#crepe reminisces

[monards]

everytime I find out I was a girl’s token wlw situationship I bash my head into the wall out of guilt

[rabbit-harpist]

empanada with her ace bee plushie, watercolor and pen

[misscinnamonroll16]

Some more headcanons

For breakfast, JD is good at eggs, bacon, and sausage, hearty breakfast foods. Bruce is good at sweets, pancakes, crepes and french toast. Clay usually doesn't make breakfast but has gotten cinnamon rolls down to a science. Floyd didn't improve his cooking skills that much over the years, being able to cook a scrambled egg

Floyd, Clay and Branch are one of those people who just have coffee for breakfast (or tea in Floyd's case)

All the brothers are protective of each other but John and Floyd are the worst. JD is most likely to fight someone. Floyd has a sharp wit, turning his silver tongue into a dagger. Clay is also quick witted but will not hesitate to fight someone.

Clay sometimes overworks himself

Bruce and Brandy give Gomez and Morticia vibes but the tropical version

All the bros (besides Branch) know how to play an instrument. Floyd knows guitar, John Dory knows guitar and bass. Clay knows keyboard/piano. And Bruce knows drums

Bruce sometimes plays the bongos for his kids

My personal headcanons about their ages. JD is 38, Bruce is 36, Clay is 33, Floyd is 31 and Branch is 24

John still puts himself between his bros and danger

Despite JD being the oldest, Bruce is the first to go gray. But he embraces it, playing himself off as a silver fox

The band breaking up was inevitable. It was going to happen no matter what, whether it was when Branch was 4 or 15 (random number)

Floyd subconsciously leans against his brothers when they're near. John wraps an arm around him and pulls him closer. Bruce loosely wraps an arm around him. Clay leans back so the two of them are leaning against each other.

Each of the brothers are close in different ways. JD and Bruce are close from being the older ones, talking about how annoying the others are and reminiscing about how little they used to be. Bruce and Clay have a unique dynamic, they're both stuck in the middle and hated how John bosses them around. Clay and Floyd are definitely annoying little brothers, when put together they're all jokes and silliness. Floyd and Branch are close because Floyd took a special interest in Branch, in being a big brother

Floyd leans against people when he's laughing really hard, mostly against Clay (Dan from the ten minute power hour)

Floyd met and performed with Queen Barb. He thinks she doesn't remember him because they were never properly introduced but she does. She remembers him as the most hardcore pop trolls she's ever met

Floyd has a crap ton of stuffed animals on his bed

Branch, like John Dory, sleeps in his underwear

Bruce sleeps naked, unless one of his kids is in bed with them

Clay often falls asleep at his desk

Floyd and John are the creative ones of the family

Floyd is a decent artist

Bruce used to throw food and other things into Clay's hair when he was either sleeping or not paying attention. Clay never did figure it out but John Dory knew and scolded him for it

Although JD is not a dad, he has a dad voice. It was the voice he'd use when telling his brothers to clean up or go to bed. The first time he uses it after the reunite is when he's telling Branch to go bed. But he didn't say Branch directly so the other three think 'oh no, I have to go to bed' bc they immediately fall back into that mentality

[peachsukii]

Bakugo surprises and comforts you while you're grieving. 『 ♡ - k.bakugo x fem!reader 』 tw/cw: depression, grief, brief talks of death ⋆ ˚ʚɞ — This was completely self indulgent as I was reminiscing on an old relative who passed when I was younger. -`✧ katsuki bakugo masterlist 

It had been awhile since you’ve been back to the cemetery. The sky was gloomy, threats of rain hanging in the air as you stood before the grave.

Isn’t it crazy how fast a decade flies by?

You used to visit monthly when you were at UA High, but now that you’ve been out of school for two years, it’s been hard to visit more than a handful of times a year. Normally Izuku would come with you as company and you’d both go get crepes afterward as a pick me up, but his patrol duty as the number eight hero came first. It wasn’t able to be helped, your schedules just never aligned anymore to do the things you used to as best friends. You miss him, but understand he’s got a job to do - just like yourself.

You never really talked much about your relative’s passing and how much it affected you throughout your life. You were too young to understand death back then - the only memory of the funeral in your mind was holding your mom’s hand during the burial. It was raining that day, and coincidentally enough, has rained every time you visit.

Thunder rumbles aggressively through the atmosphere as you’re sitting on the cool cobblestone pathway. That’s your queue to head home before the potential downpour, but today? You don’t budge. Something keeps you here for a bit longer. You close your eyes, taking time to reflect as you hold your hand to the ground. A few drops of rain begin to splash against your cheeks and sprinkle onto your pinned up hair.

A moment or two later, you hear thudding footsteps heading in your direction. It catches your attention and forces you to break your mediative trance.

“Kat?” You ask quietly, confused as you see Katsuki walking toward you. He’s got an umbrella in one hand and a few roses in the other.

“You’re gonna catch a damn cold if you stay here in the storm,” he says as he approaches you. He notices your perplexed reaction, assuming you’re surprised to see him here.

“Izuku called me earlier and mentioned he couldn’t make it. I didn’t want ya to be alone.”

Katsuki places the roses on the gravestone, turning to you and offering a hand to help you up. You take his hand, rising to your feet as he shifts beside you, holding the umbrella to shield you both from the oncoming storm.

“That’s sweet of you. I can pay you back for the flowers -”

“Fuck no, they’re a gift, idiot.”

“Thanks, Katsuki. I appreciate it more than you know.” You smile at him, masking the hurt in your eyes. You didn’t want him to see you upset.

“Don’t mention it. Whenever you’re ready, no rush.”

You know he hates the rain with a passion and he’s never come here with you before. He knew about it, but never pushed you to talk about it with him. The fact he’s standing here with you, in the rain? That spoke volumes.

Katsuki grabs your hand gently, startling you at the sudden touch. His fingers interlace with yours gracefully, palm warming the rest of your chilled hand. It fills you with a sense of comfort that he seemed to know, every time, how to provide for you. No words, just a silent understanding.

The rain begins to pick up into a steady shower as your shoulders deflate, a sigh escaping you.

“Alright, we can go. I don’t wanna keep you out in the rain.”

Katsuki nods, removing his hand from yours and slinging his arm around your shoulder. He tugs you closer to make sure you’re fully covered by the umbrella.

“Which crepe place do y’wanna go to?” He asks, tilting his head in your direction as you two start walking back to the cemetery entrance.

You laugh. “You’re out in the rain and willing to stomach a sugar-packed snack? You must be sick.”

He rolls his eyes and bumps you playfully with his hip. “Makin’ an exception today. Whatever y’want. And don’t even bother fightin’ me over it, I’ll take the money right outta your hand before you can pay.”

“Okay, okay. But you gotta get the same thing I do!” You wink, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“Hell no! You always get the sickly sweet shit.”

The two of you walk together to the nearest cafe, in the middle of a downpour, to share some crepes and coffee on this dreary day. You don’t end up leaving for quite some time, catching up over things you’d both missed with one another. It’s like no time had passed at all as you talked for hours.

Katsuki always knew how to make you feel better, he had his own ways to keep your spirits up. Whether it be holding your hand for support or buying you 3 crepes until you’re complaining about feeling sick, he’d do anything to see your smile.

[ruershrimo]

take me back (take me with you) | f. megumi x fem! reader | chapter 8: late

ao3 link for additional author’s notes | playlist | prev | m.list

chapter synopsis:

' “Kugisaki Nobara. Be honoured, boys,” she says, stance confident, “I’m your group’s girl.”

She’s so cool. '

---

You meet the girl of steel, though you've yet to get closer to her. Luckily, you have friends around the corner like Yuuji— and Megumi, too, but it's a little different with him.

word count: ~7k; tws: none for now :)!!

short a/n: hi i’m sorry i was away for so long!! life got a little busy and this chapter took a while to write. I will preface it by saying that this one is quite boring, though, but the chapters to look forward to a bit more are the two next ones!! lots will happen there :). thank you for your patience and i’m so sorry again!

25-6-2018 

By the time you’re back in Jujutsu High’s campus, night time has already shed its shadow against the world, black over Tokyo's fulgid skyscrapers like a veil, the sky devoid of any stars. Tokyo is a metropolis of glittery, coruscant lights that litter the land, with parks and crepe shops and cafes galore. And oh, how you love it every time you come back, from its 90s movie mood to its futuristic innovations. 

Dr Ieiri really had planned everything, as if she’d always expected you to be here: she’d got you a room near her office, even helped to clean some of it up, and promised you that you’d still be merely a room away from the one other female student currently in the school. Once the last first year— a girl— arrived, she’d be staying right next to you. 

“So? How long do you think you’ll be staying?” Dr Ieiri asks, “I know you’re planning on just giving someone something, but you’re going to be here for much longer, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Alright, but I’ll give you a heads up first. Staying here and operating as an actual sorcerer here, or a doctor for sorcerers like me or your father— it’s a far cry from the last time you were there. I won’t force you to help me when I need it, but you’re still going to be demanded of at almost all times, and I know you’d be the type of person to try to save people as much as you can. You have to be ready for that— the strain and all.” 

So she knew what you wanted better than you did. “I am.” You’ll ask that of your father later, to tell Sugisawa Third that you’re transferring to a religious school in Tokyo. They knew too little of you to think of whether you were religious or not anyway. 

“I’ll help you so you can still take things easy, okay?” 

“...okay. Thank you, doctor.” 

26-6-2018 

Dr Ieiri smokes less than you thought. Really, the night that you first met her was the first time she’d smoked again in five years, according to her. She attributed it to nostalgia and reminiscing on old memories before asking you to just go to bed— it was almost two in the morning. But you thought it made sense that the ones who were made to heal were the ones who mourned what was unhealed the most; you weren’t the only one stuck playing long-gone memories like a panoramic film on loop, a permanent backdrop in your mind. 

“You need to get a good night’s rest,” she’d said, but now you’re walking down the desolate hallways again. It’s fine— if there’s one thing about actually going against your parents for the first time instead of solely refuting them verbally in heated, mangled arguments, it’s that it’s insanely liberating. Before this, you’d have never even considered it an option, yet now it suddenly exists— that autonomy; suddenly, there isn’t a need to follow whatever order you’ve been given. And yes, you do respect Dr Ieiri and probably everyone else in your life, but you can choose not to abide by what they tell you just because you don’t want to— you decide it. No justifications, no reasons or polemics. Just pure responsibility and autonomy of yourself. You can’t fathom now, why you’d been scared of it before, or whether you’d even realised you were. It still feels unfamiliar, like a thrill, like adrenaline from treading on a tightrope above pits of deep, all-encompassing water, but in a week or so you’re going to have become used to it. 

From your room, if you walked all the way to the end of the hallway, you’d see the first year boys’ dorms. You don’t take the letter with you— that’s a bridge to either burn or cross another time, when you’re not right about to sleep. 

Careful to make as little sound as possible, you knock the door, hoping he’s awake. 

You hear his groggy steps as he seems to trudge himself along, before the door opens with a creaky whine. “—it’s one in the morning,” he frowns, “What do you want—” 

“Hi, Megumi.” 

He closes the door. You wait outside for a moment. 

Megumi opens the door again. 

“...I should’ve told you I was here, actually,” you say. 

“It’s one in the morning,” he goes, “Why aren’t…” he blinks his eyes awake a little, groaning as he rubs his temples, “Why aren’t you asleep? —no, why are you even here, really…” 

You’re going to regret your replies come morning, probably; they’ll sound stupid by then. Maybe it’s the sleep deprivation, but that doesn’t really bother you. “I’m sorry. It’s just, um, I actually wanted to give you something, I mean— I’ll give it to you tomorrow or one of these days, but I was just bored. I just got here, and I’m just going to help Dr Ieiri with some things, um. …sorry, did I wake you? You should rest, actually, it helps your injuries heal faster; sorry for waking you—” 

“—no, not… not really. Don’t worry about that,” he states, “But you should still go to sleep anyway. It’s late.” 

“I can’t sleep.” 

He opens the door and heads inside. An invitation for you to enter, it seems, because he turns and waits for you, the door ajar as you hesitate in front of it. 

You come in. 

His dorm room seems quite similar to the one in his old home, actually, the only difference being how his room now is only just a little larger than the one you were in at fourteen. (You wonder what happened to it, whether Tsumiki still lies on her bed with her phone for a maximum of five minutes at the same time every day.) The two of you sit on the foot of the bed, the lack of light unquestioned. Just like things were two years ago. With the lights outside his window, the bustling city still abuzz with their izakayas and night clubs, your eyes can trace over an outline of his sharp face and spiky hair.  

“How long will you be staying?” 

“Quite a while, I think.” 

“...which is?” 

“Probably more than a week.” 

“Wh— then what about school?” 

“Oh, I kind of, um… threw it away. I don’t know, um. My parents knew I’d be here for a long time. I think I’m just going to transfer here. I’ll leave it all behind that way.” 

He sighs, “I know, but that… that just sounds like a thoughtless decision.” 

“The only part of it that I put thought into was whether I’d run away and live or stay and rot there. So when Dr Ieiri gave me a chance I just took it. And I’ll keep taking what she gives me. If not, then… I’ll be stuck dwelling on it for the rest of my life, I think.” For so long, you’d been trying not to do so; to not take that life-determining chance, to decide to dwell yearningly instead of live, and to appease your parents so at least your mother would have that sliver of assurance, but not anymore. They wouldn’t be in your life forever. 

“So you’re doing this just so you won’t live a life of regret? You’re doing this just for yourself?” 

“It’s the same thing as doing this so that I can help people. It’s two sides of the same coin. Not everyone has what I do.” 

“You sound like Itadori,” he says. The way he does so makes your chest ache slightly and you don’t know why. But nobody is as selfless or as much of an unstoppable force as Yuuji is. Nobody, ever. You turn your eyes away from him even if he can’t see you do so in the dark. 

“But Yuuji takes that to the extreme, I’m…pretty sure. I’m just trying to do what I can because I can.” 

You move your right hand to the side, fiddling with yourself, empty hands trying to find something to do. It bumps into something— something warm and soft. Skin. 

With imaginary chills running along your body, you feel Megumi’s left pinky finger loop itself around yours. He clears his throat, breaking the silence, and you look at him again, at the vague shadow before you. “—that’s…that’s my hand.” 

“Oh. Ah, okay,” you say. It feels right this way— comfortable, nervous, jumbled, calm— 

Your hands move slowly, your fingers trying to steady it like steering around an old, shaky wooden boat with only a paddle, set and ready to embark on a journey. Quivering, you pull your right pinky finger away before your hand is fully enveloped under the hold of his. The heat from his palm on the back of your hand transfers itself right to your face and neck. It’s summer, but it feels cold and hot in the best way possible. “Do… do you want me to let go? Do you want me to stop?” 

“...no. I don’t think so. Do you?” 

“No. I want to stay.” 

“Okay. Me too.” 

He does. 

In the silence you sit up, biting your bottom lip, your nerves like jelly and your brain probably fried if not for the lack of sleep. For a moment you decide to look at him, and you see him swifty turn his head away from you as soon as you do so. 

(—so he’d been looking at you?) 

What wakes you up is the sunrise, an early morning. It’s been embedded into your brain to wake up at seven sharp no matter how late you slept. 

He’s sleeping, his face down, water in his eyelashes— you suppose that’s why he has such crystalline eyes, viridian ones that remind you of summer and life and protection. Jade and grass. Shifting into rather uncomfortable positions so as to not wake him, you pull yourself away. 

His hand still remains snug over yours. 

‘Just friends’ don’t do things like this, you think. But at the same time, ‘just friends’ don’t fight curses or heal those who do so, and ‘just friends’ don’t have a third person they had better relationships with before they broke apart while constantly thinking of each other and decided to at the very least become active figures in each others’ lives again. 

This is scary, moving all too quickly. You’re being grabbed by the waist and thrust into a paraglider; you’re flying in the vast expanse of a boundless, unnavigable sky, manning a paramotor with no previous warning or idea of how to do so. 

But he's very beautiful like this. Hair so black it’s blue, eyelashes woven of silk, a jaw so sharp yet so smooth. The sun greeting the sky as it ejects itself from the inky-hued horizon. You don’t know if there’s a creator, or if there’s a god— you’ve heard of Christianity and many other kinds of faith, though you’d never really dabbled in any of them. But you’d definitely thank someone like that, because scenes like these are proof that someone like that exists, and that that someone is an artist, a masterful artist. So he must have created you and given you an apt appreciation for beauty and art, too, as well as someone like Megumi who was beauty and art. 

‘Just friends’ don’t think like that. 

But you still will anyway. You can allow yourself that. 

He makes a tired little noise as he wakes up, taking in a deep inhale. “...did we really—” 

“Yeah. Um. —wait! I should, um, probably brush my teeth first, my breath probably smells horrible right now, sorry—” 

“Oh. No, it’s fine, I should too—” 

“Yeah, I think I’ll go back to my room too; I don’t want doctor suspecting anything, ah—” 

“Oh— okay,” he releases his hand. 

It’s strange to have things like these— little snippets and moments that remind you to just have fun and be a kid. For years— maybe your whole adolescent experience so far— every day hailed with it a new matter to tend to and worry about, and every day you subconsciously wondered if you were wasting your life away, doing nothing but fantasise of a faraway fancy in which you could use the only potential you had for something. 

But who knew that it was so simple, yet so profound: that the excitement and memories that you yearned for could be obtained just from wanting to do so? That if you wanted to do something, you could just up and do it? 

You like it, though. The paralysing, dizzying feeling of it all, breaths caught in your throat and you can’t say anything without stuttering. The last time you’d felt it, it was Yuuji: you’d had yourself emotionally constipated to the point you choked it all up within you, toned things down and muted the intensity of it all before you even felt it. But it was fun then, and now this is much better. It would seem delusional to hope for anything else. There’s not much of a fantasy for you to look to and put yourself into a deluge of daydreams about, but for once you want to feel something without the implications. That must be what being a teenager is like— you’d seen it time and time again in movies, with cliques and girlfriends and gossip sessions, but you’d never had the luxury to have them yourself and be a girl like that. So this must be what it’s like, at least a semblance of it, with its fun and frivolities and feelings straight from familiar flicks. 

Not quite the time to put a name to it just yet, but it’s fun. At least, you can do it a little longer. It feels like a breath of fresh air after chaining yourself down like an anchor to the seabed. 

You rush to the door. “I’ll see you later? For breakfast,” you try to smile as calmly as you can while you turn back to look at him again. 

Thank goodness Dr Ieiri wakes up at eight whenever there isn't much work for her to tend to. 

You set a mission for yourself: hold Megumi’s hand again at least once in your high school career. 

Now that’s how to live without regrets, be a teenager, and have fun. 

Are you being delusional? 

You don’t know what Fushiguro Megumi is to you now, because ‘friend’ doesn’t sum it up well enough, ‘stranger’ doesn’t do the two of you your deserved justice, classmates isn’t the actual term, and ‘boyfriend’ is way too far from the truth. 

So to have dreams like that; thoughts like that, you think as you brush your teeth, you’re probably making a fool of yourself again. 

There’s something going on here and you don’t know what it is. And even if you’d told yourself you were fine with it, you don’t know how long everything else will be. 

It makes you feel like an idiot. 

But in your head you're filled with thoughts and, for a lack of a better term, hindrances. Did he sleep well? Do friends do that? Or was it just the two of you who’d do that? Was there even any meaning behind it all, any implications on your relationship due to this? This way you’d drive yourself insane before you could even get to breakfast. 

Did he like it, though? Could he have liked it, the sight of you sleeping next to him? Of vulnerability? No, he couldn’t, right? Yet, if he did, then—

You needed to calm down. 

(What about the letter?)

Maybe this was adrenaline: you’d run and take a few bites of breakfast before anyone else did, heading back to your room after you had done so. This way, nobody would see you. (You weren’t calm enough to do this, what made you think, in your sleep-deprived mind, that you’d be mature enough to handle this the next morning?) 

Just as you’re planning strategies to spend the whole day holed up in your room and avoid contact with anyone for it all, there’s a knock on your door. 

“Took so much to talk to the dad alone—” he says, his voice muffled as he speaks to someone else, “I could never stand that old geezer! If he’s like that I’m glad I never had to know how much worse his wife is.” 

It’s Gojo, you can tell. There’s a slight mocking tone in the way he does everything, in the way he says and laughs about the most out-of-pocket shit ever— this is one of those times, because you can almost hear what you think is a feral maniac with the voice of an idol laughing like a loon as he bangs against your door as if he’s trying to kill it. 

“You probably shouldn’t hit it so hard.” Dr Ieiri’s voice. 

You open the door. “Yes?” 

“He’s saying that you should come as backup, and I thought it would help you be put on the spot. It’ll teach you how to operate with clarity as you work,” Dr Ieiri explains. 

“Besides, you won’t even need to help that much. It’s just that this way, you’ll be able to do so if it’s needed while we’re here to guide you. Think of a baby taking its first steps with the help of its parents. If it gets dangerous for them, I’ll step in and you can heal them, but if you can’t heal them enough, we’ll just bring them back to Shoko,” Gojo cheerfully adds. Dr Ieiri nods along with him. 

“Ah… okay.” Your first “actual” lesson as an “apprentice”, then. 

“But first, you should change,” Gojo tells you, handing you a set of clothes, “Here. It’s a spare standard uniform that we keep for special cases. Now you can match with Megumi!” 

Your eyes widen, unsure of whether to laugh nervously or slap him or dash in the opposite direction— shawty a runner, she a track star.  

“I’m so sorry that he’s like this,” Dr Ieiri goes. Joking or not, she’s right. You’re sorry she’s dealt with him for so long, too. 

“...thanks.” 

“Don’t bully my student, Satoru,” Dr Ieiri orders, and you kind of like the sound of your new title. 

You wonder how Gojo got used to teleporting with his cursed technique, but you suppose that it comes with the innate ability to switch from one scene to another so rapidly without feeling at least a little sick— like how the shift from the quiet of the dormitories to the bustle outside of Harajuku has you feeling right now. The brightness of the summer sunlight feels like an intrusion as Gojo sets you down and you open your eyes again. 

“Wow.” 

“Oh, it’s [Name]!” 

Megumi looks away. He’s probably embarrassed to hell and back right now— angry at you, even, maybe. You weren’t sure anymore; you couldn’t even think. You try to let the heat rising up to your face subside without fanning it, steadying yourself beside Gojo, swearing that you’d like to be invisible just this once. 

“Sorry for the wait! I had to take up a call. I brought [Name] over here for backup too to get a grasp of the on-field experience.” Gojo says, waving at them, “Oh! Your uniform made it in time.” 

“Yeah! It fits great! Though I noticed it’s slightly different from Fushiguro’s. Mine has got a hood.”

It does fit him, you think, as you look at Yuuji. It looks better on him than it did when he sent you pictures of it over text. It’s easier to look at him now than Megumi. 

“That’s because the uniforms can be customised upon request.”

“Huh?” Yuuji tilts his head to the side, “But I never put in any requests.” 

“You’re right!” Gojo smiles, “I was the one who put in the custom order.” 

“Huh… oh. Well, cool!” 

“Be careful,” Megumi goes, “Gojo has a habit of doing that kind of stuff. So why are we meeting up here in Harajuku?” 

“Because,” Gojo clarifies, “That’s what she asked for.” 

“Oh!” Yuuji starts as the four of you walk out of the station, “You’re wearing the uniform too, [Name]. Looking good!” 

“Really? Thanks. I mean, I like the skirt. The uniform makes me feel like a fancy princess in a fancy school or something, but the skirt looks a little like it belongs to an elegant office lady.” 

“Uh, yeah,” Megumi follows, “You… look good. In the uniform, I mean.” 

You force out a laugh— “Haha, uh… you too. I mean, everyone would look good with these uniforms, right?” Wow… 

“...I guess so,” Megumi replies, looking in the other direction. 

If you see Gojo stifling his laughter in front of you, no you don’t. 

“We- we should get popcorn. I read online that said you could get really tasty popcorn at one of the shops in Takeshita Street.” 

“Yay, popcorn!” Yuuji exclaims, “I want some!” 

“Sure,” Gojo chuckles, “The shop’s pretty near here anyway. This is your guys’ first time in Harajuku, right, [Name] and Yuuji?” 

“Ah… yeah, and now that I think about it, Yuuji had never been out of Sendai until recently, actually. Right?” 

“Yeah, but I thought you’d have been to Harajuku before.” 

“I mean, I used to live in Tokyo, but I didn’t really move around. I think the most famous place I’ve been to is Shinjuku-Gyoen. Really pretty garden…” 

“Oh… then we should go around Tokyo one of these days!” 

“Yeah,” you smile, “We should! But you could spend a whole week exploring and you still wouldn’t see all of it,” you remark, “It’s a good idea, though.” 

“Fushiguro, wanna come along?” 

“Uh, sure…” Megumi goes, avoiding eye contact with you. You do the same. 

“...hey, is everything okay between the two of you? How come you’re so shy with each other all of a sudden?” 

“H-huh? Ah, no, no, it’s okay.” 

“You said ‘no’ twice. You usually only repeat words like that when you’re really worried about something,” Yuuji says. Curse his affinity for knowing you. 

“But it’s fine, though. Don’t worry.” 

“Uh… yeah. What [Name] said.” 

“You sure?” Yuuji asks again, a bit concerned. “Okay, then.” 

The rest of the walk mostly goes in silence— Yuuji excitedly heads for things to buy, from funky accessories to buckets of snacks. By the time it’s over and all of you are near the 400 yen corner, he’s decked out in all the Tokyo tourist gear, there’s popcorn in his hands, and sunglasses with frames spelling out “ROOK” on his face. (Maybe because he’s a rookie?)

There’s a well-dressed girl in front of you— you wonder if it’s her, but she isn’t wearing the uniform, so it probably isn’t— and a man most likely bald and wearing a wig with his black-and-white business suit. “Well, hello, there!” the man says to her, “Are you on the clock right now?” 

“No, not right now,” she replies. 

“That’s great! You see, I’m looking for potential models. That’s what I do! Would you be interested?” 

He’s scouting for models? 

There’s a sliver of hope in you that he looks at you next and asks you that question. You’re sure it isn’t going to happen, but you suppose you would like being told you were pretty by having a job associated with people who were— there was no chance, though. In Tokyo, the vast metropolis that it is, there are so many with better looks; better faces, prettier hair, nicer bodies— or people who dress better, walk more confidently; people who are adequate in all the ways you aren’t. 

The thought slightly shocks you, in reality— you haven’t thought about how you may not be able to compare with others since the time when you really did realise that Yuuji would never like you (not in that way, at least, and it still hurts to think about it). You never thought you’d feel that way again, and you never thought you would have to be surprised by such thoughts that had been brought in by something akin to envy or jealousy. 

“I’m in a hurry right now,” the girl denies. 

At least she probably knows just how beautiful she is. 

“Hey, you!” another girl calls. This one is just as beautiful— prettier than you, with brown (probably dyed) hair, and pretty brown eyes to match. She’s wearing the same uniform as you save for some titivations at the skirt, and she looks way better in it than you do. “What about me?” she asks, pointing at herself, “For that modelling gig. Hey, I’m asking what you think about me.” 

She’s so confident, it’s so cool… 

“Oh, well uh… I’m in a hurry at the moment,” the man says. Little bitch boy. 

“What the hell?” she asks, holding the man by the collar, “Don’t run, come out and say what you think!” 

“Wait, she’s the one we have to go and talk to? This is real embarrassing,” Yuuji says. 

Megumi mutters under his breath, “Yeah? So are you.” 

“I think she’s an icon,” you express. 

Gojo waves at her, amused, “Hey, we’re over here!” 

The girl slams the locker door shut after she places her backpack— a really tiny, cute pink one— into its pit of shopping bags. Probably to buy pretty clothes. She’d look really good in them. 

“Right, so now we have our three students! Oh— [Name] here isn’t really a student, by the way, I’ll explain later,” Gojo informs the pretty girl, “I’d like you to meet—” 

“Kugisaki Nobara. Be honoured, boys,” she says, stance confident, “I’m your group’s girl.” 

She’s so cool.

Oh, she’s judging them, you think as she stares at the boys. 

“I’m Itadori Yuuji. I’m from Sendai!” 

“Fushiguro Megumi.” 

“Ugh,” she lets out, “This is what I get to work with? Great, just my luck.” 

“She took one look and sighed— that can’t be good,” Yuuji says. 

“Are we going somewhere from here?” Megumi asks. 

“Well, we do have all three—” 

“All four—” Megumi interjects. 

“Ack— no, no, Megumi, I’m not a student, hold on—” You don’t want to be something other than a ghost, not right now, because then you’ll have to deal with whatever you’ve done in the last twenty-four hours that you’d rather beat around the bush and eventually forget about than anything. 

“Okay, we do have all four of you together, and since three of you kids are from the countryside, that means…” he pauses for effect— were you really “from” the countryside, though, if you’d moved around so much that you had no sure idea where your roots were? “...we’re going to Tokyo!” 

You and Megumi watch as Kugisaki and Yuuji chant the city name over and over in unison before arguing over where to head to. But this is Gojo— so there may be a catch somewhere that you just haven’t found yet. 

Megumi looks as annoyed as ever, much like the expression his younger self used to have when his eyebrows crinkled in exasperation from your antics. 

“If you quiet down, I’ll announce our destination,” Gojo begins, and the newly formed pair quiet down, “Roppongi!” 

It’s probably just something like an abandoned building in Roppongi, not Roppongi in all of its glamour itself. 

It’s an abandoned building in Roppongi. 

Gojo explains the situation after Kugisaki and Yuuji’s outrage— “There’s a big cemetery nearby. That, plus an abandoned building, and you’ve got a curse.” 

Kugisaki stops her raging when she finds out that Yuuji is still learning about how curses are formed. “Wait, hold up here. He didn’t even know that yet?” 

“To be honest…” Megumi starts to explain. 

She looks horrified after. 

(If you could, though, if you were anything other than a ghost right now— you’d tell her of how selfless and brave Yuuji is, of how incredible he is that he stopped at nothing to help his friends. You’d tell her that this was what made liking him as easy as breathing air.) 

Before the two of them head into the building, Gojo hands Yuuji a cursed tool— you’d never actually seen one before. You wonder if he’ll be able to wield it well enough: you know he has it covered, but you’re still worried about him anyway. (You always are.) 

And he gives Yuuji a challenge, too, though it’s more like an ultimatum. “Don’t let Sukuna out, okay?” 

Soon the three of you sit down near the building— there’s a block of concrete that you wonder why it was placed there for, and Gojo gestures for Megumi and you to sit down there. 

“Hey, you should be sitting here. I’m fine with standing.” 

“Nah, just take a seat. I’ve got to be on standby anyway.” 

“But you’re the teacher. You should get a better seat. And I’m not injured like Megumi, so I’m fine with standing.” 

“Pft,” he snorts, “You think I actually care about that sort of stuff?” 

You pause. “I… guess not. Thank you. Sorry again.” 

Gojo squats down instead, only his feet on the floor. “See? It’s better this way. Just you and Megumi in your own little world—”

“—please stop.” 

Megumi turns away from you again in embarrassment. 

“Anyway…ah, Kugisaki is really pretty,” you state, “And she seems really strong. I’m still worried, though. What if the curse inside is stronger than anticipated…” 

“...I think I’ll go in too,” Megumi says, “Someone needs to keep an eye on Itadori, right?” 

“You should rest and let your injuries heal, though. I mean, I could help you with that, but I’m supposed to wait for their injuries first—” 

“Well, the one we’re testing this time is Nobara,” Gojo highlights, “That Yuuji… he’s got some screws loose: he’s fearless— these things take the form of terrifying creatures who try to kill him, yet the guy has no hesitation at all. And he doesn’t have the familiarity with curses that you have. We’re talking about a boy who used to live a normal high school life. By now you’ve seen plenty of sorcerers and you’ve seen them give up because they couldn’t conquer their fear or disgust, right?” he explains to Megumi. 

He’s right, though. For someone who had no idea what curses were just a bit more than a week ago, it’s amazing how he can acclimatise himself to such a new life so quickly. When you’d first learned about curses and jujutsu sorcerers, the only reason your life stayed that way was because actually becoming a victim of it seemed like merely a faraway hypothetical, something that couldn’t affect you— up until your father revealed his cursed technique and you exorcised that curse in the store a while after. That was when the ghastly figure of reality that was jujutsu society reared its head and pricked you with its cold finger. As happy as you were after you’d exorcised it, you could feel that empty pit forming in your gut— you did it, thank goodness, but what now? And as your heart raced while you helped that lady, you didn’t address it. 

You supposed the benefit of your position was not having to at all. 

“Hasn’t Kugisaki already dealt with curses before, though?” 

“As we know, curses are born from human minds, so their strength in numbers grows in proportion to the population,” Gojo teaches, “Do you think Nobara understands? Tokyo curses are of a different level than those in the countryside.” 

The curse you handled before would be on the weaker side, then. “In what way?” you ask. 

“Their cunning— monsters that have gained wisdom will force cruel choices upon you where the weight of human life hangs in the balance. [Name], when you fought that curse last time, did it seem to be sentient or self-aware?” 

“...I mean, I guess it seemed like it couldn’t really see the other person there. It was just me and the lady who worked there, so… no.” 

“Well, to put it into perspective, [Name], the curse, had it been one from the city instead, could have done something like take the lady hostage to sort of threaten you and keep itself at large. So this test is to see if Nobara is crazy enough.” 

It wouldn’t matter, though— you were the healer, the medic, the doctor. Whatever level of martial prowess you were supposed to have didn’t concern you. 

“And speaking of tests, [Name]…” Gojo begins, “One of these days, you’ll have to get one too. As someone about to take Shoko’s role, this is your first test as a medic— every mission you get sent to will be a test in that aspect. But as a sorcerer…” 

“Hey. I’m not an actual sorcerer, though, remember? And you should speak with Dr Ieiri first if you want me to expel curses like one and all.” 

��Well, I didn’t speak to Dr Ieiri. I spoke to your dear old dad!” 

“What?” 

“Took a lot of convincing, but—”

“He didn’t tell me anything about this. I’m sorry— I know you just treated me well and gave me a better seat, but why didn’t you think to ask me first? It’s not like I ever really wanted to fight, either. And they were on-board with that. It’s just— why would you change that?” 

Megumi sighs exasperatedly, “Seriously, what is this?” 

“Yeah! What is this, Gojo?” 

“Okay, okay: I’ll share a secret with the two of you, then. You’ve always been tied together, so there’s no use in me telling either of you just to not tell the rest. Keep it between yourselves, okay? Think of it as another part of your shared bond,” Gojo says. 

You purse your lip. (Your mother did that a lot. There is nothing you can do that your parents are not entwined in even now; the roots of them have been planted so deeply into your life, ingrained so deeply into your psyche.) “Look, I just want you to answer me, Gojo. Why did you do it?” Why ruin a consensus that took years of compromise and arguments to settle on? 

“...because you can. I mean, it’s your philosophy to be like that, right? If you have the ability to help someone, do it.” 

“I mean, in essence, yeah, but what kind of point are you trying to make here?” 

“That I think with that mindset you’d make a pretty good teacher. You know,” he sighs with a faux furtiveness, “Your father had that same mindset, with his strength and his intelligence and his kindness, and he was one of the best teachers you could ever have. He wasn’t an actual teacher, but… he was the kind of geezer who people thought were wise and would seek guidance from. A great guy, actually. But to cut to the chase, what I’m saying is that I want you to be a sorcerer who knows how to fight, too, instead of just the doctor in the corner that you believe will be the peak of your potential. I think you can do better.” 

“So? I mean, as bad as it sounds, I don’t want to.” 

“That’s why I just want you to try. I want you to have that test and become an actual student here. Shoko doesn’t mind you not becoming one because she thinks they won’t send you on missions if you’re considered ‘too valuable’ by the higher-ups. But I want you to become my student— I’ll give you time to think about it, but look at this way: you have abilities that exceed what you think of yourself— imagine how it sounded to other sorcerers when they heard of you back then, a thirteen-year-old with a late-blooming cursed technique grasping control of it instantly and defeating a grade two curse, even healing the person left behind. Face it: you’re technically a prodigy. The only thing that separates you from others like you is your humanity that troubles you with a reluctance to believe you can actually do anything.” 

Harsh. “...I’ll think about it. But why spring it up on me now?” 

“Maybe you know too little. O-kay, children, listen carefully. Little [Name]’s father would be a relatively famous sorcerer just because of his partial position as a healer, right? For all your life, you were sheltered and protected by your parents who never wanted you to enter into the jujutsu world. I even spoke to your mother herself, remember? Told her that you’d probably be a window but that you could still use cursed energy. You hadn’t shown signs of a cursed technique yet, but we hadn’t considered that it was because prior to that you never had to use it— the countryside areas you grew up in were practically devoid of any curses that your mother and father wouldn’t have already killed themselves. So, with your father’s quote-en-quote ‘fame’, what makes you think that people wouldn’t have wanted you as a jujutsu sorcerer from the start?” 

Just like that the worlds in your head have had worlds of meanings added to them. 

“So? What do you think, [Name]?” 

You turn to Megumi. When you’re backed out into a corner, your eyes scrambling for a place to put them, you turn to Megumi. 

His hand moves hesitantly to your shoulder, ghosting over it like a teapot over a china cup. “...whatever it is, you’ll do well. Gojo just likes to pull stuff like this.” 

It feels warm. You won’t be in trouble if you don’t run away from this. It’s nice. It’s calm, his steady hand on your shoulder as your heart feels like it’s about to take a nosedive. “...thanks.” 

“Give me some time, Gojo.” 

Yuuji and Kugisaki come back with a little boy in tow. 

“Ah— you’re back!” 

“No injuries, [Name]! We’re all scratch-free! The kid has a bruise on his knee, though.” 

“Oh. Can I see it, please?” you ask the boy, kneeling to his height. 

The boy pulls the left hem of his pants up, revealing a fresh violet blot on his skin. 

“Would you be okay if I touched your knee? I can take the bruise away for you.” 

He nods and soon it’s gone, his skin pristine and new. “Woah,” he goes, “Thank you! Was that magic?” he asks, eyes full of childlike wonder. 

You giggle. “Something like that. Could you keep it a secret?” you make the best welcoming and kid-friendly grin you can as you place your index against your lips. 

“Okay!” he whisper-shouts, smiling wide. 

Kugisaki and Yuuji rest by the building while Gojo, Megumi and you bring the kid back home. 

“You know, I wanted to say, big sister,” he starts, looking up at you, “You’re really pretty!” 

(So cute!!) “Ah, really? That other girl is really pretty too, though.” 

“You too! You could be like a model on a poster!” he exclaims, “Oh wait— I live over there! Thanks again!” he points to the turning on the left. 

“Haha, thank you,” you reply as Gojo waves at him, “Take care of yourself!” 

“I will! Bye-bye, big sister!” 

“Are you hungry?” you ask Gojo and Megumi. “Ack— I feel lightheaded.”

Megumi turns to you in an instant— “You didn’t eat enough for breakfast?” 

“Guess so,” you reply, “I should be fine, though. I think I just had something on my mind the whole day and I couldn’t feel the hunger or something.” 

He whips his phone out. 

“Oh, there’s a famous tonkatsu restaurant back in Omotesando,” you suggest as he scrolls through restaurant options. “I think Yuuji may want to eat something like steak, though, and I don’t know what Kugisaki likes. Is there anything you want in particular?” 

“I’m fine with anything,” he says, “But it’s Gojo’s money we’re going to be using, so we should probably make the most of it.” 

“Mm… we can eat beef steak in Ginza, I think… ah— Yuuji’s grandfather always called it beefteki. I’m surprised I can still remember.” 

27-6-2018 

“Hi. It’s one in the morning, Megumi,” you greet him as he stands outside your room’s door, “Can’t sleep?” 

“...yeah,” he admits sheepishly, “Sorry about this.” 

He sits down on the bed. “Nah, it’s fine. It’s like we’re going to keep doing this,” you start, “Our special ritual. Something like that. I mean, we help each other in this way, right?” 

Your hand strays upward a little, nervous as it inches toward his shoulder. 

He brings your hand there and places his own hand on top of it. “Yeah,” he replies contentedly, “But I… wanted to ask,” Megumi begins, “What Gojo said. Are you going to become a student?” 

“I don’t know. I mean, looking at how things are going now, I may. It seems like things are leaning more towards me being a full-fledged sorcerer. Haven’t had the time to think about it.” 

He seems to pause for a moment, to reconsider something one last time like a record in his head. 

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” 

“I should take you to see Tsumiki first.” 

You nearly gasp. “She wants to see me?” After all this time? “I’m happy, but… wouldn’t she be busy, though?” 

“No… I mean… you really should take a look at her first. Then you’ll see what I’m trying to say. I’m sorry, but I just— I really should have told you sooner.

“Told me what?” you frown. Learning of this feels a bit like restarting and going back to square one somehow. 

“I’m sorry, can we just… do something else for now? Just… please be patient with me a little longer. I’m sorry you have to do that so much.” 

“…okay.” 

You wake up to his figure being illuminated shyly by the light of dawn. In the tiny bubble that the two of you share— of intertwined paths, secrets, lives— and the sensation of waking from a late night, you realise just how much you want to stay there forever. 

This morning, you don’t rush back to your room and hastily go through your routine. All you do for a while, for what feels like it lasts for a century yet lasts for too little time, is look at him, at his steady, quiet breathing as his eyes are shut comfortably tight.

taglist:

@bakananya, @sindulgent666, @shartnart1, @lolmais, @mechalily, @pweewee, @notsaelty, @nattisbored

(please send an ask/state in the notes if you'd like to join! if I can't tag your username properly, I've written it in italics. so sorry for any trouble!)

[anticipatecrime]

Omg your witches forest Colby fic was SO GOOD you should write fluff for Sam 🙏

𝙨𝙡𝙚𝙚𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙣 | sam golbach x gender neutral reader

summary: sleeping in + breakfast in bed from your boyfriend, after a party in the traphouse a/n: sorry this is pretty short, the request was vague so i tried my best :) words: 900

you wake up to a sudden noise, blaring across the room. sams phone jolted loudly on his bedside table, vibrating against the wood. holding your hands to your ears, you hear a groan, and feel a visible presence leaving the bed.

peeking your eyes open, you see your boyfriend standing up, on his phone attempting to turn of the alarm. you watched as he kept mis clicking the off button.

he let out a frustrated sigh of relief, before averting his eyes to you. sam frowns, upset he had awaken you so early, after a party. he climbs back into bed, his arms surrounding you. "i'm sorry baby, i had no idea i had an alarm set." he mumbled huskily into your neck.

yawning, you replied. "it's okay, m just tired."

in seconds, a pounding feeling attacks your head, causing you to wince. your hand flies to your forehead, holding it tightly. "fuck." you grumble.

sam looks at you, remorseful for letting you drink so much the night before. he should've been watching you more carefully. "hey, it's okay, we don't have to move at all." he smiles at you, getting into a more comfortable position so he's able to hold you against his chest.

you squint, your mouth dry, sticky with thick saliva. sam notices you swallowing a few times, before handing over his waterbottle to you.

the instant relief of cold water hits your throat, and you moan at the feeling, before passing it back to him. he gazed at you, seeing you curl up into his chest and holding onto him.

you felt his hand graze your cheek, you pulling up the comforter to cover both of you again. "you're so beautiful y/n." you hear, before you drift back to sleep, it overtaking you.

he looks at you in awe, wondering how he got so lucky. he thinks back to the first time he met you, almost two years ago.

colby had invited him to one of his friends parties, and you were there, upstairs sitting alone on a beanbag. that night you had lost all your energy within the first hour, deciding to distance yourself from the loud noise.

when he saw you from across the room, his jaw dropped, himself in awe at the person infront of him. he remembers how nervous he was approaching you. at first it was rocky, but once you truly began chatting and opening up to eachother, sam fell in love, realizing how amazing and genuine you were.

he sighs, reminiscing, still observing your sleeping presence.

sam felt horrible that you were dealing with a hangover, and wanted to make the experience the farthest from miserable for you, so he slowly retreated away, trying not to wake you once more before heading into the kitchen.

he had always dreamed of being a house husband, making food and taking care of the house, so having the opportunity to make you breakfast in bed made him so excited.

taking precautions, he slowly took out the pans, not wanting to have them clash and wake you up. sam wasn't too sure on exactly what to make, so he went with a classic traditional breakfast in bed.

he turned the knobs on the stove, and set the pans on the burners. waiting for them to heat up, he grabbed two champagne glasses, filling one with orange juice, and the other apple, knowing you enjoy both.

after about thirty minutes, sam had finished cooking, now plating all of the food aesthetically before taking a picture of it to post onto his instagram story. he wrote a caption for it. 'surprising my girlfriend with breakfast in bed :)'

he felt so proud of himself, and giddy to see your reaction. he made sure to include eggs, bacon, toast, crepes, a croissant and some fruits.

setting his phone back down, he carried the tray up the stairs and into your shared bedroom. he placed it carefully onto the bed, before slightly opening the curtains to let some sun in.

sam rubbed your shoulder, waking you up gently.

you yawned, seeing him sitting infront of you. he smiled happily then normal, and then you noticed the tray on the bed. it took a few seconds until you realized what that meant and why it was there, but when it clicked you launched into his arms, hugging him tight. "awh sammm."

he chuckles. "i thought you would like some breakfast in bed." you begin to tear up, never experiencing someone care about you as much as sam did. "babyy." he says to soothe you, still rubbing your back. "you have a whole platter to eat, it's going to cool down."

you giggled, sniffling slightly. you reached out to one of the glasses, drinking juice, before biting into a croissant. "thank you sam, really." you say, as he watches you. "you better eat some too."

sam beamed, immediately grabbing a fork and taking a few bites from the eggs. he sat you on his lap, and you continued to enjoy breakfast together, taking the rest of the day to relax, and love eachother.

and eventually, you yawned once more, in the arms of your boyfriend. "i love you y/n."

"i love you too sam."

[enchantedsoulofmine]

Irresistible Tattoos...

Chris Evans x Fem! reader

Summary: You just cannot resist those goddamn tattoos of Chris.

Warnings: No warnings ig?

Note: English is my second language.

~~~

You were leaning against the pantry door watching your husband Chris, making crepes. Your eyes wandered over his muscles and his chest as he was not wearing anything, Chris felt eyes on him and smirked knowing that it was none other than his beloved wife.

He turned his head with a small smile on his face and gestured you to come towards him. You went to him and pressed your lips on his cheek. 

‘See something you like love?’ he chuckled, flipping the Crepe on the pan. ‘Yes, something that I like very much’ you bit your lips resisting a smile. ‘I know that since our first time’ Chris winked at you which made you blush as you started to reminisce about the night when you lost your virginity to him. ‘After we did it, you kept on staring at my arms and when I asked you, you said, ‘I love them, I love you’ he giggled which made you giggle as well.

‘But right now, I’m staring at something else’ you sat on the counter looking at Chris in the eye. ‘And may I know what is it?’ he asked, raising his eyebrows.

‘Those goddamn tattoos of yours’ you said, coming close to Chris’ face.

‘Seems like you find them irresistible’ he pecked your nose, keeping an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him. 

‘Maybe, is the breakfast ready?’ you decided to tease him a little, ‘Well, it’s done but now, I want to have something else’ he picked you up and you wrapped your legs around his waist.

‘Oh really?’ you smirked knowing exactly what he meant. 

‘Mhm..’ he hummed keeping you on the island and laying you down, but you sat up on your elbows. ‘just lay still and enjoy, my lady’ he said and went down, between your legs.

~~~

‘

[saneijeijei]

For the last two weeks or so, I've been trying to come up with a kind of cookie that could be a mix of Burnt Cheese Cookies and Black Raisin Cookies. Yeah, that's like their baby. And honestly, I'm amazed at people who can pick up a dish that combines ingredients that are used in other cookies. Because I was tormented to look for a dish that suited them. And I settled on Burnt Cheesecake (wow, how original, you say, but guys, I'm a bad creative author, I'm used to writing based on already created characters in the fandom, and not creating them myself).

In general, this boy is a wild mixture of his parents. He is a slob, and often spoils new things, as he is a big fan of adventures. From an early age, he followed his mother's tail, helping in everything. Although there was no need for this, thanks to the crows, who are used to helping Raisins in everything, but Cheesecake still tried to help. He is very stubborn, like his mother and calm when the situation demands it. He is loyal and true to his beliefs and to his friends and family. He is patient and a little naive.

Once, Golden Cheese Cookie called him "Cheezie", as a diminutive form of his full name. Since then, all his relatives have called him that.

His image is inspired by the god of Egypt Sobek - the God of scaring away evil, from gods and ordinary people. Since Burnt was and remains a defender, his son continued the work of his parents. And he received as a gift a crocodile mask, which he always wears. While checking and searching for enemies, he hides in swamps or grass, trying to be invisible. Usually, uninvited guests are frightened by a crocodile appearing out of nowhere, but sometimes, Cheesecake has to fight back against villains in order to protect the kingdom.

He often spends time with Fettuccine or other children from the Vanilla Kingdom. Especially likes to play with Strawberry Crepe Cookie. Although the father is noticeably nervous when he hears that the genius kid came up with while playing with his son.

He loves dogs and birds. He has his own pet - a crow, which accompanies him always and everywhere.

The design is still in development. Since Cheesecake still doesn't look like Cheesecake… And I'm still upset that he doesn't look like or doesn't have at least something hinting at what he was inspired by. Wanting to mix Raisin and Cheese, so also to make it in a style reminiscent of cheesecake, led to the fact that it does not look like anything.

[ccapdis]

It's good that @crepes-suzette-373 made this post because I've been wanting to voice my thoughts on this topic for a while. Iti's nothing new, but I personally find the concept of 恋/koi within the story very interesting, as I think it's the word chosen to convey Sanji's feelings for Nami deliberately. I don't think it's a topic up for debate as there's no much depth in it, but anyway, I want to post my ramblings on Sanji, how he feels about Nami and women and the perception others have for that.

恋/koi (love) as a concept is significant, and I think it will gain weight later in the story. After all, it has been heavily present from the beginning, since Sanji first mentioned it in Arlong Park, going to Hancock and Gloriosa referring to a famous East Blue's poem (Hancock's love for Luffy reminisced Gloriosa to the same love that former Amazon Lily's empresses developed), and even going through Chopper on SBS.

It's a concept that I doubt will fall on deaf ears, as in this post, I believe too that it will potentially have a significant role in the future, be it for Hancock or Sanji's side (or both).

And when it comes to Sanji, it's always been in relation to Nami (except for that one time in Dressrossa, but it was the time he fell for Viola's lies when she still pretended to be Violet).

Indeed, 恋 is exclusively romantic, and in fact I have seen some translators choose to translate it as “true love". Furthermore, it connotes “desire, longing, wanting” and refers specifically to the “falling in love” part of it.

But all of this, the part in which the author 'lets us know' that this is how Sanji feels for Nami and that's when he brings up this 'East Blue poem', that hasn't been worded by Sanji, at least yet.

Bear with me. Back in Punk Hazard, Sanji used ホレち/horechi (from verb 惚れる/horeru) which means “to fall in love”. And then, in WCI, as we already know, he does indeed use the verb 好き/suki when Nami hugs him. Compared to 恋/koi or 愛/ai, it is a much more relaxed and informal verb.

Funnily, much, much later in the story, in chapter 1005 during the Wano arc, when confronted to Black Maria, he says "I want to love all the ladies" and he uses the verb 愛したい/aishitai ('I want to love', literally). And then, in the most recent chapters, when he fights S-Shark to protect Nami, he says 愛の力/ai no chikara (the power of love). What's different from 恋/koi? Well, 恋 is used only for romantic feelings, while 愛 (which he used to refer to all the ladies) is not necessarily romantic. In fact, it refers to a kind of pure and selfless love.

So, maybe, maybe Sanji still has to have some development to know truly what kind of feelings he truly harbors, and learn what he really wants.

Further in the analysis (and I'm aware this is already a pretty cheesy post) I went on to know how others perceive Sanji's relationship with Nami.

In Thriller Bark, Absalom said 妙 に 執着/myō ni shūchaku (deep concern and attachment) to how the Penguin zombie, with Sanji's shadow, felt for Nami (that “he was strangely obsessed over her”). Later on, he says that Nami is "the woman he wanted to protect"/守りたかった.

In Gyojin Island, 過剰 に 反応/kajō ni hannō is said by Hody's pirates, which referred to him overreacting to attacks on Nami.

Robin brings attention to the topic in chapter 1078 by saying "if Nami screams, someone is gonna rush in instantly".

And let's not forget the most famous:

This is part of my reasoning and why I believe that Sanji, despite him being the one in love with Nami throughout all the story and it being an idea very present in the manga and the characters in it, might not have yet figured out how he feels and what he wants when it comes to women and love.

[monards]

i think finding out most people don’t get physically sick at the thought of not repeatedly checking over a document or test or page of a book or anything at all was a big a turning point for me

[smolcinnamonchipmunk]

I like the both the prompts “Hey, can I- Can I eat you? I, uh, you’d just- feel really good in there, I think, and um… Jeez, I’m sorry, you just look so tasty…” and “Your stomach can wait its dang turn.” !

(Finally able to make something for this request from a while ago! I feel so rusty at writing rn, Jesus. Glossed over the early on bickering because I didn’t feel like writing a lot of dialogue and just wanted to get into it. Honestly, trying to write the argument was delaying me for a few days before I scrapped it ;-;

But, here it is! I hope it’s up to snuff despite taking a couple weeks and being shorter than most with another rushed end. I hope to have the beach episode done by the end of Saturday, but we’ll see. :P) TW/CW: Soft, safe, NONSEXUAL, m/nb g/t oral vore; kind of foodplay?? (It’s crepe filling, so not exactly food) Count: 2426 “Hey, can I- Can I eat you? I, uh, you’d just- feel really good in there, I think, and um… Jeez, I’m sorry, you just look so tasty…” I paused what I was doing, tapping the whisk I was using against the side of the bowl so that it wouldn’t drip as I turned around to face the ginger demon that was practically drooling on my shoulder. “Beel. Honey,” I said in the tone of mild sweetness over barely restrained irritation as I looked up into his eyes. Which were a bit too glazed over and focused on me for my liking. Simultaneously reaching across the pact to magically give him a tug and lifting my empty hand up to snap and catch his attention both ways, his eyes blinked into focus and I took the opportunity to say, “I’m busy making dinner and dessert right now, and not only will the others not appreciate you eating me in the middle of doing so, I’m also hungry and tired and REALLY want my fucking strawberry crepes. So, your stomach can wait it's damn turn until after dinner, capeesh?” “But, Kaaaat,” Beel’s eyes widened as he begged, reminiscent of a dog begging for a treat.

But, I was too used to this and gave him an unimpressed look, gesturing to the kitchen with the whisk and commanding, “Go sit down and WAIT, Beel.” He whined but reluctantly walked out of the kitchen with the help of some nudging from the pact. I sighed to settle my irritation at being interrupted and turned around to continue cooking dinner. ………………. Dinner was, thankfully, uneventful in the way of arguments between the brothers. Not because they didn’t have anything to argue about, but more because I feel like they could sense my rising irritation anytime voices started raising, mentally tightening the hold on the pacts with the brothers in preparation. Today was just not a day that I had the patience for much bickering. Of course, bickering was inevitable when I got up to put my dishes in the sink and Beel kindly tried to remind me about my ‘promise’. And by remind, I mean a whine that made me sigh with the knowledge of the inevitable onslaught of argument from the other brothers about eating me.

“That’s not fair! I haven’t been able to eat Kat in over a week,” Levi complained, like the Avatar of Envy he was. I groaned and rubbed my temple with my free hand, breathing in and counting like Barbatos and Simeon had suggested. Apparently I could rival Satan on my bad days with my moods. I decided to leave the brothers to fight, knowing that any damages would be something for THEM to deal with, not me. As I walked to the sink and placed my dishes in, I tried to avoid a loud clatter. Humming in mild smugness at the ‘Whoever cooks doesn’t clean’ policy, I walked up to the fridge and took out the small tupperware of crepe cream and strawberries I’d set aside for myself. There were more extras, but this one was for me before Beel could get to the leftovers. Popping over the two little tupperware containers, I got a clean fork and stabbed a strawberry, dipping it in the creme and eating it. “Kat?” I made a noise of curious acknowledgement, looking towards the kitchen entrance with fork still in my mouth, seeing Beel walk in. Knowing exactly what he wanted, I made a disgruntled noise at probably not being able to finish my strawberries and pulled the fork out, saying, “Hey, Beel.” “Can I eat you now,” he asked, placing his own dishes in the sink. Like usual, there were several plates and utensils. “Can I finish my strawberries,” I replied, frowning a bit at his tower of dinnerware. “And you just ate. You know I don’t like being in any of you when there’s food.” The demon let out a whine and placed a hand over his stomach. He looked so dejected that I couldn’t help but feel a bit bad for his ever-present hunger. Everyone did say that I gave into the brothers' whims a bit too easily a lot. “Okaaay. Mira.” With a grumpy growl, I cleared my throat from the sticky sweetness of my treat and leaned on the counter. Once Beel gave me his attention, I added, “We can watch a movie or something so that I can finish my strawberries and your stomach can empty, and you can eat me for tonight.” “Really?” Beel’s eyes lit up as he looked at me, able to see drool at the corners of his mouth. “Yes, really. But no going for a run in the morning with me inside,” I grimaced at the thought, very much not wanting to be woken up by being violently jostled. “When you wake up, let me out so I can shower and pass back out.” “Of course,” the demon nodded seriously, taking the instruction seriously since I can, and have, used the pact to make him stop his morning runs while eaten. “Alright then, let’s go.” I closed and grabbed my two tupperware containers and followed Beel to his room. There was still a bit of arguing from the dining room, but I’m pretty sure it’d been long enough that the topic had changed from who should probably get to eat me next. Just the usual brotherly bickering of raised voices and name calling probably. Belphie wasn’t in the room when Beel and I entered, either still in the argument with his brothers or gone to catnap somewhere, so I didn’t hesitate to flop down on the purple comforter while Beel started up the TV. “Do you have any movie in mind?” He asked, catching my attention. I shook my head, sitting up and carefully setting my small tupperware aside to look at the ginger demon. Humming a bit, I said, “You can pick whatever you want. Wasn’t there some movie that came out that you wanted to watch?”

“Oh yeah. That new horror movie that came out. Are you sure though? I thought you didn’t like horror movies.”

“I mean, not really, but I’m probably not even watching the whole thing,” I replied, feeling like we’d probably get into about thirty minutes max before he ate me. “I’m just here to chill and eat my strawberries before you eat me.”

“Fair,” Beel’s eyes glossed over a bit at the thought and he shook himself from his fantasizing to look at the movies on the shelf. After a couple seconds of searching, he pulled out the movie he wanted and put it in, patting his bed once he sat down.

I moved over from Belphie’s bed to his to sit in front of him while we started watching the movie. Sitting cross legged in front of him, I carefully ate my strawberries and creme while he rested his head on top of mine, arms loosely wrapped around my middle.

The movie was something about people in mirrors being able to kill their real life counterparts, at least from the looks of the first few minutes. Then it moved onto some family who would probably inevitably have to face their mirror selves and likely not die because they were the main characters, and no movie I’d seen had the balls to kill off children on screen. That one side chick was totally going to die somehow though, I could feel it.

I didn’t get to see it though because once my strawberries were all gone and we’d watched maybe twenty minutes of the movie, Beel’s stomach loudly growled behind me, causing me to jolt. I’d honestly gotten too absorbed in the movie to remember why we were watching it in the first place.

“Can I eat you now, Kat?” Beel whined, arms tightening around my abdomen as he sort of hugged me to himself like a living teddy bear to try and ignore the hunger pangs.

“Tch, yeah, you can eat me,” I snorted in amusement, reaching up to pat him. I was still a bit annoyed, but felt a lot better than when he’d interrupted me while cooking. Besides, I couldn’t help but feel a bit endeared as I felt him lean into my hand.

“Can I use the crepe stuff?”

“Ehhh,” I glanced at the currently closed tupperware, not really feeling like being drizzled in the stuff. But, I was going to end up soaked by saliva and eaten anyways, so I supposed it didn’t really matter. “Fine. Just try not to make a mess everywhere.”

“Thanks, Kat,” the demon purred, something that rumbled in his chest and I could feel it against my back as he hugged me closer briefly. Without any hesitation, he began to recite the protection and shrinking spells, causing me to shudder at the feeling of magic coursing through me.

A familiar sense of vertigo washed over me and I tried to shake it off on instinct as I was quickly shrunk down to half a foot tall on the bed, finding myself carefully scooped up by Beel.

“You doing alright?” he asked on routine, though he was already licking his lips in anticipation. Still, he was restrained enough to allow me a response.

“Yeah, I’m good. You’re set to go ahead.” I nodded up at him, still finding myself easily overwhelmed by the brothers size when I shrunk. I wasn’t scared like I used to be, but there was still something daunting going from normal size to almost handheld in mere moments, and I could never quite get used to it.

Being given permission to continue, Beel looked as excited as a Golden Retriever that found a treat, replying, “Let me know if I hurt you or anything.”

“Will do.”

Beel excitedly glanced down at the two tupperware containers and obviously thought about how to utilize the crepe cream without spilling it all over his sheets. He decided to place me down while popping both plasticware open and then scooped me up to deposit me in the container that had had the strawberries.

“Ugh, I’m already looking forward to a shower,” I grumbled at feeling the residual strawberry juice soak into my shoes and socks with the knowledge that I was only about to get stickier.

“Sorry, Kat.” Beel apologized as he picked up the crepe filling container, pausing as he glanced at it, warring with his guilt and innate desire to use it.

“It’s fine,” I waved off his apology, adding, “I already said it was okay, and I’d be showering afterwards anyways.”

He hesitated only a second before nodding and starting to tip the other container above me.

I braced myself as much as I could for it, tensing and unable to keep my mind from going to the comparison of one of those slime dump videos from the Human Realm. But, I still wasn’t prepared for the chilled sensation as it was drizzled on top of me, making me yelp in surprise. After a few seconds, the entire container had been dumped on me and I was left raising my arms with a grimace, covered in crepe filling that dripped off my arms and body.

“You ready, Kat,” Beel asked, carefully plucking me out of the tupperware, three fingers to my back and thumb against my chest.

“Ready as usual. And the more we wait, the stickier I’ll be,” I stuck my tongue out in distaste, feeling like I could already feel the sugary liquid drying on my skin and clothes. But, maybe that was just my immense dislike for anything sticky against me.

“I’ll be quick.” Beel purred, licking his lips again before raising me up to his mouth.

I made a small noise as he licked my front from chest up, his tongue taking a good chunk of the crepe filling with it and replacing it with warm saliva that contrasted the still kind of chilled cream.

“Mmm, you taste really good,” the demon said. Despite him saying similar stuff everytime, my face still heated a bit with embarrassment, still unsure how to feel about the ‘compliments’.

“Yeah, yeah,” I grumbled, trying to ignore the redness at the tips of my ears.

Thankfully, Beel never really cared about whether or not I got flustered, so he didn’t tease as he opened his jaws and shoved my upper body into his mouth.

Carefully clamping his teeth around my middle, everything around me rumbled from his purring. He didn’t waste any time as he immediately started tasting me, sucking and licking the crepe filling off of me. The eager tasting probably only lasted seconds, but I was still left gasping for air when he paused to swallow the excess saliva that had pooled in his mouth, using my arms to press away from his tongue and try to allow me more breathing room.

Gluttonous as he was, the reprieve was brief and I found his teeth splitting apart slightly to shove more of me inside.

“Beel!” I couldn’t help but exclaim a bit as I was quickly forced further into his jaws, my arms slipping over the precipice at the back of his tongue. A loud swallow made my ears pop, drawing me into his throat. Several greedy swallows followed, each as noisy as the last.

It was obviously pretty constrictive in his throat, but it definitely had more give than his brothers, something I was thankful for with his habit of eating me at larger sizes than the others. I could feel him place a hand against me from the outside of his throat as I was worked down past his collarbone, where he sighed in satisfaction and purred even louder, rattling me to my bones.

I could feel him hunch a bit forward as I slipped past his heart and lungs into his stomach, knowing that he was doing his best to feel me even more.

“Are you okay, Kat?” Beel asked, voice laced with satisfied bliss at having his hunger sated.

“Yup, fine,” I called back up, pushing myself to a sitting position. I shook off the small daze that naturally came with being eaten, let alone eaten upside-down. Huffing a bit from the trip down, I stretched and asked, “You feeling better.”

“Always, with you inside,” the demon purred.

“Well, I’m glad to help your hunger pangs, but don’t forget to let me out in the morning before your run,” I yawned, already not looking forward to being woken so early.

“I won’t.”

[thefandomlesbian]

Besides the source material, what other things or feelings inspire your writing the most? Your stories always feel so thoughtful and meaningful!

I suppose I've always been a little bit inspired by everything I encounter in my life.

Lots of times, specific lines in my pieces are drawn from other works, poems or books. For example, in Deal With God, House has an introspective monologue about his paternal relationship with Thirteen and likens himself to Abraham; this portion is inspired by a poem, "Poem Ending in Abraham's Suffering," by CT Salazar.

Likewise, there's an excerpt from Venom In Violet (specifically, the paragraph that is attributed to Chester within the fic) that is a loosely paraphrased scene from Days Without End by Sebastian Barry.

For my House fics, especially those with a lot of medical background, it's not unusual for me to feed on different things I've encountered at work. In that regard, usually I'm just processing what I'm seeing through the eyes of someone else—but obviously in the interest of privacy, I can't say more than that. (When I manage to continue Brighter, there is a character I'm introducing who means a lot to me, but I'll explain more when I get that far, haha.)

But it's not always so deep. Once I read a card aloud to a friend who can't read. In it, the writer reminisces on the two of them trampling down her mother's crepe myrtle bush while chasing fireflies as children. I have a scene in an upcoming chapter in JOY (if it doesn't get axed in the editing process) where House and Wilson sit outside a motel decorated with crepe myrtle bushes, watching the fireflies. (I may exchange it for a more meaningful scene later in which House recounts catching lightning bugs in jars with his dad as a kid—still lots of editing work to be done on that fic!)

So anyway, it's kind of a long tawdry non-answer. In short, I think anything can be a story, if you have enough brainrot.

[loosesodamarble]

Nostalgic Date

Summary: Nacht takes Josele out for a special date after he catches her reminiscing. Genre: romance Word count: ~900 A/N: This isn't a fully fledged fanfiction, more like an extended scenario. But I'm still tagging it with the fanfic tag because it's lengthy enough that I feel it's alright.

..........

One day, Josele is looking at some old pictures of her and the Faust twins. She takes her time admiring pictures of Nacht from his delinquent days. The bleached hair. The revealing clothes. The attitude. Nacht was sexy as hell back then and she's still thinking about it to this day.

Nacht finds Josele looking at the pictures and gets a bit self-conscious about his old look. He liked the way he looked back then. In the present, though, Nacht admits that he styled himself that way because it felt like a reflection of who he was: troublesome, irreverent, evil. It didn’t feel right to look exactly like the pure and good Morgen. Nacht still sometimes wishes he and Morgen weren’t identical twins.

Josele reassures him that the way he was back then and the way he is now, she loves Nacht all the same. As long as he accepts who he is, she'll love him.

Some time passes. Nacht has to go away for an extended period of time for work reasons. The day when Nacht is expected back home, he doesn't arrive. Concerned, Josele contacts him via communication device. Nacht answers but he's brief with her. "I'll be gone a little longer, but when I get back, I'll take you on a date. Promise." Josele accepts the offer.

Josele is at the base when another one of the Bulls, let's say Magna, finds her and is all "Miss Josele, there's this guy at the door asking for you. He seems like trouble if you ask me."

With her interest piqued, Josele checked through the window. She sees Nacht, but looking completely different. His hair is bleached once more. He's wearing fashion more in line with his delinquent past. It even looks like he's smoking a cigarette. Though he quit cold turkey after Morgen's death, to Josele’s knowledge at least. Josele goes outside to make sure she's seeing things clearly and it really is Nacht.

When Nacht looks at Josele with a flirty little grin. "What's the matter, babe? I told you I'd be taking you out when I came back, right?"

"I... Uh..." Josele's face lights on fire and she's flustered and not sure what to make of Nacht being like this. "Y-you did..."

Nacht tosses aside the "cigarette" he had in his mouth (it was just a lollipop stick) and saunters up to Josele. "What're you waiting for, babe, put on something nice and then we can hit the town in style."

Josele gets changed into something a little nicer for the date. She's still very unsure of what's going on but she finds herself liking Nacht’s act and looks forward to the date.

Nacht keeps up the cocky, flirty delinquent persona for the whole date. He's a little more daring and cheeky than he normally would be.

His arm is either around her shoulders or around her waist. And when his hand is down lower, he dares to give her ass a tap once in a while. He calls her "babe" or "doll." His flirtations are much more forward and a bit risque, perhaps even raunchy when Nacht leans in real close to whisper directly in her ear. At some point during the date, Nacht just pulls Josele into an alleyway for a spur of the moment make out session.

Nacht isn’t merely acting shameless and cheeky though. He’s also managing to blend the sass with more classically romantic gestures. He sneaks away for a moment only to surprise Josele from behind with a kiss on the cheek and the gift of a rose. One that was dyed black. "I got an aesthetic to stick to, babe. You understand, right?" Later, he buys Josele a crepe to eat as they walk. And when a bit of cream gets smudged on her cheek, he wipes it off for her and licks it off his thumb. "Not as sweet as you taste though." The wink when he says that makes Josele choke on the crepe.

It does feel like Nacht's old delinquent self is back, with a slightly softer edge. And the act is taking Josele’s breath away, making her blush and giggle like she’s a young girl again.

When Josele and Nacht finally return to the base, the facade finally comes to an end.

"So how was it, darling?" Nacht asks without an underlying snark. The overly confident smirk he’d had during the date is replaced by his tender smile. "I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable."

"I wasn't uncomfortable at all! In fact, the date was..." Josele bites her lip before continuing. "A breath of fresh air. And somehow nostalgic too."

Nacht glances off to the side at that. "We weren't together back then..."

"But it was fun to experience what it might've been like." Josele takes Nacht by the hand and pulls him in for a kiss. When they part, she speaks again, "Thank you, Nacht. It really was fun." She reaches up to touch Nacht's bleached hair. "You really do commit, huh?"

"Only for you, darling."

Josele is happy that Nacht has accepted that he can be a good man despite his past faults. But she will readily admit that seeing him be a bad boy again, just for one day, has made her fall in love with him all over again.

[mariacallous]

As a child growing up in Sydney, Australia, I would often hear my parents wistfully reminisce about eating qei’mar (pronounced khey-mar) for breakfast everyday. Qei’mar, an Iraqi clotted cream made from the milk of water buffaloes, acquired an almost mythic quality in my young imagination. 

The cream is made by slowly boiling raw milk over low heat, then cooling overnight, which results in a thick layer of cream. Water buffalo milk has a very high percentage of fat (about 40-60%) which makes it ideal for this recipe.

Kaymak, a word with Central Asian Turkic origins, meaning “melt,” is a similar type of clotted cream. It is popular in Turkey, Greece, the Balkans, Romania and central Asian countries like Kazakhstan, Azerbaijan and Georgia. In Iran, this cream is called sarshir, which means “top of the milk.” 

Water buffalo originated in West India and were domesticated about 6,000 years ago. They were traded from the Indus Valley civilization to Mesopotamia in 2500 BCE. Archeological records even show the the sacrifice of water buffaloes on the seal of the scribes of an Akkadian King. The marshes that dominate the south of Iraq are particularly suitable for the raising of water buffalo. While Saddam Hussein, in his attempts to root out the “March people,” tried to destroy the marsh ecosystem, the marshes of southern Iraq are now a UNESCO World Heritage Site and the water buffalo continue to thrive there. 

For Iraqi Jews, Shavuot is synonymous with qei’mar and kahi, a flaky layered crepe. When we were younger, my mother would make us kahi from scratch, but it’s an involved process of kneading a dough made with vinegar, allowing it to rest, rolling it out and layering it, then frying it with lots of butter. 

This year for Shavuot, I decided that rather than struggling with the kahi dough I would bake little squares of puff pastry. But what could possibly come close to the thick, rich creamy qei’mar?

Rachel and I hit on a wonderful solution: We strained equal parts sour cream and ricotta cheese. The results were a mouthwatering smooth, thick, rich cream. 

We highly recommend you try this recipe for crispy kahi, clotted cream and silan (date syrup). A typical, traditional Iraqi breakfast food, for Jews and non-Jews alike, it makes a perfectly simple, yet elegant dessert. 

As I enjoy it, I’ll be nostalgic for my childhood home on the Sydney harbor and the happy memories with my parents; but, as always, I will cherish the sweet, new memories.

[scribble-dribble-writes]

Heyyy,

I’d like to request an Obi-Wan One-Shot. I love the way u write him and tbh u ate my fave Obi-Wan writer.

So my request would be: falling in love with Modern!Dad!Obi-Wan. Thats it, oh and reader is a woman. Do whatever u want with it.

Lots of love <3

Thank you!! it's makes me so happy you love my stories, hope you like this one! 💖💖💖

---

Everything's got a price.

It was a Friday evening and the weekend awaited you but you didn't want to begin it without your traditional start. A strawberry and chocolate sauce crepe with a warm cup of hot chocolate with the marshmallows on top melted to the perfect consistency from Rex's cafe and a visit to Qui Gon's corner bookshop.

You were lost in between the bookshelves after having devoured your treats to peruse through sci-fi stories when as you pulled for it, someone else had reached out to do the same. He was dressed in an fitted brown sweater that matched the bronze of his hair. His beard well kept that you almost thought he was an author himself. His blue eyes found yours as you stepped away all too suddenly feeling quite shy.

"Sorry I was taken aback by the cover.", you smile.

"It's very pretty is it not?", he asked but he wasn't looking at the book, his eyes roamed your face.

"I'm not familiar with the author.", you tell him, averting your gaze back to the summary as a way to hide a blush on your cheeks.

"A compelling story though, might make a good weekend read.", you continued.

"Oh yes. It's about wizards and laser swords set in space.", he added to your conversation as you nodded along.

"Well it's gotten your stamp of approval. It has convinced me to buy it.", you look up at him, your eyes registering his features when you realised he did look familiar.

"Forgive me, have we met before?", you squeeze yours brows together holding the book against your chest when he pursued his lips.

"I would have definitely remembered.", he said and it was difficult to differentiate if he was paying you a compliment, if he was just nice or if he was flirting with you.

"Is this your first time here?", you ask determined to figure out where you had met him.

"I came here a lot as a teenager.", he shuffled his feet.

"My father owned this establishment soon after he took me under his wing.", he had a kind smile almost as if he was reminiscing along with you.

"But this is my first time revisiting this old place with my son.", he looked about the shop that held its own identity and vintage quality and behind his legs hid a tiny figure.

You draw nearer to him, a name at the tip of your tongue. Qui Gon was a gentle soul, a vibrant part of the community and he had helped you during a tough time in your life when he let you work as the cashier here. He mentioned his son often and you wondered how someone could be so perfect.

His eyes widened registering the lessened space between you and him. But it also looked like he was hiding a secret.

"It starts with an O, doesn't it?", you snap your finger trying your best to recollect.

"What does?", his back hit the shelf behind him softly as you step closer.

"Your name.", you whispered as you looked away.

A new author was supposed to visit, one who was well known and had a book signing here on Saturday. You tapped your fingers against the book that you held. When it struck you. You held the book in front of you and there it was, his name on the cover. You noticed his anxious gulp when your eyes narrowed down on his.

"You're Obi -

He placed his hand over your mouth, to shush you.

"Yes, yes you've got me.", he whispered but all you could concentrate on was his smooth skin and the smell of his cologne reminding you of forest berries.

He gestured to know if he could be certain you wouldn't scream when you looked at the little boy who stood behind him quietly. You nodded and he tentatively removed his hand from your mouth.

"I've finally found a corner of respite. I ... we would like it to remain that way.", he sniffed folding his arms smiling at his son when a mischievous smile spread across your face.

"Everything's got a price.", you mimicked his stance to which he narrowed his eyes.

"Fine. What's your request?", he asked.

You took a moment to think of a dare for him to do, something that could be silly. You caught sight of his son when he gave you a shy smile and the idea hit you.

"Write me in as a character in your next book.", you smiled and a moment later he did too.

"How do you feel about being a love interest?", he asked quietly, his eyes glimmering with interest.

"All depends on the character I'm supposed to love.", you prop up shoulders and walk beside him to hear his laugh.

"Coffee?", he glanced back at you and you couldn't help but believe in fate in this second.

"I know just the place.", you tell him as his little boy padded along next to him as you unraveled your umbrella outside the store to help them with their anonymity which he had noticed.

Maybe this was fate.

Maybe this was every book lover's fantasy.

But it had found you.

So you looped your arm around his that he extended towards you and walked down the wet pavement chatting about stories and magic.

[writeshite]

Hunger For The Devil

Summary:

You, hmm, in agreement, “It wouldn’t be if you’d stay in the mornings,” you pout. Lucifer’s tendency to run off at first light was nothing awful; it was more so annoying than insulting. “Don’t you remember our first time? Us.” “Rome.” “The sound of Caeser dying,” you reminisced, “oh, how fun that was.”

Pairings:

Lucifer Morningstar x Male!Reader

Tags:

Beelzebub!Reader | Smut | Sort Of Inspired By Gomez and Morticia Addams

Words: 1554

Author's Note:

A piece requested by @houseofalexo because as we all know Lucifer Morningstar is a gift

Sometimes, a sin has to leave hell and find other things to do with his immortal life. It doesn’t matter how luxurious your position in hell had been; it won’t cover the boredom that seeps into the infernal world. You hadn’t hated it, but one does grow sick of cold and heat and screams; Earth was much different; live humans were much more entertaining - rather ecstatic for a species with such a short lifespan - you’d been topside for centuries, not quite as long as some others.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” 

Speak of the devil. The restaurant isn’t small by any means; its luxury is evident by the silver carved decor and glimmering chandeliers; if not that, then the clientele was undoubtedly enough indication. Lucifer’s dark suit was well pressed, jacket in hand; he strolled up to your table, familiar grin on his face; he placed his coat on your chair and a peck on your forehead in greeting.

“My Lord Lucifer,” you began, “a pleasant surprise.”

“I’d imagine so,” he says, sitting beside you; he takes your hand, holding it lightly as he gazes at you. “It’s been far too long, Beelzebub.”

You, hmm, in agreement, “It wouldn’t be if you’d stay in the mornings,” you pout. Lucifer’s tendency to run off at first light was nothing awful; it was more so annoying than insulting. “Don’t you remember our first time? Us.”

“Rome," he adds.

“The sound of Caeser dying,” you reminisced, “oh, how fun that was.” You took a bite of the berry and cream crepe dessert; Lucifer wasted no time indulging himself, snagging a piece. You lightly smacked his hand away, “Manners. At least ask first,” you tutted.

“How rude of me,” he takes your chin in his hand and holds it gently, “May I have a taste?” You nod, and he kisses you, his other hand gently holding your face; he angles his body toward you. When he draws back, he licks his lips, a satisfied smile on his face, “Wonderful.” His eyes take on the familiar ruby glint, and he licks his lips; your sin makes him crave more; both of you seem to be driving the other specialty higher as the humans around you turn. That’s not unusual, annoying, if anything else. 

“So then, my precious little devil,” you stroke his hand, fingers laced with his, “do you desire something?” You tease, and he snickers, “Or,” your fingers walk from his hand, along his arm, and to his chest, dragging him even closer by his tie. “Do you hunger for me?”

“Yes,” someone voiced, a fellow customer, opulent suit and multiple rings; he’d been one of the closest to your table and was nearly on his knees. His eyes were wide, and his pupils were blown as he reached out for you; you simply brushed him off, shaking your head.

“Sorry, but I’m looking for something more hellish tonight,” you turn him away. Lucifer draws back your attention, the rest of your dessert is gone, and the cheeky bastard licks his lips, a smug smile on his face. “I was going to eat that,” you protest, “I hope you plan to compensate me.”

“I have dessert!” another voice cuts in as a plate is all but thrown onto your table. Another human has approached your table, cutting in between you and Lucifer; they offer said dessert with a hopeful look, expression more dazed and infatuated than the last man. You turn him away the same, “But, I have what you need!” he insists, pressing forward desperately, “I hunger for you!”

“As delectable as you think you are, I’m not craving mortality today,” you tell him, “now,” your eyes take on an unnatural hue, “run along,” you hiss at the man. He leaves, dejected, and his face cast down. You smooth out your features, returning to appear human, “I do apologize —”

Lucifer dismisses your apologies, leaning close to press a kiss to your cheek, “Think nothing of it; I don’t blame them,” he says, “but all the same, let’s take this elsewhere, shall we?” He flags a server over, and you both stand to leave, rather excited for the night ahead, when you are yet again interrupted.

“Please,” the cry is desperate, and you find yourself wrapped in unfamiliar arms; your combined presence has wrapped the humans further in a haze of their own bliss, their desperation claws at their skins, expressions distraught at the thought of you leaving. “Please don’t go! You can’t leave me!”

You shrug him off as you did the others; unlike the others, however, this human doesn’t slink away in despair; on the contrary, he grabs the nearest delicacy and throws it at you. It’s nothing major, a handful of something, but it does the trick of staining your suit. It hits your shoulder, trails leading down your arm as it falls to the floor, another pelts you again, you dodge the next, and it narrowly misses your face. You dodge a few others, but some do hit the target; Lucifer isn’t spared the barrage either - a few good hits land and leave him equally as enraged - you shirk out a wing to deflect the attacks, knocking a few humans back in the process. 

The food stops coming, as your assailants stand in shock, mouths open, a few make incomprehensible sounds, “What’s the matter? Scared of little old me?” you taunt; they don’t retaliate and resign further when you allow a few more demonic features out. The wiser ones turn tail; the not so wise ones seem to be adamant about challenging you, or rather Lucifer.

“Why does he get to have you?!”

Lucifer looks a tad miffed at that; his face flashes to its actual self for a moment, causing them to step back, a few releasing screams before you stop him from laying a hand on them. “Now, now, dear, don’t be too rash,” you tell him.

The previous question is repeated, far more timidly this time, and you answer, “Why?” you begin, head tilted and eyes taking an unnatural hue, “because I am Beelzebub, and I crave nothing but the very best; you, my sweet little mortals, don’t even come close.” 

They appear deflated and finally turn away; you return your attention to Lucifer, brushing a hand on his suit, “What a waste….” you mumble, brushing the crumbs away. “Our first date in centuries, ruined,” you pout jestingly.

“Perhaps I should make up for that with another, then?” Lucifer muses.

You chuckle, “As long as there’s food involved,” you respond, “if not, there are other things I wouldn’t mind tasting again.” 

“I’ll put that on the dessert menu then; let’s see about that date.”

You leave the restaurant hand in hand and head to another, one with private booths, “Such a gentleman,” you say when he leads you inside. 

Two meals are ordered, alongside wine and some privacy; you dine leisurely, closely sat together, “We should do this more often,” Lucifer remarks, taking a spoonful of your food.

“Hmm, well, I wouldn’t say no to that,” you reply, “but I may have to return to hell,” you pout.

“Or you could stay here with me,” he offers, threading his fingers with yours, “two infernal lovers,” he pecks beneath your ear, “free from our hellish responsibilities.” His nose trails down to the junction with your shoulder; you tilt your head back with a giddy smile. Open-mouth kisses follow to the tune of your laughter; Lucifer’s hands drift beneath your shirt, caressing the skin of your hip, and your own hands move to his hair, softly tugging at some of the strands. A few yeses slip between the laughter, and Lucifer’s enthusiasm piques further. He lays a series of bites with his kisses, drawing back when the soft noises outside your private booth remind you of your public location. 

You finish your meals quicker now and move your tryst elsewhere - hands tugging at the other’s clothes as you make your way up to his penthouse - the music from his bar grows distant, your focuses zeroing in on each other. No care is given to clothing, a few things tear here and there, but you ignore them as your stumble into the bed together. Lucifer’s kisses return, teeth dragging along your skin, leaving hickeys in his wake. You graze over the wing scars of his back, leaving newer ones alongside them, his own leaving markings on your waist. 

“Someone’s eager,” you mumble, never one to leave you empty; his fingers make quick work inside of you and draws out light moans. Your back arches slightly, a whine in your throat when his fingers leave, soon enough replaced by his cock. You hook your legs around him, back arching further when he begins to thrusts. His own body curves closer to you, holding you close, laughter mixes with groans, and any words said come out barely coherent. His hand moves to your dick and Lucifer’s hand moves faster - you dig your nails into his back when you cum. Lucifer follows much later, adjusting speed to draw out more sounds from you, angling your leg higher to delve deeper inside you. When he cums, you cling close together, and he falls atop you after, the promising smirk on his face for round two.

End Note:

Look, I would barter my soul for Lucifer. Stay Hydrated.