#i missed writing fluff

[jjk4isen]

super annoying gojo satoru when a girl comes up to you and asks you if he's your brother even after clearly seeing him grabbing your ass and saying super cheesy lines to you to make you only roll your eyes at him.

and you're stuck dumbfounded because it's not rocket science to figure out that you two are a thing just by looking at the both of you because the clingy bastard is quite literally stuck to you everywhere you go, whining and pleading for yet another kiss after stealing several from you.

and it's the same clinginess that prompts him to answer in your stead "yes actually. we're siblings" he beams a smile at you and you scowl, why the hell is he feeding onto this random girl's delusions like that? can't he take the hint?

you're not done scrutinising him when he grabs your chin with his big ass hands and smashes his lips onto yours, tugging and devouring your mouth into an extra sloppy kiss for the girl to take a hint.

he pulls away, a smirk on his lips as he licks his lips where yours had been a second ago. "is that obvious enough?" he chuckles, eyes never leaving yours as you see the girl storm off in the corner of your eye.

[mammonsrockstargf]

“Whatcha doing?”

“I’m hiding,”

...

“Can I join?”

It looks comical, the way Mammon tries to fit inside your closet as well. There’s barely room for him, but somehow he manages to squeeze his long limbs into the small space. Once he’s sat, he turns his head slightly to look at you.

“Who are we hiding from?”

His blue eyes practically light up the place, and you can feel the heat radiating from him. Tentatively you inch a little closer and he opens his legs so you can slot between them, your back against his chest. You lean into the embrace, letting him wrap his arms around you. You can feel the beating of his heart next to your ear.

“I don’t know,” you mutter. You watch the wall of the closet, eyes trailing the curves and patterns of the wood. “Everyone,” you say.

Mammon hums. He presses a gentle kiss to your hair. You grab a hand from your waist, deciding to play with his fingers instead. In difference from his usual white, they’re painted the colour of your eyes. Yours matches with a mix of blue and yellow. All stolen from Asmo of course.

(He let you steal them. Mammon was not very discreet. You had to make up for it with a spa day the next weekend.)

Slowly you interwine your fingers with Mammon’s, leaning back to rest your head on his chest and closing your eyes.

“Were ya hiding from me too?”

...

“No, I would never hide from you.”

[emmyrosee]

shhhhHHHHHUTUPIDONTWANTTOTALKABOUTIT

-

The first time you sleep over Katsuki’s, it’s not long after he’s moved into his apartment with the rest of his friends.

Which is bold, the only one who doesn’t flirt with you any chance they get is Mina -mainly because she has her own place- but she’s always telling Katsuki that the minute you get bored with him, she’s there to swoop in.

But his friends waste no time in making sure to rile Katsuki up with cheesy pickup lines that mean nothing to you, but everything to him. He hates the idea of having his friends hit on you, but you’d be lying if riling him up wasn’t exhilarating.

You smile as you hear bare feet pad along the tiling of the kitchen, a massive presence looming behind you; it’s warm, loving, and you feel yourself relaxing at the closeness.

“Morning,” he rasps, arms wrapping around your waist. You smile and curl against him, tipping your head back to look at him.

“You hungry?”

“You didn’t have to make us breakfast,” he murmurs, pressing a loving kiss to the curve of your neck.

You mewl and bend your arm to wrap around him, “I know, I just wanted to do something nice for my man and his friends for being such good company last night.”

He grumbles, “don’t ever refer to my roommates as ‘good.’ Bunch of fucking menaces and creeps.”

“They can’t be too bad,” you hum, turning off the stove. God knows how long you’ll both be drooling with affection. “After all, you let me meet them,” you coo. “And you’d never let your little baby be put in danger.”

“Fucking hate when you call yourself that,” he snaps, spidering his fingers up your side. You squeal and shrink to the side, only to be met with pokes on the other. “Katsuki!”

“Don’t be a little shit and I won’t have to torment you,” he snickers. You’re quick to flick off the stove with what little movement your arms can give you while protecting you from tickles, and you duck as fast as you can under his caging limbs to escape.

He must like the challenge, because he lets you go, only to barrel after you into the living room. A small coffee table separates you both, and you’re at a standstill as you watch each other.

“Katsuki!” You giggle, making a sudden dart to try and throw him off your trail. It doesn’t deter him, like he’s able to predict what you’re going to do before you do. “Y-You’re gonna wake everyone up!”

“I’m not gonna do a fuckin’ thing,” he snorts. “You’re the one screaming and whining.”

“Am not!”

“Are too.”

“Am not!”

“Are too.”

“Are not-“

“I think it’s bold of you to argue with me instead of sprinting away.” He shrugs, making a dash for you and wasting no time in grabbing you into his big arms. You writhe and laugh in his grip, desperate to not shriek and wake his poor roommates. Giggles bubble wildly over your lips, and he hauls you back into the kitchen before plopping you onto the countertop, distant from the stove. You instinctively move your hands to card his blonde hair, and he leans in to steal the last of your giggles from your lips.

“How much time we got before breakfast burns?” He mumbles, hands smoothing up your thighs. Crimson eyes glimmer with mischief, and he bumps your nose with his.

You chuckle and shake your head, legs wrapping around his thick waist, “it was burning before you came in; I turned off the stove so it wouldn’t burst into flames.”

He snorts, “good.” One of the hands resting on the meat of your thighs comes up to grip your chin, “now I don’t have to rush.”

“Ew,” you giggle, but it dies as quickly as you said it when he connects your kiss, working his lips against yours in this own way, full of passion and love with just enough tease to have you whimper.

The hand on your cheek shifts down to rest on your delicate throat, dangling like a necklace. A subtle act of dominance to make you shiver.

“I love you,” you murmur against his lips.

“I love you more-“

“Ewwwww!!!”

“Who knew he had a weakness?”

“Lookin’ good, Dynamight!”

Immediately, Katsuki’s shoulders hike up as the shrill voices from his friends ring through the air. You let out a string of laughter while the other boys you were visiting peer around the wall of the apartment, Sero with a face of disgust, Kirishima with a playful understanding and Kaminari with a cheesy bite of his lip.

“I’m going to KILL YOU IDIOTS!” He barks, abandoning you to dash over to the trio, mainly targeting Kaminari and Sero, who sprint away as fast as they can. Kirishima chuckles and makes his way over to you, helping you off the counter with a sigh.

“How’s he ever going to keep being Number One if you keep doing this to him?”

You snort and elbow his ribs while somewhere in the house, Katsuki caught Denki, and the screams ring loudly in the walls.

“Shut up and help me remake breakfast, dickhead.”

[teddybeartoji]

suguru geto is unbelievably captivating.

he catches your eye immediately – standing tall, he's got one hand on the subway pole to keep his balance. his hair is tucked into his hoodie with only a few strands left out to frame his face. you can only see his side profile but it's enough; a sharp, prominent jawline and a beautiful nose, thin eyebrows, a pierced lip and a pair of tired eyes. you feel bad for thinking it but the dark bags under them leave you no other option.

afternoon sun peeks from the windows behind him, successfully making the scene before you seem like a painting. the colors move; the shades of green flashing by as trees wave you goodbye, the different hues of the tired grays, of the big buildings taking up space as the base of the canvas. splashes of black and white and silver and beige are thrown into the mix, too. his slacks, his big headphones, his jewellery, his totebag. but what truly brings it all together, is his deep, dark maroon hoodie; there's a hint of purple in it aswell, and you just think it's one of the best colors you've ever seen. you figure the thought is a bit silly, but you can't get it out of your head.

something so comforting about it, something so warm and welcoming. something a little murky about it. you can't look away.

you forget about everybody else around you. for you, it's just him in this moment. a total stranger. you don't know him and you probably never will; a pang of hurt hits right under your ribs at the thought. you wonder what his name is, you wonder how his voice sounds. how warm his hands are, and what's his favourite color. no, he doesn't seem like the type to have a favourite color. childish. you'd have to ask about a favourite drink or a book perhaps instead. you're fine with that.

you can spot a few rings on his fingers, a silver watch and a bracelet or two peering from under his sleeve. his hands are pretty. they look good. you also think that you can see a tattoo sprouting from under the collar of his hoodie but the dark lines are blending in with the strands of his hair, so you can't be sure. you want to be sure.

your foot taps against the floor or the cart, your body itching to scoot a little closer to him. you want to see his whole face. you need to. fidgeting with your own fingers, you continue observing the man in front of you. he might step out every second now, you can't waste any more time.

his shoulder seem very broad, his posture almost immaculate. handsome – you think he looks very handsome. well put together. his clothes aren't wrinkled, there isn't a single hair or a speck of dust anywhere on them as far as you can see; the only things that betray his true state of being are his eyes.

purple. glued to the window in front of him, he watches... nothing. he seems a little out of it. he's not focused on the trees or the buildings, the people aside him. you think about what kind of music he might be listening to.

the subway doors open and you jolt, head turning around to look at the platform behind the glass. people stand and leave, and a few come in, leaving an open space for you to take on the bench you're currently sitting on. and you do take it.

there he is.

you can see his eyes a little better now. keen and sharp, he reminds you of a wolf. a malnourished one. the corners of his mouth are tilted down and he really does seem tired. but he's still utterly, utterly beautiful. his skin is almost perfect, his hair shiny and his lips a little glossy. but not too glossy though – no, he definitely uses something like shea butter. something that isn't too thick, something that doesn't smell or taste too strongly. it just seems right.

you've never been this captivated by a stranger before. it's weird. the effect this man has on you without ever even sparing you a glance. you think about asking for it. for a glance. for a second of his time. a fraction of it? anything. everything.

how would he greet you? would he be mad? would he think that you're bothering him? would he give you a smile? a scoff? an eyebrow raise? would he let you ask whatever your heart desires? or would he brush you off, never even removing his headphones when you try to speak to him? oh, it hurts. the blatantly fake heartbreak still hurts.

his trainers are clean - they're white with some accents on them. they match his hoodie. you wonder which he bought first. did he buy the other with the intent of wearing the two pieces together? you want to ask him. that's not his favourite color though, right? no, no – he wouldn't have one. this man reads books and watches movies that are mostly only shown at different festivals. you don't mind it.

films. foreign films. he knows names of the directors from the top of his head, he could probably name a few cinematographers, too. fancy. but that's not his main thing, definitely not. there's something missing, something you can't grasp with just your eyes. what is he passionate about? truly passionate. what does he pour his heart into? is that why he's exhausted? is he tired from loving something? is it starting to hurt now? is it overwhelming? does he want a break? does he want to rest? does he want to get away?

the sun finds your eye from behind his body, forcing you to tear your eyes from him. the cart stops again, the doors open. you try to rub out the slight burn, suddenly a bit frantical that you'll really lose him. you look up and—

he's not there.

he isn't there anymore.

people walk past you, plopping down beside you as you're still trying to find him. turning in your seat, you eye the station. maroon, maroon, maroon, maroon. c'mon, how fast does this man fucking walk?!

but he's just not there.

you think it's unbelievably unfair that it's the sun that made you lose him. isn't she supposed to be full of love? bullshit. with a huff, your shoulders slump and your eyes fall shut while sinking into the bench below you. the cart seems to rumble more now, the seat way more uncomfortable than it was a mere minute ago. you really are disappointed; in yourself and in the world. why didn't you get up? why didn't you speak to him? better to get a no than to drown in the million 'what if' questions in your head. stupid. you're stupid.

"hi."

as you listen to the voice recording of the station names, the very same ones you memorized years ago, you crack open your eyes. your own shoes stare back at you; they're dirtier than his were. you don't think too deeply about the comparison. sun dances on the ground before you, the various shapes entertaining your mind with the shadow play. but you don't stay for long; trailing up, you see the familiar paint and your heart skips a beat. white and maroon. black. maroon. silver.

purple.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

COME REST YOUR BONES NEXT TO ME ; SATORU GOJO, SUGURU GETO

synopsis; satoru shares the first snowfall of the year with the two people he loves most. 

word count; 4.6k

contents; satoru gojo/reader/suguru geto (poly relationship!!), gn!reader, you're all whipped, reader referred to as spouse, fluff fluff fluff!!, sickeningly domestic, just comfy vibes all around, mostly from satoru’s pov, suguru has a favorite (its you) (but also not really he just likes bullying toru <3), satoru gojo may or may not have unresolved mommy issues

a/n; happy satosugu holidays to those who celebrate <33 geto died today isnt that crazy. dont u think its fucked up how love figuratively and literally killed him. anyway! help urself to two very whipped husbands <33

”holy shit!”

the raspy tilt of satoru’s voice echoes throughout the bedroom, stirring you from your comfortable slumber. a soft groan spills from suguru’s lips, deep and husky, as he pulls you closer into his embrace — smoothing a warm palm down the back of your head. trying to soothe you back to sleep, muttering under his breath.

”satoru, it’s too early for this...”

”it’s snowing!” said man continues, unperturbed. unmistakably giddy. he’s standing by the window, hands pressed flush against the cold glass; entirely entranced by the sight in front of his cerulean eyes. 

your eyelids begin to flutter. a tiny tug of your subconscious, a pang of something excited flowing through your veins, an alert to your sleepy brain.

(snowing.)

with groggy movements, you wriggle out of suguru’s grasp — a displeased grumble leaves his throat, almost a whine — allowing you to scramble out of bed. ”really?” you chirp, rubbing the sleep from beneath your eyes. a raspy, meek little voice spilling into the air.

satoru grins, watching you move closer, watching as a tiny gasp pushes past your lips. watching as your droopy eyes widen — brightening, glittering, starlight and snowflakes painted on the interior of your iris. a breathtaking sight, he thinks. 

maybe even more breathtaking than the winter wonderland reflected in it; beyond the pure opaque frosting of the window’s glass, out into your backyard, buried beneath a thick layer of snow. soft and fluffy, covering the city, suguru’s long-frozen tulip garden, the bare branches of your apricot tree. every roof in sight. all of it dyed a pure white, glittering in the light of a morning sun yet to fully rise, tiny snowflakes descending down to earth. 

it’s beautiful. 

satoru loves winter. he always has, he thinks. it comes to him as a memory — blurred at the edges, gleaming even still, the first time he saw those snowflakes up close. someone held him in their arms, he recalls. a warmth long faded. 

all he can properly remember is that sight. one that knocked the breath from out his tiny lungs, all glitter and something almost other-worldly, something frightening in its majesty. like it broke through a rift in the stratosphere. 

the first snow of the year.

and he’s loved it ever since; the soft crunch of snow beneath his feet, an air heavy with the scent of cinnamon and candied apples, bouts of laughter to be heard from faraway apartments. red and green glimmers of artificial light, sweet frosting on the christmas cake he would always gobble up alone in his room. the cold wind, nipping at his bare fingers — a reminder of his capacity for ache.

there are lots of things to love. lots of memories to cherish. and every single year, he gets the chance to make more.

like this; the light in your eyes, the smile on your face, the excitement in how hurriedly you turn to meet his giddy gaze. a nostalgic kind of joy simmering in the space between you.

and before either of you know it, satoru’s pulling you towards the hallway, intent on dragging you outside to see it all up close. almost tripping over his agumon plush, lying unassumingly on the floor, kicked off the bed once again. 

(probably by satoru himself, though he’ll always insist it was suguru’s doing. overcome by his jealousy, surely, unable to stand the sight of his cute husband cuddling up to a plushie instead of him. satoru understands, he does — he feels the same when he sees you hug that 3’0 cat plushie of yours.

and, sure, maybe once or twice he’s been lucid enough to register the subconscious kick of his leg and agumon’s subsequent fall to the floor — but he’ll still blame suguru in the morning. if only to see the way said man rolls his eyes, clicks his tongue, maybe flicks his forehead if he’s really lucky.)

high on the spirit of christmas, spurred on by childlike elation and sleep-deprivation, you stumble towards the door. satoru pulls one of his jackets over your shoulders, delighting in the way your hands don’t fully reach through the sleeves. wrapping you up in a cozy scarf when suguru shouts at you both to dress warmly, barely awake and already tired of your antics.

and the moment you step through the door, satoru is engulfed by it. that mystical, mystical feeling. 

a little lonely, a little too satisfying to pass up. a cold breeze that nips at his fingertips, snowflakes that brush against his cheeks and stick to his white lashes. a warm hand in his, as you cling to his side, shuddering — but smiling, as you look up at the sky, putting a hand out just to feel the snowflakes melt against the skin of your palm.

he feels you let go of him, but doesn’t mention it. a little too mesmerized to tug you back. dipping his toes into the bittersweet nostalgia of it all, staring at the flurry of white all around you, the skeletal branches of your apricot tree. suguru’s poor tulips. humming a jolly tune, subconsciously. a little delighted.

— until something cold and wet hits the exposed skin of his neck.

satoru twitches, a chilling shudder trickling down his spine. the snowball just thrown at him begins to melt, droplets sticking to his nape, and he turns to you with a raise of his brow. a devilish grin on his lips, when he hears your muffled laughter, sees the crinkle of your eyes.

(you’re cute, he thinks. but you need to be humbled.)

”oh, so that’s how you wanna play?” he drawls, eyes gleaming with amusement. taking a step forward, reaching down to gather some snow in his palm. a wide grin on his glossy lips. ”fine by me.” 

he's fast, but you act quickly, running towards the apricot tree with laughter in your throat. feeling the pitter patter of your heartbeat resound in your ears, as the snowball misses its mark by just a hair — and you waste no time in making your own.

it’s a hard-fought duel. snowfall blocking your vision, nerves beginning to numb, red cheeks and runny noses as you chase each other with giddy breaths. unfortunately for you, satoru’s arms are unfairly long, fingers unfairly nimble, and his stamina never even seems to falter.

so before long, your energy begins to dwindle. chest heaving, hands too cold to form a proper snowball, while your husband seems like he hasn’t even broken a sweat. they just keep on coming, snowball after snowball colliding with the fabric of your jacket, and when one of them hits your collarbone you squeal — falling backwards, right into a fresh pile of snow.

satoru moves forward, a triumphant smirk on his handsome face. you’re out of breath, and your hands are red, and he’s fairly certain you’re gonna catch a cold. suguru’s going to scold him, but right now all he can think of is you. the frown you’re wearing, the little huff that slips from your lips.

”ready to admit defeat, sweetheart?” he practically purrs, standing above you with his hands on his hips. smug. and you grin right back.

”never.”

a hum. something glimmers in his eyes, a devious little glint, and you come to regret your decision when satoru gathers a heap of snow with his overgrown arms; only to drop it all on top of you. too tired to fight back, all you can do is shield your face, silently accepting your fate.

a shiver wracks through your body, and satoru almost feels bad. just a tiny bit. but then you finally relent, murmuring bitterly under your breath. ”fine, fine…” a soft pout forms on your lips. ”you win.”

and satoru smiles. crouching down to meet you at eye level, on his knees in front of you. there’s a teasing mirth in his eyes, when he reaches out to cup the fat of your cheek. ”that’s all i wanted to hear, sweet pea,” he drawls, trying not to giggle when you exaggeratedly roll your eyes.

his voice curls down an octave when he continues, leaning forward to brush his nose against yours. hot breath against your chilled skin. ”now, for my prize…”

his lips meet yours, sweet and chaste — a little cheeky. you scoff into the kiss, but satoru’s smile only grows. honeyed, a little bit adoring. his tongue flits out to lick at your cold bottom lip.

he lingers, for a bit. like he’s trying to savour the way you taste, faded strawberry chapstick sticking to his lips, smudged against your own. and you sigh, softly, melting a little, comforted by the fleeting warmth that blossoms on your face. 

when he's finally satisfied, having dragged his prize out to its completion, satoru helps you up. brushing snowflakes off your jacket, cradling your ice-cold hands in his. they’re not faring much better, but a worried tug of his heartstrings compels him to warm you up. bringing them to his lips, hot breath fanning over your skin, tender little kisses against the knots of your knuckles.

you can’t help but blush, and a raspy chuckle flows from out his lips. 

hazy morning sunshine licks at the branches of the apricot tree behind you, illuminating the contours of your face, the shine of his eyes. a blue smudge on a canvas painted white and gray. the air smells of pine cones and something smokey, crisp. it courses through his burning lungs when he inhales, exhales, a breath of vapour that scatters up into the sky.

satoru loves winter. always has. but now, he’s certain he loves it even more.

because now, he has two people to share it with. two people to drag out into the snow, two people whose hands he can tenderly warm up, two people who’ll laugh and sigh at his antics and still indulge him. two people to pelt with snowballs. 

what more could a man want?

”hey, idiots!” 

the voice that echoes throughout the air is exasperated, a little teasing. yet fond. suguru’s got his hair tied into a messy half done bun, black turtleneck sweater enunciating his broad chest and the curve of his waist. there’s a fatigue in his eyes, the creases of his face, but a lazy smile is playing at his lips.

”i’m making breakfast,” he shouts, voice deep and smokey and soft even still. ”come in and warm up before you catch a cold.”

”is that any way to speak to your husband and spouse?” satoru chimes back, a melodic lilt to his sugarsweet voice. something satisfied. pleased.

suguru shoots him an unimpressed look, but his eyes soften. melting a little, at the words that spill from satoru’s lips, as if they were always meant to be there. 

(husband. spouse. suguru wills himself not to smile.)

with matching grins on your faces, the two of you stumble back towards the door. snow crunching beneath your feet, a happy noise pushing past your lips when you collide with the warmth of your husband’s chest.

”look, suguru. isn’t it pretty?” you chirp, smiling brightly. an expression he mirrors — brushing some snow from the top of your head, warm palms caressing your cold skin, setting a mental reminder to scold satoru later. sparing a brief glance at the snowy veil over reality.

then he exhales. a fond hum. ”it is.”

satoru joins you both by the door, stretching out his lanky limbs. tousled hair, wet strands sticking to his skin, reddened cheeks and a signature pout. ”suguru, my hands are cold,” he whines. ”warm ’em up for me?”

a click of his tongue. ”should’ve put some gloves on, satoru.”

a hum buzzes in your throat, and you put your hands out. itchy, a little dry. a sad frown tugs at your lips when you speak. ”my hands are also cold.”

and, like clockwork, suguru’s eyes soften. a coo tiptoeing on his tongue, engulfing your hands in his larger ones. ”aw, c’mere, my love…” his breath fans over your frozen fingertips. ”let’s get you warmed up, hm?”

satoru gasps, a hand on his chest, and you stifle a giggle. he’s acting, you both know, being a little drama queen. he knows you’re just exaggerating suguru’s double standard as a bit, that your husband would probably set himself on fire to warm either of you up.

despite that, his voice comes out thoroughly offended. ”oh, i see how it is,” he huffs, walking past the both of you. pouting deeply. ”you hate me. you hate me, and you want me to die. i understand.”

”satoru,” you coo. he hmphs, but stills, waiting for you to wrap your arms around him. and you do — a little too eager to appease your giant baby of a husband.

”we’re just joking around,” you assure him, holding back a humorous chuckle. squeezing his waist with palpable fondness. ”love you sooo much. you know that.”

satoru stays silent. but he cranes his neck, to meet suguru’s gaze, standing just behind him. narrowing his cobalt eyes — a meaningful look.

suguru sighs.

”yes, yes. we love you oh so much.” he takes a step forward, ruffling the white head of hair by the door. a lazy smile on his lips. ”now behave and go change out of your pyjamas. they’re soaked.”

his voice is teasing. exasperated, more than a little condescending. but it’s suguru, so satoru accepts it — following you both into the warmth of your home. the scent of cinnamon and vanilla hangs heavy in the air, a hint of espresso and firewood, lulling him into a sweet state of tranquility. rich with comfort, safety.

he changes out of his wet clothes, pulling a black hoodie over his head before waltzing into the kitchen. and you do the same, emerging from your bedroom in one of suguru’s cozy sweaters, knitted and smelling of bergamot. 

when suguru notices, his gaze shifts into something fond. palpable. a look satoru always finds in the scope of those warm eyes, amber and cedar bleeding into something sweet, only ever directed at the two of you. a look said man assumes goes unnoticed. he’s not as slick as he thinks.

the kitchen simmers with hazy sunlight and gentle movements, something sleepy and kind. satoru is a little bit enamored with it; from bowls of cat food by the corner, to camellias by the windowsill, cookie jars and dried lemon slices, the fading scent of baked goods and wishlists stuck to the fridge.

(yours and satoru’s are filled with scribbles, new ideas popping up daily, while suguru’s is almost entirely blank; mostly necessities, one or two things he’d like for himself.

and then, of course, the same thing he writes at the top of his wishlist every year; some peace and quiet.)

suguru shuffles around the kitchen, long strands of black hair cascading down his back, swaying with his movements. he sends you both an affectionate glance when you step in, already in the process of making satoru his cup of hot chocolate — topped with marshmallows and whipped cream, colorful sprinkles in the shape of tiny stars, a touch of cinnamon. satoru licks his lips.

when it's finished, the cup is promptly handed to him, paired with a tender kiss to his forehead. and suguru starts the meticulous brewing of your coffee, steady hands, finely chosen coffee beans, the low purring of the espresso machine. soothing.

that’s when you attach yourself to his back. wrapping your arms around his waist, a sleepy yawn muffled into the fabric of his turtleneck. he places a big palm on your hand, thumb smoothing over your knuckle, and you nuzzle into him silently. suguru smiles.

”still sleepy, baby?” he questions, a coo on the tip of his tongue. his voice is soft, palpably so, buzzing with warmth and safety and something that makes you want to stay cuddled up to him forever.

satoru senses an opportunity to insert himself into the conversation, and forces out a yawn of his own. stretching his limbs like a big cat, blinking drowsily, eyelashes fluttering. hoping it’ll come off as endearing. ”mhm.” 

but suguru shoots him an unimpressed look. ”not you,” he tuts, patting your arm, ”this baby. i wasn’t asking you.”

a pout. ”why are you so mean to me?” he whines, shooting you a doe-eyed look. bottom lip jutting out slightly, a feigned glassiness to his eyes. ”sweetie, tell your husband to stop being so mean to me.”

you smile. indulgent, as always. ”don't be so mean to him, suguru. you know he’s sensitive.”

a sigh. deep, tinged with exhaustion. satoru shares an amused look with you — stifling a shared chuckle at suguru’s exasperation.

and suddenly, he feels something warm flutter in his ribcage. a sunkissed butterfly, wings brushing against his ribs, coaxing his lips into curling up. unmistakable fondness, almost too much to bear. the need to reach out and touch you creeps up on him, a hunger he can’t deny, but he holds back; you look comfy like that, curled up against suguru’s spine. so he only inches closer, without a word. 

his husband casts him a glance, but satoru stays silent. lips pursed, waiting for something. patient.

and suguru relents. he reaches a hand out, to tuck a stray strand of white hair behind his ear — an excuse to touch him. a silent apology. 

(i'm sorry, you big baby.)

satoru grins.

you shift from foot to foot, leaning over to see what suguru is doing, pressing buttons and taking two ceramic cups out from a wall cabinet. your eyes zero in on a particular shelf, narrowing in suspicion, before flitting over to meet your husband’s gaze.

”satoru, did you use up all my peppermint sweeteners again?”

he stiffens. just a tad, before swallowing a gulp — followed by a silly chuckle, sheepish and performative, eager to wiggle his way out of your cold gaze. ”… which sweeteners do you mean, honey?”

”don’t pull the ’honey’ card.”

”and don’t play dumb, either.”

a pout crosses his lips. betrayed. ”suguru, who’s side are you even on?”

said man gives him a look. that one look, characteristically suguru, the same one he always sends satoru’s way. one so thoroughly unimpressed it makes him feel like the world’s biggest clown. 

and satoru plays along. your dutiful, beloved clown, his posture wilting like a sad flower. suguru exhales through his nose.

”don’t steal their sweeteners.” he smooths a thumb over your knuckle, absentminded, meeting the cold metal of the ring on your finger. smiling a little at the sensation. ”buy your own.”

satoru huffs, drawn out and childish. crossing his arms, leaning against the kitchen counter. ”ah, i see how it is. leaving your sweet husband to buy his own sweeteners?” he clicks his tongue. ”chivalry is dead.”

you bite back a little chuckle — satoru recognizes the cute noise you make when you do — and suguru rolls his eyes. fondly, always. ”remind me next time i go to the store and i’ll consider it.”

”hmph.”

suguru is smiling. it’s small, but genuine, worth a thousand words. and you are, too, the vague crinkle of your eyes giving you away. even as you bury your face in the curve of suguru’s back.

and ah, satoru thinks. there it is again. 

that sickeningly sweet sense of deja vu; the sensation of a certain something flourishing deep inside his chest. warming him up, trickling through his frost-bitten veins. that one little itch he never manages to satisfy, that never goes away, something that took root inside his heart years ago — watered by the sweet looks on your faces.

this everyday slice of heaven, right in front of him, that he’s been greedily partaking in ever since he moved in with you. since he married you.

(married.)

sometimes he still can’t believe it. 

”it’ll be done in a minute,” suguru hums, and satoru blinks. broken out of his syrupy stupor. ”you two go wait by the kotatsu, okay? must be cold, poor babies.” 

and, as always, his voice is a little teasing. a tiny bit condescending, if you really strain your ears, in typical suguru fashion. but it’s laced with a touch of sweetness; one that would be too much for either of you to stomach, if it were to drip out of his lips with nothing to water it down. so satoru accepts it. welcomes it, even.

and you follow his suggestion. making your way towards the living room, satoru trailing behind you, continuously enamored by every little thing he sees. every little piece of the home you’ve built for yourselves.

your living room is cozy. several potted plants seated here and there, a thick quilt to cover the kotatsu, a bowl of satsumas on top of it. a sleepy cat on your couch, golden sunshine ruffling her fur. a santa hat lies beside her, and satoru snags it without much thought. pulling it over his head.

his gaze shifts to the christmas tree over in the corner, eyes filling with a childlike kind of wonder. it’s decorated to completion, weighed down by colourful ornaments and lights, a star at the very top. suguru cut it himself, bringing the biggest and prettiest one he could find back home.

(satoru had gone with him. partially to help carry it back, mostly to get a glimpse of suguru's biceps flexing with the swing of the axe. he’s a simple man.)

and beneath it, presents are already beginning to pile up. carefully wrapped, in bows and silken paper, growing more each day. shattering suguru’s hopes of maybe having a more lowkey christmas this year — but satoru couldn’t be more relieved. this is the only time of year you let him get away with pampering you both to his heart’s content.

a smile blooms on his lips. he plops down on the floor, crossing his legs, right as suguru walks in with a coffee pot in hand. their gazes overlapping.

and something mischievous begins to brew within the blue of his eyes, something that makes suguru narrow his own. satoru pats his thigh, twice, a coo on the tip of his tongue. santa hat sitting pointedly on top of his head, fluffing up his hair.

”c’mere, suguru! sit on santa’s lap.”

”— you’re disgusting.”

the words are playful, but a pout still slips into the curve of satoru’s lips, and he huffs out a displeased little breath. his husband pretends not to hear it, so satoru turns to you — sitting so prettily to his right, already anticipating his next move. puppy dog eyes on full display, he gives you a soft tilt of his head, snowy tufts of hair falling over his eyes.

and you sigh, in what he knows is resignation. his faux pout turning into a satisfied grin.

you curl up in satoru’s lap without much of a fuss, letting him circle his arms around you. an indulgent smile rests on your lips, but he knows you love this; his broad chest against your back, the heat of the kotatsu warming your feet. breathing in the fading scent of your shampoo, he leaves a peck on the sensitive spot right behind your ear, and you try not to shudder.

then satoru smiles. squeezing you, lightly, sweetly, eyes rich with honeyed affection. voice dripping with playful endearment. ”there we go,” he coos. ”what does my angel want for christmas, hm?” 

”i want you to stop stealing my peppermint sweeteners,” comes your answer. instantaneous.

silence fills the room. a moment passes. outside your frosted windows, a bird takes flight from the branches of your apricot tree. and satoru clicks his tongue.

”… santa can only do so much, baby.”

two deep scoffs fill the air, heavy and bemused. one from you, one from suguru. satoru only giggles.

”just kidding!” he chirps, planting a kiss on the top of your head. ”don’t you worry. santa’ll give you all the peppermint sweeteners you could ever want.” 

you raise a brow, exhaling amusedly. craning your head to meet his gaze. ”and he won’t end up using them all himself?”

”of course not! blasphemy.” 

a moment passes.

”… maybe one or two. as a treat.”

a string of protests slips from your lips, and satoru tries not to burst into a fit of giggles. suguru just watches, silently, smiling lightly as he pours hot coffee into two ceramic cups. steam wafting up to the ceiling, a cat jumping down from the couch to curl up in his lap. he places one in front of you, not taking a single sip of his own until he hears you hum blissfully at the taste — pink lips against white ceramic. a bitter taste on his tongue, sweetened by your approval.

then he starts peeling three satsumas, absentmindedly, and satoru swallows down the love-ridden honey choking up the back of his throat. pretending the domesticity of such a simple action doesn’t melt his heart down to the marrow. 

he turns his attention towards the window. frost sticking to the glass like spider-woven webs, soon to be melted by the glow of the mellow winter sunrays. flitting in through the curtains, cascading over the room, splattering across the floorboards. framing the hue of your hair, the smile on suguru’s lips.

and a memory comes to him. sudden, hazy, faded at the edges. ghosting his subconscious.

he remembers the frost, the biting wind, the frightening majesty of the snow that fell that day. breaking into his world through a rift in the stratosphere. he remembers the contrasting warmth of the person who held him, who cradled him close; the soft lull of a woman’s voice. 

for a moment, satoru thinks he can almost, almost see it before him. hear those gentle words, see her tired smile. why was she always so tired?

(look, satoru. isn’t it pretty?)

— he can’t recall how it sounded. if it was melodic and soft, or raspy and broken, happy or sad. but he does recall that it made him feel safe. safe enough to find comfort in a sight so other-worldly, so very foreign.

it should’ve been frightening, but it wasn’t. the first snowfall satoru ever saw knocked the breath from out his lungs, stole his heart with cold hands, left him with a suffocating nostalgia. but the memory is precious.

and now, he feels that sense of other-worldliness in this; a kotatsu for three, a warm house, peeled satsumas and promises of a christmas cake soon to be baked. one lovely spouse in his lap, the other gazing at him with that fond look he always assumes goes unnoticed. a cocoon of safety — a ghost he doesn’t need to chase anymore.

warmth. enough warmth to make up for the snow and frost outside your home, all the experiences he missed out on as a child. warmth, warmth, warmth. funny, how that happens to be satoru’s favorite thing about winter. 

he looks at the two of you, hoping you won’t pay any mind to his silence. for once, he hopes you’ll stay wrapped up in your awful, awful coffee, so bitter that just looking at it makes his throat feel dry. just so he can get away with admiring you for a little longer. from the contours of suguru’s face, to the skin of your collarbone, to the rings on your fingers. ones he put there himself. 

and ah, satoru thinks, there it is again. again and again, as always, forever. that warm, warm feeling flourishing in the depths of his chest. 

he hopes it never goes away.

[zephyrchama]

Asmodeus being overly expectant that MC is going to propose to him any day now for no reason.

It’s a quiet evening and the two are lazing around on the bed in Asmodeus’s room. New skin mask pouches have been opened and applied. New issues of each of the Devildom’s most popular fashion magazines lay scattered around.

MC rolls over until they bump into Asmodeus’ thigh and raise their magazine. “Hey, Asmo. What do you think of--” ”Yes.” There is no hesitation. “Yes, I think we should.”

Asmodeus throws down the magazine he was looking at to lean over and pepper MC’s face with kisses. “Let’s get engaged, right now!”

“Oh, okay, cool. I was just wondering what you thought of this top.”

“Oh... It’s kind of tacky. You’re not wearing that to our wedding, right?”

----

It’s dinnertime and, as usual, everyone is gathered around the large dining room table. MC is across the table and several seats down from Asmodeus, with most of his brothers seated between them.

MC’s plate is almost empty. They give the table a once-over look before deciding on a course of action that requires interrupting the current conversation.

“Pardon me, Asmo, will you-”

Asmodeus squeals and kicks his feet. “Yes! A thousand times, yes! Of course I’ll marry you!”

“Wait, no that’s not what--”

“What!?” Mammon shouts, much to the chagrin of Lucifer next to him.

“In your dreams, maybe,” Belphegor quips.

Leviathan looks like he’s about to start crying.

Satan and Beelzebub, sane enough to not jump to conclusions, seem to piece together the situation. Together they work to pass MC a plate of dinner rolls that had been in front of Asmodeus.

“This what you wanted?” Satan asks.

“Yes, I was just asking for these,” MC sighs. Bread will serve nicely to sop up the remaining sauce on their plate. “Thanks.”

Asmodeus responds, “we can serve them at the reception, I think that’s fine.”

Mammon tells him to “get yer head out of the clouds, Asmo, nobody’s marrying you.”

Their mutual glares practically send sparks across the table.

“Pass them back this way,” Beelzebub requests, wanting three more for himself.

----

It’s the middle of the school day. MC pops their head into a classroom. This time they've mentally prepared.

“Asmo, do you wanna-”

"Yes? Yes! I’ll marry you.” As predicted, Asmodeus runs over and winds his arms around MC’s waist. He presses his forehead against theirs and leans them back into a dip. Several students clap. “Proposing to me at school? How brazen.”

“Well, maybe this time I’ll actually think about it, but you have to take me out for lunch first. Deal?”

Asmodeus looks somewhat stunned. He parts his lips and thinks over the proposition while staring into MC’s eyes, searching for any hint of a lie.

“Wait… Really?” He pulls MC back up and takes them by the wrist. “What are you waiting for? Let’s go!”

[kyoghurts]

LOVER ACTS. mashle headcanon 𞥙୧

˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ being your lover and being in love comes with a habit, sprung from the ground and grows like a flower. MASHLE VARIOUS CHARS have a habit of . . .

ᥫ᭡ MASH BURNEDEAD

. . . resting his chin on your palm at any chance he sees. this guy is so tenderly and quietly affectionate especially in the physical aspect. you might say he’s a bit of a touch starved. he won’t say it, though if you ask him he won’t lie to you either. so whenever you’re both alone and doing insignificant things, you offer your hand for him to plant a small kiss and he’ll just keep his lips on your palm, or rest his chin, looking into your eyes with intensity that tells you so much. you need not ask the gods if he’s meant for you or you’re meant for him. he only has eyes for you, only you.

ᥫ᭡ LANCE CROWN.

. . . playing with your hair. or simply making it a routine to tend to your hair: comb, trim (if it gets too long), braid, and if he’s in the mood to dive more intimate: he’ll wash your hair. he’s like your personal hairdresser, he might as well be, with how good he is at taking care of them. when outside or at class, he’ll absentmindedly brush a few strands off your face or slightly ruffle them. but sometimes it gets annoying for you, and when you try to pry off his hands you’ll have yourself blessed by the airy chuckle you hear from lance. mind you, getting this kind of reaction from your boyfriend occurs once in a blue moon, so, you’ll say nothing. instead, you’ll savor every breath of it and how his hands can be so good to you (and your hair.)

ᥫ᭡ FINN AMES

. . . sending small trinkets. handmade letters, doodles from only half spending his attention to his lecturers, paper cranes, stickers, you know it. you’re pretty sure your room is going to be full with his little stuffs, and he’s not going to hide the sheer happiness he feels whenever he visits you. he’ll ask you where you put them or if he sees it displayed out in the open, he’s going to get all misty about it. and he would want to create more for you for this purpose: to show the contents of his love for you.

ᥫ᭡ DOT BARRETT.

. . . singing you crappy & cheesy love songs. oh i know this man is going to be super annoying and loud but but but— you can tolerate it. why? this guy can sing like he’s destined to step on the stage. it can also be the sole reason why you fell for him, he’s not afraid to express himself. not to you or anyone, whether you’re out in public or private, he will sing to you all the love songs he knows. and from the way you playfully shut him up with light jabs (or if you’re feeling confident in yourself, a quick kiss to his lips), it will be the key that gives way to your feelings. and well, its okay, you’re not afraid to express yourself, either.

ᥫ᭡ LEMON IRVINE

. . . recommending songs & films. even better, you both could listen/watch to it! she’ll be over the moon, painted by glistening stars of happiness, bonus points if you tell her in a novel detailed way on your thoughts after, does it remind you of something? a memory? a feeling? how and why so? you could ramble until the sun comes shining, she’ll never get tired of it, never of you.

ᥫ᭡ RAYNE AMES.

. . . spoiling/treating you with gifts. he’ll come home and there’s not an ounce of surprise written off your face as you see literal shopping bags and what’s funny is that he won’t look at you in the eye, he’s just going to shove it to you and walk away. you could go shopping together and, granted that he is perceptive, he will buy anything that catches your eye for a minute longer. never say no. you will regret it. he’s going to sulk, he’s going to ignore you until you apologize. (in the form of taking and accepting his gifts so yeah, he still wins in the end.) also uh, he also has a habit of nuzzling his head on the crook of your neck hehe :3

ᥫ᭡ ABYSS RAZOR.

. . . gazing at your eyes and complimenting them. i’m pretty sure he’ll also slip a few flowery words on every part of your face, but i will emphasize on the eyes. they’re so captivating to him, they tell a story about a kind soul such as yours, and it reminds him how he’s so loved and seen. and when you tell him he’s the reason the sparkle in your eyes exist? how it softens whenever it connects with his? the world will never know the feeling that abyss has in his heart, and it’s immense—but never heavy, its full, its floating, its beautiful. you’re beautiful, inside and out.

ᥫ᭡ ABEL WALKER.

. . . taking you to a romantic and fancy dinner on a very well-known restaurant with candle lits and everything because he is the absolute elegant of a man and he will treat you the way you deserve to be treated. like the goddamn queen/king that you are. like the goddamn your highness that you are. and when he takes you home, let the moonlight grace your face but let him kiss your lips like the world is about to end. i cannot imagine him acting otherwise. take this hc or leave it.

notes. pops in randomly hi :3 pops out and become inactive for the next few days

© kyoghurts. ★ reblogs & likes are well appreciated!

[inklore]

can we bring back fun fics? ya know when they weren’t taken too seriously, where we were simply writing them to feel that ooshy gooshy feeling and laugh and feel. nowadays i feel like all that matters is how intense the smut is, and trust i love smut. i am its number one fan. but i feel like its become a means to popularity, only writing it because it’s following a status quo of readers who only care about fics when it includes filth. like its not wrong to want the filth. we all love the filth. but please bring back the silly little plots. give me one bed, give me unrealistic fake dating, give me a wild crossover with fandoms that shouldn’t work together but do, give me something crazy like aliens invading or dinosaurs! like all of those things can lead to tooth rotting fluff or shaky knees smut. just bring back the feels! the silliness! the reasons why we all stay up until all hours of the night devouring these works of art!!

[lqfiles]

✰ dating na jaemin.

you become his responsibility.

jaemin loves to take care of those he adores, so getting into a relationship with him means that he would do anything for you, literally. you could randomly throw in how you ran out of a perfume you liked and wake up the next morning to a package of the exact same brand, a small note from jaemin attached to it saying he “coincidentally saw it”. he is the type to pull out your chair for you before you could even get near it, and wouldn’t think twice about sacrificing his seat for you if there were none left. he would never let you open the door yourself, instead rushing ahead and pulling it open so you can get in first. the type to tug you closer to prevent anyone from bumping into you. jaemin loves to shower you with acts of service to show you how much he appreciates you.

long phone calls are a MUST.

whenever he has the opportunity to, jaemin doesn’t think twice before dialing your number and calling you. his schedule could be booked and busy, yet he would find a gap somewhere in between it where he could quickly call you, just to tell you he misses you. he anticipates these phone calls, perhaps they’re the highlight of his day. he can’t go a day without at least one call, even if it’s short. they could be the most useless calls, the ones where you just ramble about how you saw some pretty scenery on your way back home, and jaemin would listen to you with a small smile present on his face. the calls could last for hours as he refuses to hang up yet, begging you to stay on the line just for a few more minutes. jaemin enjoys hearing your voice, which is why he always makes sure to call you before he goes to sleep, putting your voice on speaker while he slowly dozes off.

endearingly jealous jaemin.

you would barely be able to tell that jaemin is feeling jealous, it’s almost too unnoticeable. jaemin tries to not get jealous because he doesn’t want to come off as a typical ‘possessive’ and ‘insecure’ boyfriend. still, you’re able to pick up on the force in his smile and his short tense responses. jaemin would reassure you that he is alright, because admitting to being jealous is much more embarrassing to him. it would take a lot of pestering to get him to admit to being jealous, especially if the jealousy formed over something really small such as your friends interacting with you. he’d have a sheepish smile on his face as he tells you that perhaps he felt a bit jealous seeing you get complimented by your other friends, sulking about how he should be the only one who can tell you you’re beautiful. jaemin tends to get jealous over harmless things, but it only reassures you how much he truly likes you (preferably all to himself)

how he asked you out.

it would take jaemin quite a while to admit to himself that he likes you. it’s simply because jaemin is picky with his ideal types and wants to take his time to discover whether the person he plans on pursuing truly fits him like he wants them to. once jaemin assures himself that you’re the one, he’d dwell on how to ask you out. a part of him would want to make it something big, a moment neither of you will forget, and another side of him wants to be casual about it, instead keeping it simple yet sweet. jaemin would opt to go with the fancier route and ask you out to dinner with him. he’d pay for all your meals, compliment you the whole night, and hold your hand while the two of you are walking outside. he’d tug you to the side where it’s just the two of you before admitting his feelings to you in a heartfelt confession. he’d tell you that there is no rush, and how you don’t need to accept it if you don’t reciprocate his feelings (even if that would crush his heart). no worries though, because you’re more than willing to reciprocate those feelings of his and officially becomes his significant other.

kisses.

kissing jaemin would be the epitome of romance. the tingling sensation that travels through your body as he’d place his hand on your jaw, tilting your head to look him right in the eye makes you grow weak. he’d lean in slowly, searching your face for any discomfort and hoping to see the green lights in your eyes. “is this okay?” he’d whisper under his breath, yet you can hear him perfectly. jaemin would wait for you to respond back with words, waiting for consent. and as you give it to him, he slowly craves in and place his lips on yours. the kiss is soft and slow, and you can feel the love emitting into the air. it almost feels like fireworks are exploding in the air as your lips move in synch. kissing jaemin feels like time slows down and it’s just the two of you. you’re not sure how long your lips have been attached for, and you don’t really care either.

[andersonfilms]

i just feel like abby falls super hard.. and its always on wood floors because she ALWAYS has socks on. like it makes a super loud WHAM sound outside your room, as if she were trying to walk in, but the door was still closed.

and you’re trying to laugh, bc u know she’s probably still laying on the floor where she fell.

no bc this is so abby i might cry! girl is fleating down the stairs with her socks on, so quickly, feet carrying her too swiftly for her own good before she’s slamming into the door slightly. her strong frame slamming into the door, alerting you from your slouched stance in your shared bed. there’s another intruding thump! seemingly worrying you even further.

“abs?” you’re met with silence. “everything alright?” you almost jump out of bed, when she’s silent. carefully, the bedroom door opens as she shuts it behind her again. she’s blushing crimson as she goes to wash up in the bathroom. she comes out showered, golden strands a shade darker, a new oversized graphic shirt paired with her favorite boxers, socks disposed.

abby slides into bed with you, wrapping you up in safe arms, softly kissing your bare shoulders. she nestles into the crook of your neck, hot breath tickling your ear as she litters more kisses along the exposed skin.

“my clumsy angel, did you slip again?” abby grumbles, a murmur, but it’s incoherent. “hm? what was that?” she can’t see it, but she can feel your smirk even if she was a mile away.

“i have no idea what you’re referring to.” she shuts her pools of blue, hoping it’s the last of it.

“i told you to stop wearing your socks in the house, you slip.” abby huffs, pulling you closer to her if it was even possible. a light giggle falls from her lips, reminding you of sunshine and fresh lilies.

when the sun kisses your skin on the first day of spring. rid of the cold and welcoming the warmth, it’s her. all you feel is her. it seems like there’s been none before and will never be anyone after. this is all there can be. the love she’s shown you bottled in the depth of your soul, meant to be indulged on a rainy day.

“baby—” abby chides “shut up. it was, um, intentional.” she bites playfully, nipping your ear playfully.

“uh huh, sure, angel.”

[katsu2ji]

(a few of) my bakugou headcannons!

a/n: this is me coping with the ending of the manga </3 KATSUKI I MISS YOU 😞😞

i think he would much prefer softer music (off the top of my head: keshi, soft radiohead perhaps??, cigarettes after sex, etc.) as opposed to the loud music i often see him paired with—kind of a mix of whatever he likes but mainly lots of soft/chill rnb!!

++ i believe he would be a kendrick fan tbh!!!

i also think he would listen to music A LOT especially when overwhelmed

speaking of which, he gets overwhelmed super easily in social settings—he tends to go quiet when it comes to a group of people, conversing better when one on one (HE JUST LIKE ME FR!!!)

he’s the guy on campus wearing those apple airpod max headphones 24/7; his are black ofc!!

dude is the DRYEST texter ever. he makes you look like you’re begging for your ex back or smth it’s so bad (😭😭)

unless you’re a handful of very specific people, don’t expect a text back for at least a day or two…or whenever he feels like it.

he doesn't carry a bag sometimes and somehow manages to stuff everything in his pockets…his pants sag BAD...

takes his skincare super super seriously and does it every single night without fail. it is a non negotiable for him.

in general he cares about his appearance a lot; not in a self centered or an insecure way, it's just super important to him. if he knows he looks good, then he feels good, which directly impacts his performance in practice/battle—naturally, he has to make sure he's the best looking one there.

he’s a jjk fan!!!

he is the BIGGEST musical hater on the planet QUICK EVERYONE ACT SURPRISED!!!!

he’s SO MEAN when he's hungry like. to the point where you can tell when he's getting there because he just starts going OFF (more than usual, ofc).

he takes his coffee super sweet. he tried to be one of those black coffee guys, but now he just resents them because he can’t stand the taste LMAO also the sugar boost helps his quirk!! that’s the excuse he uses anyway…

aquaphor’s most loyal customer!!! he has at least one on him at all times, even when fighting

he’s super sensitive to smells and you can tell when he’s smelled something he doesn’t like because it’s immediately written all over his face—i’d also say that due to his quirk, he has a fear of constantly smelling bad because of his sweat

katsu2ji © 2024. please don't copy, modify, or do anything of the sort with my work! i work very hard and you simply do not have my permission.

[astraystayyh]

han x reader. domestic morning where they also remember snippets of their (enemies) past. they’re very cute and i might write a full fic for their backstory.. stay tuned (also one suggestive joke)

if you wish to request a drabble as well, you can donate to our gaza fundraiser here! there are many writers participating as well hehe <3

10:02 a.m.

“wake up,” you whisper, your nose nuzzling against the slate of han’s neck. his eyes remain closed, but a delicate smile unfurls across his lips. you pretend not to notice.

“come on,” you murmur, your lips brushing his exposed collarbone, your hand slipping around his waist. “i miss you, hannie.”

his arms suddenly envelop you, drawing you into an impossibly tight embrace. “sorry baby, hannie is asleep.”

“is that so?” you giggle, resting your cheek against his bare chest. your face warms as you sense his heart racing unusually fast for a tranquil saturday morning.

“what’s this?” you pout, your fingers grazing the skin that shields the world's most precious organ. “do i still fluster you this much?”

“i literally have the sun in my arms, leave me be,” he grumbles, pulling the covers over you both.

you chuckle, pinching his side gently. “but wasn’t i your volcano?” you ask, referencing the song han wrote about you, for you, to you.

“yaaah,” he drawls out, a gleam of excitement shining in his eyes. “do you remember how we were before i confessed?”

“we hated each other,” you both giggle at the memory, months that now feel like a lifetime ago washing over you. it’s a sweet remembrance, akin to the last ripples of a wave caressing the shore.

“you were the most gorgeous producer I’d ever seen,” he sighs exaggeratedly, “and the most infuriating too.”

“it’s not my fault my genius was too much for you,” you tease, and he leaps away, waving a hand in the air in true han fashion.

“it wasn’t too much, we just had different artistic visions,” his voice grows increasingly high-pitched, “AND you were too prideful to collaborate.”

you shrug nonchalantly, “because you seemed too full of yourself.”

“and yesterday you were too full of m—“ your hand swiftly covers his mouth as raucous giggles erupt from him.

“you’re an actual idiot. i can’t believe I’m dating you now,” you say as his lips meet your forehead tenderly, his hands weaving through your hair as if crafting silent confessions of love.

“how could you resist the world’s best love song, hm?”

memories of listening to han’s Volcano in the rain flood your being. you recall the shiver that overtook your bones, the realization that dawned suddenly upon you, just like a striking bolt— you had never known the line between love and hate was this thin until, you too, experienced it.

“you know, it’s crazy how romantic the lyrics are, yet you never say 'i love you' once in them.”

“but you knew.”

“but i know.”

the smiles that bloom across your faces are serene, peaceful, like the calm that follows a storm, painting the world in hues of stillness.

“hi, baby,” he whispers, and you giggle, cupping his cheek with your palm. “hi, hannie.”

“i’m so happy we moved past the screaming matches.”

“i’m so happy i get to love you.”

“well, I love you more.”

“well, actually, that can’t be true because—“ the rest of your protest is silenced by han’s lips finally pressing atop yours. your words melting like sugar at the tip of your tongue.

[hyperdramas]

light | jeon wonwoo

pairing: jeon wonwoo x reader

warnings: non-idol au, friends to lovers, fluff, kissing, mentions of the beach, hugging (physical touch in general), wonwoo & reader are on a date (as platonic friends), (they're not platonic anymore), so fluffy dear god

now playing: light, wave to earth & apocalypse, cigarettes after sex

The salt air tickled your nose as your feet hit the sand, and Wonwoo walked quietly beside you, hands in his shorts pockets as he looked ahead of him. He smelled like faint cologne and sea salt, and his frames glinted in the shimmering moonlight as he looked over to you.

"Did you have fun?" His voice was deeper than the ocean stretching miles away in front of you, and you looked to him, nodding as you looked down at your sandles. "I did, Wonwoo. Thank you for all of it." 

Jeon Wonwoo and you were on a date—an official, planned out date, with a set time and place and everything. You two had been friends for a long time, and it was obvious that there was something between you, as stated by your mutual friends.

As friends, you had put off the date for a while, still hanging out as just the two of you did normally, even if people called it a date. You had finally had enough of your friends and their whining, and Wonwoo and you decided to go on an official date to appease the hungry crowd (that being your nosy friends).

Even though you and Wonwoo did what the two of you always do—walk around town, stop in shops to browse and buy, and finish your night at the beach while sharing some street food—it felt different, for some reason. The air between you two wasn't suffocating, but wasn't as light as it usually was. There was a weight in the air, one you could sense as you breathed silently beside your friend.

"The water feels so good." You say aloud, toes getting a splash of sea water as you slip them off. Wonwoo takes them in his hands, smiling at you as you wade out a little bit, letting water engulf your legs as drops of it stain your skirt.

The night sky sparkles with stars you never noticed during your nights with Wonwoo here, and the streetlights in the distance lit the sand farther away from you with a soft, inviting glow.

"Wonwoo, come on!" You wave out to him, and Wonwoo laughs nervously, eyes crinkling as he cracks a smile. "I don't want to get wet, [Y/N]. I just took a shower before we left my apartment." He frowns slightly, but you know he isn't actually sad.

"Wonwoo, please! It'll be fun! Plus, it feels good," You bargain, and Wonwoo sighs, laughing to himself as he places your sandals farther away from the rising tides. He slips off his shoes too, sighing as he places his glasses in his shoe before making his way into the ocean. He moves stiffly towards you, obviously not very elated to be in the water, but smiling because you look so happy in this moment.

You reach out to him, hands sliding up his hands and forearm as you pull him to you. He laughs at the impact, and you do too, stumbling at the tide's waves as your hair brushes the water a few inches below you.

Wonwoo's sharp gaze watches your expression change as the moonlight dances across the water, lighting up your back and appearing as if you have an aura around you. You look like an angel to Wonwoo, innocent and pure with nothing but love and goodness in you. It makes him nervous, how beautiful you look.

"Wonwoo?" You question, noticing how quiet he's gotten. He's still looking at you, dark eyes piercing yours as he smiles just slightly. "I'm sorry. You just look—" Your head tilts just slightly, hair falling across your shoulder as you look up at him with confused eyes. "I look?"

"You just look so pretty." Wonwoo says softly, and you blush, not hearing something like that come from Wonwoo's lips before. Your stomach filled with this warm, fuzzy feeling, and your eyes widened, taking all of Wonwoo in as he fell silent again.

The only sound that was between you was the constant wash of the waves against the shore and the crickets and other night insects and animals that may have been running around.

The air was warm and salty around you, quickly enveloping you in a warmness you hadn't felt before. Your body was warm with Wonwoo's touch, and you couldn't help but close your eyes, too in the moment to keep them open.

Wonwoo stared as you did so, lips pink and pretty as he did a double take. The feeling in his chest was getting hard to ignore, and he couldn't seem to think rationally as he stared at your droplet-dusted cheeks and damp hair. Before he knew it, his hands were wrapping around your waist and pulling you close to him, hugging you tight as he let out a sigh against you.

His nose was buried in your hair, and the sweet shampoo and salt mixed together to create this smell that comforted him and calmed him down, allowing him to think of what he wanted to do to you.

He wanted to kiss you, hold you against him as he told you he had loved you since you two had met in the coffee shop two years ago. Wonwoo wanted to let you know how special you were to him, and how important you were to who he was as a person.

Wonwoo was ready to love you, and he was hoping you would be ready to love him back.

"Wonwoo." You said gently, opening your eyes as you pulled back from him slightly. You were thinking the same things Wonwoo was at this moment in time, and it came easy to you as you leaned in, following Wonwoo's lead as his lips finally touched yours.

The kiss sent sparks through your body like fireworks, and you allowed yourself to bring your hands to Wonwoo's tousled hair as he sighed against you.

Time slowed, as if it stopped to watch this turning point in you and Wonwoo's relationship, cheering you on for making the move. Your whole body felt like it was made of sparkles, warm bursts of light that ran through your blood.

When you finally came to and pulled away, you and Wonwoo let out a breath in sync, both blushed and ragged from the kiss. Wonwoo's sharp eyes looked at you as he pressed his nose to you, and you took him in, hands in his as he opened his lips to speak.

"I love you. I've loved you ever since—" 

"Ever since we met at the coffee shop." You finish, and Wonwoo pauses, surpised as you laugh lightly. "I've loved you since then." You say, and Wonwoo smiles, hand cupping your cheek as he nods.

"Me too." He says simply, and the two of you go quiet again, lost for words as you stand in each other's embrace once again.

"I'm ready to love you, if you're ready to love me." You whisper, and Wonwoo pauses, breath stuck in his chest as he watches you. It's as if you took all the words from his mouth without trying. He couldn't speak, too overwhelmed by you to even function properly. It took everything in him to not kiss you again. 

He just nodded, a smile on his face as he slowly leaned in. His lips brushed against yours ever so lightly as he replied with a whisper just a few seconds later.

"I've been ready." 

feedback & reblogs are appreciated! i read every comment or repost you leave :)

[etherealyoungk]

birthday kisses - choi seungcheol

paring: seungcheol x gn!reader

warnings: kissing, established relationship, fluff

wordcount: 500

seungcheol wanted to surprise you, it was your birthday after all. he planned everything; like taking you to this new restaurant you’ve been telling him about for weeks now. he even bought you a gift, something he’s wanted to get you for a while now and he thought your birthday would be the perfect time to give it to you. you wear your cutest and prettiest outfit and get ready to go, all happy and excited.

when you both get back home it’s late. you’re in the bedroom in front of the vanity, removing your jewellery as seungcheol comes up to you, his hands wrapping around your waist as he leaves a soft kiss on your temple.

“i have another gift for you baby”, he says, looking at you in the mirror. you give him an amused look through the mirror before turning around to face him. “there’s more?”, you ask, surprised. he’d been giving you gifts throughout the day so you really thought that the pretty ring he gifted you was the last one.

“you deserve the moon baby, i’ll get that for you one day too”, he says, giving you a wink, making you chuckle at his silly words.

“what’s this gift now?”, you ask, resting your hands on his shoulders. he smiles down at you as you look up at him in anticipation. "saved the best one for last", he tells, looking at you with a glint in his eyes, his dimple peeking out. "what is it?", you ask, curious.

“kisses”, is all he says and you don’t even have time to tell him anything else before he’s kissing your cheek and soon you’re being attacked by his soft kisses all over your face. “cheol!”, you tell, laughing. but your words go unheard as he finally kisses your lips, knocking the air out of you. he always kissed you breathlessly. his lips move against yours and he pulls you closer against him as you tangle your fingers in his hair. he pulls away, looks at you and kisses you again and again and again.

“seungcheol!”, you tell against his lips, giggling. “i think that’s enough”, you add, looking at him. “oh no, baby, we’re not done. you’ve only gotten ten kisses", he says, looking at you seriously. you just stare back at him. “counting now are we?”, you ask, amused.

“you’re getting as many kisses as you’re turning today baby, he adds, capturing your lips again and kissing you sweetly. “hm that’s eleven now”, you whisper against his lips. "happy birthday", he says sweetly as he kisses you again.

and by the time you’ve gotten all your kisses, you’re a happy, giddy mess.

taglist: @bearcoups @naaaaafla @slytherinshua @weird-bookworm @idubiluv @qaramu @n4mj00nvq @joshuaahong @strawberri-uyu @itsveronicaxxx @fallingforshua29 @frankenstein852 @lvlystars @mirxzii and an honourary tag for @wheeboo

[jjk4isen]

nanami is a man who finds joy in his own company. after a long day of work, he likes to relax by sitting idly in his comfortable pajamas with a book in his hand — just him and his thoughts.

or that was how it used to be.

to be loved is to be changed; nanami witnesses this saying in the flesh when he catches himself reaching out for your hand with one of his even while he's supposedly immersed in the book he held in the other.

it was a simple gesture really, a small one too but as people say, it's the little things. he rubs gentle circles with his thumb on your hand and he finds you smiling. if his action whispered an 'i love you', the faint tug of your lips whispered back 'i love you too' �� it's a secret only the both of you share.

[baby-tini]

Laying your head in Dabis lap as he smokes a cigarette on the couch while he runs his fingers through your hair as he makes fun of you for your constant jumping at the horror movie he put on only for him too grab you up and kiss the side of your head with the murmur of, "I'm right here babydoll... no worries." 😣