Ugh I Need To Drink With Post-graduate Suga I Just Know It Would Fix Me >_>

“i think iwa-chan’s in love with you.”

startled, you whip around to see the pensive look on oikawa’s face as he sits down on your new couch and looks around at the equally new furniture that now fills the rest of the living room.

glancing up from inspecting the array of trinkets on the bookshelf, mattsun nods in agreement.

you look between the two of them, bewildered.

sure, iwaizumi’s one of your best friends. but so are they.

(the years-long crush you’ve had on him is neither here nor there.)

“it’s the ikea effect,” mattsun says with a shrug, reaching out with a finger to spin your miniature globe on its axis.

“the what?”

makki sprawls out on the couch as well, kicking his feet across oikawa’s lap; they’re promptly shoved off. “i asked iwaizumi if he’d come over and help me build ikea furniture once. he told me he’d rather die.”

“to be fair, we almost killed each other building that tv stand,” mattsun adds.

“i tricked him into coming over after i bought an ikea dresser that needed to be built, and he took one look at the box and walked right out,” oikawa scoffs.

you blink at all three of them, heart doing something funny in your chest. “i mean, maybe he just felt obligated because he went with me and helped me pick most of it out—“

“i’m sorry, he fucking WHAT—“

“—HE WENT WITH YOU?”

“IWAIZUMI HAJIME STEPPED FOOT INTO AN IKEA OF HIS OWN FREE WILL?”

at that, the door to your new apartment swings open, and there’s a familiar, affectionate flutter in your chest at the head of dark hair that steps inside.

“i picked up those curtains you were talking about last night…” iwaizumi immediately starts talking, trailing off when he belatedly realizes you’re not alone.

oikawa hops up off of the couch, pointing an accusing finger at the logo on the shopping bag clutched in iwaizumi’s hand as he looks from mattsun to makki and trills in a singsong tone, “remember what happened last time one of us tried to get him to come to bed, bath, and beyond?”

“he said he’d rather die,” mattsun and makki reply blandly in unison.

iwaizumi gives the three of them a weird look and shakes his head as he turns down the hallway to use the bathroom. makki and oikawa start making kissy faces at each other until you smack them both with a throw pillow.

—and you try to hide the slight trembling of your fingers, shuddering in tune with the rapid beating of your traitorous heart, as you reach into the bag to take out the curtains.

(you decide not to announce when you subsequently find a bag of your favorite candy waiting in surprise at the bottom.)

My thighs are huge cuz they’re full of secrets

nevermind i’m done being emo instead i’m thinking ab fucking retired army sergeant bakugou and how his dog tags bounce when he first cants his hips to sink into you

"oh i could never date bakugo because he's too mean"

to you? mean? oh, darling, no.

the second bakugo confirms that you're his and his only, it's a one way ticket to being spoiled beyond anything you could imagine. his fight to be the best hero translates line for line into your relationship.

it's "whatever you want" mumbled after every question, it's "the fuck you think you're doing?" when you try to lift a finger toward your wallet, and it's "you drive me insane" with a scowl and smiling eyes, tugging you closer by the hip to soften his words.

trust me, you can't even go a day without him showing up in your relationship in some way. he's working late at his agency, swamped with paperwork? you're greeted in the morning with what seems to be the entire stock of the local flower shop down the street. he's sent away for a week on a mission? when your phone isn't buzzing with texts updating you (nothing too flowery, but it's enough to remind you he's thinking of you), you're eating food he's meal prepped for you or had delivered to your door. it's sunday? he's shoving your drink of choice under your nose and insisting that you spend at least an hour longer in bed.

if you're also a hero, on the streets fighting alongside him, he respects you above any other hero. if you're at home, in college or working in some other career, he's bragging to his sidekicks about how "fucking cool" whatever you're working on currently is.

and then there's the way he would never leave you with any doubts. does he suck at communicating his feelings directly? yes. without hesitation, yes. but he's there and he's blushing and spitting out assurances of his care for you until you're able to soften his jaw with time, he's never shying away from touching you to make up for where his words lack, he's playing your favorite songs in the car without having to be asked and he's always jumping at any opportunity to make your life easier.

(it helps, of course, that you spoil him tenfold by being there for him, holding his hand when nightmares prevent any further touches in the middle of the night and smiling so sweetly at him when he walks through the door to see you. i mean, how could he not adore the only person who sticks around and peeks past the vulgarity of who he is to see the good he fights so hard to maintain? something about you makes him feel human, worth emotion, worth love. he's willing to do whatever it takes to be "the fucking best at this boyfriend shit")

inuokkotober day 2: voice please listen to the actual song it's literally perfect for toge...

GUYS. what if fuck buddy sukuna catches you out one night, but instead of being with your friends you're on a date 👀 I think he would play it off, would definitely interrupt and make your date feel like he's about this big 🤏 in comparison. but his jealousy doesn't even show in that moment, it's only when you come over to his place next time around does he mention with the slightest pout: "why don't you ever get dolled up to see me?"

If I had more money than I'd ever spend in a lifetime, I'd spend my life operating a pizzeria at a loss. Something with the slogan of "it ain't italian but you're hungry" - and a statement of how this is not authentic italian pizza because the owner's estranged aunt's italian ex-husband would not serve pizza in his italian restaurant because as far as he was concerned, a pizza is the "just throw that shit together" dish that you make out of leftovers, and he would not serve that to paying customers even if they wanted it. True story btw.

But I'd just like to run a place where the staff is allowed to tell rude customers to fuck off. And if they're scared to do that, they can summon me downstairs to do it myself (this fantasy involves having my own apartment upstairs of the restaurant), because you don't fucking disrespect my staff like that. Develop a reputation as a place where You'd Better Act Yourself or you get nothing, which elevates the quality of the food in peoples' minds because it's human to assume that more work=more worth, and if a pizza place can afford to simply throw rude customers out, that clearly must mean that the food is just that good that going back is worth it anyway.

Hiring enough people to get the work done in a leisurely pace and occasionally have the time to chat with each other or customers. You just do the job I gave you in the time I gave you, don't steal anything and don't watch porn off your phone anywhere where the customers can see you, you're good. Don't care if you quit school at 16 if you can still mop floor. Don't care if you've been to prison because you killed some guy, as long as you're not doing that here. Don't care if you deal drugs on your free time as long as you don't bring your business to your day job. This place is exclusively for pizza business.

Have an item on the menu called "random pizza" - and if you order that one, they'll just throw in a mix of whatever ingredients we've got too much of, like if the bell peppers gotta be used before they go bad, every single random pizza is going to have them until they're either gone or need to get tossed. If you've got dietary restrictions or allergies, you gotta specify that while ordering, because other than that, random pizza is just whatever ingredients we need to get rid of. Surplus ingredients du jour.

Building a reputation as a place that's somehow simultaneously sketchy as hell but also remarkably high quality, getting five star restaurant customer service from a waiter with blue hair and stick-n-poke tattoos, there's a homeless guy at the back of the kitchen eating an order that nobody picked up, every surface is spotless and no matter how important of a suit-and-tie you are, if you won't behave yourself the owner will personally physically fight you.

cw/tw. fem!reader, implied mafia vibes, bodyguard nanami, pet names (ex. darling, sweetheart, brat...but affectionately), suggestive

series m.list

You’ve noticed him for a while.

There are few times at your Grandfather’s dinner parties where you wonder about the strange guests in dark suits: people with too much money and influence than they know what to do with. Sometimes you’re curious about the men and women who often walk around the estate like it’s their own, their chin held high, eyes piercing, ignoring you like you’re nothing but a mere pet trapped under Grandfather’s thumb.

Nanami is different.

He’s always the first one back from a job (probably something more sinister than you’re allowed to know about), his suit still crisp across his shoulders. The only evidence that he’d been out doing something dangerous is when he reaches for his fork with one of his too-big hands, and you spot a dot of red on his sleeve. 

He’s quieter than the others and typically keeps to himself, careful not to look your way when you take the empty seat beside him but never pretending as if you don’t exist, either. Everything changes when Grandfather tells him to accompany you around your brick cage—your new shadow—and your eyes open to another side of him that you’ve never noticed before. 

Men don’t meet his eyes when he looks at them. Nobody blinks twice when he tells them what to do, and when he talks on the phone, it’s with that no-nonsense tone that he seems to use with everyone except you. 

Then there are the other things. 

He loves reading, and sometimes he’ll read to you: the newspaper, poets, and books. While tucked into his side, you often wonder if he was meant to be a writer instead of a thug with an endless array of scars and secrets.

Nanami lets his guard down around you, and these days, his eyes crinkle when you meet them, no longer hiding from your shy smiles. He gives you pet names that you slowly grow addicted to—silently, selfishly, preening from all the attention. ‘Sweetheart’ if you’re good. ‘Darling’ when you manage to test his patience. ‘Brat’ whenever you get what you want.

And he does. Give you what you want.

You think he finds it amusing, seeing how far you’ll go to test the extent of his patience. 

He’s almost done with the worn paper-back book he’s been reading to you the past week, but you make a point of distracting him by perching yourself in his lap and kissing the edge of his jaw. Your stomach is already dancing with butterflies, knowing he allowed you to get this far.

“Darling.”

It’s meant as a warning, but all it does is make your heart skip in your chest.

“Hm?” You place another kiss against the side of his throat, humming, lips tingling when you feel him swallow.

“We’re never going to finish this.”

“Then kiss me instead.”

He sighs. “You know I can’t.”

“Can’t or shouldn’t?” you pout.

“Both.”

“But what if I want you to kiss me?”

He finally puts the book down, and you take the opportunity to straddle his thighs, watching as his eyes flit down to where your sundress rides up.

“Brat.”

He strokes his knuckles down the curve of your cheek, along the fragile bones of your neck, ignoring how you gasp when he wraps his fingers around your throat. The way he looms over you, close enough that you feel his breath against your lips, is enough to make you dizzy. 

“So spoiled,” he says softly.

It’s in stark contrast to when he finally kisses you, licking the seam of your mouth and pressing his tongue against yours. You preen—fingers wrapped like a vice in his collar—and grind down where you already feel him hot and hard between your legs. 

But it ends too soon.

His fingers tighten, and he turns your head to the side, breaking the kiss and leaving your head spinning. 

“Now, be a good girl, and let me finish this book,” he says, tucking you into his chest again before picking up his book from the grass.

You open your mouth to argue with him. Nothing comes out. 

Instead, ‘good girl’ gets stored away for when you do what you’re told.

💬 WRONG ACCOUNT!　 ⓘ a social media au　╱　hoshina soshiro x female reader

IN WHICH A DISASTROUS QUOTE TWEET CHANGES THE DYNAMIC BETWEEN YOU AND YOUR VICE-CAPTAIN.

synopsis: you are a promising new member of the third division who, for some reason, is always given a hard time by your vice-captain. to vent your frustrations you decide to reply to a twitter fanbase’s anonymous confession, only to find out that your post was not so anonymous after all...?!

status: started 6/9 | ongoing | updates every week! next part 21/9

warnings: female reader ; language ; use of ‘kms/kys’ jokes ; suggestive jokes ; ignore the time stamps ; none of the art is mine unless stated

taglist: open! (send me an ask or comment to be added)

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00 | prologue: crush your enemies!

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