✧sylvie✧

can’t really offer much explanation for this but blade likes it when you play with his hair.

he tries to play it off like he doesn’t care for it, but you always manage to see right through him. he acts like it’s something trivial, something ridiculous, like he doesn’t want it but you notice the way his shoulders slouch a bit when your fingers begin to run through his long, dark strands.

and there’s those rare, special moments when it’s deep into the night and it’s just the two of you, and you’ve managed to lure him into your arms so you can be the one to hold him and his face is in your chest while you brush your fingers through his hair. softness isn’t something that was always available to the stellaron hunter; before you he was rough, rigid, and cold like the steel of a blade. but you have him wrapped in your embrace, your hands in his hair while you hum whatever melody is in your head, and occasionally you press the sweetest kiss to the top of his head. moments like these still feel slightly odd to him, but he’s thankful all the same, especially when these moments award him the ability to press his ear to your chest and listen to your heartbeat. it’s steady, it’s comforting, and the thump of it against his ear is something so precious to him; it’s something he would kill to protect.

blade likes it when you play with his hair. and it scares him how easily you smooth his rough edges with just a simple touch, but he welcomes the small solace you provide to him when his hair twirls around your fingers.

not in a mocking way. no. this is full-blown softie satoru, disgusting levels of wife guy activated, baby voice on max, coddling you like you’re the most precious, fragile little thing in the universe—and not because he thinks you’re weak, but because it’s the one time you let him get away with it without putting up your usual walls.

because you’re sick. hot forehead, flushed cheeks, big watery eyes that blink up at him like you’re seeing god—or worse, like you might actually cry if he leaves the room. like you need him. and honestly? that does something to him. wrecks him, even.

and you do need him. you’re fevered, shivering, curled up in bed in one of his oversized shirts, your hair a mess, nose stuffy, brain thoroughly fried. your fingers twitch like you want to reach for him but can’t be bothered to try, lips parted in a weak sigh as you breathe through your mouth. your usual bratty, mouthy, too-proud-for-help self? gone. obliterated. absolutely bulldozed by the flu. all that’s left is a miserable little lump of a wife who clings to his sleeve like a koala and mumbles, “’toru… i feel like a soggy towel…”

his whole body stills. there’s a twitch in his brow, like his heart has physically clenched. his lips part, just a little, before curling up in the softest grin. eyes soften behind pale lashes—just a hint of red at the corners from how tired he is too—but none of that matters. not when you’re looking up at him like that. the corner of his mouth tugs upward, not in amusement—but in something far gentler. reverent, even. and then god. he melts. instantly. his heart shatters into a million pieces and reforms just to explode again.

“awww, my poor widdle baby,” he coos, already pressing a kiss to your damp forehead. his breath is warm, his nose brushing yours. “does my soggy towel need her soup? wanna be spoon-fed by the hottest nurse in the world?”

you don’t even roll your eyes. you nod. actually nod. sluggish, dazed. and then flop into his arms like dead weight, forehead nudging his neck, skin hot against his collarbone. you let him hold you like you’re made of glass.

he almost cries. really. because you’re letting yourself be coddled. cuddled. taken care of. no sass. no biting remarks. just tiny, pitiful sniffles and pouty faces and your arms wrapping around his waist like he’s your anchor. like you don’t want him to go anywhere. like you can’t function without him.

and satoru eats that up like it’s a feast.

“you want juice, angel? how about some water? apple slices? forehead kisses every ten minutes? medicine with a kiss as a chaser?”

this is going to be platonic/familial btw.

a/n: credit to @random-thoughts-uwu for inspiring me and helping me with this cw: none, mildly suggestive if you squint real hard, just Sunday being awkward cutie pie, established relationship fluff and humor, no physical descriptions besides fem!reader and reader has shoulders and ankles

ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ ˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ ʚɞ

So say Sunday and you are in a relationship, most likely married. He grew up in a pretty cult-like sheltered environment and his only source of love and comfort was his sister Robin till they parted ways. So the adjustment from "have no attachments imperfection is weak" to hugs and kisses must've been jarring.

When you first tried to hold hands he flinched and swatted your hand away saying that it was inappropriate in a public setting

"No heart emojis before marriage" (already engaged and after marriage he only did pink or blue hearts for a long while)

Says "GOOD HEAVENS" and "how scandalous" whenever he sees you wearing something even slightly revealing, literally blushed at seeing your ankles, even though y'all live together and sleep in the same bed

Gasps when you leaned on him and hugged his arm, while giving him a certain look

Literally a blushing mess just from kissing you, on the cheek

Can't make eye contact with you and covers his face with his wings when he's embarrassed if he gets uncharacteristically needy

Huffs at kissing scenes in movies

He saw your shoulder and nearly fainted

Let's just say he's not that experienced in certain aspects of life and romantic relationships (you can teach him though 😏)

One time he got a little carried away kissing you and couldn't stop apologizing for a few love marks on your shoulder he accidentally left

THERE IS MORE I KNOW IT

💌 — ; your boyfriend is tooootally the type of guy to...

love mail — a girl gotta do what a girl gotta do. good NIGHT. (it's 8pm as of posting) another short one :p i'm starting to grow to like writing these...

anaxa's the typa guy to prefer slowburn over anything. he wants to earn you, really. doesn't like it when things are too easy because he appreciates the art of courting, though if you DO make it easy for him he still tries to be romantic. wanting to at least feel like he's doing something right to receive such love from you </3

mydei's is the typa guy to appreciate when you bring him in for a dance while he's in the kitchen. while waiting for a dish to cook or the oven to preheat, you begin to hum a familiar song and take his hand. he lets out that deep chuckle of his, indulging in your antics as you two slowdance to your humming. it's so domestic i threw up hi guys

phainon is ABSOLUTELY the type of guy to cross half a battlefield just to help you during a fight. doesn't care how much he's hurt, the distance he has to run, he's at your side immediately. absolutely tears the enemy apart too like.. he is NOT losing anyone else.

dr ratio is the typa guy to use you as his muse. has used your beauty as inspiration for sculptures and doesn't hold back on his compliments for you. you will STRUGGLE to be insecure with how insistent and sharp he is about how perfectly you're 'carved' to be. will playfully debate w u about it

boothill's the typa guy to let you leave your mark on his mechanical body. stickers, kiss marks if you feel like it, little accessories.. do whatever you want, wears it proudly like a medal. personal favorite is his wedding ring <3

moze is the typa guy to like going invisible before hugging you from behind. it used to startle you, but you've grown to appreciate it. he was only like this in the beginning, since he was quietly embarrassed about affection and wasn't sure how to approach it the way you did. decided this was the best way. although you miss it cause it was cute, you like how he doesn't feel the need to anymore. he's grown comfortable with affection <3

jing yuan is the typa guy to know your little 'questions' and subtle hints to things. ask him if he's hungry? he has your cravings being ordered on the phone. does something look nice on you? he already has his wallet out to pay for it. he also makes sure not to walk too fast and matches your pace, all while of course holding your hand. nothing works anymore because he just knows you too well 💔 gives you kisses on your forehead for trying. if you're unhappy he knows to follow up to your cheek, and if it doesn't work he finishes with a kiss to your lips. that one always works :)

gallagher the typa guy to LOOOVE flirting when your tipsy. sometimes you forget he's your boyfriend and get all giggly like when you first met him, it's his favorite thing. doesn't push it too far ofc because he wants to be respectful when you're under the influence, but it takes a lot of years of practice to be able to hold his constraint when you lean in for a kiss.. all sweet with your hands pressed up against his chest

caelus is totally the typa guy who loves to let you wear his jacket. for one, everybody knows it is his, and you wearing it means he's yours <3 so that means nobody approaches you and he likes it that way. also it's comfortable and fashionable! you never get cold :D (and you see his arms so i suppose it's a bonus)

luka is ONE HUNDRED percent the type of guy to love playfighting but he always lets you win. it's always fun with you, you're always so giggly and play dirty, plus while he can totally counter it, he doesn't. let's you have your fun the whole time! unless you start teasing him and that's when he locks in (to tease you back)

blade is the typa guy to appreciate the fact you patch him up. while you're doing so he mumbles about how perfect you are, how he's undeserving of your kindness as he takes one of your hands and kisses your palm softly, making you cup his cheek as he continues his praise of your amazing care for him. sometimes goes overboard and is too focused on showing you how thankful he is and forgets to have his injuries properly treated :p

luocha is the typa guy to like sleeping shirtless. doesn't know why he started this habit, just knows that it started when you two started to sleep together in the same bed. he liked waking up and really feeling you being there. it meant everything to him, this kind of vulnerability. it was beyond lust, it was trust.

gepard is the type of guy to always be flustered easily. we all know it, we love it, but your favorite moments are when you surprise him while he's on duty. when he's stationed to more isolated parts of belobog, he always seems bored or you know.. maybe just doing his duty. whatever it is, he's clearly too focused to let any emotion slide. so when you show up, all smiley and sweet, your energy bounces off of him and he can't help but get all giggly too. only to realize he's still on watch, gets embarrassed, and you relish in the sweet red on his cheeks.

You weren’t sure when the wrinkles began to show. Maybe around your eyes first, the little smile lines he used to kiss. They deepened over time, soft creases tracing the stories of your laughter, your tears, your living. You sometimes caught yourself in the mirror and wondered—would he still look at you the same?

But Mydei never changed. Not in the way mortals do. His eyes stayed untouched by time, eternal and glowing like starlight. And somehow, every time he looked at you, it felt like the first time.

One quiet morning, you sat by the window, tea warm in your hands, light pouring across your lap. Mydei walked in and paused—just watching you. A little smile tugged at his lips, tender and full of something ancient.

You raised an eyebrow, chuckling. “You’re staring again.”

He walked over and knelt beside your chair, brushing your hand with his fingertips. “I always stare,” he said, “because you’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

You laughed softly, covering your face. “I have wrinkles now.”

He pulled your hands away gently and kissed your knuckles. “I know. And I love every single one.” His gaze traveled across your features, lingering at the corners of your eyes. “These lines right here? I remember the first time they started to form—from how often you smiled at me.”

You blinked, cheeks warm. “You make it sound like a poem.”

“You are a poem,” he whispered, leaning forward to kiss the freckles still dancing across your cheeks. “Every wrinkle, every mark, every breath you take—it’s part of a story I’ve been lucky enough to read for a very, very long time.”

You leaned into him, heart full. “Do I still look like me to you?”

based on this post by @mewnbuns!! so kewl an aven post fr???1111!!

synopsis: up early with your toddler, Satoru endures the sweet struggle of letting you sleep in a little longer - much to his daughter's chagrin.

tags: MDNI, pure domestic bliss, fluff, satoru gojo loooves his wife and daughter, no plot just fluff <3

6:00 a.m. in the Gojo household, and despite the fact that the sun was only just barely winking upon the horizon, two voices could be heard above the slowly awakening crickets and early birds.

Uncoordinated clapping - palms only just barely meeting and with scarcely any force behind them - accompanied whispered words, stifled yawns, and breathless chuckles.

"Oh, c'mon, princess... you're just handing the applause out now, I didn't even do anything."

Satoru complained softly down to the child in his arms - his daughter, just shy of a year old - making no effort to hold back the smile that was tugging at the corners of his lips.

The sketchbook lay open on your lap, its pages filled with jagged, unfinished lines and abandoned attempts. Pencil smudges stained the edges of your fingers, and the eraser shavings clung to your sleeves. You stared at the latest drawing—a portrait of someone’s face, features twisted in frustration—and sighed, pressing your hands over your eyes.

It was all wrong. Everything you made lately was wrong.

Art had always been your solace, the one thing you thought you were good at, the one thing that made sense. But recently, even that had slipped through your fingers like sand. Each stroke felt off, every attempt ended in self-loathing. It was like a cruel joke—the thing that once comforted you was now another source of frustration.

The soft shuffle of footsteps barely registered until a weight settled beside you. A familiar presence. Blade.

He didn’t say anything at first, just leaned back against the couch and looked over your shoulder. You tensed slightly, waiting for some kind of judgment, some comment about the mess of discarded sketches around you. But none came.

Instead, his voice was quiet, calm. “You’ve been sitting here for hours.”

You exhaled a humorless laugh. “Yeah, well… got nothing to show for it.”

Blade tilted his head slightly, his gaze flicking over your art before landing on your face. “That’s not true.”

You scoffed, closing the sketchbook with more force than necessary. “It is. I can’t make anything right anymore. Every line feels wrong, every color looks off. I don’t know what’s happening to me.” Your voice cracked at the end, the frustration curling into something more fragile.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, Blade’s hand—calloused but warm—rested over yours, keeping you from clutching your pencil too tightly. “You’re tired.”

You swallowed, throat tight. “It’s more than that.”

Blade considered your words, then, with deliberate ease, took the pencil from your fingers. He flipped to a blank page and held the book out to you. “Draw.”

You hesitated, looking at him in disbelief. “Blade, I just told you—”

“Don’t think,” he interrupted softly. “Just draw. Even if it’s just random nonsense.”

You frowned, but something in the steadiness of his voice made you comply. You pressed the pencil to the page and let your hand move. At first, it was hesitant, awkward, but Blade didn’t comment. He just sat beside you, watching with an expression so calm it was almost soothing.

You lost track of time. The lines flowed, imperfcet yet present. It wasn’t your best work, not even close, but as you sketched—without expectation, without judgment—some of the tightness in your chest eased.

When you finally put the pencil down, Blade studied the page. “It’s good.”

You snorted. “It’s literally messy as fuck.”

“So?” He met your eyes. “It’s still yours.”

Something in his words struck deep, lodging itself in the hollow ache you hadn’t been able to shake. You blinked rapidly, looking away. “You’re weirdly good at this comforting thing.”

Blade hummed, a ghost of a smirk playing at his lips. “You make it easy.”

You huffed a laugh, then leaned your head against his shoulder, exhaustion seeping into your bones. He didn’t pull away. Instead, his hand came up to rest against the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair.

“Don’t push yourself so hard,” he murmured.

You closed your eyes, the warmth of his presence chasing away the worst of your frustration. Maybe your art wasn’t perfect right now. Maybe it wouldn’t be for a while. But for the first time in weeks, it didn’t feel like the end of the world.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough for now.

But as the quiet settled around you, a lump formed in your throat. The momentary peace wavered, replaced by a lingering doubt that you couldn’t shake.

“Blade,” you whispered, voice trembling. “What if… what if no one ever appreciates my art? What if I’m losing my skills? I feel like everything I create is getting worse.”

A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it. Then another. Before you knew it, you were hiccuping through quiet sobs, fingers clutching onto your sketchbook like it was the last thing anchoring you.

Blade’s grip on you tightened slightly, his warmth steady and unwavering. He shifted, tilting his head down slightly.

“Look at me,” he said softly.

You hesitated, but the sincerity in his tone left no room for avoidance. Slowly, you lifted your tear-filled gaze to meet his. His crimson eyes were calm, steady, yet filled with something so gentle it nearly made you cry harder.

“You’re not losing anything,” he reassured. “Skills don’t just disappear. You’re struggling, that’s all. It happens. Even the best warriors lose their edge sometimes.”

You sniffled, blinking rapidly. “That’s different.”

“It’s not,” he countered, his fingers grazing against your wrist, grounding you. “You’re too close to it, staring at every flaw. But to me, your art is still yours. Still something only you can create.”

A shaky breath left your lips, his words settling into the spaces where doubt had rooted itself. Blade wasn’t one for empty reassurances, and somehow, that made it easier to believe him.

He pressed his forehead lightly against yours, his voice softer than before. “You’re allowed to struggle. It doesn’t make you any less of an artist.”

You closed your eyes, letting his words sink in. Letting the warmth of his presence ease the ache in your chest. Maybe, just maybe, you could believe him.

Just as you exhaled, sinking deeper into Blade’s warmth, the door suddenly slammed open.

“[NAME]!!!”

A blur of silver and purple shot across the room before you could react, and suddenly, you were tackled onto the couch.

“Ugh— Silver, what the—”

“Do you even check your messages?! I thought you DIED.” Silver Wolf whined, dramatically clutching you like a lifeline.

You groaned, trying to push her off. “I was busy.”

She gasped, “Doing WHAT? Crying over your art? Being emo with Blade?”

At that moment, Silver Wolf finally seemed to realize you weren’t alone. She turned her head—only to be met with Blade’s death glare.

The air dropped in temperature.

Silver Wolf blinked. Blade stared.

Then, she turned back to you and whispered, “...Is he mad because I interrupted your little cuddly-wuddly moment?”

Blade’s glare intensified.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Blade, stop being scary.”

Blade’s voice was flat. “She’s loud.”

“And you’re a hater,” Silver Wolf shot back. “But that’s fine. You know why? Because you’re about to have the best night of your life.”

Blade narrowed his eyes. “What?”

You blinked. “What?”

Silver Wolf grinned mischievously, already grabbing your wrist. “Self-care time. You clearly need it.”

Blade immediately stood up. “No.”

“YES.” You and Silver Wolf both grabbed onto him before he could escape.

“LET GO OF ME.”

“NO.”

And just like that, Blade—feared Stellaron Hunter, terrifying swordsman, the man who survived centuries of pain and deaht—was forced onto the floor as you and Silver Wolf pinned him down for a full skincare session.

Blade sat stiffly in the middle of your room, his entire face covered with a lemon-scented face mask.

His hair was neatly sectioned into tiny parts, held in place by pink bow-shaped clips.

His expression was blank. His soul had clearly left his body.

Meanwhile, you and Silver Wolf were sitting on either side of him, deep in discussion.

“So, technically, William Afton is already dead, right?” you mused, applying more moisturizer to Blade’s hands.

“Yeah, but his soul is still around because of the Remnant,” Silver Wolf replied.

“So when the Springlock suit failed, it just trapped him, right?”

“Exactly! The suit crushed him, but his soul stayed because of agony and Remnant. That’s how he keeps coming back.”

Blade exhaled slowly, eyes closed. He was not listening. Absolutely not.

“Okay, but hear me out,” you continued, rubbing some serum into his skin. “What if Gregory is a robot?”

Silver Wolf gasped, slapping your arm. “Oh my god. You’re so right.”

“…He’s not.”

Both of you turned to Blade so fast you nearly gave yourselves whiplash.

He kept his arms crossed, his expression completely neutral. “That theory was debunked. Gregory is human.”

A slow grin spread across Silver Wolf’s face. “You’ve been listening.”

Blade’s eye twitched. “…No.”

You and Silver Wolf exchanged looks.

Then, at the same time, you both pounced on him.

“BLADE KNOWS FNAF LORE—”

“I SAID I DON’T.”

Blade sighed deeply as the two of you started aggressively explaining every single detail of FNAF lore to him, rambling about animatronics, haunted souls, and time-traveling ball pits.

And despite his blank, indifefrent face…

He definitely listened.

𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘹 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘢𝘯!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘤𝘴

just some halovian!user x sunday headcanons; mostly just physical affection, etc tags: fluff, headcanons, sunday x halovian!reader, established relationship

lots of shiny jewelry and trinkets; cafe dates as well. he really just loves spoiling you.

one of your favorite things to do together is wing maintenance; you two sit in the bath together with all of his soaps and oils nearby and he teaches you his 20 step wing care routine

also, im pretty sure those waist wings get really stiff after just. hanging there. all day. so, at the end of the day, it's part of your guys' bedtime routine to help the other stretch their waist wings.

despite his violet ones being clipped, you still gaze at them like they're the most prettiest things you've ever seen. of course, he always gets flustered, watching you openly admire them

he's VERY serious about wing hygiene. hygiene in general, of course, but he will not have you going more than two days without taking care of your wings. he will personally drag you into his office, plop you onto his lap and fuss over you. "tch...oh dear, oh dear...they're getting all torn and ruined-" "it's only been two days, Sun!" you laugh as he gently grabs a hold of the small wing behind your ear and begins to wet it. "that's no excuse. i will not let my dove walk around with rumpled wings," he says firmly, though there's an obvious love and care for you in his voice.

he also loves loves loves sitting with you, whether its in bed or the gardens, in the peace and quiet and privacy, preening each others wings. you two sit facing each other, one of his waist wings on your lap and yours on his. sometimes you two just enjoy each other's presence as you quietly preen, or he would ask you about your day and listen as you talk, or the other way around.

he LOVES nuzzling you. it's almost like his greeting for you, his hand coming to rest on your arm or waist as he leans down slightly and brushes his nose against yours, or his forehead or cheek against yours with such a soft "how are you, my dove?" or "i missed you, dearest."

when you two are cuddling he likes to hold you in his arms, stroking ur hair. he also likes when you hold him to your chest, his ear above your heartbeat and cheeks slightly flushed, his wings fluttering as you stroke his hair and caress the twitching wings. sometimes he gets so comfortable he doesn't even realize that he ended up just cooing quietly under your touch.

he also gets SO relaxed around you that he snores sometimes. it's not like the typical loud snoring, it's somehow soft, but amusing nonetheless. he was just so exhausted, the poor guy 🥺

you enjoy sneaking up on him. of course, he'll gently chide you for it (theres no heat to his words, he could never really be upset with you), but it's worth it anyways to hear the little tweet that escapes his throat in his surprise