With a lackadaisical playboy as your boss, being reckless wasn’t an option. But on the one time you let loose and made mistakes, your life is shattered, and now you’re playing house with your insufferable boss who is the father of your baby.
✘ content/warnings. angst, toxic characters, abandonment, pregnant sex, explicit smut, heavy drama, discussions of abortion
✘ note. i’m so sorry for the late update, i was depresso epresso but i’m feeling better now. hope you guys enjoy this update <3
✘ chapter song. dance to this by troye sivan & ari (idk how the song connects but i live for the nostalgic vibes)
With a lackadaisical playboy as your boss, being reckless wasn’t an option. But on the one time you let loose and made mistakes, your life is shattered, and now you’re playing house with your insufferable boss who is the father of your baby.
↬ genres. fluff!!!, workplace au!, oikawa being a fanboy and a nerd, cosplayer! reader, wotakoi! au,
↬ summary. oikawa tooru (office playboy? shady person? who knows?) strikes a deal with you (office sweetheart! secret-but-talented-cosplayer!) to be his fake girlfriend to get matsukawa ‘thorn in my side’ issei off his back. except, oikawa needs to learn the art of being subtle about his feelings from his fanfiction, because he’s acting Very Suspicious all the time. [ao3 link]
↬ a/n. here’s chap 1.. it serves as more of an intro but enjoy!! also, send me an ask to be on the taglist!
Because I love Gojo but there is no way he singlehandedly raised Megumi SYNOPSIS. it’s kind of self explanatory? read the title besties WC. 10k CW. vomit, goldfish death, JJK spoilers, (1) instance of Megumi slut shaming Gojo but it is resolved, minor mention of violence (it’s jjk come on), Gojo is significantly nerfed because he’s about 20 years younger and I needed it for the plot 😁
The first time you see Gojo again after he murders his best friend, he has a child clinging to him, which says a lot about his mental state. Of everyone in your generation, your first pick to be a parent would not be the man who is currently holding the still unknown child by the scruff of his neck, like a cat.
A sad, traumatized cat with a head that looks too big for the rest of it’s body. The child makes desperate eye contact with you, arms and legs dangling helplessly. You’re not sure how long Gojo’s been holding him like that, but judging by his expression, it’s been long enough.
Shoko finds her voice first. “Did you…steal a baby?”
The lump of black hair and seething eyes that Gojo’s carrying grits out, “I’m a first grader.”
summary: life comes in phases. the transition between seasons is messy, but as flowers never cease to bloom in spring and magic never stops lacing the first snow, good things get tucked in corners – tooru tucks his head on your shoulder, cheeks pink and smile big.
“Oikawa-san, you weren’t a well-known player in your high school days. How come we’ve only heard of you now?”
You blink, notepad poised on your lap. Tooru is silent. He looks confused as he sits on the velvet interview couch, wearing a sweater with his sleeves folded up to his forearms. He has his glasses on too, and behind them his eyes seem to squint slightly.
The silence stretches a second too long for comfort. You clear your throat, “Is– is that your question?”
You want to tell her Actually he was the best setter in the prefecture during his time. He even got a magazine feature, then an interview that went much better than this one is going right now. It’s not hard to do a little research –
“Yes,” the reporter answers, like it’s a question to be proud of, like she doesn’t see how utterly rude it was. You don’t know the ethics of journalism, but basic human decency is a good enough basis to have scrapped that one at rehearsal.
You don’t think you have a choice on the matter so you relay it back to him, apologetic.
Tooru nods. He’s sitting with his legs spread and his elbows on his knees, hands clasped in front of his mouth. “Well, I didn’t peak at seventeen.” He laughs a bit to quell the tension in the room. “And you’ve heard of me now in the big leagues. Isn’t that what matters?”
You scribble quickly.
“Another question, Oikawa. Why the need for a translator? You grew up here in Sendai, and it isn’t only until after high school that you moved to Argentina. I’m sure you and I can converse freely.”
It’s very rare that you lose your patience, but the woman sitting across from you is really stretching you thin. “Off the record for a moment. Please address my client properly –”
talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular, never the same, totally unique, completely not ever been done before, unafraid to reference or not reference, put it in a blender, shit on it, vomit on it, eat it, give birth to it.
synopsis: You’re the reporter, but you’re pretty sure that Oikawa Tooru’s chest is warmer than the morning press. Because fact from fiction, contract to signature, bill to check, and scribbles to speech—it’s all a reminder that you shouldn’t be falling for Oikawa when he’s the reason you can’t have Barbie movie marathons with that teen mom down your apartment street anymore.
A/N: Fake dating x celeb AU? hurt/comfort with loads of my worst insecurities. tw: i curse like once and reference god (not in like the most respectful manner) so beware! word count is like 8k?
You don’t hate him; you think he’s trouble. You don’t hate him; you think he’s like a crossword puzzle (with too many empty boxes and hidden clues when you’d rather search the words that circle the right boxes).
You don’t hate him, but you certainly don’t like the way Oikawa Tooru speaks his last words like headline news, like he’s not a footnote in the story when everyone’s begging to see him fall to the subtitles.
“I honestly think you hate him,” mutters Kuroo, your promotional press division manager who hears too many of your rushed deadlines. He’s been the front page of your memories in Japan, the first person you call when your life needs more papers to print. He is the second-side to your sheets of thoughts, and you’re beginning to have more bleed-throughs.
“You can’t… hate someone you barely know,” you bite with your lips that catch doubt.
He hums and silently nods approval, shifting to the files in your cabinet. Kuroo’s too cocky to be your secretary, but he’s more assistance to your life than you’d like to admit.
You can hear the way his eyes widen with a hidden sense of mirth that’s too loud in office cubicles. “Applications in your junk pile… Don’t tell me you plan on leaving us this early.”
“Because of you?” You offer with more delight in your voice than you’d like to admit. “I think I’d rather leave without retirement funds than spend a decade here.”
Kuroo sighs, “Funny, very funny.”
“So funny that I might ask the editor to push yours to the back page.”
“I wouldn’t,” he chortles, but you can feel the lingering of a thought trailing his mind. Kuroo is a weird specimen; he’s too much like you, too much like the way you choose to write in pen and long for permanence. “But my offer wasn’t that bad.”
“We need someone typical…” He trails off with a wave of his hand. “…And you happened to fit the part!”
“I thought you said we were the protagonist of the world,” you reply, playing with the sugar and spoon mixing your espresso of hot-messes that morning.
Kuroo rolls his eyes. “And sometimes you don’t read all the chapters to a book you skim for that test the next morning.”
“Are you saying I’m a filler chapter?”
“I’m saying you could be someone else’s filler chapter,” Kuroo responds, playing with the ends of his gray-vest. You might be slipping into a coma of regret and sorrow now at where your job has left you, and Kuroo isn’t helping.
“Oikawa’s publicity team is begging for a fake-date for a few months,” he answers. “It’s something to make him seem more human, and it’s to calm down his ‘big-boy brat’ attitude for a while.”
You nod, taking in what Kuroo is saying and the absurdity of the situation. You wished your coffee offered you free third-degree burns instead of a blind date towards hell.
“We run the Olympics, and they wanted more viewership after the rise of pandemics and decrease in sales,” Kuroo explains, moving away from the small sticky-notes that piece your one-night stand-alone ideas.
You raise an eyebrow. “What did they offer?”
“A promotion on both your and my end, and 10% of Oikawa’s income sales,” he reasons and insists as you spot the gel in his hair losing its shine. “Plus, he’s not that bad. I’m practically best-friends with the guy since high school!”
“Yeah! It all started when I asked him for a tampon once.”
If my girl Yoshino ever ends up with Kirishima the manwhore who says he’s inlove with her but proceeds to sleep with countless women (which is very likely since he’s the male lead 😭), I’m going to have to fly to Japan and beg the mangaka to gIVE ME THE SHOUMA X YOSHINO WE DESERVE. JUST LOOK AT THIS
I’d be happy if she goes on and live her life normally, away from Yakuza-related men too (except for Gramps and Hotei ofc) 😭💖
But oh well, she’d probably end up with Kirishima and I guess I can take that because even though he’s a piece of trash, he does have some redeeming qualities 😆
Ever since, you and the Miya twins had always been close. Growing up, the boys would try various things, experiment with all sorts of activities and hobbies, and meet different people. As days passed by, as dark brown became gold and gray, as jersey numbers become lower, the boys would grow tired and move on to something or someone else. Out of all these, there were only two things that they would keep loving—volleyball and you.
People would always look at you longingly and say, “Those two love you the way they love volleyball.”
In their eyes, they think that it was a competition between them. That you were the prize.
Or maybe that you were the setter with two spikers wrapped around your finger, waiting to see who you would send the ball to.
They were wrong. They only saw the miraculous sets, the awe-inducing passes, and the breathtaking feints. They never saw the players playing in the match.
They see one thing and immediately assume another. They see the boys with you and they instantly think that they are both in love with you.
They didn’t understand.
Miya Atsumu and Miya Osamu loved the same things. Yet, they loved in different ways. So did you.
Miya Osamu always knew that he loved you.
He didn’t know when he started to feel this. He didn’t know how. He just knew that he did. It was that simple.
Just like volleyball, love came naturally to Osamu. Just as he easily could interpret their captain’s hand signals for the next rally, he could understand the minute twitch in your brow and the slight change of pitch in your voice. He knew when you were up for playful banters or when you needed to be alone.
you give atsumu a plant on your first anniversary, and he accepts it with shaky hands and excited eyes. he’s never been great at caring for things (ask osamu about the tragic death of his one pet fish), but he’s determined to make this plant last as a sign of his growth in love.
he’s extremely attentive with it, and he tries his absolute hardest to remember its care regimen everyday. he sets alarms and reminders, much to the irritation of the msby team. they’ve heard the “WATER THE PLANT!!!” alarm one too many times during practice. everyday when he gets home (and when he thinks you’re not around), he speaks to the plant for just a few minutes (he read in a magazine that it helps plants grow and stay healthy). there’s a labelled spot (labelled with a post-it note scrawled with atsumu’s messy writing) on the shelf by the window for the plant to sit.
unfortunately, you are just a tad bit convinced that atsumu really is cursed when it comes to plants, because the plants just won’t stop dying. despite atsumu’s most detailed efforts, you find yourself at the local plant shop every few weeks to buy another nearly identical plant to replace the last. he’s just so committed, and the way he comes running up to you with the small pot in hand just to gush about “how well the thing is growing” is enough to make it all worth it.
“see?” he brags, gently pinching one of the small green leaves between his fingers. “little jackal here is lookin’ just as good as his dad!”
you smile and nod, merely glad that atsumu doesn’t know just howmany “little jackal"s there have already been.
kuroo’s someone with a sense of respect. his attitude and personality depended on the sole fact that he’s a built leader with a matching set of manners.
he cherished his memories with you well, accepting that even if you two didn’t work out, everything you shared would always be worth it anyway.
even if that’s the case, if it was up to him, the two of you would’ve never broken up.
in the world he dreams of, you’d still run his way to give him a quick kiss in the halls instead of making up excuses to avoid his gaze. there, he’d still see you walk around campus in his nekoma team jacket instead of remembering your tear stained features when you returned it to him.
if he had his way, he would’ve never let you tell him that he lost you and that there wasn’t a chance to get you back.
“this is for the graduation video seniors have to participate in but uhm—”
kuroo blinks and the reality sets in. he finds himself next to his friends, a shy girl with a video camera in front of him as she scratched her head in nervousness.
“it’s ok,” he grins, “i’m cool with this.”
the younger student exhales a breath of relief, propping up the camera steadily and the urge to get the whole thing over with is evident in the way her fingers shake.
he answers her questions with a breeze, including the part where he had to give his future self a message and before he knew it, the interview was almost over.
“last one, if you had anything to say to your ex’s new partner, what would it be?”
he could hear the delight in her voice as she realized that this nerve wracking experience was coming to an end but he couldn’t really get a grip on what answer would be suitable for that question.
out of instinct, his glance falls to your regular lunch table where you’re surrounded by your usual crowd. you looked so pretty today in your cashmere sweater and he doesn’t fail to notice the smile that dangled on your lips as one of your friends said something.
he thought of the things he’d want to say to your new person, bouncing back and forth from the fact that they shouldn’t give you daisies because they made you sneezy or that they shouldn’t lend you sweatshirts because chances are that you wouldn’t give them back.
he‘d tell them to never bring you to arby’s because you hated their service with a burning passion or to never drive with the windows down because you’re sensitive to the cold. all that among a million other things he memorized about you for the reason that in his eyes you were the kind of person worth memorizing.
it wasn’t until then that he realized that he knew so much about you it was hard to believe that he wasn’t your soulmate.
your gaze falls to him mid laughter, the joy on your face dropping almost instantly as you realize that he’s been looking at you.
you send him a reluctant nod, a small polite grin to keep it pleasant but once your friend asks for you attention again, you don’t hesitate to forget that he was there.
kuroo sighs, a wavering smile on his lips. his shoulders are tense, relaxing a bit when he says, “i’d tell them to give her back.”
yn’s nonexistent love life becomes crazy when her little sister mails out her secret love letters, one for each boy she’s ever crushed on. a unique opportunity comes from this humiliating experience. will she get the boy or lose it all?
genre: smau, tatbilb au, fake dating, fluff
warnings: maybe a smidge of angst, dirty jokes, swearing
author’s notes: this is my first smau! I really am that bitch that writes one fic and suddenly thinks she has the talent to write a whole smau…
disclaimer: all characters belong to haruichi furudate. mentions of tatbilb by the incredible jenny han.
- summary - being a co athletics trainer for a national team proves to be a job that requires a lot of effort, persistence and dedication. just like your long term relationship with a member of a rivalling team. keeping your relationship with world famous athlete oikawa tooru under wraps is no easy challenge but with the olympics fast approaching and fans watching their favourite players every move, you both agree that it’s best you both try your hardest to keep your relationship out the public eye for now. after all, the obstacles of hawk eyed fans, unaware rivals and invasive media attention can’t be too hard to avoid. right? - genre - fluff, crack, a bit of angst but fluff ending i promise !!
warnings : cursing
disclaimer : i do not own any of the chatcters or resources used in this series, all rights go to respective owners!!
disclaimer : the term r*tsumu has been used in this smau several times, this was before i was educated on the origin of this term and why its offensive, ive apologised and changed the terms used to refer to atsumu since so please don’t take this as ignorance and blatant racism as it was unintentional and i’ve since taken accountability and responsibility for it !!
Hi! Omg I saw the crossover in Mission Impossible so I figured I can maybe ask u for this request? 🥺 Can u write a scenario about Gojo picking up his s/o from a party but then he finds her drunk and clinging onto Bokuto because she has mistaken him for Gojo? 🤣🤣 she'd be like, "why did u get dirt in your hair, Satoru?" shjsajjajsakak my english sucks but I hope u understood that 🤣🤣 Happy Holidays, by the way! I hope u have a great one ❤
Hi! Sorry I’m a bit late with the request but happy holidays and I also hope you have a great one ❤ this was a lovely ask (we love a jjk x hq crossover and LOVE Bokuto) and your English was perfect so no worries :)
Warnings: mentions of alcohol but this is fluffy + post time-skip spoilers for anyone who follows hq lolol
Gojo Satoru knows you’re drunk when he wakes up to 26 missed calls, 143 incoherent text messages (you seriously said he was Jogo in one text), 18 voicemails of you endlessly screaming that you love him (and Jogo), and one furious Shoko calling and begging him to come to the rescue.
“Is it that bad?” he grumbles, trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes when he spots the clock displaying a bright red 1:13.
“She can’t stop clinging onto this guy and I…you just need to come here.”
Satoru feels a foreign sensation stab him in the side upon hearing the word ‘guy’, the weird feeling motivating him to dress quickly and stay alert as he drives to the bar Shoko sent the address to.
And when he enters the crowded place he’s confused to see Shoko’s head on a table, seemingly asleep, while you’re desperately grabbing onto a muscular golden-eyed man with black streaks in his white-grey hair.
As Gojo approaches you two, his fists tightening in sync with his constricted chest, the last thing he’s expecting to hear is your next slurred words as you ruffle the spiky-hair.
“Satoru! Where’s Megumi? You said he’d be here? Something about looking for a special grade?” you bounced around, grasping his arm and shaking it along with you. You loved annoying him. The two of you had always been close. As a child, Gojo was still as bright and cocky as he was today, he had many proclamations of being your protector. Though, as you two aged, you learned how to protect yourself, becoming a jujutsu sorcerer whilst staying by his side. Of course, you were nowhere as talented as Gojo, but you never let that stop you, and he never used that fact against you.
You were still high in the rankings, a grade 1 to be exact, and you worked hard to get there. Not because you wanted to catch up with Gojo, but because you wanted to make him proud. He was the only one who had supported you through it all. Your parents weren’t much help, but Gojo was there for you when your world was crashing down, when you had broken into pieces he would be the one to put you back together.
There had never been a time where you had doubted Gojo. Until, maybe now.
“I dunno, I got souvenirs!! Kikufuku Mochi! They’re really good! You gotta eat some with me!” his mouth quirked up into a boyish grin. Gojo never lost his childishness and that was something you had always admired, even if his personality constantly irked you during your tween years. Nonetheless, you both stay loyal to one another.
You couldn’t help but smile at him.
“Why’re ya smiling like a weirdo? You got a crush on me or somethin’? He teased, using his free hand to boop the fluff of your cheek with his pointer finger. He never failed to ruin the moment. Typical Gojo. You sighed, running a hand over your face. “Shut up Gojo, let’s go find Megumi before something bad happens to the kid.” you huffed, earning a laugh from your companion.
“You didn’t tell me the cursed object was Ryomen Sukuna’s finger.”
“You never asked.”
“What’s the situation?” he suddenly spoke, cutting you off whilst catching the attention of both Megumi and the strawberry haired male. You knew in an instance that this male was the vessel of Ryomen Sukuna. He emitted the curse energy of Sukuna himself. You always felt a connection to Sukuna and had helped find several clues and his fingers, resulting in the higher-ups permanently putting you on this case.
“Gojo-sensei! Why are you here?” Megumi exclaimed, his eyes soon darted to your figure right beside Gojo. “Y/n-sensei too?” he gaped. It was obvious that both you and his mentor were close, though, lately, it felt like there was something deeper going on between both of you.
“Hey! How are you Megumi?” you chimed, approaching his wounded figure. “I don’t think he’s good Y/n. He’s all beat up!” he responded, fishing his cell phone out of his pocket. “I should show the second-years!”. He laughed as he snapped a few embarrassing pictures to send to his other students, causing Megumi to turn and hide his shame, along with his injuries.
“The higher-ups wouldn’t shut up with a special-grade cursed object missing, so I stopped by while doing some sightseeing.” he huffed, knowing Gojo, he rolled his eyes. You did understand his dislike for the higher-ups. They tended to be more traditional and strict with their ways, while Gojo was…not. Of course, you would always stand by Gojo, even if it meant going up against your superiors. It was all or nothing with him.
“Then Y/n showed up! I don’t even know where she came from!” he loudly exclaimed, as if he wasn’t that skilled to the point where he could sense you the moment you step into the vicinity. You rolled your eyes, whilst the two boys sweatdropped. “So, did you find it?” he queried, staring directly at his student.
“Um… Sorry, but I ate it” the strawberry-haired male awkwardly chimed in.
“For real.” the two replied in unison.
Gojo moved to observe him, leaning in close to his face. His chin propped onto his right hand in contemplation, a little pout forming onto his lips. He leaned in close with a laugh before pulling away from the male. Sometimes Gojo forgot that boundaries existed. The thought made you sigh, your mind suddenly recalling the time Gojo had tried to convince you to take a bath with him while still being in the tub, the bubbles barely covering what they needed to cover. Of course, Gojo enjoyed teasing you, along with being able to see your cute flustered face. You were pulled out of your daydream as he suddenly spoke, not realizing that you had completely missed their conversation.
“Then give us ten seconds. Once ten seconds are up, come back to us.” Gojo demanded as he stretched. You stretched your hand out towards him, taking his souvenir to protect it. You knew Gojo was craving to fight Sukuna. You could feel it. You were aware that he was stronger since he had only ingested one of twenty cursed fingers of Sukuna, but that still did not ease your anxiety.
Megumi, knowing how much of an overthinker you are, gently grasped your hand hanging on your side, lightly squeezing it in reassurance, as if to say ‘He’ll be okay, he’s the strongest.” You proceeded to nod at him and return the gesture. You pulled out a clean handkerchief, moving to slowly wipe the blood away from his face, aware of the fact that it would take some time to get him the proper medical attention he needs.
“Don’t worry, I’m the strongest.” he cheekily responded. That eased your anxiety even more. You rolled your eyes once more at his cockiness. A small part of you hoped that Gojo would be graced with the opportunity to get his ass kicked, but a bigger part of you was aware of how strong Gojo was, and knew how quickly he would be able to defeat Sukuna’s vessel.
You slowly sat beside Megumi, straightening the short length of your skirt while stretching your legs. You had a love-hate relationship with your jujutsu uniform, love because you looked amazing in it, and hate because a certain someone made your skirt length a tad bit too short. Of course, you wore shorts underneath, but it was still irrational to force all of the females to wear something as revealing as a skirt.
Technically, it wasn’t mandatory for you to wear the uniform but Gojo insisted as it would raise “morale”.
As Gojo continued to ramble on, a dark figure was already ascending, aiming for Gojo himself.
“Behind you!” yelled Megumi, frantically reaching for your hand to pull you away but you just brushed him off, patting his knee to reassure him. “Don’t worry Megumi, I got you, just let Gojo have his fun.” he slowly nodded, still listening to his mentor ramble about mochi.
In a split second, Gojo was sitting atop of Sukuna, whilst Sukuna was crouched between your thighs, his arms on either side of your legs, the skin of your thighs barely brushing against his forearms. You laughed at his incredulous expression before raising a hand to pat his cheek and mockingly pouting before blowing him a kiss. Leaving him stunned, he quickly snapped out of his daydream before continuing to attack Gojo.
Your eyes fluttered open, the bed of flowers soft underneath your fingertips. You glanced around, hoping to find something, someone, anything familiar within the vicinity. Panic engulfed you, bile steadily rising in your throat. Tears began to gather in your eyes. Being in unfamiliar places had always given you a large amount of anxiety, especially since you’d just been sitting beside your pupil while watching your best friend fight the king of curses.
“What are you doing just sitting there dumbass?” a gruff voice called from behind you. You whipped your head back, hoping to find someone you know, but no such luck. The person behind you was quite intimidating. They emitted straight power and confidence. Unable to say anything, you stood there gaping at the stranger.