dawn

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.

you haven’t really been home in six months

ılılılılılılı now playing: soren by beabadoobee

iwaizumi’s been gone for a while.

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.

sakusa knows he’s a bad date.

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.

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. 

‎‎‎‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎‎‎ 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.

SUGAWARA KOUSHI, suna rintaro, bokuto koutaro, KUROO TETSURO, nishinoya yu, matsukawa issei, atsumu miya, iwaizumi hajime 

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.

yaku morisuke, SAKUSA KIYOOMI, daichi sawamura, kita shinsuke, kentaro kyotani (mad dog)

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.

shirabu kenjiro, KENMA KOZUME, semi eita, terushima yuji, LEV HAIBA, kunimi akira, suguru daisho

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.

tanaka ryunosuke, TSUKISHIMA KEI, aone takanobu, hinata shoyo, USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI, hanamaki takahiro

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.

yamaguchi tadashi, OIKAWA TOORU, komori motoya, azumane asahi, akaashi keiji, KAGEYAMA TOBIO, osamu miya

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

GACHIAKUTA; Gill illustration by Kei Urana-sensei

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”

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.

i'd love if you knew you were on my mind

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 snooze!

"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