#🎐: pandora’s notes

[sourstars]

→ 8:47PM : kuroo tetsuro

When you’d first met Kuroo’s grandmother, you thought she’d hate you, but tonight as you stand in her kitchen while her grandson walks about his home, you help prepare the ingredients.

She’s chopping up the vegetables, knife slamming against the cutting board over and over with years of experience and when she pauses, putting it down against the wood, listening to it clatter, in the middle of your own meal prep, her eyes catch yours.

“I think before we even met I hated you,” she blurts out, and she turns, back against the kitchen counter, drying her hands against one of the rags, “And I hated the idea that you’d break his heart.”

“I could never do that,”

“Maybe,” her head tilts when she hears Kuroo’s laughter alongside his grandfather’s story telling, and a small smile takes over her face, loving and tired and nothing except honest, “But he’d always said you were a wild thing,”

“Did he?” your laugh is quiet and shy and you’re sure you can feel the skips in your heartbeat, but on a warm night like this, you can’t help but wonder, “What else did he say?”

“He said you were the first person to ever teach him how to breathe. He’s always been careless, that boy — falling head first into things he’s got no business jumping into like that, but it’s part of his charm. He loves and lives the same way he grows and fails.”

“Which way is that?”

“Truthfully.” And she pauses, only to once again pick up the knife and chop away at the vegetables, putting them into the pot with such care, and suddenly a lot of things make sense, “Which is why I’m happy you’re here, and full of as much love as he is,”

“He taught me that actually,” you mutter, putting the cover over the rice, “I didn’t let myself enjoy life until I met him, I thought I was fine all by myself, and then I actually grew with him... and realized I never wanted to be without him again. I still like my own company, but I like his, too.”

You’re sure she’ll do something — scoff at you, tell you you’re crazy, but when she does nothing but give a startled laugh, you watch as her eyes widen up with the biggest sense of joy you’ve ever seen.

And then it goes just as quick as it came; the wide grin melts into a smaller one but it’s just as lovely, and she doesn’t say anything else for the rest of the cooking, but it’s when you go to help out with the table that she stops you, fingers gentle as they tug on your wrist.

“Kuroo’s always had a knack for finding things — finding people like you. Love him with all you’ve got,”

“I will,” your lips pull into a soft smile, “I can’t help it, I don’t even have to try.”

Then sooner or later, the food is set across the table, appetizers and half eaten main courses strewn across the soft covering and it all smells delicious, filling your vision with endless possibilities of flavors as your stomach grumbles.

Kuroo is stuffing his face full of everything he can reach while his grandfather serves his wife, scooping up ladlefuls of soup but you notice she pays no mind, eyes too busy flickering from you to her grandson in a slow fashion.

“What’s wrong?” Kuroo asks, slurping his broth slowly, “Everything okay?”

“Yes, dear, I’m just... Let’s take a picture.”

“A picture?” you echo, “Right now?”

“Yes!” she urges, and shuffles out of her seat, tugging at her husband’s arm, nearly knocking over the plate in his hands, “Up, up! Where’s that camera?”

“It’s in our ro-”

“Get it, will you?”

Before you know it, you’re standing in front of the trio, fiddling with the settings on the camera screen before you begin to raise it to your face, only to be stopped, with Kuroo’s grandmother expectantly staring at you.

You blink, once, twice, “What?”

“We’re waiting for you, come along,”

“For me?” your eyes snap to Kuroo’s, discovering the sight of his excitement while time ticks on, eyes wide and a smile to put the sun to shame. He beckons you with a head nod, mouthing come on, and you’re rushing to set the timer, heart thumping as you scramble to find a good spot, nearly falling over when you feel hands pulling you to a body.

Kuroo’s grandmother is hugging you close, cheek squished up against hers and a second later the flash has gone off, leaving you dazed and shocked and elated, all at once.

So when the picture is printed and developed, there’s a feeling you can’t quite name that settles into your chest, curling into a corner of your memory’s pocket, and for a moment the world stops as all you do is look at the ink over and over.

In the photo, Kuroo stands off to the farthest left, a gleeful expression spread across his face while a hand reaches out past his grandfather, who’s frozen in laughter, towards you who’s being held tight to his grandmother, her eyes crinkled with affection while her hands pinch your cheeks and giving her best smile. Your mouth is dropped open, hands flailing out in surprise, but you can’t miss the look of happiness you’ve given, and when you stare at it like a whole, the picture feels complete, like nothing is out of place.

“Welcome,” you hear, and you look up to see the trio stand in a line before you, they grin wide, Kuroo’s hands outstretched toward you as they bounce on the balls of their feet excitedly, “To the family.”

You thought Kuroo’s grandmother would hate you, but turns out, she’s loved you like family long before you’ve met — and even after, as the photo ages in the frame on your bedroom wall and the time passes, and as your routine is now filled with weekend family dinners, you know everything you’ve ever needed, has, and will always find its way.

Because it’s hit you; Kuroo isn’t the only one good at finding things.

You are, too.

navi + masterlist

→ written to: sisyphus by andrew bird + venus by sleeping at last.

→ a.n: this isn’t proof read lol / i’ve been thinking about this scenario a lot and literally couldn’t function if i didn’t finish it. thank you to @/tetsuphobia for the wonderful kuroo knowledge that helped me figure out how to write this <3 / am i gonna disappear and play animal crossing all day now? yes

→ i.n: bc i’m a big dummy, i’ve accidentally lost all the data for my tag list form so if you wish to remain on or join it, fill out the form!

→ link for tag list here! please read the entire form, thank you!

→ t.l: @sprytesukii @jupitersmiles @simpfortetsu @crapimahuman @tejxswini @tesoromia @miyarins​ @http-worm @lmaowif3swapbinge​ @sunkeiji @neoheros @kenmaslov3r

reblogs are preferred!

[sourstars]

Akaashi’s hand takes up the space of your spine as you both lie in bed, his or yours, you don’t remember, too lost in the fingers inching across the surface of your skin with no particular direction — it’s as if you are a homing beacon and there is nowhere to go but here, here, here as his fingers relive the patterns of their route over and over.

He’s here, you note, even after a night like this, where strangers seldom are, when the flurry of too fast beating hearts and frenzied bodies has died down, and he’d still been kind.

You imagine him a lantern; strange, you know, but he’s the warm light on a cold winter’s edge, and you, the moth so destined to fall into the fire — he’s the inevitable, you realize, there is something so powerful about always knowing who your home is, even when you’ve just met.

“I don’t normally do this,” he tells you, his quiet voice echoing through the room, underneath the whispers of the breeze flicking through the curtains, “The picking up of beautiful strangers.”

“I’m lucky to be the first then,” your grin is hidden by the darkest night but you know he catches the way your hands plays upon his arm, fingers trailing upon each curve of his creation like he’s the only work of art you’ll ever get to touch.

(He is.)

“And probably the last. Tell me, how far do you believe in simple pleasures?”

“I believe in them greatly,” and it’s nothing but the truth, “It just depends on what you call simple.”

“I think, you, here, with me is simple. I think I want to kiss you again, and it’s the easiest thought I’ve ever had.”

“So why haven’t you?”

The question itself is easy, as fleeting as a butterfly on summer’s wing and yet his silence after makes you pause, “...So why haven’t you?”

“Do you believe in love at first sight?”

“Why?”

“Because I think meeting you proved to me it exists,” he jokes, and you catch the mirth in his tone, but it tells you he means it, so you smile and give him the answer, like the moth to the flame, and you take it upon yourself to kiss him again.

It’s soft and quick and warm and slow all at once and things don’t make any sense but fit right into place as his hand comes up to the back of your neck, not gripping, just remaining. It’s the anchor that keeps you grounded to his taste; the hint of pineapple from the last drink you’d shared, and for a moment all that fills your senses is bliss — twenty seconds of inescapable bliss that is Akaashi Keiji — a name which partly means success — and you think is fitting for one who is so good at what he does.

If this is what he calls it, then you are lost to the whims of your desire, “I think you could change my mind. And if not at first sight, maybe love at second, or third or fourth,”

He kisses you again, tender and sweet and long, longer than you think a stranger would, “I’d love to try.”

navi + masterlist

→ a.n: had a bit of inspiration out of nowhere!! for @sunkeiji <333

→ link to tag list here! please read the entire form!

→ t.l: @sprytesukii @jupitersmiles @simpfortetsu @lmaowif3swapbinge @tesoromia @chimielie (thought you’d like this LOL) @http-worm @tejxswini @kenmaslov3r @crapimahuman

reblogs are preferred!

[sourstars]

— inerrata : bakugou katsuki

It’s two weeks that turn into six months where you don’t talk to Bakugou Katsuki and that makes you realize how greatly you’ve become another face in the crowd.

The thought flickers in your brain like an unstable match while the train rattles, its wheels speeding along the tracks with the blazing sunset rushing in through the wide windows; the memories and wishes and moments swirl past — a symphony of metallic creaks and groans, fitting in the spaces the chatter of the passengers don’t take over and you sit there quietly, listening to it all.

You pretend you don’t see him shuffling in the corner of your eye, your ears perking up as his boots thud onto the train car floor once more. He’s readjusting his posture, arm stretched over the edge of his seat, and you don’t have to really look at him to know he’s got his headphones in with his eyes closed, pushing the entire world out of his view.

There is nothing but eons between you two, a constant ripple of time adding into the inches of where your seats are parted, but it feels as if it’s so much more, and for a moment it’s as if you and everything you carry upon your shoulders are resting on the balance. It’s a burden, you think, to have loved close and from a distance, and have watched as the distance came to be.

It’s strange, seeing him again months down the line, when you are no longer friends or lovers, both less and more than strangers, but he’s sitting mere feet away and it leaves you struggling to breathe, the pounds and pounds of ache and echoes of him leaving pressure on your heart — it’s strange, to see someone you know and try to act like you’ve never met.

(How sad it is; to fall in and out of something and pretend it was never anything at all. How sad it is, that in some ways, it’s grown to be so easy.)

He’s gotten even more handsome since the last time you’d spoken; he’s grown into himself, and you see it in every movement he makes. He’s calm, dressed in the type of t-shirts you’d heard him only speak about, but he looks good — he looks happy. There is no other way to describe him than having become a witness of someone growing into the destiny they were made for.

You remember the nights you’d lain awake, listening to him talk about how he wanted to be so many great things, and the hauntings of his laughter race through you; the time he’d chipped a tooth from rolling down the hills covered with dirt and grass, the time you’d burned a finger from foods you were too in love with not to touch (because how often does one not indulge in the flavors of youth), the first time you’d both fallen in love, the highs and lows of adolescence inescapable in the best way, and it hits you that things are different - you are different.

(But no matter what changes, it’s still six months later and you still miss him.)

The ride seems like it’s both taken too little and too long to get to where it needs to go — the rush of the crowd leaving you stumbling to walk out of the train doors, and by then you’ve already missed your stop, standing next to one of the metal poles, fingers curled into defeated fists.

“Not again,” you mutter, raising a hand to rub the bridge of your nose in exasperation. “I always miss it.”

It’s then you hear a click of the tongue, and when you look over, Bakugou is sitting in the seat right next to you, headphones tucked away as he raises a brow, his mouth twisting into a frown, “Still haven’t gotten rid of that shitty habit, huh?”

“You know it’s never on purpose,”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever… Here.” He digs into his pocket, pulling out a crumpled map, and when he passes it to you, fingers brushing yours in the afternoon warmth, your breath stutters, “Old habits die hard, don’t they, Katsuki?”

Calling him by his first name has never been an issue, but somehow, here, it’s a land of glass, a road of eggshells, and you’ve caught the way he sits straighter in his seat, arms crossed in front of his chest, and it reminds you how he’s always been this way; reserved, defensive. He’s always been the type to seem so far away, miles and miles from any indication of fondness and yet it’s in every I’ll take it from here and I’ll do it myself. It’s in every crinkled map he carries in his pocket.

(You remember, once, about how you made him do a quiz for love languages, among finding the answers for other things, and acts of service always seemed the right fit. Sometimes, everything else knows us better than we do.)

When the map is in your hand, a little torn and old, you take a breath, and the train slows to another stop. The people filter in and out of this one, a slow destination for a forgotten time, and it hits you then that there is peace in this; in making a mistake and it becoming a part of who you are, a lesson in which you live because forgetting it is unimaginable. There is peace, in heartache, as it becomes the reminder that you are still capable of loving, because isn’t that what love is? Loving until you break and taking those pieces and choosing to love again, and Bakugou has always taught you to do the things you are afraid of.

So you open your free hand, turning your palm to him and when he clasps it, hands warm and rough, you feel it. There are things that never die, things that will never fade — a routine of heartaches and heartbreaks that live with you, because you always miss your train stop, and Bakugou always carries a map no matter how many times you should know the walk by now, but you don’t, and he remembers, and it makes sense, because the mercies you give other people are what keep them moving.

“Goodbye, Katsuki. It was nice seeing you again,” Your heart is heavy, but you squeeze his hand once, twice, and then let it go. “Today is Wednesday, they’ll be selling your favorite at the bakery. I hope you get one,”

“Yeah,” he says, the corners of his mouth curling, “me too.”

You leave, stepping out of the train before the doors close, and the world moves on, a sea of people going on their way to wherever they’re going, with moments unfolding, and lives turning, and you’re here, opening the map as softly as you can, reading the street names and mouthing the words of the little notes he’s left for you in the margins.

Inerrata is a word that describes a mistake you wouldn’t take back even if you could, and it’s a word that burns itself into your core with every breath because no matter how it ended, no matter how you and Katsuki fell out of love, or grew apart and fell into something else, it is something that has graced you with the knowledge that life is wonderful, and it’s a word that tells you that even when it hurts, some things are just worth remembering. Some things are just worth bumping into, and seeing, and being fond of for the rest of your time.

(People deserve miracles, you think, in whatever shape they come.

For a moment, Katsuki, in all of his mysterious ways, was yours.)

→ written to: how to love you today by and are you okay? by winnetka bowling league.

→ a.n: i’m having so much trouble writing for meian, i don’t wanna disappoint anyone but i can’t get a good grip on his character :( thank you to @loveazumane and @sunkeiji for proofreading i love u both sm

→ i.n: this was written after i’d remembered about obscure sorrows, and after i’d had a split thought about running into someone you knew in public

→ i lost the data for my tag list form, if you wish to be on it, please fill out or redo the form.

→ t.l: @http-worm @crapimahuman @lmaowif3swapbinge @chimielie @sprytesukii @tejxswini @simpfortetsu @jupitersmiles @shinomiis

→ t.l.f: here.

reblogs are preferred!

[sourstars]

love? (they say it’s everything)

It’s been so long since he’s passed but every year you do the same routine; pay respects to the boy you knew once upon a time and hope that the pain will ease, but when you stumble across a stranger in the middle of your apartment, you begin to learn that maybe you aren't the only one forever grieving.

navi + masterlist

→ sources: one / two / three / four / five / six!

→ requested by: anonymous / "hi 😊 congrats on your milestone love ❤️ for the event, could I please request dabi + red roses? thank you 💕💕"

→ suggested listening: everybody dies & getting older by billie eilish

→ a.n: had a random burst of motivation so i speed wrote this during the whole night before i had to head to the hospital, hope you enjoy!! / ty to @laichi, @bleedinqhearts, @chimielie, and everyone else who listened to me ramble or beta for this!! i love ya'll mwah

→ word count: 1.9K

→ warnings: angst (??) and slight fluff, mentions of grief and emotional pain, depictions of injuries (non specific)

→ trope(s): strangers to almost lovers/friends (?), slice of life

tag list: @frogtanii @sincerelykore @simpfortetsu @http-worm @x-ia-n @miyarins @crapimahuman @tejxswini @10x12 @aiiwa please click this to join the tag list! (and fully read the form.)

You’ve always thought that love and loss were beastly things; creatures untamable in their quest to claim everything, but you’ve learned that perhaps just because things are yours for a moment, doesn’t mean one day they won’t be gone.

It started at the ripe age of nine — when the urge for world domination truly takes over — and your best friend was no stranger to the insatiability of youth and its temptations, but you suppose Touya has always been funny like that — always rushing to be first in the grand scheme of winners, and on the night your friendship turned sour, it sunk in.

You wouldn’t understand, he’d tell you, Losing is the worst thing in the world.

But I do, you’d argue, I’d know it in every nook and cranny.

But being nine is quite a jump from being twenty-two, so even as you walk the streets with leftover flowers from work, you’re silent as your heart locks itself away, every step a brick that builds the wall to keep out the rest of the world, because what lack of safety is worth enough to yearn, to banter, to barter for it?

The truth of it is a hard pill to swallow; whatever answer you give, you are wrong. So when your heart speaks the only half truth it knows, telling you keep distance, it will hurt less, it causes you to scurry from the gazes of the bystanders who walk by with their loved ones, ignoring how they prattle on about stories and pain like the easy secrets to life lie in between the syllables, because there’s just something about your sadness you can’t quite shake.

There’s something about the grief that digs and digs and digs — something about how it wants to take root; to make a home in any place you would be willing to allow it, but there is little resistance to muster as you clamber up to your apartment, cradling the flowers to your chest, the petals tickling your cheeks.

It’s quiet in your apartment, like it’s always been, but tonight it takes shape in the way you find your window open and a mess upon your apartment floor; medical supplies and things alike scattered across the wood, but it paled in comparison to the man you’d locked eyes with as he stood facing you, limbs frozen in the middle of attempting to wrap his arm in gauze, and time could’ve stretched on forever, but you’d never find anything as crazy as this.

So, like any sane person would, you say:

“Do...” you press your lips together for a moment, “Do you need help with that?”

(You find the way he tries to pretend he’s got it, using one hand and a leg to leverage the supplies, charming, but in favor of keeping the peace, you don’t tell him that.)

An hour later, you’d learned, after slight bickering and a couple of threats you were sure were empty handed, that he was named Dabi.

In truth, he wasn’t entirely bad company. Sure, he’d raided your fridge before you’d arrived and wouldn’t stop fidgeting and glancing around, but you were confident enough to say that he could be tolerable, if not downright enjoyable, but who were you to presume such things? Impaired judgment had always been your best friend, if not your partner in crime.

“You don’t have to be so gentle with me, you know,” he grumbles, rolling his eyes, “‘S not like ‘m gonna break.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell by all of the blood an—”

“Shut it.”

“Besides…” you continue, softly working on his shoulder with a warm rag, wiping away any trace of red off of his skin, “Everyone could use a little softness, there’s never enough of it.”

He says nothing then, electing to merely scoff and jut his chin away from you when you try to peel off a stray, misplaced bandaid, but when the glimmer of something in his eyes doesn’t escape you, you see it; he’s got a heart in there, and while he’s a criminal and you’re a stranger, it’s nice to have found it.

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like.” you wag your finger accusingly, “But stay away from my snacks.”

“Whatever.”

He stays three nights.

Each leaves a mark bigger than the one before but on the second, in between mouths full of lunch and drinks that chase away the summer heat, you tell him that his name, in another culture, in another language, means dearly loved. He laughs for the first time, hands holding the space over his heart with shirt-filled palms and when you ask why, curious to the wry way his lips curl, he tells you it’s the irony, I suppose.

(You leave it alone after that, but you catch the way he traces the words into everything he touches.)

On the third, when the city is asleep and there is no life upon the streets except you both on your creaky fire escape, he spills a truth.

“It was hard.”

Dabi, as far as you’ve come to know him, as never spoken quietly, he doesn’t quite seem the type, but the crease in his brow is unmistakable so you listen as best you can, watching as he wrings his hands over and over through the little loops of his jeans, “I left my family when I was a kid, barely old enough to know how to do anything but think I knew everything — because you know, kids are like that, but one day, I… left everything behind. And it was hard.”

(Somehow the strain in his voice, if not his recent company, reminds you that, despite all things, he’s still human, and you find there’s something touching about that. Even the strongest walls must have a soft spot, you suppose. How else do they let people in if not for the softness, if not from trust?

You take it as a sign to say something, anything at all.)

“Do you miss it?” you lean your head back as you talk, letting it rest against the bricks of the building as you bring your knees up, “Your old life? Do you ever miss the way some things were, or what they could’ve been?”

He sighs at this, but you hear his admission all the same. I used to, but I don’t, now.

“I get it,” you mumble. Your mouth falls into a soft frown, eyes low while you fiddle with the laces of your sneakers, twisting and twisting and twisting, “I didn’t lose as much, but I lost some—”

“It’s not the same. You wouldn’t understand,” he says, and when the frown on his lips tells you he truly believes that, you’re sure that’s, indeed, the saddest thing you’ve ever heard, “Losing is the worst thing in the world,”

But you respond, helpless to the memories retaking their place in your heart’s haunting, “But I do, because I know it in every nook and cranny.”

And when he looks at you for a moment, eyes trailing every angle and aspect of your face for far longer than you think you could ever have the time to count to, it clicks — he and you were the same, once; a pair of dirty shoes that have seen some of the world, and suddenly, the sadness in you has met its match; the boy who has never loved and the one who had loved too much.

(He looks familiar here, much like the boy you knew — both have the same look in their eye, the I wanted to change the world, but all I did was burn it down — but skeletons are skeletons for the sole purpose of staying in the closet so you tug that back for another day, torn between the ache and the relief at the fact that his ghost will never die.

Such is the way with grief; there is no better calling than to bring those who hear it into endlessness.)

“What do you think losing is? Or love — or even loss? What’s any of it?”

“Loss, I think, is still loss, in whatever manner it comes to be, but I think to love is to be on the verge of greatness. And to lose? Well, to if love is greatness, I think losing is the thing just shy of that,”

It takes a fraction of a second for the phrase but the millions of things you’ve done flash by in that time, and you force yourself to swallow, feeling the lump in your throat become the burden, and then you give a smile, full of cemented history and things could’ve been different, “I think loss is the love everyone is afraid to put down.”

He looks at you differently now, the twitch of his hand a dead giveaway — you’d like to believe you’ve become versed in all things Dabi, but you find there's something you want to hold onto after that, some type of signal that beckons you both with the call to rest.

(Because despite all of this trouble and suffering and madness, he is your friend or maybe more, but he matters to you and right now neither of you have the capacity to say it into the open air so hours later, you send him on his way, six pink and red and black roses in his hand for the mother he’d told you about, and a few more for the sister and brothers he’s complained of, but you know he loves them somewhere.

Somehow, something tells you he’ll be back again — no one ever truly leaves the place they change in, do they?)

You believe, even now, that you were meant to meet — in what form you aren’t too sure, but you knows this; the thing they don’t tell you about love is that it’s greedy, and like all things, despite each bite it gets, it starves just the same, so as you crawl back into your tiny little apartment, the rings of creaky metal reaching the street below, you can already picture the Dabi that traces the meaning of his name into his bandages, ghosts of where you hope your fingers have lain the foundation for healing, and you know he’s watching from the shadows, making sure you’re safe before he goes.

Maybe you didn't know him then and maybe you don't really know him now, but for a moment, you like to think you did — that you do, because what is grief if not the bridge between love meant for staying and love meant for going? What is love but flowers — but name meanings and strangers who bond over days and pain and exhaustion of the heart, pressing to find the answers the universe dares not to give?

(Love is everything. Everything, everything, everything.)

Dabi is a beacon for tightrope walkers; tied between carrying the ambition of change in his right hand but all of the memories of you and his history on his left — you know he’s found that things always feel so heavy when they are the things you come to love but grief is forever, you hope he realizes, but so are other things.

And as you count the minutes in which you think he’s walking across the city, you hope he begins to think love, in whatever form it shows up, might be one of them.

reblogs are appreciated!!

[sourstars]

12 WITH YAKU PLEASE

prompt list here!

a/n: think of movies where they get stuck on an island fjdjf also?? this was gonna have a different ending

prompt: kissing under a waterfall

suggestions/requests are also open!

“How long do you think we have?” You sigh, fingertips dipping into the waterfall in front of you, “I can hear Lev losing his shit already,”

“Maybe another ten minutes, but I bet if we’re quiet enough they’ll give up for a while,”

You hum, listening as Yaku jumps into the water, feeling the cool splash of droplets against your skin, and you grin as you turn, eyeing him from across the way when he comes to the surface, “I could tell him where we are, right now.”

“But you won’t,” He raises a brow, and for a moment you watch as his curls drip, sticking to his forehead through the summer heat, “I think you like that we’ve lost them. I think you like being alone with me,”

“Oh? And who said that?”

“I did.”

“Oh,” you nod slowly, taking your time to pretend to ponder as he gets even closer, now merely a breath away, “And here I thought you were just neglecting your duties because you liked spending time with me.”

“I do, but you must admit, having a moment to ourselves feels wonderful,” he chuckles, hands finding their way into yours, and he places your palms over his cheeks, thumbs caressing your wrists.

And all you do is smile, taking him in until your eyes settle on his lips, and before you know it, you’ve got your hands in his hair and the kiss is warm; inviting and soft and a welcome distraction from all things coming next, so you pull him closer, feeling his gentle hands in contrast to the cold waterfall above you and for a moment, it’s perfect — stranded on a mysterious island or not, for a tiny second, life is good.

But in truth, life will always be good whenever Yaku is around, because the way you see it, he’s got you wrapped around his finger, and he knows it, too.

So yes, maybe he’s right — maybe you do like being alone with him, maybe he does neglect his duties just a little, but with an opportunity like this, who could blame you?

reblogs are appreciated!

[sourstars]

DO NOT REBLOG. DO NOT SPAM LIKE.

all characters are written to be above or at the age of eighteen. reader is gender neutral unless otherwise stated.

navi / main masterlist

personal favorites — ☻

updated: 9/26/21, 7:03PM.

𝐀𝐎𝐁𝐀 𝐉𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐈

hanamaki takahiro

        the burden we carry.

→ trope(s): angst, elements of fluff, implied firefighter au, slice of life.

→ word count: 0.3K

→ summary: When tragedy strikes, your resident fire fighter sits with you, and together, you wait until morning.

…

oikawa tōru

         sneak peek i.

         eyeliner.

→ trope(s): fluff, budding romance.

→ word count: < 100 

→ summary: He lets you make him pretty. Well, prettier than he already is.

         when a star dies.

→ trope(s): angst, implied breakup.

→ word count: 0.2K

→ summary: You had hoped with all your heart, that your wish did not collapse. Or, in other words, that you did not break up.

…

iwaizumi hajime

         safety net.

→ trope(s): angst, implied cheating.

→ word count: 0.2K

→ summary: You are not anyone’s second option, no way.

        10:43PM.

⇣

𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐓𝐄𝐂𝐇

aone takanobu

         springtime heart.

→ trope(s): fluff, established relationship.

→ word count: 0.1K

→ summary: You are his other half, and he is the warmth to your cold, and he loves you so.

         to burst, to love.

→ trope(s): fluff, established relationship.

→ word count: 0.3K 

→ summary: Aone asks you a question, and you give him an answer.

⇣

𝐅𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐈

akaashi keiji

         wishes.

→ trope(s): fluff, established relationship.

→ word count: 100 

→ summary: He’s always on your mind.

…

bokuto kōtaro

         can you feel my heart?

 → trope(s): fluff, established relationship.

→ word count: 0.5K 

→ summary: You come home to Bokuto.

⇣

𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐊𝐈

aran ojiro

     ☻ so this is love.

…

miya atsumu

         blue frosting.

→ trope(s): fluff, platonic, slice of life, birthday themed.

→ word count: 0.3K

→ summary: So he ruined your cupcake, sue him.

       ☻ kiss theory.

→ trope(s): fluff, love at second sight, budding romance, slice of life.

→ word count: 0.3K

→ summary: You and Atsumu test something out.

        2:36AM.

⇣

𝐊𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐎

daichi sawamura

         nothing can change this love.

→ trope(s): fluff, established relationship.

→ word count: 0.2K

→ summary: Sometimes all you have to do is let the world slow down.

        ☻ boy born of ichor and blood.

→ trope(s): fluff, budding romance.

→ word count: 0.6K 

→ summary: You discover the secret to glory.

…

kageyama tobio

        saturn & mars.

→ trope(s): fluff, established relationship, slice of life.

→ word count: 0.4K

→ summary: You’ve always asked him about space, but when you tell Kageyama about a certain ring, he has a question of his own.

…

shimizu kiyoko

        red carnations.

→ trope(s): pining.

→ word count: 100

→ summary: Lesson one of the flower language.

…

sugawara koushi

        pink & blue & these made me think of you.

→ trope(s): fluff, budding romance.

→ word count: 0.2K

→ summary: You’ve always wondered what’s sweeter; the season of flowers, or him, but now you know the answer.

        ☻ fruit of the heart.

→ trope(s): fluff, strangers to lovers, budding romance.

→ word count: 0.5K

→ summary: What do you do when you’re trapped with a stranger for forty-eight hours? Fall in love, of course.

         ☻ cheers to you & i.

→ trope(s): best friends to almost lovers, angst/fluff, post rejection healing, slice of life.

→ word count: 1.4K

→ summary: Love has a funny way of working itself into one’s life, and in doing so, upheaving everything they’ve ever known — but you suppose it’s always had its reason. So, with that in mind, you learn to reroot yourself, and finally, say goodbye.

→ notes: post time-skip but no spoilers, slice of life

…

tanaka ryūnosuke

         you.

→ trope(s): fluff, established relationship.

→ word count: 0.1K

→ summary: He’s in love with you, but maybe next time he’ll tell you when you’re awake.

…

ukai keishin

         ☻ 2:17PM.

…

yachi hitoka

         turns.

→ trope(s): fluff, established relationship.

→ word count: 0.1K

→ summary: A life with Yachi has always been full of taking turns.

→ notes: implied nakedness (showering).

⇣

𝐍𝐄𝐊𝐎𝐌𝐀

kenma kozume

        the date with the cursed pants.

→ trope(s): fluff, humor, established relationship.

→ word count: 0.3K

→ summary: sometimes, dates don’t work out, but that’s okay, because you love each other anyway.

         dandelion powder.

→ trope(s): fluff, budding romance, summer love, slice of life.

→ word count: 0.6K

→ summary: it’s not everyday that kenma decides to go outside with you to soak in the sun, so you make sure to capture this moment to keep forever.

…

kuroo tetsuro

        main characters.

→ trope(s): fluff, best friends, platonic, slice of life.

→ word count: 0.1K

→ summary: kuroo needs to face the hard truth about how he looks.

     ☻ 8:47PM

yearning man; the cutest condition.

→ trope(s): emporarily immortal soulmates, implied strangers to lovers, love at first sight, slice of life, fluff.

→ word count: 1.6K.

→ summary: it has been a race to find you, and someone has moved the finish line.

...

yaku morisuke

         kissing under a waterfall.

⇣

𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐖𝐀

goshiki tsutomu

         test of courage.

→ trope(s): fluff, platonic, best friends, slice of life.

→ word count: 0.2K

→ summary: as goshiki’s best friend you must tell him the truth; he’s not brave by any means, but one day, he could be.

…

ushijima wakatoshi

         a study in perseverance.

→ trope(s): fluff, love at second sight, budding romance, slice of life.

→ word count: 0.9K

→ summary: ushijima is brilliant in his own right. after an immense failure, he reteaches you how to blossom and be your own type of brilliant, too.

[sourstars]

all characters will be placed at or above or at the age of eighteen unless they are already an adult. reader will be gender neutral unless stated otherwise.

→ personal favorites — ☻

→ updated: 10/25/21. 4:46PM.

DO NOT REBLOG.

𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒 𝟏-𝐀  

bakugou katsuki

inerrata

winter lily, he thinks of you.

→ trope(s): grief, loss.

→ word count: 0.7K

→ summary: as bakugou grows older, he always remembered you loved plants, one day, he finds your memory in the petals.

 love in the time of flower pots.

→ trope(s): fluff, florist au, budding romance, slice of life.

→ word count: 0.5K

→ summary: something about your grumpy co-worker just gets to you. it could be how he’s always looking out for you when you forgot about yourself, or how he’s always there when you need him, but whatever it is, it makes you wanna kiss him. funny enough, he beats you to it.

   …

kaminari denki

 love breather.

→ trope(s): heavy angst, hanahaki disease, unrequited feelings, character death.

→ word count: 1.2K

→ summary: denki leaves you a voicemail.

   …

kirishima ejirou

what love looks like.

→ trope(s): fluff, slice of life, aged up, tiny bits of angst, unrequited feelings, civilian au.

→ word count: 0.8K

→ summary: love can hurt, like all things sometimes do. but lucky for him, he's got great friends, and of course, they know the answers to everything.

   …

midoriya izuku

where are you? where are you? find me please, i can’t go back to sleep without you.

sero hanta

the cusp of you and i.

→ trope(s): fluff, pining, civilian au, childhood/best friends to lovers, budding romance.

→ word count: 0.9K

→ summary: Whatever happens from this day forward, you’ll still always have your best friend.

 paint me yellow

→ trope(s): fluff, established relationship, slight domesticity.

→ word count: 0.4K

→ summary: Sometimes you gotta get your hands dirty to realize life, and all that comes with it, are a little worth it. Luckily, with Sero, making a mess has never been a problem.

   …

tokoyami fumikage

a love-filled sky

→ trope(s): fluff, budding romance.

→ word count: 0.5K

→ summary: Tokoyami will always indulge in your curiosity.

   …

shinsou hitoshi

to walk into sunlight.

→ trope(s): slight angst, self doubt, fluff, established relationship.

→ word count: 0.8K

→ summary: Shinsou, like everyone else, doesn’t know everything, but as he’s next to you in the darkness of your shared bedroom, he finds he does know a few things, and that they’re the most important things of all.

   ⇣

𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒 𝟑-𝐀

amajiki tamaki

 past seekers, heart keepers

→ trope(s): angst, fluff, lovers to exes to lovers, right person + wrong time.

→ word count: 6.4K

→ summary: In rough times, he’s the water to your petals. He hopes you two can build from the wreckage, to bloom, and because you love him, trust in him, you do.

    ⇣

𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒 𝟑-𝐁

togata mirio

 little hero

→ trope(s): heavy angst, depictions of injuries and/or death, established relationship.

→ word count: 4.9K

→ summary: In which the universe sends a message, or in other words, three times Jenna lives her fears, and the one time she saw life after them.

→ notes: THIS IS AN OLD COMMISSION.

    ⇣

VILLIANS

todoroki touya/dabi

 ☻ love? (they say it’s everything)

 → trope(s): angst, fluff, grief/loss mention, strangers to lovers/friends.

→ word count: 1.9K

→ summary: It’s been so long since he’s passed but every year you do the same routine; pay respects to the boy you knew once upon a time and hope that the pain will ease, but when you stumble across a stranger in the middle of your apartment, you begin to learn that maybe you aren't the only one forever grieving. 

[sourstars]

am i spamming the dash? a little. am i gonna do it one more time? yes, bc i had coffee and i had to share what i think was a group of absolute banger lines bye