masterlist
— she / they . infj . central asian + middle eastern . marxfem and cringe embracer
— sporadic schedule due to studies + getting back into writing so i’m rusty !!
— plsss don’t be scared to message or ask to mutual
— simple or rather unorganized profile layout that i’ll prob work in on near future (ᵕ ´ ∇ ˋ ˶)
⋮ 🍵 media
— gachiakuta , my hero academia , attack on titan , jujutsu kaisen , naruto , soul eater , beastars , delicious in dungeon , mob psycho 100 , haikyuu
— red dead redemption , the last of us , ghost of tsushima , gta , final fantasy , bloodborne
italics are media i write for , bold is what i’m currently hyperfixated on !
it’s 4:39 am and you can’t sleep, tossing and turning around in velvety sheets that should be more than comfortable.
beside you, satoru groans, low and muffled by the pillow you share.
“could you quit that, sweets? some people here need their beauty sleep,” he gripes, but his body moves to envelop you in a warm hug nonetheless. you feel utterly at home when he does this, safely wrapped in his arms. strands of soft white poke at your eyes, but you don’t mind it.
“sorry,” you mumble into him. “can’t sleep.”
“yeah, no shit,” the blue eyed sorcerer snarks. “but seriously, you’re safe with me. after all, i’m the strongest. and your black circles are starting to show.”
“toru!” you utter a cry of protest, softly hitting his chest. he only holds you tighter as you both erupt into a fit of quiet giggles.
“alright, good night, or morning. whatever.” and you try to close your eyes, begging for the serene lull of sleep. unsurprisingly, it comes to you much easier this time around, and satoru’s quiet breaths fade to nothing; the feeling of the rise and fall of his chest against your back disappears as well.
when you groggily blink into consciousness again, the space next to you feels weird. you yawn, and the stretch of your arms hit empty space, making you instantly freeze.
where’s satoru?
but right, it’s june now, isn’t it? december was half a year ago. the last time you saw those irreplaceable blue eyes and that smug smirk was half a year ago, the last time you felt him was half a year ago.
he said something vague about the tide and walked off with sand still clinging to the back of his calves, not bothering to elaborate. typical. you didn’t follow — just watched him go until the heat shimmered around him.
oikawa shifts beside you, legs stretched out in front of him, toes buried in the sand. he’s telling you about the food stall they passed on the way here — how the woman running it called him “handsome” and slipped him an extra skewer. you laugh and pretend you’re surprised.
you swirl the ice in your drink. a classic mojito, half-melted now, mint pressed up against the side of the cup. he leans over and steals a sip without asking, scrunches his nose.
“too much lime,” he says, handing it back.
you take it from him and shrug. “i like it.”
“you would.”
the sun’s hot and everything feels slow. you’re about to ask where hajime disappeared to when a shadow blocks your feet. you look up.
he’s back. hair damp, skin flushed, arms crossed loosely. sand still streaked across his forearms.
“you coming or what?” he says.
you blink. “...what?”
he nods toward the far end of the beach. “built you something.”
oikawa lifts a hand in lazy farewell, like he already knows.
you follow hajime past the umbrellas and coolers and towels. he doesn’t say much — just leads you to where the sand gets denser, darker near the tide.
the castle’s there, tucked just above the waterline. not a pile. not a joke.
real towers. a wall that curves. a path, even. lines smoothed down with his palm. and near the back, almost hidden, a little heart traced into the corner. you’re not sure if it was meant to be or not. it looks half-erased.
“you made this?” you ask.
he shrugs like it’s nothing. “wasn’t doing anything.”
you crouch beside it, the sand warm under your knees. your cup tilts in your hand, ice knocking softly against the side.
“it’s good,” you say. “like… really good.”
he sits down next to you, brushing sand off his hands.
"i love you," he says, pressing a kiss to your temple.
"i love you, too."
you don’t say anything else.
you just stay there beside him, mint on your tongue, the tide inching closer.
he glances at the castle, then at you, and doesn’t look away.
he’s quiet, timid, doesn’t speak much, and asks all the wrong questions at the wrong time.
he’s not very good at eye contact and a lot of the things he wants to say he feels he can’t say at all either.
(partially due to the feeling that everything he says when he talks to you ends up embarrassing him, and partially due to the fact that talking to you for long periods of time make him tongue tied).
(not that he’d ever admit that).
despite all that though, he does know the basics when it comes to going on dates:
he buys you flowers (and forgets it by his doorway), he opens the car door for you (and apologizes when it almost hits you as he opens it), and he makes dinner reservations at the restaurant you mentioned to him in passing three days ago (he did a good job with this one).
so yes, him being a bad date is not unbeknownst to him. quite the opposite in fact, it’s not only something he knows about himself, but it’s also something that he thinks about all the time.
or at least, all the time ever since he’s met you.
that’s how the two of you end up here — the evening of your first (and probably last) date, sitting on a porch step of an empty building, a bloodied handkerchief filled with crushed up snow pressed against sakusa’s left cheek, and a few missing buttons from your favorite winter coat.
sakusa always knew he was a bad date, but he never thought he would be this bad.
the plan had been simple: get you flowers, open the door for you, drive you to the restaurant you liked. sakusa had this game-plan of his memorized ever since you said yes to him four — now five — days ago.
he wrote it on a piece of paper, step by step, and kept it in his wallet sleeve in case he forgets, he repeated it to himself three times in the mirror this afternoon before he left the house to pick you up, and he said it to himself one last time in the car before texting you that he’d arrived.
he memorized it.
and still, he messed it up.
the streets are empty and the evening is quiet.
“sorry … for this.”
his words feel like they’ve been the first to be spoken all night.
on the snowy concrete just below your feet, there’s a few drops of blood making its presence known loudly against the whiteness of the snow, the drops scatter sporadically, and near it, there’s a button or two from your coat.
you sit next to sakusa on the cold steps, it’s a quiet night, and it’s not snowing anymore, but the soft bed of the cold flurry it left behind made for a beautiful evening.
you let your head fall slightly on his shoulder, “for what?”
you can feel him stiffen immediately under your touch, and he coughs, shy, and looks to the side.
it makes you smile a little bit — his efforts of hiding his expressions — it’s not like you can see him anyway with that big makeshift ice-pack covering his face.
“sorry for the bad date.” he clears his throat, more clearly now, a little louder too, but his tone almost sounds disappointed. “… and sorry for ruining your coat.”
you lift your head up from his shoulder, frowning, and you turn to face him, “it’s not a bad date.”
he doesn’t say anything to that. instead, he keeps his head turned slightly away from you, but his shoulders fall a bit when you move away from him.
“if anything, i should be the one apologizing.” you mutter lowly, “i’m the reason you got hurt.”
sakusa huffs slightly. a second pausing in the air as he refuses to return the look you give him, and finally, he puts down the “ice pack” from his cheek, and looks at you.
his cheek is scratched lightly, nothing too deep, just a red mark that’ll probably resolve itself in a few days, but his lower lip though — the culprit of the blood stained snow — is undeniably busted, still bleeding slightly, and making him wince at the sudden loss of pressure.
“don’t say stupid things.” he tells you, and if it makes him sound cold, he swears he’s not trying to be.
he just doesn’t know what else there is to say.
the truth is — it is a bad date.
he forgot your flowers, almost hit you with the car door, and now, the two of you are missing your dinner reservation because he got himself injured twenty minutes into the night.
it’s not fair, he thinks. half the things he wants to say to you, he can’t. half the things he wants to do, he messes up.
you make him fumble on his words, tongue tied, speechless, literally. you make him write things down on notes so he won’t forget them or practice on bathroom mirrors or worry in his car outside your doorstep.
he is the most capable man in his team, he is the sharpest, the most composed, his teammates and coach all count and look up to him.
but for some reason, one night with you, and it all washes away.
he doesn’t know what to say to you, he forgets things, and he falls face first flat on the hard concrete ground twenty minutes into your first date.
don’t say stupid things.
“you really won’t let me take you to the hospital?” you put your hand on his knee, turning even more to your side so you can face him better.
you have half a mind to put your other hand on his injured cheek but you don’t want to hurt him more than how he already does.
“it’s not as bad as it looks.” and as he says that, he winces, the gust of wind suddenly hitting his busted lip a testament to his bad luck tonight.
sakusa wants to kick himself, if there ever would be an appropriate time to act cooler than how he actually was, it would definitely not be now.
you don’t look so convinced, but sakusa wouldn’t know, he’s still only limiting himself to looking at you briefly before shifting his glance to something behind you or beside you or above you.
“hm. and it doesn’t hurt?” you cross your arms.
he shakes his head, “no. it doesn’t.” (it does.)
you raise a brow, “and you wouldn’t happen to be lying to me right now so i don’t take you to the emergency room?”
he shakes his head again, “i’m not.” (he is.)
you give him a look.
listen — sakusa already knows that he’s a bad date, but come on! he has been planning on asking you to dinner with him since the first week he’s known you, he’s been worrying about this evening since the second you agreed to it, and he’s been kicking himself in the head ever since the night began.
he’d rather bleed out on this disgustingly dirty porch step than admit that he’s a date so bad he can turn an evening meant for dinner into a night at the emergency room.
he doesn’t want you to think that he can be so bad like that. (is it too soon to ask you out for dinner again?)
you still look frustrated at his answers. but at least, he’s looking at you now.
you let out a big sigh, shoulders falling, and suddenly, you clap your hands together loudly as you straighten up.
“then i have an idea.” you say, and sakusa furrows his brows at the sudden change in the atmosphere.
you give him a prompting grin. “heads or tails.”
and it catches him so off guard, he says aloud, “what?”
you dig for a coin in your coat, “i’ll flip a coin and if it lands on heads, we go to the emergency room, no arguments, no fusses, no nothing.”
he frowns at that.
“but.” you tell him, and your grin gets wider as you show him the dime laid out on your palm, “if it’s tails, we go to my apartment, and i’ll try to fix you up there.”
his frown falls almost immediately into something else.
one night out with you and he’s already bleeding heavily and injured, and now you wanna take him back to your apartment?
were you trying to kill him?
“heads or tails, omi.”
he blinks at your words. and once again, he finds himself saying aloud, “what?”
you shoot him a funny look, your eyebrows slightly raising as your lips curve upward into a crooked smile.
you say, teasing, “if you don’t know; heads is the part of the coin with the head of the person showing on it and tails is the–”
sakusa grumbles loudly, cutting you off mid-sentence, making sure you see him roll his eyes at you, and he nudges you slightly with his foot.
he mutters, albeit under his breath, and he tries to hide it, but you can always tell when he’s smiling, “i know what a goddamned head is.”
you shrug, your grin wider now when you see his mood lighten up a bit.
“do you know what a goddamned tail is?”
sakusa huffs out an amused sigh. the smile on his face a lot more prominent now, and you only wonder slightly if it hurts him when he does it.
his shoulders fall as he’s defeated, “just take me to the emergency room.”
you let out a short laugh and the night doesn’t seem so quiet anymore.
you fall back against his shoulder, “ah, omi, are you just saving the opportunity to be invited into my apartment for our next date?”
there’s a choking sound to be heard in the air.
his face almost feels like it’ll erupt into flames by how casually you just said that, a hot pink hue creeping up from his neck to nose all the way to the tips of his ears. he blames it on the cold, and immediately, he presses the “icepack” back against his cheek.
sakusa stands up suddenly from the porch step, “let’s go now.”
and just like he said, he strides away, faster than what would usually be safe on snow-covered pavement.
“omi, not so fast!” you yell after him, rising from your own seat and following his pace, “you might fall again and hurt the other side of your face and atsumu will think i beat you up on our first date.”
he walks faster.
“i can go to the hospital myself, please don’t follow me.”
“that’s ridiculous! let me take care of you!”
he trips on his feet slightly as you say that and his heart feels like it would’ve fell from his mouth had he not caught himself before falling again.
you really were trying to kill him, weren’t you?
maybe this date doesn’t feel so bad after all.
and, is it too soon if he asks you to come have dinner with him again?
hey hi hello! This is my first time requesting something so I hope I did this right lol
I really like your writing and was wondering if you could write a one short for Bakugo cuddling with his s/o more over time but every time they hug for longer and at the very end the reader just fully relaxes for the first time, like all physical and mental stress just vanished from them and they look content?
MELTING INTO YOU ⸻ katsuki bakugo
SYNOPSIS — hugs from your pro hero boyfriend are like a drug .
INCLUDES — gn! reader, one - shot, fluff, pro hero au
WORD COUNT — 600+
main masterlist — mha masterlist ༊*·˚
𝐈𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐊𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐈 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒 — awkward, hesitant and a little too tense.
the first time he hugged you, it felt more like a pat - down. his arms felt tight and unsure around you as if he didn’t know how to properly hold someone. his chest was stiff against your face with his chin jutted over your head. it seemed more like he was a human shield than a boyfriend trying to give you a hug. you didn’t mind, at least he was trying, and it was the thought and effort that counted. it didn’t last long, just long enough for katsuki to mentally let you know that this gesture was a hug.
the second time, he seemed to experiment. he wrapped his arms firmly around your shoulders, even giving you a little pat on the back before hesitantly rubbing his palm on your back, settling on a uniform speed to go up and down. instead of resting his chin on your head, he pressed his nose against your hair, taking a deep breath, memorizing the scent of your shampoo. this hug lasted longer. you too were trying to figure out how to piece your body together with his, like solving a puzzle. your arms wrapped around his body, interlocking your fingers as you took in the scent of his neck.
then came the gradual and slow shifts. his steel like grip loosening as if he was finally convinced that you would not run away from his embrace. you’d begun to slowly stop overthinking about where your head and hands should be. your body started molding into his, not just leaning but leaning in. now he would hold you without needing or making up a reason. after patrol, after a tough day, after a happy moment and sometimes.. just because.
tonight, it was late. you hadn’t had a particularly bad day but it wasn’t too great either. just like how your weeks have been lately at work. you weren’t drowning in your work but more as if you’re drifting on the surface, moments away from sinking deep under it all.
you and katsuki sat quietly on the couch, the lights dim and the main source of light being the tv. your body seemed to be shifting towards him on your own, as if there were magnets in your bodies that desperately needed to connect. katsuki didn’t utter a word, he just uncrossed his arms and opened them up like a warm invitation, which you gladly accepted.
and this time, it was different.
you fell onto his body, not caring how your body lay as he did all the work. wrapping his arms around you like a blanket, a grounding and safe blanket that you’d hide under after bad times. he let one hand trails down until it reached your lower back, drawing lazy shapes and patterns.
his embrace felt so comfy, his rhythmic heartbeat serving as a soothing lullaby to your ears as you shut your eyes.
and suddenly —
your body releases. not just the muscles, but everything. the tension you’ve carried for months. the gnawing little voices that never shut up. the armor you forget you’re always wearing.
all gone and drowning into nothingness.
you exhale a breath that you’d been holding for way too long, leaning in closer to his body, as if you wanted to melt into him. a quiet sound, almost a sigh, leaves your lips. it felt like it embodied all the thoughts that you wanted to say but had bottled up.
katsuki didn’t move, shifting his attention from the mundane movie to you.
he felt the change in your body, the change in your breathing and how peaceful you looked resting on his chest. he buried his nose in your hair and muttered in a low voice:
“about time you let yourself breathe.”
NOTE — ty for the compliment nonnie love you, this was such a cute request sighhhh i miss my man yall .
how the haikyuu boys like to receive affection
PHYSICAL TOUCH ノ love cannot be known unless it is tangible. the melding of two bodies like twining galaxies, kisses dusted like stars — a hunger for fusion, for something substantial, for presence. existing together, effortless, like an exhalation. the sinking of a mattress beside them, the solidity of an embrace, the soft prodding of a nose pressed into their back. “we belong to each other.” fingers intertwined, arms full and content, tracing loose circles into soft skin; bodies moulded to every dip and curve; holding on and never letting go. brushing a lock of hair out of their eyes, limbs heavy and tossed across them, fingers curled into shirts with laughter. “i know the shape of your joy under my hands.” love like palms cupping a face, framing a negative space to fill out who one is; love like safety; love like the intimate familiarity of home — the art of belonging.
ACTS OF SERVICE ノ the love of quiet observation — tangible in the plates of sliced fruit, bursts of colour arranged like silken petals blossoming in answer to the melody of dawning spring. do you see me? truly? warm folds of freshly scented laundry resting at the foot of their bed, or clothes ironed and hung and smoothed down with a soft touch. steam curling from a mug placed gently on the desk beside them. the weight of tender hands kneading love into their shoulders when the tension of their muscles elicits a grimace of pain at too sudden a movement. “i'll take care of you.” “it's rotten work.” “not to me; not if it's you.” a gift, slipped in conversation mindlessly many suns ago, now quietly offered. love in the subtle tailoring of a routine; love to lift the burden; love to fill in the gaps; love like a soothing balm smeared onto dry lips; love to make space for them to breathe — the selfless art of noticing, and doing.
GIFT GIVING ノ palpable proofs; evidence of thought. to see you in beauty crafted by man or god — layers of interspersed colour slipping across a shell the colour of their eyes, the crackling of an autumn leaf drifting on a sigh to the embrace of the earth. “i thought of you.” flowers, buttons, tickets; mementos; memorabilia. to pay heed; to learn the contours of their soul. the jangle of a keychain, the creased pages of an album, a camera’s shutter. the feeling of being desired, the smile of being known, perhaps better than they know themselves. “i want to give you the world.” all expensive, for the cost is thought and care settled into the stitches of every second, a tapestry of sentiment, the pursuit of meaning. a passing mention pressed into their hands. a collection of rocks soaking in sunlight. the certainty of existing outside from themselves. “i see you in every sunrise.” love to take up space; love to be understood; love like footsteps on the shore — the art of being remembered.
QUALITY TIME ノ moments in between. a knowing gaze, a soft exchange, the knowledge of presence. to have someone by their side. carving patterns into the flow of time to say, we were here (and so we will continue to be). “of course, if it's with you.” the dusting of flour on a kitchen counter, bread rising, legs swinging. a breath passing between two bodies. silence as an embrace rather than a chasm. gazes meeting and settling. hands intertwined, linking like puzzle pieces, fitting: the city, the beach, the house. “i want you around.” to be enough, as they are, where they are; to be longed for, however they are. a candlelit dinner, the draping folds of a white tablecloth; a parking lot and a crumpled napkin. the melody of woven laughter: late in the morning; early into the night. to have a space for themselves. love like a homecooked meal: natural, easy, rich; belonging. to be needed; to be wanted; to be missed — the art of being treasured.
WORDS OF AFFIRMATION ノ the love of cadence — softer tones, adamant melodies. words like brushstrokes, a tender portrait: bursts of colour, the edges defined. “you mean so much to me.” a mellowed reassurance into the disquieted air, a soothing rhythm like tossed rose petals, alighting, adorning. a hand on their waist and a murmured compliment into their hair. foreheads resting against each other, gaze unbearably soft. “you're beautiful.” words weighted with meaning, contemplative: appraised and selected and arranged — a bouquet, scents rich and petals plump — yet the beauty of undecorated genuineness remains unparalleled. “you've done enough; you can rest, now.” the rhythm of their name like a promise. the assurance of the spaces they flourish within. to hear it, to know it's real, to be unburdened from the constant necessity of having to read between the lines. to spell it out. to be seen and appreciated — no, more; love reigning unafraid. to be secure in fragility; to give voice to the plain, clear, raw — the art of vulnerability.
challenge: guess my love language based on how i wrote it...
these are my character interpretations but some belong to multiple & were very hard to place + thank you to alina, chloe, sahri && especially diya for your input
★ want to be added to a taglist? — @lizbix @ayatakanosstuff @alcyneus @stars4you777 @1-800reki @riniaras @s9mmer @livteracts @vorfreudevortex
Amo and Fuu tag team, whom I have been expecting to see since their interactions at the beginning of the Doll Fest! My boy is so happy smiling like that 'cause he's finally ordered around by somebody HAHAHAHA
Thank you Urana-sensei 💕 idk if the editors ordered you to put something out this week but I hope all is well. The art is amazing as always; looking forward to part 2 next week! Or whenever it's gonna drop :3
feat. rudo surebec, enjin, zanka nijiku & follo tunito x gender neutral reader note. i’m so late but happy gachiakuta official release date!! yay! be prepared to be tired of me. foreals. contains some tension in zanka’s part but nothing too serious, sfw〳fluff, gender neutral reader [ please reblog if you enjoyed it helps me so much + masterlist ]
RUDO SUREBEC.
“boop.”
”…huh?”
rudo blinks, slow and confused. his eyes narrow a little, not in anger, just trying to figure out exactly what you’re doing.
“what was that?” he asks, flat and blunt. there’s no heat in his voice, just suspicion. like you tapped the nose of a wild animal and now it’s trying to figure out whether to bite or bolt.
you smile at him, resting your head on your folded arms from your spot behind the couch where he’s sitting. “booped your nose,” you say, tapping your own for emphasis. “it’s just a little thing. people do it to be cute.”
rudo stares at you, eyes scanning yours like he’s looking for a catch. you can practically see the gears turning—trying to figure out what kind of reaction you’re expecting, and whether this is serious or some kind of test
“don’t do that.”
he says it so stiffly the words taste strange on his tongue. like he’s not sure if he means it, or if it’s just what he thinks he’s supposed to say.
then he turns away. his shoulders tense, like he’s bracing for something. maybe embarrassment. maybe something he can’t quite put his finger on.
but later, after you’ve gone, rudo’s gloved hand rises and brushes the tip of his nose. just once. like he’s checking if it really happened.
or maybe wondering why it stuck with him at all.
ENJIN.
“boop.”
“ah ah ah.”
before your finger even lands, enjin leans back with a lazy grin, eyes half-lidded like he saw this coming three years ago.
“thought you were slick, huh?” enjin says, catching your wrist midair. he’s not rough, just casually fast, like it’s nothing. like he’s swatted away a thousand boops in his lifetime.
but instead of letting go, enjin shifts your hand toward his face… and gently bites your fingertip.
not hard, just a playful little chomp. just enough to make you yelp in surprise.
“hey!” you pull your hand back with a laugh. enjin tilts his head, that familiar glint of amusement dancing in his eyes.
“janitor’s gotta defend himself somehow,” enjin says, giving his umbrella a casual spin beside him. “never know who’s gonna sneak up trying to mess with the goods.”
“mess with the goods?” you echo, still grinning. “i was trying to be nice.”
“sure you were.” enjin steps closer, and before you can react, he reaches out and gently pinches your nose between his fingers. he wiggles it once, looking far too pleased with himself.
“there. now we’re even.”
you gape at him, betrayed. “you can’t just counter-boop.”
“fated one privilege,” enjin says smoothly. he releases your nose and pats your head like you just lost a game you didn’t know you were playing.
ZANKA NIJIKU.
“boop!”
“…what in the hells do ya think yur doing?”
zanka’s voice comes out sharp, but his face is another story—eyes wide, mouth slightly parted like you just hit him with a spell he didn’t see coming.
to be fair, you did just boop his nose.
and to be even fairer, you only got the chance because you somehow managed to pin him during training. he’s flat on his back, a little out of breath, arms caught under your knees, and you’re grinning down at him like a cat that finally got the cream.
“i booped you!” you say innocently. “you looked too serious.”
zanka stares at you, caught somewhere between disbelief and existential horror. “we’re sparring.”
“we were. then i won. now i’m celebrating.”
“that ain’t—” he cuts himself off, teeth grinding. “that ain’t how this works.”
you just lean in closer, clearly not sorry. “you gonna stop me?”
zanka’s ears turn a very specific shade of red. he looks away, grumbling something under his breath about “lunatics” and “lack of discipline,” but he doesn’t move. not yet.
and when you finally get off him and help him up, he swats your hand away like he’s annoyed, even though his fingers linger for half a second too long.
“idiot,” he mutters.
then, as you’re walking off, you hear him sniff.
once. then twice.
and when you glance back, zanka’s wiping his nose with the back of his hand.
like he’s trying to erase your nonsense.
but knowing him? he’s probably just making sure it doesn’t happen again. probably.
FOLLO TUNITO.
you swoop in, catching follo off guard as he rounds the corner.
your finger connects with the tip of his nose in a swift, playful tap.
“boop,” you say, barely containing a grin.
follo’s eyes widen in surprise, and he stumbles backward, laughing. “hey—“ he protests, his hand flying up to shield his nose, a fraction of a second too late.
he recovers quickly, a sly glint in his eye. “oh yeah?” he says, his voice rising in a playful challenge.
before you can react, he darts forward, trying to retaliate with a nose tap of his own. you dodge out of the way just in time, avoiding his outstretched finger by mere inches.
“nope!” you yelp, spinning around the corner as follo gives chase.
he's laughing, his footsteps light as he bounds after you. “get back here!” he calls out, his voice full of humor. “you started this, you can’t just boop and run”
despite the playfulness, there’s a hint of true excitement in follo's voice, a sense of freedom he doesn’t often get to indulge. for one fleeting moment, his worries seem to fade away, replaced by the sheer joy of the chase.
you notice it when he’s reaching for his drink — arms outstretched, shirt discarded somewhere in the sand.
“wait,” you say, sitting up on your towel. “what is that.”
kuroo looks down at himself, then blinks. there, just under his ribs, is a soft pale shape. the rest of his skin’s gone golden from the sun, but right in the middle—oval, ridged edges, unmistakably seashell-shaped—is a perfect little mark.
he snorts. “oh. huh.”
“you fell asleep with a seashell on your stomach?”
“apparently.” he grabs his glass and takes a sip of the vanilla and peach mojito you’d ordered earlier, half-melted ice clinking gently against the rim. “could’ve been worse. could’ve been a crab.”
you laugh, flopping back down. “you’re going to be walking around with that thing for a week.”
“good.” he shifts closer, leans over you on one elbow. “means i’ve got you with me even when you’re not around.”
you squint up at him. “because of a tan line?”
he shrugs, grinning. “symbolism, baby.”
you shake your head, but your smile gives you away. he leans down, presses a kiss just beside your cheek, his skin still warm from the sun.
“besides,” he adds, voice lower, “you’re the one who gave me the drink, set up the umbrella, and picked the playlist. you're the reason i was knocked out cold under the sound of the waves. it was a good nap.”
you hum. “still ridiculous.”
“romantic,” he corrects. “ridiculously romantic.”
the wind shifts. the sun keeps burning steady above you both. and somewhere in the sand is a little shell that’s officially made its mark.
"man, that sucked!" you groan, flopping on top of megumi's bed. the two of you had just finished being cleared by ieri after a taxing mission, and you were much too tired to walk back to your room. thankfully, the boy's wing was much closer, which is how you found yourself slumped over exhaustion inside his room.
"i'm never believing gojo sensei again, that was a legitimate special grade," megumi grumps, lying down right on top of you.
"you're kinda heavy," you try to say, but given that you're currently squished under him, it comes out sounding indiscernable.
"hmm? did you say something?" the boy with the spiky black hair asks, feigning innoncence. great, he wasn't going to budge an inch.
you suppose you could live through it, and tolerate him—just this once. although megumi's air freshener must have melatonin in it or something, because the next thing you know, your eyelids are heavy; the world is fading to fuzzy blackness around you, and megumi's soft complaints feel further and further away.
you're awakened by a hand. you blink groggily. it seems that night had fallen, and megumi had finally gotten his ass off you.
"what're you doing?" you hiss at megumi, who's hand is snaking around your waist through the too-comfortable blankets. and wait, who put those over you two anyways?
"shh," megumi whispers, pulling you in closer to him. his touch is warm, and his ears are just the slightest bit red. adorable.
he's moving his head closer, tilting it down—what is he doing?
you feel the hot press of his lips onto your forehead, melting into his gentle embrace.
"this is nice," he murmurs, fingers absentmindedly running through your hair. "can we stay like this for a bit?"
you're too sleepy to really process what he means.
"mhm!" you whisper enthusiastically, closing your eyes once more. sleep welcomes you easily, and you don't see the blush spreading across megumi's cheek nor catch the way he quietly says your name, wishing you "sweet dreams."
it does feel nice.
you wake up the next day still cuddled next to him and freak out before remembering last night. yuuji hears you in megumi's room and rushes in to find you two tangled up in megumi's sheets and automatically assumes the worst...you both try to awkwardly clarify what happened to no avail LMFAO.
a/n: inspo by this this one tiktok i saw where it was like "the sluttiest thing a man can do is pull you in by the waist and kiss your forehead when you're half-asleep and my mind went OFF
ılılılılılılı now playing: snooze by sza, K by cigarettes after sex
