ꫂ❁ qal (cal) | 20 she/her | london, uk | masterlists + rules | jjk, hq, kny | strictly sfw + suggestive | from the river to the sea.
you can find all the stuff i reblog under #qal : reblogs
you can find all the writing-specific reblogs under #reblogs : writing
you can find all the art-specific reblogs under #reblogs : art
LOVE ME ALL THE TIME !
⤷ ( jjk ) he wants your attention sooo bad!
(masterlists) with. harehybrid!gojo x female!reader tags. hybrid au, fluff, he's just needy as hell and you lowkey love it word count. 0.5k
notes. dividers above by @/cafekitsune, idk who the art is by so lmk if you know!
"babe... just touch me," gojo whines, the sound dissolving into a soft, pitiful whimper in the back of his throat when you do naught but stroke along the silky strands of his hair as his head lays in your lap. his bottom lip juts out in pout, the pink shade of his lips making him look more like a bunny than the hare hybrid he was.
"satoru, just give me a minute."
"you said that a minute ago!" he cries out, voice breaking from sheer desperation and the disheartening fact that despite the fact that he had been so good for the past hour—even counting the seconds of each minute you told him to wait—you insisted on zeroing your attention on your stupid book.
you try to ignore the way his tail flicks and sways incessantly, his tall ears twitching even with the greatest form of his anger being needy, whimpered demands.
he sits up suddenly when you don't respond, lashes fluttering from the willpower he calls upon to not pounce on you and draw out the attention and doting he so deeply desires. "touch me."
"i am. was. you basically just pulled away from me," you point out, at which he almost chokes on a frustrated sob.
there's a moment in which gojo cannot channel the strength to retort, because not only are you, unfortunately, very correct, but he isn't willing to do or say anything that might lose your favour.
so, without much thought, he leans forward, stationed on his hands and knees beside you, and nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck, grumbling something incoherent, albeit ecstatic at the contact.
you scratch the patch of fur on the back of his neck and a breathless gasp leaps from him, his eyes turning heavy-lidded, his gaze shrouded in anticipation of finally getting your undivided attention.
"you're so odd," you mumble, shifting so that he has enough leverage to pull you into his lap and cage you in with his scarred arms.
"you're my favourite person," he says almost reverently, whispered like a confession.
although a part of you wants to feign annoyance at his persistence, your hands find the backs of his twitching ears, almost getting smacked by one while in the process of rubbing your thumbs along their bases.
his chin finds its way onto your shoulder, digging into you, then trailing and rubbing along your collarbone territorially, an expression of possessiveness and contentment with the treatment he's getting—more specifically, with who he's getting it from.
when his affectionate displays escalate into him licking your jaw and the sides of your face, you groan and resist the temptation of muzzling him. "stop that."
"why?"
why? what is this, kindergarten?
"satoru. no."
his foot begins its rapid thumping on the carpeted floor, his brow furrowing and the much-too-adorable pout returning on his full lips. it practically sounds like you've invited a chopper into your living room, the noise so excessively loud and ceaseless that it prompts you to peck his lips apologetically just to calm him down.
"if you let me finish the last few pages of this chapter, i'll give you my attention for the rest of the day. deal?"
he lets out a sound akin to a purr at the suggestion, immediately tackling you down onto the couch with enough excitement to suffocate you. "deeeeeeal!"
LOVE ME ALL THE TIME !
⤷ ( jjk ) he wants your attention sooo bad!
(masterlists) with. harehybrid!gojo x female!reader tags. hybrid au, fluff, he's just needy as hell and you lowkey love it word count. 0.5k
notes. dividers above by @/cafekitsune, idk who the art is by so lmk if you know!
"babe... just touch me," gojo whines, the sound dissolving into a soft, pitiful whimper in the back of his throat when you do naught but stroke along the silky strands of his hair as his head lays in your lap. his bottom lip juts out in pout, the pink shade of his lips making him look more like a bunny than the hare hybrid he was.
"satoru, just give me a minute."
"you said that a minute ago!" he cries out, voice breaking from sheer desperation and the disheartening fact that despite the fact that he had been so good for the past hour—even counting the seconds of each minute you told him to wait—you insisted on zeroing your attention on your stupid book.
you try to ignore the way his tail flicks and sways incessantly, his tall ears twitching even with the greatest form of his anger being needy, whimpered demands.
he sits up suddenly when you don't respond, lashes fluttering from the willpower he calls upon to not pounce on you and draw out the attention and doting he so deeply desires. "touch me."
"i am. was. you basically just pulled away from me," you point out, at which he almost chokes on a frustrated sob.
there's a moment in which gojo cannot channel the strength to retort, because not only are you, unfortunately, very correct, but he isn't willing to do or say anything that might lose your favour.
so, without much thought, he leans forward, stationed on his hands and knees beside you, and nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck, grumbling something incoherent, albeit ecstatic at the contact.
you scratch the patch of fur on the back of his neck and a breathless gasp leaps from him, his eyes turning heavy-lidded, his gaze shrouded in anticipation of finally getting your undivided attention.
"you're so odd," you mumble, shifting so that he has enough leverage to pull you into his lap and cage you in with his scarred arms.
"you're my favourite person," he says almost reverently, whispered like a confession.
although a part of you wants to feign annoyance at his persistence, your hands find the backs of his twitching ears, almost getting smacked by one while in the process of rubbing your thumbs along their bases.
his chin finds its way onto your shoulder, digging into you, then trailing and rubbing along your collarbone territorially, an expression of possessiveness and contentment with the treatment he's getting—more specifically, with who he's getting it from.
when his affectionate displays escalate into him licking your jaw and the sides of your face, you groan and resist the temptation of muzzling him. "stop that."
"why?"
why? what is this, kindergarten?
"satoru. no."
his foot begins its rapid thumping on the carpeted floor, his brow furrowing and the much-too-adorable pout returning on his full lips. it practically sounds like you've invited a chopper into your living room, the noise so excessively loud and ceaseless that it prompts you to peck his lips apologetically just to calm him down.
"if you let me finish the last few pages of this chapter, i'll give you my attention for the rest of the day. deal?"
he lets out a sound akin to a purr at the suggestion, immediately tackling you down onto the couch with enough excitement to suffocate you. "deeeeeeal!"
𓂃⋆.˚ ( jjk ) affectionate nanami with his wife !
tw suggestive
based on this request
masterlists
affectionate!nanami who is so smitten with his wife. not in the 'puppy eyes,' constantly drooling over you way, but in all the other ways that count. you never have to repeat your food or drinks order because he's already made note of it. as much as he encourages open communication in your relationship, most of time, he already knows how you're feeling and how he can keep you that way or make you feel better.
affectionate!nanami will always pick something up for you when he's out. he'll leave work and pop by the bakery for his usual loaf, making sure to pick up your favourite too. he'll spend a few hours hanging out and catching up with friends, but will always end the night with a quick stop to pick up a bag of your favourite snacks or simply run a few errands you didn't have time for. sometimes, he'll even make reservations at your favourite restaurant, or will book an event for the two of you to attend.
affectionate!nanami will never act like he's doing you a favour by making and keeping you happy. his colleagues will sometimes roll up next to him in their office chairs and start rambling on about their partners, how no matter how much they do for them, they're always "prissy" or moody. nanami's response is always the same: "you can't invest the bare minimum and expect high yield outcomes in return. not that you should be treating your partner like an isa account." not a single colleague has taken his advice to heart and not a single one is succeeding in their relationships.
affectionate!nanami comes home at the same time every day - with the exception of some unscheduled but necessary overtime, which he always makes sure to text you about as soon as his boss informs him of the change in plans. he's not one to leave you in the dark about anything, whether that be his feelings, his job, his future plans. whatever you ask, he will answer it truthfully.
affectionate!nanami is a huge acts of service guy, but he's also very much into physical touch. yes, he'll help around the house and do all that you ask of him, but he'll also admire you as you drift off to sleep beside him, snoring lightly from your exhausting and brain-melting day at work. he'll smile fondly, like a man who knows he's made it in life, and brush your hair out of your face, before leaning down to press a lingering kiss to your temple.
affectionate!nanami is... scratch that, he's into everything. love languages are cute and all, but this man does not limit himself when it comes to you. if at some moment, on some day, he cannot articulate his feelings or whisper his confessions of love, his hand will always find yours and his heart will always race to match the beat of your own.
affectionate!nanami is not territorial or openly possessive, but he's protective and alert in his own way. in public, he's not the type to keep his hand latched at your waist and keep you glued to his side. you'll always lace your arm through his and circle it back to rest your hand on his bicep, and that's more than enough for him.
affectionate!nanami is aware that his wife is gorgeous, and he never faults you for the more-than-average amount of male attention you receive, but he'll completely forget about what he's doing and keep his eyes on you, his glasses aiding him so that it's not obvious. not because you can't handle yourself - he's seen you drop kick a guy for not understanding the word 'no' - but because he'd be no better than those distasteful men if he expected his wife to deal with crap like that alone.
affectionate!nanami is 6'0 and 77kg, so while he's not evidently packing muscle and pulsing veins, his shirts always strain against his body, even when he's not purposely flexing for your insatiable viewing desires. it's enough so that when he stands, his back muscles ripple and stretch to fill his shirt, and his thighs become defined in his slacks when he sits down. all that strength is used to protect you and make you feel good, not that the two are mutually exclusive. you inhale the scent of his cologne and aftershave when he embraces you, and try not to pant like a dog in heat when he lifts you without so much as a grunt of exertion.
affectionate!nanami is chivalry embodied. "why does everything work against me when i'm rushing?" you groan, trying to slip your heels on whilst hopping on one leg and trying to make your way around the house to find your purse. nanami calms you down for a moment, brushing his hand along the curve of your back. "relax, sweetheart. let me help you." he'll kneel then, kissing his way down your inner and outer thighs, before carefully helping your feet into the heels. once you're comfortable in them, he kisses your thigh again before rising to his feet. "there you go," he murmurs. "my gorgeous wife."
affectionate!nanami is not immune to heated desire. what you think is a gentle, loving kiss to your cheek gradually escalates. he kisses your jawline first, nipping at your skin to get a reaction out of you - which he does, 100% of the time - before brushing his lips along the curve of your neck and shifting from tender kisses to meaningful bites and suckles that have you shifting in his arms and biting down on your lip hard enough to render it numb.
affectionate!nanami will say stuff like, "you will never understand what you do to me," in that low baritone of his that comes out when he's pent up, and revel in the feeling of your skin warming under his touch. he'll lose control of his own strength for a moment and back you up against the nearest flat surface, taking his glasses off and pocketing them in the process before diving back into the crook of your neck to draw those sweet moans out again.
affectionate!nanami will approach you from behind and slide a hand under your shirt, lifting it to expose the curve of your waist and your back. "kento," you whine, unsure of whether to encourage him or focus on what you're doing. but, your back arches instinctively as he rests a hand on your navel to support you and peppers kisses on the skin just above the hem of your panties. "i'm sorry," he growls in a voice that sounds all but apologetic. "i adore you, my love."
𓂃⋆.˚ ( kny ) "shut up, mom!" prank on kny men part 2 !
⤷ ゛tanjiro, inosuke, zenitsu, douma, kokushibo, gyutaro, akaza ˎˊ˗
tw yelling (as part of the prank), threatening to
harm genitals, threats of violence, actual physical violence
part one here
masterlists
────────────────── kamado tanjiro
It takes a little self-motivation to go through with it, unsure of how your husband will react to it. But, you go ahead and tell your daughter to complete one chore or another - you don’t actually need her to do anything. She completed her chores hours ago when Tanjiro was at work.
“Shut up, mom!”
There’s the sound of breath hitching from across the room, a little distance away from where you’re lounging on the couch. Your daughter glances at you after saying her line, anticipating the worst. She sees the way Tanjiro’s shoulders tense and the deceptive calmness with which he places his book down and turns away from the bookshelf, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose.
“What was that?” he asks smoothly, approaching the two of you. “Am I hard of hearing or did you have a bad day?”
Your daughter swallows thickly and huffs out a breath through her nose. “I’m just t-tired of her nagging!” she manages, failing to loosen her tongue and not stutter in the face of her father. “She always wants me to do something!”
Tanjiro nods and sits on the couch, motioning with a finger for her to follow and take the empty loveseat in front of him. “Why do you think that is, the nagging and insistence?”
You’re hoping he’s not convinced that you nag - he’d have another thing coming.
Your daughter takes the seat as instructed. She only manages to maintain eye contact with Tanjiro for a few seconds before she averts her gaze and looks at you instead. Understandably, she looks awkward and unsettled by the whole prank - regardless of the fact that she was the one who saw it on her social media feed and suggested that you two do it.
“Hm?” Tanjiro prompts.
She blinks and shrugs, a half-hearted answer of someone who doesn’t feel like their words can do them justice in the present situation.
Tanjiro’s brows furrow at that. “Aside from the hours she spent pushing you out of her body, your mother is the one making sure that the money I bring in goes towards every hot meal you eat and each warm blanket you use. She is the one utilising my money to make sure that everyone in this household is happy and needs for nothing.”
She nods, still not able to articulate herself from the tension weighing her down.
“Do you think your reaction was appropriate, then? Considering your mother’s care and effort in everything she does for us - for you?”
She shakes her head. “No, dad. I’m sorry.”
Tanjiro mimics her movement and glances at her, then you pointedly.
She takes the hint and turns to you again. “I’m sorry, mom. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”
“It’s alright,” you say calmly, smiling. “It’s just a prank, after all.”
Tanjiro makes a choked sound. “What?”
“Yeah,” you and your daughter say simultaneously.
He sighs and pulls his glasses off, placing them on the coffee table. The sparkle in his eye returns and he huffs out a laugh at your giddy expression.
────────────────── hashibara inosuke
"Shut up, mom!"
Inosuke whips around to face the source of the voice, his expression a mix of confusion and anger. His daughter is staring straight at him, a challenging look in her eyes - a reflection of her father's.
"Hah? What did you say?"
Glancing at your husband, you feign dejection and sigh heavily. "This is what I get for trying, I guess," you mumble, inhaling through your nose to snuff out the laugh in your throat.
Inosuke shakes his head. "Nah, you listen to me," he grunts, pointing a finger at his own daughter. "That crap isn't allowed here. You get me? What, you think your mom asks you to do things just to be a pain in the ass?"
Pursing her lips, your daughter nods.
Inosuke laughs at that, incredulously. "Have you lost it, kid?"
When she doesn't respond, he grabs her shoulders and pushes her (gently, mind you) upstairs, towards her bedroom. You take care to follow after them discreetly, softening your steps even as you walk on the plush carpets. If your life was more novel, your ears would have already perked up like a bunny's at Inosuke's disciplinary tone.
"I'm talking to you here because I can't be angry at you without your mother hitting me," he says plainly, standing before his daughter who is sat on the edge of her bed.
She snorts out a laugh, failing to catch herself. Inosuke grunts and bends down so that he is eye-level with her.
"If I hear you speak that way again - especially to my wife - you're not getting food for a month."
She gapes at that. "Wha—c'mon! It's not that serious!"
"What?" he practically shouts.
"Nevermind, you're completely right," she mumbles, quick to avert her gaze and be completely conformist. "Sorry, dad. I won't do it again."
He eyes her carefully, raising a brow when she stares at him. It goes like that for about thirty seconds before he nods his head and awkwardly points towards her bedroom door. "Uh, that's all. Apologise to your mother."
The door swings open. She looks over her shoulder and yells, "it's a prank!" before darting out the room and rushing downstairs, giggling like a child.
You sigh, laughing under your breath. Inosuke stands frozen, as if slapped. He has that dumbfounded look on his face that makes your breathy laugh turn loud.
"Were you eavesdropping, woman?"
"Obviously."
"Damn you."
────────────────── agatsuma zenitsu
After asking him to clean his room, your son yells, "shut up, mom!" It is after he yells that does Zenitsu finally sit up straight on the couch, his ears twitching in sync with his right eye.
"Did he just...?" he mutters, turning to you as if to confirm whether or not you heard the same. You nod, resting your chin on your palm.
"Unfortunately. Seems he needs to be dealt with, hm?"
Zenitsu locks in. His wife just got disrespected and she's clearly upset. He must step up and defend her honour, even against his own son.
He stomps over to the teenager and crowds his space, raising a brow. When he says nothing, his son glances at you. "Did you... need something, dad?" he asks quietly, awkwardly.
Zenitsu grabs him by the ear and brings him closer, his breath hot against the side of his face. "If you ever talk to her like that again, I'm going to cut your balls off."
"W-what?"
He gets all up in his face then, grip still tight on the boy's ear. "Did I stutter, boy?"
Said boy shakes his head. "No, sir. You've made yourself very c-clear."
You move forward and nod, satisfied with Zenitsu's reaction. But just when you're about to tell him it's a prank, he grabs your son by his head and turns him to you. The younger man yelps in surprise, startled by the subtle pain in his neck at the forceful movement.
"Apologise."
"I was going to—"
"Ah!" he cuts him off. "Nothing but an apology."
Your son smiles sheepishly. "Sorry, mom."
With a devilish grin, you pull your son out of his father's tight grip and pet his hair. "How many times do you think he's going to fall for these?" you ask the teen, seeing his eyes sparkle with mischief reflecting yours.
"Fall for what?" Zenitsu looks between the two of you, now rather unsettled by your sudden companionship.
You ignore him and walk back into the kitchen with your son in tow. "Hot chocolate?" you suggest, to which he nods eagerly.
"Wha—honey! What did you mean by that? Am I missing something?"
Ignored - again. He only finds out about it all the next morning.
────────────────── douma
Douma's smile was always plastered on, sometimes toothy, other times flat and unamused. Whatever its condition, it was deceptive. To you, not so much anymore. You'd had trouble decoding him initially, wondering if the man you were in love with was to remain an enigma, but you gradually found bits and pieces of him to memorise.
That comforted you - knowing your husband a little better than anyone else did. You had a right to!
'Anyone else' was unfortunately inclusive of your son. He was your pride and joy, and while he had an amazing relationship with his father, he tended to confide in you when needing a straight answer that wasn't glossed over with subtle threats and almost menacing humour.
The best way about this was to not leave your son's side, even when he yelled, "shut up, mom!" He falls silent then and waits for something - anything - to happen.
A few silent seconds pass and you're almost encouraged to ease the tension in your body. Only when you exhale on the sixth second does Douma suddenly flicker into existence before you. That freaky teleportation of his was enough to knock your son's heart back into his throat.
"Is that a protective stance?" he asks you, laughing softly at the way you and your son stand side-by-side, arms pressed together. Douma strokes a hand down your hair. "Silly girl. Why are you protecting him? Do you know what I'm going to do to him?"
You deadpan. "Nothing, even if I weren't right here."
Your husband exhales through his nose, then his eyes dart towards his son. His sweet son, the boy who looked too much like him and too little like you; the boy who was too much like him in nature and so unlike you with your warmth and harmless sarcasm.
"If that is what you dream, my sweet," Douma coos at you, "then I shall tell you, here, what I am going to do."
You stare at him, unflinching, so ready to laugh at how seriously your husband is taking this. Your son, on the other hand, is about to wet his pants.
"Those eyes that he so graciously took from me will be popped out, but as I do not look to upset you, I shall only take one. I will allow him to have an eyeball to shed his tears, and so that you may watch as he does,” he says calmly. “That is the extent of my mercy today.”
“Douma,” you say lowly, warningly.
“Oh, do not fret,” he sighs, reaching a hand up to pat his son’s head tenderly, claws scratching against the boy’s scalp ever so slightly. The younger man has to resist the urge to flinch. “I know this is another one of your little jokes.”
“Wha—” you sputter. “How?”
He practically giggles and kisses the back of your hand almost reverently, looking up at you with unrestrained adoration. He doesn’t answer you, but he doesn’t need to. You know how he is, what he’s like. He’s aware of threats before they’re made, whether serious or lighthearted. You’re just glad he managed to pick up on this one and not be blinded by the rage simmering in his chest.
“Do not attempt such foolishness again,” he growls, lips still brushing against your skin but curled as he addresses his son. “Not at the expense of my wife.”
────────────────── kokushibo
So you were scared, to say the least. To execute this meant you had to be on edge the entire time, ready to call it off if things got overwhelming or, quite frankly, fatal. You were more terrified to do this than your son was - he was giddy on the idea that he could enrage his father. Why, you had no real understanding of. You had never suffered the consequences of angering or frustrating him that left the bedroom.
“Sweetie, can you—”
“Shut up, mom!”
You deadpan, turning to your son and lowering your voice into a whisper. “I didn’t even get to finish my line,” you mutter, smacking his arm lightly.
He grins. “He just needs to hear mine for this to work, mom,” he whispers back.
The two of you are out in the garden, tending to the flowers and taking pictures to send to friends and family, when you see a shadow cast over the flowerbed your son is observing. Before he can turn around, a familiar hand grabs the back of his neck and squeezes tightly, using the leverage to pull him up from his knees and to his feet. The teenager coughs and sputters at the sudden pressure.
“Michikatsu!” you gasp, brows furrowed. You launch to your feet and grab your husband’s arm, tugging him away from your son. “Unhand him!”
“It is a shame this boy has not truly taken to being humourous,” Kokushibo says, voice a low timbre in his throat. “This disrespect will not be tolerated.”
When you open your mouth to intervene, your son shakes his head and smiles at you - a wordless “it’s alright. I can handle this.”
“I didn’t—ow—mean it disrespectfully, dad,” he rasps, lightly slapping his father’s hands.
“So you lack sense, too,” the man growls, tightening his grip but turning the boy to face him fully. The teenager swallows thickly at the murderous glint in his father’s eyes. “You are my blood, but I have shed that of my own,” he warns. “You are not exempt from my wrath, boy.”
“I know, dad.”
“You know? I highly doubt that.”
“Michikatsu,” you repeat, now digging your nails into his thick arm. “Release him at once!”
This time, he heeds your command - albeit reluctantly. His mouth twitches when you smack his chest rather roughly. “You will not threaten our son!”
His canines flash when his lip curls up further, making your heart race. “He will not be allowed to speak to you with such insolence. I shall deal with him—”
“It’s a prank,” your son announces, holding his hands up. “Mom can attest to that.”
You huff, frustrated at his eagerness, but nod nonetheless. “We were just trying to test your reaction, dear.”
Kokushibo turns to you then, his thumb urging your chin up so that you may look up at him. “Truly?”
When you nod, he pulls you into his arms carefully, as if handling a porcelain doll. You instinctively relax in his embrace, your head resting on his chest and your arms wrapping around his torso. He doesn’t utter a word, content to hold you and ignore his son’s presence entirely. He is not a heartless man, but in this instance, he will pay no mind to the boy. He wants his wife and only her, preferably in his arms and away from the childish antics of the little devil he calls his son.
────────────────── gyutaro
It doesn’t last long, pranking Gyutaro. It never does. You don’t anticipate that this attempt will be any different.
The moment your daughter yells out the words “shut up,” directed at you, you know to focus and rapidly become aware of your husband walking into the bedroom, his eyes twitching and his nails digging into the skin on his neck.
“Haaah?” he snarls, approaching the two of you with a curious glint in his eye. “Did you finally cough out your last brain cell?”
Your daughter’s jaw drops at that, offended but not truly hurt - only startled by her father’s audacity.
He stalks closer, approaching you first. You smile weakly and grip his arm carefully, rubbing your thumb along the protruding veins. He’s not amused, but there’s a softer sparkle in his gaze as opposed to the initial vengeful glint. You fail to stop your heart from fluttering when he leans over, bony figure hunched over, and kisses your forehead.
More than that, he doesn’t indulge in.
One of his hands whip up and grabs his daughter’s jaw, a movement quicker than you can keep up with. By the time you register what he’s doing, Gyutaro has already placed his thumb on her top front teeth and began applying pressure. She tenses at the threat.
“Shall I use your own teeth to cut your tongue out?” he offers, as if proposing an alternative alongside it.
“Gyutaro!” you startle, landing a death-grip on his wrist and pulling his hand away. “Are you out of your mind?”
“Is she high?” he rasps, pointing in the general direction of your daughter.
“She’s pranking you. And even if you weren’t, you don’t threaten to cut out her tongue!”
He grunts and turns his head, averting his gaze. “Whatever.”
You sigh and kiss your daughter’s cheek apologetically, ushering her out the room before he decides to give her a stern talking-to instead. Only when the two of you are alone does he move closer and rest his chin on the top of your head, his lips pursed into something that resembles a pout.
“You’re annoying.”
“You’re too protective.”
“One is better than the other,” he mumbles.
You poke him in his ribs and he flinches like an unsettled cat.
────────────────── akaza
“Shut up, mom!” your daughter groans. There was no need to yell, Akaza was in the same room as the two of you. Even if he weren’t, he didn’t need to strain his senses to hear this particular retort.
You hear the beads of his accessories rattle before his breathing, all before you even manage to see him. He appears behind you, trailing a hand down to caress the base of your neck, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin there. His blood heats for a reason aside from anger when your breath hitches, even more so when your lips part as he kisses you.
Your daughter knows to avert her gaze - not because you forbid her from seeing her parents be affectionate. She does it for herself. She doesn’t want to see her parents devouring each other’s faces a few inches away from her.
Except the kiss doesn’t last long and Akaza moves on. He stands behind his daughter now, his eyes darkened but not unkind. When the tension in her shoulders alerts him that she has acknowledged his presence behind her, he rounds the couch and stands in front of her instead.
“D/n. Apologise.”
This is the reaction you expected from him. If there was one thing Akaza wouldn’t do, it was raise his voice or hand at the women in his life. That, you were grateful for, but it didn’t mean you weren’t curious to know if there was raw rage rising in his chest.
“Sorry, mom,” she mumbles.
He nods, satisfied, and that’s all it takes for him to calm down.
You grin at him, so infatuated with the tenderness reserved for those he deemed worthy.
He catches sight of your expression and raises a brow, amused by your unprompted grin. “What is it?”
"You're so protective. It's cute."
He blushes deeply and squeezes his eyes shut in an attempt to control his flustered expression. "It's my job."
"You're cute while doing it."
Instead of leaving the room entirely to cool his face down and calm his racing pulse, he lays his head in your lap and twists his lips oddly to stop his smile.
You never tell him that it was a prank. You want to let him think that he successfully defended you because it fuels him to do it more.
𓂃⋆.˚ ( jjk ) making it up to you !
tw arguing, hiromi unintentionally becomes rude and
argumentative, angst + comfort (i.e. happy ending),
sensitive/soft-spoken reader, suggestive.
based on this request
masterlists
the front door's creaky hinge echoes louder in the silence of the house, the man pushing it open not met with the usual overjoyed greeting and swarm of kisses. higuruma shuts the door behind him with an exhausted sigh, the clock ticking five minutes past 2am, 10 hours since you had returned from work and settled into your newfound routine sourced from his absence and practically involuntary night shifts.
"i'm home," he calls out in the empty space, dumping his bag by the shoe rack and using the shoe horn by the door to slip his dress shoes off, before placing them beside yours.
he doesn't expect a greeting in return, but you emerge from the living room with a quieter demeanour about you. you're not smiling, per se, but your features aren't twisted in anger.
"welcome back," you murmur, head downturned and gaze averted. it takes a lot of effort for you to not scurry back into the living room and hide under a thick blanket to distract yourself from his presence, from the tension clogging the air between you.
higuruma huffs lightly through his nose and, after popping into the kitchen to wash his hands and face, follows you into the living room without so much as an apology. for what? being late again? for being rude to your gentle pleas for effort he wasn't putting in? you didn't know which to pick.
so you resort to your usual—silence. very awkward silence.
you look so beautiful sat on the carpet by the coffee table, a steaming mug of tea in your caress and a soft blanket around your shoulders. the tv light reflects in your still-averted eyes and glows on your skin, painting you as the sweetest picture of domesticity and relaxation.
except, higuruma has only done and said things to not contribute to that. you've been going about this routine for the past few months while he's been away at work, only getting back late and finding you already asleep and curled in on yourself. he's done nothing but neglect you, as much as he tries to convince himself—and you, most importantly—that he's trying as best he can to do the very opposite.
he curses under his breath and runs a hand through his hair.
"it's late," he says, voice carrying an undertone of tenderness and concern. "you should be asleep."
you smile weakly and shrug your shoulders. "couldn't, our room is too cold."
well, hell, the entire house is cold—is what he thinks. if you were to tell him that, actually, every room was very warm and the chill was simply in his bones, his blood, he wouldn't believe you. the ache and hollowness he felt were too strong.
"do you want some?" you ask softly, lifting your mug just enough to draw his attention to it.
he clears his throat. "i," he sighs, "just had a coffee, so i'll pass. thank you, though."
your full attention was already back on the tv by the time he had sighed. it makes his stomach twist and his heart clench painfully. this... distance was not something he wanted. he never imagined that he would be so desperate for someone's attention, but here he was, silently praying that he'd come to his senses and his tongue would feel lighter so as to let him apologise.
because he has to.
after an moment where he's standing by the couch with his hands in his pockets, he takes his suit jacket off and throws it over the plush arm, before lowering himself to sit beside you and risk glancing at you.
slap me, he pleads mentally. punch me, scream at me; anything but this unbearable space between us.
then, after a stretch of silence where you're evidently trying to release the tension in your shoulders from his sudden close proximity, you turn to look at him. "i'm sorry."
his brows furrow and he immediately shakes his head. "no, that's not on you to say."
when you open your mouth to protest, he shakes his head again. "it's... shameful that you beat me to it. an apology, i mean."
hesitantly, you admit, "i didn't really anticipate one from you." it sounds dreadful when you say it out loud, but it's been plaguing your mind for months. you'd lay in bed with glassy eyes, convinced that you've been bothering him or he'd get madder at you when you tried to plead with him again.
even now, after whispering that admission, tears quickly manage to brim in your eyes.
higuruma's heart shatters into two then, his blood going from ice cold to lava-hot from sheer shame and frustration at his own faults. the way he talked to you was so uncalled for and yet, here you are, apologising to him.
"no, y/n, i'm sorry. you have nothing to apologise for, i... i've been nothing short of an inconsiderate workaholic, prioritising criminals and heathens over my love, over you."
you purse your lips and nod in silent agreement. there's nothing to protest against there—he was completely right, and you were glad that he was finally aware of his wrongdoings.
you hear his shaky intake of breath and, as you wipe away a stray tear from your cheek, watch him run a hand through his hair again. frankly, he looks a mess, but so do you. sleep hasn't been finding the either of you and your mental health has been worse for wear.
higuruma swallows thickly. "i don't expect forgiveness, not after my lack of empathy. i'm sorry."
"i just wanted an apology, my love. and now that you gave me one, i feel less inclined to stay mad at you," you assure him, smiling a bit brighter now. "b-but for disciplinary purposes, i haven't completely forgiven you. you really did upset me and i want you to realise that and... work towards being better, i guess."
"that i will." he leans forward and presses a lingering kiss to your forehead, then to your cheek, and finally, your lips.
he doesn't try to initiate further intimacy—because he doesn't believe that he deserves it at the moment—but you snuggle into him anyway and intertwine your fingers with his.
"i love you," he whispers, lips finding your hairline. "i'm sorry."
"you promise you'll work towards being better?" you sit up again to look him directly in his eyes, even though such close eye contact usually makes you blush and shove your face into a pillow.
he mirrors your beautifully glassy and painfully cautious gaze with heated sincerity and a sparkle of fondness. "i promise, y/n."
𓂃⋆.˚ ( jjk ) nerdjo is lovesick !
tw slightly suggestive, popular/mean girl reader (except she's
not mean, just intimidating)
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nerdjo realises that he's down bad for you when you hold your bag out without a word and he takes it without question, initially opting to holding it by his side, then trying to tug it over his shoulder and grimacing when the straps dig into him.
"some shoulder workout, huh?" he teases half-heartedly, eyes watching you expectantly, chest warming when you crack a smile.
"all the better to shove you around."
he blushes at that and clears his throat. "t-that's unnecessary. i'd do anything you asked. y-you know that."
nerdjo is surprisingly intimidating when he's not with you. he always has his head down, if he's not analysing the professor's notes on the board, and doesn't speak unless completely necessary. he'll hand a pencil over to the girl next to him without even looking up, sigh deeply and throw his homework over his shoulder when a guy asks if he can copy it.
the one class you have together is science and he doesn't need to supervise you to know that you're a genius. what are you not good at? pretty, aces every subject, kind, so good to him. if he was a lesser man, he'd be panting like a dog at the mere mention of you.
well, call him a lesser man. his tongue may not loll out and drool like a canine's, but his eyes certainly light up and his shoulders tense like he's anticipating your arrival.
one time, someone asks nerdjo: "dude, how did you bag her? she's, like, way out of your league. save some for the rest of us," one guy snorts, bumping shoulders with the white-haired student who'd rather crawl into a hole and die than talk to this guy, but he'll humour him, just for an excuse to talk about you.
"she's not... a toy to be passed around," he grumbles, tapping his pen against his forehead. "i'm j-just nice to her, i guess."
"and i'm not?"
nerdjo gives him a pointed look.
nerdjo loves when you praise him. you're so sweet, praising him for little things that are just the bare minimum - like holding the door open for you, brushing your hair out your face, or paying for your food. you shouldn't be praising him for what he's meant to do, even if the bare minimum isn't as common anymore.
"althusser wasn't just critical of capitalist social stratification, he loathed all those with even minute degrees of power. the ideological state apparatus and the repressive state apparatus were consequences of his rejection of functionalist, and inherently positivist, 'rose-tinted' perspectives that argued for meritocracy and social mobility..." he explains, pencil (because you'd kill him if he used pen in your brand new textbook) working overtime to underline each relevant phrase and exemplary diagram in your textbook.
you purse your lips and lean in, pressing yourself up against his arm and kissing his jaw. "you're so hot when you're playing teacher."
half of the blood stored in his body rushes to his cheeks, his confidence wavering at the almost sultry tone of your voice. gosh, you don't even mean to talk like that half the time, but you're so naturally charming and alluring, it's a wonder how he doesn't pass out in your presence.
"y-you literally asked me to explain this!"
you laugh softly. "i know, baby. thank you. you're too good to me."
all the tension in nerdjo's body is washed away when you run your hand through his hair or gently rake your nails along his scalp. he morphs into something akin to a cat, leaning into your touch and enchanting blue eyes fluttering shut just as they roll back.
when you mention his reaction the first time, he does a start and sputters. "w-wha? i don't purr. that's weird, i-i don't-"
"it's not weird, baby, it's adorable."
his demeanour changes instantly. "i purr. mhm. i-i can do it on command, if you want."
you let out an amused squeal at his endearing transition and pull him into a tight embrace, his face shoved into your chest. his breath hitches, then every inhale and exhale becomes shaky at the close proximity and your gorgeously humoured laugh.
nerdjo is more of a flirt than you initially take him for. he has a way with his gaze and soft tone of voice that make your knees buckle and your heart flutter.
"s-stop looking at me like that," you stutter out, poking his surprisingly firm bicep.
"like what?" he asks, feigning ignorance so as to not take accountability for the fact that he's looking at you like you're the only girl in the world, the only one he'd willingly spend more than a minute around. you're fighting your instincts pridefully, trying not to jump his bones and make out with him right there in his friend's dorm room - on the guy's bed.
nerdjo's favourite chain of kisses are the ones he trails from your lips to your hands, down your abdomen and to your stomach, which contracts at the ticklish brush of his lips on your skin. he revels in your soft whimpers and the way you desperately try to hide your flustered expression, by which point he's already gripping your wrists and pulling your hands away.
"don't hide from me, beautiful. i love looking at you - please don't deny me that," he whispers with a pout, his doe eyes gazing up at you through his snowy lashes.
so you let him do to you as he pleases, because it always consists of reverent praises falling from his lips and gentle but possessive touches.
nerdjo is lovesick, but don't save him! he's right where he wants to be.
𓂃⋆.˚ ( jjk ) sukuna catches you watching edits of him !
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"what the hell are you watching, woman."
you decide to be difficult and ignore him—your excuse being that what he said didn't sound like a question, so you don't have to answer him!
"oi, brat," ryomen sukuna growls, using a hand to brush your hair away from your forehead and simultaneously force your head back to look at him. your neck cranes in the process, making you wince.
"ow, 'kuna, that hurts," you protest, trying to slap his hand away.
sukuna leans down to get a closer look at your phone screen and his upper lip twists into a snarl. "what is this crap?"
"an edit." you roll your eyes at his dramatics and finally manage to waft his hand away.
"a what? nothing about me needs editing."
"no, that's not—nevermind. it's like a thirst trap," you explain, grinning at his oblivion and clear annoyance.
sukuna raises a brow, interest piqued. "for the sake of hormonal attention?"
you snort out a laugh. "yeah, that."
he doesn't seem so annoyed now; amused, if anything. he watches you scroll through the comments, a devious smirk on your lips as you giggle at one and laugh at another. what the hell are you watching edits of him for anyway? he's right there—behind you, in the flesh—and you're admiring him on a screen.
"i'm right here, woman, put that crap down," he grumbles, snatching your phone out your hands and gripping your wrist when you try to grab it back. brows furrowed, lips pouty and arms crossed, you watch him toss the device aside and sit himself down beside you on the couch.
"you're so annoying," you huff.
sukuna grunts at your less-than-pleased expression and presses a thumb against your jutted-out bottom lip. "and you're a pervert."
"you're the one feeling me up."
"i'm not. i will, though, since you're being a brat."
"you already said that—sukuna!" you squeal when he grabs your jaw and squeezes, making your lips pucker up. he presses a wet kiss to them, making you whine in protest.
when he pulls away to stare at you, he lets out an amused huff—one that he doesn't realise is laced with fondness. your lips are still puckered, his hand still on your jaw, and you're still furrowing your brows, still acting all mad.
