#he's such a petty bitch about her lol | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

losersiren · 1 year ago

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𝒜 𝒥𝑒𝒶𝓁𝑜𝓊𝓈 𝒴𝒶𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝑒!𝐿𝑜𝓇𝒹

”𝒶𝓈𝓀 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓁𝒹, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼'𝓁𝓁 𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒾𝓉 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒷𝑒𝓎𝑜𝓃𝒹 𝒶𝓈 𝒶𝒸𝒸𝑒𝓈𝓈𝑜𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈.” A continuation of my oc Ambrose, The lord N: Don't I have a gift for you, Anon! God, I had to rewrite this so many times, BUT I'M DONE!! Eat up! This is a long one! I had to watch so many gun videos (like two), which was unexpected... CW: Fem reader (she/her), acts and talks of violence (not towards the reader), implied murder, threats, guns, fluff (with the reader lol), mocking, power balance (?) Jealousy (or pettiness) Wc: 3.5k

A shotgun sound echoes throughout the forest, followed by yet another dead Grey partridge and light crunches of leaves beneath stomping leather boots.

“That bastard of a man! A prick! Son of a bitch! Son of an adventuress at that!” Ambrose stops in his tracks, reloading his sporting rifle with more gunpowder. Anger consumes his entire being. ”Did you hear what that bloody cocksucker Patrick said to her?” He hissed through his clenched teeth, grabbing the tiny 0.5 mm sphere lead bullet and layering it on top of some fabric. Shoving it inside the rifle barrel, “If what he said changed from the last few hundred times you’ve re-told the incident, then I have no utter clue.” The younger male rolls his eyes, picking up the tenth bird Ambrose has slaughtered this afternoon. He ignores his younger cousin’s sarcastic quip and continues. “ ‘If you wish for a lovely evening, do not be a stranger; send me a letter, and I'll be by your side.’ I should’ve darkened his daylights when those vile words left his devil mouth.” He fixes his gun upright, pushing the first trigger, waiting for another prey to be a victim of his wrath.

“Is she spoken for? Have you outwardly said you intend to court her?” His cousin questions, and Ambrose, in retaliation to his younger relative’s question….blushes like a young girl. Clenching his jaw, he answers, “No,” “Are you mad?!?” “I’ve attempted…but my nervousness has sabotaged me alas.” Astonished, his cousin continues, “Then you have no right to be jealous of her, you fool.”

Bushes start rustling. Ambrose aims and squints instantly, with a pointer finger on the second trigger. A small grey rabbit appears, and immediately, it's killed straight through its skull; a soft smile appears on Ambrose’s face. “For her, I'll be whatever is needed.”

“You are not sane.”

“Don’t be rude, Finch. This is love in its purest form. One day, you’ll understand.” The older male shrugs his shoulders.

“Now,” Ambrose reloads his gun, repeating his past actions, but this time, he looks straight into the other male’s eyes. “What do you know about Patrick Barton?” “I do not-” Ambrose cuts him off. “ Do not lie to me, young Finch…” His voice becomes lower, mocking, his aura more sinister. “You frequent more gentleman clubs than I; lord knows I hate the people and atmosphere of said clubs– Your mother grumbles enough to mine about the subject.” In goes the gunpowder: “You surround yourself with such…’ vast’ personalities from the elites to the ladies of the night.” The grey-eyed man reaches into his waistcoat for a lead bullet. “Yet you tell me– you don’t know about a mere Lord.” He scoffs.

Finch watches his older cousin's actions. Of course, he only asked to spend time with him for information regarding the apple of his eye’s new ‘suitor.’ The young man knows his current situation, the number of Grey partridge carcasses he holds because of Ambrose, and how far deep he’s in the forest, alone with his turbulent cousin. This was a warning, a show of sorts, that he could join these insignificant birds. He tries to swallow the heavy lump stuck in his throat. Ambrose was always the odd man; his smile never reached his eyes, his charm as real as a disloyal man’s ‘ I love you.’ His older cousin wasn’t above putting his hands on his own blood to get what he wanted– Ambrose’s father’s scar is evidence enough.

“He partakes in Hell’s, frequents them more than gentleman’s clubs, a gambler of sorts. Loves it! He brags about the thrills of it and his winnings. Folks whisper that he’s a dishonourable shark. But it's not just hell establishments he attends; If there's someplace to gamble away his earnings, he's there,” Finch sputters his confession.

“And Mills? Does he attend those as well?” “Yes,” The younger lad answers his senior instantly.

Ambrose just hums in return.

Just finishing his task, he aims for his cousin; he wears an inexpressive face, his grey eyes darkened and vacant, with no light, no soul.

“Wait, wait! I told you what you wanted!” Finch pleas. He could run, but in retrospect, how far can he go? Ambrose has a fucking rifle. He’s a good shot, no, an excellent shot. Hell! It’s borderline impossible how he always hits his targets, especially with how hard it is to aim for those things. Finch is panicking; his cousin has already pushed the first trigger. The nervous lad just accepts it; what else could he do? He closes his eyes, expecting his death to come quickly, then he hears a gunshot…

And he's fine…? Another Grey partridge falls from the sky right before him, its dead eye looking at the twenty-year-old.

Ambrose’s gun aims towards the sky. He lowers it. Then he casually approaches the stunned male, who lets out a staggered sigh, relieved he escaped death by a hair. Ambrose looks down at Finch, grabbing his shoulder and leaning in close. “Don’t ever fucking lie to me ever again, especially when the topic concerns my love.” Finch nods rapidly, shaking like a leaf. “Of course, sir, sorry.” Then, the older male releases his shoulders. “Good. Gift those birds to a peasant; perhaps they’ll make dinner with it, oh, and the rabbit, too. Say I have decided to help my community or something along those lines.” He looks at the sky. “I have a woman blessed by aphrodite to court.” His smile is bright, contrasting how he was a mere few seconds ago. He pats his younger cousin’s back and leaves the forest– The lifeless Grey partridge stares back at Finch, and he stares back.

Social calls…How dreadful. Worse is conversing with Lord Barton. He’s a bore, vulgar, and has an underlying inconsiderate, bitter personality. Having your mother as a chaperone does not make the situation any more bearable.

“Have you ever pondered about the future?” he inquires.

What kind of wet rag question is that?

You put on a gentle smile. “Of course I have. Since I was a chit, I would read the local papers with my father-” He cuts you off “Children.” You look at him in confusion. “Pardon?”

The gentleman looks at you like you’re the biggest dunce in the country. “Children, how many children do you wish for? It would be sensible for us to have eight or ten,” “Hah…well…” you lift the tea cup to your mouth.

The man has no decorum…

After that fiasco, you decided to take a stroll downtown, and perhaps you’ll get a book from the local store, some new fabrics from a linen draper, or even some oils. Your pin money given to you by your parents could only cover one item... what a conundrum….

“Do tell me why the viscount’s only daughter is doing without a chaperone?” He leans against the brick wall, arms crossed, his smile beaming.

“Lord Howard, have you dropped your hunting hobby in exchange for stalking?” He chuckles. “Witty as always, but dare I disappoint? I was just strolling about my day and coincidentally saw you– Perhaps fate has decided for us to meet?” He pushes himself off the wall and offers his arm. Was it coincidence or fate…? No, it was none; it was all Ambrose, him asking your fellow lady peers about your whereabouts. Then, wandering near whatever local shops would possibly pique your interest. Memories play in his head, such as when you both were young and would rendezvous at the local forest. You would acquire many hobbies when you were younger– your mother said you would have a higher chance of obtaining a suitor with diverse skills. He would remember them and watch you in amazement when you talked about them.

You made him feel human. You made him feel alive. His father was never a loving one; he gained the son he wanted, and his heir then wanted nothing more to do with him. The only attention Ambrose earned from The Earl was if he needed reprimanding. Every laugh that was too loud, every fork that he unitized improperly, every action, small or big, was scrutinized. His mother was a vacant husk of a woman at home and a social butterfly in the public eye; she watered herself down to being a wife and a mother. She was neither. He detested both of them and hated that damned empty feeling of his soul and heart that matched his vacated house; he felt nothing. His world was as grey as his eyes.

Till he met the colourful Viscount’s daughter– If he got kicked by a horse and lost his memory, he would still somehow remember the day you two met—the memory ingrained in his bones, body, and soul. On the way to your estate, the stately carriage was soundless and suffocating, as if the air was thick. Ambrose remembers how he bore his eyes into his obsidian-polished boots, wishing for the minutes to pass faster.

You were a naive hoyden the first time you introduced yourself; you forgot to say his title and yours. Using his common name and giving him an oh-so-sweet genuine smile, he hadn’t ever seen such an authentic smile for him and only him—not for his parents nor his riches. Just him. Your parents scolded you while apologizing profusely for your ‘disrespect.’ Before his parents could utter something backhanded yet elegant, Ambrose smiled. He didn’t know he could do that. For the first time, the young boy speaks up; he feels this protectiveness over you. But, at the moment, Ambrose couldn't care less about his father's punishment that would soon come; the only thing that mattered was you, and soon he’d found out that it would always be you.

An airy laugh escapes you. “Do you wish for us to be caught in a scandal every time we meet?” He raises a faux, worried face and voice. “Me?!? As a future Earl, I am fulfilling my gentlemanly duties by escorting a fine young lady and keeping her from potential dangers. What’s so scandalous about that?” You take his arm. “You’re far from sane, My Lord.”

“For you, My lady? I hope so,” He says proudly with his chest out.

A comfortable silence lulls you as you look at how the sun hits the trees, people, and him. The sun's rays lighten his dark brown hair, blessing it with an orange hue and grey eyes, becoming Iridescent, more akin to a pearl.

“The latest on dit says Lord Barton has called for your company?” He inquires

Your face grimaces at just the sound of his name. As much as you loathe the man, he is a viable suitor with good money and an excellent reputation, but a suitable suitor does not equate to a good man. “He’s…an interesting individual…” His jaw clenches. You’re not being open as he wants; you’re holding back…he hates that you might be hiding something. Not you per se but that damned rake Patrick. “He’s a rake,” he spits out, and you gaze at him. He’s uncharacteristically serious.

You smile. “He is,” Ambrose turns his head to you, returning your smile.

“Quite the feat to dissect the woman you are trying to woo as well.” The gentleman’s eyebrows furrow. “He did not,” you huff. “Oh, he did!” Ambrose stops in his tracks and mummers your name softly. “If you would only permit it, Allow me to court you,” You raise an eyebrow at the sudden question, “Pardon?” He continues, “That bastard doesn’t deserve you.” “And you do?” he chuckles. “No, but I’ll do everything you ask me to, then maybe one day I'll deserve you; you wish for dresses? I'll buy you the tailor and store. Money is far from an issue. Heavens, ask for the world, and I'll give you it with the stars and beyond as accessories.” He turns his whole body to you, his hands finding yours, his leather gloves causing a barrier between your soft ones.

He hates that

“Ambrose…”

“Please…only if you’ll allow me.” The love-sick man entreated “But what about the other more suitable ladies? I’ve heard-” “I do not care for them,” He interrupts you. “Every second I was apart, I only longed for you. The only reason I kept my studies up was to be the perfect suitor equal to you.” He caresses your knuckles. The butterflies in your stomach flutter more after each word spills out of his mouth. Your relationship with Ambrose was vague at most. You couldn’t put your finger on it; every time you were in his presence, you had this comfort no one else could recreate. You were hesitant to put a label onto it, and maybe you feel this way because he was the only man you truly felt you could be yourself with.

“If you wish to court me, you must’ve thought to ask my father for permission rather than myself.”

“I could’ve,” He pauses, “But I'd rather ask you first; I need your permission. I am not marrying your father, am I? I need to hear you wish for me as much as I yearn for you,”

You amuse the thought. Ambrose is a prick at times, his teasing relentless, but despite that, he’s charming, sincere, soothing, and protective. He’s a good man, indeed.

“I’ll bite, My lord.” “Please do.” He smirked, masking his nervousness.

You slap his hand lightly, reprimanding him, “Let me continue, you brute…I’ll allow you to court me.” “Truly?” he exclaims, Astonished. “Truly,” You nod meekly. In a haste, he kisses your bare hands, each knuckle, each finger. “I’ve been blessed indeed,” his voice is as blissful as a child receiving a sugary dessert. You yank your hands away from him, flushed from his actions. “You dog, we are in the public,” you scold him. “I shall make it up to you in our next outing; I vow,” You swear you could see a wagging tale behind him. You sigh.

The day went on, and by sundown, Ambrose had hired a post-chaise for the both of you despite your protests of you living just around the corner. He claimed he had ‘Earl-like duties to attend to’ and you were just on the route back either way. As a gentleman should, he dropped you off promptly; as he left in the carriage, away from your estate, you softly ran your fingers over your knuckles. A smile adorns your face. “What an oaf,” you whisper to yourself. A fond grin decorates Ambrose’s face, a few giggles even, but as euphoric this day was, he did have business to attend to. A certain lord has decided to make his lacklustre presence known, and Ambrose couldn’t celebrate until he exterminated said pest.

Gentleman’s clubs were boisterous, loud, and untrustworthy. The men here are just as vile as the feed that is fed to pigs. The soon-to-be-Earl disliked them and only engaged in them because he needed to build his reputation. He may be judgemental, but he isn’t an idiot. Others may regard him as a friend, but for him, he could care less for it. The males around him start to recognize Ambrose, yelling pleasantries, which he would return and shut down politely or…as politely as he could in his eyes. A booming voice reverberates against the wall of the finely furnished building, only belonging to the one and only Patrick Barton. Unconsciously, a scowl appears on the young man’s face. Ambrose knew more than he led on about Patrick; he heard whispers of Barton’s hobby in the mills, rigging the boxing matches that were bid on by elites and peasants alike. Word says he would pay one of the desperate participants to lose on purpose– word is bound to escape one day or another. It is not a sustainable income source. Yet another reason Lord Barton is not fit for you.

Ambrose walks towards the table where the bastard sits, narrowing his eyes.

Lord Barton and his goons recognize the lord approaching them. Barton speaks first: “Lord Howard! Is it a blue moon? What on earth might’ve convinced you to come out of that dreadful estate?” He laughs, arranging some snuff onto the mahogany to snort. “Perhaps it’s because you plan on courting his woman.” a nameless male inquires. “No, could it be? I don’t blame you, Ambrose; she is a fine woman, isn’t she? She is just in need of training,” another male said, joining in. “So does every woman in this country.” Another chuckle escapes the vulgar lord.

Ambrose’s leather gloves wrinkle. His fist clenched to prevent him from beating the man in front of him into a pummel. He has a plan, the grey-eyed man repeats in his head. Then he forces a smile on his face. “On the contrary, I've decided to pick up a new gambling hobby; why not ask the man of the hour himself for advice? Or even a game or two.” Ambrose signals a servant and orders drinks for the table. The man in question gets up, slapping Ambrose on his back. “Atta boy, never let a woman come between men; let bygones be bygones, what a joyance plan! Come, come.” The night continues, and Patrick is as drunk as the rest of the men in the club; Ambrose, the gentleman he is, offers him to join his carriage in his words. 'Let’s start this newfound friendship off with a bang.' Cold water hits the once-drunken lord, and he awakens, gasping for air on the cold textured ground. ‘Where am I?’ he thinks, discombobulated, looking around and grasping his situation. The dark forest surrounds him, almost engulfing him; the trees blow along with the wind, and the creatures of the night rustle in the background. A voice comes from the shadows, luring him away from his racing thoughts, “Gunpowder is such a messy substance, but did you know a man invented a gun powered by air? What a time to be alive! How revolutionary!” Patrick looks at the man, most of his body consumed by the darkness of nightfall, the moon only making his grey eyes visible.

“Ambrose, what the utter fuck-” “Don’t interrupt.” He says sternly. “As I was saying, a gun powered by air,” He continues. “A watchmaker of all things invented it; how preposterous! He eliminated gunpowder entirely and named this new gun Windbüchse or, I know you only know English, so pardon me, I'll translate, wind gun.”

“It’s far better than my hunting rifle; the tedious thing is quite a hassle to reload. But this wind gun can load much faster, 20 rounds a minute! Compared to the other, it is much quieter. It's a shame its range is far smaller.” The man standing pouts. “But all is well. The Austrian army decided to order thousands of supplies, and it’s fortunate I even got my hands on one.” Patrick squints, trying to distinguish Ambrose, and it finally sets in. In a forest he doesn’t know of, with a man who has a gun in his hand in the dead of night. Not just any man but a Lord known for his physical fitness and hunting expertise since he was a just a lad.

Fuck

“If this is about your lady, Ambrose, you can have her! There’s no need to do this!” Patrick tries to reason with the love-sick lord, yet it's no use. The other man scoffs, “I’ve always detested men like you, greedy, hypocritical. Ready to jump boat when things get too tough for your liking– where is your backbone? Where is your spine? Your pride?” Ambrose circles the pain-filled man on the ground. “You never deserved to even be in her presence; you aren’t even entitled to breathe the same air as her,” He then spontaneously kicks Patrick's ribs, causing him to curl up on a ball, yelping. Ambrose looks down at the pathetic man. “But, I am a fair man, unlike you, so I'll give you a chance to run while I read you the note I have written in your writing announcing your hasty departure after news of your rigging in the mills comes to light, your writing was not hard to duplicate as well; who knew mother’s penmanship lessons would come in handy,” He chuckles.

“Now run, monkey, while you still can.” He sets the trigger and then turns the spindle of his gun clockwise till a clicking sound can be heard, indicating he doesn’t need to turn it anymore. Ambrose opens the barrel, puts in an 8.5 mm bullet, and then shuts it.

“I’m sure we can talk this out reasonably, money! I have money! Have it all; buy your woman something nice-” Patrick feels his thigh get warmer at first rather than the pulsing pain of a bullet shooting through his thigh that would soon follow shortly after. He screams.“To think you have the naivety to think I couldn’t fund my lover for generations on end,”

Ambrose rolls his eyes. “Scream louder; perhaps you’ll awaken a bear to save you,” yet again, he starts reloading his wind gun, faster at that, “I am not one to repeat himself nor give mercy. Run, rabbit.”

With adrenaline coursing through his body, Patrick runs…or well, attempts to.

Ambrose reaches into his waistcoat for the forged letter, clearing his voice to read it while his other hand holds his gun. Though his attention should be on the task at hand, he is utterly distracted by possible outing plans you would adore. Shall he go canoeing with you? Or a picnic? A carriage ride underneath the newly blooming cherry blossoms? Why not all three?

Oh. how he longs to see you again.

Notes: I'm gonna be so honest, romance is the hardest thing to write for me. It's probably noticeable, forgive me (⇀‸↼‶) I had to do some research for this one, but it was a fun process learning more about Regency lingo and gun history. For my next full fic. I was thinking of a yandere! Cannibalistic 50's housewife, but idk….hehe…if you have any ideas send them to my inbox!! I'd like to say again THANK YOU FOR THE SUPPORT!!! Reading all your kind words makes my little shy heart soar (o^ ^o) see you soon, my little guppies!!

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sidsinning · 1 year ago

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Alastor 100% did not personally care if Charlie liked him more than Lucifer

She was just the easiest route to piss off Lucifer whose power and rank is greater than his

Which to his narcissistic self is infuriating, especially because he sees Lucifer as someone who is trying to one up his position as the provider for the hotel

AND Lucifer was doing the one thing that pisses him off the most; belittling him/invalidating his power- Lucifer is the ONLY one in the show so far that has the power over Alastor to do so without consequence (besides angels), unlike Husk who he could chain into submission when he tried to belittle him as well (tho ofc Husk's words here were far more insulting than anything Lucifer has said so far)

(Also trying to beat up the dad of the girl who's running your current gig rn is probably not the move here lol)

In Hell's Greatest Dad, everytime he sucked up to Charlie it always ended with him looking to see Lucifer's reaction instead bc his heartfelt words to her are empty in the end

Like here even though its comedic he only comforts Nifty after helping her bc he wants Charlie's approval as another point over Lucifer

In summary, Alastor can't use his usual force to beat someone disrespecting him into submission, so the petty bitch grasped at anything to at least annoy Lucifer which was Charlie

(This doesn't mean he doesn't care about Charlie at all. But his words in this ep were not at all the way he really feels about their partnership lol we all seen the pilot)

#hazbin hotel #alastor #charlie morningstar #lucifer morningstar #dad beat dad #sidrabbles

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animamii · 3 months ago

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Hit Different | Eren Jaeger 𝜗𝜚 part deux

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ Eren meets his match when Ymir's cousin crashes into his life. Classic playboy meets maneater. ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

𖹭.ᐟ modern aot verse! college au!

.・゜✧﹒☁﹒✧゜・．.・゜✧﹒☁﹒✧゜・．.・゜✧﹒☁﹒✧゜・．.・

The sun is a personal attack. Why the hell does it have to be so damn bright right now? You groan, burrowing deeper into the mess of blankets, only to realize—you don’t remember getting into bed. Hell, you barely even remember leaving the party. Your head throbs in protest as you peel open your eyes, met with unfamiliar floral-patterned sheets and a very judgmental Ymir sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, scrolling through her phone.

“Look who’s finally up,” she monotonously spews, not even glancing at you, just tap, tapping away at her phone. “Thought I was gonna have to throw water on you.”

You blink, sluggish, trying to piece together the events of last night. “Where am I?” Your voice is hoarse, like you swallowed an entire desert. You somehow still taste tequila on your tongue, with the little remnants of your pineapple juice chaser.

"Our guest room, dumb ass. Had to carry your ass in here when you passed out in our bed after I dragged your ass out of that party.” Ymir finally looks up, raising a sharp brow. “Speaking of—what the fuck was that with Eren?”

Your stomach does an annoying little flip, but you mask it with a slow stretch, feigning nonchalance. “Dunno what you’re talking about.”

Ymir scoffs. “Oh, please. The sexual tension in that kitchen could’ve powered the whole damn party.” She looks at you with an obvious look on her face, as if to say, 'don't fuckin play in my face like I'm stupid and blind'. “Dude was looking at you like he wanted to either fuck you or fight you. Maybe both.”

You snort, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. You notice your lashes were taken off, now on the dresser next to you. “Not my fault he’s got a staring problem.”

"Right. So you just happened to flirt with Jean all night while Eren practically set him on fire with his mind?"

Before you can answer, Historia walks in looking suspiciously awake for someone who was blackout drunk last night. She holds out a bottle of water and some aspirin like she does this every weekend. "You look like shit," she chirps.

"Good morning to you too," you mumble, snatching the water and chugging it.

“Did you check your phone yet?” Historia asks, perching on the bed beside you as she holds out the tiny pain killers. Taking them from her hand, you toss them into your mouth, swallowing quickly.

A slight sense of dread creeps in. “No? Why?”

Ymir smirks, flipping her phone screen toward you, showing a group chat notification. Connie added Eren to 'Brunch, Bitches'. You groan at the sight of the name, flopping back onto the pillows. Of course. Because why wouldn’t fate be a petty little shit?

Meanwhileeee— Eren wakes up to a headache and text from Connie like he does every Sunday morning.

Connie: Lmao, you tryna get brunch? Eren: Why the fuck would I do that? Connie: Bc ur little crushy crush is gonna be there 😉 Eren: Blocked Connie: Damn bro just pull up, it’ll be fun

Eren stares at his phone, jaw tight, remembering the way you looked at him last night—how you didn’t look at him until the very last second. His grip tightens on his phone. Fuck it.

Connie: Yo, brunch at that spot on 3rd? You guys down?

Ymir: I’m always down for food, babe. But don't tell me we're going to that weird place again with the mismatched plates.

Eren: 😑 It’s good. Stop being a snob.

Connie: I’ll pass on the weird plates place if you bring your cousin,, I still don’t have her number lol

Ymir: lmao what do you mean you don’t have her number?

Connie: Yeahhhh I haven't actually talked to her much,, she kinda makes me scared 😅

Eren: 🙄 You mean you're scared she’ll turn you down like the others?

Connie: Stfu says the one who threw a tantrum cuz she was flirting with Jean ✋🏽🤨

Eren: ... I'm bouta leave ts.

Connie: Yeah that's what I thought ho!

Ymir: ugh. you two stop being dramatic. I'll bring her if she's not too dead

Ymir added y/n to Brunch, Bitches

Connie: Sounds good to me. Jean can’t make it,, btw. He has work. Told him to leave his ass at the office 🙄

Eren: His loss. Those pancakes are gonna smack, I'm ready asl.

Ymir: same. you guys better be on time this time. 😒

Connie: No promises 🙈😜😚😚🦧

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

"So we're all just showing up in pajamas huh?" Ymir stands in the doorway of the room, watching as you lazily curl your lashes, leaning against the headboard in their room.

"Yup," you answer, picking up your mascara and applying a coat. "Besides, this is a track suit. It's like multipurpose."

Ymir raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms as she leans against the doorframe. “A track suit, huh? I mean, I guess it does have boujie y2k bitch written all over it...”

You smile, finishing the last stroke of mascara and setting the wand back in the tube with a twist. “Exactly. It's basically brunch attire and I could probably go for a run after if I felt like it. Double duty, extra fruity.”

She snorts, shaking her head as she pushes herself off the door frame. “Yeah, sure, but I’m pretty sure the only thing you’re running for today is the nearest mimosa.”

"And you're running into the nearest Hot Topic wearing that damn flannel and sweats." You playfully quip back, tossing the pillow on your lap at your cousin.

"Somebody say something about my flannel?" Historia's soft voice rings into the room as she steps out of the bathroom, hands busy tying her hair into a messy bun. Her eyes are wide and confused, making you smile at her naivety.

Your eyes dart down to the flannel pajama bottoms she wears. "Can you two get any gayer?? Matching flannel to brunch? Really?"

Ymir lets out a bellow, her hand resting on the back of Historia's neck as she kisses the top of her head, causing Historia's eyes to shut as she beams a content smile. "Mad cause we're in loooooveeee?"

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever, lesbians. I'd be gay too if I had a choice," you roll your eyes sardonically as you stand up and slip your uggs on.

"Oh hell no, we don't need any evil femmes. Regina George is that cautionary tale. Stay being straight, the male population needs their repercussions."

You laugh, zipping your sweater up halfway. "I think the world is far better off with a few evil femmes, if I’m being honest. Less competition, more fun."

Ymir grins, lazily shoving her feet into her sneakers. "Exactly. You get it."

Historia chuckles softly from where she stands by the bathroom mirror, finishing up with her hair. "You look like you stepped out of a 2000's paparazzi photo."

You shoot her a dirty look but can’t suppress the childish smile that creeps onto your face. "Yeah, well, at least I’m not going out looking like a damn lumberjack." You point a finger between the two girls.

Ymir twirls around dramatically, causing the flannel to swish with her movement. "Heyyy, leave my lumberjack alone, you know she loves to climb trees."

"Gross, I don't wanna hear my cousin say nasty flirty shit with her girlfriend, Miri. Save your kinky lumberjack fantasy for the bedroom." You hold a hand up as you step out of the couple's room.

Ymir bursts out laughing, following you down the hallway, while Historia’s face flushes a soft pink. "You're the one who started it," Ymir teases, nudging you with her elbow.

You groan dramatically. "Yeah, well, I should’ve known better than to walk into this disaster of a relationship." Throwing yourself onto their couch, you mindlessly scroll through your phone. “Why does it always feel like I’m the third wheel?”

"Because you are our third wheel?" Ymir says like it's obvious, which it is really. "But it's okay we don't mind being a tricycle sometimes." Taking a seat at the other end of the couch, she props her feet up on your lap.

Historia follows behind Ymir, still trying to hide her smile. "We’re not that bad, are we?"

"You're like an over-the-top romcom couple," you retort, rolling your eyes playfully. "But like, one of those ones that you can’t fully hate because they’re just so damn cute."

Ymir, who’s still grinning, tosses a pillow at you. "Hey, we’re adorable, and you know it."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." You place the pillow under Ymir's feet, not wanting her beat up converse to dirty the gray cotton sweats you were wearing. You were going for low effort, not slob. "Just don’t bring your cheesy couple energy into brunch. I’m not in the mood to be the only one single at the table."

"Oh, please, you’ll be just fine," Historia says with a wink as she slides her crocs on. "And besides, who says you have to stay single? You’ve got options. Plenty really. If you actually stopped with these maneater shenanigans." She nudges you gently, giving you a look more serious than you'd like.

You scoff, locking your phone and tossing it aside, letting it bounce on the couch before it finds a snug spot by Ymir's leg. "Maneater shenanigans? Excuse me, I prefer to call it ‘strategic non-attachment.’ Sounds way more sophisticated." Your nose sticks up in the air in a playfully bratty way, lips forming into a pout.

Historia rolls her eyes as she zips up her sweater, the ziiiiip sound loud just to be extra dramatic. "Sounds like a fancy way to say ‘terrified of commitment.’"

Ymir hums in agreement, stretching her arms behind her head. "Right? Like, you’re out here collecting numbers like Pokémon cards, but let a dude actually like you, and suddenly, it’s ‘ew, feelings.’" She sticks her tongue out in fake disgust as she mocks your tone, making you roll your eyes.

You lazily point at her, feigning offense. "First of all, rude, I don't sound like that at all, cunt. Second of all, you know my philosophy; love is a scam, and I refuse to be a victim."

Historia snorts, grabbing her bag, the plethora of keychains clanging together and making an off-sound symphony of metal, letting anyone in a mile radius know that she picked it up. "Tell that to Eren, who was practically following you around at the party like a lost puppy."

"He’s a player, remember? He’s got a new flavor of the week by now, I’m sure." Your face stays neutral, but the way you grab your phone a little too quickly does not go unnoticed by the girls' sharp eyes. "Anyway," you say, standing up, "we should go before Connie loses his damn mind. He’s already sent, like, three where are you texts."

Ymir smirks, but doesn’t push the topic. "Fine, fine. Let’s roll out, Breakfast Club."

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“Dude, you look like hell.”

Eren groans, standing in Connie’s kitchen, nursing a lukewarm fruit punch Gatorade like it's the last drop of hydration on earth. His hoodie is wrinkled, his hair a mess, and he still reeks faintly of last night’s Hennessy and bad decisions. He'd still be knocked out at home if he wasn't so abruptly woken up by said friend calling him a dozen times.

"Thanks," Eren mutters, feeling like his eye bags were physically weighing him down. "Exactly the kind of encouragement I needed. I shouldn't even be up this damn early."

"It’s literally noon," Connie says flatly, biting into his bagel, cream cheese spilling out of the sides. "And last night? You were gone, man. Like, barely forming sentences. You kept staring at y/n like you wanted to kidnap her ass and lock her in your basement."

Eren scoffs, taking a sip of his drink. "Was not."

"You so were," Connie says, pointing at him with his half-eaten bagel. "And let’s talk about that, actually. You’ve got that look in your eye—like she’s your next target."

Eren rolls his eyes, placing his hands on the counter to steady himself. "She’s not a target, dumbass. She’s just—" He pauses, searching for the words. "She just seems... interesting."

Connie snorts, finding the way Eren stares off into space a tad bit comical and so dramatic in a way only Eren can get away with. "So, what? You wanna wife her up now?"

Eren makes a face. "What? No. I haven’t even talked to her like that yet." He shakes his head as if he's trying to not imagine the thought of him actually, seriously pursuing you. "She’s just… different, y’know? It’s like a challenge."

Connie raises an eyebrow. "So, this is, what, a side quest for you?" Connie would never be one to admit it, but he was rooting for Eren to finally find love, and to finally stop being a damn fuckboy. He was tired of getting at girls only for them to tell him that they had their heart broken by his friend, Eren always leaving a mark on every single one of his hookup's hearts. He just wanted to meet one girl on campus that hadn't fucked Eren.

Eren smirks, leaning his elbows against the counter. "More like a boss level. She’s not like the usual girls. She’s got that whole I don’t give a fuck attitude, and you know I live for that shit." Eren always wanted things he couldn't have.

"So, let me get this straight," Connie says, licking some cream cheese off his thumb. "You’re telling me you spent all night trying to get her attention, and you still couldn’t bag a conversation with her?"

Eren clicks his tongue, looking annoyed and pouty. "It’s not that I couldn’t, it’s just—" He exhales sharply, that familiar frustration from last night coming back for a second. "She was talking to Jean all night. Didn't even glance at me. And then Historia got too drunk, and boom, she was gone before I even got the chance."

Connie bursts out laughing, finally someone was doing what Eren does to him, swooping in on the girl he wants. "Damn. She really curved you before you even got the chance to spit game?"

Eren glares, thick brows furrowing. "Shut up."

"Nah, man, this is hilarious," Connie wheezes. "Playboy Eren Jaeger finally meets a girl who doesn’t immediately fall into his lap? What’s next? Are you gonna start writing music about her?"

Eren rolls his eyes. "You’re so fucking annoying."

"Nah, you’re annoying," Connie shoots back. "’Cause I know you’re gonna spend all brunch trying to get her attention, and if you strike out again, I’m gonna have to sit there and witness the secondhand embarrassment."

Eren smirks, shaking his head. "Not happening."

"Mhmm. So what’s the plan, lover boy?" Connie asks, raising his eyebrows.

Eren grins, finishing his Gatorade and tossing the empty bottle into the trash. "Easy. I just gotta get her to talk to me. Once that happens? Game over."

Connie hums, finding Eren's words a bit deluded. "Man, I dunno. y/n’s like a you but hotter and meaner. You might be out of your league on this one."

Eren just chuckles, grabbing his keys. "There’s no such thing as out of my league, Connie."

Connie shakes his head, shoving the last of his bagel in his mouth. "Aight, bet. Let’s see how that works out for you."

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Connie picked the perfect spot for a hungover brunch, with the diner being less than busy for a Suday afternoon. The last thing you needed was a packed restaurant full of clanking dishes and obnoxious conversations stabbing through your skull. The scent of coffee and syrup lingers in the air, making your tummy rumble since you hadn't eaten since before yesterday's party. The hostess barely looks up from her tablet when Ymir announces the reservation, tapping at the screen with the kind of dead eyed exhaustion that says she’s one wrong order away from walking out mid shift.

"Ugh, why is it so bright in here?" you groan, slipping your sunglasses onto your face as the three of you follow the hostess to your table. Your feet shuffle against the floor, still wishing you were wrapped up in the heavy duvet in Ymir and Historia's guest room.

"Because it’s daytime, dumbass," Ymir snickers, sliding into the booth with Historia next to her. With a sigh you plop yourself beside Historia, slumping against the plush backing of the booth as if it might absorb your exhaustion. The other side is left empty—reserved for the two idiots who were, as expected, late.

"You’re acting like you weren’t up just as late as I was," you shoot back, lazily flipping through the laminated menu before going straight to the real priority: alcohol. "I need a drink. Immediately."

As if on cue, Connie and Eren show up, strolling toward the table with that casual, 'we definitely didn’t wake up on time but we made it' energy. Connie walks with his usual pep in his step, hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket, looking entirely too pleased with himself for someone who failed at punctuality. while Eren lags behind, looking annoyingly good for someone who was supposedly as hungover as you.

"Would you look at this," Connie announces, sliding into the seat across from Ymir. "The brunch bitches, in the flesh."

"You’re late," Historia points out, arching an eyebrow. Leave it to Connie to be late to something he planned.

"I told you no promises that I'd be on time," Connie dismisses with a limp wave. "We’re here now, and that’s what matters."

You don’t miss the way Eren’s eyes flick toward you as he sits across from you, that lazy smirk playing at his lips. Is this boy always smirking? He doesn’t say anything yet, just leans back in his seat, sizing you up like he’s trying to figure out the best way to approach. You don’t give him the satisfaction of looking at him for more than a second. Instead, you tap your fingers against the menu, eyes scanning over it even though you already know exactly what you want.

"So," you say, flipping the menu shut. "What’s everyone drinking? Because I am not doing this brunch sober." The first thing you do is order a mimosa, needing some sort of substance to numb the shitty feeling your body still harbored.

"Real shit," Ymir agrees, already knowing what's in order. "Mimosas all around?"

"Mimosa tower all around," Historia corrects, already flagging down the waiter with dainty hand.

"That’s my girl," you grin, nudging her shoulder with approval. There’s a silent understanding between you two; brunch isn’t brunch unless you leave a little tipsy.

The server swings by, takes everyone’s orders, and the conversation flows easily—mostly Connie, half-hungover and half-buzzed off life, trying to tell some barely coherent story about a girl he almost picked up last night.

"Bro, she looked just like Jade from Victorious," he insists, hands moving dramatically to prove his point.

Historia gives him a flat look, her usual wide doe eyes now hooded. "You say that about every girl with dark hair and a little eyeliner."

"That’s not even true—"

"It is true," Ymir interjects, rolling her eyes. "Last week it was that bartender at Sina’s. Week before that? The girl at the campus library."

"Okay, but this one really looked like her. Like actually," he tries to defend himself.

"Sure, Connie, sure." Historia nods, knowing how many times he had said this same thing before.

"You have a type," you say in a simple voice, reassuring him . "Own it."

Eren, though? He’s been biding his time, waiting for the right moment. And the second there’s a lull in the conversation, he leans forward, finally addressing you directly.

"So, you," he starts, and you slowly drag your gaze to him. His hair is messy, looking a bit greasy as a few strands fall over his forehead. Who does he think he is? Zayn?

"Me?" you say flatly, feigning disinterest as you take the mimosa flute from the server, keeping your lidded eyes glued on his. Looking away would make Eren feel like he had one up on you in this little staring contest.

"You," he repeats, resting his forearms on the table, emerald eyes locked onto yours. "Tell me something."

"Tell you what, Jaeger?" You take a slow, savoring sip of your drink.

He smirks, realizing you know his name without him ever introducing himself. "Oh, so you do know who I am," Eren smugly drawls, tapping a finger against the table. His posture goes more lax, legs spreading as if he's soaking up the ego that he lost last night.

Your face doesn’t give anything away, but inside, a flicker of irritation sparks. The way he’s looking at you—like he thinks he has the upper hand just because you acknowledged his name—sets something stubborn alight in your chest.

You take a slow sip of your mimosa, letting the bubbles fizz on your tongue before answering. "It’s hard not to when half the girls at that party were either throwing themselves at you or talking about how you used to throw yourself at them." Your memory reels to the blonde girl from last night, calling out Eren's name like he was some sort of damn celebrity.

Connie chokes on his drink, almost spewing his coffee all over the table. Ymir whistles lowly as her eyes dart between you and Eren. Historia presses her lips together, clearly entertained and loving every single moment of this.

Eren tilts his head, clicking his tongue against his teeth as he chuckles lowly. "Damn. You really came out swinging, huh?" He realizes his reputation precedes him, probably making his conquest of you just a little more difficult.

You lift a shoulder in a lazy shrug, setting your glass down with a soft clink. "Just calling it like I see it."

Historia, biting back a smirk, lifts her mimosa to her lips. Ymir’s grin is damn near feral. And Connie? He’s straight up beaming, like he’s witnessing the most entertaining drama of the century unfold before his very eyes.

Eren doesn’t look deterred, though. If anything, he looks even more interested. His elbow rests on the table as he leans in slightly, his gaze on you even more intense, as if that were even possible. "You keep talking like you’ve got me all figured out."

"Oh, I don’t need to figure you out," you reply smoothly, tilting your head with faux sympathy. "You’re a blueprint, Jaeger. Same old story, different haircut."

Connie loses it. "Bro, she just called you a template! A damn copy-paste ass—"

"Alright, alright," Eren cuts him off, but there’s no real bite to his tone. He’s still smirking, still looking at you like you’re a challenge he's determined to win. "I gotta admit, you got a sharp mouth."

"Comes in handy." You wink, picking up your drink again.

"And here I thought you'd at least pretend to be nice to me."

"Oh, Eren," you sigh dramatically, fluttering your lashes. "I don’t pretend for men."

Ymir wheezes. Historia’s dying. Connie is pounding the table with laughter, while Eren just sits back, shaking his head with that same smirk that hasn't left his face.

"You’re fun," he muses, eyes flicking over you, soaking in every detail. "I like fun." His tongue runs over his teeth as one of his arms slings over the top of the pleather booth lining.

"And I like my mimosa," you quip, raising your glass. "So let’s keep this professional, yeah?" You flash him a toothy smile and he would almost say you looked angelic if your attitude towards him wasn't the opposite.

Eren watches you take a sip, something unreadable flashing across his face. Whatever it is, it disappears quickly, replaced with something more playful. "Yeah, yeah. Sure. We’ll see about that."

Connie wipes a fake tear from his eye. "Goddamn, this brunch was worth it." This is exactly why Connie planned this little get together.

The mimosa tower arrives in all its bubbly glory, and Historia immediately starts pouring like she was born to be a rich housewife. She generously pours champagne from the tower's spout and asks everyone what juice they'd like. With the precision of a seasoned bartender (or maybe just a girl who’s been to one too many brunches), starts pouring everyone their custom mimosas.

“Alright, speak now or forever hold your juice preference,” she announces, tapping the spout like she’s about to make a life changing mixology decision. Large pitchers of different juices are lined up in front of her, waiting to be mixed with the bitter bubbles of champagne.

“Orange, obviously,” Ymir says, leaning back in her habitual manner, she could always get comfortable wherever she was, sprawled out like she's on her living room couch.

“Boring,” Historia mutters but obliges anyway, filling Ymir’s glass with the classic.

“Mango,” you say, watching as she pours the golden liquid. She makes yours strong, basically serving you champagne with a splash of mango flavor. Not that you're complaining though, you wanted to get tipsy.

“Classy,” Historia muses before turning to Connie. “You?”

He grins, his eyes scanning over the line up of juice options. “Mix ‘em. I’m feeling chaotic.” You don't know whether to scrunch your nose up in disgust or be impressed by Connie's idiotically genius idea.

Historia rolls her eyes but does it anyway. “Living on the edge, Springer.” His mimosa turns into a dark muddled purplish color.

“Always,” Connie quips, lifting his glass dramatically before taking a sip and nodding in satisfaction.

Then, finally, it’s Eren’s turn. He’s been quiet, just watching, observing, but now he leans forward slightly, lazily tilting his head toward you. “I’ll take whatever she’s having,” he says, eyes looking at the way you hold the champagne flute, making it wonder how your hand would look wrapped around his—

Ymir snorts. “Of course you will.”

You arch a brow at him over the rim of your glass, your lip curling slightly. “Copy-pasting my drink order too now?”

Eren doesn’t even blink. Just smiles at you, taking the glass Historia hands him. “What can I say? I like good taste.”

Historia fake gags. “God, please don’t flirt in front of my mimosa tower. It deserves better.” She downs half her drink like she’s washing away the secondhand embarrassment before refilling her flute with even more champagne and a splash of pineapple juice.

The table dissolves into laughter, the kind that feels warm and familial—like the collective, unspoken agreement that, yes, all of you may be hungover disasters, but at least you’re in it together. Connie and Historia start arguing over whether brunch food is overrated, with Ymir inserting herself into the debate just to get under Historia’s skin. Meanwhile, you feel Eren’s eyes on you every so often, like he’s still turning your words over in his head, still trying to crack whatever code he thinks you are. But you don’t look at him much. He doesn’t get that satisfaction of holding your attention longer than necessary. Instead, you lean back, sip your mimosa, and let the chaotic symphony of your friends fill the space.

"Alright, let’s toast," Connie raises his frankenstein of a mimosa up in the air.

"To what?" you ask with a lifted brow as you slowly raise your champagne flute.

Connie shrugs, trying to think of something clever. "Surviving another night of our dumbassery. And to, uh… new friendships?" He waggles his eyebrows between you and Eren, clearly trying to stir the pot.

Eren meets your gaze over the rim of his glass. He still has that look—the one that says he’s not done with you yet. You don’t react, just clink your mimosa against his without breaking eye contact. It was fun playing this little push and pull game, even if you were mostly pushing.

"Cheers," you say smoothly, a tiny hint of a sly smile on your face.

"Cheers," Eren echoes, mirroring your expression.

The table drinks, and for a brief moment, everything is peaceful—until Connie decides he needs all the attention again.

"So, get this," Connie starts, already grinning. "Eren and I had the most bullshit morning trying to get here."

"Oh god," Ymir mutters. "This better be good."

Connie rubs his hands together. "Picture this. I wake up, head pounding, mouth drier than the goddamn Sahara. I roll over, check my phone, and see like, five texts from you guys asking if I'm alive, and I’m like, ‘oh shit, we should link up and do brunch!’"

"Five texts isn’t even that much," Historia points out.

"Okay, well, it felt like a lot in my fragile, hungover state," Connie retorts before continuing. "Anyway, Eren comes over looking all tired and shit and heads straight for my couch. I tell 'im I'm gonna shower and to wait for me and guess what?? I come out and he's fuckin' snorin'. I try to wake him up, and this dude is fully knocked the hell out, like a damn corpse." He dramatically makes his head fall back, sticking his tongue out like he's dead to mimic Eren.

Eren exhales through his nose, shaking his head. "I was asleep. That’s normal, dumbass."

"Nah, bro, you were dead," Connie insists. "I had to blast music just to get him up."

"Which was so necessary," Eren drawls sarcastically. He swears his ears are still ringing from how close Connie put the speaker next to his ear.

"Yes, it was!" Connie exclaims, still finding the situation hilarious. "Because then this idiot gets up and takes, like, twenty goddamn minutes to stare at his phone instead of—"

"—Because I was looking at something important," Eren interjects.

"Yeah, sure, 'important'. Bro was probably checking his DMs like his life depended on it." Eren doesn’t confirm or deny this, which only makes Connie cackle harder. "Anyway," Connie continues, "we finally leave, and then tell me why this dumbass forgets his wallet, and we have to turn around—"

"I didn’t forget it," Eren argues, taking a sip of his drink. "I just didn’t know where it was."

Historia shakes her head, eyes squinting in exasperation. "That’s the same thing."

"Exactly!" Connie exclaims, arms flailing animatedly. "So now we’re really late, and when we finally get back in my car, the tire pressure light is on. And at that point, I was about ready to just die in my driveway."

"Honestly? You should’ve just let nature take you," Ymir says, stuffing one of the mini quiches the table ordered into her mouth.

"Rude!" Connie gasps, clutching his chest. "Ya know you would miss me if I actually died. Who else would entertain you at brunch?" He tosses a crumple up used sugar packet at her. You glance at Connie and allow yourself a small smile. He’s like a puppy that can’t stop barking, but you kind of like him that way. His antics help distract you from the tension that Eren never seems to let go of. Every time his gaze flickers your way, it’s like a spark of something you can’t name. Not yet, at least.

You softly laugh, finally giving in to the ridiculousness of it all. "So what I’m hearing is, between the two of you, getting to brunch was a damn odyssey?"

"Basically," Connie nods. "But hey, we made it. Even if Eren had to take his sweet ass time getting pretty for you."

You arch a brow at that, glancing over at Eren, whose lips twitch like he’s trying to suppress another smirk. You know Connie’s just stirring the pot, but you can’t deny there’s a certain… appeal in how Eren carries himself. It’s not that he’s trying—he doesn’t need to. And that's what irritates you.

Eren doesn’t even flinch at Connie's comment, instead leaning into it. "Maybe I did," he says smoothly, taking another slow, deliberate sip of his drink. "But even if I didn't I'd still look good enough for ya." It was something about this boy's ego that seemed to tick you off.

You just tilt your head, resting your chin on your palm as you regard Eren with yet another unimpressed stare. "Pretty bold assumption there, Jaeger."

Eren shrugs, an annoyingly smug grin tugging at his lips. "I make good ones."

"Debatable." You gulp the rest of your mango mimosa, wiping the little droplet that was on the corner of your mouth. "But sure, if you wanna tell yourself that." Reaching for a piece of french toast, you dip it in syrup, taking your time as you chew slowly, almost to taunt him. The silence between you both stretches, and for a moment, you allow yourself to enjoy the satisfaction of the game—your back straight, your expression utterly indifferent while his is all too easy to read: that quiet frustration that you’re just out of reach.

Connie, wiping the fake tears from his eyes, waves a hand between the two of you. "Oh, this is good. This is so good. Keep going. I’m invested." Cause who needs reality television when you have two friends at each other's throats.

"You would be," Historia mutters before popping a piece of fruit into her mouth. Although she's just as invested in this fiasco.

Eren leans forward again, that damn smirk still present. "Alright, since we’re making assumptions—what about you? Took extra time getting ready just in case I showed up?" He wants to make you flustered, wants to see you blush or tense up or show any other emotion besides indifference to him.

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. "Oh, sweetheart, I barely made it out of bed. The only thing I got pretty for was this mimosa tower." There’s no hesitation in your words, no hesitation in the way you look at him. You’ve got to keep your ground. He’s fishing for something, but you’re not biting.

Eren clicks his tongue, feeling stumped. For once he didn't have a clever comeback. "Damn. Shot down again just like that." His fingers tap on the table as he falls back against the back of the booth.

You flash him a mock sympathetic look, plump bottom lip jutting into a pout. "Tragic, really."

Ymir whistles, tearing into yet another one of the quiches like it's popcorn and this is a show. "Alright, this is a slow burn in real time, and I’m loving it." The tension is so thick between you and Eren, it’s almost palpable. Whether it’s sexual, confrontational, or just a game of egos—you’re not sure, but everyone at the table feels it.

Historia leans on her elbow, eyeing you both. The stare down the two of you are having seems almost intimate. "You sure you two haven’t met before? Because this feels... personal."

You roll your eyes, trying to avoid the sudden rush of heat that floods your chest. "Nope. Just have a sixth sense for bullshit." Honestly you were tired of this little act Eren was putting on. From the stories Ymir and Historia had told you he was nowhere near as nice as he's pretending to be right now. You were waiting for his entitlement and attitude to shine through.

Eren huffs out a chuckle at that, shaking his head. "Noted." Despite the sour look you try to put on, Eren can see that flushed look you try to suppress, and although you would deny, deny, deny, he knows that he's slowly but surely gonna get what he wants. With that thing being you.

You take the opportunity to turn away, reclaiming some semblance of control in this little exchange. You busy yourself with refilling your mimosa, making a point to give him nothing else to latch onto. But then you glance over at him again, catching him staring at you, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. You’re almost sure he’s trying to figure you out, and maybe it’s working. Maybe he’s getting under your skin more than you’d like to admit. But before you can process it, Ymir’s voice cuts through your thoughts.

"You two are ridiculous," she says, leaning back in her chair, as she watches the two of you basically having a staring contest still. "You know that, right?"

You shoot her a look, but before you can respond, Historia accidentally spills her sixth mimosa, her face flushed, a giggle escaping her lips. "Oopsieeee," she hiccups, taking a french toast stick and sopping up the spilled liquid before taking a bite.

"Uh oh," Connie says, grinning. "Looks like someone had a little too much to drink already." Connie honestly loves when Historia gets like this, she's the definition of white girl wasted, always turning into a completely different person once she gets some alcohol in her system.

Historia leans heavily against Ymir, blinking slowly as she chews. "I’m fine," she slurs. "Just a little tipsy."

The whole table laughs as Ymir grabs her arm to steady her, clearly rolling her eyes but not too bothered by it. As the rest of the group focuses on Historia, you glance back at Eren, only to find him looking at you—his expression unreadable now, though the edge of amusement hasn’t left his eyes. You almost think he's going to say something—almost want him to—when Ymir interrupts, loud and clear.

"Okay, enough of you two and your weird ass tension. You’re both insufferable. Let’s get this one home before she turns into a puddle of bad decisions," Ymir grumbles, throwing Historia’s arm around her shoulder. You almost wonder how Historia got so drunk, but then you realize how tiny she is and just how much she drank. Plus, the girl barely touched any of her food, too focused on downing mimosa after mimosa.

You stand up from the table, shaking your head at the chaos of it all. You’re a little drunk, a little tipsy, but mostly, you’re irritated that the moment was so easily broken. You grab your purse, eyes locking with Eren’s one last time as you follow the others. For a split second, you wonder what he’s thinking—if he’s still amused by you, or if he’s over it. You’re not sure. But whatever it is, it’s a thought that will linger long after this brunch ends. As you step out of the diner the cool air hits you, and the rest of the group’s voices fade into the background. You feel his gaze on your back, and the flutter in your stomach is the only clue you need: this isn’t over.

.・゜✧﹒☁﹒✧゜・．.・゜✧﹒☁﹒✧゜・．.・゜✧﹒☁﹒✧゜・．.・

tags ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ @cc1306 @booksandbud4me

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lifeisabiscuit · 4 months ago

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My personal ranking of Acotar males from favorite to least favorite

1. Lucien (The goat. I would die for him. He deserves better, even from my #2)

2. Tamlin (My sweet traumatized baby. They just don't understand you. Free him from the narrative)

3. Tarquin (The best high lord. I wish he would have stayed petty and not taken back the blood rubies)

4. Kallias (I wish he would have stood on business and not let Rhysand lie about the winter children but I love the way he loves Vivianne)

5. Eris (He intrigues me and I'm choosing to believe he wasn't involved in any real harm to my baby Lu)

6. Thesan (Neutral like him. Wish he would have controlled the meeting in his court better but he's not a bad dude. Love that he showed up holding his lovers hand. Show him off my dude)

7. Jurian (He has his moments. I don't dislike him. Glad Lucien has a friend.)

8. Helion (Refusing to help Tamlin (I don't think he even tried) and being friends with Rhysand all along, earns him this spot.)

9. Azriel (Ranked higher than the other bat boys because he is sometimes a good friend to Nesta and stands up to the dictator- I mean Rhysand- sometimes.)

10. Varian (Traitor.)

11. Rhysand (Never trust a manipulative abuser, who threatens everyone he doesn't like, just because he cries but never apologizes. But he does at least love his mate unlike SOMEone)

12. Cassian (Rhysands little bitch boy. Questioning why Nestas sisters still love her, laughing when she fell down the stairs, telling a depressed female that everyone hates her because she said Rhysand was an asshole (he is), the ick that is forcing his tongue in the mouth of a girl who was just assaulted by the kelpie, his weird relationship with Mor, the sexualizing of Nesta (shes gaunt and rail thin but look at those tiddies🙄🤢), the punishment hike, never saying he loved Nesta and never standing up for his mate would earn him the bottom spot if the last 2 weren't really bad. Convinced he doesnt even like Nesta, he just wanted a mate.)

13. Keir (For what he did to Mor and what he does and let's happen in Hewn city. Evil man)

14. Beron (Abuses his wife and children. He did bring up good points at the HL meeting but that does not forgive the abuse to LOA and sons and killing Jessminda)

Shout out to Andras for being the best boy

(If you love any of the characters I do not, I love that for you and respect your differing opinions. Different strokes for different folks and all that. I also didn't include every man/male in the books because alot of them are unnamed or I just don't care about them enough lol)

#pro lucien vanserra #lucien vanserra #pro tamlin #tamlin #anti rhysand #pro nesta #anti ic #anti cassian #Acotar ranking #anti inner circle #kallias #tarquin #helion spell cleaver #thesan acotar #eris vanserra

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ask-geralt · 10 months ago

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You guys want to know one of my favorite things about Edwin? He loves how smart his friends are. He gets so excited and outright a w e d whenever they think of something clever, make a keen observation, or offer a solution to their problems. All I ever want to write is Edwin who eloquently gushes and praises his friends' intelligence and skills. Edwin who, when the occasion arises, gases them up when they get self deprecating, because to him it's not an opinion, it's a FACT that they're smart, and good, and kind, and brave. That they're all equals. I would even go so far as to say he, himself, feels he has to continuously work and study so hard to keep up with them, to continue contributing.

Genuinely I feel like it's a pretty big factor in his hostility towards Crystal in the beginning. When Charles and Edwin first talk with her post-exorcism, she's unimpressed with the work they did to save her, and she insults the name of their agency, which Edwin and Charles are both clearly fond of. Charles, who's used to laughing at digs far more hurtful than that considering his life before death, let's it roll off him easily, but Edwin takes it more personally. From there, he grows jealous because of the attention Charles is giving her, made worse when Crystal proves her powers ARE faster than the methods the boys used before meeting her. Edwin feels like he needs to prove he's better, or at least still useful where Crystal isn't ("We all have talents.") to Charles, because if Crystal can do everything Edwin does, and does it better, then why would Charles keep sticking around? And of course, Crystal returns his hostility beat for beat, as she should. I feel like her subtle attempts to smooth things over and get along with Edwin aren't talked about enough, like she lets him get away with so many snide and openly rude comments before she starts biting back again in episode one. But Edwin holds a grudge and she shouldn't have to take his attitude towards her lying down, not forever, and neither of them are willing to, say, try and ask the other why they're so snippy towards each other, or apologize lol. Honestly their dynamic is so layered and fun to pick apart!!

What really seals it for me is the contrast in his reaction to Crystal compared to Niko. He warms to Niko pretty much immediately, calling her charming and quickly getting down to business on saving her, without even a token protest about helping yet another living girl. And I think that comes down to her attitude towards their assistance, what she brings to the table for the group's dynamic, and her willingness to let them do their thing without rocking the boat on methodology. She doesn't come across as a threat to Edwin's friendship (repressed and unacknowledged crush absolutely not helping either) with Charles, since she and Charles don't interact much, especially not one on one the way he and Crystal do, so she doesn't ruffle Edwin's feathers at all compared to how instantly and repeatedly Crystal gets under his skin.

All this to say I love all four of them, I love that they've all got their strengths and skills, I love that there's also that overlap, that they all get to do detective-ing and that Edwin doesn't get that petty protectiveness over that role. Yes he feels threatened by Crystal, but that has everything to do with Charles and nothing to do with her being competent, in and if itself. He doesn't see himself as a Sherlock Holmes with three Watsons following him around. He likes it when the others are clever, when he's not being a petty bitch (affectionate) who hates change/new things lmao

#dead boy detectives #edwin payne #charles rowland #crystal palace #niko sasaki

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satoruhour · 2 years ago

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reader x toji where they hav an argument nd the reader dresses slutty and suddenly has plans at the club w her friends. but toji doesnt like that 🫣

a/n: IM HERE . IM HERE SORRY IVE BEEN RB-ING SO MANY THINGS !!!! but i promise im writing hahahaha. but also i dont owe anyone an explanation! enjoy anon!

wc: 1.4k

warnings: toji picks ur lock w/ a bobby pin lol, reader is a little mean LMFAO but #valid, dom!toji, pussy drunk tojiiiii, implied overstimulation, oral / cunnilingus (from the back + face-sitting + lying on ur back), exhibitionism? (reader is on call with her friends but her girls don’t know she’s getting eaten out!), implied unprotected p -> v sex @ the end, implied creampie / breeding kink, n*sfw under the cut

“yeah— but you didn’t have to say it like that!” you huffed out at your boyfriend, or so you thought, because you probably had read too much into this relationship, heart tearing apart when toji simply said he was with his woman, with benefits while on the phone with shiu.

you tsked when toji opened his mouth to explain, a distraught expression on his face that implied it was a slip of his mouth but even then you were relentless about the simple slip-up that meant a lot to you. it wasn’t often that toji had anything but an indifferent expression on him and you’d relish in his panicking face with a smug grin if it wasn’t for your rage.

“stupid fucker — still thinkin’ i’m just some bitch he fucks like he doesn’t whine for me in his sleep,” you grumble to yourself mindlessly later, phone blowing up from the messages from your friends while you scour through various outfits that slowly flood your bed.

No way he said that!!!! Wtf???? Who does he think he is?

let’s bring u out tonight babe. wear sum cute

yeah!!. Let’s get ur mind off of that lame fella . he still kinda hot tho…

it’s messy and there’s a continuous clash of colour with each skirt or top you pull out and you groan in annoyance, so you take a shower — and it’s not all that better either, mulling over that dreaded sentence while lathering yourself up, while washing it off, getting dressed. it pisses you off so much that a man’s words can affect you so much, but that’s the price you pay when it comes to toji.

the toji who gives you a crushed, bloody bouquet after coming back from one of his dangerous missions, the toji who grumbles while he pushes the last nugget in the mcdonald’s box toward you despite loving it, the toji who likes to feel your body against his because he’s said that the mere sensation of you pressed up against him is enough to make him cum.

you scoff when you hear a knock on the door, in the midst of pulling an extremely short skirt up your hips with your ass basically peeking out from under it, paying it no mind before securing a tube around your bust.

“shut the fuck up!” you bark back when toji knocks again and there’s silence altogether, rolling your eyes when there’s a dramatic sigh from behind the wooden door and your feet naturally has you swerving away from the bed to open up the door, if not for the call from your girls that come in. the ringtone echoes throughout the room, distracting you from the professional work being done by toji with one of your bobby pins.

with phone on the bed, it’s led to your ass being propped up while you’re on your hands, butt facing the door with a full on display of your miniskirt and the very lacey underwear toji’s gotten for you for your anniversary. it was a petty move, you know — everything felt right when you pulled the material over your legs after your shower, not expecting yourself to pick up such a revealing bottom.

but now you know everything definitely felt right when those panties pooled at one of your ankles that hang off the bed while you’re trying not to whimper into the call with your girls who’s just so excited to see you. it’s a wonder they haven’t already heard the sloppy noises of toji eating it from the back, hands gripping onto your ass cheeks so hard they form bruises and you don’t have it in you to give a fuck when the other licks a hot, long stripe up your folds.

“left the house already, hon?” one of your friends ask and you’re gripping so tightly onto the phone that it hurts a little, not missing the way toji mumbles out that your pussy tastes as sweet as ever.

“uh— ah! n-not yet!” you squeal when toji smiles into your cunt and you absolutely hate how your hips shimmy toward him instinctively when your boyfriend pulls on your thighs to bring you closer, “i’ll leave soon, o-okay— mm—”

“babe?”

“okay bye!” you panic and press the large red button, hanging up immediately before your moans increase in volume immediately and your head dips into the bedsheets. the man eats pussy like a starved man, slobbering over your pussy while his nose just takes in your scent and arousal — something that’s gotten him hooked since day one. your leaking hole, your sensitive clit, your twitching thighs. god, toji loved every part of you and he was determined to fuck you better than a friend with benefits.

“’m sorry baby, mmfhh—” toji grunts into your core, “any chance ya could forgive your old man?”

the hold on your pride was getting looser and looser while your hands only clutch the sheets tighter and tighter, whimpers turning into a borderline scream when the man manoeuvres himself under you and yanks you down onto his face. your arms support your limp body instantly, hips moving with their own mind as you grind into toji’s tongue with breathless pants, rolling your pelvis over him and he groans at the feeling. toji doesn’t care that your miniskirt is in the way, eyes peeking out from the fabric and flitting over to you and your breath hitches cause you know he’s serious in earning back your forgiveness.

“not when— haah… you’re still saying i’m just some— w-whore you fuck.” you’re still a little bitter, but toji below you is enough to make you clench around nothing, high already approaching when he switches between sucking and nibbling and flicking his tongue at your bundle of nerves.

“slip of the tongue, i promise, doll,” he talks into your drooling pussy, the vibrations sending chills up your body, hands flying to his hair to grab onto toji’s hair and pulling, “you’re my cute lil girlfriend, aren’t ya?” you hate how easily you nod your head, “mine to fuck, and mine to eat out, yeah?”

that sentence alone has you needing to lock eyes with toji just for a moment to see his lips curl up slyly, bottom half of his face soaked with your juices that your stomach contracts a little at the sight, a weak whimper leaving your lips.

“yeah…” you mumble out breathlessly and that’s all it takes for toji to go back to eating, quickly bringing that burning coil in your tummy again while slurping up your arousal. the room feels so hot and you’re sure you’re sweating through your outfit that you so carefully picked out that you’re peeling it off your body. your lover only wraps his larger arms around your thighs when he sees that your pretty tits are out, intoxicated on the thin layer of sweat lining your body and the curve of your upper body.

“toji, toji, toji—” you’re chanting his name like it’s a mantra, dizzy from the constant abuse toji does to your clit, pleasure shooting through your body when he moans around your cunt and you’re cumming with a moan of his name, thighs shivering around his head that he only laughs, humming into your core while you soak his sheets and skin. you’re just about prepared to get fucked when you catch a glimpse of toji’s hand palming his bulge, but that isn’t what toji has in mind when he changes positions again.

“taste s’good, baby,” toji groans, pulling apart your thighs that close from the sensitivity, “let me eat ya out until i’m forgiven.”

and all he can do is stick to his words whenever after each orgasm he pulls from you, you’re shaking your head like you’re saying you aren’t forgiven and he figures out your game soon enough, but whatever his girlfriend says, it goes. it’s just like that for toji who worships every part of you, a mistake rewarded well later when he taps his fat, leaking tip on your cunt and slips in easily from how many times he’s made you cum, reaching nirvana just from hearing your still-loud mewls leaving your worn-out body.

it’ll be something that will be burnt into his brain, forever, but toji doesn’t have time to think about that for now, so he just fucks you like he thinks a sorry man should fuck — deep into your cunt with the promise of being better and the need of giving you everything you ask for, even if it’s something as simple of wanting his cum in you.

whatever his princess wants, his princess gets.

i cannot go a day without mentioning breeding omfg im actually deranged

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cemeteryvalentine · 9 months ago

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astro observations part 4 !!! ^____^

(specifically based off my family :3 pleaseee don't get offended at anything that doesn't resonate)

🗝️: one thing about a sag placement, they are gonna hang up FIRST !!! i swear, if anyone misses flip phones, it's a sag placement/dominant. i just know they miss snapping that phone shut in a petty manner LOL. my mom is a sag moon AND rising, and she'd call me and demand me to do something in such a bitchy tone and then hang up on me like girl who tf do u think u areee 😭😭😭😭 LMFAO. but honestly good for her, i love being petty like her.

like i swear i take after my mom because everytime she does that annoying hang up before i can respond thing, i call her again just to say a snarky remark, and hang up on her back!

🐇: i swear, virgo placements have no problem being the grossest people alive, but suddenly it's a problem when someone else does it :/// it's really annoying. my brother has a pigsty of a bedroom, doesn't wash his hand when he pisses unless i make him, and leaves his trash everywhere, but constantly gets on my sister for the same things 😭. like the calls coming from inside the house !!! i think basically, (some) virgos are like picky(?) with what areas they'd want clean. like they're only really comfortable with THEIR mess and no one else's.

🗝️: i love how pisces mercury communicate because it's like what the hel are u awn about 😭 in the NICEST way though :3 they're so kewl and interesting to talk to, plus they're so nice and understanding. maybe because they're water mercuries after all. speaking of, my favorite artist ever kurt cobain was a pisces mercury and it SHOWSSS. a lot of nirvana lyrics feel artistic and metaphoric, or just realllyyyy silly. liiike "angel left wing, right wing, broken wing. lack of iron and or sleeping" from milk it, one of my nirvana faves. and "i vomit C*M and DIARRHEA". like girl whatever that means !!!! (song, mexican seafood)

🐇: mars influence on the asc makes for prominent features. especially eyebrows. my brother has an aries rising and he has such a bad case of RBF. i swear he never looks happy 😭 his virgo sun and cap moon definitely don't help at all either. then im a mars rising and i have big eyebrows like my brother. like we're the only ones with big eyebrows, while our parents brows look invisible LOL. also i'm a virgo rising !! and ppl are always saying i look mad which honestly pisses me off :P so in conclusion, mars influence + virgo placements = major rbf

🗝️: i HATE to add on to the cancer hate train since i'm one myself and i loveee being one + we get soo much hate, but i feel a (unevolvled) cancer makes for the worst pick me girl ever !!!! this def doesn't apply to all cancers, but the few cancer women i know can be so mean to other women so unprovoked. especially my mom, it gives me the ick when she calls random women b*tches or makes fun of them to me for their features or success or soemthing. i used to be a pick me too up until i was like 13 (im soooo happy i grew out of that mess QUICK!). i would constantly strive for male attention, it was embarrassing 😭. ik another girl who values her shitty boyfriend over her (girl) friends and i haaate it. like ive only known a few cancer women, but a lot of them are like the meanest pick me bitch ever, or such a sweeet, caring soul :). i feel like being a pick me stems from cancers being feminine AND traditional. yk? i pray i make sense, but yk how it's traditional for girls to be perfect for her man, and value him no matter the circumstance ?? and cancer/moon being **traditional** ? yeahhh 😭

anywayzzz that's all :3 tyyy for reading !! i had sm making a new observations, considering it's been a year since my last LMFAOO. and again, if it doesn't apply, let it fly. ty bye ^__^

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bcowlick · 2 months ago

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I feel like re-tellings that have Hera having an affair to stick it up to Zeus fail to understand her character completely.

First of all, she's the goddess of marriage. If she had an affair, it wouldn't be for such a petty reason like "hoping it hurts Zeus' pride"

For her to have an affair, it should be that she actually has some strong feelings for said person, without involving Zeus AT ALL.

Because the main reason she goes out of her way to punish Zeus' lovers is not because of feeling specifically betrayed (if so, that would be the case for ALL of Zeus' lovers. Yet she is chill with a couple of them). But because as goddess of marriage, is her job to punish those who don't respect the vows of marriage.

Don't get me wrong, oh she completely wants to rip out Zeus' throat anytime the guy goes to the human world to have funny bussinesses. But its more about her pride as goddess of marriage. As i discussed before, gods tend to have more open relationships, from Olympus perspective, is not seen weird of Zeus to have other lovers.

But Hera is suppossed to represent the most idealized type of marriage, which is one were the couple is supposed to have eyes only for one another. So of course, she gets jealous anytime Zeus demostrates he can have eyes for other women.

I know his line on the Illiad about him listing some of his lovers, only to end with "but i love you more, Hera!" Is used for the kicks and giggles of "Bitch, read the room. That was so weird of you, Zeus".

But what he's basically saying is "If i had to choose someone to spend my eternity with, it would be you over and over again. So don't worry about the other women, they don't hold a single candle to your glory"

If you see it from the human perspective, of course is an asshole move. If you see it from a Godly perspective, you understand why Hera didn't slap him there and there lol

So yeah. Having Hera do an affair just to stick it up to Zeus is weird. So not in character for her. She has plenty more ways to get revenge if she wants to, lol

#zeus #zeus x hera #greek gods #greek mythology #hera #epic the musical #pjo #One of my moots had this headcannon that If Hera really had feelings for someone else #She would come clean about it to Zeus #It was about HeraxMetis too #Neat headcannon hsjsjsks

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realwildernessbaby · 4 months ago

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PLEASE more Shauna x reader, maybe Ur on the rival soccer team and Ur crashing a party and somehow ur lips crash

──¸.☆ RIVALS

warnings: smut, angst, swearing, drinking, mentions of parties

pairings: pre-crash!shauna x reader

“y/n! y/n! y/n!”

the crowd cheers for you as you nearly score the winning goal. your heart pounds out of your chest.

*thump thump thump*

you almost begin to celebrate, but then you focus your eyes on the goalie for the opposing team, the yellowjackets. the redhead lunges for the ball and blocks it. damn. the game continues.

“i’m open!”

you hear a voice call out behind you, and she gets the ball. she almost looks too sweet to be playing a sport like this, but damn she’s tough. her eyes are big, brown, and doe like, and her soft brunette hair is pulled back into a cute ponytail.

“y/n!”

your teammate yells out to you, pulling you out of your thoughts, but it’s too late. shauna scores the winning point. god, we need a new goalie. i sigh as i see the yellowjackets team all run at each other, practically dog piling as they celebrate.

“shauna! shauna! shauna!”

they chant. her name is shauna. our team all shoots glances at each other. guess this yellowjackets team is real good; we hardly ever lose.

your team lines up to say good game to each other, high fiving as it’s sort of a rule (lol). when you and shauna reach each other, you pause for a moment.

i don’t know if she realizes, but i take this game seriously.

you shoot her an intimidating glance, and put your hands down by your sides, walking past her.

“sheesh.”

you hear her say smugly as she goes to celebrate with her friends. you’re pissed off. you’ve never even met this girl before and she practically stole the point. whatever. you run to the locker room.

“yo, y/n!”

you slam your locker door and turn around to see your teammate. a soft smile creeps across your face as you recognize the friend.

“hey, what’s up?”

“we heard that the yellowjackets are gonna have some party at randy’s sooo… us girls are all talking about crashing it. thoughts?”

you pause for a beat, then smile.

“fuck yeah. i’m gonna stick it to that shauna girl i swear. and drink all the beer…”

your teammate laughs.

“sick! i’m driving, cmon!”

you finish changing and packing your stuff, then chase after her.

you don’t even know how many times you’ve been to randy’s parties, but this time you plan to get your revenge on the yellowjackets. even if it is petty, your goal is to make them as upset as possible. ESPECIALLY that shauna girl. your eyes scan the area as you step out of the car searching for the drinks. you run over and grab a red solo cup from the table on the lawn, filling it to the brim with cheap beer. your team wasn’t invited, but so what? you walk right in, greeting everyone you know.

“hey hey hey! didn’t expect you guys…?”

randy yells out from behind you, clearly drunk out of his mind.

“oh, sup randy.”

“watch out. shauna wants to have a chat…”

he says mysteriously, putting air quotes around chat.

“oookaayyy, man.”

you say laughing at him.

“you’re drunk.”

you head toward the kitchen to look for shots, a smug smirk on your face. you say hi to your friends in the kitchen and that’s when you see her. shauna. she’s leaning against the island, red solo cup in hand. when her eyes land on you she nearly crushes the cup. she sighs. you shoot her a mean look and turn back… that’s when you feel her arm grab you and drag you away.

“yo, what the fuck?!”

you yell as she pulls you into a bathroom.

“why the fuck are you acting this way? i hardly even know you, it’s just a game.”

“you were being so fucking smug about it, that’s why. yeah it’s just a game, but my god, you are such a bitch!”

“oh, fuck you!”

she groans as she grabs your thighs and pushes you against a counter, getting all up in your face to intimidate you. a soft whimper escapes your lips as her finger accidentally grazes over your core.

“what was that?”

she interrogates.

“what was what?”

you retaliate, and she immediately traces her finger over your core again, resulting in a bitten back moan from you.

“that.”

“you fucki-“

and without a warning, shauna’s soft lips crash into yours in a passionate dance. you practically melt into the kiss, not being able to control the whimpers coming from your mouth as her knee finds its way between your thighs.

“fuck, your so hot~”

you breathe out as her lips begin to assault your neck, leaving little marks anywhere she can. you automatically grind your hips against her knee, seeking out more friction against your core. suddenly, shauna grips your thighs, stopping you.

“not so soon, baby…”

she breathes out as she lifts you up onto the bathroom counter and spreads your legs, stepping between them. her nails practically dig into your thighs. you whine for more friction.

“someone’s eager.”

she says smugly.

“please.”

“lift your hips.”

shauna demands, so you obey. she reaches under your tight dress and pulls down your panties, but instead of discarding them she holds them in her mouth, feeling the wetness.

“that’s hot…”

you moan out as shauna gets down on her knees, pulling the panties out of her mouth and placing them on the ground next to her. she spreads your legs farther and begins her attack on your clit, gently sucking and licking the bundle of nerves. you cry out, so she goes even faster, suctioning her lips against the bud even harder.

“oh god…”

your hips begin to buck as her fingers slowly tease your hole. after what feels like forever, she slips a finger in. she slowly moves in and out, testing the waters. you grind your pussy against her face, basically asking for more, so she slips in another finger, and curls them together.

“mm… you’re… so hot up… there”

she breathes out between kisses to your core. you begin to tighten around her fingers at the praise.

“is someone gonna come?”

“yeah… yes.”

your moans grow louder as you reach your climax, and one final cry escapes your lips as your hole begins to pulse against her fingers. after a moment, she stands back up and pushes her fingers to your mouth.

“clean it.”

she demands, so you suck your juices off of her fingers. you’re barely able to catch your breath, but you immediately passionately kiss her after finishing. you trail your fingers tantalizingly close to her core, and she whimpers.

“your turn.”

#lesbian #yellowjackets #shauna shipman #shauna shipman x reader #yellowjackets smut #smut #angst #rwb writing #lgbt #lgbtq #queer #wlw

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creamapi · 18 hours ago

Text

𝕭𝖆𝖗 𝕰𝖝𝖆𝖒, 𝕭𝖊𝖉 𝕰𝖝𝖆𝖒

Pairings: SatoSugu x reader

Tags: threesome, very very very shy reader, teasing reader til she agrees, Satoru is a whiny bitch when he take backshots, inaccurate law/bar exam mechanics, dubious consent, implied marathon sex, Satoru came first like the loser he is, porn with plot, too much plot less porn, I wrote the aftercare with more love than the actual smut lol, genuine question, can you fuck someone while someone’s riding them?

wc: 13.1k

PART ONE | PART TWO

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

“Are you— are you sure it’s okay for me to stay here, ‘Toru?” You asked, shifting the weight of your bag filled with heavy law reviewers. Your grip tightened on the strap, the hesitation clear in your voice.

Satoru’s response was immediate—a lazy chuckle paired with his signature, shit-eating grin. “You’re adorable,” he teased, easily hoisting your suitcase up with one hand like it weighed nothing. “I told you, it’s fine. Stop overthinking everything.” He winked, his tone effortlessly reassuring, before turning the doorknob and pushing the door open as if the matter was already settled.

The testing area for your bar exam in the next few weeks was in the heart of the city, which was expected—unfortunate in that it was far from your home and even your dorm at law school, but fortunate because it was near your childhood friend’s apartment.

After a few weeks of him begging—or rather, pestering—you eventually agreed to stay with him instead of renting.

It had been years since you last saw Satoru in person. The last time you’d seen him, he was a cocky, rebellious sixteen-year-old walking out of his family’s estate, defiant and determined to carve out a life for himself. Since then, your only form of communication has been through texts—sporadic messages filled with his ridiculous antics, the occasional life update, and blurry selfies with questionable angles.

Satoru Gojo had been your friend since before either of you could properly talk, the two of you growing up together within the grand walls of his family's estate. Your mother had worked as a maid for the Gojo family, and being a single mother, she had little choice but to bring you along to work every day.

Mrs. Gojo—the rigid woman who ruled over the household with an iron fist—was particular about maintaining order. She was meticulous, strict, and unwavering in her belief that children should be seen, not heard. To her, you were nothing more than a nuisance. She constantly scolded your mother, warning her to keep you from causing distractions, from running around, from touching what she deemed as her ‘luxury items’—which basically meant everything.

As a result, you had been scolded and punished more times than you could count. Your innate curiosity as a child didn't help matters, and neither did the fact that Satoru, in all his mischievous glory, found endless amusement in your predicament.

At first, Satoru had treated you like nothing more than a tool to rebel against his mother, a pawn in his petty acts of defiance. He would purposely drag you along, laughing as his mother’s eye twitched in barely contained frustration. But over time, something changed. Maybe it was because you were the only other kid around, or maybe it was because your quiet yet stubborn nature intrigued him, but soon enough, Satoru started hanging out with you simply because he wanted to.

He liked you. You were fun. Maybe a little shy, a bit too nervous, but you were endearing. And, most importantly, you were a break from the suffocating monotony of books, tutors, and expectations.

Then came his escape. The moment he was old enough to enroll himself in high school, he packed his bags and never looked back. He left the Gojo estate, left the endless lessons, and the future his family had planned for him behind. Even now, at twenty-six, he still refused to be what they wanted. Instead of being groomed to take over the family business, he had become a high school teacher. Not that it mattered. He would still inherit the Gojo empire one day, whether he liked it or not—because who else was there? Unless, of course, his parents miraculously produced another perfect, legitimate son to take his place.

“Uh, you walk in first.” You whispered from behind him, the foreign, unfamiliar space making you hesitant to step inside.

Satoru let out a laugh, shaking his head in amusement. “Still the same, huh?” He shrugged and stepped inside, motioning for you to follow.

The apartment was spacious, modern, and yet somehow still held an air of warmth despite Satoru's usual eccentricity. The living area was neat but lived-in, the furniture a mix of sleek, contemporary pieces and things that felt distinctly ‘them.’ You noticed the small, cozy touches—an extra throw blanket draped over the couch, a half-filled mug of tea left forgotten on the coffee table, and—

Your gaze drifted toward the kitchen, where a man stood at the counter, his back turned to you as he focused on something in front of him.

Satoru's expression instantly brightened. He dropped your bags unceremoniously by the couch and made a beeline toward the kitchen, his excitement practically radiating off of him. “Guru~” he sang, stretching out the nickname as he approached.

At the sound of Satoru’s voice, Suguru turned from where he stood at the kitchen counter, his quiet humming ceasing mid-note. His dark eyes flickered toward the two of you, lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary before he spoke. “Ah, so you’ve finally arrived.” He murmured, his voice smooth, edged with quiet amusement. He didn’t move right away—just stood there, taking you in, a small, unreadable smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Satoru, oblivious as ever, draped an arm around your shoulders with an easy familiarity, pulling you against his side. “Y/n, my dear future attorney.” He declared proudly.

Suguru’s eyes gleamed with something you can’t quite read as he regarded you, with only a small nod acknowledging your presence. “I see. You’re even prettier in person.” His tone was smooth, deliberate—like he already knew the effect his words would have on you.

Satoru, as always, was completely unbothered by your nerves. “She's a ‘bit’ shy,” he added, as if that would help you at all. “Anyway, Y/n, this is Suguru—my fiancé, love of my life, my pookie wookie, my baby girl—”

Suguru let out a soft groan, visibly cringing at the onslaught of ridiculous nicknames. “Satoru,” he warned, though there was no real bite to his tone.

Satoru, of course, was undeterred. “My soulmate, my better half, my—”

“Alright, that's enough,” Suguru interrupted, shaking his head as he turned back to whatever he was preparing. His hands moved with practiced ease, the rhythmic sound of chopping filling the kitchen. He glanced at you briefly before offering a small smile.

“I'm Suguru, by the way. I met Satoru when we were in high school. I'm an author.” His voice was deep, smooth, carrying the kind of warmth that made it easy to listen to.

Satoru, on the other hand, was practically vibrating with excitement. “Yeah, an author! Can you believe that?! He's an author!” His tone was full of exaggerated pride, his chest puffing out like he was personally responsible for Suguru’s literary success. Suguru only chuckled, shaking his head. It was clear he was used to Satoru's antics.

“Anyway, you should show her around, hun. Dinner’s not quite ready yet,” Suguru said.

Satoru clapped his hands together. “Good idea!” Before you could even respond that it was a terrible idea, he grabbed your wrist and dragged you along, his energy relentless.

The apartment was cozy yet spacious, a mix of both their personalities. There were personal touches everywhere—photos, bookshelves overflowing with literature and random trinkets, all small signs of a shared life. The scent of Suguru’s cooking lingered in the air, mingling with the faint trace of Satoru’s cologne.

“Welcome to la casa Gojo!” Satoru announced, gesturing grandly as if he were showing off a palace. "It used to be a two-bedroom, but the other one eventually turned into our study. You can use my side, babe, because you should never touch Suguru’s drafts.”

He led you to a door, pushing it open to reveal the study. The room was well-lit, bathed in the soft golden glow of the setting sun filtering through the large window.

One side of the room was distinctly Suguru’s—his desk was near the window, covered in neatly stacked manuscripts.Notes were scribbled on various papers, and writing materials were scattered. His handwriting filled the margins of open notebooks, and an old, half-empty cup of tea sat forgotten beside a pile of books.

The other side was unmistakably Satoru’s—his desk was much more minimalistic, save for his laptop and a blazer lazily draped over the back of his chair. It looked barely used, as if he only sat there occasionally.

“You can use this,” Satoru said casually, patting his desk. “Most of my work stuff is at school anyway.”

You nodded, setting your heavy bag filled with reviewers onto the table, wincing as it made an embarrassingly loud thud as you did so.

“Oh yeah, check this out!” Satoru suddenly exclaimed, grabbing your wrist again and pulling you toward Suguru’s side of the room. He stopped in front of a large bookshelf, his grin widening.

The shelves were filled with books—some published works, some reference materials, and a few older, well-worn paperbacks. But what caught your eye were the framed certificates and awards displayed neatly among them.

“Look at how many awards my pookie has,” Satoru boasted, gesturing dramatically. His voice was full of genuine pride, even as he used one of his ridiculous nicknames. “Suguru placed all of this here to keep him inspired.”

You stepped closer, scanning the awards. Each framed photo showed Suguru at various events, holding a certificate or a trophy, a calm but pleased expression on his face. Right beside them were the official certificates themselves, some with gold seals and intricate calligraphy.

But it wasn’t just Suguru’s achievements on display. Among the books and awards were several photos—some of Satoru, some of the two of them together. And then—

You froze.

Your eyes landed on a framed picture that felt completely out of place. It was your graduation photo from law school.

“Wait— why am I here?” you asked, cheeks burning as you reached out, carefully pulling the frame from the shelf.

Satoru, entirely unfazed, simply tilted his head. “What? It’s not like you’re a stranger to Suguru. I talk about you all the time, remember?” He snatched the frame from your hands, casually placing it back in its spot. “Can’t we be proud of you for a moment?"’

Your lips parted slightly, unsure how to respond. The idea that they had kept a picture of you—amongst their own milestones—made you… shy? Uncomfortable? You weren’t sure.

Satoru had always been a constant in your life, a reckless whirlwind of a person who never let go once he considered someone his. But this? This was something else entirely.

Despite meeting you for the first time today, Suguru had already made a space for you in their home. Your achievements sat among their own, your face was framed on their shelves. It was a silent, undeniable acknowledgment that you weren’t just an old friend from Satoru’s past—you were important to him, to them.

Still, the weight of that realization made you shift uncomfortably.

Satoru must have noticed your unease because, he spoke again—this time with a lighter, teasing tone. “You look like you're overthinking, Y/n.”

You startled slightly, glancing at him. He was watching you.

“I— uh— it's just… weird.” You admitted, shifting your weight from foot to foot. “I mean, I haven’t met your finance until today, and yet— he has my pictures here like— like I’m part of the family or… something.”

Satoru hummed thoughtfully, “It’s not weird,” he finally said. “He was the one who placed you here because you're family, what mine is his. You know how lonely my life was right? And how you were an anchor in my life. You're important to me, which means you’re important to him.”

You hummed, before nodding, the tension in your chest loosened slightly. Satoru’s explanation—simple and genuine—made the situation feel less strange and more… natural.

Still, a small part of you couldn’t shake the lingering thought.

It made sense for Satoru to have these pictures. You've been in his life for as long as you could remember. But Suguru? He was an entirely different person—someone who had no reason to keep traces of you here. And yet, there you were, sitting on their shelf, framed like you belong.

But before you could dwell on it, Satoru smirked. “And besides—it’s not the only photo of you.”

Your stomach dropped.

He reached for another frame. And then another.

One from your high school graduation.

One from your pre-law graduation.

And then—

Oh no.

Satoru held up an old, slightly faded photo of the two of you at age five. You were both snotty, messy, and entirely unphotogenic. Your expression was scrunched in great displeasure as Satoru, with his usual chaotic energy, had his teeth biting your cheek.

He grinned, waving the picture in front of you. “Ah, look at this classic! Iconic, really.”

Your face burned hotter. “Why do you still have that?!”

“I insisted on keeping it.”

“You deserve to be pelted with ice.” you muttered, arms crossed as you glared at him, your voice laced with irritation.

Satoru only cackled, unfazed by your threatening tone. “Hey, memories are important!” He grinned, tucking the frame back into place with a satisfied nod. His voice softened slightly as he turned back to you, a rare sincerity slipping into his usual teasing. “And besides, you’re family, Y/n. You belong here.”

Those words made you pause. They were casual, tossed out as if they were the most obvious thing in the world—but they weren’t. They made your chest tighten, a warmth blooming in a place you rarely acknowledged. It was strange, unfamiliar. Satoru was an idiot, a menace, but… sometimes, on very rare occasions, he said things that made you feel like you truly had a place with them. But isn't that just so unusual?

A soft knock on the door broke the moment, drawing both of your attention. The door creaked open to reveal Suguru, his dark eyes scanning the room with quiet amusement. He stepped inside with a measured ease, his presence commanding, but not overbearing.

“There you two are,” he mused, his deep voice calm yet laced with mild exasperation. His gaze flickered to the bookshelf, noting the slightly shifted frames and books. He sighed, shaking his head. “Ah, you two, stop messing up my bookshelf.”

He stepped between you and Satoru with a natural familiarity, resting an arm over both of your shoulders in a loose but grounding gesture. The warmth of his touch and the faint scent of smoke from cooking clinging to his clothes were oddly comforting.

“I was just showing Y/n around!” Satoru said dramatically, feigning innocence as he leaned into Suguru’s side.

Suguru rolled his eyes but didn’t push him away. “Right. Showing her around by snooping through my things?”

Satoru gasped in mock offense. “It’s called reminiscing, babe. Ever heard of it?”

Suguru ignored him, turning his attention back to you. “Dinner’s ready.” He announced simply, a small smile playing on his lips.

At that, Satoru’s expression lit up. “Great! Time to sit on the couch and pretend not to be useless while you set the table up.” Without waiting for a response, he spun on his heel and practically skipped toward the door.

You watched him go, realizing a second too late that he forgot to take you with him.

He left you, a guest, alone with his fiance, who you haven’t even formally met.

Satoru Gojo deserves to be pelted with ice.

Suguru chuckled, the deep sound of his amusement vibrating through his chest. You glanced up at him, only to find that he was already looking at you. The unexpected eye contact made your face heat up, embarrassment creeping up your neck.

Suguru's smirk deepened, amusement flickering in his dark eyes as he titled his head slightly. “Don’t be shy, I’m not gonna bite you.” He teased, tugging you gently by the wrist as he began leading you toward the door. His grip was firm yet comfortable, his presence steady in contrast to Satoru’s chaotic energy.

“Anyway,” he continued, glancing at you with mild curiosity. “How did you manage to tolerate Satoru when he was younger?”

You let out a small breath, before answering, “I kinda… had no choice?”

Suguru laughed, the sound warm and easy. “Good point.”

⊹˚₊‧──────────────────────────────────‧₊˚⊹

“It'll be fine,we’ll all fit.” Satoru, sprawled across the bed wearing ridiculous Hello Kitty pajamas, grinned as he patted the soft covers of their king-sized bed. The sight of him, long limbs and shameless confidence, made your stomach twist with unease.

You knew the three of you would share a bedroom. Since the spare bedroom turned into a study, you mentally prepared yourself for that. But you hadn’t expected to be sharing a bed. You had assumed there would be a separate mattress—or a futon at least, anything that created some kind of physical distance.

“Are you… sure about this, ‘Toru? I’m— I’m fine with sleeping on the floor… really.” You insisted again, hesitating by the edge of the bed.

Satoru groaned, flopping onto his stomach in dramatic exasperation. “It’s fiiiine, besides I’m too lazy to look for our spare futons,” he whined, his voice muffled against the sheets. He turned his head just enough to peek up at you. “And I don’t think Suguru even washed those yet.”

“But isn’t it… awkward?” You tried again, voice quieter.

Satoru’s reply was immediate. “It isn’t.” His certainty was as unwavering as ever, leaving no room for argument. He patted the space beside him expectantly.

You hesitated for a beat longer, before reluctantly sliding beneath the covers, settling stiffly beside him. The warmth of the blankets did little to soothe the unease curling in your stomach.

“See? It’s fine,” Satoru murmured, shifting onto his side to face you. “It’s just like the sleepovers we used to have when we were kids. Except—” He grinned, voice dropping into something teasing. “—there’s three of us now.”

Before you could respond, the door opened.

Suguru stepped in, fresh from the shower, his long, dark hair tied into a tighter bun than usual to keep it from getting wet. His usual half-up, half-down style was gone, revealing more of his sharp jawline and the relaxed ease in his expression. A towel hung loosely around his neck, and he wore a snug black tank top paired with loose sweatpants that hung low on his hips.

Satoru perked up immediately. “Guru~ you didn’t wash your hair today?” he asked, already sitting up, his focus entirely on his fiancé.

Suguru, who had just grabbed a hanger to drape his towel over, barely glanced his way. “Nah,” he said casually, shaking his head. “Didn’t have anything important planned for tomorrow. I’ll wash it in the morning.”

You watched as he stepped out onto the small balcony for a moment, hanging the towel properly before returning, closing the balcony door and untying the curtain. His movements were calm, practiced.

Satoru, meanwhile, had already unplugged the hairdryer, sulking at the vanity as he fiddled with the cord. When Suguru walked back in, Satoru pouted up at him from the seat, clearly expecting some kind of apology for depriving him of his usual routine.

Suguru only chuckled, stepping closer and resting a large, warm palm against Satoru’s cheek. “Don’t be upset, hun.” He murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to his fiancé’s temple. His soft light kisses trailing around his face.

Satoru exhaled a dramatic sigh but visibly softened, leaning into Suguru’s touch like a cat seeking warmth. “But I have classes tomorrow morning,” he grumbled, though there was little real complaint in his voice. “I can't dry your hair.”

Watching them made you shift slightly, fingers curling around your phone.

You weren’t uncomfortable, per se. It was just…

Your gaze flickered to the way Suguru’s fingers lingered at the nape of Satoru’s neck, to the way Satoru naturally leaned into the affection without hesitation. The domesticity of it all—the way they fit together so easily, so intimately—made you feel like you were seeing something that was meant to be private.

Heat crawled up your neck and you quickly looked away, thumbing your phone screen, pretending to be occupied. The artificial glow of the screen barely registered in your mind, the words blurring as you focused on anything but them.

Still, you couldn’t block out the sound of Satoru’s soft laughter, the warmth in it, or the way Suguru’s voice carried that unmistakable teasing lilt when he finally acknowledged your presence.

“Come on, let’s sleep. Our soon-to-be attorney-in-training needs her beauty sleep.” He mused, his tone almost mockingly sweet as he pulled his hair tie off, lightly brushing his hair.

It wasn’t just the words—it was the way he said it. As if he wanted you to see. As if this wasn’t just their intimate moment but something you were meant to witness, to sit with, to feel.

Satoru only grinned, stretching lazily before making his way back to the bed. Suguru trailed beside him, flicking the light switch off with a soft click, leaving only the small bedside lamp to cast a warm, dim glow over the room.

The bed dipped slightly as Satoru slid in next to you, his warmth immediate, tangible. “Is the temp okay, darling?” He asked casually.

Wait— what? The sudden address made you tense. Darling? He had always been playful, and the pet names aren’t anything new, but this particular one sent an odd, flustered feeling twisting in your stomach.

“Huh? Oh— yeah, yeah, it’s… fine.” You mumbled, barely registering the question before nodding stiffly.

“Hey, no phones in bed. It’s time to sleep.” Suguru’s voice cut in, a gentle yet firm reminder.

You hesitated. but ultimately complied. Shyly setting your phone onto the nightstand before shifting under the covers.

“It’ll ruin your sleep schedule, Attorney L/N.” Suguru added with a smirk.

“He’s always like this,” Satoru whispered beside you, his voice hushed yet mischievous, “that’s why I use my phone when he’s asleep—he’s a deep sleeper.”

Suguru immediately caught that, reaching over to lightly shove Satoru’s shoulder. “Don’t rub your bad habits onto her.” He scolded, but his tone was laced with fondness, not true annoyance. “She’s taking the bar exam. It’s important for her to have a proper schedule.”

The words made something tighten in your chest—an odd mix of gratitude and awkwardness. It wasn’t just teasing; he genuinely cared.

Satoru only whined in response, rolling onto his side to nuzzle into Suguru, his long limbs tangling with his fiancé’s as if it were second nature.

You reluctantly laid down, shifting onto your side, your back facing them. Maybe if you pretended to be asleep, the strange tension in your chest would dissolve.

But then—

“Hey, wanna cuddle with us?” Satoru’s voice was surprisingly gentle, lacking his usual teasing edge. It wasn’t a joke or a challenge—it was genuine.

Your breath hitched. “N-no, I’m… fine.” You stammered, quickly scooting to the farthest edge of the bed.

Silence.

Then a low chuckle.

“Don’t be shy~” Suguru drawled, his voice laced with amusement. “Aren’t attorneys supposed to be dominant? Brave? Sexy~?”

You didn’t see it, but you heard the soft sound of Satoru playfully patting him in response. “Stop teasing.” Satoru murmured, his tone somewhere between affection and exasperation. “Your loss.” He sighed dramatically, before fully turning his attention back to Suguru.

As they murmured to each other in hushed voices, their warmth radiating behind you, you closed your eyes, willing yourself into sleep.

⊹˚₊‧──────────────────────────────────‧₊˚⊹

A quiet gasp stirred you from your sleep. At first, you tried to ignore it, shifting slightly under the covers and burrowing deeper into the mattress. But the sound came again—soft, breathy, almost desperate. Then another. And another.

Your brows furrowed as you lay there, half-asleep, hoping it was just your mind playing tricks on you. But the noises didn’t stop. They only became more frequent, more distinct.

Reluctantly, you cracked your eyes open, blinking against the dim glow of the nightstand lamp. Your vision was still hazy with sleep, but as you adjusted, you realized you had shifted in your sleep—rolled over completely.

And now, you were facing them.

Your breath caught in your throat.

The dim glow of the nightstand lamp cast just enough light to make out the silhouettes tangled beneath the sheets. Shadows danced along the curves of their bodies, highlighting the rise and fall of Satoru’s chest as he lay beneath Suguru, his head tilted back, lips parted in a silent gasp.

This wasn’t the usual playful, teasing Satoru you knew. He wasn’t whining childishly. He wasn’t cracking jokes.

He was trembling. Desperate. Barely holding himself together.

His fingers curled into the sheets, gripping them like a lifeline, knuckles taut. Every breath he took was shaky, every sound that escaped him raw, unfiltered. “Slowly, please,” Satoru whimpered, his voice barely above a whisper, “fuck~ Suguru~”

Suguru, hovering above him, only chuckled softly. His deep voice was thick with restraint, filled with something dark and heavy. “Shh,” he murmured, dipping his head closer, his long hair falling loose around them like a curtain. “Be quiet, attorney might wake up.”

Satoru bit his lip, trying to stifle another moan, but his body betrayed him, arching slightly under Suguru’s touch.

Your breath felt uneven, each inhale shaky as you pressed yourself further into the mattress, desperate to will away the heat creeping up your spine.

But it was impossible to ignore them.

Every hushed moan, every whispered plea, the rustle of sheets shifting with their movements—it was all too much.

Your pulse pounded in your ears as you clenched your fists beneath the covers, squeezing your eyes shut. Sleep. Just go back to sleep.

You forced your mind elsewhere, grasping for anything to distract yourself. The cases you had reviewed for the bar exam—the names, the rulings, the legal precedents. Roe v. Wade. Brown v. Board of Education. The Miranda rights. Your lips parted slightly as you silently recited them, clinging to the structure and logic of the law like a lifeline.

But even that wasn’t enough.

Because no matter how much you tried to bury yourself in facts and statutes, your body betrayed you. Heat coiled low in your stomach, an unwelcome reaction to the scene unfolding just inches away.

It didn’t help that they were both insanely attractive.

You hated to admit it, but there was no denying it—Satoru, with his lean but noticeably muscular frame, his usually sharp, cocky expression softened in pleasure. And Suguru, broader, stronger, always so composed—his movements deliberate, controlled, as if savoring every sound Satoru made.

You bit the inside of your cheek, gripping the edge of your pillow as if that would somehow ground you.

It’s fine. You don’t care.

You won’t think about this ever again.

You just needed to hold out a little longer—keep your breathing even, and pretend to be asleep until it was over.

⊹˚₊‧──────────────────────────────────‧₊˚⊹

You stirred slightly, a heavy weight pressing down on your body, making it difficult to move. A soft groan left your lips as you shifted, but the pressure remained, warm and unyielding. Your brows furrowed as you cracked your eyes open, adjusting to the dim light filtering through the tied-up curtains. The small glow from outside barely illuminated the quiet, cold bedroom.

Reaching toward the bedside table, you grabbed your phone and tapped the screen. 5:10 AM. Too early.

You hesitated before glancing beside you, half-expecting to see something—or someone—that would make your stomach twist with unease. But it was only Satoru, sprawled out beside you, limbs draped carelessly over your form. His arm was heavy across your waist, one of his long legs tangled with yours, as if he had rolled closer to you in his sleep.

Relief flooded you, though it was quickly replaced by mild irritation as you groaned quietly, attempting to push him off. He was too heavy. You gave him another shove, and he let out a sleepy mumble before rolling onto his back, freeing you from his grasp.

You sat up slowly, rubbing your face, willing yourself to wake up.

What you experienced last night… was just a dream. That’s what you would convince yourself.

Pushing yourself off the bed, you padded toward the door, still feeling the drowsiness weighing down on you.

As you stepped into the warm, cozy scent of breakfast filling the apartment, a voice called out to you.

“Ah, you’re awake now?” Suguru stood in the kitchen, casually flipping something in a pan, his long hair tied back. His presence was steady, comforting—completely at odds with the remnants of your ‘dream.’

His dark eyes flickered toward you as he smiled. “Did you brush your teeth already, sweetheart? If you did, come, breakfast is almost done.” His voice was teasing, but the underlying warmth made your tired heart ache a little.

You wordlessly shuffled toward the dining table, dropping your head onto the cool surface with a tired sigh, shaking your head.

Suguru let out a quiet chuckle. “Go on, brush your teeth, attorney.”

You hummed in protest, feeling yourself drift off again—but the next thing you knew, a loud, familiar whiny voice echoed through the apartment.

“Guru~ why did you leave me?” Satoru’s footsteps were heavy as he stumbled toward his fiancé, his white hair a mess, his frame draped in loose sleepwear. He practically collapsed onto Suguru’s back, wrapping his arms around him like a clingy koala.

Suguru sighed, barely sparing him a glance as he continued packing a neatly arranged lunchbox. “Brush your teeth, you stink.”

“Don’t wanna.” Satoru grinned, pressing his cheek against Suguru’s shoulder.

Suguru gave him a flat, unimpressed look. “Then don’t breathe near me.”

Satoru let out a giggle, finally letting go. “Fine, fine, jeez.”

As he started toward the bathroom, Suguru called out casually, “Take Y/n with you. She might fall asleep again.”

Before you could protest, Satoru grabbed your wrist, pulling you up with him. “C’mon, babe.”

You sighed, too tired to argue, and trailed after him back to the bedroom.

“You heard the boss. You can go back to sleep.” Satoru said, stretching lazily before heading into the bathroom.

You yawned, crouching near your luggage as you rummaged for your toothbrush. “As tempting as that is, I can’t. I have too much to review.”

Satoru hummed in acknowledgment, disappearing into the bathroom. But just as you found your toothbrush, his head suddenly peeked out from behind the door.

“Oh yeah, Y/n~” His tone was lighthearted, but something about it made your stomach flip. “I’m sorry if you couldn’t sleep last night.”

Your hands froze. “Huh?” You forced confusion into your voice. “I was asleep the whole night.”

Satoru tilted his head slightly, eyes studying your face as if searching for something. “Really? That’s good. I thought you’d be uncomfortable sleeping beside us.”

You swallowed thickly. “Nope. Slept fine.” You lied, flashing him a quick, sleepy smile before looking away.

Satoru held your gaze for a second longer, then shrugged. “Glad to hear it~”

With that, he disappeared into the bathroom, leaving you standing there—your heartbeat just a little too fast, your grip on your toothbrush a little too tight.

⊹˚₊‧──────────────────────────────────‧₊˚⊹

The study lamp’s dim glow casts a warm, golden light over your cluttered desk, barely pushing back the shadows. Papers, highlighters, and dog-eared textbooks sprawled in a chaotic mess, your coffee mug long forgotten at the edge of the desk, its contents cold and untouched. Your fingers curled around the worn edges of the civil procedure textbook, its spine cracked from months of relentless studying.

With a heavy sigh, you rubbed your temples, feeling the dull ache of exhaustion settle behind your eyes. The words on the page blurred together, an indecipherable mess despite how many times you’d read them. You had memorized every clause, dissected every rule—but understanding the logic? That was a battle you weren’t winning. Frustration bubbled in your chest, and with a defeated groan, you dropped your forehead against the open pages with a dull thud.

Maybe if you just hit your head hard enough, the information would stick.

You barely got the chance to try before a firm yet gentle hand slipped between your forehead and the book, cushioning the impact. Your breath hitched slightly at the unexpected warmth, and you blinked up, startled.

Suguru stood over you, his dark eyes half-lidded with quiet amusement. He was close enough that the faint scent of sandalwood and something unmistakably him lingered in the air.

“Don't do that,” he murmured, voice low and smooth, as he pulled his own chair closer with an effortless grace. The wheels glided softly over the wooden floor, and he settled in beside you, resting his forearm on the desk. He leaned in slightly, the proximity making your skin prickle with heat. “What if you end up dumber?”

Your lips twitched into a scowl, but your face betrayed you—your cheeks burned at the teasing remark, and you quickly turned your gaze back to the book, suddenly very interested in the fine print.

“Very funny.” You muttered, fiddling with the corner of a sticky note.

Suguru only chuckled, shifting in his seat so he was facing you more directly. He was watching you, you felt it. And the weight of his gaze made your throat tighten.

“It’s just…” you hesitated, rubbing your hands over your face before reluctantly meeting his eyes again, “I don’t know if you’d get this, but civil procedures are so annoying. Like— I get the memorization part, but actually understanding the logic behind it? It’s like wading through quicksand.” You exhaled sharply, tapping your fingers against the desk. “And it really doesn’t help that the bar exam is literally next week.”

Suguru hummed thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair with a slow, lazy stretch. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and the casual ease in his posture made you feel even more fidgety in contrast.

“I may not be a lawyer,” he mused, tilting his head slightly, “and I never studied law, but I did write a story about an attorney once.”

You blinked. “...What?”

His grin widened, a mischievous glint sparking in his eyes. “Granted, it was mostly porn rather than plot.”

You stiffened. Your brain stalled. Your face? On fire.

Suguru chuckled at your reaction, raising a hand in mock surrender. “Hey, don't look at me like that. I did have to research some legal stuff for accuracy. Even talked to an actual lawyer about it.”

Despite yourself, curiosity momentarily overpowered your embarrassment. You turned in your chair, resting your elbow on the desk as you propped your chin up. “And?”

Suguru’s smirk softened slightly as he recalled the conversation. “He told me that civil procedure and criminal procedure follow a logical sequence—from filing the complaint to post-judgment remedies. Like a structured path.” He paused, lips pressing together before he let out a short laugh. “To be honest? I didn’t understand a damn word he said.”

You huffed out a small laugh, some of the frustration in your chest loosening. “Great. That makes two of us.”

Suguru leaned forward again, his fingers nudging your textbook closer. His voice was quieter now, but still teasing. “C’mon, let’s break it down together. Who knows? Maybe explaining it to an idiot like me will help you understand it better.”

You hesitated, the warmth of his presence making you unreasonably flustered, but eventually sighed in defeat. “Fine. But if I suffer, you’re suffering with me.”

Suguru grinned, resting his chin in his palm, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You exhaled slowly, flipping to a page covered in your own frantic annotations, the text highlighted and underlined within an inch of its life. The initial nervous energy of being this close to Suguru still hummed faintly in your chest, but the weight of stress was gradually giving way to something lighter.

“Okay.” You started, tapping your pen against the desk. “Civil procedure is basically just... a set of rules courts follow when handling non-criminal cases. It’s like a very annoying script.”

Suguru hummed, nodding thoughtfully as he propped his chin in his hand. “Typical tv drama?”

“Maybe.” You admitted, lips twitching. “First, you file a complaint. That’s just—”

“—the ‘Hey, I have a problem, fix it’ stage?” Suguru interrupted, grinning.

You blinked, then let out a small laugh. “Exactly. Then comes the response, where the defendant either accepts, denies, or tries to dismiss it.”

“Like when Satoru gets called out and immediately deflects.”

That startled a snort out of you. “Yes. The Satoru Gojo Defense Strategy.”

Suguru chuckled, his eyes glinting with amusement as he gestured for you to continue.

“After that, there's discovery—both sides exchange information, gather evidence, and basically try to one-up each other before the trial even starts.”

“Ah, so that’s the ‘dig up dirt’ phase.”

“Uh-huh. Then the trial is where both sides argue their case, present evidence, and hope the judge or jury sides with them.”

“Like a debate club.” Suguru mused, tilting his head.

“Exactly!” You brightened, surprised at how easily the words were coming now. “And then, after all that, there's either a verdict or a settlement, and if someone’s unhappy, they can appeal.”

Suguru exhaled dramatically, leaning back in his chair. “Damn. No wonder lawyers are always stressed.”

You let out a small laugh, the last bits of tension in your body finally easing. The weight in your chest wasn’t as heavy anymore—if anything, you felt lighter, the frustration of earlier now a distant memory.

Suguru studied you for a moment, then smirked. “Look at you. Five minutes ago, you were about to headbutt your textbook, and now you're explaining law like it’s a bedtime story.”

Your face heated again, and you averted your gaze. “I—it’s easier when I feel like I'm gossiping about it instead of studying for an exam.”

Suguru hummed in approval, his eyes warm with amusement. “Then maybe that’s the trick—you just have to think of law as one big, messy drama.”

You huffed out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “If only the bar exam was graded on how entertaining my answers are.”

His chuckle was low, soothing, and it sent a faint shiver down your spine. His presence was always steady, always there—and now that you had relaxed a little, you were more aware of it than ever. The quiet rustling of papers, the dim golden glow of the lamp, the way his scent—sandalwood and something faintly warm—lingered in the air between you.

Your fingers tapped absently against the desk, trying to ground yourself in the rhythm, to ignore the way your skin prickled under his gaze.

Then, before you could process it, Suguru reached out, his knuckles brushing against your jaw as he tilted your face toward him.

Your breath caught in your throat.

And then, he kissed you.

Soft. Warm. Unhurried.

Your lips parted in shock, frozen as the realization crashed over you, a dizzying rush of warmth spreading through your chest. His lips claimed yours with quiet certainty—no hesitation, no second-guessing. Just intent. Like it was natural.

Your heart pounded so violently you thought he might feel it through your skin.

Then—reality slammed back into you, cold and sharp.

You pulled away first.

Your breath was unsteady, eyes wide as you stared at him, throat tight with words that refused to form. What…?

Suguru only watched you, unreadable, as if waiting for you to say something—waiting for you to make sense of what just happened.

But you couldn’t.

Guilt churned in your stomach, tangled with something just as intense. Because even as your mind screamed that this was wrong, even as you told yourself you should be upset, the lingering warmth on your lips betrayed you.

Because you liked it.

And that made it worse.

Your chair scraped against the floor as you abruptly stood, your fingers curling into fists at your sides. “I—” You swallowed, voice barely above a whisper. “I should—”

Suguru didn’t stop you when you took a step back. He didn’t move, didn’t reach for you—he only tilted his head slightly, dark eyes flickering with something unreadable.

You turned before he could say anything, before you could see something in his gaze that might make you hesitate.

Your legs felt unsteady as you left the study, heart hammering in your chest, your mind a chaotic mess of emotions you didn’t want to name.

And worst of all?

You just betrayed your best friend.

⊹˚₊‧──────────────────────────────────‧₊˚⊹

“Did you two fight?” Satoru asked as he plopped down between you and Suguru on the bed, his weight making the mattress dip beneath him. His white hair was slightly damp from his shower, the faint scent of his shampoo lingering in the air. He stretched his long limbs, letting out a satisfied sigh before glancing between the two of you.

You immediately averted your gaze, staring at the dim glow of the bedside lamp as you curled up on your side. Your stomach twisted with guilt. You hadn’t even lasted a week—a week—and you had already managed to betray him.

On a scale of one to ten, how fucked were you?

Suguru, seated at the other edge of the bed, barely reacted. He remained exactly as he was, his face unreadable. Not a single hint of discomfort, no sign that the past few hours had even affected him. How could he be so calm?

Satoru made an exaggerated noise of realization, pointing an accusing finger between you. “Aww, you two fought!” His voice was playful, teasing—completely oblivious to the turmoil swirling between you and Suguru. Without hesitation, he reached for both of you, tugging you closer with ease. You struggled, pushing back against his grip, but Satoru was stronger, far stronger.

“Did Y/n touch your study materials, Guru? I’m sure she didn’t mean it.” He grinned, ruffling Suguru’s dark hair before shifting his attention back to you. His arms wrapped around both of you in a secure, familiar hold, his warmth pressing in from all sides. “Or did Guru upset you Y/n?”

But nothing about this moment felt safe.

Your breath caught in your throat as you tensed against him, your pulse hammering beneath your skin. His embrace should have been comforting—it always had been before—but now it only amplified the suffocating weight of your guilt.

Because Suguru was still silent.

And because you knew the truth.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of Satoru’s shirt as he held you close, completely unaware of the storm inside you.

“Aww, c’mon.” He whined, resting his chin on top of your head. “Whatever it is, just make up already.”

Satoru had no idea.

He had no idea that just hours ago, you had kissed his fiancé.

No—Suguru had kissed you.

But you had let him.

You had wanted it.

Your stomach twisted painfully, nausea creeping up your throat. How could you sit here, tangled in Satoru’s arms, acting as if nothing had happened? How could you let him be so warm, so trusting, when you had already shattered something he didn’t even realize was broken?

You swallowed hard, forcing a shaky laugh, hoping—praying—it sounded normal. “We didn’t fight, Satoru. You’re imagining things.”

Satoru blinked, tilting his head. A few droplets of water slipped from his damp hair onto your shoulder. “Then why are you acting all weird?”

Your breath hitched. Before you could scramble for an excuse, Suguru finally moved.

With infuriating ease, he turned a page in his book, then let his gaze flick lazily toward Satoru. His lips curled into a smirk, voice smooth—too smooth. “She’s just stressed.”

Your fingers clenched.

Satoru made a soft noise of concern, shifting so he could look at you properly. His bright blue eyes, half-lidded with drowsiness, softened. “Aww, Y/n, don’t overwork yourself. You know we’re here for you, right?”

His tenderness made your chest ache.

You nodded quickly, forcing a tight-lipped smile.“Yeah. I know.”

Satisfied, Satoru grinned, then suddenly pulled both you and Suguru closer, rolling onto his back and dragging you against his chest. His limbs wrapped around the two of you, effectively trapping you in place. “Good! Now, group cuddle!”

Your breath stilled. Suguru, on the other hand, barely reacted. You could hear his steady breathing, his body utterly relaxed. The contrast between your stiff posture and his utter ease made something in your stomach curl unpleasantly.

Satoru sighed in contentment, completely unaware of the tension thrumming beneath his touch. “There. Much better. No more weird tension, right?”

You didn’t answer.

Suguru didn’t either.

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