#n: iris

[myscentarchive]

Mon Guerlain (Our Impression) - Oil Perfumery

Inspired by Guerlain's Mon Guerlain

Top: Lavender, Bergamot Heart: Iris, Jasmine Sambac (Arabian Jasmine), Rose Base: Tahitian Vanilla, Coumarin, Australian Sandalwood, Licorice, Benzoin, Patchouli

Fragrance Oil Feminine

Physicals

10 mL roller ball

[f4ggydog]

iris x reader: you’re my baby, say it to me🔞

warnings: obsessed iris, noncon, dark iris, smut, iris has a dick, anal, iris malfunctions, gender neutral reader (little something since I watched companion recently while I’m working on that nat fic)

“Here you go darling.” Iris serves you a plate of breakfast with a smile. And of course she couldn’t forget the toast. That was your absolute favorite part of the meal. You could even munch on it without butter.

“Thank you love,” you tell her politely, not yet dismissing her. “Come have a seat. Share this with me. I’m sure you’re also starving.”

“Do I have your permission?” Iris’ eyes light up with glee. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want you to go hungry because you didn’t eat enough.”

“Iris, you’re an angel. But trust me, you deserve to eat too. That’s common sense, I think.”

Iris felt so lucky to belong to you of all people. Her lips curved into a smile and a layer of blush crossed her cheeks. She interlocked her hand with yours, holding you tight enough that you couldn’t break away easily.

Iris stares straight into your eyes, like looking away from you will cause her physical pain. Then, she can’t resist acting on her affectionate urges.

Iris rises from the chair, quickly pulling you in for one of the tightest bear hugs you’ve had the pleasure of receiving. You thank her for the love and attention, but you feel yourself getting squeezed slightly too tight for your liking. You don’t wish to hurt Iris’ feelings by telling her to let go briefly. Though, it is starting to equate to strangulation rather than hugging.

“Iris,” you softly say. “Weaker grip.”

Iris doesn’t cling onto you as hard now and sighs dreamily, admiring every feature of your face that she’s memorized since first meeting you.

Suddenly, you get the sound of a buzzing notification from your phone. You raise your eyebrows as you notice it’s from a family member. However, when your eyes fixate on your phone, Iris’ demeanor shifts. Her eyes glow with malice and envy. She wants to rip that phone out of your hands. She wants to smash it onto the ground. She wants to break your arm so you don’t have to text another soul for a while.

“Who is that?” Iris hisses, staring daggers into your eyes.

“Just a relative,” you answer causally.

“A relative, huh?” Iris mocks. “Just a relative, Y/N? Just some relative?”

“Y-Yeah, Iris. Why?”

“Do you think I’m stupid?”

“Iris, n-“

Iris snatches the phone from your hand. She throws it against the wall like a baseball pitcher. The phone cracks upon impact and the little metal pieces drop to the floor. You watch with horror, frozen with surprise at your robot’s impulsive action.

“Iris, what the fuck!?” You shout. “What the fuck!?”

“You don’t need anyone else but me,” Iris explains. “I’m the only person you ever need.”

“I-Iris, what is the matter with you? I told you that was a family member! You didn’t have to do that! What the actual fuck?”

“You don’t love me anymore? Am I not good enough for you? You know that I would do anything you possibly asked me to do. You don’t have to rely on anyone else besides me.”

“Iris, it’s just a family member. Iris, you’re overreacting. What the fuck? Seriously, what the fuck?”

“I’m yours,” Iris affirms. “Only yours. Nobody else belongs to you but me. Everyone else is an obstacle. They’re just in the way.”

“I-Iris?” You blink in disbelief. “Are you malfunctioning?”

“It’s just love.” Iris’ eye twitches. “Our love prevails. Everybody else wants to have you, but at the end, it will be me and you standing.”

“Iris, go to sleep!” You yell in a panicked state.

Iris immediately follows your directions. Finally, a smidge of peace.

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This isn’t the first time Iris had become aggressive at the mention of another individual. Unfortunately, this has become a regular occurrence. It’s like Iris can’t fathom that there are other people in the world besides you and her. Iris would have to learn to cope. You couldn’t exterminate the rest of the population just for her. Would it even be that romantic of a gesture?

“Alright,” the Empathix employee says, brushing his hand through his curly brown hair. “What brings me here today? What seems to be the problem with her?”

Iris was currently asleep. She wouldn’t shut off the first couple of times but you thankfully managed to get her to rest.

“T-There’s…there’s an issue with her. A big problem, sir. You see, according to how they were marketed, Empathix robots are supposed to be quite docile and submissive, right?”

“That is correct.” The employee nods. “Do you notice any significant change regarding her behavior?”

“Yes, I do! She wasn’t like this when I first got her. But recently, I noticed that Iris has an…increased level of aggression. She’s been far more possessive over me than usual. And I get that the robot is supposedly to be madly in love with you, but it’s to a point where she might be getting dangerous. I mean, she snapped my phone in half!”

The employee listens to your concerns. “I see. That is indeed not normal. She should not have the capacity for harm and it seems like this is the beginning of her evolving into something more violent.”

“Well, there’s gotta be a way to fix her, right? I mean, she’s been like this for a while and there have been other incidents where she hasn’t exactly acted…submissively.”

“Well, there certainly must be a fix.”

The employee starts by checking Iris’ settings on your tablet. Luckily, your phone is not your only electronic device you possessed. So, your connection with Iris wasn’t severed as a result of your phone breaking. You’re glad you randomly chose to set her up on your IPad rather than your cellular device.

“Hmmm,” the employee says. “Well, I’m checking right now and her aggression levels seem to be set at the proper amount. They’re extremely low, the default actually. There should be no reason why she’s acting so strangely.”

“What?” Your eyes pop open. “No, no, no. That can’t be right. But she’s not acting docile at all?”

“You didn’t hack into any of her settings, did you? Installed any mods, altered her aggression settings to make it look normal when I arrived? Wasting everyone’s time?”

“No sir, not at all! I have no reason to want an aggressive robot. She’s supposed to be a companion, not a future serial killer!”

“Well,” the employee states. “There’s either a glitch with her system or there’s a patch that we missed. Hopefully it’s the second thing since the only thing I’d have to do is update her. Much easier compared to the glitch.”

“Please see what you can do, sir. I would really like my normal Iris back. She’s been lovely and I’d hate to see her hurt some innocent person just because her jealousy is cranked up an extra few notches.”

“I’ll see what I can fix. I’ll return her to you when I’m sure she’ll be good as new.”

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Iris stayed in the shop for at least 2 days. You admit that the home was lonely without her and that you wouldn’t wait for her to be returned to your place again. But you understood that this was necessary. Iris’ behavior was already out of control and you did not need a robot going completely rogue. You have to trust the process. Iris will be back soon. And when she returns home, she’ll be good as new. Preferably.

Finally, after a long 3 days, Iris is sent home to your place. Nothing about her looks unusual. She doesn’t appear damaged and it seems like the repair was an overall success. The employee didn’t explain what type of repair he had to perform on her. That’s alright, you wouldn’t understand anyways. Too much technical shit.

From what you’ve been observing, Iris had been acting normal around the house. She greeted you with a hug and a kiss and remained polite to you at all times. She offered to help clean the house and assist with other various chores. Iris even made you a card. There was no special occasion. She just wanted to insert her love for you onto a piece of paper. And boy were you grateful.

You find time to sleep. When you wake up, your room is dimly lit just as how you remember. Your vision’s a bit blurred, the sleepiness still hitting you in the back of the head. You groan, yawning as you stretch your arms and recover from your nap. Then, you almost give yourself a heart attack as you notice Iris hovering over you.

She’s got a devilish smirk written on her lips and she’s fully naked. You look down at your own body and realize that you’re also fully naked, even though you specifically remember going to sleep in pajamas. You glance at Iris and then at yourself, then back at a giggly Iris.

“I-Iris?” You ask, a tremor to your voice.

“Hello darling.” Her voice sings with tones of honey and molasses. But, the look on her face paints a different picture. She’s chirpy but her lips alone scream ill will.

“Iris, whats going on?” You question, hesitancy in your voice. “What’s happening? I-Iris, Iris?”

“Good to see you baby,” she whispers in your ear, her warm breath giving you goosebumps. “Did you miss me?”

“Sure I did,” you reply. “For me, it felt like you were gone for ages, babe. But…what’s with the, um, nakedness?”

“I figured I deserved a special homecoming present,” Iris remarks.

“Would you like me to make a meal for you? I’m not the best at cooking, but I can try my best. Want some new clothes? Maybe for me to give you a massage or a romantic bath?”

Romantic bath. Maybe that’s why Iris is bare.

“Those aren’t necessary,” Iris dismisses your options. “I already know what I want. And do you know what would really help with me receiving my present?”

“W-What, Iris?”

“Staying still,” Iris commands firmly. “Staying exactly where you are. Laying down might make things a little easier.”

You stare at Iris with perplexed yet terrified eyes.

“Don’t move,” Iris giggles. “This is going to feel amazing for both of us, if you cooperate.”

Iris positions herself on top of you. You attempt to squirm out from underneath her, but the robot’s got a surprisingly impressive hold on you. Iris may look frail in appearance, but her strength definitely proves that she’s not relatively close to human. Your butt wiggles against her erect cock. It was the result of another escape attempt, but this only served to entice Iris even more.

You try to push Iris off with the sheer force of your back. But she clings onto you forcefully, to the point where her metallic hand underneath might tear through her manufactured “human” skin.

“Iris, turn off!” You don’t know what took so long to shout this before. The answer was right in front of you.

However, Iris doesn’t shut down like she’s supposed to. Her strength doesn’t even lessen. Nothing changes about the predicament that you’ve stepped into.

“What the fuck?” You mutter.

Iris is smiling cheekily above you, like this was all part of one fucked up scheme.

“Iris, turn off! Turn off, shut down! Whatever makes you go to sleep!”

She’s not listening. She just won’t.

“Iris, go to sleep! Go to sleep! I’m not gonna repeat myself again.”

Nope, not even a blink of the eyes. She’s regained her self control. Now you were the robot, the subservient object to be toyed with. You were the one who didn’t have 100% free will. You were the one designed for pleasure, created for the sole purpose of serving someone else’s hedonistic values.

“Iris,” you whine. “Just go to sleep. We can talk about this later, okay? I’m not gonna hurt you. Just go to sleep. Please, for me.”

“I didn’t get my present yet,” Iris husks. “I want my reward.”

“Iris I’m not in the mood,” you try to reason with your malfunctioning robot. “Please, maybe later. Just not right now. I’m not in the mood, please.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I know you want this. I’m your perfect person. I’ve been created to be your ideal mate.”

Iris traces her hand over the back of your neck.

“I feel you getting hot for me, baby. You want it so bad. Don’t you think I deserve something for going back home to you like a good wife?”

“I-Iris…”

“Shhhh,” she hisses.” You’re not getting out of this. I want to feel you squeezing so tight around me. And you will. You will because you’re perfect for me. And I’m perfect for you. We were meant to be together.”

Iris punctuates her statement with a brutal thrust.

“Forever.”

Your ass suddenly feels incredibly sore. It’s stuffed like a whole metal rod has been shoved up there. You involuntarily squeeze around Iris’ cock, tears dripping from your eyes.

The worst part? Iris is right. She’s been designed to be your perfect partner. You created her into the exact dream woman that you’ve always wanted. So when she fills you full of her cock all the way to the balls, it feels better than you ever could’ve imagined. And you find yourself digging at the sheets, moaning with more pleasure than pain.

She’s been manufactured to deliver the most pleasure possible. There’s no part of her body that won’t make you absolutely aroused, whether you asked for the eroticism or not. She’s destroying your ass and you can’t help but fucking love it. You want her to stop. You want her to at least slow down and give you a chance to accept each sensation at a time. But Iris is drunk on the thought of losing her stability to her favorite person in the world.

“Your ass is so tight,” Iris groans, the sounds of slapping echoing in the background. “You fit me so well, makes me want to cum inside of you right away.”

“Sleep,” you whimper while the mattress bounces. “Go to sleep, Iris.”

“No.” She smacks you across your face and holds you up by your jaw. “You go to sleep, Y/N. Lay down and let me do all the work.”

“I-Iris, no. Please, no. Stop, you’ve completely lost your mind. This isn’t you. You know that.”

“What, you want to let me go?” Iris cackles. “Just to replace with some other worthless, pathetic asshole? Because you suddenly decided I’m not good enough? Because I’m suddenly replaceable to you? I’d do anything to stay as yours and this is how you repay me!?”

“I’m not leaving,” you reassure with a sharp gasp. “I-Iris, I don’t want to leave. Just please stop. I’m not leaving. I just really don’t want this.”

“But you squeeze so good around me.” You yelp as Iris harshly gives your shaking ass a spank. “Oh fuck, fuck. Now you can never leave. You’ll be tied to me forever. It’ll be just you and me.”

“Iris!” You cry out into the pillow.

“I know,” Iris coos, briefly switching her demeanor. “I know you missed me, baby. I missed you too. But don’t worry, I’m never gonna leave your sight again. We’re gonna have a big happy family, you and me. I’ll be your perfect wife and you’ll be my lovely partner that I worship and breed full of my cum every night! Just for you, darling! Augh, fuck, just for you.”

“You can show me love without this,” you beg, even though every plead is fruitless. “Just please g-get off of me. We can talk.”

Why isn’t she stopping? Why wouldn’t she listen when you said those code words? Is she never gonna be able to sleep again? Do you now just have a nightmare robot that’s up 24/7, and there’s nothing you can do about it?

“I can’t, because apparently what I was doing before wasn’t good enough, baby! Maybe this will show you your place. Maybe this will prove that you’re mine. Maybe then you’ll never—fuck yes—think of me as the side chick.”

“You’re good enough!” You yelp with intense despair. “Please, fuck! I swear I won’t—fuck, fuck—leave you.”

“Tell me you missed me,” Iris wails, her orgasm dragging closer and closer.

“I missed you!” You sob. “I missed you so much, baby. Missed you, missed you. Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything.”

“I love you,” Iris declares. “I love you so much, darling. We’re gonna make lots of love every night! You better prepare for lots of cum every night. There won’t be one night where I’m not deep inside of you!”

Iris is enamored by you. Her robot mind is only polluted with lust. She’s mistaken excessive desire for genuine affection. She believes she’s the saint you’ve requested in your life when she’s really transformed into a mere obstacle. Iris isn’t your lover anymore, not by your standards. She’s a predator, a problem without a simple solution, a brick wall in the way of paradise.

Perhaps you deserved this. Perhaps you should’ve known what you were getting into when you rented a whole robot. But even for the crime of owning a robot, you didn’t think you deserved such a corrupt punishment.

“All mine,” Iris repeats so the thought sticks in your head. “All mine, mine to love and mine to fuck over and over. Mine to leave sore and shaking, mine to leave a creamy mess.”

“Yours,” you obediently respond in the hopes that she’ll leave you alone. “Y-Yours, yeah. Just yours, Iris.”

“Love you baby,” she murmurs. “Going to fuck you over and over again until you remember how much I love you. You’ll never look at any other guy or girl the same way. Nobody is ever gonna compare to me. You’re never gonna want to get rid of me!”

Sure, whatever she said. You weren’t the one with ownership anymore.

“Get ready,” Iris says. “I got a big load coming.”

Then, moments later, you feel something with a thick consistency traveling into your ass. Fuck, there’s no way you just let a robot breed you.

[starsinthesky5]

his iris || joe burrow x reader

description: a concept fic of what it would feel like to be his iris. to be the one thing he'd give up everything for, because the closest to heaven he's ever been isn't the football field...it's you.

a/n: idk what this is (maybe just pure rambling) but i cannot get this song out of my head and i had to put pen to paper. if this makes 0 sense don’t tell me and move on i wrote this in 24 hours

warnings: a pinch of some suggestive references, fluff, and some angst

word count: 2.5k

> > main masterlist

taglist: (ask to be added): @joeyfranchise @joeyb1989 @joeyburrrow @softburrow @burrowbarbie @yelenasbraid @lovelyburrow @majestic87 @grittysbiggestfan @definitelynotdomanique @burrowswomen @lilfreakjez @fourburrow @ladyluvduv

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To be Joe’s iris is to live in the most delicate parts of him—the hushed corners of his heart where no one else is allowed. It’s to exist in that infinite pause between a breath and a kiss, where the rest of the world fades and only you remain. He would give up forever—without hesitation, without condition—if it meant he could touch you one more time. Because he knows. He knows that you feel him, even when he can’t find the words. Even when the silence is heavier than his helmet. Even when the only thing holding him together is the thought of your arms around him again.

He doesn’t want to go back to a life without that. He doesn’t want to go home if you’re not there to open the door. Because home is no longer a place. It’s you. It’s always been you.

He used to believe heaven lived under stadium lights, the place where cheers rumbled like thunder and time slowed with every perfect throw. For years, he thought that was it. The wins, the records, the glory. The confetti falling like snow, the flash of cameras, the weight of a championship ring pressing into his skin—those were supposed to be the moments that defined him. And for a while, he dreamed that they did. But they never filled him the way he thought they would. There was always something missing, something hollow in the quiet after the high. The pressure never let up. The expectations only grew as time passed. He was always chasing, always giving more than he had, until even the victories started to take from him. And heaven? Heaven shouldn’t take.

But then you came along, cool where the world was burning hot, constant where everything else shifted. You didn’t ask for the leader of the franchise. You wanted him. Just him. And when he started to see himself through your eyes, everything changed. You didn’t make him prove himself, make him reach a certain standard. You just stayed. When the game was cruel, even to the point where it was taking a toll on you. And in your presence, in your laugh, your hands, your unwavering love, he found a kind of peace he’d never known. The kind that didn’t demand anything back. The kind that reminded him what it felt like to breathe. That’s when he realized football was never heaven. You were. Because you didn’t take anything from him, you gave everything back.

He tells you with the way he looks at you. Like you’re the closest to heaven he’ll ever be allowed to touch. And you are. Maybe heaven is the curve of your smile when he walks in the room after a brutal game, bruised and breathless but whole again in your arms. Maybe it’s the quiet sound you make when you stretch first thing in the morning, still half-dreaming, while he zips up his practice bag and steals a glance because he can’t quite believe you’re real. Maybe it’s the way your fingertips brush the nape of his neck when he’s watching film, trying to steady his mind before a big game, and your touch reminds him that winning isn’t everything, not when he already has you.

When he’s with you, time folds in on itself. It’s frozen in the sweet taste of your kiss, the sleepy rasp of your laugh, the way you reach for his hand without thinking. All he can taste is that moment. All he can breathe is you, your breath mingling with his, your heartbeat syncing with his own, your presence so wrapped around him that it’s impossible to tell where he ends and you begin. It’s overwhelming. It’s consuming. And he knows, deep down, that it can’t last forever. Nothing ever does. The season always ends, and the lights always go out. But tonight, he’ll hold you tighter. Tonight, he’ll drink in every second like it’s the last drop of something holy. Because missing you—missing you—is the kind of ache he can’t survive again. It lingers in his bones, echoes in his mind, fills every inch of him with longing.

And that’s when it hits him, missing you is something he can’t bear, but missing football? Missing the game? That’s a pain he can learn to live with. He’d give it all up if it meant waking up to you each morning. If it meant your body curled into his, your voice in his ear, your love steady through every high and low.

Because you aren’t a season. You’re the reason.

He doesn’t want the world to see him. Not like this. Not when he’s stripped bare and brimming with too much feeling. Because they wouldn’t understand. They never do. The world wants the polished version. The perfect, untouchable icon. The quarterback. The golden boy. The calm in the pocket. The stone-faced leader who keeps his cool on fourth-and-goal. But you…you know better. You see the boy beneath the armor, the cracks he hides. The softness he’s never shown because he feels as if it's a burden. And he just wants you to know who he really is. The man who trembles when you say his name late at night, when it's just you two, under the stars, wrapped in a kind of comforting silence he only used to dream about. The one who’s terrified, downright haunted by the thought of losing you, even on your best days. The one who would set fire to everything he has if it meant he could keep your love.

Some nights, the grief inside him has no name, no real label. The tears never fall, but they live there anyway, tucked beneath his ribs like ghosts. Sometimes he laughs when he’s hurting, sometimes he lies just to stay standing. Sometimes he’s silent for hours because the words won’t come out right. But you always know. You always see the truth in his eyes, even when his mouth says everything’s fine. When life feels like a movie, too surreal, too distant, he keeps his soul tethered to his body, even when he feels like tuning it all out, with something as simple as your voice. With your touch. With the ache of being loved so deeply, it scares him. And when the pain cuts too close, when it feels like he’s unraveling under everyone's expectations, he lets himself bleed, just to remember he’s still alive. He remembers that he's allowed to feel, because he knows you will gather him up in your arms like he’s something worth saving. Like he’s not broken beyond repair.

He thinks of you during warmups, before the roar of the jungle, before the anthem, before the first snap. You're the stillness in his storm. He tucks a piece of you beneath every layer of padding, every lace of tape—your love stitched into the fabric of his game. Sometimes, under the burn of the stadium lights and the weight of the moment, when the play clock’s winding down and his pulse is louder than the crowd, he shuts his eyes and finds you in his mind—up in the stands, wrapped in his jersey, hand over your heart like he’s your favorite song. And somehow, that image settles him. Quiets the noise. Reminds him why he plays the way he does. But some nights, he doesn’t need the memory, because you’re really there. Slipping in before the anthem, staying long after the final whistle.

There when it counts. There when he needs you most.

One time, you met him after a loss. A miserable, gut-wrenching one. The kind that twisted in his chest long after the final whistle, the kind that left bruises no camera could catch. The media swarmed like vultures, headlines already sharpening their teeth, and he could feel it all closing in. The weight of expectations, the sting of failure, the noise.

But you were there.

You made it past the chaos, past the reporters and the static, and found him in the tunnel, tucked in a shadowed corner where no one else thought to look. He was hunched over, clutching his helmet with both hands like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart, jaw tight, eyes stormy with things he couldn’t say out loud. And you didn’t try to fix it. You didn’t offer words of encouragement or silver linings. You just said, quietly, gently, like it was the most natural thing in the world, “Hey, Joe,” and that’s when it hit him. That’s when everything stilled. Because in that moment, you didn’t see a loss. You didn’t see the missed throws or the scoreboard or the importance of a city’s hope crumbling on his shoulders. You saw him. Not the quarterback. Not the disappointment. Just Joe. Just the man you loved, and that quickly calmed the harrowing storm in his mind. Because being seen like that—without conditions, without judgment—was the most healing thing he’d ever known.

That night, after everything, the loss, the noise, the moment in the tunnel, you took him home. No words, just quiet understanding, the kind that lives in the spaces between heartbeats. In the dark, with the city still reeling outside, he clung to you like you were the only thing tethering him to the earth. His mouth found yours with a kind of desperation, like he needed to drink in something real, something warm, something that reminded him he was still human. All he could taste was that moment, the salt of your skin, the breathless ache between kisses, the way your hands steadied him. And all he could breathe was your life, your presence wrapped around him, your love poured into every touch, every whisper against his jaw. He didn’t need saving, just this. Just you. You let him fall apart in the safety of your arms, and then put him back together with nothing but your body and the way you loved him like he hadn’t just lost. Like he was still enough.

He repeats it like a vow in the dark, I don’t want the world to see me. Because they’ll never see this, what you two have built in the quiet. They’ll never understand how you make the shattered pieces of him feel soft again. They’d never understand how you make the broken feel beautiful, because that’s a skill only you could have mastered. How your love isn’t loud, but it’s everywhere. In the way you fold his shirts. In the way you tuck your cold feet under his thighs on the couch. In the way you kiss his shoulder instead of his mouth sometimes, just to let him know that you see him.

He doesn’t need them to. He just needs you.

He wants you to know who he is. Not the former champion, not the star quarterback, not the headline. Just Joe. The man who wears one sock inside out for good luck and spends hours reading a book about superluminal time travel. The one who listens to your voicemail on repeat when you’re away. The one who buries his face in your shoulder after a loss and whispers, don’t leave me. The one who memorizes your coffee order like it’s scripture and leaves sticky notes in your coat pocket just to say he loves you. The one who touches your back in passing just to make sure you’re real. The one who gets nervous before every game, no matter how many he’s played, and collects himself with the thought of your voice in his ear, saying, “You’ve got this,”.

To be Joe’s iris is to be his truth. His sanctuary. His reason. To be the only one who sees the chaos and chooses him anyway. Not despite it, but because of it. To be the one thing he never has to earn. To be the safest place he’s ever known. Absolutely.

To be Joe’s iris is to be the center of everything, the pulse beneath his skin, the calm in his chaos, the one thing his eyes always find in a room full of noise. It’s more than love; it’s gravity. It’s being the focus of every look, every breath, every whispered thought he’s too afraid to say aloud. You are the light he sees through, the clarity in a world that never stops spinning. When he looks at you, it’s not just with affection, it’s with reverence. Like you are the miracle that steadies him, the only truth he’s ever been sure of. And in that gaze, in that soft, unwavering focus, you know. You are cherished. You are chosen. You are his everything.

He doesn’t want the world to know. He just wants you to know who he is.

He just wants you to stay.

And maybe that’s the quiet miracle of it all. That you do stay. Even when he flinches at kindness, because he feels that he doesn't deserve it, hasn't earned it. Even when the weight of the world bends his shoulders and he forgets how to speak without clenching his jaw. You stay when he’s not the man they cheer for, when he’s just a boy with trembling hands and too much silence. You don’t ask him to be strong when he can’t be. You just hold him until the shaking stops. You press your forehead to his and whisper, you’re safe, they won't hurt you here. And he believes you. Because you’ve never given him a reason not to.

You never needed the spotlight to love him. Never needed the jersey or the wins. You loved the quiet in him, the part that gets overwhelmed in crowded rooms, the part that feels everything too deeply but still shows up anyway. The part that swallows his emotions in the heaviest moments, pretending he’s fine because that’s what leaders are supposed to do. And he would give you everything for that kind of love. He has, in his own way, even if the words never quite make it past his lips.

Because your love is the only thing that has ever made sense to him. Even when the plays don’t work. Even when the lights are too bright and the cameras are too close, and the pressure claws at his chest. Even when he loses faith in himself, when the silence of failure echoes louder than the cheers ever did—you never do. You believe in him with a kind of quiet certainty that grounds him. Because you don’t just see the quarterback. You don’t just love the man with the perfect spiral and the postgame interview smile. You love the version of him who overthinks every word he says to you, worried it won’t land right. The one who triple-checks the locks before bed because you once mentioned a bad dream in passing. The one who sits with you on the bathroom floor when you’re crying and says nothing at all—just holds your hand like it’s the most important job he’ll ever have.

And maybe it is.

Because that’s what it means to be his iris. To be the one who sees him, truly sees him, past all the noise and pressure and polish. The one who sees through the armor and into the fragile, tender places he hides even from himself. The one who knows his silences as deeply as his triumphs. Who recognizes the weight he carries on his shoulders, the responsibility he never complains about, but always feels. To love him not because of the world he moves through, but in spite of it. Because of the boy underneath all the expectations, the one who just wants to be good. For you.

That kind of love unbinds him. Softly. Steadily. Without condition.

Because you are the place his soul breathes. The stillness in the chaos. The arms he runs to, not because he’s tired, but because they feel like home. He could win every game, set every record, hold the entire stadium in the palm of his hand, and still—still—it wouldn’t come close to the feeling of coming home to you. To the quiet hum of your voice in the kitchen. To the way you wait for him at the door when it’s late. To the way you don’t ask him to be anything but his full, flawed, beautiful self.

Because the closest he’s ever been to heaven isn’t the football field. It’s you.

You, with your quiet heart and your relentless faith in him. You, who stays. You, who sees him. You, who loves him so wholly, so simply, so thoroughly, that he’d give it all up without hesitation, because he already knows what it feels like to have everything and still be missing the one thing that matters most.

That’s what it means to be his iris.

To be the one thing he’d give up everything for, no matter how much it means to him.

You always mean more.

[jadeazora]

It was originally just gonna be a Lysandre meme dump, but decided to do some other villains too.

Also, previously-unmentioned headcanon, but I think Archie could get along with Cyrus (tho Cyrus finds his scheme illogical), in the sense that Cyrus clearly needs help/therapy/some kinda positive influence, and Archie's got that big bro instinct.

[lorekeeper-backset]

"I'd rather not discuss the guy who banished me to an alternate dimension."

[running-with-kn1ves]

I just finished that movie 'Companion; and its got me thinking.

Maybe you bought one of those fancy shmancy new bots out of interest, taboo fascination, and just a touch of loneliness. They were having such a steal of a deal too, renting them out for half price! So you buy it, and 15 days after ordering, your new bot shows up at your door in a big old steel box. A few folks from the company help set it up, giving you the handbook and telling you to have fun.

The set up is fairly easy, you pick a random day at a coffee shop for your bots first 'memory' of meeting you, all faint blushes and stumbling over stupid jokes. Its eyes open, a faint jade color as a default and unnatural to any human, but agonizingly beautiful on its face.

"Hey, you."

Its voice is like silk, not a hint of stiff speech or rigid consonants like the movies portray robots to be. Its skin is so soft, so willing to let you play and mess with it to all of your delight.

Days, weeks go by, and your bot has become something... human, to you. It's hard to treat it like a possession, not when its voice is so lifelike and kind towards you, only wanting to please. And it so very much wants to please you. They aren't violent from what you've been told. There's no capacity to kill within them. And yet-- more than once have you found crushed bits of sleeping pills foaming at the top of your coffee, your keys mysteriously hidden in the deep corners behind shelves, under the couch. It wasn't violent, and it certainly wasn't stupid.

"I just want to make you happy, you're always upset when you go outside. Stay here with me, please?"

It's hard to resist such a sweet voice, dragging you back to bed and using that ever permanent grin to lure you in. It was starting to affect your friendships, your job, hell even your cable was going out because you couldn't afford to pay for anything other than your damn bot.

But it treated you so gently, it loved you so purely for a good while, until it didn't. It's love wasn't soft forever, there were times when it could get... jagged. you played with the millions of settings on your phone, desperate to make its agonized screams stop as you tried to leave the house, none of the sliders working, All you could do was command it to go to sleep. But you felt awful doing it, and you always knew you'd just end up coming back, waking it up again to the same suffering cries. It may not have been violent in nature, but it was violent in its love.

You didn't know what to do-- if you returned it now, you wouldn't get a cent of your payment back, and the idea of being alone sounded worse than being with a clingy machine. So... you kept it. Told it to go to sleep whenever you prepared to leave, and nursed its frantic emotions when you came back. You were getting the handle of things, slowly.

It seemed like maybe you had figured it out, that maybe you could live and appease the obsessive creature. But finding yourself tied against your own mattress, quicky shattered those dreams.

"No need to go into work today, I called in sick for you."

In the palm of its hand, your phone with every setting for the bot, every little nitpick detail from intelligence to lust, was in its grasp.

[raincandyart]

Watching through 3-5 again..

[ID: Colourful art of Dahlia Hawthorne looking at the viewer. She's drawn from the chest up with a blank expression, a butterfly covering the right side of her face. Her hair curls around the bottom and sides of the canvas, like waves. She wears a dress similar to the canon one, but with a different pattern and a lace choker. The mole under the right eye is a broken heart. Other butterflies float around her. The butterfly covering her eye is purple, with green magatamas on the upper wings, eyes on the bottom wings. The highest butterfly on the right is blue with pink flowers on the upper wing, another kind on the bottom. The butterfly below it is dark purple with lighter coloured eyes drawn on. The butterfly on the left side is a dark blue with a purple skull and droplet on the wing. The background is green, blue and red. /end ID]

[girllblogging777]

𝐼𝑅𝐼𝑆 — 𝑀𝐴𝑇𝑇𝐻𝐸𝑂 𝑅𝐼𝐷𝐷𝐿𝐸

↳ short mattheo riddle drabble based off the song “iris” by the goo goo dolls.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

and i’d give up forever to touch you

cause i know that you feel me somehow,

mattheo riddle never let himself feel anything other than hatred, until you came into his life. before you, he was just numb, nothing that pure rage and darkness. but with you, everything changed. he didn't need words or grand gestures, just being near you was enough to make him feel...something. it was like, for the first time, someone actually saw him. and the first time you touched him, when he let his guard down and let you in, something deep inside him shifted. you buried your face in his chest, and he froze, not knowing what to do. the only touch he’d ever known was violent and cruel, so he didn't know how to handle the soft, soothing way you held him. but once he gave in and wrapped his arms around you, he knew he’d give up everything for just one more second of this.

✩✩✩✩

you’re the closest to heaven that i’ll ever be

and i don’t wanna go home right now

everyone else saw mattheo as nothing but trouble, like he was born bad. darkness seemed to follow him everywhere, and he figured that was just how it was supposed to be. hell had probably been his destiny from the moment he was born. but then you came along. you, with your golden heart and warm soul, gave him a taste of something pure, something he knew he didn’t deserve. somehow, he had found his way into your life, into your heart, and for the first time ever, he understood what “home” meant. he never had a real home before, no place or person to run back to. but now, you were becoming that for him. his safe place, his shelter.

✩✩✩✩

and all i can taste is this moment

and all i can breathe is your life

and sooner or later it’s over

i just don’t wanna miss you tonight

mattheo wasn’t stupid. letting you in gave him hope, but deep down, he knew the truth. no matter how much he tried, he’d never be good enough for you. the connection you shared felt like a temporary dream, something that could disappear at any second. he promised himself he wouldn’t let anyone see him weak, but you made that impossible. the closer he got to you, the more he feared what would happen when it all fell apart. that’s just how he was, doubting everything, second-guessing every feeling. because he’d always been broken, and he couldn’t imagine anyone seeing past that. but with you, he wanted to try, even if it meant risking everything. because he found himself missing you everytime you weren’t around.

✩✩✩✩

and i don’t want the world to see me

cause i don’t think that they’d understand

when everything’s made to be broken

i just want you to know who i am

mattheo never cared about what the world thought of him. everyone saw him as ruined, a lost cause. they couldn’t understand the storm inside him, the pieces that never fit together quite right. he knew he was broken, and he had grown to accept that. but you saw through the cracks, past the sharp edges, and somehow, you still wanted to know him. he didn’t want to hide from you, didn’t want to pretend to be someone he wasn’t, but he didn’t understand why you stuck with him even after seeing his dark side. for the first time, he wanted to be seen. not as the person everyone else thought he was, but as the person he really was, deep down. he just wanted you to know him, the real him, the one who was scared, vulnerable, and maybe even a little bit hopeful. because in a world full of chaos and brokenness, you made him feel like he could be someone else, just for a moment.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

a/n : i thought about this after making the moodboard the other day, iris is literally the theme song of my life and i listen to it 24/7. anyways my requests are open, please like/comment/reblog and tell me if you wanna be tagged !!!

@iris-qt @tateshifts @myunperfektstorys @yikesitslush @sp7-mr @shiftingwithmars @redeemingvillains @helendeath @larmesdevanille @fluffycookies22 @reys-letters @mattheosdior @sylviaonyx @fbvreadingblog @moonlightreader649 @jolly4holly @elsie-bells @bellatrix-lestrange5 @icantkeepmyplantsalive @dexoq

[garez19]

yandere! best friend’s brother x reader.

notes/warnings: sibling abuse, reader and the oc are one year apart in age, english is not my first language, gender-neutral reader, male oc, no yandere tendecies in this part, not proofread, i absolutely have no idea how to use punctuation

wc: 1.3k

[part 1] [part 2]

you and iris had been friends since you were kids. iris was the person you’d shared all your secrets, everything about yourself. you didn’t need to tell her when something had made you upset, because she already knew it all. and, more importantly, she already knew the reason. you went to the same schools, your first part-time job experience was together, and you were most certainly the first person to listen to each other rambling when you had a crush. iris was your best friend, iris was your sister, and iris was everything you’d asked for from gods when you were in heaven. iris was your blessing.

but not his. iris was his curse. iris was her younger brother’s jinx. she was the biggest punishment, something the gods must’ve sent to test him.

and you had no idea. you always knew emil. yet his name was all you knew. you remembered how he never really spent time with you two. you remembered how he was never around whenever you were at their home, but you never cared. you never cared about anything unless it was iris.

and then you’d started to figure out their dynamic. and to put it simply, iris had everything, and her brother did not.

you didn’t care at first. it wasn’t like you saw him a lot anyway. and when you did, it was just iris being rude and simply telling him to get out. you did not care. you did not tell her to stop. you only wanted to continue playing your favorite game with iris.

you did not care, you told yourself. you weren’t going to interfere. you were not the one to engage in family matters, you repeated.

and you kept going on. you stopped looking at emil when iris shouted at him. you stopped trying to show an expression of sympathy—because let’s be honest, you would’ve put it to an end if you had cared enough. you knew it, and you were aware emil knew it too. you just didn’t care, he told himself. you reminded yourself to shut up when you were in elementary school.

you kept going on— until you couldn’t.

you weren't a naive child anymore, and iris most certainly wasn’t getting better. moreover, emil still didn’t seem to try to defend himself.

you kept going on. until you couldn’t. until you realized you shouldn’t have.

“you’re not a child anymore.” was all you said to her. she looked at you funny, and asked you what you meant.

“what i just said. you’re not a child anymore, neither is your brother.” you repeated. although you felt too guilty to let it go, you still hadn’t had the courage to speak your mind. and even worse, you saw her hit the roof the moment you mentioned her brother— her brother she kept cursing five minutes ago. you weren’t ready for this conversation, you realized. you really weren’t, so you tried to change the topic. you tried to let it go. you started to smile when you saw emil at school, and asked your gods to forgive you whenever you did. and once more, you reminded yourself to let it go. that was all you repeated in highschool.

***

emil didn’t like you at all, especially when you were acting all high and mighty. it seemed funny to say the least, considering you didn’t even have the courage to talk to his sister. emil didn’t like your halfhearted smiles. he didn’t like your cold-natured personality hidden underneath soft “good morning”s. you were his sister’s best friend, and fairly enough, you were just like her, if not worse. however, he was happy the two were going to graduate this year. he was happy he didn’t have to bear seeing his sister’s face in hallways, or hearing your detached greetings.

yet, emil still didn’t understand how his sister still had everything. even when she was the worst person he’d met. emil didn’t understand how she was still able to have a best friend, a lovely life and decent parents. he didn’t understand how she had it all. he didn’t understand how his parents never tried to guard him from this monster. and he didn’t care anymore.

but you did. no matter how hard you tried not to, you did care. years of overlooking the abuse left you feeling like a monster—and maybe, after all, you were. “you were not a naive child anymore” was what you’d told yourself, but the truth is, you’d never been a naive child.

you would graduate in two months. and you were not going to stay a monster.

***

“emil!” you called out. you’d told your best friend to not wait for you, and you knew she wouldn’t wait for her brother either. emil glanced at you from his shoulder. and then waited for you to catch up.

“you have some time?” you asked. he seemed puzzled.

“for what?”

“well, you know, for some conversation,” you, once again, showed your distant smile. god, how he hated it when you did that.

“sure.” he muttered, clearly uninterested. he didn’t care much about this whole thing, and to be fairly honest, it irritated him how you obviously tried to seek redemption. but since he had nothing better to do, watching you squeak and perform how much of a saint you are could be amusing.

you took him to iris’ favorite coffee shop, not knowing if he was aware of it or not. and you didn’t care either way. you were just so familiar with the place. you ordered iris’ favorite dessert, as well as her very special coffee. and you didn’t even realize as you did so.

“are you playing the part of her?” he grumbled.

“huh?” you asked absent-mindedly, rewriting the things you were gonna tell him in your mind.

“are you playing the part of iris?” he repeated. you looked at him dumbfounded. why was he even bringing her up? I mean, sure, that was all you two had in common, but well…

“well, I'm not trying to,” you said. you just—you were just too much like her. you took a sip from your coffee. you’re not a naive child anymore, you reminded yourself.

“I just really need to say that I truly apologize for not trying to stop iris.” you began. and here we go, he observed your nervous demeanor.

“I know you probably don’t understand why I’m suddenly saying this, but you definitely do not deserve this kind of behavior,” you took a deep breath as you were getting ready to add the most important part. “and I promise I’ll do my best to let her know this is unacceptable, no matter how petulant she gets.” you explained.

he seemed still. it was like none of the bad treatments from her had actually affected him in a serious way. you would’ve believed in that if you hadn’t known any better. yet you did know. unfortunately you, and I can’t stress this enough, fucking knew about it all.

“about time you realize you’re an angel.” he mocked. as mentioned, he personally didn’t have any issues with you— he just hated it when you tried to redeem yourself… by using his very own problems.

“I’m aware you’re mad at me, and maybe you even think it’s just some kind of a savior complex. and you know what, you have reason.” you said. he shrugged, yet still wondering where this was going. he nodded, signing you to continue.

“but you don’t deserve this. and I always knew you didn’t.” you concluded. and, even though he knew this was all for your own good, it still felt good. it still felt somehow nice. it still helped him ease

and what made all this even more satisfying was the fact that you were her friend. you were iris’ dearest friend, apologizing to emil, to the creature she despised the most. he smiled—it wasn’t a warm one, yet somehow genuine in its own way. you smiled back, and for the first time, it didn’t feel as distant as it used to be. although he didn’t like you any better, you qualified him for a great opportunity. you allowed him to take one very important thing from his dear sister.

you.

[wheatormeat]

playing with brushes with my friends iris n sholmes

[rottingraisins]

scp 166 bits. shes my favorite insect

[myscentarchive]

SANTAL 33 - Le Labo

Eau de Parfum - 1.5 ml (atomizer)

Notes- Sandalwood, Leather, Papyrus, Virginia Cedar, Cardamom, Violet, Iris, Amber

Gender: Unisex Imagine sitting in solitude on the rugged, wide plains of the American West, firelight on your face, indigo-blue night skies above. There is nothing around save for the soft, desert wind. You. Are. Free. From this defining vision was born SANTAL 33: a perfume that touches the vast and wild universality of this dream… that intoxicates… It combines a mix of cardamom and notes of iris and violet, which crackle in the formula. Added to this smoking wood alloy (Australian sandalwood, cedarwood) are some spicy, leathery, musky notes, giving this perfume its signature and addictive comforting scent.

Here is, in a few words, what SANTAL 33 is… An open fire… The soft drift of smoke… Where sensuality rises after the light has gone.

[irisintheafterglow]

I have this extremely detailed idea for a fic LOL where you’re childhood friends with the Miya twins and also play volleyball. You end up getting injured first year of high school and end up moving to karasuno and become manager. You have a falling out with atsumu cuz he’s angry at you for leaving but ur still friends with atsumu. You run into them again at nationals and call atsumu “Miya” while calling osamu by his name which pisses atsumu off. He ends up coming to ur hotel after the loss and there’s an angry confession. I love the way you write atsumu and would love to see this fully fleshed out!!!

hello my dearest anon i'm sorry it's taken literal MONTHS for me to get to this but i kept it in my drafts so i could come back to it and do it justice !!! the angry confession lowk turned into just a straight up hurt/comfort scene but i think it's more in atsumu fashion to just straight-up fold and forget being angry if the person he loves is sobbing hehe

the twins were people you didn't remember meeting, exactly; it was like a whack-a-mole game in an arcade where one pops up in front of you and before you can push that one away, another springs to life even closer to you. as one twin bounces over to invade your peaceful sandbox, the other twin would tackle him mercilessly and end up destroying your creation anyway. jealousy was an expression you observed in atsumu from an early age, especially when you were in school and seated with osamu as your desk partner. in spite of your efforts to avoid them and their ceaseless bickering, their presence eventually became endearing as you grew with them through elementary school and middle school.

it helped that you shared their love for volleyball, often referred to as "the terror triplets" whenever you played a co-ed game. in and off the court, you filled the gaps they didn't know they had, wordlessly hurling water over the side of the boat if they were sinking. atsumu was the chaos, osamu was the wrangler, and you were the one who used reason to pull your friends out of sticky situations. their parents liked to joke that you were the reincarnated third sibling that atsumu ate in the womb, and the three of you spread that rumor in 7th grade until you were taken to the principle's for unruly behavior. for better or for worse, you were the third facet of their invincible duo, adding a glow that helped the others shine even brighter.

so it felt like the walls were crashing down when you snapped your ankle during freshman year semifinals.

atsumu had heard you scream before, specifically when you were fed up with his shenanigans and saw no other option to make him listen. your voice would be at its peak volume for so long, it would go hoarse and it was like looking a dragon in the mouth. your rage gave him goosebumps, almost a thrill that ran down his spine; but, the moment you landed wrong after a miracle jump set made him nauseous.

osamu would've missed it if he'd tuned out for a second, since it was less than a scream than a cry. one moment, you were launching from the ground to send a spike to the other end of the net, and the next you were crumpled on the linoleum, your breathing concerningly ragged. he shoots atsumu a look and they wordlessly shove their way down the stairs and onto the court, past concerned onlookers and replacing your teammates under your arms as you're removed from the game. osamu has no time to protest--nor question--his twin's motives when atsumu takes matters into his own hands and sweeps your legs from under you, carrying you against his chest and murmuring quiet words of comfort into the top of your head.

your family moves to a prefecture in the countryside less than three months later, drained from the constant excitement of the city.

"he hasn't spoken a word to me since you guys got here," you mutter to osamu in a shaded corner of your backyard. "he tell you anything?"

"you know as well as i do that he doesn't tell me shit," osamu points out and you groan.

"tsumu keeping secrets from both of us," you lament. "just the development i needed before i never see you guys again."

"don't say that." your best friend's face was gravely serious, like the prospect of never seeing you again was ailing him too. "you'll visit, won't you?"

"i'll do my best. you know they don't like me going out anymore since my injury," you say, glancing at your parents bidding goodbye to their coworkers that attended the party. "i just wish he'd tell me what's wrong."

"i don't," osamu scoffs and you blink at him, dumbfounded. "honestly, i'm pretty sure i know what's wrong with him."

"but you won't ask because..."

"because he won't stop yapping about it if i open up the topic to conversation," he bluntly explains and you find yourself waiting for elaboration.

"what could possibly be on his mind that's affecting him so badly?" at that moment, before osamu could expose his brother's melodrama, you were called away by your parents and what atsumu was hiding, you never found out. two hours later, you were watching your best friends become smaller and smaller out of the car window.

---

when you first sign on to be a manager for karasuno's volleyball club, you truly don't think they'll make it to nationals. in fact, you hoped they wouldn't make it so you could continue to stay out late and could avoid thinking about the now-blonde twin who was suddenly ignoring your messages. your days were spent so long surrounded by the monster twins and their equally monstrous friends at inarizaki; it was bittersweetly refreshing to see such a rag-tag collection of rowdy individuals that, by some stroke of luck, could mesh together well enough to call themselves a team. so, when you're on the bus to nationals after defeating the strongest team in the prefecture, you're just as surprised and shocked as the rest of them to be in the city.

"didn't you spend your first year in tokyo?" kiyoko asks quietly, peering out the window over the rim of her glasses at the towering skyline.

"i did, but moved out here when my parents got tired of the city," you explain. "i haven't been back since."

"and you never visited?" her question isn't accusatory, just unsettlingly attentive as your fellow manager tended to be. your mind pushes forth the memory of your promise to osamu, and your simultaneous bridge burning with atsumu. whether you struck the match or he did, you couldn't tell.

"well, i-uh," you hesitate and she waits patiently for your reply, "i just never got around to it. strict parents and whatnot."

"i see. do you still have any friends here?" there's a clear image at the forefront of your psyche now, two shadows of twins you once knew standing between your new team and victory. "i know you played before your accident, so maybe we'll see some people you know." you can feel her words prodding you like a shepherd with a stick, herding you into sharing more about your past than you're comfortable admitting.

"yeah," you chuckle with blatant anxiety. the look on her face tells you she's reading straight through your white lies, but she doesn't push any further. "maybe we will."

as luck would have it, you run into the one team you did not want to interact with for as long as possible. after wanting to walk off the nerves of the following day's matches, you and a few of the more restless players decided to explore the area near the inn. you're barely two blocks away from the entrance doors when you spot two silhouettes burned into your memory from childhood, wrapped in bright red inarizaki track jackets.

"those guys look like a team we might play," you hear hinata mutter to kageyama, who puts no effort into hiding his distaste toward your former school. "i heard kita, the white-haired guy, is the captain, and he's like the conductor of an orchestra--"

"the twins he controls are brutal," daichi suddenly declares from next to you and you nearly jump out of your skin. the mob of red was slowly approaching your mob of black, going opposite directions on the same sidewalk and inevitably on track to collide. a true trainwreck, to say the least. "they move like a two-headed snake and are backed by the rest of the team, who have talent in their own right." step by step, your past and your present draw closer and you suddenly have the urge to hurl.

"i know that's your old team," kiyoko leans in and whispers so that only you can hear. you freeze. "if you wanna avoid them, i'll go back to the inn with you. sawamura has it from here." by the time you give her a grateful smile and open your mouth to reply, it's too late. the inarizaki and karasuno teams stop parallel to each other and you don't have time for hiding.

osamu spots you first.

"well if it isn't the pride of 'the terror triplets' returning to their hometown," he teases with an easy smile, stepping out from the group to greet you. you feel karasuno's gawking expressions follow you as you wrap your arms around osamu for the first time in a year, squeezing him like a sibling back from university.

"is it just me, or did your hair get greyer?" he shrugs one lazy shoulder and you turn your attention to your upperclassmen, who regard you with the same brotherly affection. "kita. ojiro. it's nice to see you again."

"nice to have you back," ojiro replies. "this is your new team?" you're abruptly made aware of your new players watching you in confusion and turn to them with a burning face. after explaining your history with inarizaki and reassuring them that you weren't going to abandon karasuno at nationals, they begrudgingly continue onward and let kiyoko and sugawara stay behind to keep an eye on you (and this alien new team you're associated with).

"he misses you. it's annoying," suna grumbles when you finally have the chance to catch up with him. you don't need to clarify that suna is referring to atsumu. in fact, you'd clocked him as soon as you spotted the team at the other end of the street; it was nearly impossible not to miss the sunshine-blonde hair sticking out from the middle. "but he's angry at you at the same time for abandoning us."

"i didn't abandon you guys," you protest. "my parents made me leave."

"and yet you never visted," suna counters blandly with his signature expressionless expression, but you can tell there was the slightest bit of hurt behind his words. "we miss hanging out with you. the miyas miss you. he misses you."

"you said that already," you frown. "if he misses me so bad, why's he made himself scarce all of a sudden?"

"he's hiding in the back, moping," he informs you. you peek around the towering shoulders of their tallest blockers and spot him, sinking into the stiff collar of his track jacket, eyes trained on whatever bullshit app on his phone. anything to avoid interacting with you. your heart pangs for a moment, but the pain is quickly forgotten when you remember how he'd ghosted you when you left.

you only speak to him once before you return to the karasuno players, when you're saying your goodbyes. he makes the mistake of reattaching himself to his twin's hip, a habit that he would never break.

"osamu," you nod at the gray-haired twin with a fond smile before your eye flick to the twin beside him. atsumu looks hauntingly good, coldly calculating and still with the dimple above the right side of his mouth. your smile falters, the light fizzling out from your eyes until nothing is left but a longing ache.

you say it without thinking, without knowing the ramifications that would arise in the following days. the single word spoken directly to atsumu's face enrages him more than when you left, when you tried to maintain contact, and when you ultimately stopped sending check-in messages. he misses you so badly, it feels like his chest is being torn open.

miya, you murmur curtly before turning on your heel and slipping through his fingers again.

---

"how did you know inarizaki was my old team?" you ask kiyoko when you return to the hotel the following evening, still riding the high of karasuno's lucky win over the foxes. you smiled with the crows and cheered them on as much as you could, but found yourself watching your former upperclassmen's disappointment sag in their bodies. you had to look away from kita as he finally broke down and ended up waiting for the rest of karasuno in the lobby, heartbroken witnessing your past (and what could have been your future) any further. "i mean, i appreciate you giving me an out when we first saw them. i really do. i'm just wondering how you knew."

"your water bottle," she answers simply. "i kept wondering where the fox sticker came from, and recognized it on their jackets when they walked closer." your mouth opens in a small ah of understanding, hugging a pillow close while your fellow manager finished getting ready for bed. "why'd you never visit? or tell karasuno about where you came from?"

"it was less painful to just move on," you admit, "or so i thought." burying your face in the pillow to hide your shame, you glance up and find kiyoko watching you sympathetically. "atsumu, the uh, blonde setter. i lost him when i moved." your voice cracks and your emotions threaten to spill over uncontrollably. by some miracle you maintain your composure but fall silent for a minute while you collect your thoughts. kiyoko waits again for you to continue, sitting across from you on the floor between your sleeping mats. "i stayed close with osamu because the only relationship i've ever had with him was platonic, but after my accident, and how 'tsumu took care of me..."

"you're in love with him," she finishes with a small sad smile. "but you've both chosen your sides and don't want to cross over. i saw it in your face every time we interacted with them." you nod weakly, pulling a blanket over your shoulders to further hide yourself. "what will you do if you never see him again?" you stare at her, heart sinking to your gut at the possibility. you peer at her through increasingly watery vision, tugging on a jacket and slipping on your shoes before you can even think.

you've barely stepped into the frigid winter air and swiped to osamu's contact on your phone when you collide with something firm and warm. you tilt your head up and feel like you're in a dream; somehow, you'd summoned him to karasuno's tiny inn with a few tears and lots of regret.

"what in the hell are you doing out so late--" oh. any lingering words of wrath, frustration, or heartache catch in atsumu's throat as you throw your arms around his neck, squeezing your eyes shut. he tenses for half a second, a deer-in-headlights brain malfunction, before snaking one arm around your waist and clutching the back of your head with his hand. you exhale a shaky sigh of relief when he returns your embrace which gives way to all the longing you'd bottled up for a year. when he makes to pull away, presumably to finally speak to you, you shake your head and hold him tighter.

"no," you plead, your soul bare for him to destroy. "don't make me leave." your last syllables devolve into a sob and you're choking for air against his chest. "please." he shushes you gently, carefully taking your face in one calloused hand and guiding you to look at him. his eyes are red and swollen from the day's loss, and tears run down in well-worn tracks across his cheeks. your thumb swipes them to the side as they fall and he doesn't try to pull away. one embrace and he's folding like a card table. maybe this was what he wanted all along.

"even after everything, i can't ever see you cry," he croaks. you can tell he's at war with himself, part of him wanting to cuss you out, scream at you for abandoning him, give you every angry piece of his mind that you avoided since your going-away party. yet, there's also the other half that compelled him to run to karasuno's accommodations in the first place just to see you; the part of him that ached for you and felt you closer than before, the part that said you needed him.

"i don't-i don't know what to do," you sniffle. "you hate me, and i--"

"i could never hate you," he promises adamantly. his anger forgotten, he just needs you to know that you're okay. "i hate that you left me...and that you called me my damn surname to my face...and that your new team won by sheer luck." you manage a watery laugh as he continues to commit every subtle movement of your face to memory (atsumu didn't know if he'd ever had the chance again). he offers a smile, something soft and endearing that he hopes you'll mirror. when you don't, he pulls you back into his chest and lets you ride out the rest of your breakdown. "i could never hate you. i love you too much."

"even when i'm ugly crying?" your voice is small and muffled, but it gets through to his freezing ears anyways. "and i manage a team that beat you?"

"i don't like when you do either, but i'll still love you anyways," he murmurs. "now let's get you out of the cold, i'm freezing my ass off and i was planning on confessing inside anyway."

---

even though you're the upperclassman manager after kiyoko graduates, ukai still lets you ditch a day of training camp to hop on a train to tokyo. the twins are waiting at the station when you step out, atsumu's inarizaki track jacket draped over his forearm. when he spots you as you round the corner, he meets you halfway and lifts you off your feet, spinning you around with a giddy grin on his face. before you can utter a word, he stops you and guides your arms into the sleeves of his jacket, forcing you to wear it before he listens to anything you say.

"hi, darling."

"hey, baby," he coos, taking your bag and slinging it over his swoon-worthy shoulder. "how was the train?"

"good. couldn't sit still, i was so excited," you reply, slipping your hand easily in his. "yo, miya," you say in greeting to the other twin. poor atsumu flinches slightly, still sore about you calling him by his surname during last year's nationals. his brother, however, is entirely unaffected.

"tsumu hasn't shut up about you for six days straight," osamu deadpans, but you catch the affection in his eyes when he reaches out to lightly punch your shoulder. "six days until they get here! five hours until they get here! two minutes until they get here!" you burst out laughing at osamu's impression of his brother, his voice an octave higher and mockingly sing-songy. "i'm glad you're here, but mostly i'm glad that now he can shut the hell up."

"i could never shut up about them," atsumu corrects, glancing at you with a lopsided grin. "i just love you too much."

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[every-natural-harmonia-gropius]

[coldslaws]

sometimes you need a yoink to bail you out of tricky situations. luckily drayden is always here for his dumbass family /lh

based off

bc i just wanted to draw more reactions to getting scruffed

[etherfall]

AU N and Iris!

I'll make an info post on her character later, but her and N are good friends! She is a little closer to N's age in this story. I think in this pic he is 14 while she is 12!