#hes like half flirting half an awkward mess

[banditomojado]

ATTENTION I HAVE FOUND A NEW SHOW TO OBSESS OVER. THE FOLLOWING IS A BRIEF BREAKDOWN OF ALL THE MAIN CHARACTERS AND WHY I LOVE THEM/WOULD DIE FOR THEM ALREADY.

Mild spoilers for the first 5 episodes of The Legend of Vox Machina!

Oh boy, where do I begin!!! I have always been a lover of fantasy ever since I saw LOTR as a young child! Unfortunately, I didn't grow up around friends who were into the genre so I was never exposed to things like D&D. But fear not, folks like me! You need not be a D&D veteran to enjoy this show! Okay, so let's start talking about the characters featured in this party!

First up, the twins! Specifically here, Vex'ahlia "Vex" Vessar! So I love that the series features a sibling pair. Vex, at least in the first few episodes, seems to be the de facto leader of the group. She's a half-elf, half-human, a ranger-type, a badass archer and skilled warrior. The group, especially her brother, seems to look to her for guidance and commands in a lot of situations. She's so cool and has a strong presence in every scene. She has a dry wit, always on point with her verbal jabs. I've only known her for a day, and already I would trust her with my life. I do feel like she is a little too controlling of her twin brother, but so far she hasn't done anything too awful besides passive-aggressively disapproving of her brother's budding attraction to another member of the party, but more on that later!

And now for her brother, Vax'ildan "Vax" Vessar! He is a rogue-like character, specializing in daggers and throwing knives, and stealthy combat. He is also a wizard at picking locks. Much like his sister, he maintains a cool, mysterious aura about him, and he seems to come in handy whenever the situation calls to be sneaky. LOVE that the series has heavily implied he's a bi-king, featuring several scenes in the first five episodes where he flirts with both male and female characters. I love his relationship with his sister, you can already tell they have been through a lot and have helped each other survive it all, although it could prove troublesome if he does in fact decide to pursue a certain other half-elf, half-human member of the party...

Speaking of which, up next is Keyleth of the Air Ashari! She is a druid, capable of a wide array of magical abilities like controlling plant-life and shape-shifting into different kinds of animals! She's so cool, but she also has a sort of "fresh-out-of-college-stumbling-through-life" kind of vibe that I find utterly adorable. She's awkward, messes up a lot, struggles with self-esteem issues, but always tries her absolute best and has already saved the party from certain death a few times. I'm a sucker for flawed, awkward characters who carry the weight of the world on their shoulders and are just trying to do their best. Apparently she is currently on a ritualistic quest (Aramenté) to prove herself to her people so she can one day lead them and is not allowed to return until she has done so. So much pressure on my girl! She is obviously attracted to Vax, and I think they would make a cute couple, but something tells me that things won't quite work out for them...

Up next is Percival "Percy" Fredrickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III! He is by far the "edgiest" member of the group. He is a human gunslinger, a somewhat surprising set of skills for a fantasy setting, but it fits into this world perfectly! He's incredibly skilled with his gun, very smart, and by far the most sophisticated of the party. He comes from royalty, after all, and the first five episodes reveal how that life was ripped from him following a violent coup d'état which resulted in the slaughter of his entire family. So needless to say, my man has some baggage. He seems to possess a darker side to him that only appears when he is in a state of rage. He is very scary when in that state, and even carries around a plague doctors mask for such occasions. Revenge stories are a favorite of mine, as they always manage to provide the character seeking revenge with immensely satisfying/cathartic arcs, so I'm very much excited to see where the story takes him! I also think it's very telling that he is the sole human character of the party, it explains his inclination towards the dark side!

Next up we have Pike Trickfoot! She is a gnome cleric, capable of magical abilities like healing and conjuring up light-based energy shields. She is a fascinating character, given that her magic stems from heavily religious beliefs, though she seems to revel in violent situations and vices like binge drinking. She is a sweetheart, always looking out for the other members of the party, but also not afraid to go toe-to-toe with an enemy! The first five episodes see her lose connection to the Everlight, a kind of goddess that is the source of her magical abilities, thus she is forced to separate from the group. This was a huge bummer, because I really enjoyed her interactions with the other members of the party, especially her close friendship with the next member of the group I'll be talking about!

Next up is Grog Strongjaw! He is a Goliath barbarian, specializing in brute strength and combat with his mighty ax. Normally I'm not that interested in big, buff, warrior-like characters, but he's an absolute delight! He provides a lot of the show's comedic relief, due in large part to his limited wit and insatiable desire for bloodshed. He is big and dumb, but full of heart and determination to keep his friends safe, especially Pike, who he seems to share an especially close bond with. LOVE that he calls her "Pikey"! Having to see them go their separate ways so early into the series was definitely upsetting (seeing him cry over not being able to feel her presence while they were apart was precious), but I'm glad the group still has his brute strength to rely on if things get hairy.

And finally, we have Scanlan Shorthalt! He is a gnome bard, who also seems to possess a few magical abilities via his lute, such as being able to conjure up a large, floating purple hand. He is by far the main source of comedic relief of the group, crass and hedonistic, with an admirable ability for quick wit. He is also the group's resident slut, never wasting an opportunity to possibly get laid. He also appears to be bi, which is lovely. Comic relief characters often hide the saddest backstories, so I'm excited to delve more into his past and learn more about him. He also seems to have a crush on Pike, which is just absolutely adorable, although based on how he acts around the group, it's no wonder nothing has happened between them yet. Better wait until he grows up a bit, Pikey.

So far, the series has given me plenty of reasons to love each member of the party, and the writing for them has so far been excellent! Love their various little interactions, I think you could pair off or group any member together and you would still get a satisfying story/adventure. Five episodes in and I'm completely hooked! If anyone who is a fan of the show wants to watch along with me, let me know! I know I'm super late to the party, but I would LOVE to discuss the story with someone! I'm aware that these characters existed long before the Amazon show and that the show itself was a result of a large fan-funded campaign, so I'm especially eager to get to talk to fans who have been there from the very beginning!

[alyakthedorklord]

Batman the Playboy

Justice League, not quite early days but before proper identity reveals, though everyone knows Batman knows theirs, bc he has Opinions™ and Constructive Criticisms™ on their secret-keeping.

The issue is brought up on random occasions. The most notable incident- the Justice League, including Batman, being Drunk for Bonding, (or hit with some kind of drug while out saving the world) and Batman, in a fit of paranoid good intentions because he CARES about these idiots, damnit, why must they be so careless, starts insulting them.

Batman, leaning heavily on the table: “GL, you’re a mess, I don’t even know where to start with you. And Arrow! Your goatee is so distinctive, it’s a wonder no one has called you out on it-“

Green Arrow, also drunk: “Alright, there’s no need to insult my awesome facial hair-”

Batman, in despair: “It’s so ugly.”

Green Arrow: (offended noises)

Green Lantern: “Okay, the only reason you know our secret identities is because you’re a rude nosy bastard who needs to know everything about us like a creepy stalker who needs an ego boost! We’re not stupid, Spooky, we’re just polite. We could figure you out easily if we wanted to. Superman can see right through your mask!”

Usually, Batman would have a good response to that. Something smart and reasonable like “villains won’t care for your privacy, I’m testing you,” or something cutting like “I don’t care enough about you to go digging, I set your secret identity as a training exercise for Robin.”

However, Batman is Drunk, because for some reason imbibing drugs that dampen higher brain function is socially acceptable and often, for some reason, expected, because it’s “team bonding” and “come on just loosen up a bit.” (Also for him, drunk=Brucie)

So what Batman ends up saying is: “I could kiss you full on the lips in my secret identity and you wouldn’t know a thing.”

Superman, plucking the glass from Batman’s hand: “Aaaand that is enough alcohol for you!”

Batman nods. Thank God. He wants to go home and sleep. But first: “Superman, yours is so stupid it’s almost impressive-”

———

Of course, Green Lantern has smelled a challenge. And Green Lantern must annoy Batman. It’s his true superpower. So, the next time they meet (sober) he brings up the issue again.

GL: “So about what you said at the party… the part where you could kiss us full on the lips without us knowing. You still confident in that without liquid courage, Spooky? Bet you your real name you can’t do it.”

Batman, regretting the fact that alcohol has ever passed his lips: “I could do it, but I will not.”

Flash, curious: “Why’s that?”

Batman: “Informed Consent. I will not risk making any of you feel violated, or manipulated, for the sake of a stupid bet and my ego.”

GA, still offended by the goatee comment, trying to back Batman into a corner: “So if we give consent, we’re fair game? Try me, Batman. Even you can’t pull this off. Anyone else game?”

Some of the Justice League laughs, raising their hands.

Flash: “Come get me, hot stuff! I’ll call you out!”

Wonder Woman: “It could be amusing.”

Martian Manhunter: “I would be far too difficult a target.”

Green Arrow: “Not just you. C’mon, Spooky, flirting well enough to get a kiss from me? I’m a classy lady.”

Black Canary: “D-class, maybe.”

Superman, wants a kiss in on the fun: 🙋🏻‍♂️

“So that’s it then!” Green Lantern says smugly. “Batman, if you can kiss… how many people raised their hands? Ah yes- HALF THE JUSTICE LEAGUE, without anyone realizing it’s you, then you win.”

Batman scoffs and walks out, leaving the Justice League in stitches at their joke. Because- Batman? Being good enough at flirting to land a kiss on half the league, without it being forced or awkward, without them recognizing his body language, his voice, his build? How ridiculous!

The Batman is Autistic. The Batman does not understand jokes, especially not ones that are half truths. The Batman has consent, and something to prove.

And Bruce Wayne, billionaire, playboy, and sexy DILF, has targets.

(Please tell me how you think he gets each League member.)

Edit: there have been a bunch of awesome additions in the notes! My own take here.

[wolfiesmoon]

The world in my hands

Riddle, Leona, Idia, Malleus x fem!reader (seperately)

hello twst community did u miss me😍

this is a request hehe!! the prompt i was given is yuu says "i may not be able to use magic but i can hold the entire world in my hands" and then holding the guy's face

i had no clue how to write lead-ups to this type of fic so they will be either very minimal or not there at all😭

i feel like my writing is SOOO rusty omg😥

✧･ﾟ: Leona Kingscholar

"Get out." Leona didn't look all that happy to find you laying next to him in his bed. You decided that as his girlfriend, you now have the right to sneak into Savanaclaw at night and then sneak into his bed, too. With the great hearing all the beastmen in his dorm have, you wonder how no one caught you. Or maybe they just don't wanna mess with you.

Regardless, you're not one to disrespect your partner's wishes, so you get up and walk around the bed to be right by his face, just off the bed this time. You thought of doing that randomly last night because you couldn't fall asleep. Both the sneaking into Savanaclaw and the thing you're about to do.

He seemed a bit flabbergasted while looking at you from his bed and honestly, you can't really blame him. You would say you'd feel the same way if Leona appeared in your bed in the morning but knowing his habit of falling asleep on you, you wouldn't even count it out.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked in an accusatory tone.

You cleared your throat dramatically before placing your hands on both of his cheeks, making his face scrunch up in half surprise half annoyance. It's a funny expression on him.

"You know, I may not be able to use magic, but I can do something even better." you didn't even let him respond, quickly adding on "Because I can hold the entire world in my hands."

Leona's wittier than he seems at first glance and you can tell he understood what you meant instantly by his facial expression. But all he does is grunt and gently remove your hands from his face, then fall back on the bed.

After a few seconds of silence, he asks "Are you gonna join me or not?" while tapping the side of his bed a few times.

"Oh, but I thought you didn't want me in your bed?" you placed your hands on your hips, replying with the most sass you could muster. You're not sure what kind of reaction you expected from Leona, but it kind of seems on par with him. He's not one to get flustered by cheesy flirting, you suppose. But letting you on his territory, on the other hand...

"...Just get in here before I change my mind." he grumbled and you joined him without another word. As soon as you did, two strong arms wrapped themselves around you.

You also felt something touch your forehead. A kiss?!

"Leona, did you-"

"Shut up before I kick you out." and he just squeezed you tighter. Hm, maybe he enjoyed it after all.

✧･ﾟ: Riddle Rosehearts

"You know, I may not be able to use magic, but I can hold the entire world in my hands." you smiled at Riddle knowingly before gently grabbing a hold of his face. You invited him over today, but were struck with the idea to pull this on him randomly. You like him best when he's blushing, after all.

He seemed a bit lost, if anything. His eyebrows furrowed slightly, looking at your lovestruck grin with confusion.

He's happy that you can still be happy despite your lack of magical abilities. But why are you randomly telling him about this now? While holding his face? There's no need to do that since he can pay attention to you perfectly fine.

Is that a thing lovers do?

"That's great to hear." He saw the way your face dropped when he replied like that and felt even more stumped than before. That wasn't the correct response, it seems.

"Could you explain what you meant?" He started after a short silence. Your hands are still warming his cheeks and he doesn't want it to end. It's a nice feeling.

"You know... I can hold the world in my hands because, uhh, you're my world..." you realise just now how awkward it is explaining flirty jokes. Well, you suppose it isn't exactly a joke. You're being completely serious.

"Oh." He seemed to finally realise what you meant, because his entire face went scarlet red.

"That is..." he seemed at a loss for words. He never thought a girl could affect him the way you do, but life is full of surprises.

"Hehehe, I prefer you when you're all red from being flustered, not from being angry." you gently kiss his nose, which only elevates the amount of red on his face. His eyebrows furrowed slightly at your teasing, but could he really get mad at you when he's getting kisses?

"I never realised you thought so highly of me." you felt that his face was getting warmer through your palms. And you wouldn't want it any other way.

✧･ﾟ: Idia Shroud

"Would you turn away from that game for just one second?" you chided, hoping your boyfriend would finally listen to your pleas. He groaned in response, not intent on listening to you anytime soon.

Okay, seems you have to do this the hard way. You didn't want it to come to this, but there's no other choice. It's the conscequence of having a gamer boyfriend, after all.

You walked up behind him, swiftly turning him around on his spinny chair. He gasped in surprise and then his expression quickly shifted to one of annoyance. "Why are you so insi-EEK!"

Before he could even finish his complaint, you grabbed his cheeks. A little more roughly than you intended, looking back on it.

"You wanna know something?" you asked it like he had an option to say no, but the determined expression on your face made Idia think you're not giving him much of a choice. "U-Uhm, yes?"

"I may not have the ability to use magic, but, I can hold the entire world in my hands." you smiled awfully innocently compared to how determined you looked just seconds before. He seemed a bit lost, so you added on "I'm doing it right now, actually."

The reaction was instantaneous. It's like a chemical reaction occured because the entirety of Idia's face immediately turned red. The ends of his flaming hair began to burn in a pink color as well. Honestly, you think he might be at his cutest when he looks that way.

"Y-You.. That's dangerous!" he yells overly dramatically, swatting your hands off of his face. "I know, it's a dangerous skill to have. Does critical damage to Idia Shroud, apparently." you shrug.

"H-How do you... how do you expect me to defend myself against that?!" he shoved his face in his hands out of embarrasment.

"That's the thing, I don't. The point is to leave you all defensless and flustered." you smile mischeviously, even though you know he can't see it.

"I knew it was a bad idea to get a girlfriend... my poor heart..." he mumbled under his breath, almost unintelligible.

"What was that?"

"UM- Nothing!" you're kind of worried he might pass out from all the blood travelling to his face.

✧･ﾟ: Malleus Draconia

To be honest, you knew that you had to do as soon as you saw that video pop up on your Magicam feed. Considering your boyfriend's frequent surprise visits, you'd assume it wouldn't be hard to find him and catch him off guard with something like that.

And you definitely know he hasn't seen it before, considering his... lackluster grasp of technology.

"Greetings." you almost fall out of bed, quickly turning off your phone to hide the evidence. Does he have to pop up at the most random times? You suppose you wouldn't have it any other way, though.

"Oh, hello there, Malleus." you quickly got up from bed and walked up to him. He wrapped an arm around you like it was second nature.

"I have something to tell you." you told him in a sweet, playful tone and he immediately seemed intrigued. He's excited when you're excited, after all. "Go on. I will always listen to you."

"I may not be able to use magic..." your arms slipped up towards his face... "But I can hold the entire world in my hands."

"Oh..." he thought about what you just told him for a few seconds before finally realising what you meant. Flirts with Malleus are hit-or-miss usually, sometimes he gets it, sometimes he doesn't, but you're glad he realised it this time. "Oh, I see what you mean, dear." his silly lovesick smirk was now mirroring yours.

"That makes me tremendously happy." he squeezed you in his hold. "I feel the same way. You too are my world." he kissed your cheek happily. You noticed his cheeks were a pretty pink color, one of the loveliest sights you can possibly witness in this world. He even gave you a peck on the lips for good measure.

You know, your original goal was to fluster him, but somehow, you get the feeling that you're the one getting flustered right now.

[midnightwriter21]

jjk hcs: the jjk boys as boyfriends

characters: yuji itadori, megumi fushiguro, yuta okkotsu

warnings: none (i think?)

AN: if there’s anymore boyfriend hcs that you’d like to see lmk!! read gojo & nanami as boyfriends HERE

YUJI ITADORI

oh girl i am JEALOUS

he can be a little air headed at times but he’s the sweetest bf ever

i say he’s air headed but he’s actually very attentive

you get half an inch trimmed off your hair?

he notices immediately

“babe your hair looks great!”

notices everything about you actually

from your favorite color

to the brand of PENS you prefer to use

who tf notices the brand of pens people use?!?

yuji does

yk the tiktoks of boys picking entire BUSHES of flowers for their girlfriends

that’s him.

he straight up rips a whole bush out of the ground from the front of jujutsu high to give to you

principal yaga was not amused

gojo was tho

HE PRINTS OUT YOUR INSTAGRAM PICTURES TO REPLACE THE POSTERS OF MODELS ON HIS WALL

he’s so proud that your his girl fr

oh and he’s gotta hella pet names for you too

they’re all super basic

babe, sweetheart, cutie, etc.

he flirts w u like y’all aren’t together

awful pickup lines and everything

“do you have a mirror in ur pants? cause i can see myself in them.”

if u don’t think he’s the cutest then u can go argue with the wall bye

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO

he has me in a chokehold

anyways

at the beginning of y’all’s relationship he’s awkward as fuck

but he eases up pretty quickly

veryyyyyy private with y’all’s relationship

if you somehow get him to hold your hand in public let alone give you a kiss?!?

girl count ur blessings fr

and it’s not bc he’s embarrassed of your relationship or anything no ma’am

it’s bc he would NEVER hear the end of it from gojo, nobara, and yuji

valid excuse

but when you two are alone?

oh girl it’s like he’s glued to you

when i say clingy? i mean it

also

king of nap time!!

he’s kidnapping u, bring you to his dorm room, dropping u on the bed, and laying completely on top of you

swear it’s his solution to everything

ur tired? it’s nap time

sad abt something? it’s nap time

a curse beat ur ass? it’s nap time

gojo is being annoying? it’s nap time

nap time cures everything ong

he’s not too crazy w the pet names

in private he’ll call you babe

in public you’re lucky if he adds a -chan to ur name lol

he’s so pretty boy

also can we appreciate his gorgeous luscious eyelashes?

no? okay

YUTA OKKOTSU

i would give my first born to make him feel happy, safe, and loved

KING OF MY HEART

he’s so baby

he’s the type of bf that no matter how long y’all have been dating he still gets flustered over you

y’all been together for an hour? he’s blushing when you give him a kiss on the cheek

y’all been together for a week? he’s blushing when you give him a kiss on the cheek

y’all been together for a year? he’s BLUSHING WHEN YOU GIVE HIM A KISS ON THE CHEEK

HE. IS. BLUSHING.

which is so incredibly endearing and innocent

but don’t get me wrong

mess with this man too much?

oh he’ll snap

he has the patience of a saint. but when it runs out?

oh ur in for it miss gurl

period.

teasing him a lil too much tryna make him flustered

when he finally snaps he is switching that dynamic up real quick

now he’s the one smirking and feeling all smug while you’re the one with the bright red face

ahem…

anyways

yuta’s love for you is very intense

now don’t start thinking HE is intense cause no

i mean yuta loves you so much that he might just crawl up inside ur body and live there

that type of intense

you occupy his mind 99.9% of the time

he’s on a mission and has time to stroll through the mall

“oh y/n would like that” aND HE’S BUYING IT

he’s chit chatting with inumaki and panda

best believe he finds a way to bring you up in conversation

“oh! that reminds me y/n said something the other day about…”

he is the softest ever when it comes to pet names

sweetheart, my love, princess, etc.

i’m so soft for him he deserve the world

[revelboo]

Possibly more of My Favorite Accident? Please, and thank you!

Sure

My Favorite Accident Pt 5

TFP Knockout x Reader

• “Nothing should surprise me anymore, but here we are,” he mutters, pulling into the lot you’d indicated. Shifting on his shocks as a man bends over the railing on the porch of the building and retches noisily in a bush. Nearly falling into the same bush. And he can’t decide if he’s more horrified or furious. The lock clicking firmly down when you try to open the door. “This is the part where you admit to messing with me.” Because this has to be a terrible joke in poor taste. Every second he sits here, the closer to furious he’s getting.

• “Sorry to disappoint, but I work here.” Aware that you’re not getting out until he lets you, there’s nothing to do but wait. Situated on the outskirts of town, the bar had been a small motel at one point and had been several other failed businesses before settling firmly on its current iteration. Because no matter how bad the economy is, alcohol always sells. Actually growling at you, he unlocks the door and you get out. Freezing when you spot that stupid holomatter avatar glitching into existence and pretending to get out of the passenger side. Apparently deciding to take his uncanny-valley freak show of a fake human for a test drive. “Where are you going?”

• “Might as well get the full experience,” he sneers as you shudder at him. “The avatar is fine.” Even if its expression is stuck in a perpetual blank stare. It looks human and he’d already found out racing that humans have an amazing capacity for ignoring anything that doesn’t perfectly line up with their conception of reality. If his avatar glitches out of existence for half a second, it’s fine. Humans will just refuse to acknowledge anything weird happened, preferring to second guess themselves instead. Their wet, little brains seeing the impossible and just going ‘nope, not today.’

• “It looks like a body snatcher in a B movie.” Striding toward the bar, you’re aware of him following you. And that unlike your boots, his feet make no sound whatsoever. The drunk leaning on the rail slides down to an awkward sit, staring blearily at you both as you ignore him. Inside, the stink of cheap cigars and the acidic reek of vomit compete to be the most offensive. Mostly empty aside from a couple of old men sitting at the bar nursing beers as you go around the bar. And still managing to convey his utter disgust for your life even without being able to change that creepy, dead expression, Knockout slides onto a barstool. You can feel his glare behind those stupid fake sunglasses.

• Trying to decide if the old men are annoying flirt drunk or will be fighting in an hour drunk, you grab an apron to relieve the older woman with her frizzed out perm. Watching her eye Knockout before heading to a corner to smoke. “You take me to the nicest places,” he mutters as you start wiping down the counter, aware that one of the drunks is leaning forward to watch you. Trying to gauge if he’s drunk enough to try and grab whatever’s in reach, while you ignore Knockout. It’s not like you asked him to camp in your apartment parking lot like a creeper. You had asked him to drive you here, though. Leaning drunk makes a clumsy fumble for your wrist and then goes tumbling from his barstool when it’s pulled back. Knockout’s avatar blurring slightly as he moves too quickly to track. “This is ridiculous.”

• Watching you fight a smile as the human stumbles to his feet and looks around belligerently, Knockout stares him down until he gets back on his stool. Keeping his wrinkled hands to himself this time at least. And keeping an optic on you, because he can understand why you’re all attitude now. Why you carry that pitiful little knife. Because you’re scared most of the time, but you’re used to it and know that if you let it show, you don’t stand a chance. And something about that, about how you live bothers him. Rubbing him the wrong way even though he shouldn’t care. It doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t matter. Your attitude you hide behind, that impulsive mouth that only gets you in trouble, that stubborn determination he almost admires. None of it should mean a thing to him.

Previous

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[forlix]

𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬, 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬 !・h.h.

— you’re just trying to do your job; your client has other ideas.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬・1.3k 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠・idol!hyunjin x gn!makeup artist!reader 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬・very suggestive so mdni, reader implied to be shorter than hyunjin 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐬・fluff, flirting, humor, big fwb vibes

𝐚/𝐧・this took me less than half an hour to write i am actually the biggest sucker for this trope. also, we hit another milestone recently!! i appreciate all of you immensely; look forward to more ♡

[!]・hi hey hello as of one month later a full-length fic based on this au has been posted!! here it is; you can read the two in any order. ok bye much love

“Five ‘til!” A crew member calls into a walkie-talkie, and you’re so surprised by this information that you stumble right over him, your heel ungracefully ramming into the poor man’s toes. 

You apologize hurriedly, bowing yourself out of the awkward situation—and then you check your watch. 7:55 P.M. A quiet "shit" leaves your lips as it dawns on you that you'd completely lost track of time.

Briefly, you contemplate your predicament, drumming the palette of makeup you’re holding in your right hand against the palm of your left: do I have to? Is it really necessary? But you know your answer even as you’re asking yourself the questions. You’re damn meticulous—sometimes to a fault, but always to your own satisfaction.

You had a vision, and you’re going to see it through.

With impeccable timing, your coworker appears out of nowhere, and you fasten a hand around her arm. “Hey, where are the members again?”

“Stage left.” Then she registers your question in full, and snaps her eyes to your face; stylists were supposed to have finished up with their respective members nearly an hour ago. “Hang on, are you out of your mind—”

“I won’t be a minute!” You call, scurrying away.

“You won’t be employed!” She returns, but you’ve already disappeared into the curtains’ dense shadows.

You jog a short distance, turn a few corners, and finally spot the eight members clad in outfits of varying amounts of silver and black, every inch of them so sparkly that they’re reflective, even with how little light reaches this part of the stage.

You’re looking for one man in particular, though, and you single him out right away: long, black locks falling into his eyes as he adjusts his microphone, broad shoulders and tall frame flattered perfectly by an obsidian suit, looking like he fell off a Paris Fashion Week runway and into a wormhole that teleported him to Osaka.

All your doing, by the way.

“Hwang Hyunjin!” You shout, and he (along with several of the other members) whips around at the sound. And Hyunjin furrows a perfect brow when his stylist materializes before him, four minutes to curtain up, wielding a palette of makeup like it’s a baseball bat.

“Are you out of your mind?” He calls.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” You lift a pointer finger into the air and curl it twice. “Come here. Hurry."

Hyunjin gives the others an apologetic glance before hurrying over, and you are met with a blast of Byredo Blanche when he arrives in front of you, the expression on his face equal parts amused and confused.

“Down,” you say, flicking open the eyeshadow palette with one hand.

And then Hyunjin understands. A loud, uninhibited laugh leaves his lips, a sound you’ve become so accustomed to by now that you’re completely oblivious to the fact that only you bring it out of him.

“You really are something,” he says, spreading his feet apart until he’s brought himself to your eye level.

With that, you get to work, one hand gathering some eyeshadow on the pads of your fingers, the other moving to hold his shoulder. Brushes are luxuries you can’t afford right now.

“Close your eyes,” you direct, your voice softer now that your face is only inches away from his, and Hyunjin heeds your words obediently. You begin to dab the crimson powder against the curve of his lids, careful to avoid messing up the rest of his eye makeup. His lashes flutter involuntarily at your gentle touch.

“A shadow to match the lip,” you murmur absently. “I pictured it and knew it had to happen."

Hyunjin makes a sound of approval, and then there is that smirk on his face, the one you’ve learned only means trouble. “You’ve been thinking about my face the whole night, then?”

“No. I’ve been thinking about whether vegetables can feel pain,” you deadpan. “Yes, I've been thinking about your face. It’s my job.”

“Is that all?”

“Sure is.” You blow gently on his finished eye and move on to the other. “Now save your voice for the stage.”

He obliges, but that dreadful, self-assured expression remains on his face, and you're immeasurably grateful that he can’t see the blush that you’re well aware paints your cheeks.

“Done,” you say a minute later, straightening with a confident flourish. And you think you could squeal when Hyunjin opens his eyes, and you see that the exact effect you’d hoped for has been realized: a splash of maroon that is both subtle and seductive, sleek and suave; that not only accentuates the shape of his eyes but pulls attention to his lips, which are dyed a similar hue. Damn, you’re good at your job.

“I don’t have a mirror,” you say, looking around. “I can use my phone if you want to—”

“It’s fine,” he says. “I trust you.”

You grin at this. “Good. Because you look sexy as hell."

Upon hearing your words, he straightens to his full height. You don’t think much of this at first, too busy re-examining the masterpiece you’ve created on his eyelids, but in the blink of an eye you’re suddenly aware that Hyunjin is standing conspicuously and intentionally close to you. You instinctively move away, but you’re too late; he’s already guiding your back to the wall behind you, his body enclosing yours against the smooth surface.

You send a panicked look over Hyunjin’s shoulder, only to realize that the two of you are completely out of anyone’s line of vision. That doesn’t stop the sharp hiss that leaves your lips: “Hyunjin, are you cr—”

But then there is a familiar gust of breath against your skin, a thumb over your cheekbone.

He knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help himself when you get like this; all bossy and concentrated, an ambitious glint in your eyes, an air of confidence in your gait. He always thinks it’s ironic that your job is to make him look good when all he’s ever done is admire your beauty, so effortless and profuse that it feels timeless, like freshly bloomed forget-me-nots.

He knows he shouldn’t—but that makes him want to more.

When your lips meet, they move together with an ease and familiarity that reveal how many times you’ve done this before. He brings a hand to the small of your back, and you tangle your stained fingers in his luscious hair, the delicious pressure of his mouth upon yours rendering your reluctance (and the eyeshadow palette, which clatters noisily to the floor) momentarily forgotten.

As the kiss deepens, the bridges of your noses slide together; your every sense becomes overwhelmed by the slippery plush of his full lips and the warm caress of his large hands; you drink in the rosy musk of his cologne like your cells need it to live as opposed to oxygen. The tip of Hyunjin’s tongue teases the seam of your lips, as if requesting access, and you grant it to him with a light moan that is both blissful and thoroughly exasperated. When he hears the gorgeous sound, he has half a mind to scoop you up and leave the venue then and there.

Then, a voice bellows from not too far away: “One minute, everyone! Places, places!”

You’re so startled that you not only break away from him but jump a meter into the air, giving Hyunjin’s bicep a hearty slap on your way down. But he is entirely unbothered, dipping his head to press a trail of light kisses along your jaw instead.

“You’ll be watching the performance, yes?” He murmurs against the sensitive skin.

“Of course, what else—”

“—don’t take your eyes off me.”

And the words throw your heart against your ribs like uncooked French fries in a vat of oil.

He is just about to walk away when you realize how decidedly disheveled you’ve left him, and you yank him back to you with a fresh wave of panic. You wipe at his smudged lipstick with the cuffs of your sleeves; nitpick his hair until every strand is back in its proper place. Only when you’ve gotten rid of all the incriminating evidence do you permit him to leave.

“Thank you very much,” he says, bending into a gracious bow, the perfect image of professionalism. The facade is given away only by the upturned corner of his still-flushed lips.

“Break a leg,” you return drily.

The last thing you hear is that stupid, bright laugh before Hyunjin rejoins his members, and they step into the strobe lights together.

Even when the concert begins and the stadium is drowned in fanatical screams, the heartbeat in your ears remains the loudest sound of all—and you bury your burning face in your hands.

Hwang Hyunjin will be the death of you.

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · all works are pieces of original writing and all characters and relationships are purely fictional. please do not repost or reuse for any reason.

[chrissturnsfav]

fuckgirl!reader flirting with loser!matt, but she’s drunk so he’s just acting all nonchalant abt it

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 loser!matt babysits drunk fuckgirl!reader

the bass thumps in your chest, the music a relentless pulse that matches the dizzying swirl of the room. everything’s fuzzy—lights blurring into streaks, voices overlapping into a symphony of noise. you don’t remember how many drinks you’ve had, but it’s definitely more than you should’ve.

and then there’s matt. sweet, awkward matt.

"matt," you whine over the music that echoes in your ears, drawing out his name, your hand reaching for his sleeve. your fingers barely graze the fabric before you lose balance, tumbling halfway into his lap.

he catches you, because of course he does, his reflexes sharper than you’d expect. "careful," he says, voice dry but not unkind.

"i am careful," you insist, dragging yourself up and planting one hand on his chest for stability. it’s a nice chest—solid under your palm. "you’re just in my way."

"can we go upstairs?" you say feigning sweetness with a crooked smirk, your breath warm against his neck.

"nah." he leans back and manspreads on the couch, cool as ever, like he’s immune to your charms. it’s sickening.

"why not?" you pout, tugging at his arm. your dress rides up as you move, not that you care—matt’s the only one looking, and isn’t that the point?

"because you’re drunk kid," he says simply, tilting his head like he’s assessing whether you’re about to topple over again.

"so?" you challenge, a teasing grin spreading across your face. "you’re supposed to take care of me, aren’t you? that’s what guys do at parties, right? fuck pretty girls?"

he rolls his eyes but doesn’t let go when you wrap your arms around his neck. "m'not fucking you kid," he snickers.

you groan, a little too loud, and press your forehead against his. "you’re no fun, matt. chris would fuck me. he would probably die for the chance."

"yeah, but i’m not chris," he says, gently disentangling your arms from his neck.

"clearly," you mutter, falling back onto the couch in a dramatic heap. you look up at him, your eyes hooded and pleading. "don’t you think i’m pretty, though?"

he snorts, shaking his head. "nice try."

"what the fuck is that supposed to mean?" you demand, half-offended, half-sickened by how unaffected he is.

"it means you’re wasted, and you’re not gonna trick me into saying something stupid," he says, leaning down to pull a blanket off the back of the couch. he drapes it over your legs, ignoring your protests.

"you’re boring," you declare, crossing your arms with a drunken frown.

"and you’re a fucking mess," he counters, his smirk softening into something almost fond. "but don’t worry. i’ve got you."

his words hit you in a way you didn’t expect—soft and steady, but somehow leaving a mark. it makes your chest tighten, your thighs hot, and your stomach flip.

you know he’s just being responsible matt, always the boring one, always the one making sure things don’t spiral out of control. but the way his eyes linger on yours, the hint of warmth behind the teasing, makes you need him even more.

you grab his hand, holding onto it like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. "matt," you say again, but this time it’s quieter, your voice dipping into something softer, almost vulnerable.

"what now?" he asks, half-laughing, though his hand doesn’t pull away.

"just one little kiss, at least. please?" you say, your voice dropping into something softer, more pleading.

he laughs, shaking his head like you’re ridiculous. "not happening."

"you're the fucking worst," you whine, ripping your hand from his and sinking into the couch again.

"sleep it off kid," he says, his voice softer now. "you’ll thank me later."

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: the way i literally was writing this without even seeing this anon! i was abt to publish it and then checked my inbox and i was like :o that's perfect. so i copy and pasted the draft here.

thank you for reading! <3

tags: @sturnobsessedwh0re , @idrk2292 , @mattsbrat , @ribbonlovergirl , @swagalicious260 , @sturnhyyhblog , @matthewsroses , @mattsdemi , @emely9274 , @frankoceanfanpage , @ifwdominicfike , @marrykisskilled , @strnilolover , @cayleeuhithinknott

@chrissturnsfav ™

[slushyxcx]

Marlboro Reds [2]

Summary: Hamzah starts to act on his emotions

Chapter 2

All this kissing has made you bold. 

It’s like some dam has broken, now that you have permission to touch Hamzah. 

You pass him in the hallway and brush your fingertips along Hamzah’s lower back like it’s nothing, like he won’t be feeling the ghost of your touch for hours. You all go out to eat dinner together at least once a week, and you really act like it's pure chance that you’re seated next to Hamzah, shifting so your knee presses against his. On the field after pickleball, you’re spread out in the grass like a snow angel, Hamzah leaning against the fence above you, and you reach up to curl your fingers around his ankle, pressing your palm against the delicate tendons. 

There’s a look in your eyes that can only be described as longing. And it scares the shit out of him. 

You’re really good at hiding it. Hamzah probably wouldn’t be able to tell at all, if he wasn’t paying such close attention to you himself. 

“Hamzah,” you say softly, in that way you make it sound like you’re incredibly happy just to see Hamzah, which is stupid as fuck and can’t be true. But that’s how you make it sound, anyway. 

“Hey,” he says, super casually, and then throws his arm around your shoulders in an awkward one-armed half hug. You quickly rotate and successfully pivot his sad attempt into a full hug, a brief one, just long enough for everything to go silent as Hamzah feels himself surrounded by warmth for a moment, taking a greedy inhale of your perfume. Then you pull back and go back to rummaging around in the kitchen, like everything is totally normal, except you’ve got a shit eating grin on your face that is not being well hidden by the cupboard. 

“Be cool,” he chides, once again using your last name.

“I’m cool, I’m cool.” You dispute your own statement by following it with a giddy sort of giggle that makes Hamzah’s face heat up. 

Luckily, Hamzah is saved from saying something incredibly stupid like you’re so cute by the arrival of Mandy, who takes one look at Hamzah’s face and spins to raise her eyebrows at you. 

“Babe, we’ve talked about this,” Mandy lectures, faux-disappointed. “You can’t flirt with Hamzah before 12pm. It makes him all jittery and I’ve got to deal with him for today. I mean look at him, he’s all red now!” 

“Sorry Mandy,” You give her an extremely fake apologetic look, hands tucked behind your back as you rock on your heels. “I can flirt with you too, if you’d like?”

“Excuse you?! She is mine, my wife!” Martin calls out from behind as he walks by and circles his arms around Mandy’s waist, tugging her out the front door without stopping. Mandy reaches out and snags Hamzah by his jacket pocket, so he just gives you a helpless sort of wave as he’s dragged along outside. You blow him a kiss and then wait expectantly until Hamzah rolls his eyes and reaches out to catch the kiss in the air and put it in his pocket. Embarrassing as hell, but worth it to see your pleased little toothy smirk.

Now that he has your touch, he doesn't want to lose it. He’s starting to crave your goodbye hugs, starting to wait eagerly for the chance to feel the brush of your fingertips in the hallway. And it makes him greedy, makes him feel things he shouldn’t feel. Things he never normally feels. Things like- 

Like jealousy.

He first notices it that afternoon when he, Mandy and Martin come back from their grocery shopping for tonight’s video: baking cookies for the holidays.

But of course it ends up becoming a competition. 

The kitchen is a fucking mess. Flour dusts the counters, the floor, even the cabinets. Stray clumps of dough here and there, some of it stuck to the edges of the counter where they absentmindedly scraped it off the spatula. Okay, he’ll be honest, they just used their hands. 

A few of the cookies are lopsided, one side being over-baked and the other still doughy and undercooked. The cinnamon-sugar coating didn’t stick well on most of them, leaving patches where the cookies are bland and pale, while others are overloaded with cinnamon, making them taste more like dry spice than the soft, sweet bite of a snickerdoodle. The texture is all wrong—some are crunchy in spots, soft in others, and far too greasy, the butter not properly incorporated. In the middle of the mess, there’s one cookie that's basically just an unappetising mound of goo, its shape completely distorted by an overly eager hand that couldn’t stop squeezing it too tightly before baking.

“Oh come on! There’s no way, no way, that Martin’s is better than mine,” Hamzah runs hands through his hair, the flour smearing all over his locks. “You only say that ‘cause you guys do things to each other at night.”

Mandy pointedly ignores that comment as she chugs a glass of water to get the rancid taste out of her mouth. She could taste each individual ingredient separately as if they didn’t even bother to mix everything together.

“Okay, well, let’s bring them out! See what they think.”

The sink is a mountain of dirty dishes—a bowl crusted with sticky dough, measuring spoons caked in cinnamon, a spatula completely coated with dough that’s hardened into a thick, sticky layer. The smell of burnt butter lingers.

“Um, look, I know it’s my turn to wash the dishes but, I’m not washing all that.”

Mandy walks over to you and firmly holds your hands, “Hamzah thinks I’m being biased so now you’re the judge.” 

She tugs you towards the table. “No, Mandy,” you plead desperately as she drags and maneuvers you so you’re only just in view of the camera, a mischievous glint in her eye. “I’ll do the dishes, I swear! I’ll do anything!” 

“Aw that’s really hurtful,” Martin pouts. “We worked really hard on these.” He pushes the plate of cookies towards you. 

“Ah! Not so fast,” Hamzah interjects, spinning the plate so his side of cookies faces towards you. “You’re starting with mine. I don’t want you comparing this masterpiece to his…attempt.”

Hamzah watches you pick up the first cookie, which, frankly, looks a little better than Martin’s, and take a tentative bite. He figures the texture is at least somewhat consistent. They’re greasy, a little too crunchy on the outside, but inside, they’re edible at least. The cinnamon isn’t as wildly scattered, though a few cookies are definitely overloaded with sugar, giving them a sickly sweet aftertaste.

You catch his eye and he hopes that you can’t see the raw vulnerability behind his attempt to act cool, to act like you picking him doesn’t matter to him, when it clearly does. His jaw clenches, eyes narrowing as he waits. 

“They’re… not bad.” You say finally, nodding as you chew. Hamzah’s shoulders relax ever so slightly, his fingers twitching ever so slightly.

“Ha! They said not bad! See? See- OW!” Martin’s obnoxious gloating is abruptly ended by a swift slap to the back of the head.

Next, you reach for Martin’s batch, a lopsided, cinnamon-sugar-coated mess. It looks like something that didn’t make it past the “dough” phase. The edges are burnt, while the middle remains doughy, an inescapable combination of undercooked and overdone. You bite into it, and God help you. The dough is clumpy and sticks to your teeth. The cinnamon coating is an afterthought, uneven and mostly concentrated in one corner. Your eyes water a little from the dryness.

You manage a forced smile. “Hm. Well, Martin, your… your cookies are definitely unique.” you say, trying to keep the edge of your voice light and playful.

“Okay,” you say, dragging the word out, just enough to let the suspense build. You glance at Hamzah, and he knows that you know how badly he is waiting for your approval.  “I think—” You tilt your head, feeling the weight of everyone’s eyes on you now, “—I think Martin’s cookies are definitely better.”

No way.

Now look he’s not the best chef in the world but his cookies were marginally better than Martin’s. And he knows that you know that because Hamzah catches the briefest flicker of a smile across your face before you quickly disguise it as a cough, shifting your gaze to Martin’s loud celebration.

Hamzah clears his throat. “Yeah, well,” he mutters, his tone more hushed than before, “I guess you’d say that.” The words come out like an accusation, but the look in his eyes says something entirely different. It’s a vulnerability he can’t hide, and he knows you love that you’ve managed to push him this far. 

The second time it happens, they’re all hanging out and pregaming for tonight’s party.

Chase shoots him a look when he sits down on the couch. “Oh, he finally decides to grace us with his presence.” 

Hamzah scowls his way. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Nothing,” Chase shrugs in a not at all casual way, “just you’ve been so busy with your girlfriend lately…” 

Hamzah forgets to pretend he doesn’t know who he’s referring to. “She’s not my girlfriend, asshole.” 

“Clearly, ‘cause Claire is all over her.” 

“What-” Hamzah spins around to see you sitting with Claire and her friends today and goddamn- Claire is practically on top of you, she’s sitting so close, your sides pressed together as you both talk. It makes something hot flare in Hamzah’s mind, the slimy slither of jealousy curling down his spine. 

When he turns back around, the boys chorus an “oooh” and jostle each other like Hamzah has revealed something. 

“He’s jealous!” Martin chimes. 

“I am not,” Hamzah snarls back, looking down to hide the red flush of embarrassment on his cheeks. “They can do whatever they want.” 

“Sureee,” Chase jeers and they’re just fucking around, but Hamzah suddenly can’t take it, can’t deal with this right now. 

“Fuck you guys,” Hamzah spits, and stands up to stalk out of the room, ignoring their calls of surprise behind him. 

The thing is that it shouldn’t matter. You and Claire have started getting close ever since you arrived here. Hamzah has never given a fuck before now. It’s just-

It just feels different now.

Like there’s been… something building between Hamzah and you, these last few weeks, something smoldering and hot. And all of the sudden, he feels unsteady, like maybe he’s been imagining it. Like maybe you don't feel it too. 

Which is stupid, because you haven't done anything different, but now Hamzah can’t stop thinking about it. About every time you give a casual hug to someone, or bunch into Mandy’s backseat with the others, pressed together, or walk hand-in-hand with Claire when you’re both out window shopping. 

He can’t stop thinking about it. He spends all day thinking about it. So when you amble over outside to smoke, Hamzah feels all his emotions rise up. 

“Hey,” you say, easy as anything, because you don't know Hamzah’s spent the last four hours in his head. 

Don’t say anything, don’t say anything, don’t say anything-

“Shouldn’t you be with Claire?” Hamzah half snarls before he can stop himself, and fuck. 

Your eyebrows shoot up at his tone. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Nothing.” Hamzah stubs out his cigarette as fast as he can and backpedals. “Forget it. I’ll see you later. Or won’t. Whatever.” 

“Hamzah, wait-” 

He’s so stupid. He didn’t need to say shit, and now he’s shuffling out of the house before you can say anything else, before Hamzah can say anything else that might expose that he’s jealous. 

Him, Hamzah. Jealous. 

And for what? Just because he got a few hugs and kisses, now he doesn’t want you kissing anyone else? It’s absurd. Completely absurd.

And yet, Hamzah can’t help it. Some sick, selfish part of him wants you all to himself. 

And there’s a party tonight, a party Hamzah has no interest in going to, except- 

Well, except what if you are there and someone starts chatting you up?

That’s why he ends up crowded in with a bunch of other people at someone’s house that night, shitty cocktail in hand. 

He’s just building up a comfortable buzz when his eye catches on something in the corner of his vision. Hamzah turns automatically and-

What the fuck?

Just across the room, you and some guy he’s never seen before, looking cosy as hell on one corner of the couch, the guy leaning forward way more than necessary to hear you over the noise of the party. 

Hamzah barely feels the trickle of alcohol down his hands as he clutches his plastic cup so hard it cracks, liquor dribbling to the floor. 

He can’t drag his eyes away. 

You’re in your untouchable mood right now, Hamzah can tell. Mostly because you are dressed in tight black trousers and an even tighter red satin shirt, and your slender fingers are dripping with thin gold rings. 

You are nodding along with whatever the other guy is saying, although even from here, Hamzah can tell you’re not really listening, your eyes distant. Which should be a comfort, because you are obviously not interested in this guy, you are clearly just being polite, but where exactly does this other guy get off, sitting so close to you like that? Smiling at you like he fucking knows you at all, obviously angling himself to try to catch your eye? What the fuck? How fucking dare he? 

Hamzah is frozen in place, stupefied by the audacity. The one consoling factor Hamzah has is that they’re not touching- until the guy leans even closer, his knees bumping into yours, and he puts his fucking hand on your arm. Hamzah feels the fury in his blood heat up by a thousand percent as he watches the guy drag his fingertips along your wrist. 

And then.. 

Your gaze flickers away from that guy and goes directly across the room. Your eyes meet Hamzah’s glare. You raise one eyebrow, the question in your expression clear as day. Not a challenge, not exactly. Just a simple question.

And? What are you going to do about it? 

Hamzah clenches his jaw so hard he can hear his teeth grind. 

“Hold this.” Hamzah shoves his broken cup into the hands of whoever the fuck he was pretending to talk to and stalks across the room, everyone getting the fuck out of the way of the familiar sight of Hamzah on the warpath. When he gets close, both you and the other guy look up, the guy’s expression confused as he pulls his hand back, and you- you are smirking, your teeth bared, your little fang poking out, mocking Hamzah. 

Fuck it.  

Sometimes Hamzah is too far deep in his own head, stuck in a constant feedback loop of second guessing. 

But now Hamzah’s not thinking at all. He’s acting purely on instinct. 

Which is why when Hamzah reaches the couch he, without pausing, pulls your wrist, slinging one arm around your waist for balance, and drops you into his lap.

“Hey.” His hands go to your hips, steadying you, tugging you back so you’re more securely seated, back flush against his front.

You do not hesitate. You wrap an arm around his shoulder, pulling him closer to the crook of your neck. Hamzah’s knees knock the intruder out of the way and maybe the other guy says something, maybe he doesn’t, Hamzah wouldn’t know because his attention is 100% focused on you. 

“Hey,” you hum, satisfied, as you tip your head back onto his shoulder so you can make eye contact. 

“You doing alright?” Hamzah’s voice comes out raspier than he means to, because internally every inch of him is screaming at the amount of physical contact that is occurring right now. 

“I am now that you're here,” you say easily, your smile widening at Hamzah’s automatic eye roll and scoff. 

“Does that line usually work?” 

“Mm, I don't usually need a line.” 

And oh yeah, that’s why Hamzah came over here in the first place. 

He looks around to see that your conversation partner has disappeared, storming off in a huff while you and Hamzah were murmuring to each other. His absence means there’s room on the couch next to him now, means that you can get off his fucking lap, but Hamzah makes no move to relinquish his grip on your waist, so you lets yourself lean further back into Hamzah instead, tucking your face against his neck. 

“Hey,” Hamzah repeats, his voice rough, letting his eyes close as he subtly inhales the comforting smell of you. 

Hamzah feels your chuckle rumble through him. 

“Hamzah, are you drunk?”

“Maybe a little,” Hamzah admits, his free hand dropping down to toy with your fingers in your own lap. He’s on fire, every inch of him burning where you touch, and yet he can't get enough, needs more, always more. He hasn't even had that much to drink, not really, but this much physical contact with you is short-circuiting his brain, making it hard to think beyond the yes perfect more safe exactly warm everything yes spiral his mind keeps repeating. 

“You know everyone can see us?”

Hamzah starts to move you off of him immediately, taking your comment as a complaint, but you tighten your grip on his hair, making Hamzah whimper and go still. 

“I don't mind,” you say firmly. “I just want to make sure you don't mind.” 

And maybe the soothing of your touch has made him too comfortable, because Hamzah doesn't stop himself from saying, “Maybe I want them to see.”

He still has his face pressed against your throat, so he can’t see your reaction to his words, but he can feel the quick inhale, the way you move to intertwine your connected hands. That kind of victory is extra sweet, to pull uncontrolled reactions from you, who is normally so careful and contained. He can feel the rise and fall of your chest as you breathe and there’s something hypnotically soothing about it. Hamzah has the sudden thought that he could stay like this forever. 

It’s hard to even remember why he was so jealous, when the difference is obvious, when you look at him in a way you look at no one else. When you come alive when Hamzah’s close. 

Still, he needs to know-

“Who the fuck was that, by the way?” 

“Hmm?”

“That guy you were talking to.” 

“Oh, I have no idea.”

Hamzah’s jaw drops, pulling his head back again to stare at you incredulously as the pieces fall into place. “Were you flirting with some random guy just to lure me over here?” 

Your answering smile is unrepentant. “Why would that lure you over here?” You reach up and start to twirl a lock of hair around one finger, the picture of innocence. “Do you… not want me to flirt with other people?”

The phrasing of this sentence implies that Hamzah is a person with whom you are flirting with, a thought that makes whatever synapses were still firing in Hamzah’s poor, pathetic brain snap and go silent. Your smirk is wolfish as you wait for Hamzah to reply.

“You’re a menace.” Hamzah manages, avoiding the question. 

“You like it.” 

“I never said that.” 

“So you don't care if I flirt with other people then.”

“I never said that either.” 

You hum, your breath ghosting along Hamzah’s skin. “I’m getting some mixed messages here.” 

Hamzah huffs, his hands still holding your free hand, toying with your rings. “You know how I feel.” He pauses and licks his lips. “... You do know how I feel, right?” 

“Hmm… maybe,” you say, grinning and knocking your head lightly against Hamzah’s own when he won’t look up at you.  

Hamzah grumbles out your last name, pretending to be displeased at this response, although he’s smiling too. 

“Yes, baby?” You press a smile against Hamzah’s hair, as if that will hide it. And shit, fuck, fucking hell, you are too good at this game and Hamzah wasn’t ready, wasn't prepared to hear this term of endearment fall from your lips, so he’s not able to muffle the high pitched noise he makes in response. 

Because you’re still in his fucking lap , Hamzah can feel you laughing, your body vibrating. 

“Fuck you,” Hamzah mutters, no heat behind his words. “Asshole.” 

“That's not what the other guys say,” you say liltingly, your tone light and teasing. 

Maybe he has had more to drink than he thought, because Hamzah doesn't hesitate.

“Well, you’re not in their lap, are you?”

Hamzah can feel the stretch of your smile against the side of his head.

“I’m sorry for saying Martin’s cookies were better than yours,” you pout at him, dipping your head to the side as you run your fingernails through his scalp. 

Hamzah hums and closes his eyes, leaning into your touch. “It’s okay, I know mine were better anyway.”

“Barely,” you scoff, slowly sinking your fingers further into his hair and applying a light, but firm, pressure to his scalp, your breath ghosting over his lips.

“Oh, c’mon, you know-” 

You take advantage of his open mouth and kiss him, playing roughly with his tongue. Hamzah’s lips chase after you when you pull away. You sit up, grinning at his eagerness, as you place one hand on top of his chest.

“You’re cute,” you murmur, slow and sweet as syrup, and maybe Hamzah would feel more embarrassed if he couldn't tell that you are just as flustered as he is. Despite your steady tone, you can’t hide the way your pupils are blown wide, the way you shiver every time Hamzah shifts against you, your possessive grip on Hamzah’s hair. 

“Am not.” 

“Agree to disagree?”

“Fuck no.” 

[106alibi]

good graces ; I think shes flirting

note: written parts!

wc. ~0.6k

The glass door swung open as the bells chimed, signalling a customer had entered the cafe. the cafe was, again, oddly crowded. Does she have a thing for crowded cafes? Jeno was lucky he brought a cap with him this time. He pulled the cap lower, casting a shadow on his face that would hopefully disguise his prominent facial features. It wasn't that Jeno had crazy fans who watched his every move or begged him to stay single, Jeno just wasn't someone who liked having his private life discussed online, even if he was supposed to be used to it, being a public figure and all. He scanned the room for your figure, his eyes landing on you sitting by the counter with your chin resting on a propped up arm and the other swirling your half-drunk coffee lazily.

He paused. As he stood rooted to the ground, watching your lips form inaudible shapes and your eyes crescent into giggles at something the barista said, he found himself unable to take his eyes off you. He thought it the first time he saw you, how beautiful you were, but he wasn't going to admit that to his friends. He tore his eyes away from you to examine his own outfit. I can trust Jaemin’s fashion sense, right? He gulped, feeling his lips suddenly go dry. He didn’t know why he was suddenly so nervous. It must be his social anxiety. Or the fact that this was his first fitting ever. Right, that made the most sense.

You noticed a figure approaching from your peripheral vision, letting your laughter die down to turn to Jeno who was now standing beside you with a crooked smile on his face. You beamed back and patted the seat beside you.

“You’re here! I arrived quite early so I got myself a coffee first. Order what you want, my treat.”

You took a sip of your drink, watching as Jeno slid into the bar stool beside yoy and fumble with the pages of the menu between his fingers.

“Isn't that cap uncomfortable? The yellow lights in here aren't making things any brighter.”

You joked with a light chuckle, leaning your cheek into your palm. Frankly, you wanted him to take off his cap and reveal his face. Not to you, but to the few fans who were quite unsubtly craning their necks and casting looks, wondering if the man with the white cap was who they thought he was.

“U-um, it's fine. I feel more comfortable this way.” His hand flew up and rested on the front of his cap.

“Come on~, don't let your handsome face go to waste.”

You flashed a cheeky smile and bumped his shoulder with yours, watching as Jeno ducked his head in embarrassment, a hand immediately rubbing the back of his neck as he let out a few awkward coughs. You internally fist-bumped the air when he hesitantly took off his cap and set it on the counter, combing down his soft jet black hair with his fingers.

Yes, you did have an ulterior motive when you complimented him, but you weren't lying either. Jeno was handsome. You weren't at all surprised to find out how many fan pages he had when you did your research on him. He had just the right features befitting of a model, and you’d definitely be lying if you said you weren't the least bit attracted to him. It made your plan a lot easier.

Flirting came easy with someone you were already attracted to anyway.

You made yourself as subtly obvious as possible, masking light brushes between your hands as accidents and teasing him with playful compliments in hopes that someone would overhear you. It surprised you to realise how inexperienced Jeno seemed with how he would melt into a cherry-red, awkward coughing mess everytime you made a move. Could someone as hot as him really be inexperienced?

you didn't find an opportunity to ask him about it, having to put on your editor persona when your watch struck twelve and it was time for the studio fitting.

prev | m.list | next

a/n: IM ALIVEEEEE

taglist: @yutarot @rksbae @sevn97 @dreamiestay @raevyng @catpjimin @mrsjohnnysuh @xiuriii @minkyuncutie @jaehyunsjasmine @cookiehaos @jenoleeaesthetic @tynlvr @ohwowzersthatscool @rubiiisyeon @multifandomania @natokkiz @veilico @jeonghansshitester @jkslvsnella @jungaji @xyzsiissnnsnsjs @17ericas @elsbunny @grassbutneo @nosungluv @flamingi @xxxx-23nct @baobeii55 @shoetaroshoe @tannieflix @myballsareitchy2 @doyotint @mood-nyvy @hyuoonp @joyzluvr @livingdoll-hara @hyuck-me @zzurao @luvandletter @jae-n0 @stqrgr7 @dudekiss3r @ksywoo @kodasity @jirsungs @hibernatinghamster @blamingontheboogie @neozon3nha @catdonut657

[blackmoonowl]

Paladin Danse dating headcanons

Assuming it takes place after Blind Betrayal.

These are just random headcanons I wrote down in no specific order.

Say goodbye to going anywhere on your own. If he can he's coming with you. To keep you safe, mostly. He can't bear the idea of losing you. You're all he has left in the world, without you he feels he has no purpose.

Very protective, would give up his own life to save yours without questioning. You're the one person in his life who truly saw him as a person, not as a soldier of abomination.

A bit awkward when it comes to physical affection at first. If you hug or kiss him out of the blue he'd go completely stiff, a distinct look of surprise on his face. Make sure to build it up with him, show him it's okay to touch and be affectionate back, he'll get into it at his own pace.

Keeps things neat with military precision. This man doesn't leave messes in your house, everything is neatly put away in designated spots. He doesn't like it when you leave things strewn around either.

Needs your reassurance. He found out his entire life was a lie, and you're pretty much the only person he can rely on nowadays. His entire identity was ripped away from him, as was his purpose in the Brotherhood.

Sometimes he starts to overthink about how much of his life was real, and how much was programmed in. A dark, erratic part of him wonders if you're real sometimes. That he'll wake up one day and realize you were a false memory.

Doesn't full realize it when he gets jealous. He knows that you talking too much with other men makes him deeply uncomfortable, but it takes him a bit to understand why he feels that way. He'll straight up question you about your encounter, and his true feelings quickly become obvious.

As for you, you don't have much to be jealous about. Half of the time he doesn't understand someone is hitting on him, the other half he does but he's just not interested at all. It's like flirting with a brick wall.

Slowly opens up to the idea of ghouls and synths if you want him to. He doesn't like them, but seeing them around your settlement makes him a little more tolerant.

Gets upset if he sees the Prydwen or Brotherhood soldiers in the distance, especially in the beginning. It puts upsets him for a while, and he might shut down and give you the cold shoulder. Give him some space and then comfort him, he slowly gets over it though.

Actually likes holding you once he's comfortable. He won't do it in front of anyone, but in private he is putty in your hands. He'll stand or lay wherever and however you want if that means he gets to hold you close to him.

To add to that, he's a very light sleeper. If you pry yourself out of his grasp to do something, he wakes up almost immediately. It's like he's on constant alert.

Sometimes he wonders what it's like to have a family, but he's never brought it up. Part of him fears his nature as a synth means he won't be able to have a son or daughter to protect. But he can get behind it just being the two of you.

Scary dog privileges, especially in his power armor. It's a great intimidation factor. People generally don't try to mess with you with a strong, stoic ex Brotherhood Paladin looming over your shoulder.

[chuusheartattck]

THAT’S THAT ME ESPRESSO (TTME)

Chapter 30- It’s whatever ☕️

You were already there when you texted Xiao. You just needed extra time to mentally prepare yourself. Originally you had wanted to cut him off over text, but he didn’t deserve that. You knew it was wrong to do it over the phone.

You were sat on a bench scrolling through twitter. It was a chilly night and you should’ve brought a jacket. You felt anxiety coursing through your veins. With every passing minute your heart rate increased and you kept looking around anxiously for any sign of Xiao. You were so on edge and for what? You’re the one who called him out in the middle of the night out of the blue. He should be more nervous.

As you were scrolling through your phone, you heard footsteps approaching you. You didn’t want to look up, worried for who you were about to see. The footsteps stopped in front of you and you could only see a pair of converse in your peripheral vision. You looked up and met eye to eye with Xiao.

“Are you okay?” He asked as he sat down next to you.

You weren’t ok at all.

“Yeah.”

“Why did you want to meet up? You’re not breaking things off with me are you?” He was only half joking.

“About that,” You began. You needed to be stern about this and not beat around the bush, “You’re a really great guy and I’m sure you’ll find someone that’ll like you the way you want them to. However, that person isn’t me.”

Your voice got quieter after the last sentence. You were scared on how he was going to react. You’ve never done anything like this before and his intimidating aura didn’t make you feel any better.

He let out a small chuckle and looked away, “It’s Scaramouche isn’t it?”

Was it that obvious?

Your silence didn’t make it any better as you looked down to your hands. You didn’t know what to say. Only tension and awkwardness filled the air.

“Have you once considered how I felt?”

You looked up meeting his amber eyes. You raised an eyebrow.

“How do you think I felt every time you would talk about him? It felt like you never liked me.”

Are men always this idiotic?

It’s understandable that he feels rejected but you never told him you liked him back. You liked being his friend but he went too fast and didn’t ask you how you felt about anything.

Annoyed, you argued back with him, “You’re right, I never did. You can’t just guilt me into thinking that I never considered how you felt when you never thought about feelings. I never wanted to be more than friends with you. Yes I did find you attractive and there were times where I would flirt back, but that was it. I tried giving you a chance, I really did, but it was only after you tried convincing me to. It was never going to work out.”

He only stared back not saying a word. Probably speechless at your sudden outburst. You took this opportunity to chew him out even more, “You can’t force someone to like you if they’re infatuated with someone else. I’m sorry if you thought differently but I only wanted to be friends. You’re a fun person to talk to but nothing more.”

This time, he was the one who looked down at his hands. There was a moment of silence as he tried for find the best words to say. You felt bad for being so blunt, you did have a way with being brutally honest when you needed to.

Xiao finally spoke up, still looking down, “If that’s how you feel then so be it.” He sighed before continuing, “What’s so good about Scara anyways?”

“His impurities. The weak part of him, the goodness in him which is still a mess, but little by little, he changes, and I don’t want to miss out on those changes. I don’t get what makes him the good guy but I do know I don’t want him to disappear from my life.”

When did you turn so sappy?

“I expected it everyday since we decided to take things slow so I was nervous everyday that you were going to leave. It stings but I feel a bit relieved I don’t have to feel that way anymore.” Xiao admitted.

You’re started to feel bad for him. Did he like you that much or was he that desperate for a relationship? Either way you knew you weren’t the right person for him.

The only thing you could say was, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I shouldn’t have pressured you into anything. It was my fault that things turned out this way.”

You gave Xiao a small smile, apologized again, and quickly hugged him goodbye. You didn’t want to say anything else, afraid it was going to cause a more intense riff between you guys.

Were you satisfied with how things ended? No, not really. However, do you have any regrets? Absolutely not.

You knew you were going to have to see him at award shows and pretend you two didn’t just have a falling out. It made you sad that you lost a good friend. Maybe one day you guys could reconcile.

Masterlist II Previous II Next

A/N: End of act 3!! Literally 10 more chapters till ttme finishes 😨😨 Hopefully act 4 will make up for all the pain and suffering you guys endured while reading this 🥰 I would also like to apologize to team xiao. Anyways!! Chapter 32 will have major scarayn so be prepared 😜

ALSOOO lmk if you guys want your users to be added to this au and i’ll make you a twitter user :)

Synopsis: You’re a new idol that just debuted under ‘Fontaine Entertainment’ with your new single ‘Espresso.’ You just graduated high school which means all your classmates are shocked to see you into stardom. Including your old situationship, who happens to be an actor.

Taglist: @skyoverkill1 @quacking-simp @lolmeowing @astro-stars @kaitfae @sl-vega @scarawiki @yuminako @samyayaya @skyvella @kur0kki @practicoi @kukikoooo @scaraenthusiast1 @shutingstar @lloovvv @moonjellyfishie @miy-svz @xionri @lalalaloveallmydays @hearts4lizzzz @kathiwis @state-of-grac3 @morgyyyyyyy @scaradooche @theyluvkatt @meigalaxy @noirechomps @crimxeorcremeexistspeacefully @vxcmx @ariesloves @cayl33n @animeobsessed56 @heartsforni-ki @feikyuu @ichcocat @strayharmony943 @chscklvr @kunikissr @jiminscarmex @sp1ng @bananasquash @aceakariii @thegalaxyisunfolding @ariilies @hisfuture @automaticpatroltragedy @sartrst @cheriswag @kokomiskiss @albedomestic-airline @lxkeeeee @sundays-prince @wvvyq @amurotoorudesu

[iid-smile]

☆★☆ (UN)LUCKY SYNDROME !!

★ CONTENT — yukimiya kenyu x manager!gn!reader, fluff, pre relationship, university au, the reader got stood up on a date (not by him), awkward confession

☆ WORD COUNT — 0.7k

★ 1K EVENT !! — kart no. 3 ★

half time.

while everyone else headed elsewhere to refresh, yukimiya went straight over to you. you wish sometimes you'd be able to talk to him about matters outside of football, but alas, you're the team's manager and you don't share any classes.

it was only an innocent chat; something about his performance on the pitch lacking. sure, it was noticeable, but you wouldn't tell him that. he's a passionate player, strove on by the single dream of being the best striker. you wouldn't want to be the person who accidentally crushes his hopes and wishes.

but soon, things started to shift.

you had mutual friends and are closely acquainted with each other, so luckily it wasn't all that awkward having some more casual chit-chat. what was bad was how quickly some secrets spread; not that this particular one was secret, but you'd rather it had not ended up in his hands of all people.

the infamous tale of how you got stood up on a date.

it was recent too! everyone in your friend circle was excited for you, considering it was your first date this year, but no good news came out of it.

"i heard he didn't show up?" great way to start things off, yukimiya.

"yeah, but it's fine, really. i get it, exams and all. not the best idea going to a bar in the middle of the night."

"you could've just asked me to go with you instead, even if it was late." so he's playing this game, huh? the "i know he doesn't like me, but why does it feel like he's flirting?" game.

"i appreciate it, but..." you fiddle idly with the pen in your hands, trying not to freak out and say the wrong thing. "i'm sure you wouldn't want to either way. you're out of my league." the smile on your face quickly vanishes. ah... that was a slip of the tongue.

"i'm sure i would take you out." he casually says as if it's the most normal thing ever. in fact, it doesn't even look like he's realised what he's said — or what you've said — just staring out into the field as he takes a swig of water from his bottle.

at first, it skims over your head. he would take you out? funny joke. he's literally a model and a top player for the university across all sports. or would be a (not so) funny joke if he was actually laughing.

...or maybe he wasn't kidding? it didn't even sound like he was talking about when you got stood up.

as the weight of his words sinks in, your head turns slowly toward him, eyes wide with dawning realisation. "...what?" you’re more than taken aback by this entire conversation, wondering how your voice managed to emerge at all amid the shock, rather than just a mere whisper.

he takes a moment of silence, letting the tension hang in the air. then, he slides his glasses off, the movement almost effortlessly captivating. as his fingers weave through his damp locks, his eyebrows furrowing before he finally responds to you. "what?" his eyes move towards your figure, but it's not like he could see you all that well.

midway through putting his glasses back on, he manages to catch your flustered and slightly disturbed expression through his lens. his gaze flutters around in thought, confused by your confusion, but only seconds later did it finally register what he said to you.

"oh."

"..."

"..."

"well, i messed that up..."

and you both stayed there in silence. awkward... awkward! what were you supposed to say now? there's no way you could just move on from such a comment.

out of nowhere, yukimiya breaks the silence, his voice wavering with uncertainty this time. "can i still take you on that date, or...?"

"i mean, yeah! yeah, of course." you answer almost too quickly. the manager side of you can't help but be a little evil. "if..."

"if?"

"if you score a goal for me."

a spark of surprise flickers in his eyes as he processes the unexpected preposition. a playful smirk slowly spreads across his lips, hinting at a mix of amusement and intrigue. "i'll take that challenge."

he didn't score a single goal. you still went on a date after that match anyway, so you're both winners in this situation.

[snazzynacho]

In Common

Quinn Mossbacher x female oc

Chapter 1/?

Summary: Aleena notices a boy around her age stuck on a level in a game she's played. She offers her help, and a lovely friendship turned romance blossoms between them.

Fandom: The White Lotus (Season 1)

Tags: rated Y/A fanfic basically, romance, friendship, slowburn (I’ll try), clean romance, awkward flirting, Quinn is autistic.

Read on ao3

Aleena and her grandad are staying at the White Lotus hotel.

For the past half an hour she’s been swimming in the pool while he’s probably off talking his head off with someone.

She’s thankful to get some piece and quiet. She loves her grandad but he’s always talking even when she has headphones on.

Twisting her body around to pick up her cup of apple juice she left on the poolside, she finishes her drink. As she does, her ears twitch at the sound of a familiar melody. She turns and her gaze falls on the boy her age, swwading in the water, holding up his phone in his right hand and a Nintwndo Switch in the other. The Switch plays an iconic Stardew Valley song which Aleena instantly recognises as the sound played in the mines.

He seems to be stuck on a level in the mines and she decides to offer help.

He veers around in the water at the sound of her voice giving him advice. His blue eyes look startled and Aleena feels a guilty churn in her stomach for scaring him.

He quickly turns back to his game and she drifts to the side of the pool to leave, deciding she’s embarrassed herself enough for today. Before she leaves, she hears a voice call out.

“Thanks, I’ve been struggling with this for a while…I kept dying and then losing all my shit in the mines! How did you beat it?” He looks at you as he puts his Switch down on the poolside which Alewna cringes at. Isn't he scared of getting it wet?!

“Uhh, by spending months screaming and trying not to throw the Switch across the room,” she chuckles, holding onto the onto the pool edge “but I eventually got there,”

He chuckles a little at her answer and glimpses at his Switch, remembering himself trying desperately all those times to finish the level for weeks. He smiles at her determination and then back at her.

“Well, you must be really good, because this level has been a nightmare. Those Crave Flies are horrible!”

“Right?! The noise they make makes my stomach churn…” she grimaces, swaying in the water closer to him.

He glances back at his Switch before turning to look at her with an intrigued look on his face.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,”

He looks at her for a moment but is slightly hesitant to ask for the question. Eventually he decides to ask anyway, not being sure how she is going to take it.

“How old are you?”

“That is what you’re asking?” Aleena can't help but snort a laugh. “You know you shouldn't ask a lady that-” she feigns offence but the look on his face tells her he doesn't know she is joking. “I'm kidding. I’m Seventeen. Why?”

He then looks down at the shimmering pool water, watching the ripples of sunlight dance on it, thinking for a few moments before he continues. “No reason…just wondering why someone like you would approach someone like me.“

“What do you mean?”

He thinks about it for a moment, before speaking. “It was just a little surprising. I wasn’t really expecting a complete stranger to help me at first. No one my age really wants anything to do with me,” he looks over at his Switch, cursing to himself for being so open and honest with a stranger.

She shrugs. “To be fair, it was bugging me how many times you were messing up,”

He laughs and it warms her heart for some reason. His eyes drift to her brown ones and back to the Nintendo Switch again. He then notices that he completely forgot to ask her name. “Wait-“ he says, looking back at her. “What’s your name?”

“What’s yours?”

He lets out a small laugh, at her counteract. “It’s Quinn. Yours?”

“Aleena,” she beams.

Quinn smiles, determining that her name is pretty and fitting. He looks back at his Switch again, still a little hesitant about asking a question that has been lingering on his mind for a while. “Can I ask you something else?”

“You know, you don’t have to ask that every time?”

Quinn laughs a little sheepishly at her statement, learning that he does have a habit of asking permission to ask a question. “I guess I do say that a lot, huh?”

“It’s fine,” Aleena giggles. “What were you gonna ask?”

Quinn lets out another small laugh, more of a nervous one this time, as he rubs the back of his neck, wondering how exactly to ask this question.

“Uh- well, I was wondering if…if you maybe wanted to go hang out together while we’re staying here…like, as friends?”

“Sure! It’s nice to finally find a gamer out in the wild,” she smiles. “What’s your Switch username by the way?” She asks as she leaves the pool to retrieve her switch from her bag, drying off first.

He seems to follow her lead, as he gets out the pool too, sitting on the empty lounge chair next to hers.

Quinn looks at Aleena with excitement at her willingness to hang out. He grabs his Switch to share his username with you. “It’s uh- Moss19. What’s yours?”

“Turtleena. T-U-R-T-L-E-E-N-A,”

He laughs at your username for a moment, amused by it, before looking back up at you with a smile. “Nice username. I’m gonna add you as a friend. I’m guessing you like Turtles?”Quinn clicks on the button to add her as a friend. His Switch makes an affirming sound when it obliges. He grins and looks back at Aleena. “There. We’re friends now.”

“Yay, thanks, I’m adding you too. And yeah, you could say that,” she chuckles, fiddling with the stitched corner of her purple towel. “Do you like Moss, then?” Aleena jokes but before either of them can say another word, her grandad calls for her from across the pool.

Quinn looks around when hearing her grandad hollering for her at the other end of the pool. He looks back at her and gives a sympathetic look as well as a shrug. “Guess you have to go?”

“Yeah, sorry.” she shoves her switch back into her bag, grabbing her pink towel to wrap herself with. “Well, I’ll see you around. Can you even message people on a switch? Or can you only text on a phone? Oh, here’s my number anyway,” she rambles on and uses a piece of her towel to wipe the chlorine water off his arm, and scribbles her number on his arm using a glittery pen she found in the bottom of her bag.

Quinn watches as she scribbles her number onto his arm, like etching a tattoo, completely endeared by her rambling. He admires her work of tattoo artistry on his arm, the sparkly red ink contrasts against his pale skin with every stroke.

“No worries, I’ll message you. And…yeah, you can message through the Switch. Can’t call or anything though,” he’s surprised he can keep his cool, at her touch.

“Oh right. Of course.” she stands in front of him kind of awkwardly, not wanting to leave. “Well, bye Quinn” she smiles once more, waves, and walks away.

Quinn smiles at Aleena, giving a small wave back, a bit surprised at her slight hesitation to leave, before watching her walk off to her grandad.

Sitting back in the chair where he was previously sitting, Quinn stares up at the blue sky with a small smile plastered on his face.

The smile quickly fades as he realises he never told her his age, and he might seem weird in not doing so after asking her how old she is. He sits back up and yells, “I’m sixteen by the way!”

Aleena whips her head around at the sound of Quinn’s voice from a few metres away, not quite registering why he has said that, at first.

“Oh, okay!” she shouts back, and laugh to yourself. These two are one awkward pair, and Aleena loves it.

__________

YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE, TO STEAL OR TO REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS.

A/N: I headcanon that Quinn plays Minecraft, Stardew Valley, Animal Crossing, and Mario Kart on his switch. (these are the only games I play either lol.) And I headcanon that he obviously has an Xbox at home.

[vallification]

"womanly advice" // JJK AU PT. 2!

incl: satoru gojo, suguru geto, nanami kento, choso kamo (all separate)

content: fluff, flirting, kissing, confessions, drinking

wc: 5.5k

please like, reblog, and tell me your thoughts!!!

satoru gojo

the plan was to meet gojo at the park saturday evening, which gave you wednesday night, all of thursday, all of friday, and the majority of saturday to gather your thoughts (AKA have a silent, 64 hour anxiety attack) before talking to him. both of you figured that it was a good idea to wait until the meeting to say anything else, completely cutting communication between the two of you until saturday. in theory, it was a good idea, but in practice, it completely sucked.

from thursday morning when you last spoke to him to now, friday night, you’ve felt stuck in place. for the past eight hours, you've been sitting on your couch, wrapped up in a blanket, mindlessly entranced in the worst c-list movie marathon you’ve ever seen as you anxiously await saturday evening, just as you have been since thursday. although the exchange of apologies between you and gojo alleviated some of your anxiety regarding your friendship, it didn’t do anything to clarify what actually happened. the actual conflict.

what if he says that he was just messing with you? what if he says he was just teasing you because you’ve been so dodgy and moody? what if he starts telling you about the actual person he’s been referencing to in regards to your advice? what if you acted this way for nothing because he can’t even pick one out of the hordes of women wrapped around each of his long, calloused fingers? what if what if what if what if what if—?

three soft knocks on the front door of your apartment interrupt your mind’s endless cycle of what ifs. it’s half past midnight, and you’re not expecting anyone, but you assume that it’s shoko. on occasion, she’d show up to your apartment to stay over when she couldn’t get to sleep at her own, but surely she’s not calling it a night already, right? who knows, you think to yourself as you make your way to let her in, unassuming and oblivious to who’s actually standing just outside your door.

“hey,” gojo greets, his voice as lively as usual. hanging from one of his strong arms is a few plastic convenience store bags, which you’re sure are filled to the brim with various sweets, and there’s something so distinctly him about that fact that you almost smile. a black hoodie, gray sweats, and sneakers have replaced his usual day clothes, the latter being the only thing distinguishing his outfit from pajamas. if you weren’t so shocked by his random, unplanned visit, you’d wonder if they are his pajamas.

one of his large hands rubs at the back of his neck where his undercut meets smooth, pale skin as he awaits your reply, but you can’t manage anything more than a near silent, “hey.”

“i know we planned to meet tomorrow, but i couldn’t sleep, so…” he trails off, nervously switching his weight from foot to foot on your welcome mat. to prevent any further embarrassment from your mumbling idiocy, you clear your throat and try to form a sentence.

“that’s— no, it’s fine, satoru. is everything okay? did something happen?” idiot. obviously he would have called if something actually happened. you hope he doesn’t see the way you cringe at yourself, but he does. “do you want to come in?”

“everything’s fine,” gojo reassures, now shoving his hands in the pocket of his hoodie to pick at the rough, peeling skin near his nails. “can i? i mean, i could have picked a better time to show up. would’ve been super awkward if you had someone over,” he huffs with a humorless (okay, slightly humored) laugh.

“oh yeah, like who? my mom?” you play along, attempting to ease both gojo’s nerves and your own. moving to open the door further, you step aside and gesture for him to enter, and you realize you’re in your own ragtag set of “pajamas,” consisting of an old stained t-shirt and boxer-style shorts. embarrassing. gojo grins down at you as he steps in, and to evade his eyes you make a show of locking the door once you close it.

“mmm, definitely wouldn’t be your mom. she’s at my place,” gojo replies coolly, still wearing that stupid grin, pushing his black blindfold up to his hairline like a headband. “she’s had a looooong day.”

squinting your eyes as you inspect him, looking up and down his figure once, twice, three times, you shake your head and wince. “surely not that long,” you sing-song.

as gojo kicks off his shoes by the door, you make the most of his occupied time and head back to your spot on the living room couch, wrapping yourself back up in your blanket. being able to banter back and forth has calmed you down enough to not feel like you’re submerged in liquid nitrogen, but you’re 85% sure your socks have holes in them, so you cover up anyway.

“you’d be surprised,” gojo sing-songs back, his eyes shallowly scanning what he can see of your apartment as he slowly makes his way to join you on the couch. it’s clean, he notes, nice and neat, but still warm and lived-in. it smells good, too, courtesy of your candle addiction. from where you sit, he looks like a giant, towering over your couch before plopping down to sit, dropping the plastic bags between the two of you.

“i doubt it,” you reply, outwardly smug but inwardly screaming. nervous, your fingers find and pick at a loose thread at the corner of your blanket, trying to find something to pour their antsy energy into. time to change the subject. “anyway, you’re like, the king of sleeping. why can’t you fall asleep?”

“well,” he starts, pausing for the sound of crinkling plastic as he opens a pack of blue gummy sharks, placing one on your covered knee, and tossing two into his mouth. “i can’t stop thinking about you.”

the way gojo says it makes it sound so simple, so matter-of-fact, as if it wasn’t a confession of some sort. part of you wonders if he’s still teasing you, because you know that he knows how to make even the slyest people seem the most gullible, and everyone knows that vulnerability is not something he’s partial to. you don’t say anything back, but you gingerly pick up the gummy shark and bite off its tail.

“i’m also confused,” gojo says once he swallows his mouthful of blue gummy sharks, proceeding to throw two more into his mouth and place one on your knee. he’s carefully inspecting another gummy, tracing its elementary-level anatomy with his eyes to keep them busy and away from you as he talks. “why did it make you so upset when i said it was you?”

and there it is, laid bare and plain in the space between you. it’s your turn to speak because you know that question isn’t rhetorical, but you don’t let the pressure con you into a rushed answer. as you think, you bite at the poor inside of your bottom lip, a bad habit which will definitely leave it raw and sore tomorrow.

“because it felt like you said it as a joke,” you answer before biting the tail off of the second shark. “like you think the possibility of that is so low that it’s funny.”

more silence ensues. it’s tense, but not tense in the same way last friday night was tense. it’s not aggressive, awkward, or commanding, but rather nothing more than a side effect of the earnesty of the situation. another blue gummy shark is placed on your knee.

“why would it be a joke?”

“why would it not be? you know that you’ve got some of the most beautiful, smart, talented women in the world wrapped around your fingers,” you reply plainly, neither snarky nor sappy. when you look up from your fidgeting hands, gojo is inspecting another gummy. “and you know that i have feelings for you. it could be framed as a joke.”

“i didn’t know that you had feelings for me,” crinkling plastic noises, “these things are good as fuck.”

that makes you both laugh, cutting through the solemnity in the room. in a weird way, your own confession feels like nothing at all— not shameful, or embarrassing, or compromising—just matter-of-fact as its weight rolls off of your shoulders. you rest your head against the cushions of the back of the couch as you stare at gojo, appreciating the way his makeshift headband keeps his soft white hair away from his face.

“is that why you were upset before?” gojo asks, setting the last blue gummy shark in the pack on your knee next to the others. “you thought i was talking about someone else?”

“when you say it like that it sounds dumb.”

“were you jealous?”

“no,” deny, deny, deny. obviously you were jealous, and he knows that now, telling by the same shit eating grin from earlier. if you look close enough, the very tips of his ears dust a light pink, while your entire face flushes beet red. “i don’t get jealous.”

“i think you do.”

suguru geto

beside you on the couch, geto looks effortlessly flawless. the top half of his silky black hair is tied back as usual, but he’s got on a plain white t-shirt and black joggers, the former just tight enough to cling to his biceps and stretch over his shoulders. now that you’re sober, it’s harder to look at him than it is to look away from him, so you sit with your whole body turned to him, your legs tucked up to your chest.

“you know, i never took you as somebody so clueless,” geto starts, leaning back into the couch with one hand behind his head, his bent arm showing off how his bicep is just that much bigger than his shirt sleeves. it’s hard not to be distracted, but his comment pulls your eyes from his muscular arm to his face.

“what?” confusion crowds your features, scrunching up your nose and stitching your eyebrows together.

“i mean, really. everything has just,” his free hand swipes over his head with a quick, light whistle, “right over your head. you know that?”

“i don’t get it,” you reply, your confusion continuing to build when geto offers everything but context. the cogs in your brain are working overtime in an attempt to prove him wrong, but… well, he’s right. in regards to romance, you are clueless. all he does is laugh this time, that same low, sultry laugh that had you glued to your barstool. “okay, i think you’re just bullying me now. did you come here to be mean to me or to let me apologize for making things weird?”

“weird?” geto muses, an almost invisible smirk tugging at his lips, now looking up to the ceiling. for a few seconds, you study his sharp side profile, and the way his adam's apple bobs in his throat when he swallows, but you tear your eyes away quickly when he tilts his head to look at you again. “i think that’s where we’re miscommunicating.”

“you know what? you are really, really bad at having open and honest conversations,” you say, your tone comparable to jabbing a finger at his chest. “i’m the clueless one but you’re the one making this difficult.”

“i’m trying to let you figure it out on your own,” he laughs, readjusting himself to face you and pulling one leg up to lay flat on the couch, bent at the knee so he’s sitting half-crisscrossed. “should i just be honest? or is your mom going to call again?”

huff. your cheeks blossom pink, and you look down at your hands in embarrassment at being called out. “she might call. it depends on what you say,” you murmur.

“are you going to avoid looking at me the whole time i’m here?”

“start talking or i’m dragging you out of my apartment, suguru.”

“i knew what i was doing that night, you know. i’m not oblivious to the effect i had on you,” he says, dipping his head down in an attempt to catch your eyes. geto’s expression seems sincere but no less smug than it has been, reflective of the way he looked at you the night this situation began. “there was no other girl, either. i just wanted to know what you liked, so i figured asking for your ‘advice’,” finger quotes,”would be the best way to find out.”

from your side of things, geto’s words drop in front of you like a bag of bricks. cinderblocks, really, a loud, metaphorical “thud” reverberating through your brain the moment his words sink in. his honesty, while refreshing, overloads your brain, and as you sit there, blank-faced and speechless, geto begins to elaborate.

“i admit that i came off pretty strong, but i figured i’d have to since you’d been avoiding me that whole week,” he laughs. “i think i did a pretty good job, though.”

“i…” you trail off, flicking through your memory of an entire language for a set of words to accurately describe how you’re feeling, or what you’re thinking, but eventually you settle for anything that manages to come out. “i am clueless. was clueless. i think my mom is going to call me again.”

“is she? does she have to?” without taking his eyes off of yours, geto leans forward, subtracting from some of the space left between the two of you. this close, you can almost smell his entire shower routine— his warm, boozy body wash, his bright, clean shampoo, his warm, musky cologne, the bite of aftershave, something creamy—

your thoughts are falling out of order with his face so close to yours. geto’s eyes fall to your lips, and yours fall to his, but you turn away before he can even think about closing the gap between them. your face feels like it’s on fire, your cheeks burning impossibly red, no doubt totally visible to the man before you. he doesn’t look away, though, instead bringing his gentle fingertips to your chin to bring your attention back to him. geto’s voice drops to a whisper, so soft, his words only for your ears.

“you don’t feel the same way?”

“i-i never— that’s— i never said, um— i do feel the, uh, the same way, so—“

“can i kiss you?” jesus christ, this sentence brings you to your metaphorical knees, breaking any and all of your resolve to not melt like ice cream in his hands. you nod, just once, and geto nods back in confirmation.

when his lips meet yours, it’s nothing like what you expected. what you expected was excitement, eagerness, too much too fast; when his lips meet yours, his kiss is so soft, so sure, so slow that you’re unsure if you’ll still be on earth after it ends. the moment geto pulls away, you’re scared that you’re going to sob, but you don’t. you don’t make a sound at all.

“okay,” geto whispers, his minty breath breezing over your lips. “see you monday.”

your eyes pop open, searching his face in confusion.

“what? why? where are you going?” you watch geto stand and stretch, trying to pay little mind to the sliver of exposed skin when his shirt rides up, before he starts making his way to the door.

“we talked this out, yeah? i know what i need to know, you know what you need to know. it’s late,” geto says coolly, slipping on his shoes and snatching his keys off of the small table by your front door. you scramble off of the couch and over by the door, flustered, standing a few feet away from him. geto grins as he stares down at you, halfway out the door. “things would’ve gotten out of hand.”

nanami kento

one thing nanami did get right was that it was a shame that you didn’t get that necklace. in the mirror, you take note that your neck looks too bare in your velvety black dress, but none of the necklaces in your collection meet the standards of what would look best decorating the empty space. however, you figure it doesn’t matter too much— instead of a necklace, you decide to pin in some dangly earrings, complementing the updo your hair is so meticulously done up in.

you spritz your wrists and neck with perfume before taking one last look at yourself in the mirror, now suddenly aware of how quickly 8:30 is approaching. your phone has yet to light up with a message at 8:27, which is slightly worrying… you took nanami as being one to appreciate punctuality to the point of always being early, but maybe he got caught up in something.

switching your closet light on, you tip-toe to reach a box at the top shelf containing one of the best gifts you’d ever bought yourself: a shiny black pair of louboutins. it’s rare that you get to wear them, but you figure that if you’re going to wear them anywhere, it’s out to wherever nanami plans on taking you. each heel slips on perfectly, neither too snug nor too loose, and a younger part of your brain thinks you feel like cinderella.

once you take a few practice steps in your heels, you’re good to go, slinging your purse over your shoulder and checking your phone again. 8:29 and nothing.

and then one minute later, someone knocks on the door.

the same smile from the jewelry store spreads across nanami’s face when you open the door, pearly white teeth showing, the left side of his mouth cocked up a bit further than the right, something you hadn’t noticed then but impossible to miss now. from behind his back he produces a beautiful bouquet of red roses, the kind wrapped in paper, not plastic, secured with a pink silk bow. his eyes, uncovered by his usual glasses, look you up and down in a way that feels honoring instead of exposing.

“i didn’t know you’d come up to my door,” you murmur shyly, entranced in the warmth of nanami’s expression. “i figured you’d text me when you got here… are those for me?”

“of course they are,” he says, his smile seeping into his voice before taking a step back so you can step forward, holding his hooked elbow out for you to take. “what man would make you walk out to his car alone? i certainly wouldn’t.”

“oh— shit, i have to grab my wallet first, nanami. i left it in the kitchen,” but before you can take another step further into your apartment, you swear that he glares daggers at you, almost as if to say ‘you’d better not go any further.’

“no need. why would you need it?” nanami muses almost smugly, gesturing again for you to take his arm. you say nothing back, too busy thanking whichever gods can hear you out there for whoever raised such a gentleman. instead, you lock the door and take nanami’s arm, your hand resting at the crook of his elbow.

“so… i know you said she may not like this, but think of this as a practice date for me,” nanami watches your expression falter when he says that, and if he had less resolve, he’d fall to his knees and apologize right there. however, it’s for the plot. “i haven’t been on a good date in years. if tonight goes well, i’ll know i’m ready to make my move. what do you think?”

despite the dull ache of dejection in your chest, you smile and nod. “i think that’s a good idea, nanami. it’s very important to be prepared, especially if you like her as much as you seem to.”

the short trip to his car is over before the two of you want it to be, but it ends with nanami opening your door for you and ushering you into the passenger seat like a true gentleman. you don’t think you’ve been treated this well by anybody cumulatively, and you haven’t even been on the actual date yet. it only takes nanami a few seconds to get to the driver’s side of the car, but once you’re inside, you can’t help but peek into the backseat. behind the driver’s seat on the floorboard is a small gift bag with the jewelry store’s logo on it. jealousy swarms in your chest, but before you can feel any worse, the driver’s side door opens and it’s time to go.

“you look beautiful, by the way.”

-

you and nanami spent three of the best hours of your life at one of the finest, most beautiful restaurants in tokyo. the food was amazing, the champagne was better, but the conversation was the best part of the entire date. you don’t think you’ve ever laughed so hard, or blushed so much, or felt so heard. it’s all courtesy of nanami, but there’s no doubt that the entire bottle and a half of champagne shared between the two of you helped a little. well, you had much more than him— but nanami still had to call someone to drive the two of you home.

before you know it, the two of you are back to standing by the front door of your apartment. the humidity and the alcohol have done a number on your updo and your makeup, and the left strap of your dress is slipping off of your shoulder, but nanami swears he’s never seen something more beautiful in his life. he’s not in much better shape— his collar is half-popped, his tie is loose, and his neatly combed hair has fallen forward, lying freely on his forehead. to anyone else, it may look as if your date went too well.

it was hard to remember to grab the small gift bag from his backseat, yet somehow he managed not only that, but hiding the bag behind his back all the way from the car to the door. you’re both fighting a laugh at nanami’s last joke as you unlock your door, loudly shushing him through your giggles for plausible deniability should your neighbors complain the next day.

“i—“ hiccup, “i think i’d count this as a success,” nanami says, swaying on his feet as you finally unlock your door. “would you?”

“nanami, this was, like, not only the best date i’ve ever been on,” giggle,” but probably the most fun i’ve ever had. like, ever!” okay, too loud. the both of you fall silent for several seconds, staring at each other wide eyed as you listen for any complaints, before devolving into laughter once again.

“soooo… would you want to do it again?” nanami tries to slip that into the conversation coolly, not wanting to disrupt your giggles. please say yes. please say yes please say yes please say yes—

“… what?” you say, wondering if he’s the one who drank so much instead of yourself. “i thought you just needed one practice date?”

“mmm… i was kind of… umm, practicing for you, with you,” he says, now more than ready to abandon ship based purely on your reaction. “‘s okay if it’s a no. we had a really, really great time ‘n i’m glad.”

“wait, what?” none of this is registering in your brain at all, staring up at nanami with wide, drunk, glassy eyes. “it’s me? i’m the girl?”

“… well, yes,” nanami says, his voice starting to become much softer, much more withdrawn. “is that not okay?”

if you were sober, you swear you’d be jumping for joy. instead, you tip-toe and throw your arms around nanami’s neck, trying not to squeal in his ear but failing miserably. his eyes widen at the sudden development in physical contact, but his hands instinctively move to your waist to make sure you don’t fall down.

choso kamo

okay, maybe you’re a little heavy handed with the booze. it wouldn’t be so bad if you had just measured how much tequila you were pouring into the blender, or if you had poured the frozen margarita mixture into smaller cups instead of two huge cups with straws, one for you and one for choso, but alas. the two of you lay stretched out on your stomachs over his bed, a playstation controller in your hands and another in his, as you both poorly attempt to play mortal kombat. neither of you are doing anything remotely close to purposeful as you press the buttons, but somehow choso keeps winning.

“okay, no fuckin’ way you’re not cheating!” you accuse, overflowing with giggles as you let the controller fall to the floor. choso sits up on his knees, slurping his margarita through his straw as he celebrates his fourth win in a row.

“sorry ma’am, ‘s a skill issue,” he teases between sips, watching as your jaw drops.

“you’ve been playin’ too many games with yuji, sir!”

“maybe you should get good, ma’am!”

“think ’m too drunk t’ play any more video games anyway,” you sigh, sitting up to grab your own drink. choso nods in agreement and stands to turn off the playstation, letting the tv switch back to the blank input screen.

it had been a long time since the two of you drank together, especially so much, which was reminiscent of your college days when you would steal liquor from your parent’s house just to drink with choso in the alley behind your dorm. this time around, you can see the way the alcohol makes him flush pink, starting at the tips of his ears all the way down his neck, dipping lower to his chest where your eyes can’t see.

“maybe we can watch a movie ‘n here?” choso asks, grabbing the remote to his tv from his nightstand. “i don’ think we can safely walk over yuji ‘n his friends.”

“might trip,” you mumble, moving up to the head of the bed to rest your back against choso’s headboard. “let’s watch something funny.”

“wait, i kinda wanna play a game,” choso interrupts, plopping himself down next to you at the head of his bed. he uses one of the two hair ties on his wrist to pull his hair into one ponytail at the back of his head to get it off of his neck— drinking makes him feel hot. if you weren’t so drunk, you’d realize that he’s being kind of shifty, almost as if he’s nervous. “yuji told me i should play it ‘cause i haven’t before.”

you whine, a pout forming on your face. “you just turned off the playstation.”

“no, no! not that kind of game. truth or dare,” he says excitedly, and there’s a little voice in your head saying No. no no no no no, that it may be a fun game to play in a group setting, or with someone you’re not secretly in love with, but unfortunately you can’t say no when he looks that excited. plus, another little voice in your head says Yes. yes yes yes yes yes, you can torture yourself by finding out information about who choso wants.

“mmmm… okay, fine. you know how to play?” big sip of your drink to cushion any blows this game might throw in your direction. crisscrossing your legs, you sit up straight, holding one of choso’s pillows in your lap for comfort so your cold cup doesn’t touch your bare legs.

“yes. kinda,” he says, mirroring your position on the bed. “i wanna go first. truth or dare, ma’am?”

“hmmm… dare, sir.” choso cheers quietly when you pick dare, and it makes you laugh. he takes a few moments to think, even aha!ing once or twice before shaking his head no before he lands on a dare. when he finally shares his dare for you, you almost choke on your drink.

“okay. i dare you to tell me who you like.”

“m-me? who i like?” you stammer, completely caught off guard by the new, sudden change in direction. there wasn’t a guarantee that he wouldn’t say something like this, but you never expected it— from him, at least. choso had never been interested in your love life, and it was a fairly new thing for him to share his.

“yes. and you can’t lie or skip it because yuji said that’s cheating.”

“i don’t… i don’t like anyone,” liar. choso’s not entirely convinced either, dramatically raising a skeptical eyebrow at your response. although your face was already dusted a light pink, your cheeks now glow bright red, and you can’t bring yourself to look at him.

“was that a lie?” choso prods, dropping his head down to try and meet your eyes. “i think you just lied to me!”

“no! not a lie!” Liar. choso’s jaw drops, hanging slack in disbelief at the audacity you have to lie, and then lie about lying.

“i think we’re too drunk to play this game,” you say, placing your cup on the floor next to his bed. there’s nothing in it that you need, especially when you nearly fall off of the bed putting it on the floor. thankfully, one of choso’s big, rough hands grabs onto your leg before you can slip. that doesn’t help your case either.

“what? no, i’m not. i don’t think you are either. we’re drunk but not too drunk,” he corrects, and he’s right, and he knows you know he’s right. “if you tell me, i’ll tell you.”

“you tell me first and i’ll tell you.”

“what?! it was your dare!”

“if you don’t tell me first i won’t tell you! i’m… too embarrassed,” you murmur, hoping, praying, begging that he’ll drop this, but if anyone’s going to back down, it’s not going to be him. choso squints at you from where he sits across from you.

“why are you embarrassed? do i know him? do i not like him?”

“what? no. i mean, i guess you know him? i’d hope you like him. stop stalling! you have to tell me first or i won’t tell you.”

the both of you fall silent in a standoff, your stares the weapon of choice for this fight, and for several

moment’s you’re sure that choso will be the one to break. he’ll get tired of the quiet and this conversation will be left for another day, or will never be picked up again, but… part of you doesn’t want him to give this up. you want to know, but not before he knows.

“i like you,” choso declares, his chin held high and his eyes still participating in your weird duel. he’s definitely blushing, but other than that, he shows no sign of embarrassment, or shame, or fear… he’s also not laughing. when you don’t say anything, choso keeps talking. “i like you a lot. in, like, more than a friend way. that’s why i wanted to play truth or dare.”

“i, um… i thought that—“

“holdonholdonhe’stellingher—“ creaaaaaaaak. THUD. “—shhh!”

both of your faces immediately turn bright red, heads snapping towards the door that was previously left cracked two or three inches, which is now swung wide open. three sets of footsteps run down the hallway as you jump up from choso’s bed to slam the door shut, locking it afterwards just to be safe. you want to slam your head through the thin wooden door, but instead, you rest your burning forehead against its smooth surface.

“… was this his idea?” you ask, your voice wobbling from such an extreme level of embarrassment that you think you might cry. from behind you, you can hear a small ‘yes.’ “did he tell you to dare me to tell you who i like?” another small ‘yes.’

instead of saying anything else, you take a deep breath and force your weak, trembling legs to carry you back to choso’s bed. you stand at the side he’s sitting on, staring into his amber colored eyes which stare back into yours, both held wide and shifting nervously before placing a hand on each side of his face.

however, it’s choso that moves first, almost violently bringing his lips to yours, and it’s like a supernova explodes behind your eyes— thousands and thousands of colors, lights, sounds, feelings you’ve never felt before flood your senses, and within a second you’re melting into him. choso moves so that you’re standing between his legs, his hands moving in tandem to rest on your waist, trapping you where you stand so that you can’t leave. not that you’d want to.

eventually, you have to pull away from his lips to breathe, but your foreheads rest against each others, the both of you left eyes closed and panting.

from the living room, yuji yells, “did you do it?”

a/n: FINALLYYYYYYYYYYYY HERE COME IN HERE COME GET YALL JUICE

[seeingivy]

high infidelity

satoru gojo x f!reader

do you really wanna know where I was april 29th?

**part of my satoru as taylor swift songs series

content: infidelity (omg who knew), yn is a doctor, satoru gets injured and haha ur still my emergency contact's his way back into your life, megumi and yuuji flirting side quest, a big hot flaming mess of writing this is actually so bad

an: no one say anything to me about this fic actually. or the fact that I made everyone do a poll about which taylor as gojo to write just to not write either of those options and produce a flaming, hot wreck of garbage. anyways, live love high infidelity this song will always be special to me because on april 29th, I was indeed, at the eras tour seeing mother for the first time

--

You swallow hard as the waitress walks up again, with that sheepish, awkward smile on her face. And you dread the unrelenting, embarrassing question that’s going to follow. One that she’s already asked, three times. 

“Are you still waiting for someone or would you like to order?” 

And you’re not sure why, but the fact that she asks the question, in that phrasing, in that tone, is enough to aggravate the very thin patience you already have. Because really, it’s quite possibly the stupidest question she could have asked. 

Clearly, you are still waiting for someone. You’ve been sitting here for the past hour and a half. If you were really intent on eating at this restaurant alone, then you would have ordered the second they seated you. 

And it’s rude, abrasive even. To ask, to relentlessly question, three times. Because obviously, you feel horrible for taking the table, when there’s a line of people patiently waiting by the door. And it’s not your fault that your boyfriend is late. And really, it’s just humiliating, that she keeps throwing it in your face, that you’re sitting here, alone when he should be here making you feel special. 

You sigh, giving her a halfhearted smile. 

“Can I have twenty more minutes? I promise I’ll leave after that and let you give the table to someone else.” 

She smiles, genuine and sweet, as she places her hand on your shoulder and makes a promise to bring some more bread before you leave. 

The premise of it - the fact that she smiled in earnest and must know that you feel horrible, that she has her own deposit of pity for you - has you bringing your fingers up to your forehead and massaging that small, pulsating feeling by your temples. Because here you were, mentally cussing out the poor girl working minimum wage at the restaurant when the real subject of your wrath couldn’t even be bothered to show up. 

And you hate that the negativity, the frustrations of the situation, seem to bleed into everything else. Because you’ll find yourself being upset with Yuri, but then suddenly it turns into a blind agitation to everything. The barista, for not making your coffee right, your co-workers asking to switch shifts so they can go on a trip with their partners, the laundry machine when it stops working. 

Your phone starts incessantly buzzing on the table, the smallest glimmer of hope sparking in your chest at the sound. And instantly dies, when you realize it’s just the Emergency Room calling you. 

You slide open the call, pressing the phone to your ear. 

“This is Tokyo Metropolitan Hospital. Is this a miss Y/N L- wait.” Megumi states into the phone, mumbling off the speaker. 

You press the phone harder to your ear, to try to catch the end of the conversation that Yuuji must be having with Megumi. 

“Y/N. Right, hi!” he states, voice halfheartedly cheery, which is already odd enough for him. 

“Hi Megumi. Why are you calling me on my day off?” you deadpan, that backlogged deposit of irritation coming in hot and fresh for the sweetest resident you have. 

“Right. Um, we have a mister Satoru Gojo in the Emergency Room who has you listed as his Emergency Contact. He’s kind of in bad shape so we were going to call regarding-” 

“Gojo? I’ll be there in ten.” you respond, shoving the phone into your purse and leaving the tip flat on the tablecloth. You give the waitress - standing there with that restocked bread in her hand - a polite wave on the way out and speed as fast as you can to the hospital. 

--

You march into the ER, rubbing warmth into your biceps, to find Megumi at the nurses station, as always, flirting with the pink haired student nurse he’s taken a keen liking to. 

“Hey. Where is he?” you ask, Yuuji and Megumi turning their heads to give you half hearted smiles. It’s only the start of the night shift, but by the way their shoulders are already sagging, you can tell whoever has to deal with them has a long night ahead of them.

“Right sooooo. We can’t decipher any of his paperwork. We need you to read it first and then you can see him. He’s in room eleven.” Yuuji states, giving a peachy smile, as you scan over Gojo’s characteristic illegible handwriting. 

“Jesus. He still writes like a twelve year old.” you murmur, filling out the sheet at the side with all the information Yuuji needed. 

“You’re all dressed up, teach. What’s the occasion?” Megumi asks, lazily leaning his cheek in the palm of his hand. 

“Ah. It’s my one year anniversary with Yuri. We were supposed to go to dinner.” you mumble, scratching the last of the information on the sheet and handing it to Yuuji. 

You feel a hand sling around your shoulder and a distinct smell of smoke, only to find Shoko hanging off your frame. 

“And yet here you are, because he didn’t show up.” she murmurs, earning you a set of wide eyes as you glare at Shoko. Because at their core, Yuuji and Megumi are first, definitely crushing on each other, and second, nosy as hell. 

“And here you are. Destroying every last cell in your lungs, that are eagerly, earnestly begging you to stop.” you deadpan. 

She flicks your nose as you finish filling out the sheet and reading through the paramedics report that was attached to his paperwork.

“Please tell me you attacked Yuri at the dinner table and that’s why you’re here. Fork to the hand? Spoon in the eye? Knife to the dick?” Shoko asks, excitedly. 

“Didn’t you like take an oath? For the preservation of human life?” Megumi deadpans. 

“No. I skipped that day of medical school.” Shoko replies. 

“Gojo’s here, I’m still his emergency contact.” you respond back, giving her a pointed glare. 

“What happened?” 

You turn your head expectantly to Megumi, who obliges. 

“His car got t-boned. He’s pretty roughed up.” Megumi responds. 

You give Shoko a weary look, as you march to the other side of the unit, preparing yourself for whatever roughed up version of Gojo you were about to be greeted with. Because every interaction with Gojo was a rush of emotions - good, bad, sweet, and ugly - but this might be the biggest thing you’ve ever had to stomach yet. 

“So. Who is this Satoru guy? I’ve never heard of him before.” Megumi asks Shoko, giving Yuuji an all knowing glance. 

“Her ex-boyfriend.” Shoko responds. 

“No way. Before that asshat Yuri?” Yuuji asks, suddenly too invested in the story all together. 

“Well, obviously. He taught as a professor at the same medical school she attended.” 

“Y/N dated a professor?” Megumi asks, tone incredulous.  

“I mean that’s one way to get through I guess.” Yuuji adds. 

Shoko smacks the top of Yuuji’s head, earning a fit of laughter from the two of them for his stupid comment. 

“You need to focus on your nursing exams instead of flirting with Megumi on your fifteen. It would do you some good to flirt with your preceptor. And no, he was just a fellow doing research at the time. They were best friends for a good few years, had that whole will they won’t they vibe going on.” Shoko responds. 

“So….did they?” Megumi asks. 

“They did. To be honest, I can’t really remember why they broke up. Something stupid.” Shoko shrugs, giving the two of them shoves on the shoulder before walking past the hall, to find you standing in front of the door. Your hand is resting against the handle, but you have yet to yank down and push yourself in. 

“Are you warming up the handle or…?” 

You’re thrown out of your train of thought to find Shoko at your side, hands buried deep in her white coat as she gives you a weary glance. To anyone else, Shoko would seem wildly disinterested, almost annoyed at how you were acting. But you know better and can see that small twinge of concern buried under her long eyelashes, the hint of it in her voice. 

“Oh. Um…no. Just got lost in thought.” you murmur, staring at the faded eleven on the marker. 

“About?” 

You swallow hard, the warm tears filling your eyes. 

“I haven’t talked to him in so long. And the last time we talked we were arguing over…..leaving dishes in the sink. Breaking up. If I walk in there and he’s dead, that’s going to be the last thing I ever said to him.” you whisper, air grating against your throat. 

Shoko puts a hand on your shoulder and squeezes once.. 

“He’s not dead. The monitor tech would have picked up on that.” 

“The monitor tech? Are we talking about the same monitor tech? Because Nobara is too busy flirting with the phlebotomist Maki to ever do her job. They’re worse than Megumi and Yuuji.” 

Shoko scoffs, before rolling her eyes at you. 

“No one is worse than Megumi and Yuuji. Yuuji knocked the entire crash cart over when he clocked in because Megumi complimented his Star Wars themed scrubs.” 

You snort, shaking your head, as you take a deep breath in and push the handle down. Shoko gives you a warm smile as you walk in and flick the lights on, only to see Satoru, sitting up in bed and lazily scrolling through the TV channels. 

He looks over at you first, his eyes going wide, as you walk up to him and cup the side of his cheek. The tears that were welling in your eyes are falling in full flesh, at the sight of him all battered and bruised. 

His snow white hair is matted red, an angry, glaring scratch on his forehead. His arm is littered with tiny cuts, with a good amount of dressing on his torso, the red blood already seeping through and the look on his face so broken and tired that it makes your heart twinge. 

“Satoru.” 

He smiles, albeit a little confused, as he looks up at you and brings his hand up to yours, where it’s resting against your face. 

“Hey princess.” 

You laugh through your sprout of tears, which has the smallest smile turning up on his cut up lips and the soft, faint smile lines appearing near his eyes. 

“You here to patch me up, doc?” he whispers. 

You shake your head incessantly, which has him rolling his eyes. 

“Not today.” 

“Shame. I heard having sex is really good for patient recovery.”

You smack his shoulder, biting hard down on your cheeks that Satoru Gojo, in full flesh, is okay. Because he still has the audacity to flirt with you, even when he’s near death in the hospital. 

“I’m going to look at your chart, okay?” 

You let go of his face and find yourself in front of the computer, logging in with your credentials, and trying to pull up his chart as fast as you can. 

“If I found out you got into this accident because you were trying to find the perfect song before you got home, I’m going to put your head on a stick, Satoru Gojo” you murmur, earning a laugh from him. 

“First and foremost, you always have to close the drive home on a banger. Sue me.” 

“I think I might just.” 

“And contrary to your beliefs, this accident actually wasn’t my fault. They crashed into me, naturally, because I do no wrong. Ever.” he states. 

“Right.” you chuckle. 

You read over the report, making it a point to berate Yuuji for his shitty charting later, as you look through his vital signs and blood cultures that were taken when he arrived here. 

“So do all doctors dress like they’re about to go clubbing or is it just you?” 

You look down, only now noticing that you’re still wearing the a-line dress from the dinner you were supposed to have with Yuri. You make a mental note to shoot him a text after checking with Satoru after, knowing all too well that with how busy Yuri is, you standing him up would throw him over the edge. 

“Just me. I really love to put on a show for my patients, Gojo. And what clubs are you going to where people dress like this?” you mutter, clicking through the scans that were taking. 

“I appreciate the lengths you go to for me. It’s always what I loved about you. And I exclusively attend Taylor Swift night at the Underground” he states, placing his hands on his chest. 

You look over and glare at him, before reading through the treatment plan. When you look over Nanami’s notes, you feel your heart drop and turn over to look at him. At his bright, blue eyes so wide and unaware, the look on his face so…innocent it bothers you. That in a few hours, he’s going to be in unspeakable pain while he recovers. 

The door opens and Nanami and Yuuta are standing at the door, Nanami already scoffing at you. 

“That’s confidential patient information, Dr. L/N.” Nanami states, voice stern. He hands you a jacket, which you pull on, as you hike your hands under your biceps and talk to him. 

“You were going to tell me all of it anyways. So…what’s the plan here?” you grumble, settling next to Gojo at the side of his bed, placing your hands in his nearly pink hair. 

“Well. I’m going to-” 

“The surgical resident has to be Yuuta, I don’t trust that dumbass Todo to do it. You have to use prolene stitches, I don’t want his skin to scar and don’t leave him under for too long. He’s never been one to suit medications well. Don’t play any rap music when you’re operating, he hates that type of stuff and-” 

Nanami puts his hands square on your shoulders, squeezing once. 

“Thank you, Dr. L/N. We’ll talk all details after, okay?” Nanami states, voice soft, as you turn over to look at Gojo. 

Gojo gives you a weak smile, which you return, before pushing his hair off of his forehead, and lightly brushing through the white tresses as he looks at them.

“Give it to me straight, Kento Bento.” Satoru states, earning an eye roll from Nanami who's clearly unamused. But you can tell he doesn’t mind it all too much, because in the monotony of shitty patients, he’s always been one to appreciate the sweet jokesters. And Satoru’s the biggest clown there is. 

“It’s a relatively easy procedure, Satoru. We’re just going to go in and repair the damage that you sustained to your digestive tract from the crash. Do you have any questions for me?” Nanami asks. 

“Can I request that she’s not in there when it happens?” Satoru asks, looking up at you. 

“Hey. I can-” 

“Yes. We’ll make sure of it.” Yuuta responds. 

“Thank you, Yuuta.” Gojo responds, giving him a smile. 

“We’ll be around in an hour to take you to surgery.” Nanami states, ignoring the pointed glare you were giving him as he strolls out of the room. 

You turn to Gojo, the overstimulation of the past ten minutes really hitting you, as you feel your brain short circuit while he’s looking at you. You try to focus on the sensation of his hair in your hand and that pulsating beat that you’ve been feeling for his wrist, but you can’t really process any of it. 

Every high and low you’ve experienced in the past few minutes - the elation in Gojo’s voice, the pain from seeing him suffering, how he’s still the same as you left him- it’s enough to abandon any rational thought processes from occurring in your head. And it leaves you standing there, silently, with your hands on him. 

“Hi Y/N.” 

“Hi ‘Toru.” 

He smiles at the nickname, reaching forward to lace his fingers through yours. 

“I was driving and then…I wasn’t. I looked up and all I could see was the stoplight above me, then the flashing lights of the ambulance, and now…you….looking at me like that. Your brain isn’t the only one hurting right now.” 

“Looking at you ike what?” you murmur. 

“Like you’re in pain, Y/N.” he states, emphasizing his syllables. 

You shake your head, fighting down that wave of worry that’s sitting in your skin. 

“You know, Kento’s a really good doctor. And Yuuta…he’s like the most promising surgical resident. And even then, I-I can get another senior surgeon if you don’t want a student. And-and it really won’t hurt that bad and I’ll make sure they give you all the good meds and-” 

“Y/N.” 

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m rambling. I know you’ve always hated that and I just-” 

“I don’t hate it. Just, slow down for a second…talk me through all this because I really don’t know what’s going on and you know I don’t like not knowing.” 

You pull up the chair, messing with his hands as you talk. 

“You have to get surgery. The impact you had when you crashed led to-” 

“Y/N. I know all of that already. I’m asking about you.” 

You frown, swallowing hard, as you run your fingers along the scratch on his knuckles.

“You never update your current information.” 

“Huh?” 

“You….you never canceled the stupid Hulu subscription when we got the Disney Plus bundle. And you kept having to trek all the way across town to get the mail, because you forgot to change the address when we moved, and you-” 

“I don’t really see how-” 

“You forgot to change your emergency contact, Satoru. After we broke up, you-you forgot to call them and tell them that they shouldn’t call me.” you hum, as Gojo’s hand tightens in it’s hold around yours. 

“Oh shit, Y/N. Sweetheart, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-” 

You lurch up from your chair, tangling your arms around his neck as you crackle his head into your frame, that incessant stream of tears pouring down your eyes as he brings his own arms around yours. 

And it feels too fast, because suddenly Nanami and Yuuta are back at your sides, giving you sympathetic glances as they wheel Gojo away and you’re left standing in the hallway, flat against the wall, every horrible outcome of the next four hours playing through your head. 

--

On hour five, already a bad sign, you’re sitting flat against the floor with a jello cup in your hand and in Megumi’s spare pair of scrubs. They’re both sitting at your sides, the dead quiet of the night shift leaving them with you. 

“Kento likes to be really careful, Y/N. That’s all it is.” Megumi states, giving his best attempts at calm reassurance. 

“And Yuuta’s great. We all love Yuuta, he’s sweet….intelligent. He’s more than capable to do this.” Yuuji adds. 

You crack through every last bone in your finger, the entire interaction playing over in your head. 

“I-I just went in there so fast. And the time was so…so short that I didn’t even say much to him.” you respond, sighing. 

“When’s Yuri coming?”

You turn your head to the side, in confusion, before you register Yuji’s words all together. 

“Why would he-” 

You panic, remembering that you had never texted Yuri back, that he’s probably fuming in his own pit of rage right now at his apartment, cursing your name to god knows what degree. You reach for your phone in your pocket, only to find no notifications from him. You scroll up on the chat, only to find that he hadn’t texted you the entire day, yesterday. 

His last text read April 28th, a reminder that he needed you to pick up his drycleaning for his golf game this weekend. 

“He’s really an asshole, isn’t he?” you spit. 

You see Megumi and Yuuji give each other wide eyed looks over the top of your head, as you click your phone shut and let it fall to the ground. 

Because in the dim lights of this hospital, with Satoru’s blood, some of it still smeared on the side of your hand, you feel like you’re seeing clearly for the first time in years. 

That really, Yuri in actuality, is not the one for you. And it’s not that he’s a bad guy, he’s honorable in some sense really, but what he gives isn’t even a fraction close to what you want. 

He’s tall and lanky. The type of guy to represent every portion of the food triangle in the three meals he ate. He wakes up at five in the morning to go to the gym before an entire day at work, and still somehow finds time to read and run a personal wellness blog when he gets home. 

He’s classy, in every sense of the term. The exact type of man you envision when you think of someone put together, wholly and fully. On top of their shit, living their best life, one that people aspired to. 

And that was in no way what you wanted. 

You wanted Satoru. Satoru who convinces you that there’s still enough room for a little treat after dinner, despite the fact that you both stuffed yourself full at the restaurant. He sleeps in late on the weekends, pressing lazy kisses to your skin to wake you up before entirely botching the whole breakfast in bed thing he was trying to impress you with. 

He was real, in every sense of the term. The type of person you envision when you imagine the person you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. He’s funny, he’s kind and he most certainly would never leave you stranded at a restaurant on your one year anniversary. Because Satoru Gojo certainly wasn’t classy, but he was honorable. And if he promised to be somewhere, he’d be there early, making sure everything was perfect before you got there. 

And right now, two of your most trusted co-workers had their hands inside his body cavity, trying to fix the mess in there. 

--

When Gojo comes to, there’s an aching soreness in his torso and neck. He can feel the tense pressure around his arms too, bandages wrapped around every square inch of his body. But that warm feeling around his wrist was entirely different from the rest. 

He opens his eyes to find you, fast asleep with your head down on the side of his bed and your hand secured tightly around his wrist. Your breaths are slow, so deep in your sleep that you don’t even process Satoru moving around you amidst your slumber. 

He brings his hand down to your hair and watches you lean into his touch, nuzzling your head closer to the blanket. Your hair is messy at this point, bunched up at the top of your head in the messiest knot he’s seen you sport yet. 

There’s a knock at the door and Yuuji is standing there, a small smile on his face. 

“Good morning, Mr. Gojo. Welcome back.” 

Satoru smiles as he moves to his side and starts to hook him up to the monitors, taking a set of fresh vitals. 

“How are you feeling?” 

“Just sore, Yuuji. How are you?” 

“Ah. Night shift. Same old.” 

“Is that little emo you like here?” 

Satoru watches Yuuji’s cheeks go bright pink, as he starts fumbling with the cuff around his hand. 

“Ah, you mean, Megumi? Y/N’s resident? No, he-he’s off tonight.” he stumbles. 

“Shame. Nothing like flirting on the night shift.” Satoru states, clicking his tongue. 

“Oh, I don’t flirt with-” 

“Well, you should. He’s cute. And a doctor. Someone is going to snatch him up real fast.” Satoru states, definitively. 

“Mr. Gojo, I don’t know if-” 

“Trust me. I know all too well. People swoop in for the doctors before you can even fight to get them back.” Satoru states, reaching down to tuck your hair behind your ear. 

“Well, I-” 

“I’m just saying, kid. Swoop in before it’s too late.” he states, giving him a smile. 

“Yeah. Sure, I-I will. Do you need anything else, Mr. Gojo?” 

“Can you get her a blanket? She always gets allergies when it’s too drafty in the room she’s sleeping in.” 

Yuuji smiles, tapping on the railings of the bed. 

“Sure thing.” 

And Yuuji curses himself for doing it, for meddling, but he pokes his head into the room one last time before leaving. 

“And just so you know. You….sometimes you think it’s too late to swoop. But it’s actually like…the perfect time. To swoop….like a bird or something, I don’t know-” Yuuji stammers. 

And when Yuuji leaves and Gojo is able to process his words, he’s trying his best to wipe the smile off of his face. 

--

“Hey, Megs. How are his vitals today?” you ask, swiveling over in your chair. 

Megumi, irritated with your constant pestering, has had enough of his fill today. He swings his own chair around, tugging at the stethoscope around his neck, as he glares at you. 

“For the hundredth time, your little boo boo bear is just fine. We’re planning to discharge tomorrow.” 

You frown, reaching for the closest item - a roll of gauze - and throw it square in his face. 

“He’s not my boo boo bear. And I’m just checking. You know he could have complications after the surgery like inf-” 

“Infection, hypotension, septic shock, multiple system organ failure, yeah yeah. I know. I graduated top of my class at medical school, you know?” 

“And yet here you are, being taught by Shoko. You’re clearly not that great if you’re being trained by a girl who cheated her way through medical school.” 

“I’m going to leave. And when I’m gone, you’re going to be really pissed because you’re going to be stuck with some idiot that can’t even take vitals.” Megumi deadpans, swiveling back to his computer. 

“No, you’re not. You’d never leave your boo boo bear hanging. Especially since he’s planning on asking you on a date tomorrow.” 

“He’s not asking me on a date.” Megumi responds. 

You smile, trying to swallow your laugh as you respond. 

“Oh, sure he is. And-” 

Your phone timer goes off, as you gleefully sprint out of your chair, and down the hall to Satoru’s room. Nanami’s in there, unwrapping his bandages, as you knock and enter to make your presence known. At the sight of you, Nanami’s glaring as you drag the chair up and sit at his side. 

“Y/N. You should be working.” 

“I’m on my lunch. And I’m allowed to do whatever I want for lunch.” 

“You should eat something, Y/N. Instead of bothering our patients.” Nanami scolds, as he shuts the door behind you and you turn to Satoru. 

Satoru looks way better, the bruising on his skin fading to yellow and the cuts all around his skin healing. He’s smiling softly, a hand cupping your cheek as he talks. 

“Good morning, Y/N.” 

“Hi Satoru.” 

“You know, you really should eat something on your lunch break.” 

“You know, you really should keep your annoying opinions to yourself.” you respond. 

He scoffs, moving his hand to mess up your hair, as you swat his hands off. 

“So.” Satoru states. 

“So?” 

“A little birdie told me that you broke up with Yuri last night.” 

“Well, your little birdie was wrong. As nosy as he is, he clearly doesn’t know how to listen.” 

You both laugh, Gojo slightly dejected by your response, as you lace your hands through his, and smile at your hands firmly pressed together. 

“Yuuji’s got a bad case of the chismosa virus.” 

“And you don’t? I heard you giggling with Shoko at the nurses station about how the emo is going to ask Yuuji on a date.” 

“No, Yuuji's asking Megumi on the date. And okay, but that’s actually a big deal. I’ve been trying to set that up for months.” 

“Well, you can’t take credit because I’m actually the one who got Yuuji to do it.” 

You frown, reaching forward to pinch his cheeks. 

“Shut up. It’s only the months of build up, that I basically created, that’s making him do it.” 

“Well, I pushed him over the edge. So it’s my victory.” 

You sigh, sitting back in your chair as you smile at him, at how easily you both fall back into this. 

“How about we both did it?” you ask, giving him a smile. 

“Sure. We always did make a good team.” he responds, making your cheeks burn. 

You reach for his blanket and start moving his gown to inspect the incision, trying to make sure that the site wasn’t getting infected, from when you checked yesterday. . 

“Okay, pervert. I didn’t realize you were into voyeurism.” Satoru says, incredulously. 

“Gojo. Do you even know what voyeurism means?” 

“Yeah. It’s people who like to have sex in public.” 

You snort, moving the edge of the gown as you note the clean sutures, healing well along the length of his torso. 

“That is not what voyeurism means, dumbass.” 

“Sorry. I didn’t realize I was fighting with the sex kink expert here.” 

“I-I’m not a sex kink expert! You’re just fucking stupid.” 

“Oh, shut up.” 

You roll your eyes, as you settle back into the chair, reaching forward to cup his face. He smiles, soft and warm, which you return. 

“You’re healing really well. It’ll just be a faint line, right around your torso when you’re out of here.” you murmur. 

“It kinda looks like I got my legs cut off and someone sewed them back on.” he murmurs. 

“That’s not funny.” you deadpan, glaring at him. 

“Kinda funny. That’s a really unfortunate way to die.” he responds.

“I know there’s a universe out there where that actually happens to you. And I know for a fact that Satoru doesn’t think it’s funny at all.” 

“Okay, Doctor Strange. Let’s pipe down there, alright? Even if that did happen to me, I’d come back from it. Because guess what?” 

“Don’t say it.” you groan. 

“Because I’m the strongest.” 

“You know that never gets less annoying right?” 

“You love it.” he responds, reaching forward to pinch your cheek. 

You look down, at your hand tangled in Satoru’s as you find a way to broach the topic. That for all intents and purposes, that you want nothing to do with Yuri. That you want him, that you do love his stupid jokes, that you’d beg on your hands and knees for him to take you back because-

“Do you want to go to the aquarium on Friday?” Satoru asks. 

“The aquarium?” 

“Yeah. We can take a picnic basket, eat on the lawn outside afterwards.” Satoru says. 

You swallow the lump in your throat, aggressively nodding in response. 

“Yeah. That sounds nice. We can um-carpool.” 

“Sure. It’s a date.” he responds, leaning into his pillow with a soft smile on his face. 

You bite down the stupid smile that’s rising to your cheeks, as you close your eyes, humming in agreement. 

“Yeah. It’s a date.” you whisper back. 

--  

Eight days after the fact and Yuri, in his infinite wisdom, finally comes through. That’s when he musters the courage to bring himself to your apartment, where Satoru has been staying with you since he was discharged. And when Satoru answers the door, Yuri’s all levels of pissed. 

“Who are you?” Yuri asks. 

“I’m the owner of this house.” Gojo responds, trying not to laugh at his own joke. 

“Did Y/N move?” 

“No, dumbass. It was a joke.” he responds, rolling his eyes. 

Satoru leans off of the door frame, calling for you, as you join him at his side. 

“Hey, you okay? I was planning on making lunch for- oh.” 

Satoru smiles, reaching forward to ruffle your hair, before he shuffles away. 

“Holler if you need me.” 

You shoot Satoru a grateful smile, infinitely thankful that the two of you were able to pick up right where you left off, as you turn to Yuri in your doorway. 

“Where were you on Saturday?” he asks, arms crossed over his chest. 

You swallow hard, rehearsing the speech you had prepared with Satoru when you were tangled in his arms last night, and make your best attempt to deliver the blow the best you can. 

“Yuri. I think we should stop seeing each other.” 

“What?” 

“I just don’t think that we’re really compatible. You and I are…on different wavelengths. And you deserve someone who is better suited to you and your….interests.” you murmur, awkwardly rubbing your arms on your arms. 

In actuality, you feel a little bit bad. That technically, you might have been…a little bit dishonest with Yuri. Because you’re having this conversation with him, days after the fact, when you’ve already done god knows what with Gojo in the past few days he’s been back with you. He’s all but living in your apartment at this point, under the premise of needing twenty four hour medical support, when really, you’re both just soaking up on time you lost. 

Time is so precious, that you forgot to tell Yuri until he showed up, on your doorstep. You finally understand why Yuri was late to things, because whatever he was doing when he wasn’t with you, must have been keeping him occupied the way this was keeping you occupied. 

Because you kept planning on calling him, but then Gojo would take you out to breakfast. Or you’d sleep in too late and then knew that you’d be interrupting Yuri at work. And the list, it went on and on and led you to this moment and it’s painfully awkward. 

And maybe it’s bad, a little bit evil even, but that small bit of bad feeling is overshadowed by every bit of good that you’ve felt in the past few days. At Gojo ordering dessert out of nowhere, that he insists he’s sharing with you before he eats almost the entire thing, or when he drags you to the bathroom when he’s doing his night time hair care routine. 

“Where were you? On Saturday?” 

“Look, I just got called into work, okay?” 

“Are you…are you serious? Don’t tell me you’re really dating that dumbass who just answered the door?” 

“Frankly, it’s none of your business who I date anymore because you…you aren’t really a part of my life anymore. And we’re not dating, we’re just-” 

“God. He flashes one pretty smile at you and you go running back to him? Need I remind you, that you complained about him for months on end. About how he’s messy, he’s careless, he’s-” 

“That stuff doesn’t matter. At least not anymore.” 

“You’re a bitch, you know that?” 

You feel Gojo padding behind you, and you put your hand up in the air, signaling for him to stay where he is. 

“Do you really want to know where I was on April 29th? On our one year anniversary, I was sitting in a shitty restaurant, for an hour and a half waiting for you to show up. When I hadn’t heard from you all day. And then I got a call, that the man that I love was in the hospital, and then I was at his side. Willing him to wake up, because I would be so fucking angry, so fucking pissed if he died and I didn’t get to tell him that he meant the world to me.” 

Yuri swallows hard, the look of betrayal etched on his face. 

“Are you trying to hurt me right now? Do you get some kind of sick gratification from killing the one you love?” he asks. 

“I’d argue that my way is nicer actually. One fell swoop, with the truth out there. The slowest way to kill someone is never loving them enough. And honestly, it’s just cruel. And of course, something that you were too skilled at.” 

You’re not sure what it is about what you said, but suddenly Yuri’s stomping down the hallway and you’re shutting the door, as the tears start pouring out of your eyes and you’re leaning against the door. 

Now that Yuri’s gone, Satoru’s shed all his inhibitions and he’s cradling you straight in his arms, his soft voice cooing in your ear as you hiccup into his chest. 

“Hey. You did so good, princess.” 

“I-I’m not crying because I’m sad. I still…I still want you, you know?” 

Satoru smiles, bringing his hands up to cup your cheeks in his hand and wipe your tears away. 

“I know that, sweetheart. I’m irresistible.” he murmurs. 

You lightly shove him, before resting your head against his torso, hearing the rapid beating of his heart under your ear. 

“I’m just really relieved. That you-that you’re-” 

You look up, at his sparkling blue eyes, the tiny fractals of color like perfectly constructed, charted constellations in his eyes. 

“I’m glad you’re here. Again.” 

He smiles wide, leaning forward to press his lips to your forehead. 

“Me too, yeah?”

--

the satoru as taylor swift songs series masterlist

taglist:

@porridgesblog @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @luna0713hunter @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme 

lmk if you would like to be added to my taylor as gojo or my general masterlist in the replies or inbox <3

[uzurimisery]

like real people do. / kageyama tobio / nsfw

wc: 5.5k

Warnings: Kageyama is autistic, smut, fingering, reader has nipple piercings, reader works in A&R for music, reader used to live in brazil, friends to lovers, awkward sex

A/N: experimenting with more awkward/realistic smut and I love my autistic blorbo Kageyama

thank you to @peachyminx and @dervngedgf for beta reading

Kageyama never did understand the way that conversations worked, or were supposed to work. They were winding, circuitous, jumping from place to place. Unstable like a fault line, bursting from tension. The older he got the more he began to have a loose grasp on them. One so faint it slipped from his fingers if there was too much deviation. It hadn’t been easy to get to this point. It took years of failed attempts at making friends, three failed relationships, and a PR manager to get here. 

Hardly a gentle climb into social know-how. 

There was a script that worked in most situations. The gym, interviews, the grocery store, casuals and quick conversations weren’t altering his normal routine in any major way.  He liked things being the normal way.

So why the hell was he in a club? A place that went so far against the normal?

It had been Hirugami’s idea, he said that the team needed to bond more. Kageyama knew it was just a thinly veiled excuse to get drunk on the team’s card.

 It was awful— the drinking.

Conversations were bad enough while sober, small talk, social cues being a forge in language, and alcohol just made him feel worse about them. The script was thrown across the room and given to an AI generator that made something worse for him to spit back out. 

The pounding music, early 2000s rap, split his head with each drum beat feeling like it was played against his skull. He could smell everything, the foreigners easily able to be picked out from the crowd. The buttons on his navy blue dress shirt had started choking him early so it was now half undone, which he hated. Shirts were meant to have only one, or two, buttons undone depending on the level of formality of the event attending. How many were appropriate for a club? At four buttons down the curve of the underside of his pecs could be seen. 

He felt out of place, out of his element, and like a child sitting at the grown-ups' table for the first time and trying to seem mature. 

“Tobio!” Nicolas shouted at him from across the booth. “When are you going to bring them around again?” 

His face scrunched up. “Why?” 

“Because if you’re not going to make a move I am!” Nicolas’ laugh was grating and sharp. “They used to live not far from my parents. A shame it took until now to meet.”

“I thought you were working things out with Maria?” Kageyama had stopped bringing you around after one too many comments on how he was in love with you and afraid to make a move. Something Nicolas harped on him for and took every opportunity to flirt with you in front of him. 

“Por que não ambos? Maria doesn’t have to know.” Kageyama hated the smirk that spread across the Brazilian's face. He knew that Nicolas was teasing him, just like he knew Nicolas wasn’t interested in you in the slightest, but it always drove him up the wall.

Wakatoshi cut in, voice steady and flat, as always. As much as Kageyama struggled with conversations he knew Wakatoshi would be right there with him. “I believe we have discussed many times that Kageyama-san has stated he is waiting for a better opportunity to discuss his feelings with them.” 

“That’s what he said last week and three months ago and then six months ago.” Sokolov chimed into the conversation now, monkey-like as he usually was, followed by Heiwajima.

“You really should talk to them about it. Either way, you need closure to get past your emotional constipation.” 

Kageyama wanted to crawl into a hole. It was bad enough having to figure out his feelings but having them discussed in front of him made him want to jump off the side of Tokyo Tower. His feelings were complicated. Tangled and messy, blending into each other. He didn’t know if he would ever be able to separate them let alone tell you about them.

“Guuys chill, chill,” Hirugami was back with another round of drinks. “Tobio will get to it when pigs fly.” The team busted out laughing. It was humiliating no matter how many times they all poked at him about it. The only way that he’d ever get them to stop was to confess to you.

“Fuck you guys.” He was grumpy now, grumbling into his drink as he took a swig. 

The chorus all said they just wanted the best for him, that there was no way you didn’t feel the same way, that it was all in good faith, all stuff to make them feel better about teasing him. He hated being teased. 

Maybe if he just told you they’d finally leave him alone about it. You might get distant for a bit but he had faith that you could be friends again down the road. 

“If I tell them tonight will you guys leave me alone about it?”

Nicolas’ sly look managed to get worse. “You tell them tonight and I’ll give you ten thousand yen.” 

“Deal.” 

Slipping his phone out of his front pocket and pulling up your contact information had never felt so stressful. He didn’t need the money, he just wanted to be left alone about this. 

To: Best Brazilian

Can you meet me outside Playa Del Sol? 

From: Best Brazilian

You’re at a club?

To: Best Brazilian

I wasn’t my idrea 

Typing was hard. The heat of all the bodies in the room made his hand slippery. 

From: Best Brazilian

Lucky you, I’m just down the street at a gig

>You think you’d be fine to hang out for that? Local band

To: Best Brazilian 

As long as it’s not Sean Paul 

From: Best Brazilian

Kk see you in 10 

Kageyama was, as usual, grateful for your friendship as he excused himself from the group and headed outside to wait for you. More often than not you served as a refuge for him. One of the few people in the world who truly understood him. You didn’t question his mannerisms and need for routine. 

Once he had asked if you thought he was weird, as flawed as he felt, and you had looked at him as if the question was stupid and gave a simple ‘no.’ 

Meeting you had been a deviation from the norm in the best way. Hinata had been visiting and when they were out they bumped into you, surprised since you had been a manager at one of Hinata’s favorite jazz clubs back in Brazil. 

Kageyama got lost in the conversation as Hinata and you bounced between English, Portuguese, and Japanese when speaking. You had corrected and steered the conversation to Japanese, seeing Kageyama’s confusion. 

Your Japanese was clunky back then, and your mouth still struggling with the syllables at times. More than that, your understanding of pitch accent back then was abysmal.

But that meeting had changed his world, shifted its axis. 

Eventually, Hinata’s two-month vacation ended and he left, and Kageyama expected you to leave his orbit too. But you didn’t, you stayed around. It’s been three years and you were still around. And it's been a year since he realised he loved you. 

When the night air had started to sink in, sweat from the club finally drying, he saw you round the corner. 

Every time he saw you he thought he’d get used to how beautiful you were but he never could. You were bright as the sun, warming him, the rays of your light brushing across his skin promised growth, comfort, and shelter. 

Your braids had been half pulled back in some sort of half-updo, two ponytails at the top of your head. He has watched you do them the other week. Or he had been watching before you made him help you since he was sitting there. He didn’t know how to braid at all, but you made him learn. Told him your continued friendship was dependent on it.

He was glad you made him learn though. It gave him an excuse to be in your space, close to you, for hours on end. To touch you without worrying if the amount of contact was normal or not. 

“Tobio!” His name always sounded so perfect coming from your glossed lips. There was a twinkle in your eyes. You had done your makeup for “special events” as you had once explained it to him. Instead of a normal cat eye, you had graphic black eyeliner. He never understood why you wore makeup but he knew that it was something you enjoyed doing. 

He stumbled a bit as he moved towards you, wetting his lips with his tongue as he said your name.

“Whoa careful there big guy! How much have you had to drink tonight?” 

Your arm grasped his bicep, his heart stuttering at the contact.

“Three double vodka cranberries and one beer.”

Your brows raised. “Rough time in there huh?”

“You have no idea.” Kageyama launched into recounting what had happened. 

One of his favourite things about you was how you didn’t press on topics he didn’t want to talk about. You left the conversation shift onto the gig you dragged him to and about the band. His second favourite thing about you was your willingness to unabashedly talk about your interests. Your job as an A&R at Sony meant you were always talking to him about a new band or artist. Before meeting you he wouldn’t consider himself someone who cared about music much. It was just something to help him keep pace while running. He didn’t understand why people liked it. But by watching you he started to dissect the reasons. 

It wasn’t a conscious decision, no grand realisation listening to a recommendation from you. It was a gradual shift. He started listening to more things, trying to pick out ones you’d like and he could send them to you. It was only after Wakatoshi had pointed out he was humming one day that he clocked the change went beyond just you.  

When you got to the venue, you flashed your Employee ID at security and pulled Kageyama in behind you.  It was just as dimly lit as the club but the smaller venue made it less obstructive. You had dragged him here before for a folk singer-songwriting you signed after the show. He had no idea what he was about to listen to but he knew if it was you, it’d be good. 

You led him to the middle of the standing-room area. You preferred a more central location so you could observe the artist’s dynamics and stage presence. While he would normally want to be on the outskirts, he didn’t mind being in the middle. It was crowded though so you were stood in front of him. Someone walked past and knocked you back against him. 

“Sorry!” You knew that he didn’t like physical contact much, so you created space as soon as you could. It pained him. 

“It’s okay. I don’t mind if it’s you.” When you smiled up at him, he felt like he was going to short-circuit. “Who are we discovering today?” 

Another person bumped you into him, shifting your balance and almost causing you to fall. He wrapped his arms around you to stabilise you before he even knew what he was doing.

You muttered under your breath something about expecting better from the crowd here. “You remember Hozier?” 

He knew who Hozier was. You had forced him to listen to Hozier’s entire discography one day. He liked Hozier. In another world maybe he would be as good with his words as the singer was. He could write you poems and sonnets, tell you all the little things about you that made him feel right. As much as he might try now, he couldn’t so he hoped that you wouldn’t hold it against him.

“Yes. You made me listen to his entire discography.” His throat felt dry. “I don’t believe I understood all the metaphors but he has a good voice.”

“Well, imagine Hozier if he was Japanese. And he blended traditional instruments, taiko drums and all that, with a raspy voice and great lyricism.” 

“I see.”  His gaze shifted, watching you adjust in his arms. He wondered if he should release you if he was supposed to have let go three seconds ago or held on longer. Now he was scared to move and make it weirder by moving.

“Sorry, should I let you go?” He was nervous, anxiety creeping, edging him out of the buzz he had from drinking earlier and into harsh sobriety. 

“No, it’s okay. I’m kinda cold and you’re really warm.” 

“Okay.”

The conversation between the two of you died down and Kageyama wanted to make a clone of himself and shake it around. What the hell was he doing? Under the dim lights, the first few chords starting to play, cradling you in his arms, he felt so nervous. 

The opening band started to fill the room with an instrumental. Their first two songs went by quickly enough at least. You would sway along, occasionally bobbing your head to the beat. Your eyes were focused on them as they performed. Someone might look over and think you were a long-time fan of the opening act, enraptured by their performance, but Kageyama knew you. You were appraising them, seeing if they had potential.

As their set drug on, he found himself watching you more than the band. Your brows would twitch, pulling together in the middle for a split second, every time they did something you considered to be a technical miss. You had told him that bands were like a team of volleyball players. 

When you explained it you said that singers were like aces. The powerhouse that made a team stand apart from their opponents. Drums were the setter. They set the tempo, and the flow, of the song Guitars were like hitters, driving down the point. Keys or synths were liberos, not always on the track but essential for making a good song, and basses were middle blockers, getting a perfect read and keeping the team grounded. So far it seemed like the band was winning their set. 

He liked watching you like this, seeing you the most in your element. It hurt his heart, made it tight in his chest from how your eyes darted across the stage. It felt like ripping off a bandage. Diving without a kneepad and your skin tearing on the polished floor of the court.  Like hand sanitiser in a superficial wound. Painful, but knowing that the pain was a sign of growth, of healing. 

The lighting changed, hues of pink and red, as the frontman started talking about their next and final song. He was telling the crowd to grab their lovers, pull them close, and sway along with the music. Kageyama nearly choked when you turned to face him and wrapped your arms around his neck. 

“Well hello lover.” you giggle at the last word, joking about your relationship. While didn’t like the joking nature of it, he wanted it to be real, he liked you calling him it. Your fingernails scratched at the nape of his neck, tangling in the hairs there.

He had had too much to drink and feeling your chest against his own was making the blood rush from his head and straight to his groin. He felt like a teenage boy, unable to keep himself from growing hard. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but he swore he could feel your nipples. 

His breath hitched as he went to respond, low and raspy in your ear. “Hello.” Kageyama wanted to say something better, more suave and flirtatious, wishing for a second that he could embody the same way with women Nicolas had. 

“How much did you have to drink?” 

“Not enough.” His cheeks were flush, he needed something in this moment. To pull you closer against himself or to push you away so you didn’t catch on to his growing hard-on. 

Your heartbeat against his own in the confined space, slower than his rapid one. The music drowned out, turning to background sounds as he stared into your eyes. Eye contact was normally so forced for him, constantly having to remind himself to make it. It felt so much more intense with you like you could see through him. He loved your eye colour and the way the corners of your eyes crinkled when you smiled. 

Your lips curled up into a smile as you gazed at him, coated in a shimmery gloss that smelt like vanilla. Your tongue poked out the wet your lips, something you always did when you needed to reapply the lip gloss. He wanted to know what it felt like against his own. If it was as sticky as it looked. If it’d pull into fine strands as you separated. 

“What are you staring at so intensely? I feel like you’re dissecting me.” 

He felt loose and sappy from the drinks earlier, more willing to take risks.

“You. I’m staring at you.” 

“Me?”

His eyes shifted up to meet yours again. “You.” You chuckled a little bit at him before replying. 

“Why?”

“I want to kiss you.” The words slipped out of him before he could stop them, once again putting his foot in his mouth. You were going to reject him, tell him off for violating your boundaries. He’d have to text Hinata tomorrow that he fucked up with you and that everything went wrong. 

“Kiss me.” The first time you said the words it didn’t compute in his brain. 

“Tobio, kiss me.” He stood frozen, short-circuiting, he had been so set on an outcome that a change in path threw him off.

The trance was broken when he felt your lips against his, sticky from the lip gloss as he imagined. You were soft, like a feather brushing across his kiss, gentle and tentative. When you pulled away from him it felt like he could breathe again. You tasted sweet, no doubt partially from the lip gloss but also just you. He wanted more.

Kageyama leaned in, one hand tentatively reaching up to the side of your face to cradle it. His lips met yours again it started with pecks, gentle like you had been, before building in intensity. It felt like Kageyama had been starving for years, the sensation unknown and accepted as just a part of living, but as your mouth opened and his tongue met yours he realised that his hunger, his craving, his desire, had been an aspect of himself so far removed from his understanding until this moment. He understood want and need now that he had tasted you.

The heat of your breath melting with his own made his nerves alight as you parted for air. 

“I’m in love with you.” Your forehead met his shoulder and you laughed. 

“Tobio I know,” it was like the lights in the room knew to shine down around you giving you a halo. “You’re not good at hiding it.”

“I’m sorry.”  You tucked your head under his chin and he let his hands slip down from your waist and into your back pockets, feeling emboldened by your actions.

You swayed with him to the beat of the song as the transition music into the main act’s set began. 

“If it’s any consolation I found it cute.” Your lips met the side of his neck and you tilted upwards to his ear. “I’m in love with you too.”

He joined you in shifting side to side, enjoying the moment as you murmured against his skin, voice warmth with honesty. He didn’t understand it all, but he understood you in this moment, the shared feeling of love between you. One old and ancient, but never weathered by time, still steadfast in its stature. Unending, unshifting. 

The “Japanese Hozier” stepped out onstage and Kageyama let you turn to face the stage, moving to take his hands off you only to find them being wrapped around your waist again, guided by your hands.  He wouldn’t remember the set list, or the singer's performance, too entangled in you and feeling you in all his senses to care about anything else. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

You had brought him home after the show, still humming some of the songs as you puttered around. He had changed as you made a midnight snack for the two of you. His hair hung in clumped damp strands as he played sudoku on his phone waiting for you to finish up. You hated when he got in your way in the kitchen. 

With a plate full of mini pancakes you plopped down on the couch next to him, your makeup removed and hair up. He liked you the most like this, relaxed and human. Sometimes he worried you were an angel sent down from the heavens to make him believe in god but instead drove him to sin.

He took one off the plate when you moved it closer to him. Chewing on it slowly, watching you nibble on yours. 

“You wanna talk about it?” His eyes were peeled on your lips. 

“Only if you’re comfortable.” 

“I’m fine…” you moved and placed the plate on the coffee table. “Good, actually. Great even.”

“I feel like I owe you an explanation.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “For what?”

“I don’t know.” He felt so many things right now it was difficult to verbalise any of them.

You pulled your knees to your chest and faced him. A braid fell into your face and you tucked it behind your ear. Every time he looked at you he understood poetry and prose, songs of admiration, why men would go to war over their lovers. It was nonsensical, to think you could see stars in someone's eyes, but you reflected the lights of the room like a planetarium. He thought that he might die before he found the words to express his thoughts and feelings to you, to get his point across, but he knew with you he didn’t have to. He had never had to. 

His hand encompassed your own, interlocking his fingers with yours. They fit together like puzzle pieces, you the last piece needed to complete the puzzle. Simple connection, conjoining of spirits. 

Kageyama tugged on your hand, pulling you towards himself, making you come to rest on your shins in between his legs. He kissed the back of your hand, softly, tenderly, still afraid that there was something he was missing. But the ball never dropped, the tower never crumbled, and he led you further forward, your free hand resting at his chest before slithering up the back of his neck. 

He couldn’t tell if it was you or him who moved first, closing the distance between you, your lips meeting again. It felt more tentative than the first ones had. Careful and measured, aware of the space, the boundaries, the dynamic you had had. Of how that was shifting, changing, as the pretences you had were changed. 

Kageyama dropped your hand in favour of wrapping his around your waist, guiding you to manoeuvre into his lap. Your ass rested against his groin. The longer he kissed you, the more he felt himself growing hard, aided by your hips grinding down on him. Once on a night out with the team, you had danced with him and it was then that he learned of how fluid you were. Tonight you were water, dripping down on him, swirling around him, wetting his skin. 

He palmed at the waistband of the sleep shorts you had changed into, desperately wanting to remove them but unwilling to force you into something. You pulled away from kissing him to remove your shorts, left in just your underwear and oversized shirt. Kageyama quickly stripped off his shirt before kissing you again, this time letting it evolve into making out with you.

One of your hands moved to his lower abdomen, brushing against his happy trail, making him shiver. He felt you palm at his length through his sweats, slow and sensually. His dick was bigger than you thought it’d be. Average girth but one or two inches longer than expected.  

“Can I touch you?” 

“Yes.” His response was quick, jumping the gun, eager to have you take him in your hand. 

When your skin met his Kageyama swore he might cum from it. His emotions were high-strung, making him more sensitive. He whimpered as your thumb crossed over the tip. 

Your hands felt like velvet against him, smooth and soft, your touch gentle but firm, supplying the perfect amount of pressure as you began sliding it up and down his shaft. His stomach muscles tightened as you went along, pulling him in on himself. It should be criminal that you made him feel such a way from something so simple, reducing him into a schoolboy being touched for the first time. 

He wrapped a hand around your wrist to stop your movements, separating from kissing you to speak. 

“I’m going to cum if you do that too much.”

“That’s the goal Tobio.” 

“Yes, I know, but I would like to make you cum before I do.” 

You gave a small smile, butterflies flitting around in his stomach as you did. “Well, who am I to stop you?”

You crossed your arms as you took off your shirt. When you changed earlier you must not have put on a bra. The curve of your waist he knew already to be temptation incarnate, but the swell of your chest would turn any many into a sinner. 

Your nipples were hard as they were exposed to the cool air of your apartment, small silver balls catching the overhead light. 

“You have your nipples pierced?” 

You cupped your breasts, pinching your nipples. Tobio’s eyes were locked in, focused on the way the silver complimented you. “Yeah, I’ve had them for ages.”

“Can I touch them?” He wanted to pinch at your nipples and feel the cool metal beside them. Your nod was all he needed to do so. 

His touch was hesitant at first, afraid of damaging the piercing somehow. When he squeezed down harder on them he could feel the bars going through your nipples. It was interesting to him, the modification, he wondered what made you get them in the first place. 

As he pinched and twisted your nipples slightly, a soft whimper snuck out the back of your throat, going straight to his already painfully hard erection. 

If you were sensitive to this he wanted to know what it would do to you if he took them into his mouth. It was in the name of science that he did so, leaning forward and wrapping his mouth around your left nipple. 

The metal met his tongue, cold and sharp, constructing against the warmth of your chest. He was cautious not to use his teeth as he played with your nipple in his mouth. You gave out small moans and gasps, hips stuttering against his own, as you threw your head back. Ever since you had gotten them pierced your nipples were more sensitive than ever. 

Kagayema stared up at you. He wondered how he got so lucky in life. He’d have to go to the shrine on New Year with his mother to thank the gods for letting him have you like this. 

He wanted to make you feel more, to know his touch in ways you never had before. 

His free hand not ding at your waist trailed down your side, tracing the outline, as he dragged it down to your core. When he met your underwear, the fabric a simple micro-fibre, and slipped past it he was certain that he’d need to go to the shrine every holiday. You were wet, drenched even, allowing his fingers to slip through you easily. 

Kageyama was not a virgin, he’d had sex before and he was thorough with it. His thumb met your clot, going over it in slow circles, while his pointer and ring finger started to tease your hole. 

When he was able the press both fingers into you and pump them in and out of you, he released your nipple that he had ever so diligently been sucking on to swap for the other one. He bit down it ever so slightly making a shocked gasp and whimper of his name escape you. 

“Be gentle jackass!” Your speech airy, escaping as an exhale. 

It was cruel the way how you said his name made his dick jerk as if he was going to cum, the muscle in his abdomen flexing tight. He’d be dammed if he came before you though, his teeth grazing over your nipple again, tongue swiping over the bar. 

His fingers picked up in speed, pressing against a spot that made you squeak almost. High-pitched and short. Like you hadn’t expected him to hit it. 

The pressure building kept building as he did so, making you get lightheaded as it went on. He was so close to making you cum. Like an itch, you scratch just next to it, the edge. 

His thumb kept toying with your clit as he kept his pace steady, matching the tempo. You could feel yourself tightening up as he worked your body. The noises in the room turned pornographic as more liquid gushed out of you, lubricating his hand, making it easier for him to thrust his fingers in and out and in again. 

Kageyama detached himself from your chest and moved to kiss along the side of your neck and ear.

“You’re so pretty…” he trailed off before biting your neck and sucking hard to leave a hickey. 

You came with a start, the orgasm rolling through you as he bit down, his name coming out a broken moan. Your muscle winding right before snapping under the pressure, eyes screwing shut. It made your head spin, feeling your heartbeat in your skull and down to your toes. The force of it made you clamp down so hard on Kageyama’s fingers that as he tried to pull them out, he couldn’t. 

A minute passed before he was finally able to slip them out of you as you whined for him to keep them inside. When you finally opened your eyes you were met with Kageyams face being entirely red.

“You okay?”  You propped yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him. 

He licked his lips before speaking, trying to wet them. “I just came.” 

“Oh.”

Things were still for a second. 

“Is there, uh, anything I can do to help?” 

“No. Just give me a minute.” This was the most embarrassment he had felt in a long time 

“Okay.” You cupped his face with one hand. He turned a kissed your palm “We can stop here if you want.”

He contemplated for a few moments in his head, his boxer briefs now feeling sticky. The sensation was grossing him out no matter how badly he wanted to continue.  

“Tobio,” you flicked his forehead “Get out of your head, you’ve got that scrunched-up look on your face.” 

He grumbled against your palm as he spoke. “I like you and I’m embarrassed.”

“Well, I love you and we can always go for a second round.” 

He stilled, humming under his breath. “Could we shower first?” 

“Of course.” 

───※ ·❆· ※───

Out of the shower, where a second round had happened, along with telling you about the bet, Kageyama felt unsure of what to do next. It reminded him of leaving a court at the end of a game, his adrenaline high and heart pumping. The adjustment to reality was strange and foreign. He was sure this must have been how you felt after a concert ended. Lost, unsure what to do after as he cuddled with you in your bed. 

“What happens next?” 

You laughed and it shook your body as you lay on top of him, tracing patterns on his chest.

“You buy me breakfast in the morning.” 

“And after that?” 

“What about after that?” 

“Well,” you started. “We keep doing what we’ve always done. But when we go out to eat we don’t call it hanging out, we call it a date. When we sleep at the other’s place, we sleep in the same bed. Only the little things change between us, the big things stay the same and we get to kiss now. When an interviewer asks if you’ve got a girlfriend, you get to say yes.” 

“You’re my girlfriend?” 

“Well, I thought that was the point of the confession, well along with winning a bet, unless you don't want me to be?” 

“No, I do.” 

“Good.” 

It was silent for a moment as he intertwined his free hand in your own, bringing it closer to his mouth so he could kiss it. You settled further into him, filling out the space where he was the most empty both physically and metaphorically, humming ‘Like Real People Do’.

A Venmo notification cut through the peace. 

Nicolas Romero sent you ¥10,000 

“Atta boy Tobio” 

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