AU Where Getou Doesn’t Defect But He Stays Crazy So Whenever They Go Out On Missions Gojo Just Has

thinking about isagi being best friends with your little sister :(((

you bring him to your house for the first time so he can meet your family, which is where he immediately becomes enamoured by perhaps the cutest thing he’s ever seen (apart from you hehe) and of course she ends up loving him. and not because he’s famous, or older, etc… but because he will never say no to playing with her!!

its gotten to the point where if you two are with your baby sister, you cannot leave them alone- unless you want him to be whisked away from you to join her in carrying out a very crucial fairy hunt, one that results in them almost getting lost in the woods.

although it really has been biting into your alone time with your boyfriend, your heart refuses to hold onto any existing annoyance when you walk into your room to see them curled up beside each other on your bed- a purposeful gap left in between, one that was made just for you <3

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚ ♡ ˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚ ♡ ˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚

⋆｡°🎧ྀི.⊹₊ ⋆ i think the bachirinsagi best friends agenda needs to be pushed more. all three of them are weirdos, they’re so best friends :3

so im a sucker for tropes that humanize larger than life characters . Sue me!!

I know that the final showdown is about 99% almost completely canonically going to be between Atsushi and Akutagawa vs Fyodor but imagine . If u will:

Dazai and Fyodor having a Fucking Fist Fight

In this scenario:

Amenogozen is dead or occupied

Dazai is more injured and exhausted than Fyodor is.

Its destruction all around, smoke in the air, craters of stone in the ground—two men standing amongst a ruined battlefield. Dazai and Fyodor, face to face amongst the blood, sweat, and ruin that Fyodor had said he would always be above in mersault.

There’s a gun in between them, nestled in the dirt. There are no more pawns on the table, only two kings staring each other down on a wasteland checkboard. Dazai’s leg is broken. Fyodor is breathing hard.

Dazai lunges for the gun at the same time Fyodor does—in a mad scramble, he kicks out Dazai’s bad leg—Dazai screams in agony as Fyodor pins him down. The gun is kicked several feet out of reach.

But Fyodor is physically weak. The only reason why Dazai hasn’t already knocked him out cold is because of his broken leg.

Dazai elbows Fyodor in the chest so hard he breaks a rib. Fyodor chokes, his chest knocked free of air and ringing with pain as he tries to see Dazai through his rapidly blurring eyes.

He was flipped over in the scuffle, but Fyodor reaches down and grabs Dazai’s leg and digs his fingers to where he thinks the bones separate and presses. Dazai is so blinded by pain, he briefly lets go as Fyodor punches him in the face.

Dazai’s nose is bleeding, but Fyodor doesn’t have time to appreciate it as he pushes Dazai off—flips them over again—he is straddling Dazai with his weight on the former’s broken leg. His hands seize Dazai’s neck and grips with all his might.

Dazai’s hands claw at his face animalistically, scrabbling for purchase on Fyodor’s hair, eyes, anything. His eyes meet Fyodor’s—both of their swirling pairs of darkness are finally awake, alive, burning—and oh, this is what Dazai had meant, hadn’t he? In the silence of Dazai’s strangled wheezes and his nails dragging up dust, Fyodor realizes: this is what it means to be alive.

Dazai spits into Fyodor’s face. He lets go reflexively, yelping with disgust as blood-spit blinds him, while Dazai is gasping as he crawls for the gun; he’s halfway there before Fyodor blindly grabs one of Dazai’s legs. But it’s not the broken one—Dazai pivots his ankle and stomps with all of his might as Fyodor screams because several of his fingers as broken.

Dazai’s hand finds the gun.

The twins, Mayar and Ahmed, are 3 years old. Ahmed suffers from a head disease that cannot tolerate high temperatures. He lives in a tent and needs treatment. 💔💔

Mayar has developed a severe allergy in her body, and she needs ointment and clean water. Help Ahmed and Mayar get out of Gaza, get treatment, live their lives, and enjoy their childhood. Please donate, and if you can’t, share this post.💔🙏🏻

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Please help me and my family survive the war and leave the Gaza Strip I am Najah Al-Hai… Ismail Hileh braucht deine Unterstützung für

AESPA ♡ BETTER THINGS TEASERS

hey girl....imma...imma need u to write ab the whole... bicep crushing thing w Isagi cuz.. now u got me thinking 😈😈😩

“𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢’𝐬 𝐛𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧”

a/n: need to see his biceps and triceps flexed as he grips the headboard 

yeah i’m down bad so i made two parts 🙁 (second part is a little suggestive)

“𝐢 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐚”

one look at your boyfriend and you only have one thought: #needthat. 

isagi stood by the kitchen counter, leaning against it lazily with one hand holding his phone, the other casually gripping a glass of water. his thumb scrolled absentmindedly, but your eyes? glued to the way his bicep flexed subtly each time he lifted the glass. the veins along his forearm shifted with every movement, stretching across his skin like delicate, winding rivers taunting you. 

you were supposed to be doing something productive. anything, really. but instead, you sat at the table, chin in your hand, fully mesmerized by the spectacle that was isagi existing. 

“you good?” his voice snapped you out of your blatant gawking, and you realized you’d been staring for way too long. his brow arched slightly, though there was a teasing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. he knew. and oh how much it boosted his ego. 

“hm? yeah, just… thinking,” you lied through your teeth. 

but then he did it. the absolute audacity. he set the glass down and stretched. arms raised above his head, shirt lifting just enough to reveal a sliver of toned abs, but that wasn’t even the problem. the problem was the way his biceps peaked, perfectly rounded and taut, as he locked his fingers together, letting out a small sigh. 

and you? done for. 

“you’re still staring,” he pointed out, lowering his arms, but instead of dropping them to his sides, he bent one and flexed slightly, pretending to stretch his shoulder. oh, he was absolutely messing with you now. 

you scoffed dramatically, feigning annoyance. “don’t flatter yourself.” 

but isagi, being the menace he was, smirked wider. “flatter myself?” he mused, flexing again, just subtly, enough for you to notice. “nah, you’re the one doing all the flattering with your eyes.” 

your face felt hot. and it only got worse when he casually walked over and placed his hands on either side of your chair, leaning down slightly. the proximity gave you a front-row seat to the definition in his arms, the way his triceps curved beneath his skin, the warmth radiating off him. 

“wanna feel?” his voice was low, teasing, but it made your breath catch. 

you blinked, caught between playing it cool and completely folding. spoiler alert: you folded. instantly. without another word, you reached out, brushing your fingers along the firm muscle. warm, smooth skin stretched over pure strength. you squeezed lightly, your hand barely able to fit around his bicep. 

“jeez,” you muttered under your breath. “these things should be illegal.” 

isagi chuckled, and you could feel the vibration of his laugh through his arm. “should they?” he teased, bringing his face a little closer, his breath fanning over your ear. “you seemed pretty interested in them a second ago.” 

you glared at him, though the effect was ruined by the way you were still clinging to his arm. “don’t be cocky.” 

he leaned in further, lips just grazing the shell of your ear as he whispered, “too late.”

“𝐛𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐩 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧”

you should’ve known better. you really should’ve. 

it started innocently enough – playful, teasing, nothing serious. you were lying on the couch, your legs draped over isagi’s lap while he scrolled on his phone, absentmindedly tracing patterns along your shin with his thumb. soft. casual. domestic. 

but then your eyes wandered (because how could they not?) to the way his forearm flexed slightly as he adjusted his grip. the shift was subtle, but you caught it – the faint ridge of muscle, the delicate winding of veins beneath his skin. and just like that, you were done for. 

you stared a little too long. and isagi? he noticed. 

“you good?” he muttered, not looking away from his phone. 

you hummed, feigning nonchalance. “mhm, just thinking.” 

“about what?” 

you glanced at his arm again. mistake. your fingers twitched slightly against his thigh. the urge was too strong. you reached out before you could stop yourself, lightly squeezing the bulk of his bicep. 

and you had the audacity to say, “huh… not that big.” 

his head snapped toward you, eyes narrowing slightly. oh, you were asking for it. 

he didn’t say a word, just slowly set his phone down on the coffee table. the shift was deliberate. predatory. when he turned back to you, there was a faint glimmer in his eyes, something dangerous and amused all at once. 

“what was that?” he asked, voice low and steady. too steady. if you wanna test him like that, you have to be ready for it. 

you blinked at him innocently, playing dumb. “what?” 

his gaze dipped to where your hand still rested on his bicep. “not that big, huh?” 

before you could offer some snarky retort, he moved. suddenly. swiftly. in one smooth motion, he grabbed you by the waist and flipped you beneath him, caging you against the couch with his arms braced on either side of your head. 

your breath caught. his face was only inches from yours, but you barely noticed. no, you were far too distracted by the wall of muscle surrounding you. his forearms, thick and unyielding, pressed into the cushion beside your face, framing you completely. 

“still not big enough?” he muttered, voice low and teasing, but there was a heat behind it that made your stomach tighten. 

you couldn’t answer. not when he shifted lower, bringing his chest flush against yours, and wrapped his arms around you. 

and then? he squeezed. 

slowly. deliberately. his biceps flexing against your back, the solid muscle closing around you like evil. warm, firm, and completely unforgiving. 

your breath hitched. “oh my gosh –” 

his arms tightened further, just slightly, enough to steal the air from your lungs. you squirmed, but the more you struggled, the harder his hold became. his biceps flexed again, the muscle shifting and pressing against your ribs, making it almost impossible to breathe without feeling him everywhere. 

“too tight?” he murmured near your ear, voice dark with mock concern. 

you shook your head weakly, your fingers gripping at the unyielding muscle. 

“no?” he taunted softly, his breath warm against your skin. “then let me…” his arms flexed subtly again, the veins in his forearms pulsing faintly beneath his skin, “hold you a little tighter.” 

and he did. slowly and thoroughly. 

you could feel the strain of his biceps beneath your palms, the way the muscles coiled, dense and unrelenting, keeping you locked against him. your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his lower back as you tried to get some semblance of leverage, but he was immovable. 

his chest pressed against yours, warm and solid, each breath making the cage of his arms press into you further. you let out a soft gasp against his throat, fingers fisting the fabric of his shirt as your body went pliant beneath his strength. 

“yoichi…” you barely managed to breathe out, voice muffled against his skin. 

his lips brushed your temple, a dark chuckle escaping him. “what?” 

you squirmed slightly, your breath hitching when his arms flexed again, hard muscle coiling tighter around you. you felt it – the shift beneath his skin, the sheer force of it. crushing. suffocating. consuming. and yet? you didn’t pull away. 

no, instead, you clung to him, fingers tracing along the tense ridges of his arms, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. 

“tighter,” you whispered, half-daring, half-pleading. 

he froze slightly against you, his breath catching for just a fraction of a second, before he grinned against your skin. 

“you’re dangerous,” he muttered softly, but his arms obeyed anyway, flexing harder. pulling you in so snugly against him that your ribs practically caved into his chest, breathless and overwhelmed. 

and still? you didn’t tell him to stop. 

his lips brushed along your throat, teeth grazing gently against your skin. slow. deliberate. 

and then? he stilled. just for a second. 

his arms were still snug around you, keeping you completely captive, but he shifted back slightly, just enough to look at you. really look at you. 

your eyes met his, wide and slightly dazed, chest heaving faintly from the lack of air, but still, you didn’t pull away. you just stared up at him, your fingers still trembling slightly against the bulk of his arms. 

“you like this, huh?” his voice was a low rasp, but there was something softer in it now, something dangerously tender. 

you didn’t answer. you just tugged him down, pressing your lips softly to his. slow. deliberate. deep. 

he groaned softly against your mouth, arms still holding you tight, still keeping you locked against him. but this time, he kissed you slower. deeper. his lips moving against yours like he had all the time in the world. 

he didn’t let go. didn’t loosen his hold. no, he kept you right where you were, completely encased by him. 

and when he finally pulled back, just slightly, his breath warm against your lips, he whispered softly: 

“mine.” 

and with one slow, final squeeze, you melted entirely into him. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

hii, hope ur alright! some1 recently requested a rin ff, the one with the calvin klein briefs and i wanted to ask if u could write one like that again but with isagi if thats okay!! thank you <3

“𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐞?”

a/n: i loved the rin one so i am happy i can write an isagi one! however, i did make it a little different, with reader and isagi not dating in this one, but rather, just finding each other attractive + isagi def asks for your number after the shoot

listened to sativa while writing this so the title was def inspired by that song

(artist is louvbon on twitter)

you pride yourself on being a professional. you’ve worked in high-pressure sets, shot campaigns for big-name brands, captured images of people whose faces are plastered across billboards and subway walls. but nothing, absolutely nothing, prepared you for this shoot. 

because standing in front of your lens right now, stretching his arms behind his head in a way that makes his abs flex on purpose, is isagi yoichi, japan’s soccer golden boy, international heartthrob, and apparently, the newest face of calvin klein. 

in nothing but boxer briefs. 

you’re holding your camera like it might catch fire, blinking furiously as if that’ll reboot your brain. maybe if you hit yourself hard enough with the lens, you’ll stop staring at the way the light hits his chest. or the subtle line that dips down past his hips. or how the calvin kleins are hanging just an inch lower than necessary to make your job very, very difficult. 

“lighting okay?” he asks casually, running a hand through his already-messy hair. like this is any regular day. like he’s not the problem here. 

you attempt to sound composed, professional. “yeah. uh. yeah, lighting’s great. very… lighty.” 

lighty? 

just kill me, you think. let the studio lights crash down on my head. 

isagi’s lips twitch. “lighty, huh?” 

you don’t answer. instead, you bury your face behind the camera and pretend to fiddle with settings you already fixed twenty minutes ago. you don’t need him knowing he’s throwing you off. he probably already suspects it, but you don’t need to confirm it. 

but of course, he doesn’t let it go. 

he steps closer, slow and easy, like a predator in no rush. “you sure you’re good? you look kinda… flustered.” 

you scoff, stepping back with practiced nonchalance. “i’m not flustered. i’m just trying to work.” 

“you’re blushing.” 

“it’s hot in here.” 

“it’s a temperature-controlled studio. with AC.” 

you narrow your eyes at him. “isagi, can you please just go lean against the wall and look vaguely mysterious? brood. smolder. whatever it is models do.” 

he laughs, laughs, like this is all a joke to him. “i’m not a model.” 

“no, you’re worse,” you mutter under your breath. “you’re an athlete with no business being this good-looking.” 

his eyebrows shoot up. “what was that?” 

“nothing,” you say quickly, lifting your camera again. “pose, pretty boy.” 

he does, finally, pressing his back to the wall, gaze smoldering (probably on purpose), muscles tensing in a way that makes you want to look away and also never stop looking. it’s unfair. he’s not even trying. how is that fair? 

you adjust your angle, trying to stay in work mode. this is your job. you are here to take photos, not to mentally rank how kissable your subject’s lips look from this distance. 

“you know,” he says suddenly, tone light, “you’re the first photographer i’ve worked with who can’t look me in the eye.” 

you freeze, mid-shot. “… i can look you in the eye.” 

“can you?” 

you lower the camera slowly. meet his gaze. mistake. big mistake. 

his eyes are stupidly dark blue. bright and playful and cocky as hell. and there’s a glint in them that tells you he knows. he knows exactly the effect he has on you. 

you click your tongue, stepping back. “you’re distracting.” 

he grins. “is that a compliment?” 

“no. it’s a problem.” 

“is it the abs?” 

“it’s the ego.” 

he laughs again, and it sounds like victory. “okay, okay. serious mode. what do you want me to do next?” 

you inhale slowly, resisting the urge to throw your clipboard at him. “keep the shirt off. lean forward. hands behind your head.” 

he raises a brow but follows your direction. you focus the lens. try to ignore the way his muscles move as he shifts. he looks like a damn sculpture. and somehow, despite being practically half-naked, he still looks so clean-cut, so isagi yoichi. the boy-next-door who just happens to be on the cover of every major sports magazine and now, your camera roll. 

“so,” he says, voice low, “if this wasn’t a photoshoot, would you still be staring?” 

you nearly choke. 

“i– excuse me?” 

“just curious.” 

you lower the camera. “if this wasn’t a photoshoot, you’d be wearing a shirt.” 

“and that would make it easier for you, huh?” 

you blink. “you’re ridiculous.” 

“you’re the one blushing.” 

“you’re the one half-naked!” 

he grins, utterly shameless. “you’re the one who told me to pose like this.” 

you groan, covering your face with your hand. “this is the worst day of my professional career.” 

“nah,” he says, smug, “i think it’s the best.” 

you peek at him through your fingers. he winks. 

you’re so doomed. 

BONUS: 

the shoot finally wraps, and you’re desperately trying to look like a person who wasn’t just mentally derailed for two hours straight. the assistants are packing up, the stylist’s asking isagi about his next match, and you're pretending to be very interested in organizing your memory cards even though you’ve already labeled them. 

isagi walks over with that same relaxed confidence that’s been driving you insane since the moment he stepped on set. he’s dressed now, jeans and a hoodie, thank gosh, but somehow, that almost makes it worse. he looks too normal. too boyfriend-coded. the kind of guy you’d see in a café and immediately text your best friend about. 

“hey,” he says, hands tucked in his pockets. “thanks for today. you made it fun.” 

you glance up from your equipment, doing your best to keep it casual. “oh? you mean despite me almost combusting on the spot every five minutes?” 

he chuckles, leaning slightly toward you. “i thought it was charming.” 

you roll your eyes, lips twitching. “you would.” 

there’s a beat. a quiet moment between you, tucked in the noise of the studio tear-down. and then he scratches the back of his neck, almost shy for once. 

“listen… if you’re not already seeing someone, maybe you could text me some of the shots when they’re ready?” he says, almost too smoothly, then adds, “and maybe, like… something that’s not work-related too.” 

you stare at him, blinking. “are you seriously using the ‘send me the photos’ line to get my number?” 

he shrugs, grinning. “i figured i’d keep it on theme.” 

you hesitate… then pull your phone from your pocket and hand it to him. “fine. but if you send me shirtless mirror selfies, i’m blocking you.” 

“no promises,” he says, typing quickly before handing it back. “i’m more of a candid guy, anyway.” 

you glance at your screen. yoichi isagi ⚽📸 

he even added a little camera emoji. 

you groan. “you’re the worst.” 

“but i’m still getting a text, right?” 

“we’ll see,” you say, walking away. 

and you don’t see it, but he’s smiling the whole way out. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

"you've got soft hands, tomioka." you whisper to him, his hand held in yours.

giyuu was close to insisting on letting you use his given name, especially now that the two of you have pursued a romantic relationship, but that's a topic for another day. his expression remains unchanged as he watches you, carefully analysing how you react and move.

barely pushing against your grip, he raises his palm to lightly graze your cheek, the warmth of your skin soothing the goosebumps running up his arm.

you feel your heart heat up from his unexpected gesture, doubling the amount of affection he's showing by cupping his face with both of your hands. judging by the minute raise of his eyebrows, he's surprised, enough for his mind to blank out and let go of you. slowly and hesitantly, he nuzzles into your touch, his eyes closing from the pleasant comfort.

cute... he's cute.

blue lock hcs to make you smile!!!😊

- ness helps stray cats that he finds on the streets. he knows that cats are often a symbol of witches and magic, hence why he’s so fond of them.

- rin has a huge sweet tooth, and had lots of trouble reducing his sugar intake for a healthier and more athletic body. he still secretly eats candy sometimes.

- isagi is canonically very shy and tends to distance himself from people, so he often gets too scared to confess to his crushes, and they always end up dating someone else.

- the reason why ness knows how to cut hair is because he believed in those folktales and myths about needing to cut hair on certain days. his parents didn’t and refused to cut his hair for him, and he ended up having to learn to cut it himself.

- rin gets flustered when pictures are taken of him. his house is full of pictures of sae because he is the more favored, more successful sibling, so there are only one or two pictures of rin in the entire house.

- rin is actually very sensitive and has a hard time taking insults. this is because sae has always complimented him and told him about how good rin was. this is also why sae’s insults to him hurt especially.

- when kunigami’s sisters learned that kunigami would be returning to blue lock, they were ecstatic. but when they saw their older brother on the TV acting so differently, they both cried out of fear that he didn’t love them anymore.