#seriously all of this is going in the tags

[sixeyesonathiel]

this love survives bad haircuts

synopsis : satoru makes a very questionable decision the night before school. by morning, he’s convinced he’s ruined everything—especially the way you look at him. it’s not just about hair, he learns. it never was.

wc — 4.8k ✦ tags -> character study, humor, comfort, fluff, crack treated seriously, high school au, established relationship, military haircut disaster, teenage love, idiots in love, insecure satoru

satoru gojo has made a terrible, terrible mistake.

he stares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, running shaky fingers through what used to be his glorious crown of silver-white chaos and is now... this. this travesty. this crime against humanity. his hair sits close to his scalp in a crisp military cut, all sharp edges and geometric precision, and he looks like he’s about to ship out to boot camp instead of walking into first period chemistry.

the thing is, satoru has never been ugly before. not once in his seventeen years of existence. he’s been gangly, sure, when he hit that growth spurt at fourteen and couldn’t figure out where his limbs belonged. he’s been awkward, definitely, when his voice cracked during that disastrous presentation in freshman english. but ugly? never ugly.

more importantly, he’s never been ugly in front of you. you, who calls him pretty boy when you’re feeling soft. you, who traces his jawline with sleepy fingers during saturday morning cuddles. you, who literally purrs—purrs—when he nuzzles into your neck like the overgrown puppy he knows he is.

the fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting harsh shadows across his face and making his shorn head look even more alien. he tilts his head left, then right, hoping maybe the angle will make it less catastrophic. it doesn’t. if anything, it makes him look like a confused ostrich. he wonders if this is what normal people feel like all the time—this horrible uncertainty about their own reflection.

“what have i done,” he whispers to his reflection, and his reflection—that traitorous thing—just stares back with the same horrified crystalline eyes, now looking enormous without his usual curtain of hair to frame them.

the dare had seemed so simple last night. suguru and shoko, sprawled across his bedroom floor with energy drinks and homework they weren’t doing, had been going on and on about how you were obviously only dating him for his money. for his face. for the way his hair caught afternoon sunlight and made him look like some sort of ethereal prince.

it had stung, the way they’d laughed about it. not because he thought they were right, but because some treacherous part of his brain had whispered what if? what if you really were that shallow? what if the girl who remembered his coffee order and drew little hearts on his notebook margins and let him drape himself across her lap like a house cat was just playing some elaborate long game?

the thought makes him sick. because satoru gojo is pathetically in love with you. embarrassingly so. the kind of love that makes him text you good morning before his eyes are fully open, that makes him buy you little trinkets from the convenience store just because they reminded him of you, that makes him physically ache when you’re not around.

he’d always been too much. too loud, too rich, too everything. his parents had made sure he knew that—love wrapped in conditions, affection measured in achievements. so when you’d started dating him six months ago, he’d been waiting for the catch. waiting for you to get tired of his energy, his neediness, his desperate desire to be wanted for something other than his last name.

instead, you’d started calling him baby. started letting him sleep with his head on your chest. started feeding him pieces of your lunch while calling him spoiled, but with such fondness that it felt like the sweetest compliment in the world.

“she’s totally shallow,” shoko had said, blowing smoke rings toward his ceiling while picking at her black nail polish. “i bet if you showed up tomorrow bald, she’d dump you before homeroom.”

“not bald,” suguru had corrected, ever the voice of reason, though his smirk suggested otherwise. “but like, really short. military style. bet she wouldn’t even look at you twice.”

and satoru—stupid, lovesick, pride-wounded satoru—had taken the bait hook, line, and sinker. because deep down, in the parts of himself he doesn’t like to examine too closely, he’d wondered the same thing. wondered if your fingers tangled in his hair during kisses because you loved him or because you loved the way he looked in magazine spreads and instagram stories.

now he’s standing in the school hallway, hood pulled up despite the no-hats policy, practically vibrating with anxiety. his palms are sweating. actually sweating. when was the last time satoru gojo had sweaty palms? never, that’s when. but here he is, seventeen years old and terrified of his own girlfriend.

he tries to remember the last time he’d felt this kind of bone-deep terror. maybe when he was eight and broke his mother’s favorite vase, standing in the wreckage with tears streaming down his face while she counted to ten in that voice that meant disappointment. or maybe it was never this bad, because at least then he’d known the parameters of his punishment. now he’s flying blind into territory he’s never had to navigate: the possibility that someone he loves might not love him back.

students flow around him like water around a rock, chattering about weekend plans and upcoming tests, and none of them seem to notice that satoru gojo is having a complete mental breakdown. someone laughs too loudly near the science wing. a locker slams shut with metallic finality. the morning announcements crackle through tired speakers, and principal yaga’s voice drones about dress code violations.

he spots you at your locker, and his heart does that stupid fluttering thing it always does—like a hummingbird having a seizure. you’re wearing the sweater he bought you last week—soft pink cashmere that probably cost more than most people’s rent—and you’re humming under your breath while you sort through textbooks. there’s a small furrow between your brows as you squint at your schedule, and he knows you’re probably trying to remember if you have calculus or literature next.

this is the thing about loving someone, he thinks. you start memorizing their expressions like they’re a language only you can speak. he knows that furrow means concentration, not annoyance. knows that the way you’re tapping your fingers against your locker door means you’re running through your mental checklist, probably remembering that you forgot to finish your chemistry homework and trying to calculate if you have enough time before class.

he also knows that if he walked up to you right now and wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, you’d make that little huffing noise that means you’re pretending to be annoyed but secretly pleased. knows that you’d lean back into him anyway, letting him nuzzle into your hair while you complained about him being clingy in that fond, exasperated voice you use when you’re trying not to smile.

you look so pretty, so normal, so completely unaware that your boyfriend has committed follicular suicide. your hair falls in soft waves over your shoulder, and satoru’s stomach clenches with the sudden, visceral realization that he’ll never be able to mirror that gesture again. no more running his fingers through matching lengths of hair. no more of you braiding small sections when you’re bored in class.

no more of you tugging on the strands when you want his attention, calling him your pretty boy with that secret smile that makes him feel like he could conquer the world.

“just walk over,” he mutters to himself, bouncing slightly on his heels. “just walk over and—”

“satoru!” your voice cuts through his spiral, bright and cheerful, and he freezes like a deer in headlights. you’re waving at him with your free hand, that brilliant smile on your face—the one that makes your eyes crinkle at the corners and shows off the slightly crooked incisor you’re self-conscious about. the one that makes him feel like he’s swallowed sunshine. “come here, i missed you!”

missed you. it’s been twelve hours since he walked you home, since you stood on your tiptoes to kiss him goodbye on your doorstep, since you whispered “text me when you get home, baby” against his lips. twelve hours, and you missed him.

his heart does seventeen different acrobatic maneuvers in his chest.

his feet move without his permission, carrying him toward you on unsteady legs. the hood feels like it’s suffocating him, but he can’t take it off. won’t take it off. maybe if he just keeps it on all day, you’ll never have to see what he’s done. maybe he can transfer schools. maybe he can fake his own death.

he’s spiraling. he knows he’s spiraling. this is what happens when satoru gojo doesn’t have control over a situation—his brain turns into a hamster wheel of catastrophic possibilities. he’s going to lose you. you’re going to take one look at him and realize you’ve been dating a fraud, someone who’s only attractive with the right lighting and good genetics, and now that one of those things is gone, the illusion is shattered.

“why are you wearing your hood?” you ask, reaching up to tug at the fabric with curious fingers. your touch is gentle, familiar, and he wants to lean into it like a cat seeking warmth. wants to press his face into your palm and let you pet him until the world makes sense again. “you know mr. yaga will give you detention if he sees. and then you’ll be all mopey and i’ll have to sneak you extra cookies at lunch to cheer you up.”

the casual way you plan to take care of him makes his throat tight. this is what you do—you notice when he’s sad, when he’s stressed, when he needs just a little more attention than usual. you pretend to be annoyed about it, but you always have his favorite snacks in your bag, always save him the good seat in the cafeteria, always let him tangle his fingers with yours under the desk during boring classes.

“no, don’t—” but it’s too late. your fingers catch the edge of his hood and pull, and then you’re staring at him with wide eyes and an expression he can’t quite read.

the silence stretches between them like a chasm. satoru wants to die. wants to sink into the floor and disappear forever. wants to transfer schools and change his name and maybe join the witness protection program. your eyes are doing that thing where they go very still, very focused, like you’re trying to solve a particularly difficult math problem.

“your hair,” you say finally, and your voice is so quiet he barely hears it over the hallway noise. your hand is still raised, hovering somewhere near his temple, fingers trembling slightly like you want to touch but don’t quite dare.

he knows that gesture. you do it when you’re trying to process something that doesn’t compute. like the time he showed up at your house at midnight because he’d had a nightmare and needed to see you. you’d stood there in your pajamas, hair mussed from sleep, hand hovering just like this while you tried to figure out if you should scold him for being reckless or hug him for being vulnerable.

you’d chosen the hug. you always choose the hug.

“i can explain,” he starts, words tumbling out in a rush while his hands gesture wildly. “it was a dare and i was stupid and i know you probably hate it and me and—”

“satoru.” you’re still staring at him, and now he can see tears gathering in your eyes. actual tears. your lower lip trembles, and you press your free hand to your mouth like you’re trying to hold something back. “your beautiful hair.”

and then you’re crying. not just tearing up, but full-on sobbing in the middle of the hallway, shoulders shaking as you stare at his shorn head like he’s just told you someone died. your textbooks tumble from your arms, scattering across the linoleum with dull thuds.

this is it, he thinks. this is the moment everything falls apart. except... except you’re not looking at him with disgust or disappointment. you’re looking at him like you’re grieving. like something precious has been lost. and that’s almost worse, because it means you did care about his hair, means maybe suguru and shoko were right about something, means—

“oh god,” he panics, reaching for you instinctively, his hands hovering uselessly around your shoulders because he doesn’t know if touching you will make it better or worse. “don’t cry, please don’t cry, i’m sorry, i’m so sorry—”

“it’s gone,” you wail, and several students turn to stare. your voice echoes off the lockers, and satoru can see phones being pulled out in his peripheral vision. “it’s all gone! how could you do this to me? to us? to your perfect, gorgeous, fluffy hair that i loved so much?”

and there it is. the thing that makes satoru gojo absolutely, completely, stupidly in love with you. because it’s not his hair you’re mourning—it’s yours. you’ve claimed it, the same way you’ve claimed his hoodies and his passenger seat and his whole entire heart. in your mind, his hair belongs to you as much as it belongs to him, and someone has taken it away without asking permission.

you’re not crying because he’s ugly. you’re crying because someone stole something that was yours to love.

satoru feels his own eyes starting to water. this is worse than he imagined. so much worse. you’re crying over his hair—actually crying—and he doesn’t know what to do with that information. his throat feels tight, and there’s a burning sensation behind his eyes that he hasn’t felt since he was twelve and broke his arm falling off his bike.

he thinks about all the times you’ve touched his hair. casual touches—pushing it out of his eyes during study sessions, playing with the ends while you’re both watching movies, the way you’d run your fingers through it when he was stressed about exams. but also the possessive touches—tugging him down for kisses, wrapping the strands around your finger while you’re talking, the way you’d pet him absently while he dozed with his head in your lap.

you’ve never said “i love you” out loud. neither of you have. but you’ve said it in a thousand other ways, and apparently one of those ways was cherishing his stupid hair like it was made of spun gold.

had it really meant that much to you? had he been so stupid, so careless with something you treasured?

“i’ll grow it back,” he promises desperately, hands still hovering around your shoulders like he’s afraid you’ll shatter if he touches you. he’s crying now too, which is embarrassing, but you’re crying and that makes his chest feel like it’s caving in. “i’ll take vitamins and do scalp massages and—and i’ll research hair growth treatments! i’ll do anything, baby, please don’t be sad.”

the pet name slips out without his permission, soft and pleading, and your expression crumples even more. you’ve never said it makes you feel good when he calls you that, but he sees the way your eyes go soft, the way you unconsciously lean toward him like a flower seeking sunlight.

“it’ll take months,” you sob, and you sound so genuinely devastated that his heart cracks clean in two. your mascara is starting to smudge, creating dark shadows under your eyes, and you’re hiccupping between words. “months, satoru! what am i supposed to do for months?” your voice breaks on his name, and he’s never heard you sound so genuinely distressed. “what am i supposed to play with during movies? what am i supposed to braid when i’m bored? what am i supposed to tug when you’re being insufferable and i need you to pay attention to me?”

each question is like a little knife to his heart because they’re all so you. practical and petulant and so full of casual intimacy that he wants to wrap you up and never let you go. you’re not asking what you’re supposed to look at or what you’re supposed to find attractive. you’re asking what you’re supposed to do with your hands when the thing you love most is gone.

“i don’t know!” he’s definitely crying now too, tears streaming down his face as he stares at your crumpled expression. his voice cracks embarrassingly on the words, and he wipes his nose with his sleeve like the sophisticated seventeen-year-old he is. “i’m sorry, i’m so sorry, please don’t break up with me! i’ll buy you anything you want—that bag you were looking at, or we can go to that expensive restaurant you like, or—”

“satoru.” you interrupt him, and there’s something different in your voice now. something that makes him stop babbling and focus on your face. “baby.”

the pet name stops him cold. you only call him that when you’re feeling particularly soft, when your prickly exterior cracks just enough to let him see how much you care. you’re still crying, but now you’re looking at him like he’s the one who needs taking care of.

you stop crying so abruptly it gives him whiplash. your tear-stained face goes blank, then confused, then something that looks almost like offense. “break up with you?”

“isn’t that what you’re going to do?” he sniffles, wiping his nose with his sleeve like the sophisticated seventeen-year-old he is. his hands are shaking now, and he can’t seem to stop them. “because i ruined my hair and now i’m ugly and—”

“satoru gojo,” you interrupt, and your voice has gone from devastated to something else entirely. something that makes him nervous. your eyebrows draw together in a way that means trouble, and you plant your hands on your hips in that stance he knows means he’s about to get lectured. “are you insane?”

he blinks at you, confused. water still clings to his eyelashes, making everything look slightly blurry. “i... what?”

“do you think i’m dating you for your hair?” your voice has gone dangerously quiet, and satoru knows from experience that quiet-angry-you is infinitely more terrifying than loud-angry-you. but there’s something else there too, something that sounds almost like hurt.

“well,” he says slowly, fidgeting with the strings of his hoodie, “suguru and shoko said—”

“suguru and shoko can eat glass,” you snap, and now you’re glaring at him with red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks. your hands gesture wildly as you speak, and he can see the exact moment when your sadness transforms into righteous indignation. “and so can you if you think i give a damn about your stupid hair when i’m in love with your stupid face.”

the words hang in the air between you like a confession. like a secret that’s been building for months and finally spilled over.

in love with.

you said you’re in love with him.

“but you’re crying,” he points out weakly, gesturing at your mascara-streaked face.

“i’m crying because you look ridiculous!” you explode, gesturing wildly at his head. your voice cracks slightly on the word ridiculous, and satoru can’t tell if you’re about to start laughing or crying again. “you look like a military recruit! like you’re about to ask me to drop and give you twenty! it’s so bad it’s actually offensive to my eyeballs!”

satoru stares at you, mouth hanging open. there’s something almost hysterical about the way you’re standing there, tear-stained and furious, defending his honor while simultaneously roasting his appearance. “so you’re not... you’re not going to dump me?”

“for having a bad haircut?” you look at him like he’s grown a second head, and there’s something so incredulous in your expression that he almost wants to laugh. “what kind of person do you think i am?”

and that’s when it hits him. not like a physical blow, but like a slow sunrise, warm and inevitable. you’re not upset because he looks different. you’re upset because he looks bad. because someone he loves is hurt by something that hurts him. because in your mind, anything that makes him less than perfect is a personal affront to your carefully curated world.

the realization makes him feel dizzy. you’re not shallow—you’re protective. you’re not crying because his hair was the only thing worth loving about him. you’re crying because someone took something beautiful and made it ugly, and in your mind, he deserves only beautiful things.

you’re crying because you love him, and you want him to be happy, and you think his happiness is tied to being pretty. you’re crying because in your seventeen-year-old brain, ugly hair equals unhappy satoru, and unhappy satoru is literally your worst nightmare.

it’s such a fundamentally you way to love someone that he almost laughs through his tears. of course you wouldn’t care about his looks in the way his friends think you do. of course you’d care about his looks in the most loving, illogical, completely endearing way possible.

“but you said—”

“i said your hair was gone, not that i was leaving you, you absolute disaster of a human being.” you reach up to touch his head, fingers gentle against the short strands, and your touch is so careful it makes his chest tight. “though i am going to miss running my fingers through it. and tugging on it when you’re being annoying. and the way it stuck up in the morning like you’d been electrocuted.”

you pause, thumb tracing over his temple like you’re memorizing this new version of him. “and i’m going to miss the way you’d let me braid it when i was anxious. and how soft it was when you’d nuzzle into my neck like a puppy. and the way it would catch the light during golden hour and make you look like some sort of angel.”

each word is like a little love letter, and satoru feels his heart expanding in his chest until he thinks it might burst. you’re cataloging all the ways you loved his hair, but really you’re cataloging all the ways you love him.

satoru feels something warm and desperate unfurl in his chest. the hallway around them seems to fade away, the curious stares and whispered conversations becoming white noise. all he can focus on is the way you’re looking at him, like he’s still worth something even when he’s standing there with tears on his face and the world’s worst haircut.

“so you still... you still want to be with me? even though i look like this?”

you’re quiet for a long moment, studying his face with those sharp eyes he fell in love with. your thumb traces along his temple, following the harsh line where his hair meets skin, and he can see you cataloging every detail of this new version of him.

he wonders what you’re thinking. whether you’re trying to reconcile this version of him with the one you’ve been kissing for six months. whether you’re disappointed that the boy you’ve been bragging about to your friends now looks like he belongs in a military recruitment poster.

he thinks about the way you show him off, so casually possessive. the way you introduce him as “my boyfriend” with just a little extra emphasis on the my. the way you straighten his collar before school dances and tell him he’s the prettiest boy in the room, and you say it like it’s a fact, like there’s no room for argument.

then you lean up on your tiptoes and press a soft kiss to his forehead, right at his hairline where the damage is most obvious.

“you’re still pretty,” you murmur against his skin, breath warm and reassuring. “still mine. still the same boy who bought me coffee every morning for a month because i mentioned once that i was tired. still the same boy who carries my books and walks me to class and lets me steal his hoodies.”

you pull back to look at him, and your expression has gone soft in that way that makes him want to do something stupid like propose. “still the same boy who texts me good morning before he’s even fully awake. still the same boy who remembers that i like my sandwiches cut diagonally and always saves me the corner piece of cake. still the same boy who holds my hand under the table during lunch and draws little hearts on my palm when he thinks i’m not paying attention.”

satoru’s breath catches. he didn’t know you noticed that last one.

“really?” his voice cracks embarrassingly, and he hates how young he sounds. how vulnerable. but you just smile at him, that soft private smile that’s only for him, and reach up to cup his face in your hands.

“really, baby,” you say, and the pet name makes his heart skip. “though i am going to make fun of you for this until it grows back. and i’m going to take so many pictures. and i’m going to show them to our kids someday and tell them about the time daddy was a complete idiot and broke mommy’s heart by cutting off all his pretty hair.”

“our kids?” satoru’s brain short-circuits. the words echo in his head like a bell, and he can feel his face heating up despite everything. “you want to have kids with me?”

you flush pink, pretty color spreading across your cheeks like spilled paint. your eyes go wide like you can’t believe you just said that out loud. “hypothetically. maybe. in the future. if you want. if you don’t mess up your hair again.”

the last part is said with such stern seriousness that satoru can’t help but laugh.

he stares at you—his prickly, bratty, wonderful girlfriend who just cried over his hair and then promised him forever in the same breath—and thinks that maybe suguru and shoko don’t know anything at all. thinks that maybe love isn’t about perfect hair or perfect faces or perfect anything. maybe it’s about someone who’ll sob over your bad decisions and then kiss your forehead anyway.

maybe it’s about someone who gets genuinely upset when you’re hurting, even if you’re hurting over something as stupid as a haircut. maybe it’s about someone who sees you make a terrible mistake and instead of walking away, plants themselves firmly in your corner and prepares to fight the world on your behalf.

maybe it’s about finding someone who thinks you deserve beautiful things, even when you’ve just proven you’re an idiot. someone who plans your future together in the same breath as scolding you for making bad choices.

maybe it’s about someone who loves you so much they cry when you’re ugly, not because they care about your looks, but because they can’t stand the thought of you being anything less than perfect.

“i want,” he says simply, and leans down to kiss you properly.

you taste like strawberry lip gloss and tears and something that might be love, and when you pull away, you’re both grinning like idiots. your hands are still tangled in what’s left of his hair, and he thinks maybe this length has its own advantages.

“i love you too,” he whispers against your lips, because if you can accidentally confess in the middle of a breakdown, then so can he. “i love you so much it makes me stupid.”

“i know,” you say, and you’re smiling so wide it makes your eyes crinkle. “you cut off all your hair because your friends dared you to. if that’s not love-induced stupidity, i don’t know what is.”

“good,” you say, straightening his collar with careful fingers. the gesture is so familiar, so domestic, that it makes his heart skip. you always do this, fix his appearance like you’re sending him off to war instead of first period. “now let’s go find suguru and shoko so i can yell at them for talking my boyfriend into this monstrosity. and then you’re buying me that expensive hot chocolate from the café across the street because emotional trauma requires premium comfort food.”

“anything you want,” he says immediately, because he’s pathetic and in love and would probably agree to rob a bank if you asked nicely enough. “anything.”

you stand on your tiptoes and press one more kiss to his nose, quick and sweet. “i want you to promise me you’ll never cut your hair again without asking me first.”

“i promise,” he says solemnly, and means it. “i’ll never make any major appearance changes without consulting my girlfriend first.”

“good boy,” you say, and the praise makes his chest warm. “now come on, we’re going to be late for class and i refuse to get detention because you had a crisis about your hair.”

satoru laughs, bright and relieved, and thinks that maybe this terrible, terrible mistake might just be the best thing that’s ever happened to him. because now he knows, with absolute certainty, that you love him for all the right reasons.

even if he does look like a military recruit.

[chuhees]

TATTED UP

───── 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝗈𝗒𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗉𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝖺𝗍𝗍𝗈𝗈

◜ᯅ◝ 【 𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐑𝑖𝐎 】 bf! riki x gf! reader + fluff suggestive 𝟐𝟐𝟐 && needle mention riki gets a bit possessive, reader gets her own tat NOT proof read⟢

爱 : where dafuq are my riki girls … this is for all of you ( tagged below ) .. i couldn’t make out what exactly the tattoo was so for the sake of this fic, it’s a snake. !!

the sound of buzzing filled the tattoo parlor, many getting fresh new art amongst their skin—some for the first time. in this case it was your boyfriend’s first tattoo. riki had been going on about getting a tattoo and you supported that choice, in fact you drove him down and went inside with him.

you sat down, watching riki fill out the consent form. you went through the selection of designs, showing riki ones that could possibly catch his attention. “this one suits you.” you smile, finger pointing to a snake.

“i’ll get that one then.” riki looks up, an eyebrow raised.

“are you serious?” you ask. “you’d seriously get it?”

“duh… my girl picked it out.” riki lays down on the table, his shirt lifted up for access to his skin.

the process begins, riki grips your hand—not as tightly as you thought. “does it hurt?” you ask riki, still clutching his hand—while the needle and ink draw into his skin.

“barely.” riki responds, eyes looking up at you. “just feels like a poke.”

you continue to hold his hand, watching as the tattoo artist continues his journey. the snake and its placement on riki’s body looked great, you were extremely proud of your selection. before you knew it, riki was done. the tattoo artist placed ointment and saran wrap around the inked area.

you pulled out your card, ready to pay—before riki stops you. “you’re getting one too baby.”

you heart nearly drops to your stomach, what did he mean by you’re also getting a tattoo. same one? same spot? you looked at him, riki could easily tell you were nervous.

“baby it’s okay… it’s just a little poke. i’ll hold your hand, okay?” he reassures you, pulling you in for a tight hug and kissing your forehead.

you sign your consent form and lay on the table. the same artist who did riki’s tattoo would also be doing yours. riki was not happy about this, another man touching your waist? it didn’t sit right with him, but once—just this once would he let it slide.

you reach for riki’s hand, he holds you tight. the tattoo artist lifts up your shirt—just enough to see your stomach area and waist, your bra peaking out.

riki’s tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek, watching the artist and his hand placement. his gloved hand rested on your waist, holding you down with tiny force. you bit down on your lip, trying your best not to move.

“must’ve wished that was me, doing your tattoo.” riki whispers into your ear, the sound of the music in the parlor louder than your thoughts.

“i do.” you look up at him, your eyes more innocent than they’ve ever been.

“baby… i’ll learn to do tattoos, just so another man doesn’t touch you.” riki brushes a thumb against your cheek gently, your blush melting onto his finger. this sight baby… it kills me. another man drawing onto your skin.”

“yeah? how much?” you tease.

“more than you’ll ever know. no man should touch you, even if it’s for a tattoo.” riki nibbles gently on the skin of your ear, the tattoo artist completely unaware of the conversation above him.

the artist finishes, rubbing the ointment into your skin and saran wrapping your tattoo. riki pulls out his card, paying for both tattoos. you walk out back to the hard, hand in hand.

“never again.” riki murmurs under his breath, against your hair—before pressing a kiss to your head. “maybe i’ll learn how to do tattoos, incase you ever want another one.”

for🎀 @dollerin @nshmuras @emisluvr @sourkiki @flqwerjo ma riki girls ^_^ ( & my other riki girls that i forgot to tag, these are the ones i can remember off the top of my head )

[punkkture]

69 w simon 69 w simon

{ word count: 668 }

.ೃ࿔*:· —  you were both a little drunk. he's never sloppy drunk, but sleazy drunk? simon was definitely that. dick always half-hard even when he doesn't mean to be. always when he starts to drink too much.

now partially naked in bed, it starts with a dare. your soft voice only barely carrying a sense of seriousness. it was soft, almost slurred, a joke.

"i think you cum quicker than i do." it was said while laying against his chest, feeling the curve of his collarbone under your fingertips. not outright a tease, but more of a challenge.

you had been testing him all night. ever since that second glass of wine. touching him too much for it to feel normal. putting on that pretty babydoll slip for bed. kissing his jaw and cheek with sloppy stumbles.

"yeah? you think?" he mumbles, an idea of a smile on his face.

it's how it starts. the essence of a dare against a man too cocky about his own dick and power over his pretty baby. but the words had slipped out before you could understand what you just started.

his hand already pushing up the soft slip while he settles the view of your bare cunt over his face, bending his own legs a little just to give himself more leverage. his other hand was pulling down his sweats, letting you do the rest.

the second your lips started giving soft kisses to his tip, it was game on. you started gentle - licking at his shaft and making sure all your spit was drooling right down onto him. a sticky string of it mixed with his precum, connecting to your lips after the last kiss.

he didn't waste any time. pulling you down onto his face and spreading your thighs. wet and sloppy with his tongue already fucking into you.

it gets you to gag on him, kicking your calf a little bit while the feeling of it made your body twitch.

you spit onto your hand, wrapping it around him and squeezing while shoving the rest deep into your throat. barely getting all of him in there half the time, this makes his hips stutter, push up just a little more. finally thinking you're winning a little bit.

but he spits onto the already soppy cunt he's making out with and gives a harsh kiss right on your clit, groaning against it and then laying his tongue flat against you.

your hips try to pull away and your mouth lets go of him, just to gasp and whimper. his cock is so heavy and already leaking over your fingers. you just knew he had to be close. he always cums fast when he's drunk.

but you do too. there's a drunk competitive edge to it all.

you reach your hand back, grab his hair and just shoves him closer, grinding against his mouth. simon nearly whimpers, his one leg twitches.

"fuckin' cheater." he groans against you, hearing the strain in his voice.

if there was one thing he loved more than the feeling of getting his dick sucked all sloppy, it was the thought of knowing you were feeling good because of him.

so you lean into it. high pitched sweet moans and soft gasps of his name followed by the word 'please'. your hand coming back down to squeeze at the base of his cock, letting the tip leak against your tongue.

his hands tighten, his hips buck, and then he pulls you down right onto his face. wet and sloppy. like he's panting against your pussy and is desperate to get you to finish.

but your moans were just too angelic to deny.

he cums everywhere. more than he normally does. against your tongue, a hot string of it getting on your lips while the rest dripped down onto his stomach.

"fuckfuckfuck." he whines while rutting up into your hand a few times.

the idea of you cumming, making him cum, and far quicker than normal.

ೃ࿔* tag list: @vanillarosekiss @simonskitty @cu456 @silverwoodlynx @mlthree @vint4geroses @ktmjoslin @darlingchanse @xangelbnnyx @jgissle12 @asherscove @bunty-girl @diorpar @sky-robin  @ldrtypeofgirl @mentalhorror @teranya @chawitea @all-by-myself98 @jinx53 @alfiestreacle @frazzledfawn @iamtoriasworld @annierosesposts @dude1634 @happysmappy @itgetsdarksometimes35 @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @slut-lmao @theyluvlaur @bruisedfig @pinkthxt @hobiebrownenthusiast @h0lydrag0ns @cashmereandcookies @effyzgirl @avgdestitute

[reallyromealone]

Title: idol

Chapter: 6

Prev next

Fandom: Kpop demon hunters

Genre: omegaverse

Warnings: hurt to comfort, angst, omegaverse, male reader, Omega male reader,.alpha HUNTR/X,.alpha Saja boys

Notes: wrote this on a four hour flight back to Toronto lol also I'm back bitches, writing Rome IS BACK

Summary: reader learns how to be himself agaim after the loss of the Saja boys, but are they really gone?

Tag list: @robbin-g @heinzsqueezebottle @sooobiinn @sfxtiebee @kittenwerewolf @gh0stiedd3ath @strangebarbarianbarbarian @0eye0 @barrythestrawberry041 @cherry-blossoms-187 @snowy-violet @akira3na @hot-older-bro

🌜🌛🌜🌛🌜🌛🌜🌛🌜🌛🌜🌛🌜🌛🌜🌛🌜🌛

(Name)s days moved slow, the Omega finishing his degree with a heavy heart and the HUNTR/X girls watched him slowly shut down.

Shrine duties and home, Mira paid for his expenses but it wasn't like he ate much, sinking deeper in depression and trying to keep it together but failing at every duty.

It had been six months.

Bzzzt.

(Name) Glanced at his phone and saw the notification 'after a six month hiatus, the Saja boys release a new album: lovestruck' (name) immediately stood up as he re read it and looked at the album photo....

"They're alive?"

What the fuck.

(Name) Couldn't figure out if he was furious or even more heartbroken or elated...

Why didn't they tell him?

Glancing at the clock he sighed, time for shrine duty...

The elders was looking at him to be the next to watch over the shrine as it's head priest, (name) putting all his energy into the old property and trying to make it look better.

(Name) Put on his shrine clothes, dressed incredibly traditional and got ready to go the routes that Tourists typically avoided, he hated when they made him late.

He was a pretty Omega in traditional clothes, nothing special...

(Name) Stepped out into the world and made his way to work, putting on his priest persona and smiling to the elderly and politely bowing as he went, even in the big city everyone knew who he was professionally and a few even knew who he was personally "ah (name)" an old woman walked towards him slowly "just the one I was looking for..." She said sweetly and (name) immediately recognized her, Mrs (random name) who owned the sweets shop "I made these for you, you have been looking down these days" the old woman handed him a paper bag filled with treats and the likes.

(Name) Smiled at her sweetly, bowing deeply "thank you so much, that's very kind of you" and ignored how a few tourists that found their way to his location whisper about the pretty Omega, (name) covering his face when they took photos "it's illegal to take photos without consent" (name) said seriously to an alpha man who glared "then why are ya wearing some weird cosplay?!"

"Sir, I'm a priest" (name) glared at him "you are in another nation, please respect our culture" (name) said firmly, he wasn't going to let some asshole disrespect him or his home like that.

"Yeah! Leave him alone!" Another tourist piped out and some locals came to his defence, (name) politely bowed to the elderly woman before continuing his journey, not letting that be an issue for his already terrible day.

(Name) Always had a hands on approach with his work, after the events at the idol awards he wanted to make sure he could help in whatever way he could and even put aside his ambitions for the safety of those around him. The girls tried to get him to pursue his career ambitions but he would just smile and say "there's more important things, don't worry about me" his words empty and distant while continuing his duties.

(Name) Put together local events for children and the rest of the community, fundraisers for both the shrine and struggling communities and putting all his pain and struggling into something useful.

It didn't make him happier but it got Mira off his back a bit.

He still hasn't spoken about his weapon, not really wanting to think of it... What happened for him to even receive it.

"(Name)! The flower stuff came in!" A shrine maiden said excitedly and (name) perked up at this, taking off his sandals and wandered towards the supplies "perfect, this should be great!" (Name) Said softly, having used his own money to buy tiny compostable flower pots, soil and flower seeds, free for people to take and grow their own little flower when visiting the shrine, a little something to set off the new year.

It wasn't much but... It made people happy.

(Name) Spent the afternoon making countless little flower pots and members of the shrine would bring them out into the public space inside with a cute sign the children in the area made, cute little drawings and even a dragon? (Name) Didn't question the children's imaginations, always telling the little pups to pursue their ambitions and goals, usually having a few of the. little ones following him around.

"You have been busy" Rumi said softly as her and the others looked curious at everything "cute! Can I take one (name)?" Zoey asked curiously and (name) nodded "we have a lot so go ahead" he said softly and the girl beamed before taking a tiny flower pot "the shrine looks great" Mira said thoughtfully, it was immaculate and lively "so many people came, your ideas have been working"

"Attendance has been going up too" (name) said softly before looking at them seriously "I have a request... A HUNTR/X request" he never asked for a request from them as artists "what's up, (name)?" Rumi asked softly and (name) sighed "the Saja boys... They're back..."

"They're what?" Mira asked wide eyed and (name) nodded "I-I want to know if you guys... Can figure out what happened?" His words hesitant and the three looked at him seriously "we will figure this out (name)" Mira said firmly, the other two nodded in agreement "don't you worry (name)"

"Thank you... Now go do your prayer"

"Uuuugh you just wanna use our faces for the shrine!"

"Shrine needs donations!"

"Yeah yeah!" The girls hugged (name) tightly, the Omega getting a smooch on the cheek from each of them and he chuckled, a genuine chuckle that made their hearts feel warm.

He was healing... Little by little.

-

"Bobby?" (Name) Was confused at his sister and her mates managers presence (he knew those three were mates, he just didn't say anything... Didn't want to be rude ya know?) "hey (name), long time no see" the short beta said softly and quietly thanked (name) when he let him in "what brings you here? The girls aren't here" (name) spoke softly and the elder sighed "actually I wanted to talk to you about something"

"Oh?"

"I have a job offer for you" the two sat on (name)s couch, Bobby smiling softly "I was wondering if you... Wanted to go into modeling? With me managing you of course" the beta looked at (name) with soft eyes "c-can I think on it?" (Name)s words were barely a whisper and Bobby smiled at him with a gentleness that he reserved typically for his girls "of course, kid... Here" he handed (name) a card "lemme know your answer when your ready, just know... You would do great"

When Bobby left, (name) looked at the card "I'm tired of waiting for them, it's time to live for me" he said softly to himself and went to his door and Bobby was standing there with a smile "so it's a yes?"

"Yeah... As long as I can do my shrine duties too"

"That shouldn't be a problem"

When Bobby did leave for real, he scheduled a day for (name) to come in and they could talk further and honestly?

(Name) Was excited for once.

-

"Saja boys!" Zoey said seriously when they caught them on a joint show special guest event "can we talk?" Rumi said softly and they seemed nervous to be near them but followed regardless into their dressing room, once the door locked Mira glared at them "how are you back?!"

"We got our souls back" Jinu said softly, looking at them with a hesitant expression "were still... Demons but demons with souls? We aren't sure what we are honestly" the others nodded and their chests glowed but... Their eyes also glowed gold.

"Why haven't you checked on (name), we know you guys were talking to him before the idol awards" Rumi asked confused and romance sighed "we-- we were really cruel to him, we didn't want him getting hurt and we knew we were going to die... So we made him hate us"

"He doesn't hate you, he misses you" Zoey was serious as she spoke "he spent six months crying over you guys! How dare you act like you're doing some noble shit?! You guys better go find him and beg for forgiveness! He the alphas he believes you can be you cowards!"

Everyone froze at her outburst and she looked a little.sheepish "he deserves love, go show him you love him before someone else does"

"Also if you hurt him again, I'll crazy murder you" Mira said seriously and pointed her weapon to Abby's throat "got it?"

"Got it"

-

(Name) Was excited for his first shoot, apparently be was working with some famous model in Japan for a collaboration-- he couldn't believe Bobby got him such a big gig for his first gig...

He just hoped he didn't blow it.

He spent two hours getting his hair and makeup done, humble and polite to the two omegas working on him and they swooned at how sweet he was "you're ready for the camera! Good luck!"

(Name) Stepped towards the set, looking ethereal to those around him and locked eyes with the alpha he was working with, dressed in dark and gothic clothes compared to (name)s sweet and pastel clothes "pleased to meet you, I'm (name)" he said softly in slightly broken Japanese and the other looked at him wide eyed before smiling kindly and spoken in fluent Korean "it's great to meet you, I wasn't told about working with someone so beautiful"

(Name) Looked up at him and tried to not look flustered at his words, especially from someone so handsome.

"Oh, how rude of me... I'm (pick a character or oc)

-

(Name) Was excited to tell his sister about his photo shoot, immediately calling her on video call while getting into the private car Bobby got him and waited till the Alpha answered "how'd it go?!" The three asked and (name) grinned "great! And I made a friend!"

"Oh?"

"Yeah! Some model guy from Japan, his name is (pick a character or oc)!"

The girls froze at that name, they knew him damn well.

And they knew he was a fuck boy.

"That's.... Great" Rumi said with a nervous smile and (name) seemed proud of himself, it wasn't easy for him to make friends so this was big for him.

"Yeah! He invited me to go see a movie!"

Oh god he invited poor (name) on a date.

"What theatre?"

[aechlys]

Dear "I'm a lover not a fighter", you are welcome to tag me. Let's dance.

There is no "social double standard" or "intentional engineered koolaid" - there is just laws that protect fanfiction writers from being sued by the original copyright holder as long as we follow those laws and don't try to make money off of someone else's copyrighted material.

There is a double-standard when writers are expected to just do everything for free, meanwhile artists and bootleg fandom merch makers who sell on tumblr, etsy, and elsewhere have continuously made money off of their fanworks with no harassment and no internal fear-mongering for decades. This includes Star Wars IP and other heavy hitters- I'm sure many will remember the latest blazed campaign of that one person selling their literal mountain of bootleg fan merch unmolested- hell, their ad was even approved by tumblr. Some will say "Well fan art is transformative!" So is fan fiction though? There is no special shield protecting artists and bootleg merch sellers other than social acceptance of selling art and bootleg fan merch that has never been extended to writers.

(I don't even have time to get into the psychology of how capitalism makes us feel like we have to monetize every single inch of our lives, which is evil and wrong - including hobbies we do for free, and fanfiction is an amazing relief from that because you cannot monetize it, and I have never been more stressed in my life since people have been trying to monetize my own peaceful free hobby.)

No one's said once that you suddenly HAVE to monetize your work. My point is that no one should be witch-hunted for wanting to do so, and as you said in our conversation "I am not the fan art police", so how are you the fan fic police either? Let people live- no it doesn't actually affect you at all nor will it ever!

So if you think fanfiction should ever involve money - stop writing it.Stop posting it. Get the fuck out of fandom.

DO NOT TRY TO SELL OR MONETIZE SOMEONE ELSE'S COPYRIGHTED MATERIAL. IT'S ILLEGAL.

Again, take this same energy, same gusto, same rhetoric, to the fan art and bootleg merch makers happily selling all over tumblr, etsy, etc., and who people who follow your page also happily and actively purchase from, and I'll support you. It's the dictionary definition of a double-standard to tell one group of people to not do a thing while another identical group does the exact same thing with your blessing and/or blind eye. If you ACTUALLY care about fandom this seriously and the legal implications of it, GO ALL IN. Otherwise this is just hypocrisy. Like you said, you aren't the fandom police, so maybe you should take your own advice, knock it off, and leave people alone.

EDIT: I'll add also, in case this escapes containment- I'm not demanding everyone should agree with me, I think we should simply make room for the people who do happen to have a desire to make a buck off their writing the same as anyone else in fandom without giving them a hard time or going to the puritanical pulpit over it. Everyone should be able to control their work how they want- free, sale, donations, whatever. The world won't end and you won't be banned forever from writing or posting fanfic just because a handful decide they might like to sell- that's a crazy idea to propagate. Our beloved fan artists and merch makers carry along just fine, and so will any writer who wants to do the same.

I just saw someone say "there is no ethical consumption under capitalism" as an argument for boycotting AO3

Babe AO3 is a nonprofit. They do not exist under the ethics of capitalism. Fanfiction is legal because no money is ever exchanged around it. (All the money given to AO3 is used to maintain their servers and pay their lawyers to help keep fanfiction legal.)

Fanfiction is one of the few things in this world - probably the one singular form of entertainment that does not exist within the confines of capitalism. So by your own logic, even if you hate some of the content on AO3, it's inherently the only ethical thing to consume in the whole world.

[screamlet]

reunion cuddles? 👉👈 (also yay you're working on layla and bailey)

a happy one!!! my god!! in this economy!! (and layla and bailey are chugging along, can you believe difficult conversations are difficult to write? surprised the hell out of me) anyway: 850ish words of post s8 fix-it. inspired by @rcmclachlan's recurring tag "a three-minute conversation could fix them." this is like. idk. seven to eight minutes max.

---

As Buck and Tommy unpack their flea market and garage sale findings, Buck looks around his new apartment. He's been here a month and a half and it already looks so much like a home, a place where he wants to spend his time.

He knows in his gut that's because he can see so many pieces of Tommy here. The dark teal vase he said looked better than a navy one. A pair of framed sketches of backyard bugs, where Buck had found one and Tommy had dug around for its match, finally found it for him.

And there's the most obvious: Tommy standing in his kitchen gently cleaning a new vintage serving dish they'd found that Buck can't wait to cook in. Fuck, this is—it's what he wants.

Buck has been thinking and staring long enough that Tommy's finished drying off the dish. He catches Buck's eye and smiles. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, kinda." Buck moves into the kitchen and stands across from him on the other side of the island. "Can we talk about something?"

He can see the way Tommy's shoulders immediately tense. "Yeah, of course. You can tell me anything."

"I know, but as I want this to go both ways," Buck says. He waits until Tommy's done drying the dish and Tommy's done when he realizes Buck isn't talking until he is.

"So what's up?" He looks so terrified already that Buck wants to back off; he doesn't want to be responsible for putting that expression on his face. But the only way out is through, and Buck has to get this thing moving.

"I want to try again. Us. Being together. Dating." Buck doesn't look away. "Would you want that?"

Tommy looks at him like there's a catch and, honestly, he's right to do it. There's lots of catches, Buck's going to make sure of that. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

They say it in unison: "What's the catch?" Tommy rolls his eyes, smiling, and Buck can't help tilting his head to follow his smile.

"We have to talk to each other," Buck says slowly. "I want to know you, Tommy. All of you. I mean it."

He can tell that a dozen self-deprecating jokes want to punch their way out of Tommy's mouth, but he's holding them back. He's digging. They might actually do this. Buck really hopes so.

"I think," Tommy says, "that when you scratch past all this, you're gonna find a whole lot of nothing."

"Yeah, well. Let me decide, would you?" Buck tries his best not to look away. "Maybe what you call nothing means more to me than everyone else's something."

Tommy nods, still unconvinced. Buck asks, "What do you want? What do you need? I want you to stay with me. What can we do to make that happen?"

The silence stretches out and Buck lets it. He can do this—he can make space for Tommy. He's just relieved that Tommy's trying. He's trying to try. He's digging and that's all Buck wants. He wants more Tommy.

"I listen to you, Evan," Tommy says, "and I think you're used to letting your words roll off people's backs. I'm not like that. I hear you. I take you seriously, so you have to watch what you say. You have to think about what you're saying before you say them to me. And if you promise to do that, then I'll promise to stay. I just—" Tommy drums his fingers nervously on the counter. "If I show you my feelings, I don't want them to get hurt. So don't hurt me with things you don't mean."

Buck nods. "Okay. Okay, I can try to do that."

"Okay." He's going to drum the kitchen island to pieces at this point. "And you have to give me time. Like." Tommy laughs and motions to himself. "The excavation process here? It's a long one. A long one. So just. Let me." Tommy smiles. "Like you're doing now. Like this."

"Okay. I can do that." Buck smiles back. "I like hearing things about you. I can listen, Tommy. I want to hear you. So talk to me."

"And we have to talk," Tommy says. "I don't want to bury things because I think you'll leave. I don't want to leave because I think you want me to bury things."

Buck nods, then grins. "I'm getting a notepad. We should write this down."

Tommy laughs. "Really? You can't remember this?"

"Now? Yeah. When we need it, in the moment? Maybe not! So: terms and conditions."

The only paper Buck has is a 5×5" notepad with a crate of vegetables printed in the corner. Tommy shakes his head as Buck comes around with a pen. "Okay, so."

"Come here," Tommy interrupts. He hugs Buck, his hand resting at the nape of Buck's neck. "We're doing this?" he asks quietly.

Buck hugs him back tight, pen and paper in one hand as he sways in his arms. "Yeah, we are. As soon as we finalize our contract."

Tommy hugs him tighter. Buck sighs with relief, the newest piece of his new life finally in place, exactly where he wants him to be.

[yintual]

 ㅤ( 🍀 ) ㅤ O7.O9PM; ㅤ𝗹𝗶𝗯𝗿𝗮𝗿𝘆

jungwon thinks you need a break from studying 𖹭 749% > ﹏ <。 𝗰𝘄 # kisses ﾟ glasses bf ! won +PHYSICS mentioned

if there’s one singular flaw you have, yang jungwon finds himself thinking, it’s that you study a tad bit too much.

from his seat directly across you, he’s been watching you mumble about physics formulae for close to 3 hours. the library, too, is now almost completely empty save for the two of you. 

it’s not that he wants you to stop—jungwon’s more than aware of how important the assignment you’re working on is. so of course he wants to be supportive. which is why he’s tagged along with you in the first place, after all.

but hell, a guy gets tired of waiting, alright?

especially when his girlfriend just so happens to be sitting right across him—in hand holdable, and even, dare he say, kissable distance.

and you refuse to make it any easier on him with how cute you look when you pout at the page of numericals in front of you. it’s like you don’t even care about his sanity.

he rests his chin on his palm as he watches you furiously scribble something and erase it immediately after. 

tone flat, your boyfriend finally breaks the silence. “you know you’re looking at that worksheet like it personally offended you, right?” 

you answer without even sparing him a glance. “ugh, shut up. i got the sign convention messed up again. and i hate differentiation.”

“hmm. well maybe, and hear me out here ... what if … the universe is telling you to take a break.”

you don’t answer. he wonders if you even registered the words he’s just said.

“orrr …” jungwon leans forward, attempting to catch your eye to no avail, “maybe spare a glance towards your attention starved boyfriend? i promise he’s more interesting than electrostatics.”

that gets a giggle out of you, which admittedly does make him momentarily proud. but in mere seconds you’re back to locking in. he can’t help but mentally curse the education system for bringing him to this position. because god. this is tragic, really. 

with a sigh, he finally decides to take matters in his own hands. without a second’s hesitation, he’s pushing back his chair in favor of getting up and walking over to you.

“baby. i’m talking to you.” 

“alright, gosh, i’m—” but you apparently hadn’t taken into account the change in his position. you blink, confused, and realize after a minute that you feel a soft warmth behind you. 

and as you turn in your chair to face him, you find his arms caging you in against the table. 

“... i’m listening.”

jungwon leans in closer, his expression oddly smug. “don’t you think you’ve practiced enough questions for today?” 

“i just— there’s only a few more chapters i have left to go over ..” you’re not fully sure if it’s the close proximity that’s making you flustered.

“no. i think you’ve done enough.” 

you want to argue but the finality with which he speaks makes you reconsider your own words. 

“we don’t want you getting burnt out, yeah? you need some time away from physics.” 

you can barely think to formulate a reply to that as he dips his head down, placing a short kiss to your lips as if to emphasize his point. all you can do is smile into it, kissing him back with a hand resting on his chest to steady yourself.

“think we can both agree my idea was better, hm?” jungwon mumbles, peppering a few short peck along your jaw for good measure.

you pull back slightly, though, much to his displeasure. “well, mr. boyfriend, if you’ve had enough attention, then … i really do need to finish at least one more page.”

“... who said i’ve had enough?”

and then he’s taking off his glasses in one fluid motion before his lips are back on yours swallowing any protests you might have had. gone is the sweet, soft boyfriend who’d been giving you company all this while. 

(seriously, he picks the worst times to do these unfairly attractive things.)

the edge of the table digs into your back ever so slightly but you’re much more busy processing how sweet he tastes against you—of desperation. it’s a gorgeous color on him.

you vaguely think you hear his glasses fall to the floor with a soft clink. but with how intent your boyfriend seems upon robbing you of your coherence, you can’t say for sure. 

doing physics numericals is overrated anyway. you’d honestly rather just kiss your boyfriend, instead.

𐙚 . regulars : @chrrific @jessxxxfwd @evanesceki @soobundle1009 @weedatthegasstattion @flipitkickit @douqhnxtss @soona-huh @amoressb @nicholasluvbot @manariee @rinrinninnin @ddeonuswife @douqhnxtss @lovenha7 @amatariki @i-am-not-dal @liyahhhh620 @elleetlalune @luvvchn @s0shroe @wensurr @unhakies @starniras @calabaeri @athenaisonlinee @weepingsweep @itsactuallylina @puma-riki @starniras ⋆

        𝖤𝖷𝖳𝖱𝖠! [ <3 ] do we like layout. yes or yes. + gais i finally understand what timestamps are. its when u write a drabble and don't know what to call it!

ㅤㅤㅤ© YiNTUAL ♡ 2025

[strawberrynightmere]

Fearless Manager [Part 2]

[Part 1]

TW⚠️: canon divergence and honestly I don't know what else to put.

A/n: In one day the first part blew up... like that was too fast.

🌸Tags: @gremlinartstudio @chaos-inperson @alys-oli @rory1939 @amery-benson-cvii @doggyteam2028 @scara-simp69 @whimsiecat @junebuggz @satansdaughter123 @confusedparticle @levifiance @luluprincess230lp @seung185 @whimsybloom @6demonica9 @thatone-gayweeb @kashasenpai @little-nightowl @luv1ayala @rubyninja1 @snowy-violet

Right now, you are double-checking the stage for the boys' debut. So far, nothing was out of place, you'd have to thank Jelly later for doing an amazing job.

"All good. Now those guys should be here... in five- no four minutes." Guess there is some time to spare.

But several minutes pass and they're still not here. "Darn... you assign them something simple and they choose to be late." Looking around, trying to find those candy colored boys. And then you spot them coming from a narrow street.

Once they got to you did you ask.

"What took you guys so long?"

Jinu tried to play it off, badly so. "It doesn't matter, we're here now!" You just stared at him until he finally admitted it. "Abby lost the buttons and needed them fixed."

You lean to the side to see Abby with his shirt open, he looks one blond wig away from looking like he was gonna pose for a romance novel cover. "So you just gave up?"

Jinu turned where you were looking and then turned back with an awkward smile. You didn't let him talk, just motioned for Abby to come over to you as you pulled out a little box of safety pins from your bag and used them to close his shirt, making sure the pins weren't visible.

"Just for your information, a muscle shirt can have the same effect without it being a safety hazard."

Abby didn't reply, he just stared down at you, and a glint of gold could be seen in his eyes.

"Alright, you guys goofed around long enough, now get this performance over and done with, you're all behind on schedule."

You chase them all onto the stage and then go backstage.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Wow...

The debut went swimmingly. The song was catchy, the dancing was good, and the people were eating it up. Pretty sure you saw popcorn flying everywhere... which was weird.

Anyway, Jinu announced they will be guests on that game show tonight and then they disappeared in a puff of pink smoke.

They can do that?

Wait. Did they just ditch you?

"Almost forgot our manager." Abby wrapped his arms around you and picked you up off the ground. Then your vision is covered by pink smoke.

When the smoke cleared you were back in your apartment, where the rest of them were. A moment passes and you realized something.

"If you guys can teleport, why didn't you do it instead of coming late?"

Silence...

Makes you wonder if they forgot they could do that or if they just couldn't be bothered to do it. You're not gonna bother with it.

"Okay, time to- Abby, put me down." You almost forgot that he was holding. Only when your feet touched the ground did you continue. "Thanks. Now, what was I gonna say?"

"You got the rest of the day off?" Romance asked, already wanting to laze around.

"No, that doesn't sound right. Oh, right, the game show!" Four out of five of them groan and you take a look at the time. "We have time for a break, don't worry about it." That was followed by sighs of relief.

Seriously? These guys only did one performance and they're acting like they were on a three-day hike.

You're starting to think this wasn't worth the favor.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Skip to the game show, you were again backstage, watching as the boys were struggling for their afterlives to drink all the hot sauce and not pass out, it was funny.

Suddenly someone bumped into you.

"Oh! Sorry-"

"It's all good-"

Both of you are cut off mid-sentence when you realized who it was.

"It's you."

You said in unison. It was that girl from last night, this time she was wearing a black leather outfit. Another girl with twin buns peaks out behind her.

"You know her Rumi?"

So her name was Rumi.

She tried to form an explosion, badly so, tripping and repeating her words, to which that girl and another tall girl with pink hair, narrowed their eyes at her in confusion.

"We've bumped into each other by accident." Technically speaking, it wasn't incorrect, just too complicated for an explanation.

Your phone vibrates, it's an incoming call.

"I gotta take this. It was nice to see you again miss."

And then you walked away. Not noticing that Jinu was secretly watching you, or that Rumi wanted to stop you.

When you were pretty sure you were somewhere private, did you answer the video call.

"Is it on yet Jelly?"Gwi-ma asked, even though you see purple flames on the screen, you knew he wasn't looking.

"She answered! She already answered, look!" Jelly's voice comes from the background. You let out a small snort when the accent demon finally noticed you onscreen.

"Hi, old man. What's the situation?"

"Just wanted to check up on how the plan is unfolding."

"Can't you see through the other demons?"

"You got me! I wanted to see how you were doing. They're not causing you any trouble, are they?"

He sounded like a parent, checking up on their adult child who just moved out.

"Um. No! No trouble at all. It's only day one, so no complaints can be drawn."

So you continued your conversation, not knowing the shenanigans that are being pulled on stage.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

"Are you kidding me. Again?" You say when you find out when the Saja Boys dipped on you, again.

"That's it! They can teleport. I'm going home."

Such a tiring job this is.

A/n: This could've been longer, but I procrastinated too much.

[akkaweo-akkaweo]

Blowout

Lee Chaeyoung/Isa x M!reader

Tags: anal, rough sex

WC: 2.0k

[inspired by prompts from @thighsa]

—————

"You're making it really hard to not laugh right now."

"Chaeyoung, this isn't supposed to be a joke."

Who could fault Isa? You were celebrating your 3rd anniversary tonight, and Isa begged off from having dinner out after a busy week of work. Yet there you stood, gussied up in a long sleeved polo, slacks, and dress shoes. Which, to be sure, was just your work clothes, but made your case all the same with an additional bowtie.

"You're dressed up like a waiter," she laughed. "You even have a bowtie on."

Ouch. Your pride could only take so much before it started to sting.

"It's a special night," you huffed. "And you make it sound like dressing up like a waiter is like dressing up as a clown. And also, I wear this on the regular!"

Isa raised her hands like she was dodging a foul. "Hey, I never said dressing up like a waiter was lowly!" She walked up to you and toyed with your bowtie. "You're just so adorable for taking this so seriously."

Adorable?!

"Fine," you scowled, almost ripping off the bowtie and throwing it to the ground. "Forget I wanted to dress up for you then." You stormed off to the couch and crossed your arms.

You loved Isa. You'd cross mountains and swim oceans for her, and you weren't always sure just how figurative that was. But if something were to ever ground you back to reality, it was how she always knew how to press your buttons.

"No, bunny!," she called out after you, picking up your crumpled bowtie off the floor.

"No. No bunny tonight," you scoffed. You were significantly miffed, hot and dizzy in the head from frustration – but she knew that her nickname for you was a soft spot she never failed to exploit.

She wrapped the bowtie around your neck once more, playfully holding both ends to pull your face into view.

"Oh, come on, bunny," she cooed. "Besides, like you said, it's a special night. How do I get things back on track?"

Leave it to Isa to defuse a situation, but you still wanted your proverbial pound of flesh.

"Dress up for the occasion first."

Now, while Isa loved to taunt, it was only because her love for the game was far greater. She would never back down from a challenge like that – the devilish smirk she made told you as much.

"Bet," she winked, hopping away into the bedroom.

Minutes later, you heard the sharp clacking of heels on tile. Lo and behold, Isa walked in wearing heels, stockings, a pleated skirt, a long sleeved polo with a tie, and a dress vest.

Consider yourself outplayed and outdone, the almost instantaneous erection in your pants a pole for the white flag. Isa took the win with gusto, raising a knee up to the sofa and leaning over you. The buttons on her shirt were undone fairly low, only kept shut by the tie and the vest; but from the way she leaned over, her cleavage was in full view.

"Let's try this again," she said, grabbing your tie again with a heavier tug, bringing your face right up to hers. "What's for dessert, bunny?"

"We haven't– we haven't eaten yet," you replied, flustered.

"I know," she purred, "I'm starving."

Isa straddled you completely, pulling you by the collar to kiss you. When she let go of your lips, you sat there dumbfounded.

"Aw, what happened, bunny?," she taunted. "I thought you were all angry at me for not taking this seriously."

"I, uh– it was just for play, I mean–"

Isa tore open your shirt in one aggressive move. Buttons clacked onto the floor; string tickled your chest. Damn, was she strong, and you'd never not be surprised about it.

You unexpectedly gulped audibly. Sure, the thrill of Isa completely being in control was quite the anniversary gift – but you knew what Isa was capable of when she felt like being petty.

"If you wanted me to wear this so badly," she quipped, "then you're not allowed to see me out of this tonight."

"I–"

Your protest was cut short by the sudden hand on your mouth. Isa slid her hand between her legs, squirming and shuffling her legs around to free her panties. Isa then slid the panties between her hand and your face. You could smell and taste everything: the pungent smell of sweat, ass, squirt, and everything else between her legs. It made you lightheaded, as if the trigger alone sent you into an erection-dominated haze.

Isa once again slipped a hand between her legs, this time through the back. When she pulled it out, your eyes could only widen: a whole buttplug, already damp, which she tossed to the side.

"Can't take today seriously, huh?," she growled in your ear. "Let's see about that."

Whatever attempt to shout, interject, or even beg for the dignity to moan was suppressed by Isa's heavy hand – both the one still pushing your head into the sofa and the unbeatable pressure she was bearing down on you.

Isa got up and, with her lone free hand, prepared the scene. She undid your pants and boxers and freed your cock, the motions she took to do so drowned out by the overstimulation. From behind her, probably tucked in her waistband, she pulled out some lube, squeezing a whole, freezing dollop onto your pelvis. Minty. She stroked it all over your shaft, coating it with a good, heavy layer that cooled your skin.

"Y'know, I thought I could make some joke about meat for dinner. But honestly, I just want this thing in my ass."

It should be classified as criminal the way Isa had you in her grasp, evidenced chiefly how smoothly she inserted your cock in her ass.

"This ass is your anniversary gift, bunny," she whispered. "It's all yours."

Isa started to bounce on you effortlessly, sliding up and down your length. Every bump on, and pulse of, her hole made the already aggressive riding even more pleasurable.

"Damn, Chaeyoung – shit – you feel so good...," you groaned, forcing out the reaction through gritted teeth.

"What was that? Maybe you should moan louder, bunny," she commanded subtly.While you obliged, Isa was taking starting to get too rough – too demanding, even.

You tried with all your might to regain control of the moment, fiercely grabbing and slapping Isa's ass; but with every one, she begged for more and rode harder, squeezing her nipple with her other hand as she took you in with every slam into you.

For as much as you enjoyed it, Isa seemed to enjoy it even more. The tightness, the warmth, Isa's unceasing profanities and squealing into your ear – it was almost shameful how easily your gates burst for her, yet miraculous you didn't come sooner.

You groaned with every pump and spurt, feeling your load coat her inner walls. Though you couldn't see it, you could feel the cold trail each stray droplet of grool and semen left as it dripped down your balls.

Isa in a manic frenzy grabbed your hair and forced you to face her. "Look who's taking things seriously now, huh? Look at you."

Perhaps you could consider yourself defeated in this moment, spent so easily and outdone so quickly by Isa. But unlike how this was a first for both of you, this wasn't your first rodeo with Isa; the aggression, the tension, the rage started to bubble up inside you, and Isa toying with you here was going to be the last of it.

"You fucking slut."

You managed to break free from Isa's grasp, knocking her onto the floor. She had fallen in a way that she was splayed out, her body in full view for your pleasure: her thick thighs, her supple breasts, and a face that glared at you with even hungrier eyes than before. No longer did she need to be in control; she'd had her fill of petty vengeance already.

"Finally," she smirked, turning around and showing her reddened ass to you, spreading her cheeks wide. "Fucking use me until I'm sore, bunny," she taunted, swaying side to side. You hocked up some saliva and spat right around her hole, before mounting her doggystyle. At the moment of contact, she let out a guttural, satisfied groan.

"Oh yeah," she moaned, "oh fuck YES!"

Everything in you burned. Yes, there was the burn of your still overstimulated and still-minty cock, the burn of sore muscle being squeezed for its last juices. But there was the burn of wrath, lust, and everything unholy you wanted to do to Isa in this one moment. You weren't about to pass up that opportunity.

One slap.

"You think you can fuck with me, huh?"

Another slap.

"Bet you thought you could dominate your way out this one, huh?"

Another slap.

"Not tonight."

Two slaps.

"YES, bunny," Isa screamed, tears streaming down her face. "Fucking get back at me. Fucking waste me."

You lurched over and slapped her cheek – not as aggressively, you made sure of it – and growled in her ear. "So fucking dirty. Your mouth is so fucking dirty. Your brain is so fucking dirty. Wanting to be fucked like this." You hastened your thrusting.

Isa turned back, cheek red, mascara running all over – with the biggest shit-eating grin on her face. "Not fucking hard enough, bunny."

You roared in frustration. What had gotten into her, outright challenging you, toying with your emotions? You couldn't let this stand. You flipped over with her on top of you, pulling her ass apart with one hand and guiding your head into her asshole. Isa held her legs up obediently, as you began pumping into her.

"Yes yes yes yes YES!," she squealed, enjoying being pleasured at your mercy. "You fuck me so good, bunny!"

Profanities were out of the window for you. All you wanted to do was paint the walls white again, to ravage the defiant temple in your grasp until you were done.

"This asshole is mine," you hissed behind tightly gritted teeth. "All fucking mine. Say it."

"This asshole is yours, bunny! It's fucking yours!"

You couldn't take it much longer. With one hand letting go of gaping her cheeks, you rubbed her clit furiously – the one neglected spot on Isa, obviously so by touch – and suddenly, finally, Isa broke.

"Oh FUCK! Oh f-f-fuuu... Shhh–"

All words were out the window, piled up into a dumpster heap of sounds you could only categorize as an orgasm. You felt your fingers coated in a sludge that dripped down from her taint onto your thighs.

With one final, prolonged scream, you emptied your last into her. You felt your balls physically contract every last ounce you had in you until it hurt, every last muscle in your thighs finally giving way until they fell flat on the floor. You couldn't even hold onto her, your final spurts spraying across her thigh. Isa was left on top of you, both of you lying on the carpet like you were out in a grass field – completely spent.

Silence. At least, ignoring the thumping of heartbeats and labored breathing, a sense of calm in the room.

You tried your best to sit up, but Isa still being on you made that difficult, and your shaking jelly-filled arms collapsed under your shared weight. Isa snorted, rolling off you to pull you up. Neither of you could stand straight.

"Bunny?," you panted.

"Yes, bunny?"

"You're fucked up."

Isa laughed. "I thought you wanted this."

"I know," you chuckled. "But you're still fucked up."

"Gotta keep things fun, right?," she smiled. Forget the anger: all it took was a single, truly innocent smile and it doused any remaining fire in your chest.

You pointed to the buttons on the floor. "That was one of my favorite shirts."

"Oh," she said softly. "I buy you another one and we're even?"

You raised an eyebrow incredulously. "I– okay. Sure," you shrugged.

"Happy anniversary," she kissed you on the cheek. You hobbled to the shower.

"Happy anniversary, bunny," you whispered, wrapping your arms around her. "Let's try that again next time."

[transhuman-priestess]

#breaking bad#i like it but as a mexican it's weird to watch sometimes#plus every time they're in mexico they use the fucking yellow filter ajsjsj#i could elaborate but watching narcos in american shows often feels... cringe#then again i don't like those plots so i don't watch anything related#(brba and bcs being the exception)#ok maybe i will elaborate but not much bc i don't even remember half of brba at this point#i am however rewatching bcs and it didn't necessarily get better when it comes to this#i don't think these shows ever aimed to do a good or a realistic portrait of narcos/cartels/whatever#for starters the cartel is isolated. you don't actually see the repercussions of their violence#beyond the effects they have on each other#because they aren't the point. they feel like villains in an (american...) superhero movie.#they don't have powers but they aren't down to earth people either.#if you compare them to the white characters they barely feel like people#now. you must know that brba was also a very popular show here in méxico. still is i guess.#and i don't feel like there are many serious conversations about these topics here either#partly because... if you don't take us mexicans seriously as people why should we take your media seriously lol#(mexicans and latinos in general) (the reason why i despise watching any narcos stuff made by americans btw)#(i mean. you don't take narcos seriously. people that kill kidnap and genuinely destroy lives. daily).#(what chance do we have to be well represented as regular people. one wonders)#and partly because in this country we are often forced to live under this impression that american media is So Cool#we must admire it! regardless of everything!#(but this is a whole other conversation)#anyway. it is sad to listen to the insider podcasts and see how much effort was put into these shows#and how they insist in wanting to write three dimensional characters. in not wishing to stick to “this character is simply this or that”#but most of the cartel characters are simply evil. they only serve the purpose of being villains.

#(i ran out of tags so another rb sorry) (said the person that wasn’t going to elaborate)#but here's my biggest pet peeve about these shows. and i think this assures you that this was made strictly for an american audience#no matter how well they did in other countries#you can somehow find an extra that actually has a snake tattoo on his face.#you can do all these amazing props. create whole documents that’ll be on screen for 3 seconds bc fans pay too much attention to everything.#but you can't 1) hire people that actually speak spanish or 2) hire a dialect coach at least?#(maybe they did and i don't know)#don't get me wrong. there are Great actors in these shows#but some of those scenes are not understandable at all!!!#english is my second language. i don't always need to have subtitles to understand.#then there are scenes in spanish and i NEED subtitles. to understand my native language. because... well. i wonder if they even bothered#to check#again i don't blame the actors. but i feel it does a disservice to their performance.#if an actor mispronounced something in english would you keep that take in the show?#if the scenes in spanish (or any other language) weren’t that important for you to consider casting actors with that skill from the start#maybe you can avoid making them struggle and therefore reducing the quality of their work and the show.#(not that americans care I guess)

Hey this is all fascinating and great insight. Especially the subtitles bit.

I feel like nobody appreciates how incredibly racist Breaking Bad was, and I think it’s overwhelming popularity is, at least in some small part, responsible for the wave of anti-Latino sentiment that has defined right wing politics for the last decade, in much the same way that The Birth of a Nation helped make the Klan mainstream again in the 20s.

[antithetical-bolter]

Out Of The Woods (3)

Hi besties!! I am overwhelmed in the best way by everyone's kind words and interest in this story. If I had to guess i would say it'll be between 7 and 10 chapters in total, but it's not outlined so we'll see what my lil brain cooks up. There's some more Robby POV in this one bc I felt like it was important to get a little look into his sweet but messed up head, pls tell me if you hate it or if it's unrealistic lmao

5.0k words | Pregnancy continues to wreak havoc on Iris's digestive system. Robby goes to therapy and begins the groveling process.

warnings: nausea, throwing up, unplanned pregnancy, excessive use of the word fuck, commas, and em dashes.

Prev | Next

Masterlist

page dividers by @cafekitsune

tag list: @snowflames-world @antisocialfiore @eviemonroeer @princessjayll @sizzlingkryptonitetale @two-bitkit @dizzybee03 @knifetotheback @nerdgirljen @legolas-the-homeschooled-elf @tradingtruthsforlies @robbyrosierobinavitch

(if you'd like to be added just lmk in the comments!)

Chapter 3

Iris

Rest is far harder to accomplish than I’d like it to be. Dana checks in on me a few times, and while I haven’t lost what little sustenance I’ve been able to keep down I am still nauseated as fuck. Sleep teases me with three minute stretches, consistently interrupted by nausea and full body sweats. Samira comes in around four and tells me she’s been tasked with seeing if I can tolerate any PO intake, and while I'm not thrilled about the idea I know it’s necessary. The crackers she’s holding up in front of me sounds lovely to my brain and seriously awful to my stomach. A small bite is all I can convince myself to take - and when I immediately start to dry heave we table the problem for the time being. 

“Dana and I think you should go home.” Samira tells me as she rubs slow circles on my back. That makes three of us, I swear I can hear my bathroom floor calling my name.

“Yeah I’d love that, but I’m not taking public transport like this and I’m not taking your car either.” The silence expands as she chews on her words before filling me in on whatever plan she and Dana seem to have hatched while I wasted away up here. 

“Uh, about that. We have a solution but I’m not sure you’re gonna like it.” She waits to see if I’m going to interject, but I really don’t have the energy right now so I just brace for whatever she’s about to suggest to me. “Jack will be here any minute to send Robby home so he can go to his appointment, he could very easily drop you off on his way there.” She’s right, I really don’t like that idea. But this bed is fucking uncomfortable and all I want is to be able to be miserable in my own space. 

“If that’s my only feasible option then I guess that’s fine, but he’s gonna have to pick me up out front. No way I trek through the ED like this.” It’s bad enough that I have to leave early at all - I’m not adding any fuel to the gossip fires that are bound to be raging on the floor below us. 

“I’m sure he’ll be fine with that. He’s been on our case about where you are the last few hours, he’s suspicious and definitely freaking out a little bit so I’m pretty sure you could get him to do literally anything you wanted.” God, if fucking only.

“That’s a reeaallly long list, Samira. But we’ll start with picking me up out front and getting some therapy and go from there.” Her phone is already out and I don’t have to look to know she’s texting Dana. We sit in silence for a few minutes, me focusing on remaining upright and Samira texting her co-conspirator back and forth. My eyes are just starting to droop, my head leaning on her shoulder when the door opens again. I expect it to be Dana with my stuff, but it’s Robby. My backpack is slung on the shoulder opposite his own pack and he looks like he ran up here - is breathing like he sprinted up the stairs. The words he’s trying to spit out sound suspiciously like ‘are you okay’ and ‘I’ve been worried about you’ and I just really do not have the emotional bandwidth for that right now, so my sense of self preservation kicks in and I interrupt his half formed statements of concern.

“Alright let’s get this show on the road, I miss my bed.” My legs are a little shaky underneath me as I stand and orient myself to being vertical again but I don’t feel nearly as faint as I did earlier. 

“Yeah, uhm yeah the car’s already out front so I’m ready when you are.” Robby stammers out as he comes to stand beside me, apparently not trusting my legs as much as I do. Not unfair but I’m still a little annoyed about it. I turn to face Samira, intending to thank her for all of her help but she beats me to the punch.

“I’ll swing by and check on you after I get off tonight, okay? I’ll just let myself in and come up so you don’t have to move.” 

“Sounds good, thanks Samira.” I turn towards Robby as I continue talking, now addressing him. “Let’s get a move on before I puke in your car.” He nods furiously in agreement, and pulls out a few fresh emesis bags from his pocket and hands them to me. Honestly great forethought from him, a simple solution but one that is definitely beyond my own brain's capabilities right now. 

We take one elevator and then walk about fifty steps out to the suburban, and it exhausts me. I don’t fight Robby as he puts a hand on my right hip and helps me get up into the car and then reaches around me to buckle my seatbelt. To my immense surprise and even greater relief, I’m dozing before the car starts to move. 

I wake up again to Robby opening up my car door, gently coaxing me back into the land of the living. That less than fifteen minute drive was the longest uninterrupted sleep I’ve gotten all day and it was nowhere near enough.

“Hey, honey, we’re at yours. Your bed awaits.” Fuck if that’s not the best thing I’ve heard all day. I accept his offered hand as I slide onto the ground and turn to walk inside. I make it as far as the porch, punching in my door code, so damn close to safety before I lose what little I’ve kept down this afternoon. Robby is quick with the emesis bag and he holds my hair back as puke. 

I manage to choke out “I need to sit down,” before I attempt to ease myself to the floor. Attempt being the keyword, because really Robby catches me and brings me down to sit against him as I catch my breath. I always cry when I throw up, but I’m crying for more than that right now. “This is fucking awful, god dammit.” He takes the used bag from my hands, twists it closed and sets it to the side before pulling a package of wipes seemingly out of thin air and wiping my face for me. “Thanks.” I croak out, feeling like speaking is far more effort than it’s worth. 

“Maybe I should stay…” He starts to speak, but no way am I letting him miss his therapy appointment for this. Absolutely the fuck not - I’d like for him to continue to take care of me like this but that isn’t happening unless he goes to fucking therapy. 

“No, Robby. Help me upstairs and make sure I’m settled and then go to your appointment. Seriously - I will be okay for a bit. It’s already almost five and Samira will be here when she’s off and I promise I’ll sleep in the recovery position. No aspiration risk here.” I sleep on my side naturally, which has really been working in my favor the last few weeks. And honestly if I continue to puke I won’t be sleeping anyway so really it won’t matter. 

Apparently I’ve managed to make my voice strong enough to get my point across because he doesn’t argue with me. Just quietly agrees before adjusting so that he’s holding me around the shoulders and under my knees and moves to a standing position. If I wasn’t still quite sick and trying to enforce boundaries with him I would let myself acknowledge that it’s pretty fucking hot that he can move so well while holding me like this - but I am trying to enforce boundaries with him so that thought gets quickly filed away for later use. 

Once we make it up the stairs and into my room, he sets me down near the edge of the bed and prompts me to sit down. 

“Pick out your pajamas and get changed, I’m gonna go get your bag and make sure you have everything you need up here.” He observes me just long enough to confirm I won’t be passing out on him before he heads back downstairs. 

I feel a little better after slipping on my favorite Noah Kahan concert t-shirt and comfy sleeping underwear, enough so that I’m able to stand at the sink long enough to brush my teeth and quickly wash my face. 

As I open the door to my bathroom and slowly make my way back to my bed, I take in what he’s brought up for me. A whole pile of emesis bags, a garbage bag for any used ones, tissues, mouthwash (where did he get that??), my water bottle and a bottle of glacier cherry gatorade. He has the covers pulled back and ready for me, and I not-so-gracefully flop onto my pillows. Robby pulls the covers up around my shoulders and kneels down next to the bed. 

“Alright I’ve gotta go if I’m gonna make my 5:15 appointment time. I know Samira will be here after shift change but would it be okay with you if I drop in on you on my way home? Would be around 6:30 or so.” 

“Uhh yeah sure, I guess. But I won’t be getting up. The door code is 474713. If I’m sleeping, don’t wake me up. I’ll be pissed about it.” He laughs a little bit at that, and I’m glad I’m feeling well enough to joke a little bit. A good sign, all things considered. 

“Yeah, of course. I’ll be quiet. I’ll leave my phone on silent during the appointment but if anything comes up call three times an-“

”It’ll override the do not disturb, I know how it works. If for some reason I need someone here that badly I will call three times but I doubt I’ll need to. Go, you’re gonna be late if you stay much longer.” 

“I know, I’m going. If you come up with anything you need between now and me coming back just text me, I can stop at the store for you.” 

“I will. Thanks, Robby. Now seriously - go. I’m not fucking around about this and being late to your establishing appointment isn’t a great way to start out.” He sighs and nods his head like he’s resigned himself to his fate. His left hand lands on the edge of my bed as he pushes himself to a standing position, running the other over my hair before he turns to leave. 

Sleep gives me a measly thirty second taste of relief while he’s gone. It’s the opposite of restful and I’m once again on the verge of tears - this time from exhaustion. 

At 6:15 on the dot my phone starts to buzz. 

Robby (6:15pm)

Walking out now, you awake? Need anything?”

Iris (6:16pm)

against my will, but yeah I’m awake nothing off the top of my head

Robby (6:17pm)

Alright, I’ll be there soon. Just gotta make one stop on my way. 

I thumbs up his text and close my eyes, trying my damndest to fall into a real sleep. It does not happen and by the time I hear my front door open I have unwillingly started crying. Again. I swear - this kid is going to make me emotionally unstable before they even get here. Robby finds me sitting on the edge of my bed, water in hand, sobbing like someone just died. 

“Hey, hey, Iris, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” The bed dips as he sits down next to me and puts an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his side. 

“I’m, i-“ I pause to take a deep breath, but all I can manage is a gasp, “I’m just so fucking tired, but I can’t sleep and I feel like I’m going insane.” A few more sobs before I get the rest of it out. “Everytime I lay down my stomach gets upset again but I can’t get comfy sitting up and all I want is some fucking sleep!” The last part comes out as more of a yell than I intend it to, but Robby takes it in stride.

”That sucks, I’m sorry. Wish I could fix it for you.” My shoulders shrug, and I’m a little disappointed in myself as I realize that him being here is making me calmer. Especially as I recall that the only actual sleep I’ve gotten today was in his car. Fucking pregnancy hormones, making me all soft for the man responsible for said hormones. ”I can’t fix it, but maybe we move down to the couch for a bit? We can sit up and I can rub your back and if you fall asleep on me then I’ll just let you sleep?” Yes, please.

“You don’t have to do that, I’m sure you’re tired and ready to go home.” And maybe if he leaves I’ll feel a little less like he’s the only thing keeping me stable.

”Nah, I’m at least half the reason that you’re feeling like this anyway so the least I can do is stick around and suffer with you if it comes to that.” Or maybe it’s okay that he’s keeping me stable - he is partially responsible for my current state of being, afterall. 

“Well when you put it like that… Just let me splash some water on my face and I’ll be down.” And take a few minutes to reign it in - it’s nice that he’s here and showing up but I don’t want to get my hopes up too high. 

“Do you want to try and eat? It’s been long enough since your last zofran that you could have another if you wanted.”

“Yeah I should probably try, there’s some of my favorite ramen in the pantry and it’s usually pretty tummy-friendly so I’ll give that a go I guess.” 

“I’ll go get it started while you make your way downstairs. Take your time, okay?” I take a fortifying breath and nod against his shoulder before pushing myself into a standing position and walking to my bathroom. Robby stays in the room long enough to make sure I’m steady on my feet, and once I close the door I hear him walking down the stairs and rummaging around in the kitchen. While sitting down to pee I quickly fire off a text to Samira, letting her know that Robby is here and that she can skip the check in visit tonight. She doesn’t respond, likely busy being a doctor and all that, but I know that I’ll be getting the fifth degree from both her and Dana the next time I see them. Five minutes later, bladder freshly emptied and face washed of tears, I slowly make my way downstairs. I expect to see Robby in my kitchen, but I don’t expect to see the massive bouquet sitting on my counter. It’s so big that I have to walk around it in order to make eye contact with him. 

“Uh, wow. What are these for?” I can hazard a guess, but I’d like to hear him say it. So much for reigning it in. 

”Well I realized that I never actually told you that I’m pretty fucking thrilled about you having my baby, so these are ‘I’m sorry, I’m a fucking idiot and also thank you for giving me the best gift anyone has ever given me’ flowers.” That gets a real laugh out of me, and all of a sudden I’m feeling a lot better. No less exhausted but a little hit of joy gives me a second wind. 

“Wow, that’s a pretty loaded bunch of flowers. They’re beautiful, thank you. I tentatively accept your apology.” A visible wave of relief washes over his face as I finish speaking, and it has me feeling pretty damn hopeful. ”And for the record, I’m excited too. Scared out of my fucking mind, but in a good way I think?” He nods and laughs lightly, reaching out to pull me in for a hug with one arm as he stirs my ramen with the other. I go willingly, folding myself into his side. We both take steadying deep breaths - me because I’m exhausted and my emotions have run quite the gambit the last few hours. I can’t speak to why he needs a few deep inhales before speaking, but I can only guess that he’s remembering the last time we hugged and how it ended with me kicking him out and sobbing on the floor of my entryway. 

“I’m glad to hear that.” He pulls me in just a little tighter, his arm lightly running up and down my side. 

“In a day or two we can talk some more, but tonight is not the night for me to have any heavy conversations if that’s okay with you. Maybe we just put on a movie and eat and then hope I fall asleep?” I want to hear about therapy, as much as he’ll tell me, but I fear if we try to talk tonight that I will either be a bitch or just cry and neither of those are things I want to do. Healthy emotional regulation or whatever.

“Sounds perfect. Go get set up on the couch, I'll bring your meds and food over to ya in just a sec.” I step out of his hold as he moves to grab two bowls for the soup, and as I watch him get everything together for me it’s impossible to squash that hopeful, romantic voice currently making itself known in my head.

Robby

Iris finishes and keeps down the ramen, much to my relief. It’s not uncommon to lose a little weight in the first trimester but it still hurts me to see her feel so terrible. While we eat I turn on her TV and ask what she’d like to have on, but she just shrugs. I make an executive decision and put on Parks and Rec, knowing it’s one of her favorites. This seems to be the right choice as it earns me the biggest, most genuine smile she’s given me in months. 

Once she finishes eating I take our dirty dishes and load them into her dishwasher alongside the pot I used to cook. As insurance I grab a few emesis bags and put them within arms reach, though I hope she won’t need them. I’m not sure how much cuddling she’d like to do - I did offer to rub her back while she tries to fall asleep but I don’t want to force her into physical contact if that’s not what she wants. She decides for me, patting the cushion right next to her on the couch. Her legs are extended onto the L shaped portion, so I sit in the middle right next to her. Immediately after I sit down, she leans into me. That seems like invitation enough so I put my right arm around her shoulders and pull her close, resisting the urge to lay a kiss on her hair. I honestly was not sure if she’d ever want to be close to me like this again so I just enjoy the feeling of her pressed against me. 

Therapy this evening was just as hard as I expected it to be. Carson, the guy Jack referred me to, seems competent. While I did not enjoy it I can see the benefits and will make an honest to god effort to give it the time it deserves. Seeing how badly my actions hurt Iris fucking gutted me so if this is the solution for making sure I never cause her to feel like that again then I will show up and participate. 

It’s been hard for me not to draw parallels between Iris and Heather, and it’s not lost on me that had she decided to terminate the two situations would be even more similar. As I’ve gotten older, I just assumed that kids were not in the cards for me. Jake and I are on better terms but still slightly rocky ground - and after Heather filled me in on the day of Pitt Fest I figured my fate was all but sealed. Iris has been the biggest surprise and blessing, and now that there’s a kid on the way I feel like the luckiest guy on the whole fucking planet. 

She caught me off guard, we’ve always been friendly but our shifts have never overlapped all that much due to her having been on nights the past few years. A schedule change right after Pitt Fest last year brought her to days full time and we became fast friends. I’d had a little crush on her for the months leading up to Jesse’s birthday party - but seeing her walk in the door wearing the cutest fucking dress, her hair down and laughing made me realise that my feelings were stronger than I thought. Two drinks gave me the courage to flirt with her, and she seemed to be feeling it as well so going home with her felt natural. 

I spent a lot of my session tonight talking about how much I regret leaving that morning, and while I know it’s because I’m afraid Carson made me dig into it a little bit. Being scared is not a feeling I can fix overnight, but I can change my actions. It seems so fucking obvious to me now - but showing up scared is half the fucking battle. So, here I am. Showing up fucking terrified. Scared that she’ll never want to be in a relationship and that co-parents is all we’ll ever be, scared because I'm definitely in love with this woman, scared that these feelings seemed to appear out of nowhere and hit me like a mac truck. 

When she’s ready to talk, I’ll tell her whatever she wants to know. But for now, if all she wants is for me to hold her and cook for her, then that’s what I’ll do. Happily and to the best of my ability. 

Her voice pulls me out of my head and back into the room.

“Thanks for cooking for me tonight, it’s nice to have you here.” The blush that I feel heating my face is entirely out of my control and I’m glad she’s facing the TV.

“No need to thank me, if anything I should be thanking you for letting me be here.” She doesn’t respond verbally, just snuggles in a little closer and I swear I feel my heart bursting at the seams. “You comfy like this?” 

“Eh kinda, maybe you scoot this way so we can at least kinda be at an angle? I’ve never been able to sleep fully sitting up.” I follow her instructions, moving so that I'm fully on the same cushion as her and no longer sitting up completely straight. My legs join hers on the L-shaped extension of the couch and she rearranges so her top half is molded to my side and her legs are tangled in with mine. Sleeping upright is historically not great for my neck, but I will happily endure a little bit of soreness if it means getting to have her draped over me all night. 

The next episode of our show plays as she settles in and I toss a blanket over us, and she tells me it’s one of her favorites from the series. Something about the flu and Ann being her nurse spirit animal.  Despite that, she falls asleep before the episode is even halfway over. I stay awake a while longer, making it through three more episodes before I decide she’s asleep enough for me to rest as well. If she wakes up feeling sick it will inevitably wake me but it seems like she’s going to be able to continue to catch up on some much needed sleep. I let myself lay a gentle kiss on the top of her head as I silently thank my lucky stars that I have somehow earned her trust enough to be here. 

Iris

Fuck, it’s hot in here. My place tends to run cold (because I keep the thermostat at 66 year round) but I am currently sweating like a dog. I peel my eyes open, unwillingly bringing myself back into consciousness. It becomes immediately obvious why it’s so hot in here. Robby is already awake, and I can feel his arm running over my back in very light touches. My head is resting on the junction of his shoulder and neck, and I’m all but on top of him. One of my legs is bracketed between both of his and I can feel the heat seeping out of his hands and into my back. I’m not sure how long I slept, but it’s still dark out so it can’t have been that long. 

“What time is it?” I ask him after clearing my throat a few times, sitting forward a bit so I can look at him.

“Uhh, just about 2am I think.” 

“Shit, I’m sorry for nap trapping you here for so long, I'm okay now if you wanna go home and sleep in your own bed.” His expression shifts from tired and affection to looking at me like I’ve lost it. 

“There’s literally nowhere else I'd rather be. You’re gonna have to pry me off this couch with a crowbar if you want me to go. And besides, seems like good practice for being nap-trapped when our little one shows up.” A sleepy laugh tumbles out of me and he leans over to kiss the top of my head. Between that and him saying ‘our little one’ I’m about to melt into the couch - and not because he’s a human heated blanket.

“I’m so glad to hear that but I really need to pee…” He immediately lets go and shifts to help me up, making sure I’m stable on my feet and pointing me in the direction of my downstairs bathroom. While I’m sitting down, I check my phone to see if Samira texted me back. 

Samira (7:47pm) Omg what!! Okay I will go home but call me if you need me. Also expect to give me all the details soon

Iris (2:17am)

He came back after therapy and cooked for me, we fell asleep on the couch and I begrudgingly admit it’s the best sleep i’ve gotten in weeks And he got me the biggest bouquet i’ve literally ever seen

I slip my phone back into my pocket and wash my hands before going back out into the living room. Robby is up and moving, having found two glasses and filled them both with water. He is just finishing his as I come out, and he heads to use the bathroom himself. I drink my water slowly, not wanting to risk waking the beast that is my ever present nausea. A little bit of a rumble occurs just as I finish my first sip but seems to stay at bay after that, so I walk to my pantry and grab a packet of saltines to nibble on. 

Robby exits the bathroom to find me eating a cracker with so much caution it’s almost laughable. 

“If that stays down, want something more substantial?” I do, I’m actually fucking starving, but I don’t want to get my hopes up. 

“Yeah but I’ll let you know, don’t wanna rush it.” He gives me a thumbs up and he refills his water glass and comes to stand beside me. We exist in companionable silence while I work on my cracker and I can tell he’s trying not to stare at me. “What? I can feel you looking at me.”

“Nothing, uh, I’m just really glad you’re feeling better.” I stay silent, knowing that’s not all he has to say but letting him take his time getting it out. “Andyoulookreallygoodinthatshirt” comes racing out of his mouth and it takes me a few seconds to process what he says. Once I do, I lean up and kiss his cheek. He turns tomato red and it’s endearing as fuck. 

“Thanks, glad you’re a fan.” I tell him before taking the last bite of my saltine. 

“Most definitely a fan.” The t-shirt with just boyshort underwear definitely was not meant to impress him but it’s a nice confidence boost that he’s clearly still attracted to me even after having to hold my hair while I puked. 

“Seems like my stomach is going to cooperate for now, and I'm feeling kinda hungry.” “Yeah? That’s great. What do you want?” I mull over his question for a bit before landing on an answer. 

“Meh I could go for some more ramen, I don’t really have a lot in the house since I’ve been feeling so shitty the last few weeks. And I don’t wanna ask you to cook for me in the middle of the night.” My parents were solidly in the ingredients household camp, and old habits must die hard because the only things in my pantry and fridge require cooking. 

“We both just got 6 plus hours of sleep, I’m gonna be up for a bit anyways. What do you want to eat? I really don’t mind cooking.” I’m very glad to hear him say that, I probably would’ve ended up cooking for myself anyway because apparently my cravings have decided to make themselves known now that the nausea was less in the forefront. And I lowkey hate cooking. Baking? Great. Baking is chemistry - an exact science. Cooking? Based on vibes and estimates? Not my forte. 

“Some pasta, I have some alfredo sauce and parmesan. Oh, and some bread! And maybe some pickles.” He smiles and chuckles at my enthusiasm, leaning in to kiss the top of my head.

“I can do that. You go sit, I’ll bring it to you.” He’s looking at me like I’ve never seen before, all soft and fondly. Like he actually wants to be here, cooking for me, far past midnight the night after a shift. I’m inclined to believe him. 

[ocelotted]

within arm’s reach | kusanagi haku

In any other scenario, asking Haku to accompany you to your cousin’s wedding as your fake boyfriend would be a brilliant idea. He is perfect on paper and flawless on your arm, able to smile through anything and everything, an expert at not letting the inscrutable something that stays with him always seep through the cracks of whatever mask he has decided to employ. In any other scenario, it would be a faultless plan.  It’s too bad that in this one, you are very much in love with him. Complications ensue. 

relationship – kusanagi haku/f!reader

contains – fake dating, regular au?, shitty relatives (amen), pining, requited unrequited love, friends to lovers (well. partway there), trust issues, use of ‘princess’, angst without a happy ending (there is one in my mind for later but not in this one. sorry)

notes – the writing is Rough because this started out as a drabble and then… yeah. i kid you not i wrote this in a dream. do you know the story behind tartini’s the devil’s trill sonata? this is my version of that. i will never be free. i hope you enjoy

notes – 2.8k (free me)

“Honestly, when I imagined you asking me to be your boyfriend, I didn’t expect it to play out like this.” 

You inhale deeply and murmur a quick prayer for patience in the back of your mind. Haku smiles across from you, languid and unruffled and soft in the haze of your living room lights.

To be fair, you don’t know what else you were expecting. When you first received the wedding invitation in the mail, accompanied by a very passive-aggressive note from your aunt about how your life was going, you seriously contemplated seeking out the nearest paper shredder and moving on. You should’ve wanted nothing to do with them. You’ve known for a long time that any place they call you to has nothing for you but emptiness and sharp-edged memories that awaken the grasping, buried child sitting heavy in your chest. 

But then your eye had caught on the shiny ‘plus-ones allowed!’ printed across the glossy sheet, and the shadow of an idea had wormed its way into your head. Your relatives had been pestering you nonstop about settling down, after all. Would it have been so bad to finally relent? You had just the perfect candidate, after all – someone known for his easy smiles and airy words, who could undoubtedly navigate the cesspool of one of your family gatherings like it was second nature. 

That was how you ended up here: with one of your closest friends seated expectantly on your couch, a request hovering still in the air.

"Fake boyfriend, Haku. It’s a very important distinction.” You clasp your hands together. In all the years you’ve known him, Haku has always been good at pretending. It is an immutable fact, and right now, it is something you need. "Please? I’ll owe you."

"Come on, princess. Who do you think I am?" His eyes are glittering with amusement, and your heart is turning in your chest. He leans forward. "Don’t worry, I’ll tag along. But you better finally go on that date with me afterwards, alright?"

You sigh. "You’ll be able to drop the act once the wedding’s finished, you know."

You don’t give him a chance to reply (probably with another flirtation that’ll strike another tiny crack into the porcelain of your heart, or some age-old variant of it’s not an act, princess that makes you want to scream) before you’re rattling off conditions and venue details and all the necessary information about your extended family.

"You really thought this through, huh?" You glare at him halfheartedly. He huffs in surrender. "Okay, okay. I’ve got it. Take it easy."

You resist the urge to glower harder, and shove down the ache in your throat. “That’s what I thought.”

A month later, you show up to the venue with a racing heart and Haku on your arm, tall and beautiful and shrouded in something holy under the fairy lights. It's a Western-style ceremony; he's never been to one before, but he's easy as ever, just the right amount of charming, meeting every incessant question with a devastating smile. It's a funny story, really – we met a couple years ago, on the train. I knew she was something special the minute I saw her. Hm. You really think so? I was surprised no one had snatched her up yet, to be honest. If anything, I'm the lucky one.

He squeezes your hand throughout the evening, every time your smile goes taut when someone sighs about how they thought you'd be alone forever and can't believe such a handsome, charming boy would go for someone like you. You were always so reclusive, always so hesitant to let them all in, but they're glad you found someone, they really are! It's just so, so hard to believe – you can't really blame them, though, can you?

Oh! I think that's our cue. The snack bar's calling, I'm afraid. Haku flashes another disarming smile and his gaggle of admirers protest in unison before eventually stepping down. You're a little bit out of it, not quite yourself, not quite there (you have long learned that you cannot afford to be) but a familiar warmth around your shoulder and a song in your ear recalls you back to earth. "Let's go, princess."

You blink. The world swims in your peripherals, and then he is leading you through the crowd, deft and unwavering, past the snack bar and the dance floor and into a quiet, secluded area wreathed in shadow where the clamour is killed, just a little, and it's a fraction easier to breathe.

"You okay?"

Haku's eyes are soft, citrine flashing in the low light. You inhale and imagine letting the cut of them sear through the knots in your chest until rope tumbles to the floor.

"Yeah,” you mutter. Your hands twitch at your sides. You cannot fall apart - not here, not now. not ever. Not in front of him. "Sorry for dragging you out here. My family's..." you suck in a breath, something like a mirthless smile rising up behind your hand, "... not great company, I know."

Haku's still looking at you, a gentle, mending kind of gaze that makes you want to hide. "I had a feeling when you were telling me about them before, but I didn't think it'd be this bad."

You hum. "Yeah, well. Surprise."

You know he understands. Haku doesn't talk about his family much, but when he does he is cavalier about their love (or lack thereof), detached in a way you have tried to be your whole life. You cannot help but want; that is how you've always been. An immutable fact.

(Maybe that's why you asked him here in the first place, you think, idly. To taste what it is like, being held by someone who cares for you. To prove something to people who don't. To punish yourself for doing both.)

"We should head back,” you murmur, forcing yourself to meet his eyes and ignoring the version of yourself that rests in the black of them. "They're probably missing you out there."

He looks on the verge of protest, but there's a silent, screaming plea in the way you look at him, and a glint that says you are ready because you have to be. You smile, pained but real (as real as it can be, at least), and slip your trembling hand into his.

"Okay." He acquiesces. He knows there is no use fighting you right now. "If you're sure."

You are relieved when the mask slips back on. Despite what your heart says, it's easier to be with Haku when he is wearing one, and doubly so when you are, too. Confusion, grief, love, pain, understanding. None of it matters when you are shielded so.

The celebration is still in full swing when you emerge. As predicted, it takes less than ten seconds for another group of your relatives to swarm you two again. You fall into step beside him, laughing off every question and every remark in tandem, and when your shoes are beginning to hurt and the final small crowd disperses you both collapse onto a nearby sofa.

"I think you'll owe me a lot more than a date after this." Your name leaves his mouth on a soft sigh.

"Alright, alright." You let your head loll back to where his arm is wrapped around your shoulder. Familiar. You wonder how many people have seen him like this. "I'll take you to Happo-en when we've both recovered from tonight."

He raises a brow. "That's a pretty popular wedding spot, you know. You trying to tell me something?"

"Not one second of peace with you," you grumble, although your heart flips. "I don't think it's all that crowded, usually, and there's a nice koi pond."

A grin tugs at his lips. "You know me so well."

You laugh wryly, and turn your head as if you can ignore the gossamer thread of sincerity winding through his voice, the one that hurts you more than anything. Haku is good with easy flirtations and light remarks he can laugh off as second nature, but every now and then something more creeps through – quiet and shimmering, delicate the way light is when it dances across the water at dawn, so sacred and fragile that the prospect of holding it sends terror coursing through your veins. 

He knows this. No part of you escapes him, even the ones that want to more than anything, and yet—

“Can I kiss you?”

You don’t register it, at first. The words sink their teeth into you slowly, the same way water pulls away from the shore before a tsunami, exposing all your layers to the light. Amidst the music and the chatter, your eyes snap to him. He’s closer than you anticipated – gaze expectant, the line of his smile like cut grass, his namesake, like home.

With all reason stolen away by the sight, you can’t do anything but nod. 

In the blink of an eye, he’s slinging an arm around your waist and kissing you into the cushions. The rest of the world and everything you have ever been crumbles away under his touch. Lightning rushes up your spine; he’s warm and you’re pliant with the shock but somehow you manage to pour a little bit of yourself back into him, shoulders loosening for the first time that evening, letting a fantasy you thought you’d long crushed play out in a blur behind your eyes of a shared bed and spring streaming through the window and the honey-sweet taste of I love—

You feel significantly colder when he breaks away, something small and glinting tucked away into the line of his kiss-swollen mouth that you can’t quite bring yourself to decipher.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “Your aunt’s been eyeing us all night. Thought it might’ve been good to give her a little show.”

Ah.

Your lips part in understanding (your heart cracks, just a little. Nothing you cannot mend). True to his word, she’s settled in the corner of your eye, eyes darting back to the two of you intermittently, mouth curled with disdain.

Of course. Haku is good at pretending, and the less foolish part of you remembers that he enjoys it, just a little, as well. Immutable facts.

You swallow down the burning and smile. 

“Good call.” Your voice comes out shockingly steady, as if your mouth isn’t still laced with the taste of him. “Think it worked?” 

Mirth flashes in his eyes. “Well, she’s definitely uncomfortable.”

You huff. “That’s enough for me.”

How very damning those words are. They are true, though, you think, once the rush dies down and all you're left with is the ghost of him soft on your lips. The swan wing curve of his neck settles into velvet plush and you know he is the only person who could ever break you like this, that you have never wanted anything the way you do him in all your years.

Deep down, the awareness looms: you could satisfy yourself if all you have one day is the memory of his smile pressed against yours, raw and heartrending. It could be enough, indeed.

He turns to you in the corner of your eye, something round and gentle ready on his tongue, and a part of you accepts that it will have to be.

"Well. Mission success."

Roughly four hours later, you and Haku are on the train back to your flat. His tie is loose around his collar, jacket folded over one arm, and your head is filled with cotton and a faint dream of finally getting out of your shoes. The Tokyo skyline cuts across the horizon; you think faintly of an autopsy incision, colours bleeding into the inky darkness of the bay. 

"Mission success," he echoes lightly. You can hear something weighing down his voice. Questions, no doubt, and worries you always knew would be dredged up in time. 

You heave a sigh.

“God, I’m tired,” you mumble, letting your head thunk against the window. A picture flashes through your mind of settling into his shoulder instead, breathing in the faint scent of petrichor that somehow clings to him wherever he goes. You bite back a curse and a memory at once. 

Haku lets out a hum. “We should be back at your place in twenty minutes, if you can avoid dozing off on me for that long.” 

You’re half-surprised that he hasn’t met you with some kind of teasing remark. A muted possibility flares at the base of your ribs — that he is more affected than you know, that maybe he saw something in you amidst the candlelight and crystal, that you could be substantial enough to change him in any way—

You’re being delusional.

“Will do,” you murmur, and when you focus on the chill of the windowpane seeping through your skin you imagine yourself being encased in resin, preserved in a final moment with Haku by your side. 

He calls you gently to attention when your stop arrives. You go through all the motions. He nudges you into tapping off first at the exit gate, walks on your right-hand side to tuck you into the quieter part of the sidewalk, and the two of you talk idly and stifle your laughs to not disturb any passerby and let the night wrap you up in its arms like a lover you will never have. Things are easy with Haku. You wouldn’t give that up for the world. 

You reach your door a couple minutes later, and are searching through your purse for your keys when his voice breaks the silence of the hall. 

“I meant it, you know.” 

You still. Heart dropping into the hollow of your stomach, you glance back, wary bemusement sharp on your features. The air has changed. 

“The kiss.” He’s gazing at you, deliberate and earnest, and in spite of it all you are spellbound. “It wasn’t because your aunt was looking. I wanted to kiss you. I have for a long time.” 

Cold metal digs into your fingertips. You draw out your keys, pressing the ridges of them into the flesh of your palms as if believing that the pain will rouse you from this — the sweetest dream and very worst nightmare you could ever conjure up. 

“Don’t joke about that, Haku.” You blink rapidly, vision blurring, the burn of your eyes like flames licking at your ribcage because he knows you hate this game and you don’t know what you’d do with yourself if he knew how you feel about him, too. Your tongue is whetted sharp, unable to measure out your words before they’re spilling over your scalded lips. “Don’t— don’t take pity on me.”

“Do you really think I’d joke about something like this?” 

The fragment of hurt glinting at the edge of his voice guts you open, undulled by the softness in his eyes. A traitorous part of you, one you thought you killed, thinks that this was always waiting to happen. It just didn’t expect it to come so soon. “I love you. Just– let me.” 

“Stop.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and feel his breathing still in the lamplit air. “Please.” Your voice cracks; you fumble for the keyhole with shaking hands. “If you’re saying this to make me feel better, I–”

“Is that what you think’s going on here?”

“This wasn’t what I wanted.” 

When you’d asked Haku to join you at the wedding, you thought you’d have a fantasy at best: one where you were different, where you didn’t have to dismiss his advances, where you might’ve been able to melt into his side donning the armour offered by an act after an eternity spent warding him off. All you wanted was a night where you weren’t who you had always been – to your family, to Haku, to yourself.

You’re standing here now, falling apart at the seams in front of your home, and oh, how ironic that turned out to be. You have never been more yourself than you are right now – ruined and breaking and alone, alone, alone. 

“What will it take for you to believe me?” He asks, quietly. 

The lock clicks.

“I don’t know.” 

It is the worst thing you could say to him. In some ways you are glad for it. You remind yourself that he has to be, too. Why else would he bring this up now – right at your door, after all the laughter, the holding, all the pretending you are so familiar with? He can’t expect you to believe him. If you force yourself past the walls of your heart, this is a reckless decision made in the afterglow of something brilliant, of which you are wholly undeserving; not a lie, but a mistake – pure and simple.

I love you. Just let me. He knows you well enough to know that you can’t.

“Thank you for tonight, Haku,” you murmur. “Get home safely.”

You step over the threshold, darkness and cold air piercing your flesh. 

He doesn’t follow you.

thank you for reading and my sincerest apologies if you're here :) this idea appeared to me in a dream. i wrote this down in a dream and woke up in a cold sweat with fake dating haku running circles in my mind. i truly wish i was lying. anyways i had to get this all out before i forgot so!! i hope you enjoyed (?) and have a wonderful 24 hours !!

[darklucielle]

HATE ME, LOVE ME

Unis Gehlee POV

tags: Blowjob, Deepthroat, Facefuck, Hate sex

(Short smut)

Being a Kpop idol is whole new experience. Especially I'm a filipina, not a korean citizen. It all started when I tried to audition on the idol survival show and unexpectedly became part of UNIS. Thanks to filipino kpop stans who voted for me despite have no backgrounds related to music.

I'm used to be a beauty queen and model since I was a kid. Being a kpop idol is both blessing and a curse.

Of course, I'm expecting to get hated for some reasons. I was hated for being 'over confident', when I'm just being the normal ME. I'm not doing it to gain attention. Isn't confidence and giving fan service is the normal thing to do? I'm even so confused when they called me 'pick me'.

Elisia, My fellow member and also a filipina gave me an advice that I shouldn't take those hate posts seriously and focus on the supportive ones.

Late at night, I'm still awake and chatting to my fans in a groupchat dedicated for UNIS. I was using my alternative account and acted like I'm a fan. They don't know their idol is chatting with them all this time.

Until someone messaged "Am I the only one who hates Gehlee?"

I blinked. I even read it twice. Why would you hate me?

Someone replied "What's your reason why you hate Gehlee?"

That person said "I don't like her face. Her eyes is trigerring me. She's too much to herself. Acting like a princess."

Someone replied "Oh, so you're the person who's also calling her pick me girl?"

Someone replied "Being a Gehlee hater in this groupchat is such a crazy work lmao"

That person replied "I can hate whoever I want. I'm standing on my opinion about her. She's the reason why I can't completely stanning UNIS."

Other fans starts messaging that person some insults. I know they're trying to protect me but not in this way when my own fans are getting toxic to someone who doesn't like me. This is not a fandom that I want.

Instead, I decided to message that hater.

"Hey there! I saw you talking about Gehlee. To be honest... I feel the same as you. I hate her too but I'm too shy to say it because I'll get cancelled by her stans lol."

After a while, that person replied "So you hate Gehlee the same reason as I do? Glad there's someone like me."

"Yeah. These stans can't accept opinions like yours. They're too protective to someone who doesn't even know them at all. They're delusionals. I'm tired of acting like I love Gehlee when I'm not."

"HAHAHAHA Glad you understand me! Her face is so ugly as I want to ruin her mouth by my cock!"

His message shocked me the most. My heart pounding so loud as I read the message once more. Instead of being alarmed that I was getting sexualized, my mind created a vision when this person thrusting his cock in my mouth. I bit my lip as I struggle to keep my composure.

"OMG that look so hot surely. The way you brutally thrusting her mouth like you're venting your anger in that way."

"HAHAHA That's right! I never knew you also have thoughts like that."

"Yeah I do. I'm just playing it safe because her stans are crybabies."

"Yeah, they are."

"Anyway.... Can we meet up? I like to know more about you and ofcourse to talk dirty about Gehlee."

"Woah woah woah. Are you sure about that? This seems.... fishy."

"Fishy? Oh come on, It was just a meet up. I'm not going to scam you or something. Just a simple hangout."

"Well... When and where do we meet?"

"This saturday. Let's meet around 4 pm, infront of the XXXX cafe."

"Alright then. See you."

I couldn't believe this is all happening right now. Meeting my hater and the sexual thoughts about me. I can't wait to see his reaction when he learned that I'm Gehlee all along.

SATURDAY

I was wearing a black jacket, a cap and a face mask to hide my identity. None of my members knew about this.

"Hey... Are you... Leeleepad?"

I looked behind me and finally saw him inperson. He's someone I didn't expect at all. He's one of UNIS staffs! I saw him sometimes during music video filming and photoshoots.

I cleared my throat and tries my best to sound far from my usual voice. "Yeah, It's me! Glad you really came." Glad my korean skills is better than before.

"Yeah. As long as you don't scam me or anything. You sound convincing tho."

"Well.. Shall we stroll around while we talk about Gehlee? I'm more curious about your.... fantasies about her."

"Well.. I don't know. It's kinda awkward to talk about it in public."

We started walking along while talking about UNIS stuffs and he prefer Elisia than me. I tried my best to not blowing my own cover... not yet.

When we reached to the quiet alley. I decided to reveal myself. "Hey, so... Do you want to see the real me?"

"Eh? The real you? What do you mean?"

Instead of answering, I take off my cap to reveal my blonde wavy hair then a face mask. His reaction is so expected. He stepped aback as he still processing my revealation.

"I'm hiding under the name of Leeleepad. Acting like a fan and hater of myself.. I was just.... curious about you." Walked closer to him until his back is pressed against the wall.

"G-Gehlee... I... I'm sorry.. All the things that I said so far.. Please don't report me to the authorities."

I chuckled when he suddenly became apologetic and desperate.

"Oh... I surely I won't report you. I was just... curious about your sexual fantasies about me. The way you talk dirty about me..." leans to his ear.

"It's turning me on." Grins widely.

"So.. why not let's turn this fantasy into reality?" I sank down to my knees then expertly unbuckled his belt.

"W-Wait!! What are you doing!?"

"Shush! Pretty sure you don't want other people to see us like this, right? I was just making your fantasy come true."

Pulled down his pants. My hand groped at his erection through his briefs.

"Look at this. You're hard and throbbing. Are you sure you don't want to see me sucking your cock?"

"I.... I...."

"Say less.." Pulled down his briefs to let go his raging cock. Wrapped my hand around the base of his cock then pressed a gentle lingering kiss on it's tip that made him moan.

Slowly licking his pre-cum. Tasting the salty essense before wrapping my plump lips around it's cock head. Slowly going deeper and deeper until his whole cock is inside of my mouth. Quite bigger than those men who I sucked before.

Slowly pulling back then goes in again. My eyes locked on his face as he's slowly getting used to it.

"So... tell me. Is this the first time a girl sucking your cock?"

"Y-Yeah... It is..."

"Good to know then. I'll make your first time unforgettable..." Continued sucking his cock in an increased pace. My tongue worked so hard on underside of his cock. Cheeks hollowed as I'm determined to satisfy him.

I continued doing it until I remembered something. I pulled his cock out of my mouth with a wet pop.

"Wha... what? I haven't..."

"I just remembered how you talk dirty to me that night. You said you wanted to ruin my face by you cock."

"Well.. I... I..."

"Oh... Does this mean that you're just all talk and no actions?"

He keeps avoiding my gaze. I keep pushing him again and again.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!!" He suddenly shoved his cock into my mouth again. The sudden action almost made me gagged. I relaxed my throat muscles instantly.

He started to facefucking me. His hands hold my head tight as he's using my mouth as his fleshlight. This is all I want. I pushed him until he snapped.

"YOU FUCKING BITCH! I REALLY REALLY WANTED TO RUIN YOUR SLEEPY BITCHY FACE SO BAD! I HATE YOUR DISGUSTING FACE! I HATE THE WAY YOU ACT CUTE IT CRINGED ME!"

Every words he say, it increased his pace. He's basically ruining me right now. I just let him do whatever he wants. He slapped my face few times, Yanking my hair down tightly. I just let him vent his anger to me.

When I felt that his thrusts are quite faster. I know he's almost there.

"I'm... almost there! Swallow it all, bitch!!"

He shoots his hot thick cum straight down to my throat. I worked hard to swallow it all. To milk his cock more until he's completely spent.

Finally, I pulled it out then gave it's tip a kiss.

"So... How is it? How's the feeling of your hated idol sucking you dry? Satisfied?"

"I... I guess so."

I smiled. I stood up wnd wore my cap and face mask.

"Wait!"

I looked at him. "I... I'm sorry. Truly I do."

"I know..." Then I left him alone. I smiled behind my face mask. This is my first time doing it in public. It's risky but thrilling.

Hours later. Before I go to sleep, I checked the groupchat and people there are happy about something. It was him leaving the groupchat with an apology to me and the fandom. Most of them thinks it's F&F did it's job to apologize and leave for good.

But I know the real reason why.

-End-

[reallyromealone]

Title: Idol

Chapter: 5

Previous - next

Fandom: Kpop demon hunters

Genre: omegaverse

Warnings: male reader, omegaverse, angst, fluff, major character death

Notes: I'm posting this before I get on a plane, I'll fix it when I get off

Summary: idol awards

Tag list:

@robbin-g @heinzsqueezebottle @sooobiinn @sfxtiebee @kittenwerewolf @gh0stiedd3ath @strangebarbarianbarbarian @0eye0 @barrythestrawberry041 @cherry-blossoms-187 @snowy-violets @akira3na

🌜🌛🌜🌛🌜🌛🌜🌛🌜🌛🌜🌛🌜🌛🌜🌛🌜🌛

(Name)s feet dragged forward, his heart and head heavy with thoughts of shame, mumbling apologies while he looked at his mates, tears rolling down his face.

Jinu stared at him while he sang, his heart breaking at how defeated (name) was and the way he looked at them like he was the problem...

They deserved to die again, after what they did to him... Even if they survived this would he forgive them?

(Name) Reached out to baby, eyes flickering and the Alpha froze at him and could tell despite the trance, (name) was running on subconscious instincts "alpha... I'm sorry..." (Name) Mumbled and baby groaned in pain while fighting with Gwi ma and his instincts "shhhhh Omega" he hissed "be a good boy... Go home..." His voice changed and altered and (name) looked even more broken "you really don't want me..." (Name) Mumbled and the spell took a stronger hold "I don't deserve love..." (Name) Whispered to himself and the Alpha for once looked crushed at the reality of what they did and (name)s eyes grew empty and distant 'kill him, he betrayed you' the dark voice spoke and (name) began crying and trying to resist 'do it... It's not like you guys can be together, even if you could... Who would want a useless Omega like you?'

(Name) Pulled at his ears in distress, a habit he picked up lately and the voice grew more vicious while the alphas struggled with the reality of what was their perfect mate now turned into broken glass.

"Nothing but the truth now..."

Baby turned his attention to the singing voice of Rumi, the Alpha singing softly and looking disheveled and her voice carried across the stadium, slowly souls began to glow as Mira and Zoey joined her.

"Baby...?" (Name) Mumbled, his soul glowing and he reached out to the alpha but Mira struck the Alpha with her weapon "back off from my brother!" She screamed and continued her song while the crowd joined in and baby avoided her blade and (name) watched in horror and then he saw Jinu...

"Protect him for me..." He said to Rumi before his soul went into her sword and the stadium began blowing.

And before he knew it...

It was over.

His mates were gone.

They were all gone...

It was a blur, getting home... Trying to not breakdown around the Alpha popstars "(name)... We're sorry..." Rumi said seriously and (name) stared at her and gave a sad smile "it's not like it would have worked out anyways... A human and five demons? That's insane...."

"We can find you a nice alpha when you're ready, that handsome actor you liked is single!" Zoey said to try and cheer him up and (name) gave a lifeless laugh "yeah... Maybe..." And then shut down a bit after, turning to look out the window of the limo and the girls watched him with worry and glanced at each other.

-

"Poor (name)! Something happened and he's not telling us because he is really attached to the Saja boys" Zoey said worried and Mira nodded and thought "do you think... He was seeing them behind our backs?" Rumi spoke up and the other twos eyes widened "that would explain why he was so upset, why didn't he say anything?"

"Same reason I never spoke about my marks" Rumi said softly and the two alphas sighed "yeah, he was probably terrified to talk to us about it"

"I feel like a shitty sister"

"You're not a shitty sister, you did what you thought was right to protect him" Rumi defended her and Mira plopped on the couch "all we can do is give him time, let him heal and support him" Zoey hugged Mira from the left and Rumi hugged from the right "he's practically out brother, once you work the courage to tell him about us" Zoey teased and Mira blushed at the idea "maybe when he's less heartbroken"

"Oh definitely"

"That's not even a debate"

-

He was thankful he didn't toss the clothes, crying softly while hugging the Saja boys clothing and letting their scents envelope him.

Jinu's tiger slept in the corner and the magpie slept on top of him, the last memories of his mates...

Knock knock.

(Name) Ignored the knocking "go away!" He yelled with a wet voice and the knocking progressed and he stood angrily and marched to his front door and ripped it open "what!?"

Nothing stood at the other side but looking down he saw an ornate letter.

Lifting it, the Omega inspected it before opening the letter "don't fret, dove... We will be there soon" was this a late letter or something?

Either way, he kept the letter with romances writing close before closing the door.

[chefs-other-corner]

Don't Look At Me Like That

☆Paring: Zoey x Mira x Rumi

☆Tags: angst angst and more angst

☆Sum Sum: Just a Zoey not being well and crashing out

☆Word count: 0.7k ☆Note: Just wanted to write angst cause Zoey's is my favorite character

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── The kitchen is quiet.

Too quiet.

Which means Zoey’s thoughts are screaming again.

She’s standing over a bowl of soggy cereal like it’s an anchor. She hasn’t touched it. Doesn’t plan to. Her phone buzzes—ignored. The fridge hums. Her spoon taps glass over and over, like it’s trying to shake her out of whatever this is.

Then footsteps. Two sets. Familiar.

Fuck.

“Zo?” Rumi’s voice is soft, too soft, and Zoey’s skin starts crawling.

She doesn’t answer.

“You okay?” Mira now. Blunt. Suspicious.

Still no answer.

Mira walks into view, scans the disaster that is Zoey—smeared eyeliner, unwashed hoodie, her knee bouncing like a motor. “You haven’t slept, have you?”

Zoey doesn’t look up. “Don’t need to. I’m running on vibes and spite.”

“You look like shit.”

“Then stop looking.”

Mira raises a brow. “Nice.”

Rumi approaches slower. “Zoey, seriously. Have you eaten?”

“I’m eating right now,” Zoey says flatly, gesturing at the bowl.

“That’s soup.”

“It’s cereal.”

“It looks like death.”

Zoey shrugs. “Matches the chef.”

That’s when Mira sighs, real loud, real pointed. “Okay. Cut the act. What’s actually going on with you?”

Zoey slams the spoon down. “Oh my god, you too?!”

Rumi blinks. “We just want—”

“To help? Yeah. Heard it. Felt it. Didn’t ask.”

“You’ve been shutting down all week, Zoey. We’re allowed to notice.”

Zoey’s head snaps toward Mira. “Yeah? Well maybe next time just shut the fuck up instead.”

“Oh that’s rich.”

“No, what’s rich is you acting like this isn’t your favorite part!” Zoey yells. “Getting to play the responsible one while I spiral. You love this.”

Mira’s eyes narrow. “Fuck off.”

“No! Fuck you! You don’t care about helping, you care about being right!”

“I care about you not dying!”

“Oh wow, what a fucking sacrifice,” Zoey hisses. “Carrying poor broken Zoey like some goddamn charity case—must be exhausting.”

“You think I pity you?”

“I think you hate me! And I don’t blame you! I fucking hate me too!”

The words hit the room like a bomb.

Mira stares at her. Rumi goes still.

Zoey’s eyes are wild. Her hands shake as she yells, breath catching between every syllable like it costs her something to speak.

“You think I don’t know I’m a burden? You think I don’t know I’m a fucking mess? That every time I walk in the room you’re bracing yourselves?”

“Zoey—” Rumi tries.

“NO!” Zoey screams. “Don’t do that voice! Don’t do that sad, gentle fucking voice like I’m a dog you have to coax out of the corner!”

She’s sobbing now, but it doesn’t soften her. It scalds.

“You wanna know why I don’t talk? Because every time I do, it hurts more. Because you’ll either leave or stay out of guilt and I don’t know which one is worse!”

Mira opens her mouth.

Zoey cuts her off.

“Shut up. Just shut the fuck up! Let me say it so you don’t have to.”

Her voice drops into something ragged. Barely human.

“I am selfish. I am exhausting. I’m a fucking anchor and you’re both dragging me like I’m worth something and I’m not. I’m not. I’m not.”

Rumi looks like she’s going to cry.

Zoey sees it.

And breaks harder.

“No. No no no—don’t look at me like that.”

Rumi’s lips part. “Zoey—”

“Don’t! Don’t—please, please, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, just don’t look at me like that, like I’m worth saving, I can’t—I can’t fucking take it.”

She stumbles back, gasping, voice wrecked.

“Please I’m sorry I didn’t mean to yell—yes I did, I did, but I didn’t mean you, I meant me, it’s all me, I know that—I fucking know that, so just stop pretending it isn’t!”

She’s full-on crying now. Screaming through it.

“Hate me! Just fucking hate me already! Stop giving me chances, stop looking at me like I’m yours, like I’m not one fucking slip away from ruining everything—because I am! I already have!”

Silence.

Then—

Rumi takes a step forward.

Zoey collapses.

Not gracefully. Not in a way that’s cinematic or tragic or poetic.

She sinks. Knees hit tile. Hands shaking. Shoulders caving in.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

And then louder—

“I’m sorry I yelled, I’m sorry I pushed you, I’m sorry I can’t stop being like this—please, just don’t leave, please, I’ll fix it, I’ll be better—just don’t look at me like that. Please don’t look at me like I’m still worth it. I’m not. I know I’m not.”

She covers her face.

And sobs.

[lyrakanefanatic]

guys i cannot right now. glorious rivals spoilers are FLOODING tumblr, all of which are absolutely diabolical, AND apparently one of my eyes are blurry asf???

like yall i didn’t even pass the finger test. THE. FINGER. TEST.

and i don’t wanna book an appointment bc it’s expensive where i live 😊🔫 so life is fun rn

seriously, even if u are SUGGESTING a spoiler in a post, USE A READ MORE SECTION THINGY!!! it’s annoying as hell. also, there’s literally no point in using the read more cut if you’re just going to say ur entire post in the tags again. WE CAN SEE THE TAGS!!!!!