#I am so bored that I might have a full mental breakdown just to stir things up.

[redversaillesrose]

“The guy with the tattoo is Daniel!” “The guy with the tattoo is an undercover Armand stan!” cmere. the guy with the tattoo is simply someone from staff who after one (1) interaction with Lestat decided Armand was right about him being more toxic than the elephant’s foot.

[silvrwore-blog]

---------- OOC.

hi im mitch : ) im a big f*king idiot, too. let me preface this by saying it is currently uhhhhhh 6 AM est and i still haven’t slept yet !!! i thunk i started this around 10 PM last night but im slow. really slow. everything about this ??? a hot mess ™ . it isn’t going to make a lick of sense !! but thanks for stopping by sdkjsadklsd. anywhomst im mitch, i’m twenty, in the est, and im ready to rock and roll buckaroo. my guy here? he’s an idiot. but he’s my idiot. therefore, i have to love him. the history is long ( i know because i started there first ) so ill make a little tl;dr with some simplified notes on him. i think that covers ??? everything ?? so far ? im always down to plot in the DMs or i have discord at oovoo javer #4855 mwuah !!

---------- APPLICATION.

( jack lowden, twenty-seven, cismale, he/him ) – have you seen bennett sharpe, the financial strategy student around oxford yet? i hear they can be conforming and convivial, but those who know them insist they’re reminded of beige turtlenecks and plaid blazers, eraser shavings on an old oak desk, and eagerly belting out the latest tunes when they’re around. rumor has it that due to stress, he had a breakdown in high school that put him a year behind his peers and his family has tried to cover it up. is it true? only time will tell… ( mitch, twenty, she/her, est )

---------- HISTORY.

THEY’D ALMOST STRUCK GOLD with bennett sharpe. smart enough not to have to buy your way into college, but not smart enough for his peers to despise him. the gusto of an entertainer and the charm of a damn good politician ------------ but they’d never been quite able to buff out that chip on his shoulder.

the sharpe’s were an interesting case. too good to slum it with the poor folk but not rich enough to always be able to sit at the BIG table. a family who paved their way in law and then literature. blood in the supreme courts and in those scandelous little novels that housewives sipped a glass of wine over. at least that had been his mother’s contribution to the family fortune ----- a wonderful dinner conversation.

--------- “ oh mother, what raunchy debauchery are you slaving away at now ? “

bennett was the oldest of three ( followed by one girl and then another boy ). he was a good son. would have been a real golden child to anyone else --- well, with a little love, care & patience. normal family things. from a young age he had a memory unmatched and a love of strategy games. a youth who loved to test his brain. which was fine and dandy, however, it wasn’t quite leading up to being a judge. he wasn’t following in his family’s footsteps. he’d gotten a little... off track. he had just been better with numbers. money crunching. equations. it had been a tough pill for his family to swallow but swallow it they would. afterall, it hadn’t been their biggest concern when it came to their oldest son. 

it had always been there. carefully covered up with the occasional “ he’ll grow out of it “ or  “ stop it. nothing is wrong. “ maybe that had been the real giveaway to why he’d never amount to anything big. “ he’s FRAIL. no spine. “ a good and competent doctor would have had him diagnosed and taken care of. seventeen and he’s missing classes but not for normal rich kid things. the world’s bigger and scarier than it ever was. college and a future right around the corner, parental pressure, it snowballs until it is all too much. one day of important testing and bennett sharpe never shows. he had not been on campus at all. sometimes when the panic became too much, it did him well to distract his mind ---- go outside. count the blades of grass or the birds in the sky. breathe. it’s what he had done that afternoon. left and tried to sate his mind. but nothing had done it for him that day. nothing to cure him. the world? bleak. the future? uncertain. weapy and tore down. the little devil on his shoulder named ‘ desperation ‘. he needed out. his parents phone and the message becomes crystal clear... 

--------- “ i can’t do this. “

so he’d ‘” turned tail and ran “, branded some sort of listless coward. he didn’t know what was wrong with himself, nor did his parents. the only thing they were certain of was that they would not have a son coming apart at the seams. they’d grilled him. no one was going to take him seriously or he’d never find himself in any important position if he was always going to go chicken. a breakdown never looked good. it did not matter to the rich or the poor, one would still be ridiculed. but corporations wanted someone steely, confident, put-together. all the things bennett was not becoming. so they’d contacted his school - wrote it off as a vacation. save face. “ oh i got bored. decided to go to switzerland instead ! couldn’t miss it, you see a chance of a lifetime had just presented itself to me, so.... “. however, no donations or pleading on his parents part were going to make up lost time. bennett was held back a year for being unable to complete the necessary testing and exams. oh how he would have to sell that vacation. but it hadn’t quite been a vacation, had it? long days trying to put together the pieces. some days were easier than others. some time to try and buff out that chip. the chip remained.

years down the line and one enrolment to oxford and he’s a lot better than where he started. he’s found ways to cope. some good. some bad. he’s more indendent than ever which has led him to branch out and take care of himself. no watchful eye of mother and father needed. perhaps that’s why he now has therapy pamphlets tucked away inside untouched textbooks. away from prying eyes. just an idea, maybe one day he would water it and watch it grow. go see someone. anyone. now he’s cheery. lively. a staple at parties. heeds his father’s advice and brushes shoulders with the right people. finds himself in the right places. the future is looking bright. oxford may soon to be a closed chapter in his life, but the years had been good to him. until, well, they weren’t. 

the riot club had been for the best. extravagant. a little bit of chasing the finer things in life. that had worked out just well for him. death had never been a thought --- or at least it was always kept at a distance. never upclose or personal. a relative here or there, miles away, he’d barely given it a thought. a funeral and they were gone. parties and death were not supposed to intermingle. maybe that was why it was so jarring. the world is a little heavier, bearing down on him once more. he tries not to pay it any mind when he has to excuse himself twice more than usual for a smoke outside. brushes off clammy hands like they’re nothing. accidents happened. he’d find solace in that word --------- accident. 

---------- SPARKNOTES / TL;DR.

voted most likely to be that annoying fuck outside your dorm at 3 am who doesn’t know how to turn down the volume 

dumb enough to try anything once

despite some tough times he’s just ??? full of life ??? life is a PARTY. and he’s making the most of it now, thank you very much. 

“ are you not ENTERTAINED ? “

he’s not the worst,,, but he’s not the best. yknow?

nice enough to get drunk and talk to just about anyone but snobby enough that you bet he’s going to make some insensitive comments. it’s that -- not rich rich enough to be totally elite, but not hurting enough to be able to sympathize with people who aren’t bringing in a f*ck ton of money. 

his family ( on his dad’s side ) has always been involved in law. typically judges, and some who have made it to be top dog in their fields. his mother is a writer who does rather well. she’s published a handful of book and his father has also published law-related books which brings in money. his dad is pretty high up in the field but bennett’s got his suspicions that some of the income might just be payoffs. i wouldn’t envision his father as being someone hard to be bought. he might want to grill his son for being spineless or weakwilled but i’d imagine that’s just a family trait inherited. 

which uhh brings me to my next point. bennett can be a bit of a follower. there’s not a whole lot of “NO” in him. which may also hurt his relationships because he’s not going to stand against injustices or anything if it is going to put him in harm’s way. which may help perpetuate that rich or snobby idea surrounding him because he’s not about to stand up for the common folk if they’re being belittled for their threads or schooling.sure, he might talk to them here or there in the right occasion but he’s not going to stand for them. he’s sitting pretty. he’s not looking to ruin that. 

essentially he’s not going to have your back unless it benefits him. 

as far as his secret goes, i think he’s worried about the stigma around mental health and how he’d be perceived but i think a lot more has to do with his family. because he knows they won’t be happy if it gets out or if something further happens. they just ain’t supportive in that department, chief. but he doesn’t want to be cut off or anything and not just because he’d be worried about who was putting money in his pockets. he just doesn’t want to stir the pot any further, even though he should really seek help. i kind of vagued on it but i’d say he has gad ( generalized anxiety disorder ). 

---------- CONNECTIONS.

am i picky?? nah. if he can fill something, slot him in. we can chit chat. mwuah

i already know this section is gonna get so neglected because im too tired to think

uhh give me an under the wing sort of relationship ?? listen if bennett can’t repair himself maybe he can touch up someone else. someone he might see something in. buds ? who knows ? not me. but it could b cute. 

long time friends !!! doesn’t have to be since childhood but someone(s) he’s known for a while now and they click. 

anything angsty ? is good too. 

typical friends / enemies plots too !! spice things up. 

i need sleep : ) good night !!!!!!!!!!

[what-a-strange-thing]

IwaOi Fanfiction Recs

(all recommended stories can be found on archiveofourown)

Everything by ...

carriecmoney

He reaches out to thumb Oikawa’s upper lip, hand cupping his jaw. The freckle doesn’t feel any different than the skin around it, lotion soft and deep, like he’s got an extra layer of lambsear over it. Oikawa’s breath puffs into his palm. “Okay,” he mumbles, lip moving under Hajime’s callous, “that’s pretty weird.” Hajime jerks his hand away and swallows his third apology of the day. “You had- snow on your face,” he grumbles [...]. (”Sweetshrub”, queerplatonic IwaOi)

loveclouds (if you like your IwaOi fluffy) 

“I wouldn’t be anywhere without you, Iwa-chan,” he says. “I’m only strong when you’re here, Iwa-chan,” he says. “I’d go anywhere you wanted, Iwa-chan,” he says. (”1000 ways to die with you”, Iwa-chan is so lovely that it literally kills Oikawa.)

snoqualmie

“I know you,” Iwaizumi says firmly. “I know you,” Tooru repeats, cupping his face again and pulling him close. Their foreheads press together and Iwaizumi’s eyes close. He takes a deep breath in. “There’s more, though, that we should know. We have to. We have to go other place and do other things.” (”Going”, IwaOi contemplate their future.)

tothemoon (check out her supernatural series, “ad astra”)

All sorts of proud, eyes unable to tear themselves away, Hajime just nods. He leans forward just to get a better look, completely entranced. "He's worked hard for this," he can't help but remark. "Oh? Do you know him, young man?" Iwaizumi would like to think he does. When he watches Tooru toss his hair back, all to giggle and pretend and preen, he notices the way his eyes flick to the audience—just for that one, fleeting moment—because they both know that afraid is something that never leaves someone. Still, as soon their eyes meet, he lets Oikawa tear away in that instant, because he needs to finish his part of the show. All at once, Oikawa Tooru shows everyone why he is a showstopper, grand and like a god. But Iwaizumi knows he is also a boy hiding in houses, looking up at ceilings he might not be able to break. When he decides that someone can be both, and that this is okay, he squints at the sight of his best friend and answers her in full faith. "I do." (And he's sure, at that moment, that Oikawa Tooru is the most beautiful thing he's ever, ever seen.) (”400 Lux”, Iwaizumi and Oikawa come from different dimensions.)

Canon compliant / Post-Canon

“3.5 millimeters” by Anonymous (6.2k) - “There are, after all, no guides for how the hell you’re supposed to handle being in love with your best friend.” Established relationship, first dates and waking up together.

“What is it?” “It’s not scary for you?” Oikawa whispered. Iwaizumi was silent. Oikawa continued, “I love this, and touching you, and everything”—Iwaizumi’s heart stuttered—“but aren’t you ever nervous and embarrassed and—terrified?”

“Aquamarine” by carriecmoney (3.8k) - Graduation looms close and our favorite Seijou third years more or less resolve their gay crises. Funny, sweet, very well written (some great imagery, as always).

“Hey! Matsukawa and Hanamaki are kissing!” Oikawa and Hajime freeze against each other, Oikawa’s nails digging into Hajime’s neck. Some people run to see for themselves, some mutter, but most cheer and raise a glass. Hajime swallows, the lightning rod of Oikawa highlighted against his side. “I guess we should make sure they’re okay,” Hajime says, but doesn’t move. Oikawa nods, but does the same. Hajime coughs, grip tightening around Oikawa’s ankle. “Guess it took ‘em long enough, huh?”

“boat song” by perbe (1.4k) - Iwa-chan helps Tooru sleep. “So pretty, soft and artful”, to quote softsun. (Also, Oiks’ “new” insult for Iwa-chan.. why didn’t I think of this? lol).

You tip yourself to the edge of your bed and tilt your face up at Iwa-chan. It is a long way up, you notice. Somehow this strikes you as poetic. That when you reach up, your hand barely grazes his shoulder and you feel silly, and so, so gay, when he steps in so your hand isn’t dangling over thin air. It makes sense that you waggle your eyebrows at him and adopt the smuggest grin that you can.

“days fall away” by lavendrsblue (17k) - Iwaizumi and Oikawa reconnect after university. The characterizations are spot-on, in my opinion, especially how they both deal with their feelings. A real IwaOi manifesto. The fight is great as well (though angst-y, of course).

The thing about knowing someone for a decade and a half is that they know your every strength and weakness, every insecurity. Even the ones you yourself are not fully aware of, those that haven’t surfaced in years. “Iwaizumi’s so good at everything, where would Oikawa Tooru be without him?” Oikawa’s voice climbs higher in pitch, mocking, but he isn’t shouting. He’s not even at normal speaking volume; he slings words over the futon in near-whispers. “Nowhere, probably, he’s so clingy and desperate—”

“Diluculum” by Moami (6.2k) - Tooru gets a mental breakdown before trying out for Japan’s national team. Luckily, Hajime is there.

“Please.” He never begs, and it makes Tooru lift his head. Hajime stares at their joined hands, darker and pale, warm and bruised. “Tell me. I want to help. Don’t do this shit on your own.” “To lose again.” Hajime stares up at him. The blankets slide off Tooru’s cheeks. His face is hollow. “I’m scared to lose again. To lose everything,” he whispers.

“film reel life” by arsenicjay (8k) - Hajime’s and Tooru’s life after graduation, watched through a camera lens.

“If Oikawa sees this, I think you’ll be too occupied to bother with little old me.” Something cracks with Iwaizumi’s expression: a flicker to the tense set of his jaw, and the subtle twist of his lip. To the left of the picture frame, the tendons in his wrist tighten momentarily, where his hand rests on the table. “Hanamaki,” he says. The microphone manages to pick up the barest tremor to his voice. “C’mon. Turn it off.” A pause. There’s a jarring moment when the camera clatters onto the table, and overhead, Hanamaki says, “Wow, you actually have it bad, huh—”

“(I wanna be) The Very Best” by Hyeyu (3.2k) - Oikawa plays Pokemon Go and IwaOi ensues.

Something flickers lightning-quick across Oikawa’s face. “Ugh, so  dull, Iwa-chan. I’m surprised you haven’t bored her to death yet.” The dismissive statement shatters the lap-fantasy faster than a bucketful of cold water. It sucks to be reminded that Oikawa has probably showered that damned Snorlax with more loving affection in the past few minutes than he has Hajime in months. Hajime and Oikawa are best friends - that’s the status quo, that’s how it will likely remain. “Oh, fuck off, Oikawa. I’m dumb and ugly, I get it. Happy now?”

“mint” by tothemoon (18.8k) - Hajime leaves for New York, says goodbye to and makes promises with Oikawa. Perfection and Oikawa’s desire for it as a theme, a chatroom for Oikawa’s fans (and Oikawa), Mattsun and Makki are there, too. Writing is as eloquent as expected.

[...] the smallest movements arise, and Iwaizumi notes their closeness—legs touching, the shift of Oikawa's head—and Iwaizumi registers these seconds as the longest he's ever had to live through. From there they just wait for the time to run out, three, two, one, smile! and Iwaizumi can’t help but feel something terrible stir inside him. Like having the weight of Oikawa on him is something he'd like to keep.

“old and new” by Mysecretfanmoments (5.4k) - Hajime and Tooru meet for the first time after going to different universities.

“Are you going to be like this for all of break?” “Maybe,” Tooru said. “Depends on how much you distract me.” Hajime’s eyes flew open. That was flirting. It had to be—and yet, he and Tooru didn’t flirt. They were teammates, best friends, and Hajime was nursing something that felt a lot like a crush—but they didn’t flirt.

“summer came like cinnamon” by ohhotlamb (4.1k) - Sweaty-summer-get-together IwaOi.

[...] a part of Tooru is beginning to feel restless regardless of the heat, a little itch that rises up underneath his skin like a swarm of particularly brutish ants. He wants to move, to do something, something that doesn’t involve giving into the urge of rolling over and taking Hajime’s hand, doesn’t involve resting his head on Hajime’s belly and letting himself be gently moved with each inhale, each exhale. The kicker is that that he always wants these things, even when it’s not quite as comfortable as this. (Tooru is so in love.)

“the courtship ritual of the hercules beetle” by kittebasu (66.3k) - Tooru’s girlfriend breaks up with him and Iwaizumi (playing on the national team!) reenters his life. Homophobia is a big one here. I’d call this one a classic, it’s just so good.

[...] Tooru can hear a buzzing in his ears, louder than summer cicadas, and louder than the ocean, when he is unable to tear his eyes away. Hajime turns around, light catching wherever ocean water sits atop the golden brown of his skin, and his smile is easy and carefree, like the Iwa-chan Tooru recalls from middle school summer vacations, back when they were still young enough that being outside with no obligations was the best thing in the world. It's the Iwa-chan Tooru had been miserable without, and Tooru is so--

“the luck of the universe” by themorninglark (1.5k) - Hajime gets Oikawa and himself omikuji before they seperate for university. I love the characterizations in this!

"Do you feel lucky, Iwa-chan?" Oikawa whispers. Ahead of them, a bell tolls. Hands clap together in prayer. Iwaizumi doesn't turn around. "I know I am," he says.

“What He Knows” by hiuythn (1.1k) - Tooru knows Hajime will find out eventually. A little sad, very sweet. Iwa-chan indulging Oikawa’s whims (I love).

“And here I thought you’d agree with me. Aren’t they just sea aliens, if you think about it?” Iwaizumi turns his head and smiles, just a tiny curve of his lips. Oikawa scoffs to cover up the way the warm, happy thing in his sternum that lights up because of that smile. “Don’t distract me with my love for space, Iwa-chan. Atlantis is real.” “I never said it wasn’t,” Iwaizumi holds up his hands, completely relaxed, amusement just rolling off him in waves. Oikawa loves when he gets like this, likes it just a bit too much.

Not exactly canon compliant

“have mercy on me” by hiuythn (10.5k) - Hajime gets the Hanahaki disease, flowers growing in his lungs, caused by (not actually) unrequited love. This has some of my favorite IwaOi (fanfic) moments, especially those showing Oikawa’s softer side.

“If something like that happens to you, you’ll let me know first, right? That you like someone enough to grow flowers in your heart?” There’s a curious sort of tone in Oikawa’s voice. Hajime snorts, not bothering to answer and Oikawa huffs but drops it.

“Mind Reader” by jopling (40.8k) - After being hit in the head by a volleyball, Iwaizumi can read minds and picks up on Oikawa’s warm fuzzy feelings towards him. I enjoyed this mainly because of the vision for their university life (living together, different universities, rivalry...) and the healthy dose of volleyball. Very nsfw.

Iwaizumi moves and rests his head on Oikawa's shoulder, closing his eyes as he takes in deep breaths to calm his mind. [...] He doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he tries to think of what Oikawa’s thinking about, but it doesn’t seem like something he can will on his own, so nothing comes up. So he just asks anyway. "What are you thinking about?" Iwaizumi asks, and he realizes he'd bone-tired and sleepy because it comes out softer than he had intended. There's a small pause and he can feel Oikawa swallow. He sees his fist clench tighter on his lap before he answers, "Um. Milk bread."

“put a light on” by seabear (6.6k) - Tooru is confronted with university choices and a rather huge crush on his best friend.

Tooru’s thumbs fly against the tiny keypad. i love him i love him goddammit i love him what the HELL “Hey,” Iwa-chan’s there suddenly, his face so close. Eyes flickering down. “Who do you love?”

“to shore” by perbe (5.6k) - Iwa-chan disappears in the summer before college and leaves puzzle pieces behind  for Oikawa to put together. Lovely, atmospheric writing. Great Oikawa characterization.

Though you are surrounded by thick grass in the middle of May, you forget how to feel warmth. “Why are you so worried?” You expect him to think about it, but his answer is immediate. You wonder if he’s been waiting for this question, and if this is the answer he prepared. “Just a general feeling that things are changing too fast.” You can’t stand it, so you say, “I can give you a constant.”

AUs

“dyspnea/arrhythmia” by carafin (10.8k) - Junior doctor Iwaizumi’s mentor is one Oikawa Tooru.

Oikawa winks, honest-to-god winks at Iwaizumi. ‘It’s just me. I’m irresistible.’ Iwaizumi stares at him, rendered momentarily speechless. For someone whose bedside manners are impeccable, Oikawa seems to have absolutely no working knowledge of workplace appropriate behaviour. ‘I was kidding, don’t look at me like that,’ Oikawa says, and laughs. ‘It just comes with practice.’ ‘Right,’ Iwaizumi says, a little doubtfully, but he does a poor job at hiding his smile.

“Everything You Fear to Lose” by SuggestiveScribe (series, 26.1k) - Star Wars AU. Oikawa is a sith, Iwaizumi is a jedi - an absolute must. Epic, very angsty and emotional.

Tooru's legs were carrying him in long strides next to Master Takeda, gaze tipped slightly downward. "--we've been over this," Takeda went on. Hajime was keeping his eyes forward, lips pursed into a straight line. Tooru's attempts were all in vain, and Hajime was very well aware of it. "Just let me go with him," Tooru said, pressing his hand to his chest. "I can--" Master Takeda shook his head, "Listen, I understand you and Hajime have forged a..." Takeda's eyes slipped off to the side as they walked, considering. "A very strong bond," he eventually finished.

“In Defense of Reptiles (and Other Gross Things)” by rikke (9.3k) - Harry Potter AU. Oikawa is Hogwarts’ champion in the Triwizard Tournament.

Because for all that the school has joked about it since the lake incident, Iwaizumi never considered it a possibility—a real, actual possibility—and then he remembers the way Oikawa’s knuckles were white clutched around his shoulders in the lake, and the expression on his face after Iwaizumi saw him with Ushijima, and oh. Oh.

“In the Subtleties of Certain Colors“ by plumtrees (7.3k) - Oikawa is a painter in love with Dancer!Iwa-chan. The description of the painting and dancing scenes is just so good... ugh.

It always feels so intimate, painting Iwaizumi like this, like he’s bringing the image to life from a few specks of graphite and pigment on paper to the Iwaizumi Hajime that breathes and exudes life through everything he does, from his passion for dance to the way he so earnestly cares for people. I love you he whispers as he crafts the pale imitation, like it will possibly give him the strength to say those exact words to the real thing.

“midnight boy/sunset town” by carafin (10.1k) - Hajime’s new roommate doesn’t sleep.

5 Reasons Why Iwaizumi Hajime's Flatmate Is A Complete Weirdo (An Incomplete List) 1. He's obsessed with that stupid bucket list of his. 2. He's the proud owner of seven truly ugly, criminally hideous movie posters with aliens on them, which he insists on pasting all over the damn living room. 3. He's always stealing Hajime's sweatshirts. 4. Sometimes, he wakes Hajime up for breakfast. At 5AM. On Saturday mornings. 5. He literally never, ever sleeps

“Puzzleball” by carriecmoney (10.6k) - A:TLA AU. Oikawa is a rich kid in Ba Sing Se, Iwaizumi is a Dai Li Agent watching his family. Follows them falling in love with each other and a better life for themselves, very well written and romantic.

Iwaizumi stills, pastry hanging from his mouth and hand on the gate latch, watching Tooru twirl and laugh, head thrown back, fur collar brushing his cheeks. Melting flakes stick to his hair, disappearing into rain like those that hit the too-warm earth; he is both eight and eighteen, a small child’s heart caged by a head too adult for his own good. Iwaizumi’s thoughts are stuck like his tongue to frozen metal.

“you’ll never wait so long” by newamsterdam (13.7k) - Doctor Iwaizumi’s husband Oikawa is a lawyer with troubles he has to keep secret. Married IwaOi, such.. perfection.

Oikawa growls, low in his throat. He grabs Iwaizumi by the collar of his shirt, moving so quickly that Iwaizumi barely realizes he’s moving until Oikawa has him backed up against the wall opposite the sink. Oikawa spends so much time singing odes to Iwaizumi’s physique that it’s sometimes easy to forget how strong Oikawa is, himself. The kiss is powerful and biting. Oikawa shoves Iwaizumi roughly into the wall, attacking his lips with tongue and teeth. Iwaizumi knows every way that Oikawa can kiss him, but this one hasn’t made an appearance in a while.

IwaOi + (polyamory)

“adolescence and all its glory” by pageleaf (20k) - UshiIwaOi. Iwa-chan meets Ushiwaka in his anatomy class and tells Oikawa about it. Falling in love happens.

“Get coffee with me.” Ushijima says. It’s almost a request. He’s still sitting down, so he has to look up at Iwaizumi. Wait. What? “What?” Iwaizumi says, like a broken record. “Coffee,” Ushijima says slowly. Like it’s a perfectly reasonably request, and Iwaizumi is just being dense. Iwaizumi shakes his head. “No.”

“Caravan” by carriecmoney (162.1k)  - DaiIwaOi. A:TLA AU, Sequel to “Puzzleball”. Daichi joins Oikawa, Iwaizumi and the rest of the trade envoy on their way to the Northern Water Tribe, makes some (boy)friends along the way. Don’t forget to take a look at “Minivan”, a sexy/fluffy “behind the scenes” IwaOi Drabble Collection.

“Scared?” Daichi blinked over at Hajime, his arms crossed and dimple deep. Daichi rolled his eyes. “Oh, don’t even.” He cuffed Hajime’s shoulder. “You won’t hurt me.” Hajime chuckled. “And I guess after the day you’ve had, you’re used to humiliation.” Daichi gasped, and Hajime threw back his head with his laugh. He had put his undershirt back on when the sun got below the mountain peaks, but his arms were still on display, a source of Ryuu’s envy and Tooru’s distraction since their first drills back inside the wall. He beamed at Daichi, teeth flashing in the dusk glow and firebender torchlight. “I think it’s time to give them what they came for, eh, boss?” “Go suck a rock,” Daichi said with a smile and a flip of the back of his hand. Hajime thumbed his nose as they parted to square off a decent distance from each other. “Everybody ready up there?” Daichi called in his field voice, not taking his eyes off Hajime.

(“Subject A, Subject B” by diamond_skeleton (8.5k) - KurooIwaOi. Kuroo’s a sports medicine student and IwaOi are his test subjects and then... well, you know. not online anymore)

Sexy stuff

“Kissmarked” by Moami (6.2k) - Oikawa gives Iwa-chan hickeys.

“Look” (3.8k) and “Until It Breaks” (2.6k) by SuggestiveScribe - just read them, both are really hot.

“these arms are yearning” by littlelionvanz (6.1k) -  Transgirl!Oikawa’s first time with Iwa-chan. The best trans!IwaOi I’ve read so far (my opinion as a cisperson).

“Tub” by leurauxe (3.8k) - More married IwaOi (yay!), Super Spy Husband!AU.

[houseofdemi-blog]

Eighth Floor

Summary: He hates elevators and his annoying next door neighboor. His annoying but extremely attractive next door neighbor.

Genre: Romance.

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader 

Rating: Mature (smut)

Length: 3.4k

A/N: idk i wrote this the other day out of sudden so whatever 

It's a well known fact Kim Namjoon hates elevators.

He hates places with only one exit. He hates the lack of air when he enters a small room. He hates it even more when it's full of people. Full meaning two or three people. He always avoids entering an elevator if he can't count on half of the fingers of his hand how many people are in there. He hates small talk and useless conversations about the wheather. He hates the metal walls surrounding him and the mirror behind him -his rejection might have to do with the braces his parents made him wear and the number or mirrors he broke when he was a child. He hates waiting for the panel on the wall to reach his floor while the the same stupidly ear-piercing tune in the background fills the silence.

He just really fucking hates elevators.

“Hold the door!”

He hates elevators and his annoying next door neighboor. His annoying but extremely attractive next door neighbor.

Namjoon doesn't have time for this. He had burned his tongue by trying to calm his anxiety drinking some coffee that morning, he had to fire two of his workers after finding out they were hooking up occasionally in the photocopy rooms, and Saturdays are the days he usually leaves work early, but he had to stay in longer to fill some unfinished papers. Namjoon is tired and the last thing he wants to do is deal with the main cause he can't get enough sleep at night and is sexually frustrated. You're polar opposites, and the wave of heat in the pitch of his stomach everytime he spots you cannot compete with the amount of irritation you're able to stir inside of him. He erased the idea of being sexually involed with you when the biggest bunch of obsceneties he'd ever heard in his life left your mouth the first time he saw you moving in next to his apartment.

The moment the hears the familiar voice -too familiar for his liking-, his throat shuts, his whole body tenses up and the hand free of holding his briefcase flies to the panel to try to hit the “Close doors” button as fast as he can.

But it's in vain.

Your hand is already between the closing doors, stopping it in it's tracks and they slide back open, completely exposing your disvehled appearence to him.

It wasn't your fault though. It wasn't your fault it had been raining all day so your hair was the messiest and wettest it had been in a while, it wasn't your fault your heel broke while you were in the middle of crossing the street and it definitely wasn't your fault Youngjae, the too kind but too new waiter at the bar you worked at dropped a blue toned beverage all over you. Your only fault was deciding to wear a white shirt to work that day.

You step in, pulling your messy hair back and sighing in relief after finally catching your breath. He wonders how you manage to look good even now.

“What's up, Joonie?” you smile, voice still a bit breathy and sarcasm dripping from your lips as you eye your neighbor up and down.

The black suit fit his firm composured body like a globe, a neat navy blue tie wrapped around his neck and, following up the veins on his skin, your eyes catch a glimpse of his clenched jaw as he looks right ahead through thick rimmed glasses, practically not acknowledging your existence.

Your smile intensifies when he doesn't try to hide the bothered tone of his voice in the way he mutters 'Hello'.

Yeah, Kim Namjoon definitely doesn't like you.

It's not a secret. Everyone in the building knows he cannot stand your guts. It's obvious by the way he looks at you over his shoulder, always scanning your appearence looking for faults to criticize inside his head. His judgemental self always wondering how a mere waitress like you could afford living in such an expensive area. It's also obvious in the way he looks at your dog, since pets were not allowed in the building. But you had not so subtly flirted with the president of the Neighborhood Association to convince him to allow you to keep Max. And Namjoon had to face the consequences because he had always been a cat person. It's also obvious with the way he slams his fist on the wall when you play music from the stereo or you bring someone to stay the night -you always made sure to be especially loud if he was home, knowing very well your bedroom was right next to his and the exact hour he had to wake up to go to work-.

But to be fair, you don't like Kim Namjoon either, so it's all good.

He sure is good-looking. A tall and well built man wearing a different suit every single day, with light blonde hair always perfectly styled back, incredebly plump lips and brown eyes as deep and dark as his voice? Hell, saying your neighbor is good-looking is the understatement of the year. You had always found men wearing glasses pretty sexy too, and he definitely is no exception.

You do get a rush of pure joy by seeing him upset. You like the way his nose crunches up when you both leave your apartments at the same time, you like the way he visibly stiffens when you both run into each other in the parking lot and you playfully wink at him before you step in your own car, and you liked the way he rolls his eyes at your attempts to make fun of his uptight way of living -'get loose, Joonie. Let your hair down a bit!'-.

Oh, and you love the way the veins in his neck seem to be about to pop out at the nickname leaving your mouth.

“Which floor?” you ask nonchalantly, already pressing your  index finger into the number eight on the panel. “Ah, Joonie, smile a bit. It's Saturday night, aren't you supposed to be already tucked in your bed and staring at the cieling, boring yourself to death instead of going out and having fun for once in your life?” He licks his lips before speaking, answering too fast as if he had been thinking about a sentence specifically dedicated to you the whole day.

“It's Saturday night, aren't you supposed to be pouring drinks behind a bar stool until you find someone to bring home and share STD's with?” his voice is calm as usual, although it holds some sharpness in it and the way his fist is tigh around the handle of his briefcase says he's not as composed as he wants you to believe, which elicits an amused giggle from you.

“You know what, Joonie? You're actually pretty funny and cute. If you didn't have that stick in your ass all the time I might have let you fuck me already.” you snicker, already feeling content by seeing the way his eyes lightly falter while still looking at the metal doors in front of him, and his mouth opens and closes again, clearly taken aback by your comment.

Clearing his throat, he's ready to say something back, his brain finally functioning properly, providing him with a witty remark to send your way when, suddenly, the elevator stumbles and the lights flicker before it comes to a sudden and harsh stop.

“Shit.” you mumble, your eyes leaving Namjoon and scanning the room after realizing it wasn't moving anymore.

“What?” he says, clearly astonished.

“We're stuck, I guess.” you say, sighing and brushing your hair back..

“What?”

“We're stuck. Do you also have trouble hearing?” you roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest, leaning back against the mirror on the wall.

“Wha-We need to do something. We-” he presses the alarm button on the panel, but no sound comes out. “What the-? Why isn't that working?”

“The building might have lost power due the storm.” you explain simply, not fazed in the slightest bit.

“Then why the hell are the lights still on?”

And in that very moment, the white lights above you completely turn off.

“Fuck, you really had to talk, didn't you?” you groan in the dark.

“Shut up, this is not my fault! If you hadn't appeared in the last minute, I would already be in my apartment tucked in my bed, staring at the cieling and boring myself to death.” his words are rushed, strained and a bit shaky. You furrow your brows.

“My God, calm down. Someone will get us out of here, just wait. Jesus.”

“Phone. Where's m-”you hear a thump on the floor and in a matter of seconds his cellphone lights up the small space. “Here it is. Ok, it's low on batery but I think there's enough for me to-”

“No, there isn't.” you said, peeking at the battery number in the corner of the screen.

“-call maintainence service so, let me jus-” and just like it suddenly had lighten up, the screen fades to black and you're both left in darkness once again. Muttering a 'told you', you can feel his stare throwing daggers at you from your side. “Well, where's your phone? Why haven't you used it yet?”

You shrug “I left it home.”

An exhasperated noise coming from him makes you roll your eyes once more. “Brilliant. This is just fucking great.”

“I said calm down, shit. Nothing's gonna happen, we'll be out of here in a few minutes.”

But your words aren't working and neither is your careless attitued and they are just fueling his desperate state.

“Fuck. This is not how I wanted to spend my Saturday night. I'm supposed to be home. I'm supposed to be getting a shower and sleeping and resting and ready to wake up tomorrow morning with a coffee by my side but here I am.”

“Dude, are you okay?

“No, I'm not!” his usually well ennunciated speech is trembling, his words are ragged and this is the first time you've seen your next door neighbor with his demeanor so decomposed. “I'm stuck with you and God knows for how long and- isn't it too hot? Christ, it's so hot. Why is it so hot?”

“Namjoon, are you claustrophobic?”

“No! No... I don't know. I need my inhalator. Where's my briefcase? I-I dropped it on the floor. Shit. Fuc-” you reach out to touch his arm and he flinches back. “What are you doing?!”

“Oh my God, shut the fuck up and let me help you. You're having a mental breakdown! And you sound like you just ran a marathon. Come here.” you reach out again blindly, trying to find his suit clothed arm.

“N-no. Stop. I'm fine. I swear, I just-” he tries to keep a distance between you and him but you don't back away. Trying to figure out where he's standing, you finally manage to position yourself in front of him while he keeps rambling, failing to assure you he's doing ok.

“You're shaking and your breathing is uncontrolled.” your hands travel up his firm arms and shoulders until they rest on his chest, pushing away the thought of how well defined his form seemed to be under his clothes.

“______, I-”

“Here.” keeping one of your hands on his chest, right on top of his quickened pulse, your free hand finds one of his and you place it on your collarbones, The warmth of his touch startles you and sends a shiver down your spine and his heart skips a beat because, how the fuck is he going to calm down when your skin feels so smooth under his? “Try to mimick my own breathing. Let's do it together, okay?”

You inhale and exhale slowly, creating a pattern for him to follow, which he finds difficult at first but ends up keeping up with with ease. Everything's going well, his chest is not moving heavily anymore and his throat has no trouble letting the air out. You sigh in relief as you notice his hand resting on your chest has relaxed as well. As if dealing with your snobby neighbor was easy on a daily basis, you definitely are not looking forward to dealing with him while he's having a mental breakdown.

You're about to remove your hand from his chest, after finally making sure he wasn't on the verge of a panic attack, when a loud thud from outside followed by a minor stumble of the elevator makes him slide his hand upwards until it's tightly gripping your shoulder, trying to hold onto anything near him, and he's filled with consternation one more time, cursing up and down.

“Namjoon, calm down, please! It's alright! It won't take long for us to get out of here. I promise.-.”   your voice is starting to get exhasperated when you feel him stepping back away from you, his hand leaving your body and his body leaving your hands.

“No, no, no. Shit, did you hear that? Did you feel how it moved?! Shit!” you supress a giggle, not being able to avoid finding his nervousness and his swearing funny and vaguely arousing. You can't see him but you know his back is glued to the wall behind him, his whole body rigid and his long arms looking for something to take a hold of. Analyzing in your head possible alternatives to tranquilize him, since your last one didn't last too long, you decide to settle for, maybe not the best option, but definitely a better one than attacking him.

You take a step and blindly lift your hands, immediately finding his suit-clad pecs. You hear the beginning of an alarmed 'What the hell are you doing?!', but you quickly muffle it with your own lips.

It's messy and probably the worst kiss you've ever had. You mouth is barely grazing his lower lip becase you can only try to imagine where exactly it is. His whole body is still stiff, although you finally managed to shut him up. And you're about to pull away, because there's only silence and he's obviously not into it and you don't want to get a restricting order next week for sexually assaulting your neighbor.

But as you begin to separate yourself from him, you feel two warm hands sneaking around your waist, bringing you back to him and he's kissing you back.

It is sloppy, it is messy but this one is definitely not the works kiss you've ever had.

He presses his lips violently over yours before using his teeth to open them up. He swallows your surprised gasp by entering his tongue and, how can you deny it when it's dancing so aggressively with yours.

You finally decide to take action by sliding your hands up to his jaw and the back of his neck, aching to feel him closer. You don't even try to hide a moan and he breathes through his nose and the smacking sound of your lips meeting over and over again starts filling the room. You think you can smell your own arousal and all you've done is kiss.

Yet.

He pushes you until it's your back against the wall and his crotch between your thighs, rubbing his prominent erection against you. You gasp again and break the kiss, struggling to catch your breath.

Namjoon has a hard time believing what's happening. Never in a billion years he would have imagined he would be dry-humping you after getting stuck in an elevator together. But your lips were too soft and he didn't even get to fully enjoy them when you started to pull away. The sudden jolt that ran through his veins was what made him grab a hold of your waist. Such a little taste wasn't enough.

You don't speak as you manage to tear his suit jacket off somewhere on the floor. You can’t see anything. Who cares. You kiss him again as your fingers fumble with his tie and the buttons of his shirt. He tries to help you, but you push his hands away and finally decide to rip the fabric off.

“That's an Alexander McQueen shirt that cost me abou-” you smile when you picture Namjoon's outraged expression in your head and shut him up with your lips, hands carressing the newly exposed skin. He kisses back as your fingers trace the curve of every muscle on his firm torso.

You're too lost in his kisses, in his touch, in him, that you don't even realize he's pushing your pencil skirt up until it's completely hiked up and his fingers are already skimming through the fabric of your underwear.

You sigh against his lips and, unvoluntarily, try to feel him more of him and ecourage him to touch you properly by lifting your leg and wrapping it around his hip. He instantly hooks your thigh firmly while his fingers run up and down your clothed core, slowly.

Feeling your panties adhering to the stickiness between your folds, you groan in frustration. “No teasing, Namjoon. Please.”

He hears you. He understands and, honestly? He really doesn't want to anyway. That's why both his hands are finding the waistband of your underwear and, before you can tell him to -fuckig- take them off, his fists tug at them and you hold back a gasp when you feel the fabric ripping. You can also feel his lips curling up against your neck, pleased with himself as he drags his teeth along your skin.

Fair enough.

However, you don't have time to care about a pair of panties when his erection is pressing against you.

You reach down to palm him through his pants and, holy shit, who knew your neighbor would be so well endowed? You see the word 'Jackpot' in flashing lights in your head when his pants hit the floor and his shaft slaps against your stomach

Usually, you would need more preparation, specially considering Namjoon's size, but you can't wait. You're eager to feel all of him inside of you and he's not going to deny that to you.

He pushes inside of you, slowly at first, stretching you out so you  get used to him. You let a moan next to his ear and you hear a growl next to yours. He fills you up perfectly and it just feels to good when he starts to move inside of you.

The initial slight pain is long forgotten as his pace quickens and you cling onto him, fingernails digging into his shoulder blades and back. His grunting is sending shivers down your spine, there's a string of saliva on top of a future purple mark where your neck meets your shoulder and his thumb somehow managed to find your nub. He stretches your shirt with his other hand desperately while he keeps pounding into you, tugging it down along with the cup of your bra until he's able to free one of your breasts.

His mouth leaves your neck to find your nipple through the darkness and you moan when his tongue and teeth draw circles around it before letting it out with a loud pop. You can't control the sounds escaping from within you and you can already see yourself approaching your peek.

“Why do you smell so good?” he growls between bites to your breast. “Why do you feel so good?”

He finds your lips again in a fiery kiss before you can answer. You want to tell him how good he feels inside of you as well, but you can't seem to find the words or your breath to let it out. So, instead, you moan his name between kisses, between sounds of skin slapping against skin, between darkness.

And then, with a final thrust, you feel the knot in your stomach unraveling and you see a galaxy behind your eyelids. He's sent over the edge the moment your walls start to tighten around him and rides both your orgasms with a few sloppy thrusts before he's left panting against your neck and you're left panting against his, sweaty skin sticking to each other and none of you more.

And then, out of sudden, the lights are on and the elevator is moving again. You both look at your surroundings before settling your sight on each other again. His glasses are steamy and there's a faint blush on his cheeks, but he smiles when you smile and, before he can pull away to rearange his clothes, you make sure to ask,

'So, my apartment or yours?'.