☆ 𝐀𝐨𝐢𝐟𝐞 ☆

malaysia…

kento could feel it so clearly, the sand between his toes, warm on the surface then cooler when his feet dig in. the smell of the ocean, breathing lungfuls of the salty scent. it all felt so real.

except it wasn’t.

except he wasn’t in malaysia, he was stuck in the underground of shibuya station instead. the smell clinging to his nostrils is the one of his own blood, exhausted feet constricted by the leather of his shoes— his trusty pair, the one that had accompanied him on his commute to and from his shitty workplace, the one that walked him into death’s hands.

“ken…? ken!”

he jolts up with a gasp, eyes wide an hyper-vigilant. his throat is parched, he feels like he can’t breathe in properly until— a hand. soft, feather-light and warm, resting on his arm.

“another nightmare?”

you.

kento turns his head slowly, your worried face filling his field of vision. the only face he had promised to protect, to bring away from all the atrocities of his life, to never, ever, let that expression cross your features again. but unfortunately, his tainted memories managed to tear through the veil of sleep with their cruel claws, plaguing his nights.

“yeah,” he manages to croak weakly. “but i’m okay now, please don’t worry. i’m fine.”

your knitted brows relax, just a bit, when his hand reaches for yours, grabbing it to bring it to his lips, meeting the skin with a gentle kiss. “that’s a relief,” you whisper, a smile finally finding its way onto your mouth. “because this day can’t be anything but amazing, ken. happy birthday.”

you lean forward to kiss him, and he welcomes it, eyes fluttering shut. he can hear the wooshing of the waves outside, the breeze brushing the curtains, the occasional bird chirping.

malaysia.

when you pull back, you notice he’s staring, whiskey eyes lingering on every inch of your skin like he needs to commit it to memory. you shake your head, ready to scold him. “ken—”

but he doesn’t let you, big arms wrapping around you to cage you to the mattress, the whole weight of the upper half of his body positively punching the air out of your lungs. “oomph…what are you doing!?”

his reply comes in the shape of kisses, lots of them, pressed in quick succession against your the side of your throat to tickle you. “ken! k-ken no!” you start giggling uncontrollably, unable to get the 6 feet grown baby off you, playfully slapping his back.

then he stops, all of a sudden, face still buried in the crook of your neck. “mhhhh, five more minutes,” he feigns a sleepy, almost whiny voice. you shake your head, laughing, fingers sliding up his back to find the short hair at his nape.

“fine,” you murmur, pressing your cheek to the top of his head. “five more minutes, but only because it’s your birthday.”

┊┊a/n. MY WIFI IS BACK AND I CAN USE MY LAPTOP AGAIN WHO CHEERED!!! also super quick blurb sorry if it's bunz i kinda forgot his bday was today

Hey Daddy - R. Braun

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

i have a silly lil request of baking with satoru but he keeps eating the raw ingredients because he’s just so impatient 🥺🥺 please illi

⋆˚࿔ husband!satoru x fem!reader

content warningsᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ: fluff + crack, ragebait!satoru :: wc; 0.8k

𑣲illi’s notes; hihi i’m alive :3! i don’t know how many times i can apologize for delaying reqs until it loses sincerity, but i am truly sorry that it’s taking forever >_< i hope this is good, i luv u, hana ꨄ

🏷️: @kittens4kitty @daystarpoet @rengoatku @gumisdarling @pawwwginaaa @vanillaascented @sunnyfieldsz @1cckedheart

ᢉ𐭩masterlist

“Whatcha doin’?”

The sing song and chipper voice of your husband was the only sound that you allowed to interrupt you during your baking, a time so sacred and peaceful. Baking was one of your many hobbies you found solace in, perfectly weighing out each gram of flour and calculating just how many chocolate chips were enough, it was your favorite thing to do—much to Satoru’s confusion, but he knew you loved it and he loved you.

why yes of course my dear eefa!

you: hi dabi can i suck your toes dabi: no *lights you on fucking fire* you: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Armin never thought he would have to use the spare key.

You weren't answering the the door nor your phone. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't concerned.

Hurriedly taking off his shoes by the front door. He called out your name, walking through your apartment.

Feeling the slightest relief when he found you wrapped in your comforter. A box of tissues next to you. Your phone is flipped over, muffled by your other pillow— no wonder you didn’t hear/see his notifications.

"When d'you get here?" You sounded both congested and tired at the same time.

“I just got here, you weren’t answering your phone— I got worried.”

You flip over and find your phone, staring at the missed messages. “Oh, m’sorry.”

“Don’t be…” pressing the back of his hand to your forehead. He’s now grateful from how many wiki-how pages he’s read. Taking care of a sick person should be easy, in theory at least.

Armin disappears for a short while, coming back with a cup of hot tea. His coat is gone now, probably draped over one of the chairs.

Finally emerging from the fabric wrapped around you, taking the cup in your hand, holding it like a lifeline. The steam starts to clear up your nostrils. And after a moment you can finally breathe again.

But your boyfriend notices that you’re still cold even though the heater is on full blast. The tea is set aside on your bedside table. Climbing onto the other side of your bed, pulling you to his chest. Rubbing circles along your shoulder. The cold subsides, feeling the warmth of his body.

I actually hate tea idk, Im a sucker for sick fics 😋 @kamislop

-🛸

i know i'm answering these in a very confusing order lol forgive me