#cliche

Walking side by side, the back of their fingers brushing—too shy to initiate hand-holding.

Teasing the tips of person B’s hair between their fingers, watching their fingers, unable to meet B’s gaze.

Subtle acts of service: opening a door for them, covering cornered edges when the other bends down to pick something up, purchasing something of the other’s interest.

”You look—uh, good. You look good.” Stammering, trying to appear confident when complimenting the other. Cue the throat clearing and avoidance of eye-contact.

Hesitant smiles and blushy cheeks.

Person A about to say something before thinking against it and closing their mouth.

Agonising slow-paced romance.

Person B sticking by person A’s side while they’re sick and stuck to bed rest, despite A’s warning of getting them sick too.

Thoughtful picnic dates.

Almost confessions.

”I care about you, and I want the best for you.”

Friends to lovers.

Looking for each other in social settings.

“You mean more to me than that.”

”Come on, we’re friends.” “Are we really?”

Angsty confessions after built up feelings being hidden.

Everyone can see it but them.

“We’re just friends!” “With how B is looking at you now? I don’t think you’re just friends.”

Starry night skies, damp grass, and deep talks about life.

B learning about A’s body insecurities and finding that it’s their favourite part of them.

Love-fuelled kisses under whispering nights.

So deeply in love that it almost makes their friends uncomfortable to witness.

Feathery forehead kisses.

Neither of them raise their voice—a love so gentle and kind that it makes your teeth rot.

Either one has social anxiety and the other orders for them at cafes and restaurants, or both of them do and one disregards their own anxiety and steps up.

Late nights cuddled up and quiet giggles.

”You’re everything I’ve ever dreamed of.”

”I want our kids to have your eyes.”

wc: ~1k

the kitchen smells like heaven—garlic, butter, fresh herbs, and something sweet baking in the oven. you're in your zone, moving between the stove and the counter with practiced precision, focused entirely on the four-course meal you've been planning all week. the kind of meal that would make any michelin-starred chef weep. or at least, that's what satoru keeps saying.

"babe," his voice comes from somewhere behind you, sing-song and playful. "my beautiful, talented, gorgeous spouse."

"satoru, i'm busy," you say without turning around, whisking the beurre blanc sauce with careful, measured strokes. it's at that delicate stage where one wrong move could break the emulsion, and you've worked too hard to let that happen now.

"but you're wearing the apron."

you glance down at the navy blue apron he'd bought you last month—'kiss the cook' embroidered in white thread across the chest, with little hearts scattered around the words. you'd rolled your eyes when he presented it to you with that shit-eating grin of his, but you wear it every time you cook now. it's actually really nice quality. but you want to scoff at the man and continue with your cooking.

"i'm always wearing the apron when i cook," you point out, still whisking. "it's an apron. that's what it's for."

"no, no, no." you can hear the smile in his voice, feel him getting closer. "that's where you're wrong. it has a very specific purpose. it says so right on it."

"satoru—" you start, but then his arms are around your waist, his chin hooking over your shoulder, and his lips are pressing against your cheek. "i'm making a sauce, stop that!”

"and i'm following instructions," he says innocently, pressing another kiss to your jaw. "i'm very good at following instructions. you know this about me."

"you're literally the worst at following instructions," you say, but you can't help the smile tugging at your lips. you carefully move the pan off the heat, just in case. "and i need to focus. this meal has to be perfect."

"it's already perfect. you're making it." another kiss, this time right below your ear. "therefore, perfect. that's just logic."

"that's not how cooking works."

"it is when you're the one cooking." he spins you around gently, and you finally get a good look at him. he's wearing one of his expensive casual outfits—designer joggers and a soft white t-shirt that probably costs more than most people's monthly grocery budget. his hair is its usual perfect mess, and his blue eyes are sparkling with mischief behind his sunglasses, which are pushed up on his head. "you know the chef at that place in ginza? the one with three michelin stars? i told him about your cooking."

"you did? why would you do this to me…”

"i did! and you know what he said?"

"satoru—"

"he said, and i quote, 'gojo-san, you are very lucky.'" he's grinning now, that smile that still makes your heart skip even after years of marriage. "and i said, 'i know. my spouse makes better demi-glace than you, by the way.'"

"you didn't say that to him."

"i absolutely did. he was devastated. i think he cried a little."

you try to look stern, but it's impossible when he's like this. "i need to check on the food."

"kiss first."

"satoru. please.”

"it's literally a rule. it's on the apron. are you saying you want to break the rules?" he gasps dramatically. "you? my law-abiding, rule-following angel?"

"you're annoying," you say, but you're already leaning in, pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

"ah-ah," he says, pulling back. "that was inadequate. the apron requires proper kisses. i don't make the rules."

"you literally bought the apron. you specifically made this rule. goodness, my husband is stupid, too?”

"i’m not even that dumb. but exactly! so i know what i'm talking about." his hands come up to cup your face, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. "now kiss me like you mean it, chef."

“don’t ever say that again that was so corny.”

“okay… but you still love me…”

you do, because how can you not love him? he tastes like the expensive coffee he's been drinking all day and something sweet—he definitely snuck some of the chocolate mousse you made earlier. the kiss is soft and warm and familiar, the kind of kiss that still makes you feel like you're falling even though you've been married for years.

"much better," he murmurs against your lips. "ten out of ten. michelin-starred kiss."

"you're ridiculous." but you're smiling, and so is he.

"yeah, but you married me anyway." he steals another quick kiss before letting you go. "okay, okay. i'll let you work. but i'm staying right here." he presses up against your back, giving you a warm and final hug. and watches you with undisguised adoration and sickly love. he would not tell you any day of the week, but his heart still skips and does somersaults when he sees you again. it makes him feel like a teenager again.

you shake your head and return to your sauce, adding it back to the heat. "you're going to be in the way."

"i'm emotional support. very important role in the kitchen."

"you're going to try to kiss me every five minutes and tackle me with hugs.”

"well, yeah. that's part of the emotional support." he nuzzles into the warmth of your neck. "also, you look really hot when you cook. have i mentioned that? because you do. very hot. extremely hot. the hottest."

"satoru."

"yes, my love?"

"if you distract me and i mess up this meal, you're ordering takeout for a month."

"worth it," he says immediately, and then he's sliding off the counter and wrapping his arms around you again, pressing kisses to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. "totally worth it. besides, you never mess up. you're perfect."

and despite your protests, despite the complicated meal you're trying to prepare, you let him. because this is perfect too—the warmth of the kitchen, the smell of good food, and satoru's arms around you, his lips on your skin, his love as constant and overwhelming as ever.

THANK YOU SO MUCH! i love me a good cliche (i was lame as hell in highschool LMAO) so i think they're so much fun if done correctly ^^ i def do have a few up my sleeve and have some ideas for request events n stuff so hehehe many things cooking !! with that said, if anyone has any ideas pls send them my way! i love hearing from everyone piggybacking off my ideas u guys r so cute >:3

neways enjoy some punk!bakugo x ballerina!reader because he was a sk8er boi

punk!bakugo whose appearance threw off many people at school. spiky hair, baggy jeans with horrendously large holes in them, and those chunky-ass favourite headphones of his he always wore. he scared the living daylights out of the poor freshmen who walked past him in the halls.

punk!bakugo who had his eye on that cute girl in his year. she had a class or two with him, yet he couldn't help but stare at her everytime she passed. ballerina!reader was the cutest little thing, wasn't she? soft features, round eyes, thick lashes...no, stop. he had to stop thinking about her like that.

ballerina!reader who didn't notice the stares she got from the blond boy, but her friends did. and boy, did they notice... they were horrified. why would he be staring at her? did he...gasp! like her?? no, no way. him? with those baggy clothes and occaisional dark eyeliner? they wouldn't let him get anywhere near their little angel!

ballerina!reader who, before every recital, had her selected songs playing in her headphones. if she couldn't dance, she could at least visualize herself doing so. sometimes even her small pencil scribbles turned into her positions. how cute... she'd even hum along too!

punk!bakugo who caught ballerina!reader's eye for the first time during his band's performance during some pep rally. her friends dragged her to the front row excited to see some other people perform, but her eyes were locked on the fiery blond.

ballerina!reader who, to her friends' disapproval, tried to sneak closer to him in the hallways. he was so cool! look at that chain hanging off his belt- wasn't it just awesome? her friends scrunched up their faces and gave brief 'ews' and eye rolls. no, she must be insane...

ballerina!reader who was obsessed with the patches on his jacket. they were so cool...and many of them looked handmade by his own friends. she attempted to make her own out of one of her old costumes, haphazardly drawing a skull on it. she shyly gave it to him when she saw him going to band practice, cheeks flushed as he took it.

punk!bakugo who proudly wore his new patch right over his heart. he'd scoff and shove his friends if they ever even dared to ask him about it, never admitting how special it became to him. he wanted to repay her, finding out what company she danced for based on the name scribbled onto her water bottle and found out the date of her next recital.

punk!bakugo who found her after with a bouquet of roses, waiting by the door and shoving them into her arms. he ripped off his favourite patch and gave it to her as well, scowl softening slightly as he quickly made his way out of the building. she was grateful for the flowers, but the patch? holy hell...

ballerina!reader who went home and sewed the patch from him onto her dance bag. were they matching now? they were, technically. she made him one and he gave her one off his jacket. a true romantic, really...

I'm sorry, what? Bonnets are WHAT? This societal norm of literally centuries, a standard facet of life for ages and ages is. is a CLICHE?!

that fuckass line that makes me laugh for no reason

part 1- we were kids back then

2hollis x fem! reader

tags & warnings: Cringey fluff, borderline nerd shit, slowburn, underage drinking

synopsis: You and Hollis were just kids when you met, and you did some things you'd eventually regret.

a/n: some childhood nostalgia fluff for the masses :) kinda a different writing style, lmk if you like it! 

proofread by @swagonometryfr

masterlist

wc: 1.27k

The Reader try to first talk and invite Rumi to the Winter Dance!

TW: None, all fluffy!

Content: romance, high school, crush, dance invitation, humor, friendship, nervousness, relief, confession, acceptance, happiness.

She was the most beautiful girl that you had ever known.

Perfect purple hair. Big brown eyes. And a contagious smile, sometimes a little awkward, like if she was not used to it.

You had been living the same dream all over again. Dating her. Just as simple as that. But one step at a time, you needed her to acknowledge your existence.

The only problem, well... actually talking to her. You had tried, a lot of times!