A HOUSE THAT SMELLS LIKE HOME. | Gojo X Reader. | 2k Words

this is such a cool idea

A boring night......listening to my heart to relax to before bed...... 86bpm

wouldn't it be nice? - suna rintarou/f!reader (haikyuu!): fluff but suggestive at times, established relationship, talk of babies/families/pregnancy, committing to the bit is all fun and games until the bit commits to you, tw: light miscommunication since some of u guys hate that, let the record show this was NOT written for his birthday, i didn't even KNOW it was today ok, i will not be taking questions at this time (or ever)

You know exactly what started it.

The problem.

It was some sappy commercial you saw on TV one lazy Sunday afternoon.

You rarely even watch television—not proper cable television anyway—preferring the simplicity of streaming services in this modern day and age. It's a complete fluke that you happen across it at all while you and Rintarou rest sprawled across his couch in the afternoon sun, your feet tucked underneath his thigh. You wouldn't even go on to remember what the commercial was for; all you remember is the perfect, cherubic little baby at the centre of it, and the way that it made your heart melt.

You let out a long, wistful sigh once the advertisement transitions into the next. "I want to hold a baby."

It piques his interest. That stupid, completely unremarkable comment that you'd come soon to regret.

Rintarou pulls himself a little more upright at his end of the sofa, shooting you a mischievous look. His expression might seem placid to most people, impassive even, but you know it, and him, and all his minute eccentricities too well to be fooled.

"I'll give you a baby," he muses, angling his body over yours on the sofa with his arms caging your waist. You draw your legs back instinctively—hips perpendicular to your thighs and heels to the bottom of your bum—at the first sign of trouble.

Your lip curls, and you lift your sock-clad feet so they press flat against his chest, pushing him back with all the strength you can. He hardly budges, but you expect as much.

"Ew, Rin," you snort, head lolling to the side to idly watch the next useless commercial on TV as it unfolds, “gross."

Suna pauses, a hand loosely circling your ankle, and you glance at him from the corner of your eye. There's a look that you don't recognize that flitters across his face. His grip tightens a little, his thumb sweeping down over the round protrusion of your joint and back again.

"Gross?" he asks softly.

"Yeah, gross," you say, pulling your foot out of his hold. It takes a bit of effort, because he doesn’t seem to want to move, but you roll over onto your side and wiggle out from under him to rise up off the sofa. You shuffle into the kitchen for a snack, and you feel his eyes on you as you go.

But that was just the start.

You’re not sure if you just never noticed, or if the universe has a deeply perverse sense of cosmic humour, but after that Sunday afternoon, it seems like there are babies everywhere you go. 

And if not actual living, breathing babies, then it's all matter of things that are decidedly baby-adjacent. Itty bitty onesies on display at the store you two are shopping at. Sweet souvenir plushies at the Aquarium that are meant for little ones to hold. Diapers, formula, and various other baby necessities are advertised in the posters mounted on bus stops, on train stations platforms, and on flashing digital billboards. 

And every single time, without fail, you see them when you’re with Suna. 

And every single time, without fail, he looks at you and waits for you to meet his gaze. 

You’ve gotten pretty good at avoiding it, honestly. But then he’ll always make some comment. Point it out. Make it obvious.

“Look at that baby’s tiny hand. I bet our baby will have my hands.”

“Can you believe that babies are really this little? Do you think ours will be this small?” 

“If you were buying these for our baby would you get the yellow or the—“

“Trick question,” you cut Suna off, snagging the yellow pair of training chopsticks (complete with a little ducky on top) out from his hands and shoving them back onto the display he’d just plucked them off of. You don’t allow yourself to linger for too long on how cute they really are. “Babies don’t use chopsticks, and also we’re not having a baby.”

You continue down the aisle of the market, a familiar pain throbbing just behind your eyes that Rintarou seems so uniquely skilled at eliciting. Your face is hot too, but that’s probably just from the frustration. After a moment you hear his feet shuffling along after you, and the two of you finish your grocery shopping in relative silence.

You’re used to putting up with all of your boyfriend’s other annoyances and oddities, so this is just another one to add to the ever-growing list. But this time, something feels a bit… different. 

The two of you stop at a vending machine for coffee on your walk home since it’s cold out. Suna has the largest of your two reusable grocery bags looped over one of his arms, and somehow while you’re digging for change in your wallet he manages to weasel the other one off of your arm and onto his own, too. 

“There’s a coffee shop right around the corner, why are you stopping here?” he asks, watching as you carefully make your selection from the humming machine in front of you. You press the button of your choice, and a can of cafe au lait clunks down into the waiting chute below. 

“The metal can keeps my hands warmer,” you explain, sticking a few more yen into the machine and choosing Rintarou’s favourite, too. His choice makes the same descent yours had, and you crouch down to retrieve it for him, holding it out to him in offering as you stand. 

He blinks at you.

“Nah, I’m good,” he says, shaking his head a little. “Hands are full, anyway.”

You balk at him soundlessly for a moment. “Give the other bag back, then!”

“Nope,” he replies, making a point to enunciate it clearly in a way that you know he knows drives you crazy. He takes a step in the direction of your apartment, and you have no choice but to stick the can of coffee he’d declined into your coat pocket and chase after him.

It does a great job of keeping your hand—tucked into your pocket and wrapped around it—warm as you walk, though.

Nearly back at your apartment, your can of coffee drained and properly disposed of, a little ball of fluff waddles past you on the sidewalk, heading towards the entrance of a nearby park. You and Rintarou both pause, equally confused by what you’ve just spotted.

Behind the amorphous little thing is a couple, maybe a few years older than you two are, trailing not even a metre away. You watch as they coo and fawn over it as is wobbles unsteadily towards the open stretch of grass ahead. They call it pet-names, and try to convince it to turn around for mom and dad so they can take a picture.

Oh.

A baby.

Probably a little older than a baby given the whole… walking thing. But it’s still so tiny, even in its big, puffy coat, so they can’t be very old. The hood is pulled up over the child’s head, and you realize upon closer inspection that it has—

“Teddy-bear ears,” Rintarou says, cupping his fingers over his mouth and blowing warm air into his hands. “That’s so cute.”

“Yeah,” you say with a soft smile, watching as the child toddles along in their fluffy little teddy jacket.

Suna must have put the grocery bags down at his feet at some point when the two of you stopped walking, and when he pulls his hands back from his face, you see how the tip of his nose has gone pink from the cold. He dips down in front of you, his eyes narrowed, scrutinizing you up-close. 

“What?” you ask him nervously, a hand fluttering self consciously to your face. 

His breath leaves his mouth in wispy clouds as he tilts his head to the side. He’s so close that the warmth brushes against your lips like an airy, indirect kiss. You wonder if he can taste the coffee that clings to yours.

“What?” you repeat yourself again, a little more insistently this time. You reach up and pinch either of his cheeks between your thumbs and forefingers—stretching the pliable flesh outwards in an attempt to get him to back off a bit. His rosy cheeks are cool under your warm touch.

“Do you think we’d make a cute baby?” Rintarou asks, though the question is a little garbled thanks to your grip, and your stomach clenches involuntarily. His hands, and his frigid fingertips, reach up and rest over your own where you’re still pinching his cheeks—though your vice has eased slightly.

“You can barely even make an omelet,” you huff out as heat rises in your cheeks, pulling your hands out from under his and looking away. “Like I’d ever trust you to make a baby.”

“People make them all the time by accident, you know,” he remarks, rubbing at his stinging cheeks where you’d been pinching him. “I’m sure I could do it on purpose if I really set my mind to it.”

You dip down and grab the grocery bag he’d taken off your hands earlier, hiking it up onto your shoulder.

“Why are you so obsessed with this stupid baby joke?” you ask him exasperatedly, following it with a long, aggrieved sigh that you can see as you breathe it out.

He looks at you for a moment, his brow pinching in the middle. His nose is still so pink, and it makes the green in his eyes stand out more. 

You watch how Suna’s lips part, like he’s going to say something, but then they press together in a thin line again without uttering a word. He picks up his grocery bag with one hand and sets off in the direction of home, and this time you feel a little sheepish as you follow after him.

The apartment is quiet when you return home, and it stays that way as the two of you unpack the groceries in your kitchen side by side. You bought more than you usually would on a weekly grocery trip, all because Suna’s been staying over more than he usually does. But there’s a sudden frostiness that seems to have creeped in from outside, as if clinging to your coattails, and the chill has now settled between the two of you. 

It makes a strange sort of anxiety prickle under the surface of your skin, tender like a bruise. It makes you wonder if half of these groceries are going to go to waste.

“I’ll shower first,” Rintarou mutters without turning towards you after he puts the last pantry item away and closes the cabinet.

Stress sits heavy in the pit of your stomach when he doesn’t look at you. It’s intentional, you know it is. Suna’s favourite hobby is staring at you—he’s told you that himself many, many times. But he doesn’t even spare you a glance before he shuffles off towards your bedroom. 

You stand in silence in the kitchen, as though that weight in your gut keeps you anchored in place. You can hear the rustle of Rintarou’s clothes hitting the hamper. You hear the bathroom door close. You hear the spray of the shower turn on. 

You hear your heartbeat. Loud and wet in your ears.

You’re being ridiculous. You know that. You’re all worked up over nothing. 

This was all just some stupid joke that he was being annoying about in the first place. That he found every possible opportunity to bring up. 

You aren’t even sure what’s upset him so much; uncertain as to why you being annoyed about one of his blatant attempts to annoy you seems to have caused him offence.

You curl up on your sofa as Rintarou showers, picking at the fraying cuff of your hoodie as you similarly pull apart every second of your memory from the walk home from the market in an attempt to identify what could possibly have gone wrong. You’re thinking about the can of coffee—left sitting, unopened and room-temperature now, on your kitchen counter—when you hear the shower turn off.

The seconds tick by agonizingly slowly as you wait for your sullen boyfriend to emerge, but when he does he still seems resolved to avoid you. You wait on the sofa, your fingers stilled in the motion of fiddling with your sleeve, anticipating that he’ll come ask you to blow-dry his hair, just like he always does.

He doesn’t. 

The hairdryer clicks on in the other room, and the sound makes you feel sick. 

“Rin!” your voice leaves you involuntarily, without an ounce of conscious effort. You sound panicked.

The hairdryer clicks off immediately, and Rintarou appears in the doorway to your bedroom—half-dressed and hair half-dried—in an instant. His eyes are alight with concern.

Your hand had flown to your mouth as soon as you called out for him, too late to actually muffle the sound. But it stays there as you look at him with shocked, notably-guilty eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asks you, eying you suspiciously.

“Nothing,” you murmur, your fingers still resting lightly over your lips, you avert your eyes. “It’s nothing, sorry.”

He hesitates in the doorway for a moment, and then turns to head back to the hairdryer.

“It’s just—“

He pauses when you speak again, one of his hands resting on the doorframe he’s lingering beneath—neither in nor fully out. 

“—you’re mad at me.”

You watch his shoulder blades as your words hang in the air between the two of you. The chill in your apartment, unlike it had been outside, is only proverbial—but you half expect to see wisps of vapour slipping out on the edge of your breaths.

“I can’t figure out what I did wrong.”

Suna looks at you over his shoulder, his already vulpine eyes narrowing a little further. Not in irritation, but consideration. For all the strangeness between the two of you today, you can still recognize that much in his expression. 

“I’m not mad at you,” he finally says, and you hate how relieved you feel at so few words. Hate even more how him turning back to face you makes the weight in your stomach lessen. That as he approaches you on the sofa you feel the air warm with every step.

Rintarou perches on the edge of your couch, a full cushion between the two of you as you sit there quietly. Both of his feet are on the ground, but yours are drawn up onto the sofa with you, facing him. Slowly your feet creep forward, slipping your toes under his sweat-pant clad thigh.

Suna’s head droops forward, and he lets out a breathy, wry laugh.

“What are your theories so far?” he asks quietly. 

Your head tilts to the side in confusion.

He peeks over at you, peering up at you from the corner of his eye.

“What do you think you might have done wrong?”

You hum quietly, pursing your lips slightly.

“Well, I… I thought maybe I got you the wrong coffee. I didn’t ask, but you always choose that one, so I just thought…”

Suna clicks his tongue.

“Nope.”

You huff a bit, staring at your hands in your lap. “Well… there was that baby at the park.”

You feel Suna’s eyes on you, but you’re suddenly too wary to meet them. He doesn’t tell you you’re wrong though, so you continue. 

“And I said you can’t make an omelet.”

He laughs a bit again, and you know that wasn’t it either.

“Are you upset because I said that I didn’t think you could make a baby?” you ask, peeking up at him. “Rin, I’m borderline militant about taking my birth control. I obviously don’t think you’re impo—“

Rintarou tips his head up a little further, meeting your gaze. Caught in his stare, it’s suddenly like your words die before you can get them off the tip of your tongue. Slowly, he reaches out towards you, taking one of your fidgeting hands and holding it in his. His touch is warm now, in contrast to what it had been at the park. He lifts your hand up to his mouth.

Delicately, he kisses your fingertips. His lips brush against the digits, over your knuckles and up to your palms. He presses your hand to his cheek and looks at you with the most pitiful gaze. It makes your chest ache. 

“I don’t like it when you say that,” he says reticently. And for all Rintarou’s height and weight and sheer breadth, he sounds so impossibly small.

“Say what?” you ask him, and your voice is quiet too. Vulnerable.

He leans his flushing cheek into your hand, holding it to his face and closing his eyes as he nuzzles into your touch.

“That you wouldn’t have my baby,” he whispers, “that you don’t want it.”

You resist the urge to pull away. It’s an instinct you can’t explain: a desire to keep him at a distance, to always laugh things off, to make a joke out of very real feelings. 

“Because I do.”

You blink.

Suna opens his eyes and looks at you, and for the first time you see the very real, very not joking pain in his eyes.

“I want that with you.”

Your mouth is dry and you’re frozen. You stare at him, completely still, stunned by his sincere confession.

“What?” you manage to squeak out. 

Rintarou closes his eyes again, breathing out a little sigh. He pulls your hand from his cheek, folding your fingers down so they’re hooked in a loose fist around his thumb. He brings your hand to his lips, not quite a kiss but close enough to call it that anyway. 

“Not right now,” he murmurs into your knuckles, lips brushing against you as he speaks the words. “But someday.”

You’re still so shocked that you don’t know how to respond. He peers at you, hand still held to his lips, his eyes more resolved than they are wounded now. 

“And I want you to want that. But I don’t know how to make you want it too.”

Your heartbeat thumps in your chest, resonant and palpable. Heat has crawled all the way up your face now, and you’re fairly certain your hand has gone clammy, but Rintatou passes no comment even if it has.

“Do you think you could?” he asks you quietly. Sheepishly. Earnestly. “Could you want that? With me?” 

You pitch yourself forward suddenly, and Rintarou lets out a little grunt of surprise as the two of you topple back into the sofa. You hide your burning face in the crook of his neck, that smells like your body wash and shampoo but somehow so much better, clutching onto him like your life depends on it. Suna seems shocked for a moment as he finds himself flat on his back with your weight on top of him, and his body is stiff as he processes it. After a few beats of your too-loud, too-telling heart pass, he finally eases. He wraps his arms around your waist and holds you tightly to him.

“You’re so stupid,” you grumble, your eyes squeezing shut tightly.

“Yeah,” he agrees, and you can hear the smile in his voice. The genuine laughter that’s hiding just behind the words. He hugs you a little tighter. “Probably.”

You stay like that for a while, basking in the warmth of Rintarou’s body and the rhythm of his breath.

“You love me though,” he says quietly, “so that reflects pretty badly on you.”

You lift your head to meet his gaze, and find him barely holding in a laugh. You can’t help but laugh with him. Can’t help but enjoy your favourite sound.

Rintarou scoops you up in his arms again, tugging you into his lap. He presses featherlight kisses to the corner of your jaw, and you fiddle with his long, lithe fingers. He sighs, but this time the sound is at ease. His damp hair tickles your face as he rests his forehead against your temple, nosing at your cheek.

“Hey, Rin?” you murmur as you run your thumb over the space between his first and second knuckle on his ring finger. You think about the kid you saw at the park in the fluffy jacket, and the besotted parents trailing along behind it.

He answers you with a content, if not slightly curious, hum. 

You turn your face towards him, and your noses brush. Rintarou’s lashes flutter as his gaze turns a little heavy-lidded. You can feel his breath on your lips, that’s how close he is. You inch forward until the space between you is almost completely gone.

And just before your lips meet, you smile.

“I do think we’ll make a cute baby.”

School is starting back so I've asked around and compiled some advice and tips to help you do amazing this semester!

Make a calendar and put your class times in it. Schedule in lunch and dinner (and hopefully breakfast) and see what you have left. Schedule in study and homework time, social time, work time, sleep, and chores. I know this is a lot and can be overwhelming, but having a time table helps you to keep to due dates with minimal stress.

Join a club! Make connections. The club doesn't even have to be in your field, just something you enjoy. It helps you make friends, feel more comfortable, and gives you something to look forward to!

Look at your library's calendar. A lot of libraries have events like therapy dogs, book sales, free lunches, and the like that are always fun!

Always have a snack with you. Sometimes that project takes a bit longer than expected and snacks make things so much easier. You can't work well on an empty stomach.

A lot of campuses have trails and stuff. Find them and walk them at least once.

Experiment with your style and identity. Literally no one there cares. Everyone is just as tired and focused on graduating as you are and they won't remember how your hair was or what shoes you wore yesterday.

It's ok to drink and party and have fun! There seems to be a stigma around partying in the academic circle. You can go out every now and then and do stupid stuff and still get good grades.

Do not buy that brand new $2,000 laptop. You don't need it.

Buy that $30 umbrella that won't break in the wind and is big enough to keep you and your backpack dry. You will need it.

Go to office hours. It's a great way to get that recommendation letter.

You failed a test? Oh well. You failed a class? Retake it. Don't stress. This isn't going to be the end all. I promise these things don't matter much after you graduate.

Your GPA isn't a reflection of your abilities. Life happens and you will fumble and fail.

Participate in class. You're paying way too much so take advantage of that. Drain every bit of information from that teacher. I promise they love it.

Take a class that isn't directly related to your degree. If it sounds cool, take it!

Stress eat an entire cake at least once.

Dollar tree seasonings work just the same as fancy, fresh market ones.

Walk campus a few times. Learn where things are. I promise you'll find something weird. My campus used to have a small clown shrine in the woods.

Find someone who has a pet and befriend them.

Learn to cook a vegetable.

Make a Google doc with all the class info and email the link to your classmates. Tell them they can add to it. Notes questions, whatever. At the end of the semester yall will have a giant document with literally anything the teacher could put on a comprehensive final.

Don't buy your textbooks until after the first week or two. 90% of the time you don't need the textbook. A lot of classes (and all common core classes) are required to have a mandatory textbook. But like I said, they probably won't ever use it.

Buy the textbooks and field guides you like and keep them!

Get sleep. Every night. Bragging about not sleeping or hardly sleeping is stupid and very bad for your health.

Slow down. Life goes too fast and I hope you don't have to learn what's actually important in life while at a funeral wishing you spent more time with someone. Please slow down. You don't get time back but you can always make up ah assignment or a class.

Take a semester or summer off. No one cares if you graduate a bit or a lot late. You won't ever get this time again so enjoy it

Have fun! You have an opportunity not granted to a lot of people. But that doesn't mean to work constantly. You should enjoy yourself.

And lastly: calculus made everyone cry it's ok. No one will judge you for it I promise.

Overview

“Umm it will actually be very difficult for universities to divest from israel and arms manufacturers without tuition skyrocketing 🤓☝🏼” why is the financial stability of a college (and the economy at large, especially in the us) so reliant on what amounts to war profiteering to begin with? Why is that an inevitability that we’re supposed to accept?

songs i associate the truly devious squad with:

david eastman king

He said screw it

There's a big crowd looking

I'ma scream when no one, when no one, when no one's around

i hc our resident irritating(ly handsome) daddy issues boy to be an ajr fan because if you tell me you can’t see him with humpty dumpty by ajr on loop while he pours over speeches or campaign stuff (so knowledgeable i know) in his dingy little motel room that he picked and paid for himself (proudly) tapping his (incredibly long and slender !!) fingers on the brown and slightly stained desk (better not to think into that) and smiling at the line about weird friends and stilling his fingers when some random pattern of notes strung together or some verse of the song reminds him of stevie and smiling a embarrassing boyish happy grin because he’s alone and the smirks are reserved for stevie? you’re lying.

also because it feeds the robin hood type rebel (i’ll explain later) inside of him i mean have you heard the song it makes me want to skateboard around the city and spray peace and love sayings on the subway stations because it’s got that badum badum you’re a bad boy but also badam badam you’re only being a bad boy to your very bad daddy so you’re actually just a good boy with a bad boy attitude that also makes your very intelligent and slightly murder obsessed crush blush

nate fisher

But I don't need comfort

I don't want to talk

So could you tell me that it's over

Tell me that it's over

i’m thinking the wallows for our true watson and he might not even connect or relate to the lyrics but i think he likes the tune and this song especially because sometimes that’s him and he just wants to be alone and don’t get me wrong he loves stevie and janelle and david  but sometimes the stress of his stupid stupid book and everything just gets to him more than he jokes about it and he’ll just sit in his room and have this on and just kinda (aggressively and satisfyingly) close all his tabs and push the book away and just sit on the rug with his head against the mattesss with one of those nifty heating by oxidizing iron inside of the pocket eye patches that smell like soft citrus and happiness(don’t laugh i love them and you all need to get them now) that janelle insisted on him having (after vi bought a 500 pack off of amazon that he scoffed at but now secretly by from vi who happily supplies him with it since it gives them an excuse to buy more) and stretches his fingers out after a long day of not typing and tries to pretend he’s not thinking of mudge

stevie bell

But we might just get away with it

Religion's in your lips

Even if it's a false god

We'd still worship

our loveable murder muffin i believe is either a swiftie or a rock lover but since i don’t listen to rock (don’t start) and the depressingly small truly devious community is mostly caffeinated swifties i’ve hced stevie with the song false god 

i also think this song reminds her of meeting david and their rocky (to say the least) journey to being more than friends (thanks maureen it was a ship we needed) which always makes her blush every time especially when she remembers their first kiss and in her words all that rolling and also it just relaxes her because sometimes she’ll get too riled up to sleep when she’s listening to her true crime podcasts and solving them before the narrator does so she kinda just has this on loop to drift off because overall it’s got a nice background music quality to it and we all know how stevie’s brains gotta have center stage when she’s solving all her lovely who dunnit mysteries

an added bonus slash thingamajigger that the (very prominent) background saxophone reminds her of ellie and even though it’s a painful memory it helps her remember her friends and remind herself she’s not alone and she is loved and sometimes sometimes she’ll take ellie’s advice given on one of those champagne filled (ellie) nights and just imagine she’s strolling down a street in paris (the capital of crime and death) with david in a crewneck holding her hand and sharing an earbud with her while she pretends not to blush and he pretends not to notice

janelle franklin 

Crawlin’ back to you

Ever thought of callin’ when

You’ve had a few?

’Cause I always do

the one that all of us are lowkey or highkey like me jealous of because how come she has a hobby that she’s devoted to and good at and an s/o and she looks good and is organized and good with kids. how come??

moving on

in my mind she likes arctic monkeys because the beat and the stuff of the song (you understand) just reminds me of her hammering it up in minerva’s brand new workshop with it pulsing in her ears to the beat of the buzz of the machine and her getting a little lost in the lyrics every now and then when she’s really missing vi

also 100% sure she is obsessed with miley cyrus’s version of why do you only call me when you’re high 

also because i feel like when she’s going to bed and she’s got her headphones plugged into her ears she (like stevie) uses it to help sleep and the tune is just comforting and she can kinda just close her eyes and experience the soft angst 

vi harper-tomo

Quiet is the city air on a summer night after it rains Faster than a bolt of lightning The speed of a Japanese bullet train (train) And you know, it's always trying to stay awake (stay awake)

i’m gonna have to go with lyn lapid for them because a) producer mans really got a good feminist + fuck the money sucking trying to survive girl exploiting men vibe but b) i’ve decided to go with this song because it’s really soft which i think is indie enough in my previously headcanoned indie rock vi and i also think it reminds them of janelle and how happy she makes them. and honestly i see them doing that tiktok thing inside of their head while the “if only you knew part” plays and seeing snapshots of memories with janelle flash through their head as well as their adventures in vietnam and at minerva house with janelles weird friends and i think they really do appreciate the memories and this song kind of brings them all out. i also think that this is either their ringtone or that they’ve learned to play this on an instrument (violin <3)and when they played it for janelle she cried

element “ellie” walker

I will leave you notes 

Je te laisserai des mots 

under your door 

En-dessous de ta porte 

Below the singing walls 

En-dessous de les murs qui chantent 

Close to where your feet pass 

Tout près de la place où tes pieds passent 

could never forget our ellie of course, and i know we all think know she’s a swiftie but i do think she enjoys this and not just because she’s an avid lover of french but also because she likes the lyrics and it’s one of the rare tunes that she’s learned to carry on roota and it’s one of the even rarer tunes that people don’t seem to mind her playing on roota 

i feel like it’s a good arting (shh) song for her and also she listens to it in her bathtub with a bottle of champagne in her left hand and a paintbrush in her right dabbing at the canvas she’s got set up with the bottom half of the easel in the warm pinkish water dyed with pink rose smelling bath salts david got her for her birthday

mudge

and it was not your fault but mine

but it was your heart on the line

i really fucked it up this time

didn’t i my dear?

i don’t know why mudge enjoys this song in terms of lyrics but i do see him liking the tune of it and imagining himself in disney in the 90s with this playing in the dingy cafe where he has his coffee before putting on his mickey suit, he definitely also thinks of nate and folds little paper flowers for him while listening to this song