#*stares at certain posts on my nsft*

[rotteneldritchhorror]

And for what? For why?? Hello???

Also the hug Laci gives him is adorable

[guttedwhxre]

─ 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐇𝐈𝐌 ❞ michael a. myers (nsft ver.)

finally, my michael myers ns ft headcanons <3

tw: nothing!

author's notes: lmk if you think there's anything i should tag! enjoy!!

michael is a very impatient lover. which is a stark contrast to how he is usually, michael can wait for just about anything; but he can never wait to get his hands on you.

be prepared to get tossed around like a ragdoll. michael doesn’t really have any consideration for how you might feel in certain positions at first, so be sure to tell him if something is uncomfortable. just like with anything else, tell him gently and firmly what you don’t like, and he’ll comply. unlike with most other things though, you’d probably have to tell him a few times before he actually listened. 

at first, michael’s not the most generous lover. you’ve got to tell him, or even better, show him the ideal way to please you. seeing your pleasured face or hearing your breathy moans will be enough to spur him on to learn more. 

teach michael to give you head. it’s the best idea you may ever have. the way his broad tongue laves over your sex, the way his lips close around you - it’s frustrating when he doesn’t listen for sake of his own curiosity, but, he’ll make it worth your while. 

both RZ and ‘78 michael are on the larger side - 6.7/7.5 in. depending on your preferred michael. (RZ 7.5 in, ‘78 6.7 in)

not aware of how his girth may hurt you, so lube is a must! be generous about it. 

like seriously, with how rough michael gets you could tear/bleed so a nearly insane amount of lube is a must. 

the position michael is most fond of is missionary, he likes watching you writhe. 

definitely the type to take you when and where he wants. it’s not unusual to see him trailing after you on the streets, initiating a game of hide and seek - only to herd you into an alley and proceed to fuck the shit out of you.

super affectionate for about 5 minutes post-coitus. every time, like clockwork - he’ll be kissing you, holding you close, squeezing you half to death and near purring; then all of a sudden he’s back to normal. gives you whiplash! 

doesn’t mean there’s no aftercare though! after gentle guidance on it he’ll always bring you whatever you ask afterward, let you lay against his broad chest as you come down. after you’re all taken care of, michael takes a little bit of time to himself, his own preferred method of aftercare. he typically stays in the house but behind closed doors, or away from your eyesight. you’re not entirely sure what he does but he seems to need it, so you leave him be. 

on another note…interrupt him and he’ll be very, very upset. after living with you michael begins to understand what boundaries are and how they’re important - so when you violate his, especially repeatedly, well, don’t expect to come out totally unharmed. 

michael won’t have sex with you until he’s comfortable taking his mask off. it’ll be like dominos, almost! he takes off his mask then uh-oh you’re bent over the kitchen counter, taking him to his balls. (this may be where you discover how badly you need lube

he’s not much of a masturbater, so he’ll be pretty pent-up most days. you can introduce him to masturbation as a form of relief of course, but he’ll always prefer to relieve himself in you. or on you. 

he’s not initially super kinky, but introduce him to a few things and michael will do some research on his own, find out what he really enjoys! finds out some of the things he already likes are kinks and is very, very pleased. 

while it’s not often, occasionally michael will prefer to submit. you can tell by his body language of course, leaning into you, letting you pet him, laying over your lap and staring up at you with softened blue eyes. take these opportunities, as they don’t come often! (i can prolly go into depth on another post…lmk <3)

loves folding you in half during missionary, he likes to watch as you squirm and try to tell him that you don't bend that way - and delight when he makes you anyway.

definitely the type to wake you up with sex, whether it means he comes in after you've gone to bed one night and he's still a little pent up from his kills, or if he wakes up first in the morning and doesn't want to deal with his morning wood all by himself. that's what you're here for!

michael, all in all, loves you and your body. even if he’s a dick sometimes, he does! he’s yours to keep, and you’re his to fuck.

you’re sleeping, so so peacefully. the bed is nice and warm, your sheets are clean - you’re vaguely aware of how at peace you are and drift back into a deep sleep. sometime later you begin to stir, confused as to why the bed is rocking. and you feel so funny - “oh!” you squeak, suddenly incredibly aware of how close you are to cumming. michael is on top of you, his cock dragging against your walls as he pushes in and out, his eyes rolled into the back of his head. your legs are somehow behind your head, your boyfriend pressing you into the bed with his hips, his arms keeping your legs trapped against your torso. “michael,” you whisper, and he’s snapped back to reality. eyes landing on your face, you can see his lips begin to quirk up into a smirk. his hips begin to slam into you harder, pushing you over the edge as you finish all over him. pleased, the brunet leans down to press a kiss to your lips, nuzzling against your cheek as he chases his finish.

xoxo, babe 💋

[blakeshaw-oracle]

Al/Finney/Robin/Max foursome where the adults are nervous of hurting their boys at first but in the end they all fuck harder than they ever have in their lives

So, we're just gonna pretend this hasn't been sitting in my inbox for months, right? Right.

Please accept my longer-than-normal drabble as an apology 🙏 (After-writing note: Yeah, I basically wrote an entire oneshot for this... Merry Chrysler!)

Anyway, another NSFT/W one besties! This one ft. our best boys, Max and Robin in the mix!!

The main couples are Al/Finney & Max/Robin but there is a Finney/Robin kiss and Shawcest is there if you use your imagination and context clues 👌✨

Word Count: 3,115

Minors stay back!! Don't make me grab the newspaper 🗞️👿

ㅤ

They've talked about it before. Not at length, but living in the same house, so close to one another, it's hard not to notice... things...

Al and Max's rooms are right across the hall from each other. The house isn't the most amazing structure in the world, so the walls are pretty thin. It's hard not to notice. Not to hear.

Hell, Max can't even remember the last time that he couldn't hear his brother fucking Finney within an inch of his life from all the way in the living room. The man's headboard is so fucking loud as it bangs against the wall, and Finney isn't exactly the quietest moaner.

It was a little awkward at first, but since then he's been able to either tune it out or... Well...

He's a grown man, okay? He can't help how his body reacts to hearing them go at it like animals nearly every night. Besides, it's not like he isn't already going to hell. He himself is dating Finney's best friend Robin, and they fuck almost just as often. So what if he jacks off to the sounds of his brother and his brother’s boyfriend having sex sometimes?

God, he's fucked up.

Oh well.

-------------------------------

One morning, while both Finney and Robin are still asleep, Max makes his way into the kitchen and is greeted by the smell of freshly roasted coffee. Al is already sitting at the little dining table that barely fits all four of them with the morning paper, humming to himself. Max leisurely makes himself a cup and sits down across from his brother.

Al's hair is all disheveled and slightly tangled in some places. Not having anything better to do, Max just stares at it. At him. When did Al get so grey?

His brother must have noticed, because he asks, "What is it, Max?"

Shit. "Uh-- Nothing, Al. Sorry man."

Al, of course, doesn't buy this. It takes some coaxing, but Max eventually blurts out that his hair is just really messed up today. Luckily for him, Al only laughs, running his fingers through a few tangled strands.

"Ah, yeah. Finney sure does love to yank on it." He says it so casually, like he was just making a comment about the weather or something. Max knows that he and his brother are closer than most, but they rarely talk about their respective sex lives. It's a little strange. But hey, who is Max to really judge?

Soon enough, they both settle into a comfortable back-and-forth. What Al has planned for the week at the hardware store, which R-rated movies Max wants to take Robin to go see, and more of their usual banter. Then, not too long after, Al diverts the conversation.

"Hey, Max. Are you doing anything with Robin tonight? I wanted to ask 'ya something." The other man thinks for a minute and quickly lets his brother know that they were probably just gonna stay in. Nothing special, really.

"Perfect. Finney and I have been talking recently, and we wanted to know if you'd like to join us tonight? If you and Robin are both fine with it, that is."

"Uhh... What? Joi-Join you? Join what?"

Max knows what. He just doesn't want to agree or disagree without knowing if Al is just fucking with him. It's always hard to read his brother.

"Max. You know what," Al begins with a certain knowing lilt to his voice. The man sets down The Denver Post before taking a sip of his coffee, "Look, we know that you like to listen in sometimes. It's alright, we don't mind. I just thought maybe you and Robin would like to actually join us for once. I already talked it over with Finney, and he said he's fine with it."

Max is certain that he's completely dislodged his jaw at the rate that it flies open. "Uh... Al--"

Not paying him any more attention, Al gets up from where he's seated and begins to walk back to his room, coffee in hand. "Why don't you talk to Robin about it and let me know when I get back from work, yeah? I'll tell Finn you're thinking it over." Before Max can even respond, he's gone.

---------------------------------

That’s how Max ends up sat at the foot of his brother’s bed, wearing nothing but his color block patterned boxers. Robin is next to him, pawing at his cock and licking deviously at his neck. A smirk is no doubt painted on his lips.

Al and Finney sit at the head of the bed. It’s hard to see exactly what they’re doing, but Max can fill in the blanks fairly easily. The boy is already in his brother’s lap, both of their lower halves are naked. A perfect parallel to Robin and himself. Finney is rocking his hips and letting out the sluttiest little whines and whimpers Max thinks he’s ever heard.

He swiftly turns his attention to his own little boyfriend when Robin begins to all but yank his boxers down. Right, he needs to focus. Robin gets a little aggressive eager when Max doesn’t give him enough attention.

Max shifts around to allow the boy to pull his boxers the rest of the way down his legs, leaning down to give Robin a kiss for his effort. Once his boxers are fully off, Robin is quick to deepen the kiss, hungrily licking at Max's lips in a silent demand.

Max complies, of course, and opens his mouth for him. The man gently urges Robin to wrap his arms around his neck and then pulls the boy into his lap as well. Robin begins grinding his ass against Max's now bare cock almost immediately, his own boxers still in the way.

It doesn't take long for this to annoy the older of the two; Max slows Robin's grinding and drags the boy's underwear off as well. They part with matching gasps, their cheeks both flushed with exertion.

Max then spares another glance over at Al and Finney. Now, the boy is still in front of his brother, head bowed and panting loudly. Al's arm is moving so fast that Max is actually impressed that Finney hasn't cum yet, being as sensitive as he is.

Max looks back to Robin and brings his arms around the boy's hips that are notably much smaller than his own, hands resting right on the globes of his ass. He makes sure to give a good squeeze that he knows Robin likes and is rewarded with a sweet-sounding moan in his ear. God, Max loves it when Robin makes little noises like that for him.

Eventually, as they both admittedly get lost in each other, Max has worked Robin up to fitting 3 of his fingers in the boy’s hole. The man had made sure to use a little extra lube to allow a more comfortable glide. His small boyfriend is practically clinging to him, nose buried into the crook of Max's neck as he attempts to stifle his own moans.

The man teases him a bit by just barely grazing his middle finger over that little bundle of nerves inside that sends a full body shiver rushing over the boy. Max chuckles at the downright adorable mewl that Robin lets out; he's not supposed to sound so cute when they're doing shit like this.

Max has been occasionally checking in on Al and Finney the whole time. Over the past couple minutes, they've been slowly inching closer and closer without the boys noticing. Now, they're both comfortably fingering their respective lovers in the middle of Al's bed. Getting to hear both Robin and Finney like this surely is a gift, Max thinks to himself. It's even better now that he gets to see them both, too.

He and Al share a glance, confirming that they're ready. Max slows his fingers until he's reached a snail's pace, getting a disgruntled groan from Robin in return. He only shushes the boy as he pulls his fingers all the way out. Next, he pulls Robin out from where he's hiding against his chest and lays the boy down in front of him.

As Max glances over to his brother again, both he and Finney are now completely naked and in a similar position. Finney is laying down against the sheets, and Al is hovering over his small body, leaning down for a rather passionate kiss. Max follows Al's lead and does the same with Robin, pressing the boy down into the mattress with one hand, the other coming up to tangle in his long hair as he dives in for yet another kiss.

The brothers practically move in sync as they slowly creep in between their boyfriends' legs, making room for themselves. Max draws back from the kiss and immediately latches onto Robin's thin neck, sucking harsh bruises into his tan skin. It’s only fair. At the same time, he lines himself up and slowly inches his way into Robin's tight heat.

He's sure to be gentle and take his time. He knows Robin can take it, he's done so many times before, Max just doesn't want to rush this. Not yet. They haven't even gotten to the good part.

Deep in the heat of the moment, his previous feelings of anxiousness about the whole ordeal have all but evaporated. His entire focus is now on Robin and making him feel good. In the back of his mind, he knows that Al is only doing the same for Finney. Being together in the same room, on the same bed, just adds to that.

After all, they never could keep their boys apart for very long. If they took the time to think about it, something like this happening was inevitable.

With a low groan, Max pulls away from Robin’s neck. He takes a moment to admire the dark splotches now decorating the side of his boyfriend’s throat. It sends a thrum of satisfaction flowing through his entire body, knowing that anyone who sees them will know that Robin belongs to him. He’s Max’s pretty boy.

Once again taking note of his brother’s movements in front of him, Max lifts Robin slightly between thrusts to scoot even further towards the center of the bed. He can hear the gravely sounds Al is letting out a lot clearer now. Finney really does like pulling on his hair, huh?

Without much warning, Al is suddenly flipping Finney over. The boy is startled for only a moment before he quickly steadies himself, clambering onto his hands and knees. The older man above him wastes no time in leaning over and pressing him into the bed, forcing his back to arch lewdly. Finney seems to be enjoying it anyway, what with the pathetic warbly mewls he’s easily letting out now. Max’s brother is no doubt aiming for his prostate on every thrust. That’s just the kind of lover he was.

Following Al’s lead as always, Max carefully flips Robin onto his hands and knees as well. He immediately grabs at the boy’s hips, canting them upwards, and picking back up on his thrusting. He decides not to give Robin much time to catch his breath, knowing the boy likes it that way.

“Hah— Shit,” Max lets out. If he’s not careful, he’ll cum a lot sooner than he was hoping.

With the way Robin’s hole is constantly contracting and squeezing his dick, it’s hard to keep his composure. He needs to calm down though, lest their plan be spoiled for the night. Max slows his hips for only a few moments before picking up the pace once more. He does this for a while in an attempt to hold on a bit longer.

Max isn’t exactly expecting what comes out of his brother’s mouth next.

“Look at them, Max. Our good boys,” Al says in between occasional panting. He lifts one of his hands that was previously gripping Finney’s neck and gestures to the two teenagers between them.

“They’re adorable, aren’t they?” He’s clearly aiming at something here.

Max nods before looking up at his brother’s face for the first time tonight. Up until now, he’s just been giving quick glances, never letting himself take in the full view of his brother like this.

Al’s face is ruddy from exertion, and his long, sandy hair is clumped into strands where it sticks to his skin. His chest and arms are glistening with sweat, and his pupils are blown wide as if he’s just taken the best drugs of his life. His chest and arms are glistening with sweat and his pupils are blown wide as if he’s just taken the best drugs of his life. Glancing down at the state of Finney, Max thinks to himself that maybe his brother has.

“Yeah, Al. They’re so fuckin’ cute, huh?” Is the answer he gives. He takes a few deep breaths as he continues his assault on Robin’s insides. He looks back down to see the boy shoving his face into the mattress and gripping hard at the sheets. So beautiful.

“They’d be even cuter together.” Al pointedly comments, nodding over to his brother. “What do you think, Max?”

It admittedly takes Max a second to pick up what Al is putting down. When it all clicks inside his brain, however, Max gives Al a smile and leans back over Robin.

“Hey, baby. Your pal Finney’s lookin’ real lonely over there, don’t ya think?” Max stage whispers into Robin’s ear, moving his long hair out of the way. He waits for Robin to look up and over at his best friend with hazy eyes.

“Why don’t you two hold hands, hm? Then you won’t have to be so lonely anymore.” Al adds, running his hands down Finney’s back, raking his nails across the boy’s milky skin as he does.

They both only get two sluggish nods. It’s all the confirmation that they need, though.

Within seconds, the boys are only inches apart, placed face-to-face by their respective Shaw brother. Taking their cue, they both shakily grab for each other’s hands, locking their fingers together.

Max can see that Finney’s eyes are filled with tears from overstimulation, but even so, he gives his friend a watery smile. He can only imagine Robin is looking much the same.

The man looks back up at his brother and gives a firm nod before continuing.

Just then, both men double down on their efforts. They begin thrusting into their boyfriends with a relentless pace. It shakes the whole bed; Max’s brain barely registers the sound of Al’s headboard slamming into the wall behind him. Good thing their neighbors are away for the week.

Robin and Finney are forced impossibly closer by the harsh thrusts, their heads bobbing back and forth without their permission. Little do they know, that’s exactly what the men want to happen.

By the sounds they’re all letting out, Max can tell none of them are going to last much longer.

Just then, on a particularly harsh thrust from Al, Finney jolts forward and ends up bumping his face into Robin’s. The poor boys are so fucked out that neither of them can move their heads to avoid the collision.

It doesn’t seem to hurt them, since the next time Max looks down at the pair, their lips are locked in a sloppy kiss. Absolutely adorable, just as Al said it would be.

“Fuck— Good boys. You’re both so good.” His mouth moves faster than his brain as he says it. Luckily, it’s well received. The boys begin moaning loudly into each other’s mouths upon hearing him.

God damn it, he’s not gonna last.

Shit, shit—

With a final few thrusts and a deep grunt, Max lets go and cums deep inside Robin. He’s been holding back for most of the day. Ever since he’d talked with the boy after Al went to work and they’d agreed to join the two for the night. It feels like hours before his orgasm calms; it just felt that good.

The movement this causes jostles the boys enough to force their lips to part with a wet smack. Their gasps of surprise echo in the bedroom along with the sound of skin smacking against skin. Max is mostly focused on his boyfriend at the moment, however.

Poor Robin. Even with all the rough treatment, he still hasn’t cum. Not to worry; Max is nothing if not an attentive partner. He gives a few more angled thrusts, aiming for that special bundle of nerves his boyfriend loves so much. Max is sure to also reach a hand around Robin’s tiny waist to grip his little weeping cock and give it a few purposeful strokes to the rhythm of his thrusts.

Within seconds, Robin is obeying his silent command and cumming all over the sheets below him. The boy squeezes his friend’s hands harshly as he does. Neither seem to mind or even notice.

“That’s it, babe. Good boy.” Max compliments earnestly. After all, he deserved it.

Coupled with the steady rubbing of the man’s large hands against his bare back, Robin comes down from his high easily. Times like these are when Max’s presence and calming nature are appreciated the most by his boyfriend.

Checking in on Al and Finney, Max notes that they’re both in much the same position. Finney is practically crumpled under himself with Al above him petting his hair and whispering into his ear.

Both of their little lovers are clearly down for the count. They’ve both since let go of each other’s hands and slumped down onto the bed.

“Hey, Al.” Max calls to his brother softly.

When he gets his attention, Max tilts his head to the side to signal that it’s time.

Al seems to agree and begins to gather Finney into his arms without saying a word. Max does the same, carefully getting his arms under Robin’s back and knees before lifting him slightly off of the bed.

Both men position their boys to lay next to each other in the center of the bed, heads on the two pillows at their disposal. They then slowly settle behind their respective boys, cuddling them from behind. It’s a little snug, but they’ve all been in smaller spaces before.

Looking over Robin’s shoulder, Max sees that Finney is knocked out, and Robin is no doubt asleep too. So adorable.

After getting a bit more comfortable, Max chuckles sleepily to no one and turns his gaze to Albert.

“We’re all gonna need showers after this.”

He doesn’t hear his brother’s response before he swiftly drifts off to sleep himself.

- εϊз

[soultoken-archived]

Your opinion on muns making canon characters Trans/ gender fluid etc.?

What is your biggest pet peeve?

Have you ever felt like something off about someone?

hi honey hiiiii

hi honeyy hellooo <3

your opinion on muns making canon characters trans/gender fluid etc.? [ stares at my muses ] yeah well, uhm. i would be an hypocrite if i say i'm against it, would i, haha. honestly i think it's a nice thing when you know you're talking about, and even more for some people (gestures at myself, for example) might be a nice and safe way to explore gender identity, just like with mental illnesses, or struggles of any kind. and even when it's not like that, but you're just following a headcanon, i think it works too! again, you should just know what you're talking about and dwelling in researches if you don't. i think it's absolutely okay, i don't see any problem in it. <3

what is your biggest pet peeve? mmhh, honestly i get so rarely upset about anything (and if i start being such i just. walk away for some time, i don't like being upset) that i don't think i really have a pet peeve to begin with, but maybe...? maybe it's when someone replies to something i posted with a suggestive reply/joke/something along those lines. i don't expect everyone to remember i have a problem with nsft content, we are so many in the rpc that remembering everyone's rules and boundaries is difficult (not to mention my own rules are written horribly and i need to fix that), but i think people should just... be careful about that topic in general? don't throw it out randomly unless you're certain that the other person doesn't mind? maybe i'm just still a little upset over that random joke about where clef should put his, coughs, intimate parts that i got over his blog that made me literally run away from his account for months, but... yeah, maybe that's the biggest one.

have you ever felt like something off about someone? oh gio, my love, my life, my everything. i have a freaking radar built in me i believe. it happens a little too often perhaps that people just give me the wrong vibes, and then i end up being right. maybe it's my anxiety, maybe i'm just very observant, but, who knows. in the end i, too, might give the wrong vibes to someone, so i'm really not in the position to judge i think. :'3

i joined munday too today! ( accepting! )

[ultrastupid]

My pinned post: Hello, my name is Echo! I come in relative peace. My dysgraphia will leave me making all sorts of typos, so be ready for that lol.

If you're curious about things like my queer labels, pronouns, names, and just what I have that makes me disabled and mentally ill, you can click here.

I have been on tumblr since 2011 originally, and have been using a secret account to follow and like and reblog posts that has no connection to me lmao, since about 2015. I guess I got tired of doing that and now I am here as myself.

Main fandoms are: No Straight Roads, Hellaverse (Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss), Welcome Home, Cult of the Lamb, and Steven Universe right now.

I am sir-swears-a-lot, just warning in case you don't like a lot of swearing! Also, sometimes I spam reblog from my mutuals or people I follow, just a warning!

Click/tap the read more for boundaries, my main tags (plus tags you can use for filtering if you have triggers, squicks, phobias, or just don't want to see me post about certain things!), and misc info!

I have a queue set up to post 12 posts per day, and I shuffle it 3 times after I get done adding more to it. The blog pretty much runs on it now. For my queue, I've started to focus on lining up non-political, non-discourse posts for a gentle stream.

LAST UPDATED: August 20th, 2024 (08/20/24)

I hate DNIs because they don't really work like at all. So instead, I will give you a rundown of things that I am, that I support, and that I don't support, and YOU, the VIEWER, can decide if you want to interact with me or not. Taken from my carrd, includes alt-text.

System-related stuff: Click here for more detailed info about my system! Below are tags that my alters use:

#💋eve

#🧸doll

#⚡zap

My main Ao3 is indeed my tumblr username. The real "social media" place that I use most is a mastodon instance, you can find that in my linktree on Ao3 if you're brave enough (and 18 years or older) lol. I am completely unfiltered on there, so be careful and stay safe!

Tags for reblogs (and maybe posts) in case you need to filter (not all tags are listed her btw):

#Q = Queued posts, aka what this blog runs on

#discourse tw = Most forms of discourse

#shipcourse tw = Ship discourse specifically

#ableism tw = Discourse, but ableism focused

#queerphobia tw = Discourse, but queerphobia/exclusionist focused

#racism tw = Discourse, but racism focused

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#current events tw = For (mostly USA) politics, wars, genocides

#traumacore tw = Traumacore/ventcore related things

#mental health tw = Mostly dark humor relating to mental health

#abuse tw = Mentions of abuse (relationships, child, etc)

#drugs tw = Drugs and drug mentions (regardless of use purpose)

#rapid switching images tw = Rapid switching images (for epilepsy)

#flashing lights tw = Flashing lights (for epilepsy)

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#eyestrain tw = Bright colors, optical illusions

#loud sound tw = Loud audio, typically sudden

#ai tw = AI-generated images/video/whatever else

#insect tw = Any bug or bug-like thing, so spiders included

#sea creature tw = Fish, sea creatures (seaslugs, octopus, etc)

#rodent tw = Rodents (rats, mice, squirrels, etc)

#bird tw = Avians, flying or otherwise

#bat tw = Real/realistic bats

#reptile tw = Reptiles (snakes, lizards, etc)

#amphibian tw = Amphibians (Frogs, salamanders, etc)

#dog tw = Canines in general, so yes wolves are included

#horror tw = General horror tag (body, psychological, etc)

#trypophobia tw = Clusters of holes

#scopophobia tw = Eyes that are staring

#dead dove tw = The "typical" problematic themes

#gore tw = Gore, guro, etc, lots of blood here

#nsft tw = "Not safe for tumblr", aka nsfw or suggestive stuff

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#mutual aid = Mutual aid reblogs, self-explanatory

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#reblog bait tw = Stuff that can be considered "reblog bait"

#AOE = Psychic AOE damage (aka cursed, usually NSFT posts)

#resources = Resources for things, usually fandom or helpful

Specific fandom tags I use because I am too scared of getting dogpiled while using main fandom tags:

#En Es Ar = NSR (No Straight Roads) #Double U Aitch = WH (Welcome Home) #Aitch Aitch = HH (Hazbin Hotel) #Aitch Bee = HB (Helluva Boss) #Sea Oh Tee El = COTL (Cult of the Lamb)

Tags for my own purpose, typically text posts I make.

#burntembers.txt is my tag for text posts or general rambles and general stuff. Will use this a lot when making text posts!

#warmembers.txt is for nsfw rambles/talk, maybe some links to Ao3 stories if I'm feeling brave haha.

#sparkingembers.txt is for ranting/rambling about disabilities, mental illnesses/disorders, and general neurodivergent shit.

#moltenembers.txt is for fandom related talk/content. Typically me blabbing about headcanons and general deranged shit lmao.

#snuffedembers.txt is for ranting/rambling, discourse related things, and general venting. Because why not, why not?

[prettyiwa]

AO3 | Fic Page | NSFT 18+ | Playlist (🎵)

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Relationship: Iwaizumi Hajime x F!Reader Rating: Explicit 18+ (timestamp 16) Content Warnings: POV Iwaizumi Hajime, Slice of Life, Fluff, Angst, Smut, Long-Distance Relationship, Miscommunication, Friends to Lovers, Oikawa is a good friend, Reader is at least 2 inches shorter than Iwa, Iwa goes to California for Grad work Summary: It takes you 24 hours to fall in love and he's certain he can wait until you do. Word Count: 10,000 Tagging: @izzabeean

A/N: I'm re-posting the first Haikyuu!! fic I completed prior to my release of two additional pieces for upcoming collabs 🙃 I had planned on releasing this chapter by chapter, but I want this to pre-date my first collab piece (tomorrow) and Tumblr has a vendetta against me in the tags.

This takes place between 2011-2019. This contains manga spoilers for Iwaizumi, Oikawa, and [briefly] Kuroo.

March 2011 | 10:24

➸ The gymnasium is loud with cheers for Seijoh after their match against Ogi Nishi. Oikawa waves to his adoring fangirls, vying for his attention from the spectator’s seats. Just as Iwaizumi is about to hit Oikawa, prevent his head from getting any bigger, he catches sight of you.

You’re staring with mild intrigue, not at Oikawa, but at Iwaizumi. He feels his face heat up at the attention, unused to receiving any when Oikawa’s around. You smile before Seijoh clears the court for the following team. He shakes it off, figuring he’s never going to see you again, not when the following team is Shiratorizawa, not when there are other people to look at.

But he’s wrong. As they make their way to watch their next opponent, waiting for the next match, you approach. Matsukawa and Hanamaki both point you out, suggesting that you’re one of Oikawa’s fangirls, trying to catch the setter when he’s free from female attention, but Iwaizumi knows better.

You ignore Oikawa’s charm, ignore both Matsukawa and Hanamaki, ignore everyone who isn’t Iwaizumi. Pulling out a notebook, you scribble your number and your name before tearing out that page, folding it in half, and passing it to Iwaizumi.

“Good luck,” you wish him as you leave them, walking towards your team, who are waiting for you just around the corner.

He looks over that folded piece of paper so much that he has your number memorized before the next match starts.

June 2011 | 17:43

➸ “Iwaizumi! You’re supposed to let me pay this time!” you whine as he holds your wallet out of reach before paying for the ramen.

He laughs, grateful that the other second-years weren’t able to make it to the restaurant, even if you two will be joining them afterward. “I don’t remember agreeing to that.”

The two of you sit at your table and he’s struck by the way that the sun perfectly illuminates you, accentuating the contours of your face. There’s laughter in your eyes and your smile is absolutely carefree, pleased to be in his presence.

He’s tried pushing it down, the light fluttering in his chest when you look at him like that, when you text him after school, when you tease, joke, and brighten the world around you.

Despite the fact that both of you have full schedules, you always manage to find an hour here or there to spend with friends. It’s exceptional, the way you fit into his life as though you had always been there.

“Are you ready for the prelims?” you ask, licking your lips at the sight of the food before you.

“As ready as we’re going to be,” he admits. “And you?”

“We’re gonna win! One game at a time, ya know?” The smile you offer is infectious, so much that he can’t help but wonder whether that’s the reason the ramen is better than it usually is.

He isn’t expecting it when you say, “I have faith that you guys will win and move forward! I just hope I get to watch.” It’s small, inconsequential, but that doesn’t stop the blush from forming, the shared hope that you’ll be there to watch, and that he can watch you in return.

December 2011 | 06:51

➸ A soft yawn escapes you before you lean on him, resting your head on his shoulder. Oikawa, wrapped in a thick blanket in addition to his winter coat, walks up behind you two, taking his place on Iwaizumi’s left side.

“You don’t get to yawn,” Oikawa chastizes you, voice thick with sleep and a hint of playfulness. “This was your idea in the first place.”

“Maybe so, but you agreed to come along,” you lilt, leaning forward to get a better look at Oikawa. He sticks his tongue out in response, narrowly dodging Iwaizumi’s fist.

“No fair, Iwa-chan! You’re nicer to her than you are to me!”

“I thought we came here to watch the last sunrise of the year, not to waste time bickering,” Iwaizumi complains, though he doesn’t mind the light squabble.

“We did, Iwa-chan,” you say through your yawn. “Can’t you feel it? The change?”

He turns to look at you, noticing the hope that bubbles beneath the warmth of your eyes. You meet his gaze briefly, though the second that you do seems to last a lifetime. There’s something about you that makes him feel achingly alive. Something he wants to explore, something he wants to cherish.

Your fingers graze his hand, sending a jolt of electricity through him, one that’s exacerbated by the shy manner in which you look away, almost embarrassed by such familiarity. Cute. Almost as though you haven’t made time for him at least three times a month since you slipped your number into his hand, as though you haven’t brightened his days with a simple text.

“This year is gonna be great,” you whisper. “Even for you, Crappykawa. We’re all gonna work hard and we’re gonna make it to Tokyo.”

Oikawa whines at your use of Iwaizumi’s nickname, whines at the chuckle that ripples through his friend. “Why are you so mean to me?”

“Mean to you? I just told you that you’re gonna make it to nationals this year!”

“Did you have to call me crappy, though?”

You don’t answer, attention pulled to the sky before you. That cold winter grey is overpowered by the sun, bringing light hues of blues, pinks, and purples into view. He feels it—the change that you asked about. He wonders whether that’s the only change that 2012 promises.

May 2012 | 12:16

➸ It's a miracle, really, with the compact schedules of both the Aoba Johsai girl’s volleyball club and your volleyball club that you were able to schedule a practice match.

While he hasn’t been able to properly watch one of your matches like you have his, he’s managed to grab recordings, praising you for your technique, your cunning on the court. This? This is something else.

“Is she even real?” Hanamaki asks after you made a ridiculous set to the MB after your setter got first touch.

“That is rather impressive,” Oikawa comments, leaning over the banister in an attempt to get a better look. “I wouldn’t have expected it from her.”

You’re moving better than you usually do, making the most of your position as opposite hitter—easily filling the space left by your libero in their absence while making yourself available to your setter when needed.

Seijoh’s coach calls for time and your eyes immediately find his, telling him that you’ve been completely aware of his presence. Your grin is wide and mischievous, dropping only when you turn your attention back to your team.

“We aren’t looking good here, guys,” Hanamaki remarks, pointing at the scoreboard. It’s true—you’re currently wiping the floor with Seijoh—but he’s aware, more than any of the others, of how much time you’ve put in with your team.

His phone chimes and he’s lightweight surprised to see your name next to the text claiming he’s your good luck charm, requesting that he stays till the end of practice if possible.

It’s easy to comply, easy to give you what you want. Not even an hour later, he meets you at the entrance to the gym.

You have that post-win glow and excess energy that makes him think you could keep going for another three hours. He sees it in you—that promise you had made at the start of the year, that drive to make it to nationals. He hopes you see it in him, too. They’re going to Tokyo in January. You will, too.

When he asks why you wanted him to stop by—not yet acknowledging that he’s late to his own practice—you respond with a soft smile.

“I just like seeing you. You’re my good luck charm, after all. I’ll bring by some fruit after I’ve had a chance to clean off, okay?”

He plays better during practice and he thinks that, maybe, you’re his good luck charm, too.

July 2012 | 20:35

➸ They should be going home but they can’t. Not yet. Ever since their most recent defeat at the hands of Shiratorizawa, they’ve been training harder, pushing themselves further, determined to do better in October.

He knows that he should temper this side of the team, that he should do more to get them to rest, to avoid overexerting themselves, but the sting of defeat—even a month later—hasn’t left them.

For whatever reason, he’s felt ashamed to admit defeat to you, though you were there and you know. Your game was held at the same time as his, except you won. It’s the first game of his that you were unable to watch, the first time that you weren’t there in the audience. Since then, he’s struggled with talking to you.

“Oi! What the hell, guys?” you call from the entrance, startling the third and second years still there. “Makki! You said practice ended an hour ago!”

He doesn’t like the feeling that rises in his chest at the knowledge that you’ve still been texting his friends, doesn’t like the idea that they’re keeping in contact with you when he’s failed to do so. He especially doesn’t like the cheery way that Crappykawa calls out to you with a sickly sweet nickname that doesn’t elicit a negative reaction from you.

“Come on, guys. I was going to take you out for Tōru-chan’s birthday!” Your pout is fake and you don’t hesitate to start helping put everything away, even if this isn’t your gym and isn’t your practice. Just for tonight, it’s like they have a manager.

It only makes his guilt worse and you do nothing to ease it as you approach him in the storage closet.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” It’s not an accusation, not an angry confrontation for such a slight like he’s sometimes seen with Oikawa’s fangirls. It’s a statement. The truth. At least he doesn’t deny it. When you ask why he tells you. “Iwa-chan. I think no less of you for the results of that match.”

When he doesn’t look at you, you grab his hand, demanding his attention. “Please come back. I miss you.”

After the gym is cleaned and the second-years are booted, you leave with the third-years to the restaurant you had in mind. If anyone notices the way your fingers intertwine with his on the walk, no one says a thing. And each time he risks a glance your way, he sees the shy smile that graces your lips, sees the slight discoloration of your cheeks.

It’s then he realizes just how deep he is.

September 2012 | 01:02

➸ You’ve been texting him nonstop, miserable during your friend’s birthday celebration. Some event in Tokyo that’s fine with 18-year olds, something that has your friends dancing, disappearing into the crowd if you take your eyes off them for too long.

He’s stayed up the entire time, worry eating at him despite your constant updates. You send pictures to accompany the texts, showing off your outfit, the venue, the city. In the ones that feature you, there’s often an edge to your smile, the sparkle in your eye absent. The reaction shots you send him are genuine, featuring a smile that he wants to think is just for him.

The last time you had texted him, however, was almost twenty minutes ago. His anxiety is through the roof, interrupted by a phone call.

“Iwa-chan?” your voice is broken, small. He immediately goes to worse-case-scenario, thinking that you’ve been attacked, that you’re hurt and six hours away.

“Iwa-chan? Are you there?”

“I’m here. Are you okay?”

The event is loud, still raging in the background, even at this time. It’s hard to tell if you’re sniffling or if he’s imagining things, projecting his fears on you.

“Ah… I’m fine, physically. Just… a little emotionally exhausted. I’m heading back to the hotel by myself right now and I just really want to hear your voice.”

“What’s going on? Where are your friends?”

“They’re still out. I have the keys, but I’m not trying to stay out with vomit on my pants.”

“I’m sorry—what?”

“Yeah. I went to the bathroom and some girl was sobbing and obviously drunk. When I tried to slip past her, she blew chunks. All over my leg.”

“That… sounds awful,” he says, a relieved chuckle leaving him.

“It is.” He can almost hear your pout, almost see the way it’s set on your lips. “Agh. Remind me why I agreed to come out with them?”

“Because you’re a pushover?”

“Hey! I am not! I’m just nicer to my friends than you are yours!”

“I’m nice to you, aren’t I?” Though that may be unrelated.

“Tch. I guess.”

“You guess?” he teases. “I could hang up and let you walk back to the hotel by yourself.”

“No, you wouldn’t.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” he agrees with a chuckle. “How’s the city otherwise?”

“It’s… nice. Busy. Maybe if the circumstances were different, I’d enjoy it more.”

“Don’t you visit each summer for that training camp?”

“Ah, not really. It’s the suburbs, not the city. The weather’s a little nicer, but I might as well still be in Miyagi if not for the better teams.”

The sound of the city disappears, indicating that you must be inside the hotel. He hears the soft chime of the elevator and assumes that you’re keeping silent to avoid your voice carrying.

“I’m here,” you confirm. “Do you… never mind.”

“No. What is it?”

You sigh, sounding unsure, but relent. “I was going to ask if you would mind allowing me to shower before I called you back. But it’s late. You should be asleep.”

“It’s fine. I don’t mind.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. Whatever you need.”

You’re silent, appreciating his words, before giving him a heartfelt, “Thank you, Hajime.” Your small token of gratitude has managed to steal the breath from his lungs, managed to fill his heart, managed to wake him up. Ten minutes later, you call again, talking about everything and nothing until you fall asleep on him.

He starts to toy with the idea of properly asking you out when you mumble his name in your sleep.

November 2012 | 23:53

➸ It’s a text just before midnight, the small plea for him to come outside, knowing that he’s still awake.

He had only recently returned home, staying out with the third-years in an attempt to finish on a high note, though the bitter truth came crashing down nonetheless. Just as before, he’s hesitant to show this side to you, worried about what you would think of him.

Your team won today. You’re moving to the next round, facing off against an incredibly tough opponent. All the same, his feet carry him to the front door, hand turning the knob without conscious thought.

In your hands is a thick, insulated bag, protecting its contents from the cold. Your expression is hopeful, albeit solemn. Instead of resting, preparing for the finals, you’re here, wanting to console him. It makes him ache with yearning, ache with annoyance.

Are you here because you pity him? Because he lost, unable to make that last spike count? Are you here because you want to celebrate your win? And what the hell are you doing here anyway? You have a responsibility to your team and you’re here instead.

“I brought you agedashi tofu. I, uh, I made it myself. I’m not the greatest cook, but I think it should be good. If you don’t like it, I could take you out to a proper restaurant or you could disown me. Whatever works best for you,” you ramble, anxiety coloring your words.

That’s all it takes for all of his frustrations and grievances of the day to wash away, for him to push aside all negativity and appreciate what you’ve done. That’s all it takes for the reality of the day, of their loss, of your presence here, of his feelings for you to hit him with the force of a train.

A small gasp escapes you as he wraps his arms around you, surprised at the blatant expression of affection initiated by him, surprised that he had closed the distance so quickly.

“Thank you.” It comes out in a whisper, almost like a reverent prayer of gratitude mumbled into your hair.

“Always, Hajime.”

January 2013 | 13:00

➸ The last text you were able to send was three hours ago. He’s watching the semi-finals on his phone, noting every receive, every serve, every spike, every set. Pride fills his chest as he watches you and your team move as one, almost as though he's watching the push and pull of the waves.

The other team is tough, one that makes it to nationals regularly, but you guys are putting up a good fight. The captain of the opposing team tries to get an off-the-partial block, taking advantage of the fact that your libero isn’t on the court. You leap, ensuring that her play doesn’t go unanswered.

Your receive connects, sending the ball back to your setter who’s able to pull off a quick attack. It's clear when your ankle rolls, when you stumble, that you've most likely sprained the joint.

His heart stutters as you try to push yourself up, try to ignore the injury, try to continue playing. Of course, you would. You’re so fucking obstinate, so fucking devoted to your team that there isn’t a part of you that you wouldn’t sacrifice for them, for the chance to play again.

Your coach subs you out, making certain to have your manager escort you to receive medical attention. As soon as the cameras are off of you, as soon as you’re out of sight, he minimizes the video and shoots you a text.

It’s not the comfort he wishes he could provide, but it’s the best he can do from well over 300 kilometers away.

It’s another twenty minutes until you respond with a phone call. There’s pain in your voice and he isn’t entirely certain whether it’s your ankle or the narrow loss of the match. Either way, he listens, only interrupting when your comments turn critical of your performance, reminding you that you did everything you could.

He tells you everything he needed to hear when he lost months ago, commending you for making it to Tokyo, promising to take you out for ramen when you return.

Before you end the call and return to your team, he overhears one of your teammates ask who you’re on the phone with.

“Go away, Nomi! ... I'll be right there! ... It’s my Iwa-chan, not that it’s any of your business! ... Yeah, yeah, tell coach that I'm coming.”

The hint of possessiveness in your tone as you declare him your Iwa brings an involuntary smile to your face that's impossible to remove.

“Your Iwa-chan?” he teases lightly, wanting to hear it again.

“Shut up, Hajime,” you bite back, clearly flustered. “I’ll text you when I’m back in Sendai, okay?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

March 2013 | 18:12

Maybe he’s being selfish, telling you now, or perhaps it’s cowardice.

Waiting until graduation to make a move? It’s not much time until you’re both away at university—something the two of you have surprisingly not talked about—and he isn’t certain whether he’s on the cusp of telling you because it gives him an out if you reject him or if it’s a guarantee that you’re his despite the distance. Not to mention his plans for potentially studying abroad like Oikawa, potentially leaving you here. Even if that’s a couple of years away and he doesn’t know your answer yet, that’s still simultaneously not enough and too much time. It honestly depends on your answer.

There’s something between you two, that much is undeniable, but he’s concerned that he’s waited too long. It’s been two years since you passed him your number, two years since you made the first move. But things are… different, right?

He’s important to you—one of the first people you call when you are in a bind, when you have good news to share, when you just want to talk. You’re attentive enough to offer comfort if he needs it, picking up on the most minute details that indicate something’s amiss. He never really thought that he needed something like that until you came along.

“Hajime?”

Turning, he finds you approaching from behind. Your hair is carefully done and you’re dressed to the nines, clearly meant to be somewhere else right now. It’s immediate—he feels as though you belong to a completely different world, one out of his reach. But your smile is warm, inviting, something that you give to him and him alone.

“You look nice,” he blurts out, flustering you both. “Are—do you have someplace to be right now?”

“Ah, technically,” you say, waving away the concern of your evening itinerary. “You’re more important.” The way that statement rolls off your tongue is astounding, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world, as though those three words haven’t stopped his heart.

“I, uh—” Shit. Of all the times when his brain could have short-circuited, why now? “I had something I wanted to tell you.”

His heart is pounding in his chest and concern flashes across your face, picking up on his nervousness.

“Hajime—” The ringing of your phone cuts you off and he encourages you to answer it, encourages you to give him a moment to collect his thoughts. “Mom? … I’ll be there soon, I promise. … Wait. What? … Are you serious? I did?! … I, ah, yeah! I’ll be there soon. I’m visiting with — yeah. Thank you!”

The exuberance that rolls off of you is infectious as you turn to him, eyes bright and full of pure, unadulterated joy. Until they aren’t.

“What’s wrong?”

“I—I received my acceptance letter.”

“That’s great! Where are you going?”

“California. I got accepted to an accelerated academic program offered by UCLA. I’ll be leaving in three weeks.”

Just like that, everything changes.

October 2013 | 16:20 (JST) 00:20 (PST)

➸ He’s running late—really late. He should have called you two hours ago but he got caught in a meeting with his academic advisor regarding his plans for UC Irvine. It’s well past midnight in California, but your hours have been all over the place with your academic schedule.

Shooting you a text, he hopes you’re asleep, hopes that you’re taking care of yourself. That doesn’t stop the wave of relief from flooding his being when you text back, telling him to call you.

“Hajiiii~” you whine as soon as the call goes through. “If I have to write one more essay on Machiavelli, I might die.”

“Machiavelli? Why do you have to study political theory if you’re pre-med?”

“Stupid UCLA and their degree requirements.” Your pout is apparent, even from over 8,800 kilometers away. He hears the exhaustion and exasperation in your tone, but he hears the happiness, too.

“Well, you’re smart enough that I’m sure you’ll be done soon.”

“Thanks, Haji,” you chirp.

“You wanna tell me what you’re still doing up? It’s midnight, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but I miss hearing your voice.” It’s a small admission, one that doesn’t fail to make him smile. “Oh! And I was able to get in contact with Utsui’s assistant. I know you look up to him.”

“Really? That’s so cool! Wait—why were you reaching out?”

“There’s a physical therapy course that he’s offering in the winter and I need instructor permission before my advisor will agree to me taking a course from another UC. I really hope I get the chance to work with him while I'm here.”

He still hasn’t told you that he plans on going to Irvine to study under Utsui, that he’ll be joining you in Southern California. Honestly? He wants it to be a surprise. He listens to you tell him about your day, talking about everything and nothing, stays on the phone with you until he hears nothing but soft snores.

Before he discontinues the call, he hears you mumble, "My Hajime."

February 2014 | 07:41

➸ Steady knocking interrupts him as he prepares for the day, making him wonder whether he had plans that had gone forgotten. Pulling open the door, he’s surprised to see you.

His first thought is that he hasn’t woken up—he must still be asleep. But when he dreams of you, it’s of how you looked before you left. Your hair is different and you’re a little taller than you were when you left, but your smile is the same, one that you wear just for him.

“Hiya,” you trill, lifting your arms, revealing a box with his name etched on its top. “I’ve been working on perfecting this recipe for the last couple of months, so I hope you like them. If not, well, I’m in Japan until Saturday night.”

Without thinking, he pulls you into a tight embrace, all too eager to surround himself with nothing but you. Your arms wrap around him before you nuzzle into his neck, bringing him impossibly closer.

“I missed you,” you whisper. “I missed you so much.”

He wants to tell you that he’s missed you, that there’s not a fucking day that you don’t invade his thoughts. He wants to ask you to stay with him, to let him shower you with pent-up affection, to let him whisk you away to some secluded corner of the world for just the two of you, but he sticks with, “Stay with me this weekend?”

“As long as you want,” you promise.

“Don’t tempt me,” he murmurs. “Shit. How am I ever going to match this for White Day?”

“I don’t care. So long as I get to spend time with you now, I’m happy.” As soon as the last word leaves your mouth, he presses his lips to yours. For a moment, he’s certain that he’s crossed a boundary, certain that you’re going to turn around and go back to California. Then you pull him closer, returning his kiss with a satisfactory little hum.

If he wasn’t in deep before—and he was—then he has gotta be at the bottom of the fucking Mariana Trench at this point.

April 2014 | 19:10

➸ “Hajime?” you ask as soon as he enters your apartment. The aroma of your favorite taqueria fills the small space while you rummage through the kitchenette. “You wanna tell me why Oikawa texted me to, and I quote, ‘Get our man in check?’”

Iwaizumi laughs, knowing exactly what sparked this reaction in Oikawa.

“I didn’t realize that when I agreed to date you that you were already in a relationship,” you tease as you finish setting the table.

“Shut up,” he replies with a chuckle, making his way through the apartment as though it’s his.

“Make me.”

Your smile turns mischievous as he approaches you like a predator hunting its prey. Standing before you, the difference in height is exaggerated as you tilt your head up, maintaining eye contact.

His hand comes to cup your jaw before he leans in, kiss leaving you breathless, grasping at his shirt like he’s the only thing keeping you standing.

You pull back slightly, adoration visible in your eyes. “So? Are you going to tell me what you did to warrant an angry text from Oikawa?”

“OH! Yeah, you’ll never guess who I ran into today!”

“You… ran into someone? From Miyagi?!” you ask incredulously.

“Not just someone. Ushiwaka.” He laughs at your startled expression, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “Yeah! His dad is Utsui Takashi. We actually talked after I got the chance to meet him. Before we parted, I took a picture with him and sent it to Oikawa to rub it in.”

“Well… shit.” You glance around the apartment as his words sink in, only for your eyes to settle on the food that’s still waiting. “Oh. Why don’t you go get comfortable and tell me about your day after we eat? I can’t wait to hear all about your day!”

Warmth spreads throughout him at your words, at the domesticity of it all, at the thought that he could do this with you for the rest of his life, at the knowledge that it’s something he wants.

June 2014 | 04:29

➸ After ten hours, he’s here. His muscles are stiff from having been seated for so long but seeing you waiting for him beyond security makes his heart leap, gives him a small boost of energy. You’re rubbing the sleep from your eyes, waiting patiently with a pleased smile.

As soon as he’s past the threshold, you reach for his duffle and he swats your hands away.

“Hajime,” you pout, “let me carry something!”

“Not a chance, doll.” He’s tired enough that he doesn’t think about it when you pull on his free arm, draping it around your shoulders while pulling him close, being far more affectionate than the two of you would be at the Sendai airport.

“What do you have planned for us?” he asks as you direct him out of the air-conditioned building, the cool, humid air stagnant in the parking structure.

A hum builds in your chest as you consider his schedule for this trip. “Let’s get some sleep first, then I’ll take you out to eat, yeah?”

“Ah, a woman after my own heart.” You curl into him, bringing yourself as close as you can before you two approach your car.

“I wouldn’t say that just yet, not until you see what else I have in store for you, birthday boy.” Stretching, you press your lips to his cheek and pull away to open the trunk of the car.

Honestly, he could give two shits about receiving anything else, about doing anything more for his birthday. Being here with you is enough. He’s so close to achieving his goals and you’re right here with him for it all. There isn’t anything more he could ask for.

January 2015 | 00:00

➸ New Years’ in California is much warmer than he’s used to, but it’s better than not seeing you at all for end-of-year celebrations. While the two of you participated in typical Japanese traditions, there’s one western tradition that you wanted to do with him.

The entire city seems to be alight with energy and the countdown to midnight seems to echo throughout. You’re standing on the balcony with Iwaizumi, looking out to the city while the television inside calls it out.

Just before the countdown reaches zero, you turn to face him, only to find that his eyes are already on you. How could they not be when you’re the most beautiful being around?

You kiss him, pulling him close and allowing for him to get drunk on you—the feel of your skin beneath his fingertips, the taste of you on his lips, your scent that overwhelms him, clouds his mind, clearing any coherent thought that is not you.

His hold on you tightens, not ready to let go—not that he’s ever going to be ready to let you go—and you melt in his touch. He rests his forehead against yours, the giddy smile on his face refusing to go away. Then again, you’re in the same boat.

“Apparently, it’s said that if you don’t get a kiss at midnight, you’ll be alone and without love for the remainder of the year,” you whisper conspiratorily.

“Even if we had the entire ocean between us tonight, that wouldn’t be your fate,” he admits softly. It’s the closest he’s ever gotten to saying it, though you have to know by now, right? You look almost shocked, pleasantly so, before you nuzzle your face in his neck.

He knows how he feels, knows that you’re worth waiting for, worth fighting for. Even if you don’t know how you feel just yet, he can wait. All that matters is that he gets to share any part of his life with you, he gets to be a source of happiness for you.

April 2015 | 08:38 (JST) 16:38 (PST)

➸ Three months of hits and misses with you are really starting to wear thin.

It shouldn’t. He knows that it shouldn’t. He knows that you’re finishing up your accelerated undergrad program. He’s stepped up his own academic schedule to return to California sooner.

He knows better than anyone how insanely busy that makes a person, and you’re doing more than he is.

But he misses you more than he’s expressed—and he’s expressed a lot. He didn’t realize how much of a constant in his life you had become, not until he couldn’t talk to you like he used to, not until the sixteen-hour time difference really started to get to you both.

Even with all of that, it’s frustrating considering that he can still touch base with Oikawa more often. It’s frustrating that he’s an ocean away.

All that being said, his promise from New Year’s still rings true. His love for you hasn’t wavered, hasn’t changed in the least. It’s just… frustrating not being able to touch you, hardly being able to talk to you.

So the second his phone starts to ring, he decides he can skip this class.

“Hajime,” you say as soon as the call goes through, hushed almost like a prayer. If it is a prayer, it’s one he’ll gladly answer again and again. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too, doll. More than you can imagine.”

“I dunno—I can imagine a lot,” you laugh lightly, but he can still tell your smile doesn’t quite hit the same.

“What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”

“You mean outside of me missing you terribly? No. I’m just exhausted. I met with my academic advisor a half hour ago.”

“How'd it go?”

“Next quarter will be the last of my undergrad. I have to take the MCAT in June, but I’m on track to start my medical degree this autumn. Then four more years till I can come back home.” There’s something in your voice, some small insecurity, some small fracture that pains him.

“Is everything okay?”

“I—yeah. No. I don’t know.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Ask for anything, please, and he’ll give it.

“Stay on the phone with me?”

“Of course.”

August 2015 | 03:46

➸ He can’t get enough of you—not like this. It’s been eight fucking months since he’s been able to hold you, since he's been able to touch you. You’re here now and he can’t keep his hands to himself.

Your nails dig into the taut muscle of his shoulders, desperate to pull him closer, eagerly attaching your lips to the column of his throat when he gives you what you want, teeth grazing over his pulse point. The soft expletives that leave his mouth seem to spurn you on, seem to increase your hunger for him.

He loves you like this—open and exposed, something just for him. No one else gets to see you like this, gets to experience you like this. This is for him and him alone and he’ll revel in every second you grant him.

Capturing your lips with his, the kiss is messy, frenzied as he works his hand between you both. He swallows your moan, fingers circling your swollen clit, causing you to clench around him. You break away from the kiss with a high-pitched intake and a glossed-over expression.

“Oh, fuck, Hajime,” you breathe, voice breathy and barely there, “fuckfuckfuck—just like that.”

“Yeah? My pretty girl likes that?” You bite your tongue to withhold the whine that’s building up and he’s quick to put an end to that. “I wanna hear my girl when she comes.”

That’s all it takes to push you over the edge, for your gummy walls to close around him so tight that he has to stop, for you to scream his name as tears fall from the corners of your eyes.

Beautiful.

“Fuck, I love you,” he mutters in between thrusts, chasing his own orgasm. It isn’t until the soft gasp that escapes you that he realizes what he said. Your eyes are wide, questioning, almost hopeful before you pull him back to your lips, kissing him as though your life depends on it. He comes, orgasm washing over him, pulling away from your eager lips so he can breathe.

Taking a moment to catch his breath after pulling out, he presses his weight against you, head resting on your chest, ear just above your heart. You run your fingers through his hair as the last couple of minutes play in his mind.

“I meant it. It’s not just a sex thing,” he murmurs into your skin. Your fingers cease their movements and he hears the slight increase in your heartbeat, but you say nothing. Instead, you pull him up by his face and give him a kiss so sweet he wonders whether he’ll have a cavity when this is over.

You don’t say it back, but he doesn’t need to hear it. Just you knowing how he feels will be enough.

February 2016 | 14:28

➸ “Were you ever going to tell me?” he asks, frustration and hurt dripping from his tone.

“I don’t understand why it matters! They have no bearing on our relationship!”

“They’re your parents! I’m your boyfriend. I should know if they don’t like me,” he argues, unable to look away from your defiant expression.

It shouldn’t be like this, you two shouldn’t be arguing. Not now, not when he had come out to spend Valentine’s day with you. If he hadn’t been getting ready in your bedroom, he doubts that he would have heard your parent’s unannounced visit, doubts he would have heard the conversation not meant for him.

And fuck if it doesn’t sting—the truth of your parent’s opinion of him as your romantic partner, the fact that you kept it from him, the dismissal of that little dream that had been forming in his mind. And you don’t get it. You don’t understand how fucking much this hurts.

“They don’t get to decide who I’m with! For fuck’s sake, Iwa! The only two people who matter in this relationship are you and me! Everyone else can go fuck off,” you spit and he hears your hurt with the explicit reduction in his name. He can't even pretend that it doesn't pain him—the fact that you called him 'Iwa' instead of 'Haji' or 'Hajime,' or the fact that you're suffering, too.

“They threatened to cut you off financially. It’s not as though you can afford to stay here without them.”

“My entire life they’ve dictated what I do, where I go, who I see. Befriending you was the first choice I made on my own and I’m not giving that up for them. If they wanna cut me off, then so be it.”

His breath catches in his throat as your declaration rings in the air, giving you an opportunity to say something he wishes you didn’t.

“If this is a deal-breaker for you—my parents not liking you—then so be it. I’m not forcing you to be in a relationship with me, nor am I going to try to get you guys to get along. I’m tired of doing everything I can for a modicum of their approval.”

The fire that burned through you is gone now as though a bucket of water was dumped over you both, leaving nothing but an icy chill blowing through the room.

He closes the distance between you two, eyes never leaving yours, seeing the depth of your fear and your insecurity.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promises quietly.

As much as he would like for you to have a positive relationship with your parents, you’re right. What matters most is that you two are happy together. Later, when emotions have simmered, you two can talk about it. Maybe then he can voice his insecurities and you can voice yours.

October 2016 | 05:50

➸ He isn’t sure where his body ends and yours begins, not that he minds. Your soft snores offer a soothing lullaby that keeps him in a state of tranquility, keeps him from getting up too early on his day off.

How—indescribable all of this is. It’s been nearly three months now, living with you in California, but he’s still in a state of disbelief.

He keeps waiting for the moment he wakes up, the shift in reality to remind him that he’s simply imagining, dreaming, hoping for this outcome. It’s too good to be true, to finally be here with you, to be one step closer to that dream of his that’s starting to solidify.

No longer is it only for him to become a physical trainer, for him to work alongside professional athletes, to push them to be their best, but now you’re in the picture beside him. Before, he hadn’t given it much thought, not truly. But now? There’s hardly a day that goes by where he doesn’t find himself thinking of the future he wants, wondering what role you’ll play in it.

True to your sentiments earlier in the year, you removed yourself from your parent’s influence, finding outside funding for your education, finding a new place to live with Iwaizumi once his graduation went through. You’ve already taken such great steps to show him that you’re serious about him, that you’re serious about the relationship, regardless of what obstacles may arise.

You shift on his chest, drawing his focus down to you. There’s the subtle change in your breathing that suggests your imminent change in consciousness and he can’t help himself when his fingers start to trail through your hair.

“Mmm,” you hum lightly. “G’mornin’, my handsome man.”

“Good morning, sleeping beauty.”

Wriggling your way up, you press a sleepy kiss to the side of his mouth before a small yawn escapes you. He turns to press a kiss to your forehead, loving the tired look full of near reverence in your eyes.

“What’re we doing today?”

“What do you mean, ‘what are we doing today?’ You have class,” he asks, knowing you wouldn’t willingly miss a class now that you’re on an academic scholarship.

“Class is canceled. Teacher got sick. Go figure,” you mumble, reaching under your pillow for your phone. Unlocking your phone, the email is still the open tab on your phone, sent four hours ago. “We never get to do anything anymore. Why don’t we go out and experience nature?”

He chuckles at your pout, mulling over the possibility of a day hike. “I’ve been meaning to go to Joshua Tree.”

“C’mon, then! Let’s do it!” Your excitement is interrupted by a large yawn, accentuating how exhausted med school is leaving you. “Coffee first.”

“Whatever you want, doll. All you gotta do is ask and it's yours.”

Anything, anything at all.

May 2017 | 11:06

➸ He’s tired. He’s tired of the commute—nearly an hour for a distance of fewer than fifty kilometers by car, longer with public transit, longer for you. He’s tired of the cost of everything here.

He’s tired of not seeing you, tired of missed connections, of maybe—if he’s lucky—feeling you come to bed in the late hours, of waking up to leave before you. He’s tired of the bickering, of the fighting, of taking out frustrations on one another instead of talking about it with one another.

He’s exhausted, thoroughly. Completely. He misses you more than when he was 8,800 kilometers away from you.

So, when UCI offered him a position as a T.A., he took it. At least it will keep him busy while he’s missing you. At least he can help other students interested in sport sciences—well, interested enough to take courses in the subject. It gives him a prime opportunity to work more closely with Utsui outside of his own classes with him, something he’s endlessly grateful for.

The undergrads are eager to get going early—not that he can blame them—and, as the quarter started last week, he has no objections to letting them leave ten minutes early. He uses that time to check emails, making certain that no other students have any urgent inquiries, that Utsui doesn’t need him for anything else for the day.

Your text tone chimes, asking when he’ll be done with his lesson for the day. When he asks why, you respond with a simple, “Come to the parking lot.”

He isn’t expecting to see you leaning against your car with a familiar insulated bag in your hand and your book bag on your back. You look tired, just as exhausted as he feels, and a weary smile appears when he comes into view.

“Hey, there, handsome.” Your voice is heavy with the reality of the last couple of weeks, no cheer or lilt to be detected. “‘M sorry for all of the arguing. I’ve been taking things out on you and it’s not okay. I want to do better.”

“It’s not just you. I’ve done the same. We’ve both been kinda shitty.”

“Mm. That we have. I have some food from your favorite restaurant and I thought we could have a little picnic?”

“That sounds… amazing. We can do that if we talk about what’s been going on.”

Tension visibly leaves you and the smile you give him is a little lighter. “Absolutely, Hajime.”

September 2017 | 15:39

➸ You’re sick. Something small, most likely the flu, but you’re caught in a state of panic over it.

At the beginning of the month, you both had to miss school due to evacuations for the La Tuna fire, apparently the largest fire in the area for half a century. While your school had understood, you had set up meetings months ago that will determine the trajectory of your studies and your life after graduation. Meetings that were impossible to get and are appearing to be impossible to reschedule.

And now, you’re on your way to missing your third day of school this week. He understands the panic, understands the pressure you’re putting on yourself. Even if he didn’t, he doubts that he’d be doing anything else right now.

Your tears are staining his shirt while he holds you to him, keeping you close while he hums the melody of one of your favorite songs. It’s hot in this bed—between you and your fever and the blankets, he’s sure he’s melting. But it’s working and he’ll turn into a puddle before leaving you alone to deal with this.

Soon enough, your sobs turn into little sniffles and your grip in his shirt loosens. He continues to rub soothing circles on your back, continues to hum various songs until it dies down completely. It’s when you don’t complain about him humming Ifukube’s Godzilla theme that he realizes you’re asleep.

He’s gentle in laying you down, intentionally grabbing your phone and placing it on silent before noticing three missed calls from your parents. Just as he attempts to turn Do-Not-Disturb on his phone, too, he receives an email from your mother.

As much as he wants to read it and address whatever concern they may have, as much as he wants to prove that he’s worthy of being your long-term partner, he knows that you need rest above all else right now. Whatever this is, whatever they need, it can wait, at least until after you wake up and your fever breaks.

June 2018 | 21:27 (PST) 01:27 (ART)

➸ When he comes home, the apartment's dark, nearly devoid of all life, save for the dim light coming from the closed bedroom door and your muffled voice. You’ve been frustrated with him for a myriad of reasons and him being late after a tutoring session with her doesn’t help.

This underclassman who’s taken a shine to Iwaizumi, disregarding his insistence that he’s unavailable, that he has a partner—though, the term he used was fiancée. It doesn’t help that you had later popped into his section—the same that she attends—and introduced yourself as his girlfriend a week later. Not that he could blame you since he’s still working on building up the courage to propose.

He tried to shrug her off, tried to get her to switch sections with the other T.A., tried to remove her from his tutoring schedule, but his department—and the union—firmly shut him down, citing the “fulfillment of his contractual obligations.”

It only got worse when she started messaging you, when she appeared during date nights, when she had blatantly made a move with you not four meters away.

And then there’s the situation with your dad. A triple bypass surgery demanded your return to Japan last October and you haven’t spoken to your parents since. Iwaizumi, however, has increased his communications with them since your mother reached out. He wants a better relationship with them, wants your father’s blessing when he asks again, but you’re insistent you want nothing to do with them. You had found out about their correspondence when your mom had emailed you to check in, including a question about Iwaizumi’s studies.

He should be glad that you’re still here, that you aren’t sleeping at school, but he sees the papers from UCLA’s Education Abroad Program, the pamphlets for an Argentinian medical program, and an award letter from the program director. He can't help but read it, but take in the offer extended—a full-ride for a term abroad, offering you a place due to your class ranking, ignoring the fact you hadn't applied. At least, that's the impression he gets from the letter, along with the fact that he doesn't remember you bringing up EAP before.

Approaching the bedroom door, he hears your side of the conversation with Shittykawa and he has to pretend that hearing you talk to him, call him ‘Ru’ doesn’t bother him. That it doesn’t bother him to hear you cry into the phone, asking what you did wrong, asking why things are the way they are.

He leans against the wall next to the bedroom door, sliding down until he’s seated on the ground. He listens to your insecurities, to your fears, to everything you spill to his best friend because you’re afraid to tell Iwaizumi. He listens as you broach the topic of doing a semester abroad in Argentina, something that wasn't even on your radar, not with your last year about to start. He listens to you admit that it's a great opportunity, that, perhaps, it's better for the relationship if you two spend some time apart.

Not like we see much of each other anyway.

It isn’t until it hits ten in California that he realizes it’s two in the morning in Argentina, that you’re still on the phone with Oikawa, that you still don’t know Iwaizumi’s home.

November 2018 | 09:45

➸ Oikawa’s ringtone can be heard in the kitchen where Iwaizumi had left his phone. It’s been two months since you left and a week since you called. The apartment is empty without you, even if all of your belongings are here, promising your return.

For what it’s worth, Oikawa’s been really helpful, carefully listening to both sides, understanding that it’s a case of frayed nerves, miscommunication, and shitty circumstances. So Iwaizumi wastes no time answering the phone.

“Iwa-chan! How’s California?”

“The same as it was two days ago. Kinda shitty and on fire.”

“Tsk. Always such a downer. Are you sure that it isn’t the absence of—”

“Her absence is exactly why it’s shitty and you know that.”

“Hm. I suppose I do,” Oikawa muses lightly. “Are you still on track to graduate just before summer?”

“Yeah. Spoke to my advisors this past week. I could graduate in two months, if I wanted, but��” if he does, then he’ll be leaving California. Leaving you. You’re nearly done with med school, almost ready to return to Japan.

He has no intention of returning alone. He’ll fight tooth and nail for you, for this relationship. Even if you two are… in a tough place, right now, he’s not going anywhere.

“Ah. Well. She misses you. She’s wrapped her pillow with one of your old Godzilla shirts.”

He snorts at the image, at the knowledge that it was you who had taken his shirt, that he hadn’t lost it at the laundromat. “That… sounds about right, I guess. How—how is she?”

“What? She hasn’t called you?” Oikawa asks, sounding surprised. Overwhelmingly surprised.

“No? She called me last Tuesday and I haven’t really heard from her since.”

“That’s—maybe she picked up extra shifts at the clinic? I could ask when I see her tomorrow.”

“You’re gonna see her tomorrow?”

“We were gonna watch a recording of the Adlers-Black Jackal’s game. I wanna watch Ushiwaka and Kageyama lose to Shōyō! Do you want me to tell her to give you a call?”

Iwaizumi hesitates, wanting to talk to you more than anything—actually, no, he wants to hold you more than anything—but he wants it only if you’re doing it because you want to.

“Nah. It’s okay. I’ll, ah, I’ll shoot her a text. Hopefully, we’ll be able to talk today or tomorrow. Hey, listen—”

“Iwa-chan. She’ll come around,” Oikawa states, catching onto Iwaizumi’s discomfort. “It was nice chatting with you, but practice is about to start.”

“Yeah, okay. Talk to you later.”

Iwaizumi sinks into the couch, letting his mind wander over what the future holds. With his program coming to an end, will he be able to find work with the V. League? When you return, will you two be able to reconcile properly? Will you want to be a part of his future?

Before he can spend too much time dwelling on the infinite possibilities that lay ahead, he receives a text from you.

Hey. I miss you. A lot. There’s so much I want to tell you but I know you’re probably busy. Please give me a call if your schedule permits? I have two days off, starting tomorrow. I’ll be watching a recording of the Schweiden-MSBY game with Crappykawa tomorrow, but that can be paused... I miss you. I hope you’re well.

December 2018 | 02:13

➸ He had come to Japan after being contacted by the JVA thanks to Ushijima’s recommendation, not expecting to be contacted by your parents when your dad suffered a massive heart attack.

Your cousin left a bit ago to pick you up from the airport and he’s anxious, both for the outcome of the emergency surgery and to see you for the first time in months. For the first time since officially courting you, they had finally said “yes.”

It came in the form of the hospital staff asking him to leave if he wasn’t immediate family—a request made by your mother—only for your father to brokenly tell them that Iwaizumi’s their future son-in-law. To make certain, he asked one final time, adopting dogeza in deference:

“Please allow me to marry your daughter.”

All he had wanted was to do right by you, by your parents, by his. While the two of you may not be sticklers for tradition, they are. And he wants for you to have a relationship with his family as much as he would like a… cordial relationship with yours.

“Hajime.”

It’s a breath of fresh air, the first thaw of the snow as it makes way for spring, the warmth of a cackling fire after a day in the cold. A whispered devotion full of words long unsaid, full of emotions long since bottled. It’s you.

He doesn’t care for Japanese customs or propriety—if anything, he can blame it on living in California for the last couple of years. Standing abruptly, he starts in your direction, allowing for relief to wash through him, for love to fill him. Opening his arms, you readily fall into him, readily accept him, openly ignoring your cousin’s blatant disapproval of such public affection.

“I—fuck, Haji. I didn’t expect to see you here, for you to still be at the hospital! Oh, shit. I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so much,” you cry into his chest as tears begin to fall in earnest. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left things the way I did. I’m so sorry.”

“You’re here now. That’s what matters,” he murmurs into your hair, glad to have you so close. “I, uh, I was already planning on staying until visiting hours officially open in the morning. I don’t know what you had planned on doing, but they probably won’t let me or Michiko enter.”

You still in his arms, reading the air, understanding what Iwaizumi isn’t saying. “Is okaasan still here?”

“I believe she’s trying to sleep in your father’s room. Kicked up a nasty fuss when they tried to get her to leave,” he tells you with a humorless chuckle.

“Yeah. That sounds like her. Will… will you come with me? I don’t want to go alone.”

After spending so long without you, he doesn’t want to let go so soon, prepared to agree to anything that allows him to be close. When you get to your father’s room, he waits outside. He tries not to listen to the soft words spoken between you and your mother, but there’s one piece of dialogue that he can’t ignore.

“We approve of him. Whatever happens today, know that we approve.”

“I—I don’t know what to make of that.”

“I would hope that you would take that as our blessing, but, knowing you, you wouldn’t have cared either way,” your mother bites, releasing some of the pent-up frustration on you. After a beat, she says, “He loves you.”

“I know,” you reply, voice a little softer than before.

“Do you love him? I imagine you must, with everything you were prepared to sacrifice for him.”

You’ve never said it aloud, not to him, anyway. He never needed to hear it, never needed it to know that you care, to know that he wants to be with you for however long you’ll have him by your side.

All the same, his heart stills with your answer.

“Yeah. I do.”

August 2019 | 22:27

➸ It rained earlier and the smell of damp concrete and asphalt still lingers in the air. This part of the city is relatively quiet and the atmosphere here is tranquil. It’s quiet enough that he immediately catches the small sound of the sliding door opening.

You wrap your arms around him from behind, pressing against his back, humming when he takes your hands and presses light kisses to them before returning them to their original position.

“You’re up late,” you comment lightly, pressing a light kiss to his shoulder. “Any special reason?”

“I wanted to see you, pretty girl. I have some news for you.”

“Oya?”

He snickers, remembering that guy with the rooster hair from the JVA that he had spoken with earlier in the day. “I got the job.”

“You got the job?!”

“I got the job,” he confirms with a wide smile, turning in your grip to face you. Your smile is just as wide as his, eyes shining with pride and love.

“That’s fantastic! We should celebrate!”

“Celebrate?” he asks, watching as you remove yourself from his arms to dance in the apartment, making your way to the fridge.

“Yeah! It’s not every day that a piece of your future falls into place, y’know?”

He follows you inside, watching with mirth as you continue to babble excitedly, opening a single beer for you both to share.

This. This is what he wanted. An opportunity to work with people passionate about their sport, to help keep them at their best while ensuring their safety. An opportunity to live with you in Tokyo as you continue pursuing a career in sports medicine.

“Hajime?” you ask, making him realize he missed the last minute or so of your rambling. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. It is. I, uh, there’s something that’s been on my mind,” he admits, taking the beer from you, steeling himself for what he’s about to do. You watch him with a soft expression, ready to listen to whatever comes out of his mouth.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Marry me.”

« Like A Moonbeam. | Three Choices »

[moronic-validity]

Did I have a dream totally influenced by Boyfriend to Death? Yeah. Yeah I did.

18+ below the cut, sorry folks, y'all get to hear about it

Warnings? Uh...well...It's Boyfriend to Death and Lawrence Oleander and nsft. It's mainly for excessive h*nd h*lding and fucking. Oh, and the ending definitely implies that there will be violence

Okay so imagine you just meet Lawrence through work or while buying plants and y'all meet that way. Lawrence isn't really fond of people in general, let alone people getting close to him.

He's not here for it.

But you're so persistent, and eventually you get him to come out of his shell just a bit and y'all go for a drink. A few in and you're telling him all about how you almost died as a kid and how you saw this grey river and how there was no beginning or end to it, just peace. How no one believed you and how you just kind of chalk it up to your brain trying to make sense of dying in what probably should have been your final moments.

Lawrence chokes on his drink.

You aren't even looking at him, you don't want to see the look on his face when he tells you that you're batshit crazy or laughs at you.

He doesn't.

He grips your hand hard enough that you turn to look at him. He has a wild look in his eye.

"You've never felt awake since, have you?" he keeps his words quiet, but his voice is trembling.

You nod slowly.

He loosens his grip on your hand and you two talk about death and dying and the river. You two talk about chaos and pain and how everything feels fake.

The other patrons of the bar give you two your space, unsure of what y'all are talking about, but certain they want no part of it.

You two are nearly hanging off of each other when y'all get back to your apartment.

You two enter the apartment quietly, not wanting to wake up your roommates.

Lawrence follows you into your room and stands awkwardly unsure of what to do.

"Your first time?" you ask, pulling your shirt over your head, standing across the room from him in your binder and jeans.

"Something like that," he responds with a small chuckle. You knit your eyebrows for a moment, unsure what to make of his answer, before you let it go.

"We'll go easy," you stepped towards him, backing him up against your bed, "Go on and be a good boy for me and sit down"

He did as you asked and sat himself on the edge of your twin bed.

You couldn't hold back your smile, he was going to be so much fun.

You pulled his shirt over his head and began kissing along his neck, lingering a bit too long over his jugular before nipping at it. You licked, kissed, and nipped your way down his chest and to the growing bulge in his own jeans.

"Need you to lose those, Law," you gave the denim a tug and he eagerly unbuttoned them and wiggled out of them.

You stood and pulled off your pants and boxers, tossing them off into some darkened corner, before kneeling back in front of him.

He didn't bother taking off his boxer briefs. You mentally kicked yourself for not being more clear.

You pulled them down his thighs and watched as his erection came free.

You looked up at him and found him staring at you, petrified.

"Want me to stop?"

He shook his head quickly, his ponytail whipping this way and that.

He really was adorable.

You licked up his length before taking him into your mouth. You didn't want him to cum yet, but you wanted to taste him. Get him just a bit slick before you rode him.

He tasted like sweat and weirdly earthy. It wasn't bad, but it was different.

You bobbed your head and listened to the breathy groans coming out of the blonde's mouth. If your roommates weren't home, you'd have had him screaming by this point.

You came off his cock with a soft pop. He left out a soft sound of disappointment.

His disappointment was short lived as you stood and straddled him.

"Need you to keep an arm 'round my waist. Don't wanna fall," you pressed your face into the crook of his neck, breathing your instruction into his skin.

His strong arm snaked its way around you and you adjusted your hips and let yourself sink down onto his cock.

The movements are small as you ride him, more opting to just grind your bodies together and enjoy the sensation of his cock throbbing inside you.

Lawrence was more than alright with this, realizing how much more satisfying a warm body was.

It wasn't long before Lawrence came without announcement or preamble of any kind, catching you off guard to say the least.

It was fun while it lasted.

You were still straddling him when you pushed him back onto the bed and reached into the bedside table, finding what you needed in seconds.

You cuffed him to one of the posts of your bed.

Lawrence kept his eyes on you, curiosity and fear mixing in those beautiful blue eyes.

You knew you'd have to keep one of them once this was all over.

[guttedwhxre]

─ 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐇𝐈𝐌 ❞ michael a. myers (sft ver.)

my michael myers headcanons!

tw: blood ment

author notes: i wanted to post the nsft version at the same time but got impatient </3 hopefully i’ll post all hcs at the same time in the future!

michael was never taught ASL in smith’s grove - well, he was, but wasn’t very receptive to it. dr. loomis checked it off the list after the third month of trying to get the boy to learn. michael knows some ASL, but doesn’t remember most of it. while his pantomiming is still mostly effective, you think it’d probably be better to actually learn ASL. gives him something else to focus on other than, you know, murder.

michael had no clothes when he first came to you, nothing besides the clothes on his back. when it came time to finally wash the coveralls the man stalked around your house naked, with only his mask on. it was a little comical, but he definitely needed something else to wear besides his, ah, work uniform. so you went on the trip to your nearest, cheapest clothing store - because let’s be real michael would most likely absolutely destroy the clothes somehow, whether it be by murdering someone in them or getting dirty on purpose to piss you off, whatever. no need to spend a ton of money on it, so the most you got him was some underwear, socks, normal t-shirts, tanks (because you KNOW he’d look amazing in a wifebeater), and the pinnacle, grey sweatpants.

wearing civvies struck a cord in michael, so sometimes when he came back home from a long few nights out he’d have a new hoodie or jacket for you to wash the bloodstains out of. he has surprisingly good taste.

as mentioned in his beginnings imagine - michael often leaves you shiny little gifts. jewelry, coins, rocks, anything that sparkles and catches his eye. he’ll also bring home lighters, car keys, house keys, nail filers - small, personal items. he doesn’t give them to you, just drops them around the house.

the house and car keys are often alarming, as they’re almost direct evidence. you don gloves and try to swiftly get rid of them when you find them laying around.

michael is very, very tall. he’s somewhere around 6’5’’- 6’7’’, but he refuses to let you measure him.

‘78 myers is closer to 6’5’’

RZ myers is closer to 6’7’’

he’s also very buff - you’d have to be, all the murdering michael does. it’s fun to squeeze his biceps, and if he’s feeling kind, his pecs.

(he gazes down blankly at you, blue eyes seeming to glitter with amusement. he huffs, warm breath fanning out against your forehead as you give his pecs one final squeeze, kissing him on his cheek. “you’re too kind to me, michael.” you see the corners of his lips begin to quirk up into a smile. he knows.)

he loves the way you smell. doesn’t matter if you think that you stink, or smell a certain way, michael loves it because it’s so you. he’ll grow accustomed to the perfumes and colognes you may wear, and if you change it up he expresses his distaste by hiding the new scent and finding (a.k.a stealing) the old one from wherever you get it. it gets old very quickly.

michael is pretty good about the boundaries you set. if you’re gentle and firm about it he’ll listen, yelling and screaming at michael will get you nowhere but a grave.

(“michael,” you start, trying to keep your tone even. this is what you get, for buying a white comforter set. old blood is smeared all over it, evidence of him laying down after a kill in those god forsaken coveralls. he doesn’t move from his spot, staring up at you from his place on the bed, mask still adorning his face. finally, he shifts, turning a little towards you and smearing even more blood into the bed. you take a deep breath. this had to be a test. “please don’t get into the bed when you’re still bloody. shower and change your clothes first,” you exhale, “please.” at first michael doesn’t move, then slowly, he stands up from the bed, and brushes past you into the bathroom, pantomiming the movement of turning a faucet on. you look down at your now ruined bed spread. yup, it definitely had to be burned.)

michael uses sooooo much body wash and hair product in one go, so much so that you had to start buying hygiene products from surplus stores. people assume that you’re doomsday prepping, but no, you just have a giant boyfriend who needs a lot of soap. 

when michael finally does warm up to you, he’s awfully handsy. he always has his hand on something, your arm, leg, ass, anything he can get a grip of. he’s fond of just massaging wherever he’s grabbed, kinda like a cat making biscuits on a beloved blanket. you’re his favorite blanket!