PicklePara

Suguru’s voice floats lazily in front of you, smug and slow like honey. You scoff, lips pursed, one perfectly manicured brow arched high.

“I’m dressed for the club, not a cursed spirit convention.” You pop your gum, the soft snap echoing outside the shrine.

Your skirt is short, your heels are loud, and your lip gloss glistens like you’re ready to be on the cover of a fashion magazine—standing in heels on the front of the temple steps at sunset. But you don’t tone yourself down for anyone. Least of all a sorcerer who wears his hair like a monk but looks at you like a sinner.

He’s sitting on the wooden steps, uniform loose, hair tied up, and sleeves pushed to his elbows. There’s a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth like he’s both amused and intrigued. That look he gives you—dark eyes dragging slowly from your platform heels to your glossy lips—it burns hotter than any cursed flame.

“Didn’t think you’d actually show,” he says.

You toss your phone in your purse and saunter closer, hips swaying, a devilish grin playing on your lips. “You texted ‘wanna see you.’ That sounded like an invite to me.”

“Mm. Didn’t think a girl like you had time for a temple boy like me.”

You lean down, planting a hand on the step beside him, cleavage dangerously close to his line of sight.

“I make time,” you murmur, close enough that your perfume—sweet and citrusy—wraps around him like a spell. “Besides, you’re hot for a monk.”

Suguru chuckles, low and rich in his chest. “Not a monk. Just a very cursed man.”

“Even better.”

You settle beside him, letting your skirt ride up just enough to notice. He doesn’t touch you, but his eyes linger, respectful yet hungry. It’s a game now—how close can you get before someone breaks?

He hands you a can of cold tea from a bag behind him. You take it with a quiet “thanks,” pressing it against your lips with a sigh.

“Long day?” he asks.

You nod. “My girls and I were shopping in Shibuya for five hours. My feet are dying, and I saw two low-grade curses fighting over a bent vending machine.”

He snorts. “And you just walked past them?”

“Of course I did. Not my business unless they start fighting me.” You smirk. “Besides, they looked like they’d be more scared of my nails than my cursed energy.”

“Probably true,” he murmurs, gaze flicking to your sharp, glittering manicure. “You’re terrifying.”

You giggle. “You love it.”

A moment of silence stretches between you—easy, warm. The cicadas hum in the distance. Suguru’s eyes shift toward you, softer now, the teasing in his tone melting into something quieter.

“You’re a little different than I expected,” he says.

You raise a brow. “Different how?”

He shrugs. “Louder. Brighter. You bring all this color into places like this,” he gestures vaguely to the shrine, “and somehow, it fits.”

You glance down at your platform heels, your pastel nails, the rhinestone clips in your hair. For a moment, you expect judgment. But when you meet his eyes again, there’s none—just admiration wrapped in curiosity.

“I don’t blend in,” you say.

“No,” he agrees. “You stand out. Like a firefly in a field of ash.”

Your breath catches. Suguru doesn’t flirt—he doesn’t need to. His words are never cheap. So when he says something like that, it cuts deep in the best way.

You look away, a rare flush warming your cheeks.

“…You’re kinda smooth for a guy who exorcises curses all day.”

“And you’re kind of sweet for a girl who looks like she might kill me with her heels.”

You lean closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “Who says I won’t?”

His lips curve. “I’ll take the risk.”

Before you can answer, he reaches out—slowly, giving you time to pull away—and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers graze your cheek, warm and careful. You don’t move.

“You’re trouble,” he murmurs.

“So stop inviting me over.”

He chuckles again. “Never.”

Still, you couldn't help but say yes every time someone asked for something, even when you were completely drained. It was just who you were. You couldn’t help but want to make everyone happy, even if it meant ignoring your own needs.

You sat at a table in the common room, absentmindedly stirring a cup of tea as you tried to focus on the pages of a book, but your thoughts kept wandering. Your phone buzzed on the table, pulling you out of your mind. It was a message from Maki:

“Hey, can you cover my training session tomorrow? I have something to do. Thanks!”

You sighed, already knowing you’d say yes. You didn't want to disappoint her—Maki was your friend, after all. But the thought of adding one more thing to your already packed schedule made your shoulders tighten.

Before you could reply, you heard a voice call your name. "Yo, YN!”

You looked up to find Yuji standing in front of you, his usual grin on his face. He waved energetically.

"Hey, Yuji," you greeted, trying to put on a smile. "What’s up?"

"Not much. Just wondering if you wanted to hang out for a bit," he said, taking a seat across from you. "You’ve been looking a little tense lately. Everything okay?"

You forced your smile to stay in place. "Yeah, just a little busy, you know? I’ve been helping a lot of people lately, and it’s kind of catching up to me."

Yuji tilted his head, his brow furrowing. "Helping people is great and all, but... it looks like you're running yourself into the ground."

You felt a lump form in your throat. He’d noticed. Of course, Yuji would notice. He was observant like that, always aware of how others were feeling. And you? You had a hard time saying no, even when you needed to.

"Yeah, I guess I’ve been doing a lot," you admitted, taking a sip of your tea to hide the nervousness in your voice. "But it’s okay. People need me. I can handle it."

Yuji's smile faltered a little, his gaze softening. "You know, it’s okay to say no sometimes, right?"

Your heart skipped a beat. You could feel your face flush, a familiar wave of guilt washing over you. "I don’t know… I just feel bad when I do. Like if I say no, they’ll think I’m selfish or something."

Yuji sighed, leaning back in his chair as if he had been expecting this. "You’re not selfish, [Y/N]. You’re one of the most selfless people I know. But you don’t have to say yes to everything just to be a good person. You deserve to take care of yourself too."

You bit your lip, trying to keep the emotions at bay. Why was this so hard for you? You were always the one who advocated for others, always the one to stand up for people who couldn’t stand up for themselves. But when it came to you, it was like you couldn't find the strength to put yourself first.

"I know," you muttered. "It’s just… whenever someone asks for help, I don’t know how to say no. It feels like they’ll be disappointed in me."

Yuji leaned forward, his eyes locking onto yours with a mixture of concern and determination. "You can’t please everyone, [Y/N]. You’re only human. If you keep saying yes to everyone else and never take care of yourself, eventually you’re going to burn out. And I don’t want to see that happen to you."

You swallowed hard, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to surface. Yuji’s words felt like a weight lifting off your chest, but it also felt like a punch to the gut. You hadn’t realized how much you’d been bottling up until now. You had been running on empty, doing everything for everyone else and leaving nothing for yourself.

"I don’t want to disappoint anyone," you said quietly, your voice cracking slightly. "But I feel like if I don’t help, then they won’t like me anymore."

Yuji shook his head, his expression softening even more. "The people who really care about you won’t care if you say no. They’ll understand. And if someone’s mad because you can’t help them, well... maybe they weren’t the kind of person you should’ve been helping in the first place."

His words hit you like a ton of bricks. For the first time, you realized that you had been living in fear of disappointing people, even at the cost of your own happiness.

It wasn’t just that you were a people pleaser—it was that you didn’t know how to set boundaries, how to say no without feeling like you were letting someone down.

"But how do I start?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. "How do I learn to say no when I’ve been saying yes my whole life?"

Yuji gave you a small, reassuring smile. "It’s not easy, but it starts with realizing that you matter too. It’s okay to say no for your own well-being. You don’t need permission from anyone to take care of yourself. And if you ever feel unsure, just remember that I’ve got your back."

You blinked in surprise at his words. He had always been there for you, but hearing him say it like this made your chest tighten in the best possible way. Maybe, just maybe, you could start letting go of the guilt and start putting yourself first for once.

"I’ll try," you said, a little more confidently. "I’ll try to say no when I need to."

Yuji grinned widely, his energy lifting the mood instantly. "That’s the spirit! And if anyone gives you trouble, just send them my way. I’ll help you stand your ground."

You laughed softly, the weight on your chest feeling a little lighter. Maybe this wasn’t going to be as hard as you thought, not with Yuji by your side. He made everything seem possible, even something as difficult as learning to say no.

For the first time in a long while, you felt like it was okay to take a step back, to put your needs above the constant pressure of pleasing everyone around you. And as you spent the rest of the evening with Yuji, talking and laughing, you realized that you didn’t have to do everything on your own.

Saying no was hard, but maybe it was time to start saying yes to yourself.

He stood in the corner of the too-crowded living room, arms crossed, jaw clenched. His crimson eyes were trained on you, the tornado in glitter currently dancing on top of Kirishima’s coffee table like you owned the world.

Which, knowing you, you probably thought you did.

“Is that my shirt?” he growled, barely audible over the bass.

Kirishima glanced at him, wide-eyed. “Bro, I didn’t say anything—”

“Not you, dumbass,” Bakugou snapped, pushing off the wall and stalking toward the chaos that was you.

You looked down mid-spin, noticed the oversized black tank top slipping off your shoulder, and grinned when you locked eyes with him.

“Oh, this old thing?” you said, dramatically flipping your hair. “Found it in your drawer. You weren’t using it.”

“You’re drunk,” he deadpanned, stepping right up to the table.

“And you’re hot when you’re mad,” you shot back with a wink, completely unbothered.

“Get. Down.”

You pouted, but the look didn’t land—you were too glittery, too tipsy, too you. “Buzzkill.”

Still, you obeyed. Mostly. You stumbled off the table with the grace of a newborn deer, right into Bakugou’s chest.

“Oops,” you giggled, fingers curling into the front of his hoodie. “Caught me.”

He caught you, all right. One arm steadied your waist, the other clenched in frustration.

“I told you not to throw this damn party.”

“You said ‘don’t wreck the place,’ and look,” you gestured wildly. “Not wrecked. Just… artistically rearranged.”

The lamp in the corner was sideways. There was confetti on the ceiling. Denki was passed out in the tub. And Mina was DJing with someone’s iPad.

Bakugou’s eye twitched. “You drive me insane.”

You smiled sweetly, reaching up to press your glitter-smeared cheek to his. “But you like me insane.”

He didn’t answer—not with words. Just let out a low, exhausted sigh as he looped both arms around you.

“You’re cleaning all this up tomorrow.”

“I’ll help,” you mumbled against his chest.

“No, you won’t,” he muttered. “You’re gonna sleep in, pretend you’re hungover, and leave me to deal with this shit—again.”

“Rude,” you whined. “I’m fun.”

“Yeah,” he said, grudging affection in his voice. “You’re a damn mess.”

You looked up at him, eyes bright. “But I’m your mess, right?”

Bakugou glared at you like you were the bane of his existence.

Then kissed you like you were the only thing keeping him sane.

In public, you were loud. Not in an obnoxious way—more like a walking firecracker. Every room lit up when you entered it. You talked with your hands, laughed so hard it made others join in, and had a talent for pulling even the most stone-faced sorcerers into spontaneous karaoke.

Gojo adored it. Every decibel.

He’d watch from the sidelines, shades pushed down just enough to reveal a soft glint in his blue eyes as you commanded the space like it was your own personal stage. Sometimes, he’d even hype you up, throwing in a dramatic, “That’s my girl!” when you did something especially ridiculous—like challenge Nanami to a dance-off.

But when it was just the two of you…

You went quiet. Not withdrawn, just… softer. Like all the energy you poured out to the world was reserved, carefully tucked away when the noise faded.

He noticed it the first night you stayed over.

The apartment had been buzzing with laughter only hours before, but now, under the warm dim of his living room light, you sat curled on the couch, knees drawn up, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Hey,” he said, nudging you gently. “Where’s my wild girl gone?”

You shrugged. “She’s sleeping.”

He tilted his head, smirk faltering just slightly. “You okay?”

You looked at him, and something in your expression tightened—like you were deciding whether to be honest or not. Gojo didn’t rush you.

Finally, you murmured, “It’s just… when it’s quiet, I feel like I have to be too.”

Gojo blinked, thrown off for once. “Why?”

“Because the silence is… honest. It’s when people see the parts of me I don’t perform.”

That hit harder than he expected.

He shifted closer, wrapping an arm around you. “You know I love both parts, right? Loud, quiet, chaotic, calm. You could whisper or scream, and I’d still be yours.”

You smiled a little, eyes flicking up to meet his. “Even when I shut up for once?”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Especially then. Makes it easier for me to get a word in.”

You snorted, punching him lightly. “Jerk.”

“Your jerk,” he said smugly.

And in that silence that followed, wrapped up in Gojo’s warmth, you realized something: maybe quiet wasn’t so scary after all—not when it felt this safe.

But then again, Gojo Satoru has always been full of surprises.

“You’ve got to admit,” he said, sliding into the seat across from you and tugging his blindfold down around his neck, “I have great taste.”

You raised an eyebrow as your eyes flicked to the dessert menu. “You dragged me across the city for cake.”

“Not just cake.” He pointed to the glass display near the register, where a thick slice of strawberry shortcake sat on a porcelain plate, practically glowing under the display lights. “The cake. It’s legendary.”

“Did you see it on TikTok or something?”

“Yuuji did,” he admitted, shameless. “But I validated the recommendation with my own highly trained dessert senses.”

You didn’t get a chance to reply, because the waitress appeared with your order—one tall glass of iced matcha for you, black coffee for him (which he’d drown in sugar packets later, no doubt), and the aforementioned slice of strawberry shortcake.

It was taller than you expected, with layers of pillowy sponge, glossy strawberries, and whipped cream so light it looked like clouds.

“I hope you realize we should’ve just gotten two,” you said, already picking up your fork.

“But that would ruin the romance,” Gojo replied with a wink. “Dessert tastes better when you’re fighting for your life trying to get a bite before your date eats the whole thing.”

“So this is a date now?”

He froze for half a second before recovering with a grin. “Only if you want it to be.”

You pretended not to notice the way your stomach fluttered.

Gojo dug in first, humming dramatically as he chewed. “Incredible. Transcendent. This cake might be the only thing in existence that rivals my beauty.”

You rolled your eyes. “Please let me enjoy this without your commentary.”

“But where’s the fun in that?”

Still, he went quiet—for about twenty seconds—long enough for you to enjoy your first bite. And okay, maybe he wasn’t exaggerating. It really was that good. The strawberries were just the right amount of tart, and the cream melted effortlessly on your tongue.

You snuck another bite while he was distracted stirring a fifth sugar packet into his coffee.

“*Hey!*” he cried, dramatically clutching his chest. “That was my half!”

“You said you were cutting back.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t say you could eat my emotional support strawberry shortcake.”

You both reached for the last strawberry at the same time, forks clinking. You looked up—and realized how close his hand was to yours. Your fingers were barely inches apart on the table. His eyes, unshielded by his blindfold or shades, sparkled with mischief and something unreadable just beneath it.

“Rock, paper, scissors?” you offered, voice a little quieter now.

He shook his head with a lazy smirk. “Nah. I’ve got a better idea.”

Before you could ask, he used his fork to pick up the strawberry, leaned over the table—and held it up to your lips.

You blinked. “Gojo—”

“One bite,” he said, almost softly this time. His teasing smile was still there, but his tone had shifted—just slightly. Less playful, more... intentional.

You could’ve rolled your eyes. You could’ve made a snarky comment. But instead, you leaned forward and bit the strawberry off the fork, lips brushing the cold metal. His gaze lingered on your face, almost studying your expression.

You chewed slowly, then licked a little whipped cream from the corner of your mouth. “Happy now?”

He sat back, eyes still on you. “Very.”

The silence between you stretched for a moment, warm and thick with something unspoken. Outside, the city bustled on, indifferent. But here, inside this little café, it felt like time had slowed.

Gojo cleared his throat suddenly, the moment slipping away as he grabbed his coffee. “Anyway. If we’re gonna call this a date, I should warn you—I’m pretty high-maintenance.”

You laughed. “No kidding.”

“But I make up for it by being dangerously charming.”

“Debatable.”

“And I share dessert.”

You smiled, heart doing somersaults. “Yeah. You do.”

On the roof. Leaning back on his elbows, head tilted toward the stars that couldn't shine past the city's light. His blindfold was off, resting on his lap. Those too-bright eyes flicked toward you when he felt your presence.

“You’re late,” he said, voice light.

“You didn’t tell me you were even here,” you replied, settling beside him. “How long has it been since you slept?”

Gojo blinked slowly, as if he had to think about it. “I closed my eyes yesterday,” he said vaguely.

“Closing your eyes isn’t sleeping, Gojo.”

He didn’t respond right away. You could see it now, clearer without the blindfold—how hollowed out he looked under the usual smirk. The bags under his eyes weren’t obvious unless you knew what to look for, unless you knew him.

“I can’t really afford to sleep right now,” he said eventually. “Too much to keep an eye on. Too many people to protect.”

“You always say that,” you whispered, voice softer than you meant. “Like everything would fall apart the second you close your eyes. Like you’re the only one holding it all together.”

A beat. He laughed once, dry and tired. “Isn’t that the truth?”

You turned to look at him. “No. It’s not.”

He glanced at you, finally meeting your gaze without flinching. You reached out, brushing your fingers gently against the back of his hand. It was cold. Not just from the night air, but from exhaustion he was trying too hard to ignore.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” you said. “You’re allowed to rest. You’re allowed to break a little.”

Gojo swallowed hard. For once, he had no clever response.

So you just sat with him in the silence that followed. And eventually—finally—he leaned against your shoulder. Heavy. Tired. Real.

You didn’t say anything else. You just let him stay.

And sometime later, when his breathing evened out and his head lolled gently against your side, you realized he’d done what he hadn’t let himself do in days.

He slept.

You sat on the bench outside of the UA training field, your eyes scanning the horizon, waiting for him. Bakugou Katsuki, the student you were way too invested in. He was loud, brash, and always pushing people away, but you couldn’t help it—he was like a magnet, drawing you in with his strength, his passion, his unyielding attitude.

And, okay, maybe you were a little obsessed. But it wasn’t like you’d ever admit it. Well, at least, not in a way that didn’t involve writing him notes and leaving little treats in his locker. It was your way of showing him that you cared, even if he made remarks every day that he didn’t want to be treated ‘like a baby’.

Today, you had something special—just a little snack for Bakugou. His favorite, as you’d learned after a year of paying attention to the little details.

You heard his voice before you saw him. “Oi, you! What the hell are you doing here?”

You jumped to your feet, practically glowing with excitement. “Katsuki! I made you some snacks! It’s just a little something, you know, for your training,” you said, handing him the neatly wrapped bundle.

He eyed it suspiciously, his expression tight. “What, you think I need you to pamper me now? I’m fine.”

Your smile faltered a bit, but you shrugged. “It’s just a snack. I thought you’d like it. I know you’re always busy and don’t have time to grab something to eat.” Your eyes avoided his.

His crimson eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you swore you saw a flicker of something softer in them. But it was gone just as quickly. “Tch. Whatever.” He snatched the package from your hands, though, his eyes still burning with annoyance. “Stop acting like some damn food will make me like you more..”

“Bakugou, I—”

“Just leave me the hell alone!” he snapped, his voice rising. “Stop following me around and acting all sweet, okay? I don’t need it!”

You froze, his words like a slap to the face. You had grown used to his outbursts, but this time, it hurt a little more. You stared at him, blinking as your mind scrambled to process everything he said.

“Fine,” you whispered, your heart sinking in your chest. “I’ll leave you alone.”

And with that, you turned and walked away, leaving Bakugou standing there, clutching the snack you’d made for him, feeling a strange weight in his chest.

Days passed, and Bakugou didn’t realize just how much he missed you until he saw your empty seat in class. You haven't been around much lately. You didn’t sneak little snacks into his locker, no notes with little doodles of “Good luck!” or “I believe in you!” You didn’t hover around him like you used to. And it left him feeling... off.

He attempted to tone out the sound of Kirishima asking about you, but he was persistent. “Hey, Bakugou, have you seen Y/N lately? She hasn’t been around much. You know, I think she’s been worried about you.”

Bakugou scowled, the words rattling around in his head. “What the hell are you talking about? Who cares?”

But even as he said it, he could feel a knot in his stomach. It wasn’t like he missed her or anything. Not really. She was just... always there. He didn’t want to admit that he’d gotten used to her presence.

When he saw you again, it was in the hallway, your head down as you walked past him, seemingly lost in thought. You didn’t even look up when you crossed his path. The usual spark of recognition, the little flash of joy that came from just being near him, was gone.

"Oi!" Bakugou barked, and you froze, your hand halfway to the door of your classroom. "Why the hell aren’t you talking to me anymore? I told you to leave me alone, but that doesn’t mean you can just disappear."

You turned, your eyes wide with surprise. “I—I thought you wanted me to leave you alone..?”

He gritted his teeth, frustration building in his chest. “You think I wanted that? I didn’t ask for you to act like some damn ghost! You’ve been gone for days, YN. What the hell is going on?”

You blinked in confusion, stepping closer but still not fully understanding what was happening. “But... you said—”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t mean it! At least, not like that.” he made a desperate attempt to explain, his voice softer this time, tinged with an unexpected urgency. “You’re always around, and I hate it. But... hell, I miss you being there. I don’t know why. I just—” He stopped, his face turning redder than usual, and he looked away, grumbling. “Just... don’t disappear again, okay? I’m.. sorry.”

A slow smile tugged at your lips, the same smile you always wore when he frustrated you. “I can’t promise I won’t be around. I’m just too... much, I guess,” you teased.

“Damn right you are,” he muttered, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—something warmer than the usual anger. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

You stepped forward, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear, then placed your hand on his shoulder. “I won’t. I promise.”

Bakugou stared at you, his heart racing, unsure of what to say. You spoke instead,

“But seriously, don’t ever pull this shit again or I might just kill you.”

He chuckled, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t as annoyed with you as he let on.

From then on, the little notes and treats kept coming. And despite all the grumbling, the scowls, and the sarcastic remarks, Bakugou found himself growing more comfortable with your presence. He’d never admit it, but he was starting to look forward to seeing you, even if he was too stubborn to let you know.

After all, even Bakugou couldn’t stay mad at someone who cared enough to stick around.

S. Gojo

won’t let you go until he feels like it or unless your bladder is on the verge of exploding. he digs his fingers into your side and stuffs his nose into the crevice of your neck as he breathes in last night’s perfume you put on. feeling lazy and didn’t shower? he becomes not even like a dog, more a wild animal.

although you very much prefer to be held in his toned arms shaped by the gods, he often asks you to hold him at night after a particularly hard mission or a difficult day with the higher-ups.

you bit your cheek in pressure as you tried to peel gojo’s arms off of you. apparently on this one night he refuses to falter and keeps trying to gaslight you into thinking its nothing.

with a whip of your head and your scowl trained on him, you complained, “Let me go! This is serious Gojo!” with the use of his last name he frowns.

“Hurry up then..” it feels like chains are being unlocked when he lets go. you immediately hop out of bed and dash for the restroom to relieve yourself after the 5 minute tussle between you two.

unfortunately, gojo is a whiner. he complains and cries and wallows until you return to his side and peck his lips, “Hush, I was only gone for a few minutes.”

he holds you closer to his chest as he mumbles into your hair, “A few minutes feels like years without you.”

G. Suguru

sprawls out without a care in the world. the blankets get thrown and tossed everywhere, and you rely on him for warmth at this point.

he prefers to have you lay either holding onto him or on his chest. he’s bought a lot of weighted blankets but only you seem to satisfy that need.

soft breathing and a gentle heartbeat came from the two of you as mimiko and nanako slept soundly beside you, holding onto each other.

popcorn bags and soda cans were crumpled and crowded on the nightstand as you came down from the intense game night. mimiko and nanako complained of their throats being sore from yelling orders at you and your husband.

as you slowly felt yourself fall to slumber, you couldn’t help but be thankful for where you were at in life as geto’s hands ran up and down your back, so gentle that it nearly tickled.

your eyes finally shut as you felt a kiss to your forehead, a silent promise to never leave.

T. Fushiguro

cuddles like a bear. big beefy arms that will not let you go no matter what!

ever since he had you in his arms, but tojis sleep schedule was still ruined. back then, he slept only a few hours at a time anywhere that was available.

now, he has a wife to come home to.

the tv is still playing the cheap movie he bought, toji snores soundly in your ear as you drool down your cheek and onto his arm. your arm is hooked around his shoulder as he sinks more into you.

your souls practically touch with the way you’re holding onto each other. the balcony door is opened, letting warm, fresh air in that calms the both of you into sleep.

toji presses himself into your neck more, as his dreams only consist of you and that pretty laugh.

R. Sukuna

groans in his sleep so much that it sounds like purrs. he enjoys holding onto you and often will mess with your hair or face while you sleep.

since hes a curse he doesnt require sleep, therefore he sometimes watches your peaceful expression as you rest.

Moonlight creeps through the shoji doors as the sun hits your face, highlighting your features. sukuna twirls a strand of your hair in his fingers as he peers down at you.

slow breathing comes from your mouth as somehow, you fall deeper into sleep as sukuna watches you. other times, you’d point out his staring.

the only time you dont is when you sleep. sukuna says its when you look best. you dont agree, as your hair often becomes a matted mess from the night.

although sukuna claims he could never have a soft spot for a simple mortal, it’s all he could think about.

how he wanted to protect you for all eternity.

K. Nanami

SNORES LIKE A BITCH. this man barely gets any sleep from working, so once he hits the sheets with you hes out.

dont expect to be able to wake him up easily; hes a verrryyy deep sleeper.

you feel the vibrations on his chest as kento snores in your ear, your finger lightly trails up and down his chest as he rests.

your hearts beat nearly in sync as you lay on top of him, your other hand rests in his hair. when you first started dating, it was no surprise that kento very much enjoyed physical intimacy in every way.

your head slowly dips onto his chest, and your hand pauses on his shoulder as your eyes close.

the vibrations from him coddle you to sleep as you end up snoring just as loud as kento (which you claim you don’t do).

dividers from @dollywons