#i don’t really want to play but i don’t really want to do anything else

[madamechrissy]

Would you come with me?

Pairings: Satoru Gojo x F! reader

Summary: You have been Satoru's best friend for such a long time, and one day he asks you a really big favor- marry him. What!?!? Well, Satoru has to take a wife as he's running the Gojo corporation, and what better way to get them off his back than 'marry'? In name only, just best friends living together for a year to calm them down, sounds so perfect and uncomplicated, right!!! Well, living with Satoru Gojo makes you both question everything, is this fake marriage feeling... real? and can you just be friends after this?

CW: NSFT-MDNI- So much FLUFF and SMUT in this chap- they've been PENT UP so lol, warnings- oh boy- oral (f and m recieving) cum swallowing, breed kink, talking you through it, overstimulation, creampie, semi public sex, fingering, masturbation (both of you) multiple rounds, dirty talk, Toru obsessed, ya'll both down bad. Three parts- WC this Part- 6.7k

Songs for this - Hands to Myself // Love Me Harder // With You

This is the end omg! Thank you for all the love on parts one and two!! I hope you all enjoy this cute ending for them as well! Comments and reblogs appreciated!

<<<Part Two - Masterlist

Part Three (Final Part)

“Oh sweetheart, this isn't where I wanted to take you first.” He murmurs, as he lifts you up so you’re bent over the counter, tip running along your glistening folds, making your head fall back in mind numbing pleasure. “Wanted it in m’bed, f-fuck you’re soaked, aren’t you?”

“Mnh!” Is all you manage, gasping when just the tip is in, stretching you so fucking good, you’re gushing out when he pulls it back, whining. “Satoru…”

“Aww, my sweet girl needs something?” Satoru laughs softly in your ear, breath tickling it as his fingers wrapping around that throat under your chin, pressing his tip back in, and he could damn near come from that, you feel so good around him. Gummy walls gripping and convulsing around his tip as he eyes your flushed cheeks, your glittering eyes.

“I swear… to god if you don’t just…” You’re arching your ass back, pressing it against him as he has your panties shoved to the side, his tip slipping down to your clit now. “Satoru!”

“Use those words, hmm? What do you want?”

“You inside me, please.” Is all you say, softly now, and he moans, sinking inside you in one stroke, filling you so good you can’t take it, shuddering as his cock stuffs you fuller than you’ve ever been. “Ah!”

“Fuck… oh my god, feel her.” His eyes shut for a moment at the sensation of you gripping his dick so well, at his tip kissing your cervix, his hand squeezing just so, tilting your chin to catch his blue eyes in the mirror. “Look at you, so fucking pretty.”

“Mnh…” You can’t manage anything else, not when his thumb presses between your lips and he begins to move, to pump inside you, you see black spots in your vision. You’re trying to catch a breath as you struggle to focus on the blurring reflection, when he fucks you so deep and slow, savoring every inch, and there are so many.

Satoru’s crying out in your ear, one hand holding your thigh then and lifting it higher, sinking even deeper into your pussy, which clenches and pulses all around him as you’re drooling. He’s slamming his cock up inside you, over and over now, a maddening rhythm as he buries his face in your neck, teeth sinking into your delicate skin, stuffing you more full, impossibly full.

“Toru… oh my… m’gonna…” You’ve never felt this, even with Satoru’s play, even with your own play, the sensation of his tip dragging on that spot in your slick walls is too much, you’re feeling the pressure build when he shoves in fully, bottoming out and turning your chin to face him.

“Cum f’me, lemme feel her, please baby.” He whispers, a mix of needy and dominant that shouldn’t make sense, but it does, as he slams his lips on yours, drinking your cries while you feel yourself come apart on him. “There it is, mmm, that’s it, let go f’me.”

You couldn’t stop it if you wanted to, the insane sensations overwhelming your every sense, everything fades when you whine into his mouth, when his tongue dips in your mouth, his cock slamming in with a lewd smack. You’re cumming so hard you can scarcely breathe, everything is him, it’s all Satoru Gojo, and you sure the fuck don’t see him as a friend right now.

His white hair is falling just so over his brow, as he yanks down your dress, revealing just enough of your pretty breasts to the mirror, moaning as he sees them bouncing with each thrust. He’s consumed by you, inside you, god he’s never felt anything, better, and he knows he’s not pulling out, fuck he never wants to even leave you.

“There you go, you’re doing s’good, taking my cock like you’re made for it, huh sweetheart?” Satoru whispers, you’re a mess when he pulls back, tilting your chin back to the mirror, as you see your face, he laughs softly. “Fucked out, so pretty. Drooling on my cock, and all over your chin huh?”

He swipes some of your drool off your face as you bite your trembling lip, tears falling at how intense every sharp thrust is of his thick cock in you. You gasp when he reaches around, rolling his finger on your clit, and you hear your squelching cunt sucking his cock so greedy, echoing off the bathroom.

“What… are we… oh my… Toru, too much, too-” He covers your mouth with one hand, while the other works your tiny clit, making you build back up, as if you’re going to explode, fucking faint.

“I love you loud, but let’s be quiet till we’re home, Sweets.” He huffs, acting as if you’re not driving him insane, as if he’s got any composure, as your cunt is milking him for everything. “You on… something?”

You nod quickly, as he’s pushing you more and more, the little circles mixed with long, slow thrusts insanity. “Pill.”

“Kinda… ha… wish you weren’t…” You attempt to scowl, but it’s just more drool as you’re hiccuping with pleasure, hands clinging to the counter, one leg dangling, the other propped up for his perfect angle.

“Wh-what?” Is all you whisper, and you catch it, the bright blue gaze, pupils pinpoints, his insane feral grin, like he’s lost it.

“Wish you weren’t… on any… want me to fill you up so good?” You’re dreaming, right!? This is some wicked day dream, yeah?

But you’re nodding, weakly, pathetic when you feel him pulsing. “Please, fill me… Toru.”

“I’ll give you anything.” He huffs, and you know it then, as you’re trembling, as he watches you so hungry while he takes you.

He’ll fucking ruin you for anyone.

He already has by existing… but this!?

“Can you take it sweetheart? All of it, like a good girl?” You nod once more, looking as the images in the mirror of you both are gone suddenly, replaced by white bursting stars as he sends you over the edge with him. “Oh my… she’s milking me, huh?”

You have absolutely no clue what he means, you just know you’re cumming so hard then you both have a hand on your mouth to muffle your cries, when he’s busting his hot load into your pulsing hole. So deep you feel it against your cervix, feel him in your tummy, pumping you so full as your muscles are contracting, damn near pushing it back down his veiny length.

“Oh m-my… baby, fuck…” He’s whimpering in your ear, hand clamped firm on your mouth as he empties is hot sticky load inside you, you’re trembling as the orgasm washes in waves, as you’re dizzy you’re so fucked out. “Best I’ve ever… you’re so perfect…”

He’s murmuring all these sweet words in your ear as he finishes pushing, and finally releases you, you’re shaking when he eases you down, cock pulling out of you, making a sticky mess between your thighs. You struggle to focus, to stand, legs so weak from cumming, from feeling him so deep, when he’s spinning you and turning you to him.

Your eyes meet, as you both take breaths, before you hear it then, the door, and you quickly adjust yourselves, Gojo pretends to be helping you with your strap, smiling charmingly to the woman there. “Clothing mishap.”

“Such a sweet couple.” She says, going to the bathroom, making you two burst in quiet laughter, grinning so big your damn cheeks hurt, looking up at Satoru then, as it all starts hitting.

What are you two?

“Are you okay?” He murmurs softly, as he watches your brows draw together, your teeth pressing into your lower lip again, so hard you’re tearing the delicate skin there. “Was I too…”

“No, no… we need to get out of here.” You take his hand in your little one, pulling him and entering the auction once more, feeling his cum sticking to your panties as it starts to trickle out, a sensation you’ve never had before.

“Are you sure? Did I hurt you?” Satoru whispers in front of the bathroom, quietly in your ear, you exhale now, looking up into blue eyes filled with a myriad of emotions, reflections of everything he’s always felt, and now more. 

“No, you didn’t.”

“Then… Do you regret it?” At the pain in his voice you shake your head, tears filling up in your eyes.

“God no, Satoru.”

“Let’s get the fuck out of here, talk.” He says, voice husky, you nod in agreement as he’s pulling you away, only to be irritatingly stopped by more and more people, then once outside, more reporters.

“How do you deal with this shit, Toru?” He sighs, wrapping you in his jacket as he waits for the limo.

“It’s gotten worse now, it wasn’t this bad before. Well, you know… you’ve been in stories with me.”

“Yeah, shit they used to call me your mistress.” You say with a snort, and he chuckles just a bit, both of your breath making puffs in the night.

“You’re my wife, though.” His words make you falter, as drips of rain start to fall, and you’re both there, you shivering in his big expensive Armani jacket, him just in some dress shirt worth more than your old car. You look how beautiful he is then, he’s always been so pretty it hurts, but how he’s looking at you!?

“Don’t say that, don’t look at me like that.” You whisper, lip trembling now, as more drops fall, and he’s cupping your face with his big hands.

“Look at you like what, sweetheart?” He murmurs softly, and you take a shaky breath then, your hands gripping his wrists, thumbs pressing over his pulse.

“Like you could love me.” Satoru laughs then, he laughs, making you scowl, shoving at him. “It’s funny!?”

“Shh, brat.” He kisses you, while more rain is falling, splashing all over your feet, and the car pulls up, the driver opening an umbrella and handing it to Satoru before sitting back in the car. Satoru takes it for a moment, opening it, as you’re both under the pattering protection. “Do you remember the day we met?”

“Yes.” You take a breath, looking up at the clear umbrella, showcasing every fat drop of precipitation, the sound merging with your heart beating in your ears. “I didn’t have an umbrella.”

“You didn’t, you were soaked, your hair all stringy.” You giggle a bit, shaking your head. “Your skin, it was glimmering… it was a weird thought for an eighth grade boy to have, glimmering. I didn’t think it was a word I knew.” Your heart nearly pounds out of your chest as he strokes your cheek, dewy from the rain.

“Satoru, I…”

“Shh. And what happened that day?”

“You shared your umbrella.” Your lips curve up at the memory. “You were grinning so big, sunglasses in the rain, you had this giant umbrella too. With little fish all over it.”

“I still have it.”

“What!? No way.”

“Mmhmm, that was the day I met you, soaked and walking home, and what I should have said then, is that I fell for you, the moment I saw you.” You blink back tears, shaking your head, but he exhales and leans closer, cupping your cheek, thumb brushing over the apple of it, as everything in the world tilts on its axis.

“You fell for me?” You whisper, and now he’s swiping your tears, smiling so big at you, a grin on his face.

“That’s what’s funny, you didn’t even know. But something clicked into place, like you were always supposed to be here, with me.”

“I fell for you that day, when you protected me from the rain, when you gave me your jacket because I was soaked.” You’re sniffling, tears flowing just like the rain all around you, his lips part just so. “I fell harder every year, every moment, every day, but I was so scared-”

“To lose me.”

“Yes, to lose you. Friends don’t just leave each other’s lives, I thought it was how I could keep you forever.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” He tilts your chin up, looking at your pretty face in the night, finally ready to say it. “I can’t play it anymore, I can’t pretend, especially after being inside you. All I can think about now? Is making you mine, again, and again, and again…”

He kisses you, thinking he should have that day you met, but now there’s so much behind the kiss, as you breathe into him, as you both huddle together under your perfect little umbrella, images flash in both of your minds. Middle school Satoru and Middle school you, versus now. You were in jeans and converse, now you’re in a pretty red dress and glittery heels.

Satoru was in some dark blue jeans and a baby blue polo, you can’t forget it, nor his round glasses he wore then, now in this fancy three piece suit, but the two of you, your souls and hearts are the same. You remember your heart skipping a beat as he met you, and now his lips are taking you over. You’re clinging to him, arms around his neck, pulling back to finally say it, the words bursting forth.

“I am in love with you, Satoru Gojo. I have always been, from a crush to puppy love, to so much more, to where you consume me.” You whisper, the words like a healing balm on a soul that you didn’t realize was aching this badly.

“And I’m so in love with you it’s stupid, god I want this real, the marriage. I want it real, you in my arms, waking up in the morning, looking at this pretty face every day. Fuck every day forever if you will.” You’re sobbing as you nod, kissing him over and over again.

“Yes, I will. I’ve always wanted to.” He feels tears burning his eyes as his hand cups your pretty face, and your mouths move, more and more passionate with every tilt of your head, until you’re both breathless.

“I’ll never let you leave my goddamn bed.” He murmurs, making your cheeks heat up, your tummy clenching.

“God, we have been so stupid.” You murmur, he chuckles, blinking back his own tears.

“We were so stupid. Everyone always said so.”

You sigh, a hand brushing along the undercut, the soft damp hair pressing against your fingertips. “I love you.”

“And I love you, sweetheart. With every bit of my dumb brain and heart. I’m sorry I didn’t-”

“No, don’t.” You stop him then, shaking your head. “But you can make it up to me, I think. All these years of pining.” You tease, and his voice drops an octave, eyelids lowering.

“Yeah, how?” His cock twitches right back to life when you guide him to the limo now, raising a brow, giggling just a bit.

“We have a lot of time to make up for, hmm?” Satoru’s got you in his lap, as you’re both just a bit damp but uncaring, you’re straddling him and whining, grinding where you’re both so sticky.

Satoru’s kissing every inch of you on the short ride home that he can reach, as you grind on his clothed cock, pressing your twitchy little clit, and you’re both whispering your love, your needs, your wants. A mix of sweet and completely filthy, your tongues dripping with saliva as you take over each other's senses, barely noticing as the driver knocks on the door.

Oh, Satoru is absolutely making it up to you when you run into his home, and he has you spun and pressed against the door, easing your zipper down, pressing kisses along the back of your neck. When you’re bare to him, and you turn, he sees you fully naked for the first time, his eyes wide as they run down your soft pretty breasts, the curve of your waist and hip.

“Oh my… you’re fucking beautiful, baby.” He murmurs, and you believe him, relaxing instantly, as he worships you with his gaze, and you’re shaky and unbuttoning his dress shirt, revealing his perfect, toned body, hands trailing down each defined line and muscle.

“You’re beautiful, Satoru.” He moans now, kissing you, but you’re sinking to your knees now, his brain short circuits for a minute, a blush dancing on his high cheeks.

“Shit I’m dreaming…” You giggle softly, shaking your head, swallowing when you see his length, still sticky from you, as he gets fully naked, his pink tip oozing precum, lapping your tongue up it, tasting his sweetness then. “Oh m-my… baby…”

He’s falling apart when you wrap your lips around his tip, sucking him in your hot, wet mouth, his hands enwrapping in your still damp hair, pulling as he fucks into your mouth, making you throb at the memory of his cock inside you. Making you crave him even more as he loses control then, bracing one hand on the wall as the other pulls your head up and down his veiny length,

“Mmnh!” You’re whining as he hits deeper, pausing.

“Too much, sweets?” He murmurs. “Can you take it all f’me?”

“Probably not.” You say, pulling back with a pop of your lips, he moans at the sight of you, of the drool down your lips and chin. “You’re huge, Toru.”

Satoru knows he’s huge, but something about you saying it makes him lose it, shoving as deep as he can until you’re gagging, and he’s trembling, his cock twitching down your throat. “Know how long I’ve w-wanted this, how much I’ve stroked him to the thought? F-fuck…”

You’re soaked further, picturing it, but you have no clue the desperation and need he’s had for you, the way he’s stroked it right outside your room, whispering all the things he’d do when he had a chance. You’re even better than he could ever dream of, there’s nothing like you. Your pretty eyes looking up at him, fuck even your tears just make him harder as he pulls back then with a hiss.

“Shit, shit… get up here.” He yanks you up by your hair then, pulling it at the nape, only serving to turn you on more when he presses his lips, tasting himself as he swirls his tongue inside your mouth, bending down then, gripping you by the waist and picking you up in his arms. “The bed this time, I swear to god we’ll make it.”

“Oh will we?” You tease softly, he moans, hands gripping your ass now, feeling it fill his hands, as he’s pressing against your bare cunt, and your thighs are squeezing around his hips, whining out.

“Yes, dammit. We can fuck on this door later.” You’re giggling, so breathless as he rushes you into the room, nearly tripping in his excitement, until he’s laid you on your back, brushing your hair back gently for a moment, grinning. “I can’t believe we get to do this!?”

“You’re excited huh?” You tease, and Satoru exhales, kissing down your throat, leaning up and gripping a breast, pressing sweet kisses down the slope of it.

“Prettiest titties I’ve ever fuckin’ seen.” He murmurs, as he squishes one in his hand, sighing. “I knew it, but shit.”

“Ah!” Satoru’s sucking a nipple in his mouth now, hot tongue swirling around your areola, as your hands find purchase in his silky white locks, he elicits lewd moans from you, finally able to be loud, earning his cock rutting on the bed. Dying to fill you in every way he can, he’s latched onto the other as you’re whining softly, hips arching up, letting him feel your heat.

“Perfect, god so perfect.” Satoru’s humming to himself as he licks a trail between the valley of your breasts, hot sticky trail that glimmers under the light, igniting something in him. Glimmering.

“Need you… need more, please.” You whisper, and he grins up at you with those sharp teeth of his.

“So greedy already, huh sweetheart?” He’s cooing now, how he goes from whimpering to cocky you don’t have the brainpower to think.

“Ngh… ah! Mnh!” He’s eliciting lewd moans as he’s gripping your hips, kissing on your tummy, laughing a bit, making it tickle.

“Imagine it so fucking full?” You blink a bit, but then he’s spitting on your clit, watching it drip down as he spreads you wide, sighing as he sees it, trickles of his cum still pouring out. “You kept some in your perfect pussy, aww. You’re such a good girl.”

“Huh? Are you talking to her or m-me-ah!” Satoru’s scooping the remnants of his own cum out, tasting the both of you together.

“Mmm, I was talking to both of my girls.” You can hear and feel Satoru’s vibrating groans as he laps hungrily at your entrance, as your thighs threaten to close on his head, but he shoves them apart.

“Hold 'em up, sweets. Now.” You do as he asks eagerly, and you are just feeling so exposed, but he’s groaning even louder at the pretty sight of you. “Good girl, lemme clean you up, get you ready hmm?”

“Y-yes… Please…”

“Lemme take my time, f-fucking look at you.” He’s studying your glistening folds, your drooling little hole, shoving his tongue deep inside, his straight nose pressing on your clit, inhaling you as he drinks you both.

“Ohmygod, m’gonna-”

“Cum.” He whispers, looking up under white lashes for just a moment, and then slipping his tongue back inside, making you shatter around him, fuck he almost cums from just that, pressing against the bed more and more eager, lapping every bit of your juices up.

“M-messy… shit…” He laughs a bit as you look at him, coated in your slick, sucking on two fingers before inserting them in your sore pussy, making you hiss just a bit.

“You are messy, aren’t you? All f’me though, isn’t it?” He’s leaning over you, pressing that spongy spot in sticky gummy walls that grip him, and you nod weakly, gasping for a breath as the dizziness of your orgasm is hitting in waves. “Use your words.”

“All for you, only for you.” He moans now, kissing you deeply, you taste yourself and his cum as you’re trembling thighs squeeze his wrist, but he’s unrelenting. “It’s too much, Toru.”

“No, you can do it hmm? Gimme one more before I fill you, be good f’me, would you?” You nod weakly, earning his grin as he leans on an elbow above you, stroking his cock, watching your reaction. “Good girl, good little messy girl. So wet just for me, mmm.”

“Yes, all f‘you.” You’re whispering, your eyes rolling back a bit as he’s playing with you, feeling so overwhelmed, his cock is so warm and heavy and you’re already drunk off it, you’re feeling his sticky precum slap on your inner thighs now, making your walls clench around his fingers. “I want it in me, please”

“Mmhmm, that’s what I like to hear, begging for it, so needy, god I couldn’t even have imagined this.” He whispers, stroking his cock from the base to the tip, as you’re arching your hips up, silently begging.

“Please, in me, Toru…”

He pulls apart your legs further, easing his fingers out and kissing you deeply, his cock pressing against your soppy little hole, making you shiver as he slips it up to your clit, moaning. “Fuck you feel so good.”

“In me, please- ah!” You whine out, and with one swift thrust he’s in, so deep, making you cry out, and he’s groaning into your mouth, his eyes rolling back as he’s filling you, stretching you, owning you. His hand comes to entwine with yours, leaving you breathless as you look up into his glittering eyes. “Oh god, oh god, Toru!”

He’s thick, so thick and long, hitting deeper than he had in the bathroom, fuck it’s almost too much, it feels like you’re going to split in half. He’s giving you no time to adjust, his eyes dark now, almost black as he loses himself in you, at your pretty face, at your reddened lips. Your cunt fluttering around him, he’s sucking in a breath now, shaking his head.

“Can’t take it, you’re too good.” He huffs, then he’s moving, the sound of his hips slapping against you, your squelching cunt sucking him in greedy when your brain doesn’t know if you can take it. “You’re mine, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

“Yours, all yours- ngh!” You scream out then, and he’s picking up the pace, fucking you quicker and harder, tip dragging along that spot over and over, as he loses himself, maddened by how perfect you feel.

“Like you’re made f’me, f-fuck baby.” He’s shocking you as he shoves your thighs up high, bending you in half. “Gonna fill you so good, can you take me?”

You just nod, unsure as your thighs squish your breasts, then he hits so deep you both scream out, that soft spot up in your cervix. His drooling tip leaks right on it as his vision blurs, focusing on the bulge forming from his cock right between the spot of your thighs, making him lose it more and more.

“Gonna give em a fuckin heir, huh? How m-many?” You can feel yourself tightening around him at his words, losing yourself in him, as he loses his mind, all the ways he’s pictured you can’t compare. No vision or image or touching himself comes close to feeling you beneath him, as he’s fucking harder and harder, losing his rythm, watching your eyes roll back in your skull.

His words are just fueling it, as his hips snap and he’s making the headboard slam against the wall, over and over as he works you, as you feel him wreck your pussy and ruin you, his blue eyes are insane to handle, but you stare right at them, hands clinging to his broad shoulders.

“That’s it, hang on t’me.” He’s whispering, lost in you now, in how impeccable you feel, in how gorgeous you are as your manicured nails press into his shoulders, only making him closer to the edge. “Wanna cum again, all over me?”

Your tears trail as you nod, sniffling as he presses in deep and his leaky tip kisses your cervix, the pleasure is so intense you can’t even think, your nails are digging into his back now, leaving little half moons as he’s pumping in and out of you, your legs shaking. You’re so close, already so exhausted from the pleasure he’s brought, but you crave more, just like him.

“I’m gonna fill you up, so good this time, even more.” His husky whisper mixes with your heart pounding in your ears, with his fancy headboard slamming the wall and the huge bed shaking with his force.

“P-please, fill me ngh!” You cry out as he buries his face against your neck, hands gripping your hips and shoving you fully on his length, eight inches stuffing you so full you’re drooling down to the balls smacking your ass now. You hear the sounds of them smacking, hear his whimpers mixing with yours, as your body feels overwhelmed with every sensation.

“You’re gonna take it all, aren’t you?” He’s grinning into your neck, before he bites you hard with sharp canines, and you’re gasping out in pain and pleasure, when he slams in and rolls his hips, making you feel like you’re floating.

“Y-yes, yesss!” You’re clinging to him desperately, he moans against your ear then, and just like that, he’s letting go, his cum shooting inside of you, filling you to the brim.

“Oh m-my… you feel so fucking…” He’s huffing as he keeps pumping so much, pulling up to kiss you as he does, making you shiver and cum around his cock just from the hot gooey cum in your hole, coating your walls, so much you think you might die from the pleasure.

You’re struggling to keep tethered to the earth, clinging to him as his mouth kisses yours, and you’re messy kissing, saliva pooling as he moans and cries out, clinging to you. “Love you, love you.” You’re whispering, weakly just a breath, he leans up then, exhaling as he cups your face, studying you.

“God, I love you so much, sweetheart.” He says with a sigh, his cock twitching, still pumping his warmth in you, little spurts that make you whine, breath catching from the aftershocks of you both pulsing. “We could have been doing this, shit.”

He kisses across your collarbone, where it’s covered in a thin sheen of sweat. A hand is sliding down your waist, pressing against your rib cage. You’re trying to come down, to control your breathing, hands enwrapped in his hair then.

“I can’t believe it’s real, it feels like a dream.” You murmur softly, pleasure building back in your tummy as he nips on your collarbone, cock easing out finally.

“I know, it does.” He looks at the mess he’s made of you, smirking deviously then like a little shit, like the Toru you know, and you glare.

“What’s that look for?”

“You’re so fucked out, and look.” He scoops the cum that’s dripping out of your hole, taking it on his fingers and shoving it back in, making you hiss at the soreness, at the overstimulation.

“Too much!”

“But I want her to keep it in.” He says with a pout, watching your greedy pussy suck his fingers back in now. “Look, she’s all puffy and beat up, hah.”

“I can’t stand you.” He’s chuckling, sucking both of you off him, making your mouth drop open at the sight of him, as the moonlight is filtering the room and catching on the hollows of his cheeks, your tummy heating up again. “Satoru, I think you’re actually insane.”

“You haven’t seen shit yet, sweets.” You blink in confusion, because how wasn’t this freaky!? “You’ll find out in time, you’re exhausted, aren’t you?”

“Y-yeah.” You admit shyly, you’ve never done anything close to this, the back to back orgasms and being stretched by him have you throbbing in soreness.

“How about a nice hot shower hmm?”

“Yes please.”

Soon you’re in his luxurious shower, the one you may or may not have played with yourself in, and the one he absolutely played with himself in, and you’re sitting on his bench seat, getting your hair washed, sighing. He’s lathering it up so carefully, fragrant shampoo filling the shower, along with the rising steam of the scalding hot water beating against you both.

“I could get used to this.” You admit, he chuckles now, rinsing your hair out with one of the detachable heads, sighing as he studies you.

“I’ll wash your hair any time.” He says softly, tilting your chin up now, your eyes meet his, watching droplets fall from his snowy lashes as your hands trail down every line of his sculpted frame. “I’ll do anything for you.”

“And so will I, Toru. Anything.” He pulls you up now, against his hot naked body, both slick as he presses you against the shower wall.

“You’re my wife, you’re all mine.” He murmurs, bringing emotions into your throat.

“I’m yours, Toru, yours.”

Two Months of being married to your best friend, Satoru Gojo (it’s not fake anymore, is it?)

Satoru’s father got better, but he let Gojo take control of the company, and though it’s only been a short amount of time, you and Satoru are an absolute force to be reckoned with, the two of you the perfect power couple as you make changes from every aspect. Every higher up is affected by the changes Satoru makes, as he silently takes so many of them down.

People who need it make more money, and the rich people are still greedy little shits in their own way, but Satoru makes sure they have no easy time with it any longer, always ready to take another peg down. Of course Satoru is rich and he loves his thousand dollar shirts and fancy cars, but the generosity he has and the care speak for themselves.

You both are finishing up a press meeting, when someone in the reporters’ seats asks ‘Mr. Gojo, are you thinking of running for office?’

You pause then, smiling just a bit, as Satoru laughs loudly, shaking his head. “Oh god no, fuck all that, I would be gone from my wife too often.” He pulls you against his side now, smiling at you, his blue eyes lit up as your hand slips up his chest. “She’d be mad at me if I didn’t come home every night.”

“That’s right, I’d miss him too much.” You murmur, and everyone is oohing and ahhing as he kisses you right in front of them, but this isn’t for show.

It never was, really for show, Satoru always wanted this, he wanted to keep you forever, he just didn’t know he could in this way. He was so scared of fucking up and losing you, he kept you there in that zone of friendship, because you were just too important to him, as did you, but now you both were fully open, and it was like every piece of your puzzle fell together.

“I need to get my wife home now.” He says huskily, throwing them all a big peace sign, whispering in your ear - “I need you baby.”

You all have been insatiable the past few weeks, like flood gates opened the moment he entered you, unable to keep your hands off very long. Years and years of longing poured into him taking you in every position, some you hadn’t even seen or heard of, a mix of fucking and making love that was addicting for the both of you.

But mostly, it was easy, easy like breathing to be together, you’ve known each other forever, and those moments of peace with coffee on the balcony, or wine on the couch, were even more precious to you both. Without the unspoken feelings, with finally being open with each other, the deeper you fall in love with him every day you wake up in his big strong arms.

“You should show me, Satoru.” You murmur that night, as you’re kissing in the foyer, his hand entangled in your hair, the aching need building again.

“Show you what, sweetheart?” He murmurs, you’re both backing your way into his room, jackets tossed, stockings ripped, hunger making you both lose control, you lean up on your tiptoes, pulling him down, lips against his ear.

“How you stroked yourself for me. How often was it?” You pull back and catch his blush on his cheeks, his lips parted.

“You’re a freaky little thing, what have I unleashed?” He whispers, chuckling as you giggle, your own blush coloring your cheeks.

“I wanna see.” You pout at him now, and he rolls his blue eyes, before getting a devious smirk.

“Only if you show me how you did it.”

“Oh…” You’re nervously on the bed with him, as he lays you down, kissing across your breasts, biting on a nipple while you take your fingers, trailing them down your tummy. “You wanna see how I failed at cumming hmm?”

“Yes, but one rule. You can’t play with yourself unless I’m here.” You blink in confusion. “It’ll make me jealous.”

“You’re insane!”

“I’m serious, pookie.” He pouts now, and you’re laughing, shaking your head before you feel him taking your hand, pressing your fingers to your clit. “Let me see you play with your pretty little pussy.”

“Y-you too. Your cock, please let me.” You’re whining, soaking wet already as he leans back, stroking his length now from the base to the pretty pink tip, you watch his eyes flutter as he looks at the sight of you. “H-how often d-did you?”

“It’s… a lot.” He admits, stroking harder now, as you’re rubbing your clit in little circles, whining softly in want for him.

“Oh y-yeah?” He grins now, teeth glinting as his muscles flex, and his huge hand works his veiny length, cock twitching as he spreads your thigh with his other hand, pressing his long fingers against the plush of it.

“You’re so cute.”

“Cute, I’m m-mas- ah!”

“You’re so cute, so pretty, so s-sexy…” He’s whining now, shaking his head as you’re trying to finger yourself, crying out. “Too tiny, pathetic.”

“Oh… you’re still an… arrogant- ass of a- ngh!”

“Need help, sweets?” He huffs, and you nod, eyeing him just so, the way that melts him, ends him.

“Let’s switch.” You tug on his cock instead, the slick of your cunt making your silken little hand feel so much better, as he slips two fingers inside your soppy little cunt, and you’re gasping, back arching. “Yesyesyes!”

“Oh my god… you’re soaked…” He murmurs, leaning over and pressing that spot again and again, watching the wedding ring glint as you stroke him.

“How m-many times, didn’t answer.” You mumble, already fucked out off his fingers, Satoru sighs then.

“Three times a day.”

“Wh-what!?”

“At least.” He’s kissing you now, yanking your hand off and pinning your wrists above his head, lining his cock up with your entrance. “I also caved and took a pair of your panties.”

“You what now?” Your eyes narrow, and he’s giving you this shy, dopey grin, even as he presses his tip in your entrance, and you’re whining at the stretch.

“I tried not to, but… you really made it hard not to wanna taste you, smell you, have you on my face.” His words make your mind swirl, his eyes turning insane as they do when he’s in you, he goes from this sweet and passionate lover to batshit crazy.

But you love it.

You love him.

“Crazy ass.” You mumble, but he’s laughing as he sinks inside you, so deep, so perfect and right, and you’re whimpering, cunt dripping down his length, as your eyes struggle to not roll back.

“You love it.”

“I do.” He kisses you as he fucks into you, as you fall apart under him, until he’s on you while you’re on your tummy, pressing so deep, taking you over. You’re exhausted when you both finally have had your fill, and you’re collapsed against him in his arms as he strokes your hair.

“Maybe we should… do another ceremony.” He murmurs softly, and you yawn then, turning your head to study his face in the night.

“I don’t need one, Toru, to know how I’m your wife.” He exhales, pulling you so close against him, feeling your body and how it’s so right there, nestled against his front, how you fit perfectly. In his life, in his arms, wrapped around him, next to him.

“I kinda want one.” He admits, as you’re fading in and out of slumber, and he studies your cute little fucked out face, one he loves to watch in your sleep.

“If you want, we will. Anything you want.”

“Anything you want, sweetheart. I’ll give you anything.” You kiss him, as you feel yourself fading out, smiling against his lips.

“I just want you with me. That’s all.” You’re soon lightly snoring as Satoru cuddles against you, his best friend, his wife, his everything, plotting all the things he wants to do, wants to show you, burying his face against your neck and inhaling your scent, as he hears a sleepy ‘love you Toru’ everything feels perfect.

“I just want you to come with me. Everywhere I go. Forever.” He murmurs, you’re knocked now, but he can’t stop all the pretty images in his head of his wife, and every place he wants to take her, and every surface he wants to fuck her on. He gets so excited he wonders how tired you are.

“Toru!” You’re whining later that night with his cock inside, his fingers on your clit, as he takes you from behind, spooning you, and he realizes you’re never that tired for him. You’ll always take him, and come right with him.

A/N- Aww fr ty for the love on this, I enjoyed writing it! It was supposed to be a one shot but at 22k I felt like splitting it up made sense. This was a thank you for 5k but I'm almost at 6k!? Ya'll blow my mind. Love youu

taglist one: @plaggi @baepsays @victoria1676 @flwerie @luringfantasy @moncher-ire @allonyyourmom @kindablackenedsuperhero @evelynxxo @jkslaugh97 @sugurusfavemonkey @ninikrumbs @s4ikooo1 @bunheadusa @twinkling-moonlillie @chameleonsoul111 @nina-from-317 @naammiii @whippedbyikemen @alygator77 @uarmyhopeworldwide @1satoruu @theclassbookworm @jud3thedude @isleqt @mcromer2999-blog @silvarys @orikixx @jiejies-corner-store @assbutt-inlove-with-koreans @lordbugs @ari-sa @blue-musingss @minaa-06 @uhnosav @cvixmei @seeiin @indiewritesxoxo @loafteaw @moonlitwitchdaisy @beachaddict48 @miizuzu @honeybunnnnie @gojosukuna2268 @4acoffee @whoreapika @arabellasolstice

[goldfades]

HOTTEST COUPLE IN THE ROOM ───JB⁹

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 2.5k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | requested! -> "Joe x Dallas cowboy cheerleader reader"

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | reader is kinda perceived as bitchy, and not a cookie-cutter dcc. lots of a banter, leads to relationship.

⟢ ┈ 𝐞𝐯'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 | my new fav thing EVER

The bass shakes the floor beneath your heels, the scent of top-shelf liquor and expensive cologne thick in the air. The postgame party is exactly what you expected—too many people, too much noise, and a lingering sense of competition that doesn’t quite fade even after the game’s final whistle. Cowboys and Bengals players mix like oil and water, good-natured jabs tossed between sips of whiskey, the occasional laugh laced with something sharper.

You don’t want to be here.

But when the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders make an appearance, it’s not optional. It’s PR. It’s “team camaraderie.” It’s smiling through gritted teeth while some dude in a suit with more money than personality tells you how impressive it is that you can do a perfect high kick in full glam.

You adjust the hem of your dress, shifting against the leather couch tucked in the VIP section. It’s not that you’re bad at playing the part. You just don’t fit the mold the way you’re supposed to. The other girls—prim, polished, always camera-ready—glide through the room like they were born for this. You, on the other hand, are already toeing the line of “too much.” Too opinionated, too unpredictable, too unwilling to be anything other than exactly who you are.

And yet, you’re still here. Because when you dance, they shut up about the rest.

“Didn’t think you’d actually show,” a voice drawls beside you, cutting through the music.

Your gaze shifts, locking onto the last person you expected to seek you out tonight. Joe Burrow.

His suit jacket is slung over his arm, the sleeves of his crisp white button-down rolled up just enough to give him that effortlessly put-together look. He’s got that half-smirk that’s made him a social media obsession, and yet there’s something else in his expression—curiosity, maybe. Amusement.

You raise a brow. “Didn’t think you knew who I was.”

“Oh, I know who you are.” His eyes flicker, something sharp and knowing in them. “Hard to miss the cheerleader who doesn’t play by the rules.”

You tilt your head, feigning offense. “I play by the rules.”

Joe huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Nah. You don’t. You just make it look like you do.”

And there it is. The first crack in the game, the unspoken understanding settling between you like a drawn line in the sand.

It should be nothing.

But somehow, it doesn’t feel like nothing.

You lean back against the couch, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, the other toying with the rim of the drink you don’t actually want. The ice clinks softly as you swirl it, eyes flicking back to Joe, unimpressed but not entirely disinterested.

“Wow,” you deadpan. “Joe Burrow knows my reputation. I guess I can retire now.”

Joe huffs a quiet laugh, the kind that barely shakes his shoulders. “Just saying, you don’t blend in.”

You lift a brow. “Neither do you.”

His smirk deepens, just a little. “Difference is, I’m supposed to stand out.”

You roll your eyes. “God, you’re worse than I thought.”

Joe blinks, feigning offense. “Worse?”

“Yeah.” You tilt your head, taking him in. “I figured you’d at least let me get a word in before pulling the ‘I’m Joe Burrow’ card.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

The smirk on his face falters just a fraction, like he’s recalculating his approach. He came over here thinking he’d charm you with minimal effort, just like he probably does with every other girl in this room. You can’t blame him. You’re used to guys like him—ones who assume that a few smooth lines and a good jawline will be enough to win you over. It’s exhausting, really.

Joe, to his credit, seems to pick up on it quickly. He shifts his stance, dropping the easy arrogance just a notch, watching you like he’s trying to figure out a new play mid-game.

“So, you don’t like football players,” he guesses.

“I never said that.”

“You don’t seem impressed.”

“I’m just not easily impressed.”

Joe clicks his tongue, shaking his head like he’s been personally challenged. “Tough crowd.”

You let out a short laugh, finally taking a sip of your drink. The warmth spreads through you, smoothing the edges of your already sharp tongue. “Look, I get it. You’re Joe Cool, media darling, golden boy, future Hall of Famer, blah, blah, blah. But none of that tells me who you actually are.”

Joe’s quiet for a beat, like he wasn’t expecting you to cut through the bullshit so quickly. Most people don’t.

He studies you. “You wanna know who I am?”

“I wanna know if you can hold a conversation that doesn’t involve your highlight reel.”

Joe grins, shaking his head like you’re more trouble than he bargained for—but not the kind he wants to walk away from.

“Alright,” he says, leaning in slightly. “Let’s make it fair. Since you’re so uninterested in my career, how about I ask about yours?”

You narrow your eyes. “Go for it.”

He tilts his head. “You always wanted to be a cheerleader?”

You pause for a fraction of a second. It’s not a bad question, but it’s not the usual small talk either. It’s got an edge to it, like he’s actually curious.

“No,” you admit. “I wanted to be an astronaut.”

Joe snorts. “Serious?”

“As a heart attack.” You smirk. “But apparently, NASA frowns upon people who talk back to their instructors.”

Joe laughs now, really laughs, and it does something to his face—makes it lighter, less perfectly put-together. It’s a nice look on him.

“So, you settled for the next most intense program?” he asks.

“Something like that.” You glance around the room, at the Cowboys players, the other cheerleaders, the high-profile guests all schmoozing and clinking glasses. “DCC is its own version of NASA. Just with more hairspray and stricter calorie counts.”

Joe hums, considering that. “And yet, you don’t seem the type to take orders.”

You shrug. “I don’t. But I’m really, really good at what I do.”

His gaze lingers for half a second too long. “Yeah,” he says, low and thoughtful. “I bet you are.”

There’s something about the way he says it that makes your breath catch for just a second—not because you’re flustered, but because it feels like he actually sees you, past the sequins and forced smiles and PR obligations.

You tap your nails against your glass, breaking whatever was starting to settle between you. “Well, congrats,” you say, all light and teasing again. “You managed to hold a conversation without bringing up your own stats.”

Joe grins, lazy and triumphant. “And?”

You take a slow sip, watching him over the rim of your glass. “You’re not completely insufferable.”

Joe laughs, leaning back into the couch. “I’ll take it.”

The first date wasn’t supposed to happen.

At least, not in your mind.

But Joe had this way of slipping through the cracks of your carefully built walls, catching you off guard in a way that wasn’t annoying, but intriguing. So, when he had looked at you across that crowded party and said, “One drink. No football talk,” you had rolled your eyes, but ultimately, you had agreed.

One drink turned into three. A post-midnight drive through downtown. A completely ridiculous bet over who could name more obscure 90s songs (you won, obviously). And then, somehow, a second date.

And that was the real surprise.

Because by then, you figured you had him pegged. Star quarterback, smooth operator, probably used to women falling over themselves to impress him. But the Joe you saw away from the cameras, when it was just the two of you in a dimly lit hole-in-the-wall bar or sprawled out on his couch, eating takeout straight from the boxes, was different. He was easy in a way that felt familiar, like a song you hadn’t heard in years but still knew all the words to.

And he got you.

Most guys would tense up when you made some sarcastic comment, unsure if they should be amused or offended. Joe just smirked and shot one right back, quick and sharp like one of his passes. The banter was effortless, the chemistry undeniable, but it never felt forced.

It felt like you’d known him forever.

Which was dangerous.

Because you weren’t supposed to like him this much.

But a few months flew by before you could think too hard about it.

One minute, you were rolling your eyes at him in a Dallas bar. The next, you were sneaking glances at your phone in the middle of DCC rehearsals, trying not to smile at whatever nonsense he had just texted you.

Then came the flights.

You found yourself booking tickets to Cincinnati more often than you’d ever expected, trading in your Texas sunsets for the sharp chill of Ohio air, showing up in his city like you belonged there. And the crazy part? It never felt inconvenient. You had never been the type to rearrange your schedule for a guy, but with Joe, it was different. He made the effort too—catching flights to see you between games, showing up unannounced just to grab dinner, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

It should’ve been overwhelming, but it wasn’t.

Because nothing about Joe was ever boring.

You’d expected the excitement in the beginning—the flirty back-and-forth, the teasing, the lingering looks that stretched longer than they should. But what you hadn’t expected was the way he made everything feel lighter. How he made you laugh when you were dead on your feet after an exhausting game day. How he somehow always knew when you needed to talk and when you just needed to sit in comfortable silence.

And yeah, the tension was there. Always.

You weren’t blind, and Joe sure as hell wasn’t either. There were moments—when his hand lingered on your lower back a second too long, when you caught him watching you with that unreadable expression, when he pulled you into a hug that felt like it meant something more.

But neither of you pushed it. Not yet.

For now, it was enough to just exist in whatever this was.

And, for the first time in a long time, you weren’t in any rush to define it.

The New York City skyline stretched high above the venue, lights twinkling like they were in on the secret that tonight was something different.

Joe didn’t hide you.

He hadn’t from the start, really, but there was a difference between showing up for each other in private and standing next to him now, his hand resting low on your back, his fingers pressing into the fabric of your dress like he wanted everyone to see exactly where you belonged.

And you?

You looked good enough to ruin a man’s career.

Your dress was the kind that turned heads—sleek, with just enough edge to remind people that you weren’t the typical quarterback’s girlfriend. Joe wasn’t intimidated by it, wasn’t the type to shrink when his girl demanded attention. No, if anything, he was thriving on it. Walking into the party with you on his arm, chin high, like he knew for a fact that you were the hottest couple in the room.

And you were.

It didn’t matter that the place was full of some of the most famous athletes in the league, that models and influencers and A-listers milled around with expensive drinks in hand—no one looked as good as the two of you together.

Joe left you only once, leaning down to murmur, “Gonna get us a drink, don’t go too far.”

You weren’t worried about being left alone. You’d been in these rooms before, could handle yourself just fine.

But apparently, someone didn’t get the memo.

The moment Joe was out of earshot, a presence settled beside you—too close, too confident.

“Damn, haven’t seen you in a minute.”

You already knew you were going to hate him before you even looked.

And sure enough, when you turned, there he was. A Cowboys player, one you’d interacted with just enough to know he was exactly the type you had no patience for. Cocky in a way that wasn’t charming, self-important in a way that made your skin itch.

You barely had time to open your mouth before he bulldozed on.

“So, what, you finally got tired of playing in the kiddie pool and upgraded?” He grinned, not even waiting for you to respond. “Figured it was only a matter of time. The whole ‘untouchable cheerleader’ thing was getting old.”

You smiled. Smirked, really. Because this? This was amusing.

He thought you were flustered. Thought you were scrambling for a way out.

Like you hadn’t been shutting down men like him since the first time you ever put on that DCC uniform.

“Oh, yeah,” you said, voice smooth as silk. “Joe’s an upgrade, alright.” You tilted your head, eyes dragging over him in an exaggerated once-over. “But considering what I was working with before, it really didn’t take much.”

His smile flickered, but he was too stubborn to let it go. “C’mon, you don’t have to pretend with me. I know you, remember? Back when you were just another Dallas girl trying to play hard to get?”

You actually laughed at that.

Not a fake, polite one. A real one. Because this was just sad.

“Wow,” you mused. “I’ve gotta give it to you, you commit to the bit. Most guys would’ve tapped out by now, but you? You’re still going. That’s dedication.”

His jaw tensed just slightly. “I’m just saying, no need to act all high and mighty. We both know you used to—”

“Used to what?”

Your voice was still sweet, still playful, but the underlying steel was there. And when you took a slow sip of your drink, watching him over the rim, it was clear you were letting him dig his own grave.

Before he could figure out how to claw his way out, a shadow loomed beside you.

Joe.

But not in the swooping, Oh no! My girl is in distress! way.

No, he was calm. Casual. Like he had all the time in the world. His presence alone was enough to shift the energy in the conversation, but you didn’t even acknowledge him yet. You wanted to see just how long it would take for the guy in front of you to realize he’d lost.

Turns out, not long.

Joe didn’t say anything, just leaned slightly against the bar, watching with mild interest. But the weight of his presence alone did something to your uninvited guest—made him shift uncomfortably, made his easy confidence crack just a little.

And that? That was satisfying.

“I was just catching up with your girl,” the Cowboy muttered, backtracking so fast you almost wanted to laugh.

Joe didn’t miss a beat. “Yeah?” He glanced at you, finally acknowledging you with a knowing smirk. “You having fun?”

You took another sip, grinning. “Oh, loads.”

The guy beside you tensed. “I was just—”

“Leaving?” you supplied helpfully.

His mouth opened. Closed. Then, without another word, he turned and disappeared into the crowd.

Joe chuckled, finally handing you the drink he had left to get. “You were having way too much fun with that.”

You shrugged, taking a sip. “Can you blame me?”

He shook his head, draping an arm lazily around your waist, pulling you in just slightly. “Guess not.”

And the night went on.

Just you and Joe. The hottest couple in the room.

[luv-lock]

... # ☆ GOLDEN BOY .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ 𝘗𝘈𝘐𝘙𝘐𝘕𝘎 : Robin Dick Grayson x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘱𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘺 𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩 (𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯).

☆⁠ NOTES : 𝘛𝘦𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘨𝘦��𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦. 𝘌𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦. 𝘏𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺!

It starts off innocently enough—just a little crush. You sit near him in class, maybe one row over, and you’re one of the only people who genuinely sees him, not as Bruce Wayne’s ward, not as the golden boy acrobat, but just Dick. The first time you smile at him? Oh, he’s done for. It’s over. That bright, genuine expression you give him after he cracks a dumb joke sends his heart into overdrive. He’s replaying it in his head for weeks. He starts noticing everything about you. The way you twirl your pen when you’re thinking, the soft hum you let out when you're focused, how your eyes light up when you talk about something you love. He starts making excuses to talk to you. “Hey, do you have the notes from last class?” even though he has a perfect memory. “Do you get the homework? I think I missed something.” He just wants to hear your voice, to make you focus on him.

At first, it’s all sweet, dorky teenage boy vibes. But then it starts getting a little intense. He watches you when you’re not looking—not in a creepy way (okay, maybe a little), but in a memorizing everything about you way. He just wants to understand you. What makes you laugh? What makes you frown? Who do you talk to the most? If you mention liking a certain song, you bet he’s listening to it on repeat that night. If you mention a favorite book, he’s reading it in one night just so he can bring it up casually. He adores hearing you say his name. He swears it sounds different coming from your lips. Whenever you do, he fights the urge to grin like an idiot. He gets jealous so easily, but he doesn’t show it in an obvious way. It’s more of a subtle coldness toward any guy you talk to for too long. If someone flirts with you, he’s immediately analyzing everything about them, thinking, What does she see in him?

He’s Robin before anything else, and that means he’s naturally protective. Gotham’s dangerous, and even if you don’t know his secret, he makes it his job to keep you safe. If you're walking home late? He just so happens to be taking the same route. Coincidence? He’d never admit it. He pays attention to how people treat you. If anyone ever makes you uncomfortable, he remembers. Not that he’d ever do anything drastic (yet), but they might find themselves getting mysteriously unlucky.

He doesn’t mean to know so much about you—it just happens. It’s not weird that he remembers your schedule, right? Or that he noticed when you switched shampoos? Or that he can tell when something’s bothering you before you even say anything? He doesn’t mean to follow you home sometimes. He just… wants to make sure you’re okay. Gotham’s dangerous, and you don’t have training like he does. And he definitely doesn’t mean to get distracted on patrol whenever he sees someone who looks like you. But for a split second, he forgets Gotham’s crime rate and thinks, Is she out this late? He’s self-aware enough to know this isn’t just a normal crush. But it’s harmless, right? He’s just watching out for you. If you ever casually compliment him—“You’re really smart, Dick” or “I like being around you”—he malfunctions. Completely. And if you ever initiate contact? Oh, he’s done. Completely, utterly, hopelessly yours.

Dick is a puppy when it comes to you. The second you walk into the classroom, he perks up. If he’s sitting, he straightens his posture. If he’s standing, he suddenly finds something super interesting about the wall just to avoid looking too eager. He lives for those little moments of eye contact. If you catch him staring, he plays it off like he was lost in thought—but inside? His brain is melting. He starts doodling your name in the margins of his notebooks without even realizing it. One day, he catches himself writing “Mr. and Mrs. Grayson” in the corner of his notes and nearly dies on the spot. If you ever say something nice about his eyes? Oh, you’ve ruined him. He will think about that compliment for weeks. Every time he looks in the mirror, he wonders, Does she like them this way? Does she think they’re pretty?

Whenever the teacher asks a question, he needs to be the one who answers it. Not because he’s a know-it-all, but because he wants you to see how smart he is. If you're struggling with something—anything—he’s immediately offering to help. Bad at math? Boom, he's suddenly your personal tutor (even though he secretly hates math). Need a partner for a project? He's already pulling his desk closer before you can even ask. He randomly picks up new skills just because you mentioned liking them. If you say you love guitar players? Guess who suddenly owns a guitar and is watching hours of tutorials? Gym class becomes his personal Olympics. If you're watching, he's running faster, jumping higher, and doing flips that are completely unnecessary just to get your attention.

If you so much as sigh in class, he notices. “You okay?” His voice is so soft, full of genuine concern, and he will not rest until you tell him what’s wrong. He remembers everything you say. Mentioned craving a certain snack? He’s “randomly” bringing it to school the next day. Said you liked a certain brand of lip balm? He notices every time you put it on. If you’re ever sad, he’s ready to drop everything. The moment you look upset, he leans in, voice low and sweet, “Hey… talk to me.” He’ll listen so intently, nodding at all the right moments, just aching to fix whatever’s wrong. He’s a natural gentleman around you. Holding doors open, pulling out chairs, letting you borrow his jacket when it's cold (even if he’s freezing). It’s second nature to him—he just wants to take care of you.

If you miss a day of school? He’s restless. Checking his phone way too much, tapping his pencil, wondering where you are, if you’re okay, if you miss him too. The day you come back? He’s practically glowing. “Hey! You’re back!” His voice is a little too excited, but he can’t help it. He loves when you talk to him first. The moment you say, “Hey, Dick!” in the hallway, he lights up like a Christmas tree. If you touch his arm while laughing? Oh. He’s not getting over that for at least a month. If you’re ever even slightly affectionate with him—resting your head on his shoulder, holding onto his wrist absentmindedly—he’s gone. He replays that moment forever, sighing like a lovesick fool in his room at night.

He has so many little fantasies about you. Not weird ones—just soft, innocent daydreams. Holding hands. Walking you home. Kissing you under the stars like in the movies. He imagines what it would be like if you were his. If he could just tell you how much you mean to him, if he could wrap his arms around you whenever he wanted, if he could finally call you his. But for now, he’s content just being close to you, memorizing every little thing about you, waiting for the moment when you’ll finally see him the way he sees you. Because to him? You’re already his—you just don’t know it yet.

Dick has been thinking about this for weeks. No—months. He’s built up so many little fantasies about it in his head. He imagines it happening naturally, like in the movies—maybe you’ll both laugh at something at the same time, your eyes will meet, and you’ll just know. But no. That’s not realistic. He needs a plan. So, naturally, he overthinks everything. Should he ask casually? Should he write a note? Should he just confess dramatically in the rain? (That one’s his favorite idea, but Gotham’s weather isn’t cooperating.)

He starts dropping little comments like, “Hey, you ever been to that cute café downtown?” or “Do you like Italian food?” If you mention liking a certain place, guess who suddenly loves that place too? “Oh, you like that diner? No way! I love that diner. We should totally go sometime…” He tests the waters constantly. “Would you ever go out with someone from our class?” (Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes—)

He practices in the mirror. A lot. He even tries different tones—cool and casual (“Hey, wanna grab a bite with me?”), nervous but sweet (“I was, um, wondering if you’d maybe wanna go out?”), and even overly confident (“Obviously, you should go on a date with me.”). But the moment he actually sees you? Oh. His brain malfunctions. “Hey—uh—so—okay—hypothetically, if a guy—like me—were to, um, ask you to hang out—but like, not as friends, more like a date—what would you, uh… think?” The second he says it, he wants to die. That was NOT what he practiced. That was awful. But you laugh. Not at him—just at how adorably flustered he is. And oh, if your laugh wasn’t already his favorite sound, it definitely is now.

If you say yes? Oh. He short-circuits. He’s trying to stay cool, but inside? Explosions. Fireworks. The Bat-Signal shining just for him. “Really? I mean—yeah! Cool! Totally cool. Um, how’s Friday? Or Saturday? Or any day? I’m free. Like, always. For you.”

Once you say yes, he goes into full-on mission mode. He has to make this perfect. This isn’t just a date—it’s your first date together, meaning it has to be something you’ll remember forever. He spends an embarrassing amount of time deciding what to wear. He changes outfits at least five times before realizing, “Oh God, I’m worse than Bruce.” He arrives early. He tells himself not to, but he literally cannot be late. In fact, he’s been there so long that by the time you show up, he’s already memorized the entire menu.

When He Sees You… Oh. He’s gone. The moment he lays eyes on you, it’s like the world just stops. “Wow.” He says it without thinking, and then immediately tries to cover it up with a cough. “I mean—not that you don’t always look great! Because you do. All the time. But tonight? Wow.” (He is so embarrassing. And he does not care.)

He’s lowkey flexing. Not in an arrogant way, but in a please find me impressive way. He talks about his training (“I mean, gymnastics is kinda my thing…”), but downplays it like it’s not incredibly cool.

When you least expect it, he gets weirdly soft. He looks at you when you’re not paying attention, like he’s memorizing you. Like he can’t believe you’re real.

When he walks you home, he wants to hold your hand. He wants to kiss you, but he’s too nervous (what if it’s too soon? What if she doesn’t want that?) “I had fun tonight,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. He really wants to ask if he can kiss you. But instead, he blurts out— “So, um. Can I… take you out again?” (His voice is so hopeful—he looks like a puppy waiting for a treat.) Yes? Oh! Congratulations, you have just made his entire year. He’s smiling so hard all the way home, practically skipping. The second he gets home, he flops onto his bed, staring at the ceiling, sighing like a total fool. She said yes. She had fun. She’s gonna be mine. I just know it.

Oh. You have no idea what you’ve just signed up for. Dick is the most devoted boyfriend on the planet. He’s not just in love—he’s obsessed (in the cutest, puppy-eyed way possible). He still can’t believe you’re actually his. Every time he sees you at school, his heart flutters. He gets this dumb, lovesick smile on his face and can’t even hide it. If you so much as look at him in the hallway? Oh, he’s grinning like an idiot. If you say his name? His entire day is made. He constantly reminds himself, She’s my girlfriend now. I get to love her. I get to take care of her. And that? Oh, he will take that job very seriously.

He always waits for you after class. No matter where you sit, what you’re doing—he’s outside the door, waiting with a big grin. “Hey, babe.” (He’s still getting used to calling you that, but he loves it.) He carries your books without you even asking. If you have a heavy bag? He’s grabbing it before you can protest. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I let you carry all this, huh?” He starts noticing everything about you. Your little habits, the way you fidget when you’re nervous, the way you tilt your head when you’re thinking. He loves memorizing you.

Oh, he is so clingy, but he tries so hard to play it cool. He wants to be around you all the time. He has zero chill when it comes to other guys. The moment he notices some random dude even looking at you? His entire mood shifts. He doesn’t make a scene, but he gets super touchy. Arm around your shoulder. Hand on your waist. Pulling you closer. Just little things to remind everyone— She’s mine. If a guy gets too bold? Oh. Dick doesn’t get jealous—he gets possessive. He won’t start a fight (unless he has to), but his presence alone is enough to make people back off. “Everything okay, babe?” He asks, voice casual—but his grip on your waist tightens just a little.

He is so cheesy. He will literally text you “Good morning, beautiful ❤️” every single day. If you ever fall asleep on him? Oh. That’s it. That’s his favorite thing in the entire world. He’ll sit there, completely still for hours, just so he doesn’t wake you. He keeps every little thing you give him. If you write him a note? He treasures it. If you give him a silly doodle? He tucks it in his wallet. He gets so excited every time you touch him first. If you hold his hand, kiss his cheek, lean against him? He plays it cool on the outside, but inside? Explosions. “I’m gonna marry her one day,” he definitely tells himself after, staring at the ceiling like a fool.

In his mind? This is it. You and him? You’re meant to be. There is no future where you’re not together. He doesn’t just think about your future together—he fantasizes about it. What your life will be like. How he’ll propose one day. How you’ll be his forever. She loves me. She has to. She’s mine. If you ever mention breaking up? Oh. No. That isn’t an option. He can’t lose you. But he’s not crazy. No, no. He’s rational. If you ever tried to leave him, it would only be because you were confused. You just need to see how perfect you are together. And if that means proving his love over and over again? He’ll gladly do it. Because you are his.

You have officially unlocked the most devoted, lovesick, slightly delusional boyfriend ever. He worships the ground you walk on. He adores you. There is nothing in this world he wouldn’t do for you. In his mind? This isn’t just young love. This is forever.

𝒍𝒖𝒗-𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒌 ☆ 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[bcmbiquinn]

Boyfriend!Eddie Munson Headcanons

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ He’d always make mixtapes/playlists for you for any occasion, “songs that remind me of us” “we should make out to this rhythm” type of thing.

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ He’d drag you to every underground metal concert he can find but he would also go to any concert you want.

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ Following the above, he would do anything to get you tickets for your favourite artist, like anything! Camping the night before to be early in line -modern Eddie would have a laptop, 3 phones and a tablet to get you tickets-

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ Late night drives with your boy, yup! Blasting music, windows down and taking random turns until you end up in a secluded spot and make out for hours. (Maybe more)

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ Eddie is definitely a total romantic, he would write you cheesy love notes on scraps of paper, make poems for you, showing up late at night outside your window with a flower he stole from your neighbour yard.

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ He would try on making breakfast for you, but it’s mostly just burnt toast and half cooked scrambled eggs, he tried tho!

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ Touchy touchy, this man can’t take his hands off of you, pinching your cheeks, hand on your lower back, on your knees, caressing your arm, kisses on your forehead and neck and so on.

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ Eddie definitely needs a lot of reassurance, deep inside he always feels like people would eventually leave him, he desperately wants you to reassure him but struggles to ask for it, but once you do it and tell him there’s no one else you’d rather be, he melts instantly!

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ He’s really into matching tattoos and would love to get one with you but if you’re hesitant about, he’d just draw one on you with a sharpie.

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ ridiculously overprotective, you stub your toe, he’s like “Who did this to you?” Then proceeds to flip of the chair or hit the couch with his foot and ends up hurting himself too!

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧He’s sooo dramatic when he gets a cold, acts like he’s dying, all tucked acting like he’s on his deathbed holding your hand dramatically “my love…i don’t think I’d make it this time”

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ He can’t lie and definitely can’t keep secrets from you, if he has planned a surprise for you, he’s going to mess up immediately “Okay but when we get to the… I mean the totally normal thing we're doing! Forget what i said that!”

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ He would stole your snacks and leftovers, his logic? “What’s yours is mine, love. That’s how love works”

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ He takes fake offence to everything, if you say you don’t like a band he loves he would act as if you just stabbed him.

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ He’s genuinely protective of you, if someone upset you he goes full beast mode, “do I need to kick someone’s ass?” He doesn’t play about you or your safety.

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ if he’s ever mad at you, he would never be mean, he may cross his arms and grumble but the moment you give him puppy eyes he melts “you’re so lucky I love you, you little gremlin”

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ Our boy is a crybaby but he never had someone to rely on until he found you, he would try to hold his tears but the moment you hug him and whisper “I got you, Eds” it’s over, he buries his face on your shoulder shaking as he sobs.

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ He loves making gifts for you, he thinks it’s way more romantic, he would spent hours making the perfect necklace, ring for you, love letters, a scrapbook with all the memories you’ve made together, concert tickets, Polaroids.

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧He totally loves your quirks, if you’re into collecting rocks, you better believe he would get you the prettiest rocks!

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧He would give you one of his rings and if it doesn’t fit on your finger because it’s too big he would turn it into a necklace.

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧he would give the most out of place birthday cards “congratulations on your promotion” “yaaaaaaaaay”

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧He gives you his stuff to you for no reason, his jacket? Take it, his favourite band pin? Take it. If you ever mention liking something he has, straight right into your hands “No, really take it, I don’t even need it” he probably does need it.

We’re close to valetine’s day baddies!

Divider: @adornedwithlight

[rose-in-blue]

"Any Time, Mon Cher"

Alastor x reader

Warnings/tags: fluff, Alastor being smarmy, reader being awkward, an aggressive amount of commas and parenthesis, deer kink(?), slightly suggestive, Alastor isn't repulsed by touch at least not from (Y/N), cursing, thoughts in italics, the hotel has a kitchen?

A/n: this is my first time posting fanfic, so please go easy on me, guys! let me know if I made any errors in the comments <3

1176 words

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I seriously can’t believe you, Alastor!” you shouted, for what seemed like the hundredth time. 

“I really don’t see the problem here, dear,” he said, slightly more passive aggressive than normal.

You two had been fighting for the last 10 minutes or so, standing in the small kitchen of the Hazbin Hotel. While your fight had started with a simple argument over a slight misunderstanding, soon the gates broke and the flood began— every single thing that Alastor had done that ticked you off just rushed out in a wave that you couldn't seem to stop.

“Argh, you’re just… the… the worst!!” you screamed into his face, lacking better words. 

Alastors eyes narrowed, shit-eating-grin strained slightly, ears flicking back for a brief moment. You barely caught the change in his eyes or smile, but your eyes darted up at the movement from his fluffy, red and black ears.

You’d never admit it, but ever since you’d arrived at the hotel, you’d had a bit of an obsession over the Radio Demon. He was aggravating and full of himself and bitchy and narcissistic, but something about him always seemed to make your heart beat a little faster. Especially his more… deer-like features.

Antlers, ears, (speculated) tail— you were fascinated by it all. All you wanted to do was run your hand up the back of his ears, tangling in his hair, while you lay, gasping, helpless beneath him, completely at his mercy…

You blinked, realizing that you’d been staring for a few moments too long. Alastor noticed, of course. Smiling wider, he decided to have some fun with it.

“Really, darling? In what ways am I…” he flicked his ears backwards, then forwards again, “the worst?”

You blushed, eyes never breaking from his ears. “Uh, well, I… for starters…” you trailed off.

“...Yes, dear? I’m listening.” His left ear flicked to the side.

“Oh, well, you know…” you desperately tried to gain control of the conversation, looking into his eyes again. “You’re incredibly full of yourself.”

“Oh, really, (Y/N)? And you’re so humble?” He grinned impossibly wider, ears flicking in every which way.

“Well, ya know, I…” Get a hold of yourself, (Y/N), you thought, eyes trying to focus on anything else but the demon in front of you. “I’m not an asshole about it.” Fuck, why did you say that?!

Alastor threw his head back and laughed, his ears finally stopping. You pouted, hating to be the butt of whatever sadistic joke you were to him. “Really? Is that what you think of me?” he asked, still laughing.

“I… I mean, I…” What did you mean? Sure, Alastor could be shitty at times, but he seemed to have a soft spot for you… at least, that’s what you thought. You didn’t really know anymore.

He bent at the waist, face drawing closer to yours, and it seemed as if he read your mind. “What did you mean, sweetheart? I’m listening.” His ears shifted back (purposefully, of course– he just loved to see you squirm). That was the final breaking point for you.

“Oh, fuck you, Alastor!” you turned your head away, suddenly very aware that your back was now firmly pressed against the kitchen counter.

“You’re welcome to try, dear.”

HE DID NOT JUST—

You blushed, and your eyes flashed to his instantly, because there was no way in hell that he just said that.

The smirk that played across his face told you that he had indeed just said that.

“I…I…I-I,” you stammered, not quite able to process it. His smirk grew, especially after his ears twitched to the front again and your eyes followed every movement and his eyes followed yours.

Changing the subject (thank Satan), his smile shifted to a kinder one, eyes looking up to where his ears stood, then back at you. "Would you like to touch them, darling?"

You were silent for a moment, taken aback. "What-- I'm sorry?"

You heard him, of course, and he knew that, so he continued. "As long as our little argument is over, that is." He reached down and took your hand, eyes never breaking away from yours. "As much as I love our friendly banter, it hurts me so much to see you so angry at me."

You didn't know what so say for once, so you just let him bring your hand to to the side of his temple, almost touching his hair.

"...I..." Honestly, you were surprised you got that much out.

Still smiling, his eyes stared into your soul. "Use your words, dear."

Well, there was no going back now. You threw all your embarrassment out the window and nodded vigorously. "Yes, yes, Alastor, I do."

Alastor smiled (you could swear there was kindness behind it), bowed his head, and pressed your hand to the base of his ear.

You almost gasped. The hair (hair? fur? hair-fur?) was soft, softer than you'd imagined. Your fingers gently danced up and down his ear, and then moved over to caress his antlers.

Meanwhile, hidden from you, Alastor's face was a mess of emotions. Every bone in his body screamed at his to leave, to vanish, to get away from the danger that physical contact might bring. His eyes flashed into radio dials, then back again. However, within only a few seconds, he relaxed into your touch, letting out a soft exhale.

You were enthralled with his ears and antlers, so much so that you brought your other hand up to the back of his head, unintentionally pulling him closer to you. Alastor stepped forward slightly, swallowed his pride, and trailed his hands up the sides of your thighs to your waist, while your fingers kept toying with his hair.

Alastor, head still lowered, shifted enough to where he could look up at you. Finally, finally you were able to stop looking at the top of his head (satiated for now), and stared deep into his crimson eyes. (Were his pupils more dilated than normal?)

Slowly, he stood up straight, eyes still fixated on you. Your hands fell from his ears to his hair, and then to his chest. You seemed even more aware of the counter behind you, especially as Alastor took another small step toward you, almost pressing into you, hands tightening on your waist.

"Thank you," you whispered, almost inaudibly, head reaching up slightly.

"Any time, mon cher," he whispered back, as his head lowered.

At that moment, Charlie burst into the kitchen. Immediately, you spun around to face the sink, while Alastor shadow-traveled a few yards away to the fridge. "Alright, you two! I hope you're ready for some group exercises!" she bubbled.

You cleared your throat, blushing (grateful that she didn't see the almost-kiss). "Of course, we'll be out in a minute!" you assured the princess.

"No, no, right now! Let's goooo!" she dragged you out of the kitchen.

Before you passed the now open doorway, you caught Alastor's eye.

He smiled at you.

You grinned.

"Any time, dear," he whispered once more as you disappeared. "Any time."

[ilylillies]

I LOVE pound CAKE so MUCH!!! It tastes SO good with the ICING too!! It brings back a LOT of memories when my MOM first MADE it!! It tasted WONDERFUL, SWEET, VANILLA-Y if you want to call it. Its REALLY good I LOVE POUND CAKE.

Oh yeah, what’s your FAVORITE CAKE?

Cant call myself devoted if I always make the mistake of holding your hand in my claws.

What are YOUR FAVORITE COLORS? My FAVORITE colors are, BLUE, PINK, YELLOW, and BLACK!!! I LOVE PINK, BLUE, and YELLOW because they make the most PRETTIEST, MOST BEAUTIFUL SUNSETS!!

My FAVORITE LANDSCAPE ( I don’t know if it counts, but I’ll just say it anyway for the internet gods to notice, ) is a CORAL REEF!! I actually like any marine landscape because the LUMINESCENTE and MAGIC of the UNDERWATER is a FANTASMICAL sight to SEE!! What are YOUR FAVORITE LANDSCAPES??

My FAVORITE MUSICAL GENRES are ELECTRONIC, FUNK, HIP-HOP, INDIE, I THINK ACOUSTIC, SOMETIMES ROCK, I really just like about ANYTHING at this point cause WHAT ELSE AM I DOING IN MY LIFE??? What are YOUR FAVORITE MUSICAL GENRES?

My FAVORITE GAMES are THE SPLATOON FRANCHISE, GREAT GOD GROVE, MOUTHWASHING, ANIMAL CROSSING:NEW HORIZONS, and ROBLOX as of what I can remember right now. What are YOUR FAVORITE GAMES??

My TOP SOCIAL MEDIA PLATFORMS are TUMBLR, REDNOTE, and FACEBOOK because Im like I guess a weirdo, JUST KIDDING I DONT USE FACEBOOK, I cant check TUMBLR until the end of the week and I don’t even have TT cause TT is kinda in deep with politics and stuff so yeeaahh.

My FAVORITE franchises as of RIGHT NOW are GREAT GOD GROVE, MOUTHWASHING, REGRETEVATOR, SPLATOON, I think I’m still in WELCOME HOME a bit here and there, I.O.N OBJECT SHOW, OBJECT SHOW COMMUNITY (OSC), and thats all I got for now. What are YOUR FAVORITE FRANCHISES??

SONGS I LIKE are NEW DROP by DON TOLIVER, HEART BEAT by CHILDISH GAMBINO, (This IS WHERE I GET WEIRD) ANTHEMS FOR A 17 YEAR OLD by BROKEN SOCIAL SCENE, SOUK EYE, BROKEN, SHE’S MY COLLAR, and the one and only TOMORROW COMES TODAY by GORILLAZ (I told you its getting weird) HEADLOCK by IMOGEN, AH AH by SYLENDENNA, RAINCOAT & DIRTY CAR by STUDIO KILLERS, SARAH, TREEHOUSE, HARVEY, SANDY, 16 MIRRORS, and MIS by ALEX G, CORBON AMODIO’S LUCY (Bingo bango bayber) I THINK I LIKE WHEN IT RAINS by WILLIS (Now were really falling, WHY DOES MY PHONE SMELL LIKE METAL) (sorry im adding so much words for algoridunm to word count) uhh uh um LAGTRAIN INFECTED MIX by JORJ1357 I think you know enough, what are SONG YOU LIKE?

My FAVORITE HOBBIES are DRAWING, ANIMATING, USING PINTEREST, WATCHING HOOPS AND YOYO, and other FRANCHISES, EATING, PLAYING ROBLOX OR SOME OF MY OTHER FAVORITE GAMES like SPLATOON, READING WEBCOMICS, USING INSTAGRAM, LITERALLY MY PHONE, LOOKING AT PEOPLE ENJOYING THEIR LIVES SKATEBOARDING AND URBEX EXPLORING WHILE WEARING COOL CLOTHES AND LIVING COOL LIVES AND IM OVER HERE NOT KNOWING BASIC HYGIENE Help me

My FAVORITE FRUITS are WATERMELON, APPLES, BANANAS, and ORANGES because their all SWEET, APPLES, ORANGES, and WATERMELONS are HONEY CRISP and JUICY, BANANAS are SOFT yet PUNGENT in such a WAY I don’t know how to DESCRIBE.

My FAVORITE SEASONS are ALL the seasons. FALL gives a homey vibe where you listen to acoustics and wear cute layered clothes. WINTER is a time where I watch people slip on the ground early in the morning, get to wear warm clothes and snuggle inside my blanket while scrolling on my phone. SPRING, a time of rebirth, anew, a time where flowers, lakes, nature, get to glisten from the death of winter, a time for new days. SUMMER is my utmost FAVORITE time of the year, as it brings out old nostalgia of memories with my cousins, the beautiful weather, the MUSIC is amazing, Its a beautiful time to enjoy. What are YOUR FAVORITE SEASONS?? Cant wait to find out!!

My FAVORITE songs are 16 MIRRORS by ALEX G, AH? AH! By SYLENDANNA, WAIT A MINUETE by WILLOW, SHES MY COLLAR by GORILLAZ, also my FAVORITE BAND so far, GOD IS CALLING ME BACK HOME by KING GIZZARD AND THE LIZARD WIZARD, I havent listened to many of their songs but this one I heard from YUGO LIMBO, creator of Smile for me Dr Habit and Great God Grove, when they made a trailer for their psychedelic horror comic, and I though it was pretty nice, I REALLY like Lost so—

—ul down x Floki, and uhh looks like Pinterest’s word limit is here, I gotta go byeee.

My FAVORITE type of IMAGINARY WEATHER is when it’s RAINING on a SUNSETTING afternoon. Although Ive never SEEN it, a SUNSET RAINBOW out on a CLIFF, or off in the DISTANCE of a CITY would be a PLEASANT sight to see. Whats YOUR FAVORITE imaginary WEATHER??

WHAT are YOUR FAVORITE FLAVORS?? My FAVORITE FLAVORS are VANILLA, HAZELNUT, CHOCOLATE, WATERMELON, and BUBBLEGUM!!

My FAVORITE DRINKS are SLUSHIES, ORANGE FANTA and ROOT BEER SODA, HOT CHOCOLATE, or, COCOA, BATTERY ACID DRINK from tiktok with the SMOKY ICE, OREO MILKSHAKES, and WATERMELON SODA.

My FAVORITE BUBBLE GUM FLAVORS are the ORIGINAL, JUICY FRUIT, CINNAMON, WATERMELON, BUBBLE YUM is my FAVORITE BRAND of BUBBLE GUM other than HUBBA BUBBA and DUBBLE BUBBLE. I also like POP ROCKS.

What are YOUR FAVORITE BUBBLEGUM FLAVOR or FLAVORS?

A Palestinian prisoner from Zionist occupation prisons... Zionism is terrorism.

Zionists are truly disgusting oppressors. They kill, torture and imprison Palestinians just because they are Palestinians and do not want to leave their homeland. They torture them beyond your imagination. They don't care whether the other person is a woman, child or baby. They have no conscience or common sense. If there is an zionist near you, protect yourself from him/her/ something

Free, free Palestine! 🇵🇸

[foreveia]

take two ⤨ iwaizumi hajime

⨭ genre; fluff, idiots to lovers but like they're actually so dumb

⨭ pairing; iwaizumi x fem!reader

⨭ word count; 5.7k

⨭ descriptions; your boss has been trying to set you up with her son for months, but as it turns out at the holiday party... you've already met him before.

⨭ warnings; explicit language and dialogue, no graphic content tho, alcohol

⨭ a/n; fun little short fic to fill the fix to publish something lolol enjoy this iwa love dump as i work on my next long fic (tell me in the comments if y'all like these better)

one.

There are exactly three things you know to be true about Iwaizumi Emi:

She is the best divorce attorney in Tohoku, possibly the country.

She is the kind of woman who could negotiate her way out of murder charges and secure the victim’s house in the settlement.

She is, without a doubt, trying to set you up with her son.

You respect her. You admire her. You are, on occasion, lowkey terrified of her.

Which is why you’re currently sitting at your desk, nodding at all the appropriate intervals while she breezes through yet another pitch about why her son and you are, in her professional opinion, a perfect match.

“He’s back from Irvine for the summer,” she says, skimming a property settlement document like it personally offended her. She tosses it onto your pile nonchalantly, and you let out a short sigh because it’s just more backend filing to do and, despite your adoration for your career path and real passion towards legal work, entry jobs in the firm are mostly busy work. “I really think you’ll like him. He’s—”

You tune out. Not in an obvious way, of course—no, you’re a professional. You sprinkle in the occasional mmhmm and sounds great so she doesn’t catch on, but this isn’t your first rodeo. You’ve heard this pitch before. Multiple times. Hajime is intelligent, responsible, not an idiot like some of these men out here, blah blah blah.

It’s not that you have anything against him. Really. It’s just that you’ve spent months perfecting the art of dodging your boss’s matchmaking attempts, and frankly, you don’t have the energy to entertain her latest scheme.

“You’re finally going to meet him at the firm’s ball this weekend,” Emi continues, finally looking up from her paperwork, her smile entirely too satisfied.

You blink. “Oh.”

“He’s excited to meet you too.”

Now that is new. Usually, these monologues are strictly one-sided—I told him about you! and You two will get along so well! But he’s excited to meet you too? That’s an escalation. That’s a game-changer. That means he knows about you. He has an opinion about you.

You resist the urge to groan. Instead, you summon a polite, professional smile—the same one you use when dealing with particularly insufferable clients. “Looking forward to it,” you say, because what else are you supposed to say to the woman who could single-handedly end your career if she wanted to?

In reality, the only thing you’re looking forward to about the ball is the open bar. Being in your early twenties means being woefully broke, and you’d be lying if you said the thought of unlimited free alcohol wasn’t a strong motivator.

So, you strike a deal with yourself: you’ll put on a fancy dress, endure painful heels, and let Emi parade you in front of her son like a prize show poodle—all in exchange for an endless supply of pinot noir, cocktail shrimp, and, if you play your cards right, an entire bottle of champagne to sneak home in your purse.

It’s a sacrifice you’re willing to make.

two.

Because you’re an adult with an absolutely thriving social life (read: you have two friends who are willing to tolerate your bullshit after 6 PM), you, Yachi, and Kiyoko are now seated at your favorite little izakaya, wedged into a corner booth with plates of karaage and a pitcher of beer between you. 

Kiyoko is talking about wedding venues. Because she’s engaged. To Tanaka. Which is objectively insane because in your head, they’re still in that “grossly obsessed with each other but pretending they’re just friends” phase, even though they’ve been together for years. The whole thing is a crime against single people everywhere, but you are supportive because your already jaw-dropping friend is somehow glowing even brighter now that she has a fat rock on her ring finger. She looks lighter, happier. She deserves it.

Yachi, meanwhile, is explaining—between delicate sips of her beer—that she’s too swamped with work to even think about dating. Which, yeah. Fair. The woman works harder than most people you know, so you respect it.

Then, as the conversation naturally shifts to your love life (as it always does, because you’re the group’s designated mess), you sigh, sinking into your seat dramatically.

“I haven’t had sex in months.”

There’s a beat of silence before Kiyoko and Yachi both roll their eyes in unison, like they rehearsed it.

“Oh my God,” Yachi mutters.

“You cannot still be caught up on GDD,” Kiyoko says flatly, pouring herself another drink.

“Okay, first of all,” you say, holding up a finger, “it is not about him. It’s just a general fact about my current state of being.”

“Uh-huh,” Kiyoko hums, entirely unconvinced.

“Second of all,” you continue, undeterred, “GDD was life-changing, and I feel like I should be allowed to mourn the lack of that level of—of excellence in my life.”

“Life-changing,” Yachi repeats, deadpan. “You hooked up with him once.”

“Yeah, and my life was changed.”

GDD—Good Dick Dude, as he has been dubbed by your dear, unsupportive friends—was a guy you hooked up with in January after a truly legendary New Year’s Eve party.

The night itself had been pure chaos. Hinata had somehow scored an invite to this insane rooftop party—one of those bougie, exclusive, if-you-know-you-know events where you absolutely do not belong but somehow manage to fake it enough to get through the door. He’d gotten a few plus-ones, which is how you ended up there, sipping champagne you definitely couldn’t afford and making out with a guy who, to this day, remains one of the most mind-blowing hookups of your entire life.

Gorgeous, buff, and dangerous with his hands. The kind of guy who knew exactly what he was doing, which, honestly? A rarity these days. You barely remember his name—something short, easy to moan—but you do remember his stupidly perfect smirk and the way he all but ruined you against the nearest flat surface.

But then the party ended, the night faded into a haze, and you never saw him again.

Which is fine. It’s fine. Really.

You’re definitely not still thinking about it.

Kiyoko takes a sip of her beer, unimpressed. “You’ve been on, what? Five Hinge dates since then? Six?”

“Seven,” Yachi corrects.

You point at her. “Exactly.”

Kiyoko gives you a long, slow blink.

“I mean that as proof that I am not hung up on him!” you clarify. “I’ve been trying, okay? But the bar is in hell. Do you know how many ‘we should get drinks’ texts I get from guys who put crypto investor in their bios?”

Kiyoko sighs. “Okay, but let’s be real—are you actually giving any of these guys a chance?”

You open your mouth. Close it. Frown. “I mean… like… conceptually?”

“Right.”

Yachi, forever gentle but devastatingly perceptive, tilts her head at you. “Is it possible,” she says carefully, “that maybe none of these guys are measuring up because you’re subconsciously comparing them to him?”

You scoff. “That’s ridiculous.”

Is it ridiculous?

Because, okay, maybe—just maybe—no one has quite lived up to that night. And maybe you’re being a little unfair to the dating pool by expecting every single guy to have that same kind of chemistry with you. And maybe you do occasionally find yourself staring at random ceilings, wondering where GDD is now and if he even remembers you.

But still. That doesn’t mean—

“I hate you guys,” you grumble, stabbing aggressively at a piece of karaage.

Yachi pats your hand sympathetically. “We know.”

Kiyoko, ever the queen of smooth topic transitions, nudges the conversation in a new direction. “Speaking of your questionable taste in men, your boss is still trying to set you up with her son, correct?”

You groan, letting your head fall back against the booth. “Unfortunately, yes. And now, apparently, he’s excited to meet me.”

Yachi perks up. “Wait, so you are meeting him?”

“At the firm’s ball this weekend,” you say, waving a hand. “It’s fine. I’ll get a little wine drunk, take advantage of the seafood bar.”

Kiyoko raises an eyebrow. “So, you’re not going to entertain the idea of this Hajime guy at all?”

You scoff. “Absolutely not.”

Yachi hums, tilting her head in that way she does when she’s about to say something devastatingly reasonable. “I mean… what if Emi’s right?”

You blink. “What?”

“What if this is it?” she says, half-teasing, half-genuinely curious. “Like, what if you meet him and he’s actually your soulmate? Imagine if this whole time, your boss has been playing the long game, orchestrating your love story like some kind of corporate fairy godmother.”

You snort. Loudly. “Right. Because that’s totally my luck.”

Kiyoko and Yachi exchange a knowing look, but they let it go.

You take another sip of your beer, shaking your head. Hajime Iwaizumi—whoever he is—is not the love of your life.

That would be insane.

three.

You had to pull out your graduate school formal gown from the back of your closet for this, but wow, you really forgot just how good you look in red.

Your day-to-day work attire consists of pantsuits and button-ups, neatly tucked into cautiously ironed trousers, so you’ve honestly forgotten how nice it is to get dressed up once in a while. There’s something about slipping into a gown that fits like a dream, sweeping your hair up just right, and swiping on that perfect shade of lipstick that makes you feel invincible. Like you could negotiate a million-dollar deal, steal the firm’s best clients, and seduce someone’s husband all in the same breath.

Not that you would, obviously.

Probably.

The venue is ridiculous in the way all law firm events are ridiculous—held in a ballroom large enough to house a small country, chandeliers dripping in gold, servers weaving through the crowd with trays of champagne and fancy bruschetta topped with fucking caviar of all things. All this just to celebrate another year of making money off people’s divorces. Incredible the way capitalism works.

You’ve barely made it through your first glass of wine before Emi finds you.

“There she is,” she croons, linking her arm through yours. She looks positively radiant in an emerald gown, diamonds at her ears, and the kind of effortless elegance that comes from winning. You’d respect it more if she weren’t actively dragging you toward your inevitable doom. “Come on, sweetheart. Hajime’s here, and I cannot wait for you two to finally meet.”

You bite back a sigh, because of course. No warm-up period, no buffer—just straight to the matchmaking. “Can’t I get a few more drinks in me first?”

She waves a hand, utterly dismissing your complaints. “You’ll like him. I know you will.”

You doubt it. But you let her lead you anyway, mostly because you know resisting is pointless: your boss has the world’s most spell-blinding smile and enough charm to always get her way. Emi always wins.

She stops near the bar, where a man stands with his back to you, broad shoulders wrapped in a sharp black suit, one hand resting on the counter as he talks with someone just out of view.

Emi squeezes your hand. “Hajime,” she calls, her voice warm.

The man turns.

And every thought in your head immediately ceases to exist.

Because standing before you, looking unfairly good in a tailored suit and sipping from a glass of whiskey like he isn’t single-handedly ruining your life, is GDD.

Good Dick Dude.

Hajime Iwaizumi is Good Dick Dude.

Your brain short-circuits. This is not happening. This is some kind of fever dream, a cruel trick played by the universe to punish you for your sins.

Hajime’s sharp green eyes land on you, recognition flickering behind them, and then—oh no. 

He smirks. Like he knows exactly what’s running through your mind right now. Like he remembers everything.

Emi, completely unaware of your crisis, beams. “Hajime, this is the associate I’ve been telling you about.”

His mischievous, more than just amused smile widens. “Oh, I know who she is.”

Your soul leaves your body.

Because that voice? That voice is the same one that had whispered filth against your neck four months ago. The same voice that had laughed when you moaned his name. The same voice that had ruined you in ways you still haven’t fully recovered from.

You are going to die. Right here, right now, in the middle of this godforsaken gala.

“Hajime Iwaizumi,” he says smoothly, offering a hand. His palm is rough when you take it—calloused, strong, a stark reminder of exactly where those hands have been. His grip is firm, steady, and entirely too knowing.

You swallow, pasting on the best Oh wow, I am totally not spiraling internally smile you can manage. “Yeah,” you say weakly. “We’ve met.”

“Oh!” Emi beams, clasping her hands together like she’s just delighted by this new revelation. “That’s wonderful! I knew you two would get along.”

You let out a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a strangled choke. Hajime is still watching you, head tilted slightly, like he’s enjoying this: like he can see the exact moment you realize how deeply, horrifically screwed you are. Because there is no way Emi knows. She’s too composed, too pleased. If she had any inkling that her son and her associate had met four months ago in a completely inappropriate context, she’d have you both buried in litigation faster than you could say conflict of interest.

Which means Hajime is choosing to be a menace.

God, you’re going to kill him.

“Hajime just got back from Irvine a few days ago, for the start of his summer break,” Emi continues, completely oblivious to the absolute war waging behind your polite smile. “I’ve been telling him all about you, of course.”

You almost choke on your drink. “You have?”

“Of course I have!” Emi nods enthusiastically. “She’s one of the brightest associates we have, Hajime. Sharp, diligent, absolutely ruthless in negotiations—she reminds me of myself when I was her age.”

Your lips twitch. You do enjoy being compared to the most terrifying woman you’ve ever met, so it’s really too bad that this entire situation has you currently dying inside.

Hajime hums, eyes still locked on you. “Yeah,” he says, voice dipping just slightly. “She’s definitely memorable.”

Your entire body lights on fire.

Memorable.

Oh, he’s being insufferable on purpose.

Emi sighs happily, taking a sip of her champagne. “I knew you two would hit it off.”

You want to scream. You want to throw your drink in Hajime’s face. You want to rewind time and never step foot into that rooftop party.

Instead, you just smile tightly. “Mm-hmm.”

Hajime grins at your suffering. “So,” he says, tilting his glass in your direction, “how have you been?”

You resist the urge to kick him in the shins. “Busy,” you say, voice clipped. “Working.”

“Ah,” he says, nodding thoughtfully. “Yeah, that does sound like you.”

You stiffen. Hajime, you realize, is having the time of his life watching you squirm. And it’s only going to get worse.

Because Emi suddenly claps her hands together, eyes bright with mischief. “Oh! I should leave you two to chat,” she says. “Get to know each other properly.”

Oh. Oh no. Emi. Emi, please.

But before you can protest, she winks at you—winks, like she’s a fairy godmother orchestrating the perfect romance—and disappears back into the crowd.

And just like that, you are alone with him.

Hajime watches you over the rim of his glass, eyes gleaming with amusement. “So,” he says, smirking, “you haven’t forgotten me.”

Your jaw clenches. “You smug little—”

“You look good,” he interrupts smoothly, scanning you from head to toe. His gaze lingers, appreciative but blatantly teasing. “Red suits you.”

God, you want to strangle him. You cross your arms, willing yourself to stay calm. “You knew this whole time, didn’t you?”

He chuckles. “I had a feeling.”

“A feeling?”

He tilts his head, as if contemplating. “Well,” he says, “it wasn’t confirmed until I saw you.”

You glare. “You could’ve warned me.”

“And miss that reaction?” He grins. “Not a chance.”

You hate him. You hate that he looks so effortlessly good in a suit. You hate that his voice is still just as devastating as you remember. You hate that even now, months later, you can still feel the phantom weight of his hands on your hips, the rough scrape of his callouses against your skin, the way he had murmured just like that, baby against your ear—

You inhale sharply. Nope. Absolutely not. We are not thinking about that right now.

Hajime, unfortunately, definitely knows what you’re thinking about. His smirk is downright criminal. “So,” he says, leaning in slightly, voice low, “been a while, hasn’t it?”

You refuse to give him the satisfaction of blushing. “Oh, shut up.”

He laughs, warm and amused, and you are horribly aware that this night is only just beginning.

four.

The universe clearly hates you, because Hajime happens to actually be a pretty intelligent and funny person, which is making it much, much harder to dodge his attempts at flirting and his mother’s attempts at forced-proximity matchmaking.

It was supposed to be easy. You were supposed to sip your wine, endure some polite small talk, and then fade into the crowd before Emi could corner you into any serious you’d make such a beautiful couple talk. But instead, you’re somehow still here, talking to him, because apparently Hajime Iwaizumi is annoyingly easy to talk to.

Which is not fair.

He makes it look effortless, like this isn’t completely unhinged, like it’s not absolutely deranged that your boss has spent months trying to set you up with a man who has already—

You take a sip of your wine. You are not going to finish that thought.

Hajime watches you over the rim of his whiskey glass, looking entirely too entertained by this whole situation. “You seem tense.”

“Gee, I wonder why.”

His mouth twitches, but he doesn’t argue. “Hey, could be worse,” he says. “At least my mom has good taste.”

You choke on your sip, feeling the bubbles tingle in your nose and really regretting every life decision you’ve made in the last six months. “Oh, my God.”

He laughs, tilting his glass in a mock toast.

You squint at him, wary and slightly annoyed, unable to fathom how he’s not also dying at this situation. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“I mean…” He shrugs, all easy amusement. “I’m just saying—this could be a lot worse. Imagine if she was trying to set you up with someone actually terrible.”

“I don’t know,” you mutter, swirling your wine. “You’re already pretty high on my list of worst-case scenarios.”

“See, now that hurts.”

You roll your eyes. “You’ll live.”

Before Hajime can respond—before you can regain any sense of control over this conversation—Emi appears out of nowhere, her eyes shining.

“There you two are!” she says, absolutely beaming. “It’s time for the first dance!”

You freeze.

Hajime—the absolute traitor—just raises an eyebrow. “First dance?”

“Yes! It’s tradition,” Emi says, already ushering you toward the ballroom floor. “Senior partners and their dates open the dance floor—it’s been that way for years.”

You dig your heels into the floor. “But I’m not—”

“Now, sweetheart,” Emi interrupts, entirely ignoring your panic, “you wouldn’t want to break tradition, would you?”

You stare at her, betrayed.

She smiles.

Oh, she planned this.

Hajime, standing beside you, lets out a quiet, amused sigh before draining the last of his whiskey. “Well,” he says, offering you a hand, “guess we should give the people what they want.”

You glare at him. “I hate you.”

“Uh-huh,” he says. “That’s why you’re still holding my hand.”

You drop it immediately.

Unfortunately, that doesn’t stop him from leading you on to the dance floor. His hand slides around your waist, pulling you gently to the center of the ballroom; you’re struggling to ignore the far too many pairs of eyes on you two as he rearranges your arms around his neck.

And—oh, hell.

You forgot how solid he is.

His grip is firm but steady, his palm warm where it rests against your back. He moves easily, like this isn’t completely ridiculous, like your brain isn’t currently melting out of your ears.

“Relax,” Hajime murmurs.

You scowl. “I am relaxed.”

His lips twitch. “Yeah, totally.”

You hate him. You hate the way he’s looking at you—amused, interested, entirely too smug for someone who has already ruined your life once.

He leads you into a slow, easy step, and goddamn it, of course he’s good at this, too. His movements are effortless, confident. He keeps the rhythm perfectly, and you hate that you match him so well.

He tilts his head, watching you. “You’re thinking really hard about something.”

“No, I’m not.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Right. So you’re definitely not thinking about how good I am at this.”

You promptly step on his foot. He laughs, and it ignites your hatefire even more.

“Asshole,” you mutter.

“I was going to say you look good tonight,” he muses, unfazed. “But now I don’t know if you deserve the compliment.”

You glare at him. “Shut up.”

Hajime smirks. “Touchy.”

He spins you as the music hits a crescendo, dropping you abruptly into a dip that catches you heavily off-guard. It makes you lock your fingers tighter around his neck, and when he lifts you back up, you nearly slam right into his very, very firm chest (what the hell, is this man made entirely of protein?), face first.

“What the fuck?” you huff, a little winded. “You are actually a horrible human being.”

Hajime hums, tilting his head slightly, his eyes flickering with something too smug, too entertained. “You keep saying that,” he muses, voice low enough that it barely carries past the space between you, “but I think you just like having someone to complain about.”

Before you can deliver a scathing reply, he tugs you a fraction closer. It’s subtle, barely noticeable to anyone watching, but you feel it—the shift of his fingers pressing against the small of your back, the way your body slots against his just enough for warmth to pass between you.

Your breath catches, and it’s infuriating how he notices. How his hold tightens, like he can read every single thought running through your head and is thrilled by it.

“You’re such a dick,” you frown, shifting slightly, trying to put some space between you.

Hajime chuckles, and the sound is entirely too satisfied. His mouth is right by your ear, so you practically feel it more than you really hear it, when he murmurs, “And what are you gonna do about it?”

Your brain short-circuits.

Because that—that—is not fair.

That is the kind of thing a man should not be allowed to say in that voice, in that low, teasing rumble, into your ear, while holding you against him like this.

It happens before you can even think about it.

Before you can register that you are, in fact, in the middle of a ballroom at your company’s annual gala. Before you can process the reality that Emi is somewhere in this crowd, and she has already been insufferable about this whole ordeal.

Before any of that can hit you, you grab the lapels of his stupidly well-fitted suit, tilt your chin up, and kiss him.

It’s instant, sharp, devastating. Your hands tighten against his chest as you crash into him, and Hajime—because he is the worst person alive—immediately reacts.

One hand presses firm into your back, the other finding its way to your jaw, fingers curling just slightly as he deepens the kiss without hesitation. His lips are warm, just the right mix of soft and steady, and when he angles his head just so—his nose brushing against yours, his thumb skimming your cheek—you feel yourself sink, like he’s pulling you under and you don’t even mind drowning.

It should not be this good.

It should not set your pulse racing like this, make you forget for a single, damning second that this is the worst possible thing you could be doing right now.

But it does. And for just a moment, nothing else exists. Not the party. Not the music. Not the fact that literally everyone is watching you right now. Just the heat of his mouth, the firm press of his fingers at your back, the way he exhales sharply like he wasn’t expecting this either, but he’s not about to stop it, not for anything in the world. 

And then you remember where you are.

You rip yourself away, blinking rapidly, your brain racing to catch up with what you just did.

And that is the moment you hear it: the loudest, most delighted squeal of your entire existence.

Your stomach plummets.

Because standing at the edge of the ballroom, her hands clasped together in sheer glee, is none other than Emi Iwaizumi herself. And she is positively vibrating with joy.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she gushes, and the way she looks at you is the exact way someone would look at their child who just announced they were getting married. “I knew it! I knew you two would be perfect together!”

Your soul leaves your body. You stare at her, horrified. You slowly turn back to Hajime—who, because he is an absolute menace, is still standing entirely too close, still holding you just slightly like he isn’t ready to let go.

And he is smiling.

The kind of smile that says I win. The kind of smile that says he is absolutely going to remind you of this for the rest of your natural life.

You physically have to stop yourself from shoving him away.

Instead, you inhale, sharp and deep, and will yourself to stay calm. Emi is still talking. She is still gushing. And you cannot deal with whatever she’s about to say next, so before she can so much as breathe, you turn back to Hajime, seize his wrist, and drag him off the dance floor, because if you don’t get away from this immediately, you are actually going to die of secondhand embarrassment and shame.

five.

This is because of your dry spell.

Your dry spell is the reason why your entire sense of self-control and awareness have gone out the window, and the reason why, now that you and Hajime have successfully escaped the ballroom onto the balcony, he is doubled over laughing and you are actually freaking out.

“Jesus fuck,” you groan, pressing your hands to your face. The cool night air does nothing to soothe the absolute catastrophe unfolding inside your brain. “I kissed you. I kissed you in front of everyone.”

Hajime straightens, still grinning like an asshole. “Yeah,” he says, entirely too pleased. “You did.”

You drop your hands, glaring. “Fuck you, dude. You’re not helping.”

He shrugs. “Wasn’t aware I needed to.”

You let out an incoherent noise of distress.

Hajime, because he is insufferable, just leans against the balcony railing, watching you unravel like it’s the best entertainment he’s had all night. His tie is slightly loosened now, his jacket unbuttoned, and somehow, he looks even better like this—a little rumpled, a little amused, looking at you like he already knows how this is going to end. 

That is actually unacceptable.

“This is your fault,” you snap, pointing an accusing finger at him. “You goaded me into it.”

Hajime raises an eyebrow. “Oh, so I made you kiss me?”

“Yes,” you declare, with full conviction, even though you definitely grabbed him first. “You set me up.”

He snorts, shaking his head. “You really can’t handle taking the L, huh?”

“I can handle it,” you insist. “I just don’t want to.”

His lips twitch like he’s trying very hard not to laugh again. “So you kissed me against your will?”

“Yes.”

Hajime tilts his head, amused. “Interesting. Because you seemed pretty into it.”

Your jaw drops. “I—you—shut up.”

He chuckles, and God, his voice is all warm and low and pleased with himself, and you really need to get it together before you do something stupid again.

You exhale sharply, crossing your arms and shifting your focus to the city skyline instead. Sendai stretches out before you in a sea of golden lights, a stark contrast to the absolute nightmare happening in your head. 

This is fine. You can recover from this. You just have to never, ever acknowledge it again.

You square your shoulders, turning back to him. “Okay. Here’s what’s going to happen. We are going to go back inside, pretend this never happened, and move on with our lives.”

Hajime hums, considering. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s gonna work.”

You squint. “What do you mean that’s not gonna work?”

He pushes off the railing, taking a step closer—too close, enough that you feel it again, that ridiculous, stupid warmth that shouldn’t still be there after all this time. “I mean,” he says, slow, deliberate, “you’re acting like that kiss was a mistake.”

You blink. “Because it was.”

He lifts a single eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

“Yes,” you say immediately, but it comes out way too defensive, and Hajime knows it.

He grins. You decide that you hate him.

“I’m sure,” you insist, crossing your arms tighter, like that will somehow make this whole situation less insufferable. “It was a heat-of-the-moment thing. A lapse in judgment. That’s it.”

Hajime tilts his head, thoughtful. “Okay. So if I kissed you again right now, you wouldn’t like it.”

Your entire brain short-circuits. The audacity. The unbelievable nerve.

You gape at him. “You wouldn’t.”

His grin widens. “Wouldn’t I?”

You hate how smug he looks. You hate that your stomach flips at the idea of it. You hate that you don’t immediately shut it down.

He watches your expression carefully, like he’s waiting for you to stop him, like he won’t actually do it unless you give him some kind of sign. Which is so much worse, because it means he’s giving you the chance to say no, to walk away, to end this before it can spiral any further.

But you don’t.

And that—more than the kiss itself, more than Emi’s squealing, more than the public spectacle you just made—is what finally sends you into full-blown panic mode.

You do want him to kiss you again.

You stare at him, pulse thrumming, brain caught in a violent tug-of-war between denial and desire. And Hajime? Hajime is watching you with the patience of someone who knows he’s already won.

“Say it,” he murmurs, voice low, steady.

You scowl. “Say what?”

“That you want me to kiss you again.”

Your jaw clenches. He’s baiting you, letting you choose, waiting for you to meet him halfway. You exhale sharply, tilting your chin up. “You’re so full of yourself.”

His mouth twitches. “Not an answer.”

“Fine,” you snap. “I want you to kiss me again.”

Hajime grins. “That’s all I needed.”

And then, he does.

This time, it’s slower, deeper, not rushed by the heat of the moment. He takes his time, like he’s savoring it, like he’s memorizing the way you melt into him. And you? You let him. Because, goddamn it, you were never winning this battle.

When you finally pull away, breathless, he smirks down at you. “See? Not a mistake.”

You groan. “I hate you.”

He laughs, pressing another quick kiss to your forehead that feels far more intimate than a casual pair of friends-with-benefits should. You, scandalized, shove him away, but Hajime just grins, like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“You’re impossible,” you mutter, pressing your fingers to your forehead, like that will somehow stop the ridiculous heat crawling up your neck.

Hajime hums, smug. “And yet, you’re still standing here.”

You are still standing here. You could have left, could have walked back into that ballroom and pretended this entire thing never happened. But instead, you’re here. On this balcony. With him.

You shift, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “So… what now?”

Hajime leans back against the railing. “Dunno. Guess that depends on you.”

You narrow your eyes. “Why do I feel like you already have an answer?”

“Because I do,” he says plainly, in a way so nonchalant and effortless it could only be said like that by him. 

You exhale sharply, tilting your head up to the sky, like the stars might have some kind of solution for this. “You know this is gonna be a thing now, right?”

Hajime raises an eyebrow. “A thing?”

“Yeah,” you say, making a vague gesture between the two of you. “A thing. Emi’s gonna lose her mind. She’s probably already telling the senior partners that her matchmaking career is a success.”

Hajime laughs, the sound easy, effortless. “Yeah. She probably is.”

You sigh, dragging a hand down your face. “I am never going to live this down.”

“Probably not.”

You squint at him. “You could at least pretend to be sympathetic.”

Hajime shrugs, then reaches for your hand, tugging you forward so suddenly that you nearly stumble into him. His hands slide down to your waist, thumbs brushing over the fabric of your dress. “I could,” he murmurs, close, too close, “but we both know I wouldn’t mean it.”

You scowl. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet,” he says, smug, “you still kissed me. Twice, actually.”

You glare. “Stop counting.”

“No promises.”

You groan, pressing your forehead to his chest in sheer exasperation. “This is my villain origin story.”

Hajime just laughs, wrapping his arms fully around you, and you hate—hate—that it feels nice, that it feels right.

“Hajime,” you say, voice muffled against his suit jacket.

“Yeah?”

You lift your head just enough to meet his gaze. “If we’re doing this, you are legally required to make it up to me with at least two fancy dates. Minimum.”

Hajime smirks, like he was already planning on it. “Deal.”

“And no getting too smug about this, either,” you squint.

He tilts his head. “Define ‘too smug.’”

You groan, shoving at his chest. “God, I hate you.”

Hajime just catches your wrist and grins, pressing a slow, soft kiss to your knuckles. “Sure you do.”

You really don’t. And both of you know that very well, because he has his mother’s spell-binding smile and you have always been a sucker for them both.

⨭ closing; churned this out over one 3 hour writing sesh bc i got this idea in my head and had to see it through. not proofread and very very hastily written, but i like her anyway. #comment #reblog #lemme know ur thoughts mwah xoxo

[plotthotrobin]

I’ve talked about the polite neutrality between the three lords during White Clouds, but I have another point about friendships in this game to make. The Golden Deer are the only house that feel like something close to an actual friend group to me - but that’s not a complaint or me saying that GD is objectively the best house. (There being a ‘best house’ actively defeats the point - and I actually like more of the students from the BE.) It’s just neat to compare and contrast.

Despite most of them having known one another from a young age, the Blue Lions feel more like the reunion of kids who played together during their parent’s work meetings. They’re stiff and awkward around each other a lot of the time despite being more familiar. They get along because they have to for the future of their kingdom. Hell, I think at least half of their interrelationships are at least initially born out of obligation. And that isn’t to diminish the sincerity of some of the friendships that do blossom, but that energy overall never really goes away. I think it reflects the tone/culture of Faerghus and Dimitri both really well, actually, since there are a lot of themes of tradition and doing what is socially expected of you.

The Black Eagles are kind of a weird mix of strangers and friends when they start out. I read them as being more individually isolated than the other two houses. Because the unspoken obligation of the BL’s isn’t there, this group falls into almost the opposite camp. Dorothea, Ferdinand, and Petra are on good terms with almost everyone - but aren’t actually close to anybody. Linhardt and Caspar are childhood friends of sorts, but a lot of it seems like the former merely tolerating the latter (especially during WC) - and neither of them are really close to anyone else. Bernadetta is… well, Bernadetta. Edelgard and Hubert are the one exception since they are very close, but even then they are princess and retainer - not ever really friends on an equal level, even though they have a deep love and respect for one another. The house as a whole, though, doesn’t feel very tight-knit. Again, none of this is a complaint. I can’t say much when it comes to Adrestia itself, but I do think it reflects a lot of Edelgard’s individualistic mindset on a personal level as well as her overall approach in Crimson Flower.

Other than Raphael and Ignatz, none of the Golden Deer seem to know each other by much more than name at the start of the game - which means that they’re all getting to know each other at the same time. I truly think that different foundation makes them growing together feels a little more organic in terms of friendship. I can easily see this group naturally sitting around a campfire and swapping funny stories. While, again, I can’t say much in terms of Leicester’s culture or anything, I think this works extremely well considering Claude’s whole thing is wanting to tear down walls and bring people together. It’s really nice to see. (Quick disclaimer: I don’t believe Claude truly sees them as his friends until post-timeskip during VW specifically, but do think most of the others view him as a friend pretty early on.)

It’s interesting how these setups affect their respective routes. 😊

[tagarilaghost]

Hiya you three :>

I did a little something :D The short version is that I really like the content you create <3

The long version and me literally pouring my heart out is under the cut :> oopsies my apologies for it even getting so long!

From left to right:

Darcy & Pearl belong to @neferirkarekakai

Just Darkrai & Anne belong to @anirritant

Ark & Twig belong to @sincerely-sofie

So two of you might already know, but I will say it again either way. I had a really rough time around the end of September 2024 with stress that left me almost no free time and meant constant work to do. It was one hell of a month that I had to power through and your content and fanfictions were like the only things that kept me going and powering through it all. I remember the days when I scrolled through Irri‘s blog reading all the silly ramblings and looking at all the cool content and art that you created <333! Then continued to check ao3 and found Sofie‘s fanfic filling the little breaks I could give myself at the beginning of all that stress. Once I finished it all I still remember it giving me such a push to finish one of the many huge things I had to complete in that time. And during the peak and end of it all Nefer‘s fic helped me carry the burden of everything coming together and trying to swallow me whole.

I must say most of these days are just such a blur cause I don’t remember anything else than working and reading, but I know I once laid there on the couch in the middle of the night, pmd music playing in the background and reading Avol. It was one of those moments that happened with all three of your works where I could just drift off and unwind free from the stuff I had to do. So yeah :) I finished everything, am still here and kicking! I think not a lot of people actually speak it out loud when someone encourages them, helps them through a rough time or just in general makes them happy :) I always wanted to let others know when their work is just amazing, so thank you three.

Thank you so much. From the bottom of my heart. Keep being awesome <3

also here's a silly extra:

[steven-g-rogers]

Steve felt like he was going to tear his hair out.  This conversation was so circular.  He turned back to Tony.  “You called me useless first!  And I’m sorry.  I’m sorry if the fight we had while under the influence of the sceptre struck a nerve, but you were the one who called me useless before I said any of the stuff about how you wouldn’t make the sacrifice play.  So you can’t go throwing around that I started it.  Especially when that argument should be water under the bridge given that we were under the influence of the sceptre!”

He shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair, tugging on it in frustration.  “You’re really showing your colors though, Tony.  So thank you.  That night - I kept thinking, hey this guy is really thoughtful and charming.  I don’t know, maybe we could be really close.  Maybe we could be something.  And I told you then, because I had been sitting on it waiting for a moment that seemed right, tossing over whether it needed to be said at all, but wanting to clear the air completely so we didn’t have this weird, completely redundant secret poisoning things.  But instead, you’ve proven that you’re an overly dramatic - child - whose ego won’t let him accept an apology, and who brings up past slights to try and win an argument.  So thank you.  You really will make someone a swell partner one day.  That won’t get exhausting at all.”

He huffed, his hands going to his hips.  “I understand why you’re upset.  Or why you think you’re upset.  I have said sorry for it a thousand times now.  I have tried to explain it.  I have even tried to explain how the way you’re interpreting me holding on to the information isn’t the reality of what happened.  It wasn’t callous.  It mostly wasn’t even intentional.  I have apologized and said those excuses were just that, excuses and that I want to make it up to you.  But fine.  Okay.  I’m the least trustworthy person in the world and that’s that.  You’re clearly never going to let this go or accept my apology.  So it stands.  I’ll help with the sceptre and then I’ll leave.”

He turned again, heading to the door, before turning back to Tony again. “You will, however, need to start paying attention to what the hell we’re actually doing here, because finding HYDRA and getting rid of them is part of it.  That’s who has the sceptre.  But you’d know that if you cared about anything else except your damned ego for even a second.”He paused again, taking a deep breath.  He was trembling slightly with emotion., tears pricking his eyes.  But not looking at Tony.  “I died trying to make sure HYDRA was gone.  To wake up, find SHIELD had pulled that damned Tesseract out of the ice and were using it again and that HYDRA wasn’t just still around, but that they’d used my best friend to not just kill dozens of people, but that one of those people was a mutual friend of ours and the father of a man I was growing to admire.  That just about killed me.  Part of me wishes it has, but you have no idea what it feels like to have killed yourself to protect the world only to wake up and have lost everything and then get pulled back into the same fight you’d just died trying to end. I want HYDRA gone more than anyone.  Certainly more than you.  And I’m sorry I’m not perfect and I don’t live up to the overly lofty expectations you had for me.  Never meet your heroes, right?”

"I wasn't talking about that, remember 'you don't save anyone but yourself? Tony Stark will never make the sacrifice play?'" Cap had this infuriating habit of finding the ways to get through the cracks in his armor, hitting the things Tony was sensitive about which the Iron Man thought he kept well hidden.

A scoff can be heard from the inventor as there's a roll of his eyes at Steve's words, here it was again, the Captain assuming the worst of him and not understanding what he was trying to say. "You're not getting it." His voice is stern and unwavering, commanding to be listened to in that moment as anger dissipates into a cold kind of determination as the younger Avenger slides back into the mask of his business persona.

"They've been dead in the ground for twenty years, I'm not angry about that. I've done my grieving, I left that behind me. I'm disappointed that I cannot trust you." Monotone and controlled, any hint of emotion is gone as the mechanic watches the soldier step away from himself and he carefully unwraps his hands seeing their sparring was done. "I'm not going after Barnes if that's what you're worried about, he was just the weapon they used to do the job, I'm pissed off at the ones who pulled the trigger." It was a target to direct his fury at, one that rightfully deserved it.

Tony uses the back of his hand to wipe the sweat slicked hair out of his face, eyes locked on the Captain's form as he watched him walk away. "When this shit with the scepter is done I'm going after HYDRA." He wants something more than revenge, Tony knows all too well that it does nothing in the long run, what he wants is assurance that HYDRA will never be able to do to other what they did to him and his family ever again. A goal he won't quit until he decimates their organization. "And if you want to work with me then you have to earn my forgiveness, so far you haven't done that."

[oshawottarchive]

I wasn’t originally going to make my own post on the Iskall situation, since I like to keep my blog page discourse and drama free for my own comfort, but I thought that I should at least say something about the ongoing fanfic I have that originally had him as a supporting character.

I’m not going to talk about the discourse itself (the statements from the victims, Iskall’s video, etc.), one of the reasons being that I don’t have anything to add that others haven’t already said. I also don’t think it’s really my place to publicly analyze anything Iskall’s said or done, so instead I’ll direct you to this post.

That being said, I do not support any of Iskall’s actions.

I’ve had Iskall as more than just an existing presence in only one of my fics, which is my series The Knight Archives. After the truth about Iskall and the reason he resigned was revealed I decided to remove him from the series and replace him with another character, since the role he played was an important one. I will not be editing the already published fics in the series, but I did add an author’s note to the one Iskall spoke in.

I was originally just going to leave it at that and continue on with Xisuma in his former role, but after Iskall’s video and the comment left by Stressmonster, I wanted to talk about it a bit more. I haven’t talked about this fic on tumblr before, which is also true for many of my ao3 fics, but in all honesty I also just wanted to get this off my chest.

I’ve made the decision to keep Stress in my fic series. Maybe this is more of an act of denial on my part, but as long as it’s still a fact that Stress wasn’t involved with Iskall’s actions, I’d like to keep writing and drawing her. I do truly hope that she’s in the denial stage of grieving, and that she will be able to accept that Iskall’s a bad person and move on from him in her own time.

I have personally never lost a friend this way before, but I feel like grieving the person you thought they were is valid. I truly want to give Stress the benefit of the doubt, and I do still wish her well.

If it comes to light that she did something truly wrong or sides completely with Iskall in the end, I most likely will be removing her from the fic.

If you disagree with me, that’s perfectly alright, I just ask that you stay respectful of my opinion and anyone else’s.

Maybe once I process all of this I’ll change my mind and remove her from the story sooner, but I think I want to wait for any other statements on the matter before I make that decision.

If Stress says nothing else, and nothing is said against her, I’d like to believe that she’s a good person, if only for my own sanity.

I hope everyone has a good rest of their day.

[hearts4johnwick]

SUMMARY. 𝜗𝜚 you, mingi & san have a song together and it’s very suggestive. when it’s time to perform it at a concert, a jealous mingi doesn’t want san to perform with the two of you, when you say to let it go, he pulls a stunt that you don’t know if you love or hate.

CW. 𝜗𝜚 jealousy, possessiveness, yearning, allusions to sex, but no smut.

A/N. 𝜗𝜚 this is my first time writing about a k-pop idol so take it easy on me 😖😖 the song i have for inspiration that they’ll sing is desire by meg myers, but one part in specific, if you want to listen to it, go ahead, if not, just listen to the part i talk about specifically which is at 3:30. i do not own the song, all rights go to meg myers.

as the hairstylist plays around with your hair, you admire yourself in the mirror and do some vocal exercises, when the hairstylist steps aside, you swallow the lump in your throat, the nerves you have right now are through the roof, and you feel as if your heart is going to come out of your throat. right now you were getting ready to perform your song with mingi and san, they had invited you to open their show, but now you’re fully performing with the two of them.

you and mingi have history, the two of you were an on-and-off couple, nothing was wrong with him or you, it was just a mutual decision to focus on your jobs. but whenever you saw him at your concerts, or when he saw you at his, that would all be blown to hell. one message led to a few drinks, a few drinks led to something else, and when you, mingi and san collaborated for an r-rated song, this changed everything. it was sort of a scandal, but none of the three of you cleared up what was going on.

the lyrics of your song had gotten to you—while recording, a few nights you and mingi were the only people in the studio, and you always took your chances, as soon as your manager stepped out of the studio for the night, you’d find yourself pinning mingi against the wall and letting your hands explore every inch of him, or when san left the studio to grab some food, mingi would prop you over the counter, bathing your body in kisses.

your staff isn’t dumb, they knew that the reason why the two of you stayed longer than usual wasn’t to “check the beat” or “change some lyrics” otherwise, how would those pants and moans make it into the song?

it was mingi’s flushed reaction and the way you got goosebumps when listening to the finished product and hearing your sounds, and mingi’s breathless pants that made you and him feel embarrassed—as if it wasn’t his idea.

san was taken aback, it was a song consisting of the three of you, and it was about how ‘paris is nice this time of year’ but those sinful sounds between his friend and a colleague were betraying the song—he should’ve been in between, then, really, the song would have been true to its lyrics.

“thank you.” you say to the people who styled you, giving them a soft smile “all of this is amazing, the outfit, the makeup, the hair.” you pull them into a group hug and pull away when you hear some footsteps enter the room. you look toward the door and it’s san and mingi—my God they look good. you press your lips into a thin line and bite your bottom lip discreetly.

“seonghwa is almost done, then, we’re up next.” san says and you nod, placing your hands on your hips. you feel a pair of eyes staring at you, since the moment he stepped inside the room, his gaze never left you.

your eyes narrow to mingi and you physically have to hold back a sinful noise, the outfit he’s wearing is telling you, begging you to take it off. you see a certain look in his eyes and it worries you, you tilt your head and furrow your eyebrows, then, shake it off “okay…i’m so nervous, what about you guys?” you hold clammy hands together and stand on your tip-toes for a second.

“i’m kind of nervous, it’s because we’ve never performed anything like this before, especially with this song, you knew all the rumors that came out when we released it, imagine the rumors that’ll come out after our performance…our choreography.” you nod, you admit, your choreography is… something, and right now you’re hoping that nobody brought their parents.

“me neither, and yes, I’m scared for the rumors to come out, but, if it gets too much, can we agree that we’ll say something?” you look between san and mingi, san nods, but mingi doesn’t respond. “but, it’s just like we practiced, okay?? as soon as the guitar starts playing, we’re on our own, nothing more, nothing less, we cannot change anything now.”

“y/n.” mingi calls out, you look at him. “can i talk to you for a second?” his tone catches you off guard, it’s like he’s mad, or upset. you look at san once again and you nod.

the two of you walk away from the rest, mingi pulls you into a hallway, and your back presses against the wall as he leans forward, towering over you.

“mingi, what’s wrong?” he rests his eyes, you place your hand on his abdomen, and look at him, his dark eyes look back into yours.

“i don’t think san should perform with us.” your head cocks back, your eyebrows knitted.

“what?”

“i don’t think san should perform, baby, it’s our song and i don’t want people to get the wrong idea.” you shake your head and remove your hand from his body, and place it on your forehead.

“first of all, it’s not our song, it’s my song featuring you and san, second, what could possibly be the wrong idea?” he licks his lips, swallowing his answer, when he looks away, you follow his head, demanding him to look at you. “huh?” you exclaim.

“i don’t want people to think you’re san’s. i want them to know you’re mine. and that it’s me making you sound like that in the song, not him.” your eyebrows raise, his words and his possessiveness turn you on, but you can’t let him know that makes you mad, and you let him know with a push. you scoff and look at him up and down.

“this is what this is all about? your jealousy? you better not pull off anything stupid on stage.” mingi licks his lips and rolls his eyes, he begins to walk away and you shake your head. “song.” you call him out, the way you mention his first name as if it’s forbidden makes a chill run down his spine. he turns around to look at you, your mad expression makes him find you adorable. “whatever this is… stop it. i don’t like you like this.” mingi gives no response at all, not a sound, not a movement, he just continues to walk away. you let out one last breath and walk right after him.

the lights are off, and the three of you walk on stage. as the song starts, the lights fade in, and you’re on the ground, san and mingi are on the left and right side of you. you begin to sing your verse, and as the song continues, so do the boys. leading to the bridge of the song, you rise to your feet, and here, san kneels in front of you, while mingi steps in from behind. san’s hand travels from your thighs to your torso as he makes his way to your neck, his breath feeling warm against your skin, and his hand holds the side of your neck. mingi doesn’t follow the practice choreography, he stands by what he said backstage, he wants the people to know you’re his. his lips creep up to your ear, and he softly nibbles it, this makes your heart skip a beat, and your voice quivers while you sing your verse, you want to curse him for causing you to do that.

his hand goes below san’s and gets a hold of your neck, the roar of the crowd gets louder and louder with each movement the two of them make. forced to move away, san’s hand now rests on your stomach, but his lips now move to your cheek. your head turns toward mingi, and his lustful eyes are a warning, you can’t step away now, but man, why is he like this?

your lips are calling his name. your expression, one he normally sees while you’re under him, and the way his other hand is gripping your hair takes him back to those nights back in the studio. his eyes are begging for a response, a response in your eyes. “i want it all…” the lyrics you say right before the guitar begins are all he needs to hear, his lips were placed above yours, and you can swear you don’t hear the guitar anymore, only the screams and claps of everyone in the stadium, you shut your eyes, hoping this moment would be over, you don’t feel san’s hand or breath anymore, because he actually followed the choreography, unlike mingi, who is devouring you. and though you are against what is happening, you feel the need to kiss him back—so you do, but push him away as soon as you do.

you continue with the choreography while you can, the guitar was still going, but the song was ending, so, you could continue it like nothing. like nothing, yeah right. you can already see the millions of tweets and posts the atiny and your fandom are going to be posting, maybe not much from your fandom, but definitely from the atiny. when the song first came out, they made twitter break down, making it unusable for 15 hours. they might have to take down the app now after the stunt mingi pulled.

the song concludes, and you rush off stage, you're panicking, you're mad, you’re frustrated, you’re going through a roller coaster of emotions, and you feel like it’s going to crash any second now. you can hear some hurried footsteps behind you, and you already know who it is, not because of the way his tobacco and wood-scented perfume engulfs the place, but by his voice, and how in Korean he’s telling you to get back here—you don’t, of course, you ignore him.

but the adrenaline he has is too much, and he catches up to you. he opens the door to a room and pulls you in there, slamming the door just like he slammed his lips into yours once again. you grab his hands and tear them away from your face, then push him, which doesn’t do much, but your reaction makes him step back.

“what the hell was that?! i told you not to pull a crazy stunt!” mingi shakes his head, you feel your voice break, and tears pool in your eyes, only because of the frustration you’re feeling. you can’t even look at him.

“i said what i said. i told you i wanted to make them know you’re mine.” you shake your head, taking in a deep breath.

“what’s wrong with you?” you ask, his expression changes, from mad, to angry. he takes a step toward you and towers over you once again, he hits the wall behind you and your eyes widen.

“you! you’re what’s wrong with me!” your mouth stays agape, you want to say something, but you know he won’t let you. “the way you haunt my every thought, the way i can’t breathe without you, the way i can’t stand to have san anywhere near you. you are what’s wrong with me! everything about you, your voice, your eyes, your lips.” his shaky hands come near your face as if he wants to grab it and kiss you like there’s no tomorrow. “loving you is torture.” he sneers for a second, leaning closer to you by the second, every word that comes out of him, is one word closer for you to be his once again. “i love it. just like i love the way your lips feel against mine…” his finger brushes over your lips and your breath hitches. “and how your voice can compose such sounds.” he takes your face between his hands and makes you look at him. “i love you.” he wipes your tears away and you stay still, you let out a sigh, right before you wrap your arms around his neck, your lips tangling with his.

he picks you up with ease, and your legs wrap around his torso, your fingers find his locks and you slightly pull on them, mingi’s hand cradles the back of your head and deepens the kiss, earning a muffled moan from you. you pull away, only to adjust your head, but the kiss continues, you’re feeling the heat he always made you feel all over your body once again. he nibbles on your bottom lip softly, then you both pull away to catch your breaths, you rest your forehead against his, and place a soft peck on his lips once again. “you’re mine. you know that?”

you let out a breathy laugh and lick your lips. “do you?” you ask him, and this turns him on reassures him, he smiles and lets out a soft chuckle.

“want to find out?” you smile and nod.

mingi wasn’t able to perform the remaining songs. he fell asleep, and it wasn’t because of how tired he was of the concert. everybody knew why. Twitter knew why, and instagram knew why. the ateez group chat knew why, you even sent them a message with a picture confirming that it’s entirely your fault.

you were exhausted too, and it sure as hell wasn’t because of the concert either. the view you have of mingi next to you, with the sheets below his abdomen and his arms hugging the pillow was so good, you had to take a picture, you wanted to post it so bad, just so everybody could shut up, but you didn’t, you just put your phone down and leaned toward him. your touch wakes him up, and he turns around.

you smile at him and lay down on his chest while his arm wraps around you. “now do you know I’m yours?” you ask him and he scoffs.

“i always knew.” you tilt your head and hum. “i just wanted to make sure.” you both share a laugh, minutes before you fall asleep in each other’s arms.

❛ but you already got me feeling some type of way,

if i could figure it out, I’d take you back to

my house so we can meddle about. ❜

[valenteal]

Ok so I know we all wish there was more reaction in canon to the revelation of Dazai’s past. But I think there’s more of a reaction than people realize. It’s like the entire dynamic shifts after the meeting with the mafia. And it’s easy to attribute this to things getting more serious, more dangerous, because no one mentions Dazai being the reason for it. But I think it’s important to understand about these characters that the not saying anything is extremely indicative of their feelings on the matter. I think the tension is mostly glossed over because at the end of the day this is still Atsushi’s story and he’s kinda oblivious to it. But Dazai and Kunikida aren’t really partners after that, their interactions go way down, their banter is no longer a staple of the series. And Dazai wasn’t really close enough with anyone else to see major changes in his relationships with them, but we can guess based on what we do know.

For one thing, anyone thinking Fukuzawa already knew, sorry to burst your bubble but Taneda didn’t tell him jack. In fact Dazai made up a story about randomly meeting him at a bar and Taneda offering to find him a job if he won a bet or something. Dazai lied to Fukuzawa just as much as anyone else, he had elaborate cover stories. Fukuzawa told Kunikida to shoot him if he showed a hint of malicious intent but Dazai managed to worm his way out of that disguising it as his solution to the case/a suicide attempt. He pretended to be the bad guy to put on a show for the people listening in, and create an excuse for the listening device to be destroyed and gave Kunikida enough hints that he’d think twice about actually shooting him and pretended he wanted him to do it. It’s a very masterfully done scheme really, because Kunikida was so wrapped up in how it affected the case that he miss took Dazai’s innocence in the case for a lack of hidden evil. Kunikida definitely saw a side of Dazai that would make the President say “shoot him” but he didn’t even realize it because it was connected to solving the case. And when he lists off all the things he has problems with about Dazai it’s all about his unprofessional behavior and laziness and he doesn’t even mention that Dazai was so incredibly good at playing the bad guy that it didn’t feel fake. He didn’t mention the chilling aura. Dazai distracted him with all his other bad behavior.

But Ranpo must have known right? Well he certainly knew something was off about Dazai immediately after meeting him even without putting his glasses on. But I don’t think even he could have deduced Dazai’s past with the information he had. Because you have to remember that Dazai’s crimes were erased by Mushitaro’s ability and that Ranpo specializes in understanding crime scenes, not psychological profiling. Ranpo uses physical evidence for the most part and he needs knowledge of the crime to find the perpetrator. I don’t think it works the other way around. Not to mention that Fukuzawa trusts Kunikida and Kunikida said Dazai passed his entrance exam so Ranpo probably didn’t choose to look too closely at Dazai.

Anyway, the point is no one at the agency knew Dazai was in the mafia until the Guild arc. And Dazai’s interactions with the rest of the agency changed after that revelation. I think only Atsushi, Kyouka, and Kenji don’t change how they see him, because Atsushi is Atsushi, Kyouka probably already knew from when she captured him and his pep talk made her more comfortable with the idea, and Kenji is Kenji. Everyone else though? It’s a shock. And a lot of them probably just don’t know how to handle it. It helps that they got Kyouka around the same time it was revealed but Dazai had been lying to all their faces for two years at that point and he showed absolutely no remorse for that. Dazai doesn’t make a big deal of it, doesn’t try to make excuses for himself, doesn’t try to justify anything. Without him starting the conversation none of them have a way to comfortably bring up the subject. And because none of them (except Kenji) knows how to communicate in a healthy way, they just end up stewing with the information without fully processing it or acknowledging it. They’re stuck in this limbo of doubt and discomfort. It’s actually incredibly nuanced and I bet it’s all going to come to a head at some point in the near future and it’s going to be that much more satisfying for the wait.

[strwbrryscent]

೯ ⁺ 𖥻 no more paradise on earth . ᰋ

Social media au / Some written parts !

summary: Reader was a Kook as a child, always hanging around Sarah and Rafe, becoming best friends with them really quickly, in part because her parents were the richest family on the island. Due the sudden death of her parents, the Camerons got custody of her. But while living with them she discovered things that maybe she wasn’t meant to know, especially the truth about her parents death and the disappearance of Big John Routledge.

pairing: Rafe Cameron x Ex Kook! Pogue!Reader

warnings: english is not my first language, so there may be some grammar errors, if you notice please let me know

NAVIGATION ! 05 ⌯ 06 ⌯ 07 masterlist. 𝜗𝜚

It was a habit that you two had, when someone was down or feeling sad he just went to sleep in the other’s room. It was something that you did since you were children.

You remember vividly the first time that it happened. It was winter and you were having a sleepover with Sarah, when your friend fell asleep you got scared because it was storming outside and you instinctively ran towards Rafe’s room, you didn’t know each other that well at the time but you were too embarrassed to wake up Sarah. When he saw you he was confused but he just made space for you in the bed, under the blankets, staying up all night just in case you would wake up and get scared again.

Since then when something bad happens to you and you don’t know what to do you just go inside his room and seek for comfort. You don’t necessarily talk, you just stay in his arms.

Today was no different, you couldn’t avoid the fact that you were feeling nauseous, especially because he knows you too much for you to deny it. So you just put on your pyjamas, took off your makeup and quietly left the room.

When you arrived the door was already cracked open, on the other side of it there was Rafe waiting for you. It didn’t took you much to get inside the room and closing the door behind you, after everything that happened to you in the last couple of days you felt like you deserved it.

“Hi” you said in a quiet tone, making your way towards his bed, “Hi” he replied, making you space next to him on the bed.

You just walked over, slipping under the blankets as your head found the comfort of his chest with him wrapping his arm around your shoulder.

“Are you gonna tell me what happened? You look upset since we came back from dad’s office” his fingers gently playing with strands of hair he found on your shoulder.

“It’s nothing, i just feel dizzy and” not even the time to finish your sentence that you were interrupted again by the boy, this Cameron behaviour of interrupting people needs to stop.

“Liar” he said before stopping for a second, trying to think about something else, “If you didn’t want to talk about it you could’ve just said that, when you lie you speak in a quieter tone of voice”

“You need to stop interrupting people when they talk” you replied, pinching his biceps causing him to scrunch his nose a little bit.

“I hate you” he said, “You don’t, let me sleep now”

And with that you turned on your side, closing your eyes as you felt Rafe’s arms wrap around your waist and his head on the crook of your neck.

Some people, Sarah included, called this behaviour that you two had weird, mainly because you weren’t in a relationship and you always stated that you didn’t like each other, but at the end you always ended up in his room, not for anything sexual of course.

But when you weren’t with Sarah you were with him, sometimes you even crashed his days with Topper and Kelce watching them play golf, which they didn’t mind but they always thought that it was weird how Rafe acted around you, especially because he always jumped to one girl to another, like all the time.

But you didn’t care, it was none of your business and you had your own problems to think about, especially now.

You got new notifications, unlock your phone and tap to view !

a/n: i like wrote this part five times because i didn’t like it, and kinda still don’t.. anyways i’m alive, i’ll try to post more after this week but school is killing me

🏷️ : @lilahrosee / @raeven-marie43 / @cyberkitty1 / @theultimatejoe / @starkeysfile / @marleymarleymarleymarley / @rafecameronswifeyy / @hello-therree

[obvithe-bestsoph]

No. 27 | "Don't cry, I hate it when you cry." PG6

masterlist requests prompt list (if you request a prompt, please request a player for it as well!) warnings: none.

After yet another long day of work, you walk back through your apartment door and put your bag and coat on the hanger, tiredly wandering into the dining room and rubbing your eyes. You get the fright of your life, your boyfriend sitting at the table with a giant grin. After you calm down from the scare, you laugh slightly.

“Dios mío, Pablo. Some warning would’ve been nice.” He stands up and comes towards you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Lo siento (i’m sorry), I wanted to surprise you.” “Well, you definitely nailed the ‘surprise’ bit.” you chuckle, laying your head on his chest. “I cooked for you. Your favourite.” Your eyebrows raise in surprise. “Really? Why?” “Why not?” he shrugs, “You’re my girlfriend, I love you, I wasn’t busy, and I assumed you would’ve had a long day, so I did something nice.” You smile slightly, “Of course you did. You’re too good to me.” “Just as good as you deserve. Now, sit.” he pulls out your chair for you and more or less forces you down into it.

A plate of (your favourite food) is put in front of you, and you grin up at Pablo. “Gracias, mi alma (thank you, my soul).” “De nada (you’re welcome).” “So how was training today?” you ask, looking at him as you both begin to eat. “Good, I think we’ll play well in the game on Wednesday. Speaking of, are you gonna be able to come?” “I wish, and I hope so, but I’d have to ask my boss to finish an hour early. And when she’s the one approving it, there’s a very small chance it’ll actually happen. But if I can’t be there in person, I’ll be secretly checking the score on my phone under my desk.” you smile weakly, you really are sick of your nightmare of a boss. Pablo frowns. “How come everyone else’s leave always gets approved, but never yours? How come she always gives you more work than everyone else? Does she not like you or something?” You sigh and shrug, “Honestly, your guess is as good as mine. It sure seems like she doesn’t like me, but I have no idea why. I don’t think I’ve ever done anything wrong or made a mistake around her.” Pablo’s frown only grows. “I don’t understand why you even still work there, why can’t you just find another job? Hell, why can’t you just quit? I’ve told you before, I make more money than I know what to do with, it would literally be no problem if you stopped working, let me support you, and moved into my apartment with me.”

“Because I’d feel bad.” “Well, that’s stupid. Why?” “Just because. You don’t need to be paying for all my shit on top of all yours.” Pablo rolls his eyes. “You aren't a particularly expensive person, Y/N. You rarely even let me buy you anything. You insist on paying for your portion of meals and always buy me far too much for Christmas and my birthday, etc.” “Yes, because I’m your girlfriend, not your financial burden.” “Spoiling the love of my life every once and a while is hardly a ‘financial burden.’ You’re being ridiculous.” “I don’t want to argue with you, long story short, the answer is no. It’s just one annoying boss, nothing I can’t handle. And I’m fine with working.” Pablo scoffs and the room is silent for a few moments. “Look, I only suggest it because I love you, okay? I want you to just be able to come to my games, home or away, and not have to know about it 2 weeks before so you can apply for leave, only for it to be denied by that demon of a boss you have. I hate that you’re always exhausted on all our dates because you’ve had a long week, that you fall asleep so early that we never have time to do anything… fun… at night anymore. I just want you to be free and happy. Por favor? Para mi? (please? for me?)”

You look at him for a moment before looking down at your plate again. “I’ll think about it.”

Pablo grinned again, he knew that was more a less an ‘Okay, fine, you win.’

“Gracias. Te amo, mi vida (thanks. i love you, my life).”

Later that night, you guys were cuddled up on your couch, Pablo was watching the movie that was on the TV screen, and you were on your phone. Finally, he looked down. “What are you doing?” he asks curiously. You look up at him and grin. “Sending in my resignation notice.” His eyes go wide and he sits upright, “You’re kidding.” “Nope.” “Oh my god!” he breaks out into yet another grin, pulling you into a proper hug. “Thank you, thank you so much,” he whispers into the skin of your neck. “Why are you thanking me? It should be the other way around, you’re the one who’s basically retiring me early.” you smile, and Pablo chuckles lightly. Eventually, Pablo calms down from his excitement a little and watches over your shoulder as you finish typing out the email. “I can’t believe I’m seriously about to do this.” you say quietly, your finger hovering over the ‘Send’ button. “Neither, but I promise, you won’t regret it.” he presses his lips to the top of your head. A few moments go by, and you still don’t press the button. “Are you gonna send it, or what?” “Pablo, I’m scared,” you whisper, looking up at him, and he can see the worry and uncertainty in your eyes. His expression and tone soften, “Why?” “I don’t know… I just am.” “You don’t have to do this right now, you know?” “I know, but I want to.” “Then send it.” “I can’t.” “Well, that’s kinda stupid.” You thrust the phone into his hand. “You do it.” “You’re sure?” You nod. Pablo hits send, and just like that, you’ve quit your job. You stare at the ‘Sent’ message for a moment before bursting into tears, burying your face into Pablo’s chest. He shushes you gently, rubbing your back and repeatedly kissing the top of your head, before eventually pulling your head away so he can look into your eyes. “Don’t cry, I hate it when you cry. What’s wrong?” he asks gently. “I- I’m just so happy. Thank you, Pablo. Thank you so much for this opportunity.” you sniff, speaking shakily through the tears. “Anything for you, mi niña preciosa (my precious girl).” he murmurs.

“I love you.” “I love you too, más que nada (more than anything).”

[opashoo]

Do you have any advice on how not to get so overwhelmed when it comes to conlanging? I get overwhelmed way too fast with the information I read on the conlang subreddit David j Petersons book I have or YouTubers I just get burned out.

I start out on my phonological sounds and sometimes I add a new sound or get rid of a few I find unnecessary phonotactics is where I end up getting stuck/frustrated and stoping completely. I don’t know why but my brain just cannot compute when it comes to phonotactics no matter how many videos I watch of people explaining it or looking through Wikipedia just doesn’t register in my brain. I’m assuming this is happening because I’m autistic which is even more frustrating I’m so slow when it comes to learning or I end up comparing myself to others for understanding/learning things faster than me. I get motivated to make a language and then I get overwhelmed it’s just a repeat cycle to the point where I just want to give up. I’m not even sure if it’s possible for me to make a conlang at this point. And then I stumble across something I never heard before from someone else said and I stress about that too and I constantly worry I’m going to make a conlang I spent so much time on only for someone to point out that it’s a reflex and I need to scrap the whole thing and start all over :(

So I have two big pieces of advice that have helped enormously with this sort of thing and they are to work small (the big picture will come together) and to know your goals. It's gonna be a lot so I'm putting it past a readmore. I also talk a bit about my own project, but it's all the way at the bottom.

First, focus on one thing at a time and take small steps. As your familiarity with your own work grows, the bigger picture will start to come together, just focus on one thing at a time.

If there's a linguistic phenomenon or grammatical construction or concept or something that you want to explore but you don't understand it entirely, then just focus on that for a while. I like to make toy languages, really, really small and simple conlangs with extremely simply words and sounds that are meant to focus specifically on one or two concepts at a time. I don't worry about anything else but those concepts; no phonotactics, no worrying about how pretty or ugly the language sounds, I don't worry about naturalism or sound changes, I don't focus on any of these things unless those things are what I'm making the toy language to explore.

My current project, Yongasabi, has a consonantal root system inspired by Arabic, but understanding the concept in a satisfactory manner where I felt confident including it in a project that I plan on publishing took actual years. I made three separate toylangs, one of which I revised and overhauled three times before eventually using that as a basis for Yongasabi. I needed that time and work to focus on absolutely nothing but sound changes and how a system like this evolves in natural languages. While I was playing around with sound changes in one toy language, in another toy language I was also trying to figure out how a system of derivation like this could into systems of nouns, adjectives and verbs. I did not focus on anything else with those toy language but those core concepts because to do any more would be overwhelming and confusing.

It's the same when you're working on a more complete language project, you build it little by little. Focus on one aspect at a time, one concept at a time. As you become more familiar with your own work and you use and apply it, you will start to see the things that work and the things that don't, and you'll be able to make decisions accordingly. It'll happen over time, but you have to avoid stressing about the whole thing.

And if there's something causing you trouble that's stopping you from making the language, there's no one stopping you from avoiding it until you're ready. I never actually properly wrote down Yongasabi's sound inventory, assimilations, and allophones until the grammar document was at 204 pages because I hate working on that stuff. :huntershruggy: That's usually the first thing a lot of people like to work on for some reason, but I hate it and I just went by instinct for 204 pages and five months. If I let that stop me, I never would have made any progress. There were some things I had to go back and update because of it, and that took extra time, but extra work with progress is better than no work and no progress.

Second, understand your goals.

A piece of advice I got from David Peterson's videos and several other conlanging youtubers is to know why you're making your language and what your endgoal is. As long as you understand what your goal is, you can prioritize and decide what steps you need to take to get there. You need to understand what you want or else you'll never be able to work towards it, and you reduce the chances that you'll be happy with it.

For example, I've known some conlangers whose goal is to make some kind of secret, diegetically constructed language for a fictional setting, or maybe a secret language to use with their friends, but they get caught up on rules of naturalism and worry about naturalistic development. You don't need naturalism if the point of your language is that it didn't develop naturally. That's just a waste of your time.

Conversely, I've known some naturalistic conlangers who feel obligated to add every new concept they come across with the idea that "Well if it evolved in a real world language, then it must have some use to real speakers and thus belongs in this language" but they miss the point that a natural language doesn't need to contain every naturally developed phenomenon. In the end they're left with something bloated, hugely redundant, and incredibly disappointing to them.

I've also met conlangers whose goal is to make a naturalistic conlang for a fictional setting only to be hugely dissatisfied when they follow the rules of naturalistic development and it makes a language that doesn't sound the way they want, or it doesn't evoke the feeling they want, or they find that their progress is unnecessarily bogged down by learning rules they find boring, because they don't actually want a naturalistic language, they want an artlang that services their story.

In all of these cases, the authors of these conlangs didn't understand their goals. They did work they didn't like to make end products they were dissatisfied with because they failed to meet their real goals. These goals can shift over time, but in the end that's fine as long as it makes you happy. You need to be making your conlang for you and your purposes! You say that you've gotten stuck on phonotactics and that's stopped you before, but Yongasabi doesn't even have phonotactics outside of literally one single rule, and it's that there can never be more than two consonants in a cluster. I hate working with phonotactics too, so I made my language in a way that let me minimize that work. It doesn't interfere with my goal so I'm totally fine with that.

I know this is a lot but it really does boil down to those two points: work small so that you don't get overwhelmed, and know your goals so you can set your priorities. My goals with Yongasabi were:

Make a language that allows me to explore this fictional culture I made for the slugcats of Rain World

Derive sounds from Mongolian, Korean and Filipino (And a little bit of Vietnamese)

Explore grammatical concepts that I find cool from these languages and others (My main focus was converbs and agglutination in tandem with a consonantal root system, but in general there's a lot of Chinese, Japanese, and Korean in the grammar)

Make sure I like the sound of the language

My main guiding forces were:

Have a rough basis in naturalistic sound changes, but if it leads to sounds or situations I don't like, change it; the readers won't notice because they don't see the development process

If something starts to feel weird or stops fitting in with the rest of the language, don't be afraid to change it or get rid of it entirely because that in a way reflects organic change in the language (and extra work for progress is better than no work for no progress)

If there's an opportunity for the culture to express itself in the language, take it

If you want to judge how well I've realized those goals, you can check it out here (I'm making this post free to reblog unlike the last one because the link is hidden under all this text and 1st edition release is super close anyway I am so excited).

Anyway, good luck! I hope my advice helps!