"cuz i know you like it nasty,
can't get that shit past me, i'm grabbing your throat"
She would never admit this out loud. She liked to believe she possessed more dignity than that.
But standing in the bathroom, skin still warm from the shower, she slowed as she rubbed lotion into her arms. Vanilla cashmere. A little overpriced, she’d admit if pressed. Her gaze drifted from the bottle in her hand to the other one on the counter, something sharper flickering across her face.
Megumi had always loved sweet scents on her. Loved was a strong word. But he noticed. He lingered. Vanilla had a way of pulling him closer, his face tucked into the curve of her neck, pressed into her stomach, buried between her thighs on nights that blurred into early mornings. It had followed them everywhere, soaked into skin and sheets and memory alike.
She exhaled, jaw tightening, and snapped the cap closed.
Not that it mattered. She didn’t care what Megumi thought. She didn’t care what he liked, or remembered, or missed. Who the fuck gave a shit about Megumi Fushiguro.
She used the vanilla anyway.
“You have to finish your reading,” Maki said flatly, sitting across the table from Yume. “The government depends on people not knowing how to read so they can pass stupid laws and lie to everyone without consequences.”
Yume stared at her, deeply unimpressed.
“Maki,” she said, voice small but firm, arms crossing over her chest, “I wanna watch Bluey.”
Maki didn’t blink. “Australian kids don’t have to deal with a racist, corrupt president,” she replied with a shrug. “But you keep saying you wanna move to New York when you’re big, so, page eight, missy.”
Yume slid lower in her chair dramatically. “But I’m hungryyyy,” she whined, eyes glassy, arms still crossed like she was bracing for tragedy.
That was when Yn wandered into the kitchen, laptop tucked under her arm, hair still slightly damp.
“Hey, princess,” she said softly, leaning down to kiss the top of Yume’s head.
“Mama,” Yume sniffed, immediately perking up, “I’m hungry.”
“Hi, Hungry. I’m Mama,” Yn said without missing a beat, pulling out a chair and sitting beside Maki.
Maki shot her a look. “Absolutely not.”
Yn grinned. “What? It’s a classic.”
“Dad joke,” Maki muttered.
“Well,” Yn said lightly, nudging Yume’s book toward her, “she doesn’t have a dad around, so I’m expanding my skill set.”
Maki sighed, rubbing her temples. “You’re unbearable.”
Yume giggled anyway, picking up her pencil.
Maki crinkled her nose suddenly. “You smell good.”
Yn glanced up from her laptop. “Wow. So what I’m hearing is I usually smell bad?”
“No, no,” Maki said quickly, waving a hand. “You just smell… different. You’re not using your regular lotion.”
She leaned in a little closer, unashamed, inhaling slowly.
“Vanilla,” Maki said. “Huh.”
Yn shrugged. “I wanted to try something new.”
Maki snorted. “It’s not new. This is what you used to wear in high school. You used to reek of Bath & Body Works Vanilla Bean Noel and Tito’s.”
“Who’s Tito?” Yume asked, not looking up from her book.
Both women snapped their heads toward her at the exact same time.
“A friend,” Yn said quickly. “Page eight, baby.”
Yume squinted at her suspiciously, but flipped the page anyway.
Maki leaned back, eyes narrowing as she looked at Yn again. “You swore off that scent. Said it was his favorite.”
Yn’s mouth tightened briefly before she shrugged. “I’m not letting him control my life through body lotion.”
Maki hummed, unconvinced. Then she leaned in again, squinting. “Wait. Are you wearing lip gloss?”
Yn blinked. “God forbid I moisturize.”
“You know lip balm exists, right?”
Yn smiled faintly, lips shiny and unapologetic. “Gloss is more fun.”
Maki stared at her for a long second, then shook her head. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”
Yn didn’t look up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Just because I didn’t go to uni doesn’t mean I’m stupid, Ln,” Maki said flatly. “You’re wearing lip gloss, you got a Brazilian yesterday, and you smell like Phlur Vanilla Skin.”
Yn froze for half a second, barely perceptible, but Maki caught it anyway.
“What’s your game?” Maki added, quieter now.
Yn exhaled through her nose and leaned back in her chair. “I don’t have a game.”
Maki raised a brow. “You don’t wake up one random Tuesday and decide to rebrand your entire scent profile for no reason.”
Yn shrugged, a little too casual. “Maybe I just wanted to feel like myself again.”
“That version of you?” Maki asked gently. “Because that version came with a lot of bad decisions.”
Yn’s mouth twitched. “So did the last five years. At least that one had good skin.”
A sharp knock echoed through the apartment, jolting both Yn and Maki from their seats.
“No,” Maki said immediately, jabbing a finger in Yn’s direction. “Sit. I’ll get it.”
“Oh, I think you know,” Maki cut in, already heading for the door.
She opened it slowly, her expression hardening as amber eyes met dark blue.
“I’m sensing a hostile vibe.”
“That was the intention.”
Megumi sighed, unimpressed. “I brought dinner.”
She snatched the takeout bag from his hand and tried, unsuccessfully, to shove the door closed in his face.
“I’m here to see my daughter,” he said quietly.
Maki leaned in, voice low and sharp. “Must you intrude on our family dinner?”
“I can,” he murmured back, stepping inside and slipping off his shoes, “when it’s my family.”
Yn, meanwhile, had already reclaimed the bag, smiling as she passed Megumi on her way back into the apartment. “Yume, you can stop your workbooks, go wash your hands.”
The young girl beamed, the kind of smile that lit up her whole face, shimmying off the chair before bounding toward the bathroom.
Megumi followed them inside as Yn began unloading the food, setting the containers carefully on the counter. “Thanks for dinner, Fushiguro.”
He frowned faintly. “Fushiguro? I thought I’d upgraded to a first-name basis.”
“You’ll upgrade when I decide you upgrade.”
“And what do I have to do to convince you to make that decision a little faster?” he asked, stepping closer. His fingers brushed hers as he helped her lift the takeout boxes from the bag.
Maki grimaced, nose crinkling. “I’m gonna go wash my hands too,” she muttered, already retreating down the hall. “And we eat at the table, by the way.”
Yn rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe you actually bought the Motoi.”
Despite herself, she smiled as she lifted the immaculate sushi rolls from the takeout bag, the rice still warm through the packaging.
Megumi shrugged, too casual for someone who’d clearly planned this. “You asked. Besides, I’ve been meaning to try it.”
He pulled out three small dessert containers and lined them neatly along the counter, like he’d rehearsed the motion.
“The place next door had these,” he added. “Thought Yume would like them. Got you and Maki one too.”
That did it. Yn had to look away for a second, busying her hands so he wouldn’t see it, the way her chest tightened, the traitorous warmth curling low in her stomach. Ovulation was cruel like that. Her body remembered him even when her brain knew better.
“You spoil her,” she teased, forcing lightness back into her voice. “Guess having a rich baby daddy finally pays off, huh?”
Megumi groaned immediately. “I hate those words.”
“Well, what else would you call us?”
She snorted. “One of us is a parent. I’m still undecided on what you are.”
He rolled his eyes. “Was the ¥15,000 not enough?”
“Money doesn’t make parenthood, Fushiguro.”
“Yes, yes,” he said dryly. “As you so lovingly remind me. Do you want the honey toast or not?”
Her head snapped up. “Honey toast?”
“Yeah,” he said, softer now. “You still like it, right?”
“I—yeah. I just didn’t think you’d remember.”
He met her gaze, something unguarded slipping through. “I don’t forget things about you.”
That landed harder than it should have.
He opened the container, brows lifting slightly. “Wow. They went crazy with the whipped cream.”
Without thinking, he dragged his finger through the excess-
Yn’s hand closed around his wrist, steady and sure. Not rushed. Not hesitant. Just inevitable. He looked up, breath stalling in his chest as her eyes met his, dark and unreadable.
She guided his hand toward her mouth, slow enough to feel intentional. Her lips parted, soft and warm, closing around his finger. She sucked gently, deliberately, lashes lowering as the sweetness hit her tongue. The contact was unhurried, intimate in a way that had nothing to do with urgency and everything to do with memory.
Megumi forgot how to breathe.
The room felt too small. Too quiet. He was acutely aware of every detail,the warmth of her mouth, the faint drag of her lips, the way her thumb rested against his knuckle like she belonged there.
When she finally released him, it was slow. Her fingers lingered, brushing his hand as if letting go were optional.
She swallowed, lips glistening, then smiled, soft, unreadable. How unfair.
“…That’s good,” she said lightly.
And just like that, she turned back to the counter, leaving him standing there with sugar drying on his skin, pulse loud in his ears, and the unsettling realization that pretending they were just co-parents was going to be impossible.
extra! extra! read all about it! (no seriously read it)
- I'm back! (This chapter is filled with a little bitch if reader and megumi so that you guys forgive me)
- The Brazilian was not for megumi bc I doubt he cares about hair, she just felt like it
- Is she going to fuck him? No. But Godforbid a girl ovulates a little.
- Taglist closed.
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