting you breathe as you wonder what just happened.

“There’s nothing I love more than seeing you think,” he murmurs against your lips, piercing blue gaze never leaving yours for a second, “but right now I need you to stop thinking and listen.”

He sinks back down, expression almost smug when you close your mouth. He takes your hands, thumbs rubbing and pressing down on your knuckles soothingly, if not in an almost agitated manner. You’ve seen him do the same thing to Suguru. You don’t think he’s aware of it.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about it,” he admits, expression unusually forlorn. “I forgot…” he hesitates, dropping that line of thinking altogether. “Suguru and I get carried away when it comes to you.” There’s not a hint of amusement on his face as he squeezes your hands. “We don’t like seeing you cry.”

He says it with such a truthful earnestness that your throat goes tight. He’s still him, you think. That very same long limbed mischievous boy who laughed loudly and smiled broadly and clung a little too hard to your side, as if unaware of his own strength. His arm perpetually slung over Suguru’s shoulder like he was always meant to be there. No matter how far you think Satoru and Suguru are, those are the memories you’ll carry in your heart. Those sun slicked, sepia tinged memories, echoing of laughter. 

Maybe the only person who had changed was you. 

You look down at your entwined fingers.

You, you, you. It’s all you.

You’re a bit embarrassed. You don’t think you cried. Not in front of them at least. You had gone home and locked your door first. I’m sorry too, you want to say, but somehow with Satoru gazing up at you, the words are lodged in your throat. He looks devastatingly sincere. You don’t doubt his words.

“You should forgive us,” Satoru says lightly, almost innocently. Too innocently. That should’ve been more than enough for alarm bells to sound, but you had been preoccupied by Satoru’s show of sincerity.

You blink when his fingers easily wrap around the length of your right ankle. And when he firmly presses your foot to his shoulder, you stare.

You try to drop your foot, move it away, but Satoru’s grip is iron clad. A smile is slowly sneaking onto the corners of Satoru’s lips, making him look more incriminating than anything. You don’t like that look. Not at all.

“Satoru—”

“Would it make you feel better to push me around a little?” He asks breathily, eyes glinting mischievously. “You can kick me if you want, I don’t mind.” His voice lowers. “ Anywhere , really.”

You sweat. Trying to pull your ankle out of his grip isn’t working. 

“I’m sorry too,” you blurt out, unable to comprehend how you ended up with your foot on Satoru’s shoulder while he gives you his consent to kick him. “I forgive you, I forgive you—”

“No needa be shy!” He moves your foot to his chest, pressing it down. “Just give me one good kick—”

You give him a flinty, dead eyed stare. “That’s not funny.”

He returns it with a raised eyebrow. “I’m not laughing.”

“Satoru,” you say weakly.

Finally, he releases your foot, and you are allowed to jerk your leg down. You’re instantly relieved, planting both feet firmly on the ground as you dust away the dirt on his shoulder and chest. He sighs, disappointed in a way that perturbs you.

“You’re so difficult sometimes,” you murmur, considerably warming up to his presence.

“That’s right,” he hums, idly trailing a finger down your clothed leg. “You and Suguru have your hands full, I’m sure.” He peers up at you daringly, looking every bit the petulant boy the Gojo clan had spoiled rotten in their adoration of the first six eyes user in centuries. “I’m worth it though, aren’t I?”

“...”

“...”

“...”

“...”

“Sometimes, I wonder that,” you say, (and mean) seriously.

“I didn’t hear that,” he says pleasantly. 

“...If you say so…”

You think you imagined the twitch of his eyebrow. 

You can’t help but smile. This is how things should be, you think. Now, if you could talk to Suguru, you’re sure you could draw this entire incident to a close. You wouldn’t have to skirt around the two of them with feelings of impending doom clouding your mind. 

“Well,” Satoru says casually. “Now that we’ve gotten all that out of the way, apologies and all,” he promptly gets to his feet, so quickly you blink, gaze following him up. His face transforms into a full blown pout. “You’re a true sadist!”

You gawk at him. So soon after reconciliation!?

Satoru scowls. “Throwing Suguru and I away so quickly?”

“???????”

“Who said you were allowed to see and talk to other men!” He frowns even more vigorously at the confusion on your face. “Don’t act so surprised! Suguru’s been sulking every single day! He’s been downright distressed. The girls think he’s depressed! Again!”

You wince, recognizing the tell tale signs of another common Satoru overblown overreaction. Very high school reminiscent you think.

“S-Satoru…”

Satoru sighs dramatically, glaring at you. “Any day now, he might do something drastic.”

You stare at him.

“That’s why you should never get mad at us ever again,” he finishes succinctly, looking at you expectantly.

You stare at him. 

When it’s clear you have no response, Satoru brushes off the silence so easily you think this is how others can get tripped up at the pace in which he leads. If you weren’t so used to it, you’d be one of them.

Satoru scans the small room. “Where are our flowers?”

“Oh, they were yours?”

Satoru levels you with a flinty gaze that would send others running to the hills. It elicits no strong response from you. His tone is chilly, displeased. “There’s another man sending you flowers?”

You give him an unimpressed look so withering that he clears his throat, almost meekly.

“Suguru’s idea. I picked them.”

“Well, they’re lovely,” a small smile on your lips. “They’re in Shoko’s office.”

“Of course they are,” he sighs, resigned. He regards you silently for a minute. “Did you like them?”

“I did.” You’re unsure where this line of questioning is headed. You slightly tilt your head to the side in a question.

“They were for you,” Satoru says. “I picked them for you.” He takes a step forward until your legs touch. “I wanted you to have them, so why’d ya have to give them away?”

You blink at the hint of roughness that bleeds through Satoru’s fixed (Suguru’s work) pronunciation. In hindsight, if the flowers were for you…it was awfully rude of you to have given them away wasn’t it?

“I…understand. I’m…sorry for giving your flowers away.”

Now he looks peeved. “They weren’t mi…” he groans, looking at you with an exasperated warmth. Then his eyes narrow. “You’re sorry, huh?” 

You don’t…like that look in his eyes.

You don’t have time to respond, because Satoru’s finger comes to rest on the button fastened right below your neck. Uh oh. A sensation familiar to deja-vu suddenly envelopes you. 

You’ve been getting a lot of those lately. 

Your face warms as Satoru’s tongue runs over his bottom lip, playfully. The button comes undone easily. His voice is playful, but his gaze burns. “You can get on your knees—” your shirt is half undone, your black bra peeking out “—or I can get on mine.”

You don’t think he’s intending to give you a choice, because he’s so quickly down on his knees and spreading your legs apart, you��re blinking from the whiplash.

“Wait—!” You put your hands on his shoulders, thanking whatever deity was looking down on you today that you had put on pants instead of whatever easy skirt and sweater outfit you usually chose when sleep riddled in the morning. 

Satoru smiles pleasantly. Too suspiciously well mannered when his fingers are on the zipper of your pants. “Yes?”

“H-how about a kiss instead…?”

You figure it would be easier to untangle yourself from him then…

Satoru’s fingers curl into your thighs, pinning you to the table. You’re surprised to see him seriously consider it. And relieved. His gaze is weighted with all the seriousness of negotiating a crucial deal. “How long?”

Your eyebrows furrow. You’re not sure how long a kiss should be. You hesitantly bring your hands to cup his face and lower your head to gently meet his lips. He’s as still as a statue, except for the sound of his breathing; deep slow breaths that overtake the rise and fall of his chest. His lips are immeasurably soft. A fact that you can only appreciate as time slows.

You take a moment to look at him. In the silence, you can admire the fine lines of his sculpted face and the inviting curve of his lips all within the grasp of your hands. He looks softer like this, happy. It makes you happy. 

Satoru’s eyelashes flicker open, long white lashes framing the blues of the sky trapped in his gaze. You offer him a smile, a small quirk of your lips as you turn a hand over and lightly brush his cheek. You blink, taken aback when Satoru lightly takes your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckle. 

His eyes flash, engulfed by a dark hunger.

You’re flat on your back against the desk, and there’s no time to think before Satoru presses forward, claiming your lips in an open mouthed kiss that steals your breath away. He’s trapped you into the desk, the weight of his body pushing you down. His fingers wind through your hair, cradling the back of your head. 

You can feel his need between your legs, throbbing against you, all harsh panting and heat.

“Satoru,” you mumble the best you can with his lips still eager to meet yours. “We should—”

Your words are smothered when Satoru’s tongue licks into your mouth purposefully. You can tell he’s unhappy to be separated by layers of fabric. Your panties stick to your core, damp, as Satoru begins to lightly rock into you, straining against the material covering your heat. 

“Satoru—”

He moans into your mouth, “Just like that.” 

You snap your mouth shut, but Satoru doesn’t seem to notice as his lips trail across your neck with a single minded purpose. You feel his lips on your shoulder, as they glide across your chest.

Satoru’s lips are on yours again before you can even blink in an open mouthed kiss, tongue thoroughly exploring your mouth. His hands are tight, pressing into your waist, body flush against yours. 

You mentally apologize. Then, you bite him.

Your teeth close over Satoru’s bottom lip. Hard. You almost wince yourself. 

To your horror, Satoru does not release you like you thought he would.

You feel his body shudder to a near tremble, and the sharp exhale-like moan that leaves his lips. His eyes look delighted in their frenzied state. He presses closer to you, erection prominent and twitching, holding you even tighter. Your heart races in your chest as Satoru buries himself into your neck, hips grinding into yours. 

You force your hands out against his chest. “Satoru,” you say tightly. “Someone could come in.”

That gives him pause. He rises, just slightly, enough to look down on you. You must look like a mess. His tongue swipes over the blood on his lips, and then he smiles.

“Oh?”

This is bad.

“I should talk to Suguru first,” you say quickly, avoiding his gaze. “You know…”

There's a brief pause.

“Hm.” He begrudgingly acquiesces, allowing you enough space to rise up. He briefly cups your face, before a hand falls to your neck. A dull ache flares when Satoru’s thumb presses down. You swallow, trying to calm your beating heart, all despite the fact that his hardness is within plain view.

You try not to stare at it as you busy yourself with buttoning your shirt. You can feel him grinning at you.

“And Suguru says I’m the one with no restraint.” Crossing his arms, he bears down at you expectantly. HIs foot taps up and down.

Your nerves are still frayed, electric, but you feel…almost better. Lighter. Despite the unexpected turn your meeting had taken, you’re happy. 

“I love you Satoru,” you say, finishing up your top button. You really do. If he and Suguru and Shoko could be guaranteed happiness for the rest of their lives, you truly would have no problem dying in the next hour.

After straightening out your shirt, you finally look up. Satoru blinks at you, but there’s a flush to his neck, lips warbling.

You haven’t seen Satoru this flustered in ages. You should enjoy it now while it lasts. 

“Where’d that come from?” He manages with a croak. He regains himself, straightening, but there's a pleased glint to his eye. Like a preening cat.

“I just wanted to,” you say happily. “Because I love you.”

You stand, rising on your toes to pat his head. Go likes it when you pet him. Meiko had liked it too.  

Satoru stares at you, but he doesn’t push your hand away. He closes his eyes with an exhale.

“Are we…good?” you drop your hand, much to the disappointment that overtakes Satoru’s face.

“Always,” he confirms, and a part of you thinks he means it.

You smile. Everything’s going to be alright. As long as Satoru can smile at you like that, then things can’t possibly be as bad as you may have envisioned. You hear Meiko’s words once more: The Gojo clan elders and higher ups from Fukuouka are convening in Tokyo to try and convince Gojo to get married. They want him to have children.

It's odd. That such an important thing hadn't reached your ears. According to Meiko, those elders never left Fukuouka. A matter of the upmost importance. Nobody told you about it. Not even Shoko. It's none of your business. That's what you've been telling yourself, despite the disappointment swirling in your gut. You wish they could have confided in you.  

“Do you want children?”

The look of interest on his face quickly fades as his gaze turns discerning. “What brought this on?”

“Nothing,” you say quickly, intuitively deciding that telling Satoru of your excursion with Meiko would be disastrous right now. “Just curious I guess…”

“About how babies are made?” His eyebrows waggle.

“No. I know about that.” Speaking of which. You’d need condoms.

Though you aren’t quite sure how well Satoru would react to you asking him what their to-go brand of condoms are. Maybe you’d ask Suguru instead.

“You weren’t at your place last Sunday,” Satoru says casually.

You blink, caught up in your worries about selecting the wrong condoms. Sunday…that had been…dinner with Meiko. 

“Oh, I was out.”

“Out,” Satoru repeats. “Where?”

“With a…” you mentally apologize for being presumptuous, “friend…”

Satoru frowns. “You don’t have friends.”

Other than me, Suguru, and Shoko.

The unspoken words are pointed. You smile nervously.

You aren’t as popular as Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko. That’s a given. Shoko gets invited to for drinks with the auxiliary managers every other day. Visiting jujutsu sorcerers have been known to ask her out for coffee. You’re sure it’s tripled for Satoru and Suguru.

“There are some…” you clear your throat. “I have friends other than you and Shoko and Suguru.”

Ijichi. Utahime….Hideo. Maybe Meiko.

But to be a friend…they’d have to consider you a friend right? It has to go both ways. You’ve never received verbal confirmation or anything. You shouldn’t have automatically assumed…but Meiko had invited you out hadn’t she? She wanted to see you. To talk to you. There were no ulterior motives. She wanted to get to know you. Isn’t that how friendships start? You don’t even remember how Satoru and you became friends. One day he hated you, and then he didn’t. It’s not that much of a surprise. He’s always been a little capricious at heart like that. Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko had seamlessly blended into your life, like they had always been there. 

Satoru disregards your words. “You don’t need them.”

He doesn’t believe you. Your face warms in embarrassment. Of course he’d think that. You stay silent awkwardly.

Satoru hums. “So Megumi, huh.” He looks amused. “You should’ve just come over to the apartment.”

“R-right…” Sometimes, you truly believed it was easier to let Satoru think what he wanted. It was harmless anyway. So you’d let him.

He gently pulls you up to your feet. “I’ll drive you home.”

“But Suguru…”

“In Yokohama." He picks at something at your shoulder, but his knuckles brush your neck. "He won’t be back until tomorrow. So eager to see him?”

“Yes,” you admit. “I want to see him and I want…to talk to him.” If these past months have taught you anything, it’s that one of the things you miss most of all is talking to Suguru. Suguru is more than an excellent conversationalist, he’s attentive in a way others aren’t. Satoru and Suguru both. They make you feel seen. Satoru, when he looks at you. Suguru, when he listens.

You cherish it. You’ll miss it.

At your response, Satoru groans, falling to his knees once more. You blink at him, wondering what caused the sudden dramatics.

His fingers grip your pants, like a child hiding behind his mother’s dress. 

He looks up at you. You suddenly get the image of a withered man in the desert, dying of thirst, and you already know what he’s going to ask. You step back. His hand falls loosely back to his side.

“No,” you say sternly, in the same manner you tell Go he can’t knock over your vases. 

Then you walk outside.

[cheesecakezyum]

I read your courtship headcanons and they were adorable and it left me wondering something. How do you think our favorite monkey demons would react to the reader petting their fur or tail during their courting attempts?

Petting your monkey?

I’m glad you enjoyed it! I was actually really excited to write this once I got home.

Didn’t think the courting post would receive so much positivity. I’ve been asked to make a Wukong one as well and that’s gonna be fun to do lmao.

Anyways, sure!

─────────────────

─────────────────

Sun Wukong

♡- During his courting attempts, any touches by you are welcomed. He sees it as an invitation to bring you closer and believes you understand what he’s been trying to do in the first place. Winning you over!

♡- But when you weave your fingers through his mane after a long day? It takes him a minute to recognize the all too familiar feeling.

♡- And with his golden eyes glued to yours, boy does he instantly become a mess. The simian doesn’t even care where the two of you are. Standing in the middle of your living room, sitting and watching the sunset on a cliffside— you both are down for the count within mere moments.

♡- He’s always been super comfortable with you, but you wouldn’t even consider it that. He’s really just laying on top of you as if you were a portable bed while you continue to stroke his fur.

♡- Similar to how cats view petting as your own way of grooming them, he sees it similarly. Wukong will literally tell you which spots to rub or scratch, all the meanwhile purring like a literal lawnmower. Dude is 100% shameless about it and I stand by that.

“Hey, peaches. Behind the ears please?”

“Ahh.. that’s the spot.”

♡- His tail would be comfortably swaying side by side as you take the time to grace him with your gentle touch.

♡- It isn’t until you gently glide over his tail do you feel him shudder from on top of you. You swore he sucked in a harsh breathe before he attempts to melt back into your touch.

♡- When you decide go over it a second time out of pure curiosity, he audibly let a low whine escape him before grabbing your wrist with the extra limb. As if doing so could have had you distracted from his little slip up.

♡- When he pulls away just enough for you to see his face, the expression you view speaks wonders. His gaze was not on you for the first time since you initially met up, red lightly dusting his cheeks.

“Oh? What’s up with th—“

You couldn’t finish your sentence before Wukong interrupted you, as if he rushed to prevent your potential tease.

“It’s sensitive.”

“Sensitive?”

“Yeah, sensitive.”

“Does it hurt?” You asked.

He shook his head lightly in response before finally turning to face you. The monkey king held a sheepish grin.

“No— but. Don’t you still want to wait a bit more?”

You could only give a confused look as he slowly made himself comfortable over you once again, acting as if the question hadn’t even existed.

The tail had unwrapped around your wrist after he placed it above his head. You took that as a sign to resume the petting.

You could faintly hear him mumbling something, the rumble in his chest finally resurfacing.

“Never mind.”

♡- It’s not necessarily a bad thing, not at all! Subtle overstimulation, but melts into something sweeter after a bit. It just— made him feeling a bit too pleasant with you for that moment.

♡- The two of you spent the rest of the session with small talk and light banter.

─────────────────

─────────────────

The Six-Eared Macaque

♡- Similar to Wukong, any touches by you any time are calmly welcomed with open arms during his courting attempts. He grants you and only you that special privilege, and has since the two of you became so close.

♡- That doesn’t mean touch isn’t still foreign to him. I mean, Macaque truly doesn’t remember just how long it’s been since he’s ever really warmed up to someone’s affections since— well. You know.

♡- So you stroking his mane oh so out of the blue? He flinches back a bit out of slight surprise.

♡- Although you’ve never really nagged him to explain his inner turmoil— it was rather a sense of patience. Waiting for him to tell you himself, by his own means and nothing but. He appreciated it.

♡- He stares at your hand for a minute before turning back to you. And then leans into your touch, your palm finally making contact with his cheek. Those amber eyes of his were locked onto yours.

♡- It’s a much gentler shift in positions which results in the demon now curled by your side, an arm draped over you as you begin to comb through the fur on his head.

♡- You figured out yourself the specific spots he liked through the slight contortion of his facial features. Or a trailing hum would leave him whenever you rubbed against a specific spot, nudging himself further into your touch.

You finally made your way under his chin, ever so gently scratching the edge of his jaw. All willpower left the six eared demon as a soft purr reverberated through his chest and against you.

“Mmm…I needed this.”

“I know.”

♡- Macaque’s tail would be wrapped around you the entire time, most likely on your thigh. You quickly learned a gentle squeeze meant for you to move to a different spot.

♡- When you finally decide to explore a bit and make your way to the base of his tail, you’re barely able to feel the brush of fur against your fingers before the hand which was once over you gripped your wrist in a gentle manner.

He spoke in a hushed, sultry voice.

“Nuh uh uh. I don’t think you’d wanna try that just yet, plum.”

The face which was buried in the crook of your neck refused to move, but soon after his hold on your wrist had vanished as quick as it came.

The demon would’ve pulled away to look at you, but worried that the red marking along his face wouldn’t have been enough to cover his fluster.

“What?”

“Back to business.”

A clawed finger pointed to his head.

He sighed in relief as the motions resurfaced.

♡- The two of you were stuck there for hours.

[no-see-um-incorrect]

Demon baby fever

⚠️Babies⚠️ lack there of being able to conceive child⚠️ slight NSFW because Gavin⚠️

No proofread 



Gavin and Freelancer were at the park waiting for their friends to go on a hike freelancer was feeding breadcrumbs to the birds, and Gavin was standing by a tree, taking a photo. All is well and good until he hears a little voice

“cuse me!” Gavin looks around before looking down. In front of him, there’s a little girl. no older than four. She was wearing a pastel pink dress, covered in flowers with little butterfly clips throughout her dark curls.

“Cuse me!” she repeated.“are you lost? little one” Gavin replied confused but amused at the child’s pronunciation 

“Your verry pwetty!” The little girl bounced on her tiptoes, with a joyful smile. Which made Gavin's heart squeeze.

“Why thank you. You're a little princess peach yourself”

“Tank You sir!” Gavin here’s an older woman’s voice calling “Delaney! You gotta stay by Mama baby!” The little girl looks back at Gavin and waves goodbye before running back to her mom. Gavin looks and sees the little girl's mom sitting on a blanket on the grass with a smaller baby crawling around in front of her.

Ah yes. babies 

One of the most confusing forms of humans.

Gavin stood there and thought about it for a few minutes. he’s seen photos of his friends and even his partner as little squishy babies. and his heart fills up every time. Similar to seeing a puppy, or a kitten.

He and freelancer had babysat for some friends in the past. And every time it was the same feeling. The baby would smile and giggle. and Gavin's heart would squeeze. and his smile would grow. The best example of this feeling would be their empathy demon Bestie Caelum.

Gavin thought about when he would come to visit and how he would ask to do Gavin’s hair. And They would sit in front of the TV and eat snacks until freelancer would come home and see them cuddling passed out on the couch. Or how anytime Caelum would be upset Gavin would give him a big hug and a kiss on the forehead telling him everything was gonna be OK.

He was so occupied with his thoughts he didn’t even realize freelancer was calling him 

“GAVIN!” he snapped out of it and looked to see Freelancer, signaling him over “The boys just got here! You good?” “I’m fine deviant just lost in. Thought is all”

The hike continued. The group was walking  enjoying the scenery. Gavin and Huxley being a little further behind. Huxley was paying close attention to the flowers and the vines. Gavin was simply lost in thought.

“you good Gavin?” Huxley nudged his shoulder as they kept walking “What?. oh. I’m fine just thinking” “about what? If you don’t mind me asking” “……babies” Huxley cocked his head like a confused puppy “Babies? Like human babies?” “Yes. I have been seeing babies and younger kids a lot recently. Freelancer says that that’s common in the spring. but it’s weird” “Weird how?” Gavin hesitates before speaking “Babies are like little confused. Adorable filterless creatures, and every time I see one, it makes my heart squeeze” Huxley thinks for a moment “….. so like baby fever?” Gavin gives him a slightly concerned look “…..what does that mean?” “at least how my moms described it. Baby fever is when you see a really cute baby or really cute baby-related things and it makes you want one. My mom always described it as babies giving your heart a little hug”

Then it clicked.

“I’ll think about that. Thank you” “No problem dude!”

They continued to hike until sundown then they headed back to their cars. After saying goodbye Gavin and freelancer left for home.

The car ride home was silent for about five minutes until 

“freelancer…..I want a baby” Freelancer slowly opens their mouth, letting it hang a gap before speaking “i’msorryWhat?” “you heard me a baby….a mini squishy deviant with horns”

Freelancer sat there completely flabbergasted 

“……how long have you been thinking about this?” “Well, I’ve noticed it for quite a while but didn’t have a name for the feeling until now. I want a baby” freelancer quickly looks down at Gavin's crotch before looking at their own and then looking up at the road

“Gavin…..honey….do you know how mortal babies are conceived?……we can’t….do that…” “Then let’s do it like Huxley’s moms” “baby that takes a lot of time and money and research…and I’m still in school…”

Freelancer catches a quick glance at Gavin’s face. “I…um..hey….I would love to have a family. Especially a family with you so……let’s sleep on it OK” Freelancer puts a hand on Gavin’s thigh and Gavin looks up at them with bright eyes “Let’s give it a week and if you’re still thinking about it… then will do some research for a little further in the future….ok” “You don’t have to say that if you don’t want one deviant” “No Gavin. It’s a really good idea. I just haven’t thought about it much at all..but that’s definitely a conversation that we should have just…..maybe not while I’m driving”

Gavin nodded. And the car ride continued as normal. when they got home and were getting ready for bed the conversation continued.

“so Huxley told you about baby fever?” Gavin laid down and arched his back into a stretch “I thought it was some form of human illness until he explained it” “You know I didn’t even know demons could get baby fever..” “Oh, deviant~ I do remember me saying, in the heat of passion that I wanted to Breed yo-UGH” Before he could finish freelancer shoved a pillow in his face  “That’s enough of that! I have class in the morning!” “Well just know. It was always on the table~” Freelancer turns off the lamp and lays next to him, resting their head on his chest

“good night my love”

“Good night baby”

“also let it be known that we would have the cutest Kids”

“goodnight Gavin.”

————————————————————————

as someone who can’t have children, and has no desire to have a child. This one was not easy to write. so forgive me if it’s dumb.

TAG: @puffin-smoke @froggytimemachineinternet @evansotherthoughts @themeridian

I forgot to tag someone I’m sorry