19 and just having a good time :D
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Yam-cookies - Hello! Hello! Hello! - Tumblr Blog
Aksjsjajah how sweet <3
taking off their gloves ♡
nothing feels better than the warmth of his hands.
→ feat. zhongli, diluc ragnvindr, childe, kaeya alberich || genres: fluff
ZHONGLI never carries an umbrella around, even when it’s raining incessantly on the busy streets of liyue like now. his body doesn’t get sick after all, he doesn’t find a need for umbrellas and whatnot. but you seem to think otherwise, as the moment you open the door for him you’re quick to go grab a towel.
“you’re soaking wet! did you forget to grab an umbrella?” you nag at him, while drying his hair.
“no, love. i don’t have umbrellas,” he replies, calmly. you raise an eyebrow at him. “i don’t need them.”
“what do you mean you don’t need umbrellas? what—oh. is it, is it because you’re immortal? but you will still feel cold, right?”
“but i won’t fall ill, love.” and zhongli sees how evident you disagree with what he said.
you don’t say anything, it scares him (he prefers it when you are scolding him, when you’re not quiet). instead, you leave the towel on the table and take off his gloves, his hands enveloped by yours. and when you start blowing hot air onto his hands, zhongli feels his chest about to burst.
when the color returns to his hands, you embrace him, face hidden in his neck.
“please take care of yourself,” you whisper, softly.
“i will. thank you, love, for everything,” he whispers back.
zhongli reminds himself to buy an umbrella tomorrow at bolai’s. but tonight, he’s staying in your arms.
Keep reading
Omg well this was a ride;
Got paired with marionette first she punched me and in response I hugged her.
The atmosphere is calm, damslette wanted to be with me, Marionette encouraged me, Pierre is worried but then marionette tries to interrupt! And afterward we both went home and cried
Genshin Impact (FATUI Harbingers ver. + 7 Minutes in Heaven Scenario) click and drag game!
warnings: flashing images
characters included: all 11 fatui harbingers
op's notes: after that recent trailer, you know I just HAD to make a fatui harbinger one immediately. why are they so hot? like damn 😫💘 excited to see more of them!
Game notes • How to Play
Please use a browser other than Google Chrome as the GIFs lock onto its first frame on Chrome. Safari and Firefox work, please try those
If you're on mobile, screenshot the gifs either as a set or individually
art galleries should be open 24hrs like what if I can’t sleep and wanna stare at a painting
the sibling talk
feat. Childe, Ayaka, Kaeya, Ayato
CHILDE
When Childe said his sibling wanted to meet you, you were expecting one of his older siblings to interrogate you. But to your surprise, it was Teucer who insisted on meeting you.
“You’re dating my big brother, right?” Teucer asks, staring at you with eager eyes.
“Yup, I am!” you answer, your enthusiasm was enough to cause Childe to sport a bright blush.
“And you like him a lot?” Teucer asks once again, and your heart nearly bursts at how adorable he is.
“Yes, I like your big brother a lot. So much!” you giggle.
Teucer studies your expression for a moment before letting relief wash over him. The little boy motions you to kneel down to his level. He cups your ears so his older brother won’t hear his words.
“Please don’t break up with him. I think he likes you a lot too. Like a lot a lot,” Teucer’s words were so innocent yet so earnest. You saw it in his eyes that he truly meant everything he said. You didn’t think anyone could be more adorable than your own boyfriend, yet his own little brother was proving you wrong.
“I promise,” you reassure Teucer, holding out your pinky for him.
Teucer fulfills your pinky promise, sighing in relief that you’d honor his wishes.
For now, the two of you keep it a secret from Childe. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, of course.
Keep reading
DRUNK KAZUHA <3
THE NEW GENSHIN TRAILER!!! They really just dropped all the harbingers and I’m simping so bad for them.
They all have so much drip 😩
I desire softness and ease in my life. Katherine Blower
woof!
THIS. Don’t know why either but I 100% agree
my rule for dating is:
if i get a boyfriend, i have to be cooler than him
but if i get a girlfriend, she has to be cooler than me
THIS IS SO ADORABLE ❤️
# when his baby gets jealous !
✫ ft. akaashi , atsumu , iwaizumi , suna x mom!reader
✫ a/n: the kids are ages 1-3 (can stand, walk, talk in sentences). the babies aren’t really “jealous” in some of these. they just want some love and affection, too !!!
✫ warnings: usage of “mom” and “mama” to refer to reader
✫ AKAASHI leans into your touch after coming home from the office, his tie loosened and his hair a bit messier than usual. you two are splayed on the couch, his head resting peacefully on your chest as he updates you on bokuto’s recent msby game. and just minutes later, you feel your son pull on your leg. an eruption of babbles leave his lips as he whines and tugs. “mmm, it’s my turn with mom,” keiji whines into your collarbones. you can't help but laugh at your husband's child-like behavior. "keiji, get off, you're gonna make him upset." and as keiji nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck, your baby breaks out into a sob, "mama! mama!" filling the small living room. keiji gets up from his place on your chest and picks your son up, mumbling "i'm sorry, bud" into his equally messy hair. "mama's all yours," he kisses the top of his head and allows him to crawl happily into your arms. "you're as whiny as your mo-" "keiji." he can't even be upset at his limited time with you — the image of you holding his entire world makes up for it.
✫ ATSUMU lingers in the kitchen after tucking your daughter in to bed just about every night. he puts dishes in the cabinets, wipes down the counter, and traps you between his arms for a moment of intimacy. "mind if i kiss ya, babe?" he asks, knowing you'll let him anyway. "you'll do it no matter what i say," you turn your head to the side, creating distance between his lips and yours. "no! i'm a gentleman! that's why ya married me, isn't it?" a laugh leaves your lips and you're stepping up onto your toes to reach his. his hands wrap around your waist, pulling you close against himself. it's been hard to find time for yourselves — your daughter was at the age where she'd walk (stumble, really) away if you took your eyes off of her for even a second. and as you pull away from the kiss, breathless and all, you hear the pitter patter of her tiny feet approaching you two. "baby, why are ya awake? can't sleep?" atsumu bends down to her level, pushing her hair back from her eyes. she rubs at them and then wraps her tiny arms around his neck to kiss his cheeks. "i want a g'night kiss too!" she whines. "alrighty, baby, ya can get as many as ya want! make sure ya give mama a kiss too," he tells her before peppering her cheeks with loving kisses.
✫ IWAIZUMI used to wake up early every morning, getting ready for the day at a slow and relaxing pace, but he finds it harder and harder to do so when you cling onto him, asking for five more minutes of peace, five minutes of calmness before the storm (the storm being your daughter, of course). she's gotten clingier with every step she could take. she wakes up with the sun and makes her way to your bed, struggling to climb up with her tiny legs. the sight of her dad's arm around your waist brings a pout to her lips, her cheeks puffing out as she whispers a "daddy?" and of course, he's awake (he's been awake for the past 15 minutes). "wanna come up?" he asks her before unwrapping his arms from your body and lifting her onto his broad chest. she immediately crawls over him, kicking his face with her feet in the process, to place herself between you two. her little arms and legs wrap around your torso like a koala, and she looks up at you with a toothy smile. "my turn,” she says, nuzzling her head into you. you hear iwa mumble under his breath (something about waking the team up with kicks to the face).
✫ SUNA always searches for you and the twins in the crowd. his team had just won a game that he's been training especially hard for, and it's the first time in a while that you've seen his dimply smile on his face. he runs up to you and the twins with nothing but joy in his eyes. grabbing ahold of your waist, he presses a kiss to your lips — his teeth clash against yours and he's laughing into the kiss out of sheer happiness, but you don't mind it one bit. your sons pull at your clothes as they try to get your attention. suna catches a glimpse of their raised arms and pulls away from you to lift his boys into his own arms, one on each side of his body. they're cheering for their dad, clapping and yelling, “you did it!" suna's never been an affectionate guy, opting to show his love in more subtle ways, but he feels the urge to pull you and the boys in for a tight hug (one where you can feel the rapid beating in his chest). he kisses the top of your head before pressing one on each of the twins' cheeks. "let's go celebrate, yeah?" suna grins. he’d do anything to hold you three like that again after each win — his prized possessions in his arms.
reblogs are appreciated, as always!
THIS IS SO SWEET. I swear favoniouscodex never misses ❤️
summary : the fatui harbingers find out scaramouche has a wife and force him to bring you to the fatui summer work party. pairing : scaramouche x f!reader word count: 1.2k warnings : none a/n : first part of a mini series i'm doing where scaramouche has a really mundane living, peaceful wife & everyone is confused by it. series masterlist found here!
summer events were a "big deal" in snezhnaya. scaramouche isn't sure why, especially since "summer" is only a few degrees of difference from the wintry hellscape that takes over the land every year. he doesn't understand how his most beloathed male coworker manages to show up wearing beach shorts and sunglasses during the summer celebration.
but somehow, even more of a shitshow than the yearly "lets grill outside in two feet of snow and act like we're not all freezing" work party occurs precisely two weeks prior to the scheduled summer celebration at work. it was supposed to be an uneventful day, where scaramouche would have some meetings at the tsaritsa's palace and yell at some subordinates for misdemeanors. it was supposed to be a day of nothingness. it was a day of nothingness. at least, until scaramouche's wedding ring fell out of a hole in his pocket, clattering across the marble floor noisily.
none of the harbingers paid it much mind, except for scaramouche's least favorite male coworker.
"holy archons," the menace swears out loud, interrupting dottore's on unentertaining diatribe on why live human testing of chemical weapons is ethical and should receive government funding. "is that a wedding ring?! comrade, are you married?"
before scaramouche can snatch the ring (and his pride) back up and refute any such claims, his least favorite female coworker scoffs before pushing a strand of blonde hair out of her face.
"who in their right mind would marry that gremlin?"
since scaramouche was stopped before he could lunge across the table and punch the cocky smirk right off signora's face, the only way to not seem like an utter loser in front of his coworkers was to introduce you to them. it's not like he necessarily cared what they thought, but the less they spoke to him on the regular, the better. if he became the laughing stock of the guy with the supposedly fake wife, he would never hear the end of it.
scaramouche's main goal was to keep you away from his coworkers forever, but with the approaching summer celebration and the fellow harbingers constantly asking about you, scaramouche soon realized that the only way to get them to shut up would be to bring you to the world's worst work event.
and now, here you are, looking utterly beautiful in a sundress and scaramouche wonders why he's about to make you tolerate the worst people he's ever met for a few hours. he's also wondering why you're so excited to meet them all. as you enter the halls of the palace with him, a bright smile lines your face. it's one that scaramouche adores, but one that seems horribly inappropriate for the hallowed halls of the tsaritsa's domain. he doesn't dare say anything though.
"oh, i'm so excited to meet your friends, kuni!" you giggle excitedly, hands clasping tightly around the container of blueberry muffins you made in preparation. you're a walking ray of sunshine and scaramouche wants to hide you from the other harbingers before they can smother your light. but, unfortunately, he can't.
"they are not my friends," scaramouche grumbles, but you don't bother to listen and instead chatter excitedly away about how pretty the scenery of the palace is despite the fact that it is a bit chilly inside. when scaramouche offers to fetch you a coat, you politely decline, saying that it's no problem and that the festivities of the summer celebration will warm you up.
yet, when you arrive to the event, the two of you are met with absolute silence when you enter the fatui harbinger break room. ten familiar pairs of harbinger eyes all fixate on your cheerful smile and cute fashion with absolute confusion. you don't pay it any mind, balancing the tray of muffins in one hand as you lift the other up to wave excitedly at everyone.
"hi, everyone! i'm kuni- sorry, scaramouche's wife, (y/n)!"
scaramouche swears he hears dottore breathe holy shit, he wasn't lying and hears the scuffling of mora being exchanged in a bet between two of the other harbingers. its awkward until scaramouche's least favorite male coworker clears his throat and approaches you, a big smile on his face.
"welcome to the family, comrade!" the worst person ever greets. "i am scaramouche's best friend, childe!"
you gasp in delight as scaramouche inhales heavily, patience already wearing thin. hastily, you set the tray of muffins down and pull childe in for a hug.
"it is so nice to meet you!" you say excitedly. "thanks so much to you and everyone else for keeping my husband company when i can't! you guys seem like so much fun!"
by the time the summer celebration is over, scaramouche is bored out of his mind and stressed to the high heavens. all day long, the fatui harbingers act like they are scaramouche's best friends, making up lies on the spot about how good of friends they are with him and telling (completely false, if you ask scaramouche) embarrassing stories about him at work. scaramouche would have left hours ago, if not for the way you giggle and find entertainment with his coworkers.
scaramouche isn't quite sure what you see in them, but you've always seen the good in everyone. it's what he loves about you. you sense his annoyance with his party and manage to slip your hand underneath the table to hold his during dinner. once the sun begins to set and his coworkers begin to go their separate ways, you finally grant him reprieve, saving your biggest smile of the day for only him to see.
"ready to go home?" you say and scaramouche doesn't have to be asked twice, practically carrying you out the door without a single goodbye to any of his wretched coworkers.
"they were nice!" you giggle excitedly, swinging your hand that is currently interlaced with scaramouche's own hand back and forth. scaramouche clutches your hand a bit tighter.
"they are war criminals," he tells you, but you wave your free hand dismissively through the air.
"they're your friends, kuni! they had so many cute stories to tell about you! it was so nice to get to talk with people that like you almost as much as i do!" you say excitedly.
scaramouche hates his coworkers. the fatui are a cesspool of filth that he is only using until he gets his hands on the gnosis. but, with the way you seem so utterly enthusiastic on the prospect of scaramouche getting along well with his coworkers, he can't bring himself to spoil the mirage. the spoonfed lies they fed you in an attempt to make scaramouche look bad don't seem to have actually worked. instead, you interpreted it as overeager friends attempting to catch a significant other up to speed. you interpreted all of the danger and malice to be benign.
scaramouche lifts your joined hands to his lips and kisses your knuckles softly.
"i love you," he murmurs, thanking every archon that you're out of earshot of his coworkers.
"i love you too!" you pause for a brief moment. "so, when do i get to meet everyone again?"
over my dead body, scaramouche thinks. yet, for some reason, the thought of bringing you back doesn't seem as awful as before, even though he would never admit it out loud.
peace and love on planet earth
sakusa kiyoomi is late.
once upon a time, the mere idea of tardiness would have irritated him, but a lot of things have changed since he’d gotten married to you.
it’s not like he’d planned on being late. but he’d bought a new compression shirt recently, and had been trying it on when you’d walked into the room.
he’d just lost track of time when you’d peeled the shirt off his chest and kissed that sinful little trail down his abdomen.
and now he was late.
the team is five minutes away from warmup when he speed walks (he refused to incriminate himself and run) out of the locker room and to msby’s bench. he does his best to ignore his teammate’s pointed stares as he sets his waterbottle down and starts to stretch.
meian, who is standing next to him, asks, “newlywed life treating you well?”
he’s a little confused on what could have brought this up, but he nods anyway. “of course.”
his captain just grins, clapping him on the back. “well, don’t work yourself too hard. we need you at your best against schweiden next week.”
sakusa hums his assent, but doesn’t get what he means. it’s at that moment that the ref is blowing the whistle to call captains, so he doesn’t get to ask either.
so it’s not until the next day that he gets his answer.
and this time, he’s so fucking late.
late enough that a brisk speed walk won’t do. no, he’s jogging through the parking lot and into the restaurant, face a little flushed and breaths a little heavy as the hostess leads him to the table.
he can feel the stares of disbelief from his friends burning holes into his face as he mumbles an apology. once he’s slid his jacket off and is seated, he cuts them all a look that dares to ask.
it’s atsumu, of course, who dares. “who knew you were such a slut, omi-omi?”
hinata looked as if he was going to faint.
bokuto turned away, about to pop a lung with how hard he was trying to hold back his laughter.
sakusa’s gaze narrows dangerously. “excuse me?”
the setter simply shrugs, pointing at his chest. “you button that up in the dark or something?”
he quickly glances down at his chest, mortified to see that in his rush to get dressed, he’d skipped a few eyelits on his shirts. it’s hem was untucked too, only accentuating his unfortunate state of disarray.
well, what was he supposed to say to them? that you’d dragged him upstairs for a quickie when he was halfway out the door?
“you have been late a lot lately,” bokuto points out, as if that’s supposed to be helpful. “you were late to conditioning yesterday morning.”
sakusa opens his mouth to form an explanation, but it dies on the tip of his tongue when he realizes that he can’t share that you’d told him lifting you up and pressing into the shower wall had counted as strength and stamina training.
his teammates start listing off all the instances that he’d been tardy, and it’s with growing realization that sakusa realizes there’s only one common deniminator here.
it was none of their business. he was getting laid, like they’d been telling him he should be since he’d joined the team.
but the fact that people were starting to notice his increasing tardiness combined with the fact that miya atsumu was calling him a slut?
-
“done,” you hum, completing the knot of his tie as sakusa tries so hard to ignore the way you smooth your hands over his chest. “you look great.”
“thank you,” he murmurs, staring at the ceiling as you get up on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his jaw.
then one to his neck.
then you nudge the collar of his shirt aside and place one on his collarbone.
this is always how it starts.
and you’re entirely too enticing, your sweet-smelling perfume flooding his senses as you press your lips to his skin and bite—
in a panic, he grasps your arms and pulls you away, ignoring the offended look on your face. “we can have fun after the awards ceremony. we can even leave early.”
“but omi, i want you now,” you pout. “i can be quick!”
“take care of yourself then. we can’t be late.”
you whine a little, tugging on his sleeve. “but i want you to do it.”
“no. i’ve been spoiling you too much.”
a gasp. you pinch his arm, huffing, “‘m not spoiled.”
“you are,” he laughs, taking your hand and kissing your knuckles. “and i love spoiling you, but if we’re late, that means i’ll be proving miya right.”
“about what?”
“doesn’t matter,” he deflects, dropping your hand in favour of gripping your jaw, pulling you in to press a kiss to your pretty, pouting lips. “just be good for a few hours, alright? then i’ll reward you later.”
absolute pitch # u. wakatoshi | 2k words
↳ ushijima has trouble keeping you in his arms through the night; he comes up with an oddly ingenious solution.
for the simple pleasures collab hosted by @augustinewrites <3
Ushijima runs hot. He’d never realised this until two years ago when you pointed it out to him on your third date.
“You’re really hot.” were your exact words, and he almost tripped over nothing.
“Sorry?”
You half-hiccuped, half-giggled at his reaction, and the sound chimed in his ears. You were cute when you were tipsy, especially when you started whining a few glasses in because he couldn’t drink with you, a circumstance attributed to his dietician.
(By the end of the night though, he’d had a sip or two. It was impossible to deny you.)
“I mean, you’re really warm,” you clarified because he was definitely gawking. “Like a human heater.”
Since then, Ushijima became almost hyper-aware of how much heat he emanated. Not that it concerned him. It meant packing less for games in colder locations, no bathroom breaks during long movies, less time spent making his bed in the morning because he didn’t need a blanket.
If anything, him running hot was a good thing. At least, Ushijima thought it was until he stayed the night with you for the very first time.
Because though he’d fallen asleep with your head tucked towards his chest and your hand over his heart, he’d awoken the next morning on the other side of the bed, sweating like he’d just played an entire set.
That was how Ushijima learned the one downside of running hot: his body couldn’t physically withstand anything over an hour’s worth of cuddling. Which was terrible because, well, he really liked doing it with you.
When you moved in together, though he willed himself to keep you in his embrace before going to bed every night, the same tragedy always befell him come morning. Once, he even woke up with half his body hanging off the mattress.
“It’s okay, baby. Honestly,” you said when he brought it up a week after settling into the new place. The smell of stale, unlived in air still clung to the walls.
You looked unbothered. Maybe… “Do you prefer it that we don’t—”
“No! No, of course not!” Ushijima was worried you’d get whiplash from how feverishly you shook your head. “I like cuddling with you at night, Toshi. But I know you get antsy when you’re warm. It’s probably just a subconscious response that you roll away. To avoid body heat, you know?”
You’d stared at him with so much reassurance, compassion, adoration; his heart ached. Ushijima wanted to lift you onto the nearest surface and kiss you breathless in hopes you’d understand how much you meant to him. He would’ve, but you were wearing shorts, and he remembered how you’d jolted from the cold after he set you down on the kitchen counter while kissing you that one time.
Sometimes, and maybe it’s mean of him, Ushijima puts off immediately reuniting with you after a game out of town just to watch you from afar, in awe that no matter who looked at you, he was the person you were waiting for; he was the only person who could call you his.
Which was what made his predicament even more frustrating.
He’s always taken pride in the fact that he’s made it so far in his career. He enjoys the vigour of his lifestyle; the intense training, the travelling, the purpose. It keeps him busy, keeps his life in check. He’s never once regretted devoting his all into volleyball.
But sometimes—when he hears you try to hide the fatigue brining your voice during the video calls while he’s away or on the days he has to carry you into bed because you’d fallen asleep waiting for him at the dining table—Ushijima can’t stifle the guilt that rouses in him. He spends so much time away from home, from you, that sometimes he forgets just how pleasantly cold your skin is compared to his, how tender your gaze becomes when it’s directed at him, how delicately your smile stretches the plush of your lips.
So he can hardly be blamed for wanting to spend what rare nights he has with you as close as humanly possible. Ushijima’s tried everything to try and force himself to remain by your side through the night—weighted blankets, melatonin pills, insisting you sleep on his arm to root him in place, sleeping shirtless to decrease his body temperature (you seemed disappointed when he stopped doing that last one)—but nothing worked.
But if there’s one thing Ushijima’s learned from volleyball it’s this: to adapt is to win. There’s never a guarantee what his opponent will do next, which is why he knows the best thing he can do when something unexpected comes his way is take it in stride and adapt.
Which is why, on off days like today, Ushijima wakes up thirty minutes earlier than he should.
Because he may be a world-class athlete, but he can’t train his body to reduce the amount of heat it exudes. All he can do is accept the fact that he isn’t built to spend an entire night with someone in his arms without overheating. So, he settles for this instead: waking up thirty minutes earlier so he can use that time to cuddle.
(Heat pricks his ears at the word. It sounds childish, but it’s exactly what he’s doing. He wishes there was another term for it.)
Thirty minutes, however, is barely a blip in the grand scheme of things. Ushijima wastes no time in draping his arm across your waist and nuzzling his face into the softness of your shirt, breathing you in. The first few times he did this, he dozed off. Which would’ve been fine—it’s an off day—if not for the fact that unconscious, his body will inevitably stray from yours.
So, when drowsiness begins seeping into his limbs, Ushijima reaches forward and, though he is no artist, sketches you with the feather-lightness of his fingertip. Every curve, dip, slope of your face he passes his thumb over to stow in his mind, to unearth on the days he spends away so the sight of you never dilutes.
Usually he does this as gently as he can so he doesn’t wake you, but today you’re wearing one of his wide-collared shirts, the ones that slip down your arm to reveal your skin mottled by sunlight filtering through the sheers.
So how is he meant to resist dragging his lips over your clavicle to the tip of your shoulder? How can he not linger there, let your skin cool his own, bringing him to an equilibrium?
He smooths his thumb over your lips, the flesh whispery like chiffon. He has half the mind to abandon his guilty conscience to kiss you awake. Ushijima doesn’t have to though, because before he knows it, your mouth is curving upward and your fingers are wrapping themselves around his wrist to keep his thumb pressing into your smile.
“G’morning, Toshi.”
Your voice is filmed with sleep, your eyelids barely open. He lets you curl his fingers into a fist and watches as you ghost your lips across the grooves of his knuckles. Ushijima wonders if he could ever love you more.
“Did you sleep well?” he asks, if only to keep himself grounded in reality.
Your kisses travel to his wrist, to the single prominent vein which spindles upward to burgeon in his palm. When you hum an affirmative it sends vibrations along his pulse point.
Ushijima cups the back of your head and guides it to rest against his chest, his left arm lacing tighter around your waist. If his estimates are accurate, he has ten minutes left. He wishes he had longer.
“You’re so warm, darling,” you tell him, almost absentmindedly.
Are you uncomfortable? You must be. Winter has begun to winnow from summer’s sweltering winds; certainly that paired with Ushijima’s own startling heat would be borderline oppressive.
But when he shifts to pry himself away, you bunch the material of his shirt in your hands to stop him.
“Don’t go.” Your voice is muffled by cotton. “You feel nice.”
Ushijima should’ve known better. Of course, you’d find no contentions with his body heat. When have you ever? You revel in it, crave it even, because the heat is inherent to him, and you love him without conditions.
Because you’ve learned to adapt, too.
You and Ushijima dance to different tunes. Even undying love cannot alter the simple truth that each of your notes differ on a near structural level—coloured by your past experiences, your upbringing, your contrasting dispositions—because at the end of the day, you and him are different people. There is no harmony when you and Ushijima’s songs collide, only dissonance, but over the years, as you’ve designated crevices in yourselves specially curated for the other, you’ve each adapted your songs to fit the best they can.
It’s been three years since Ushijima has known you, two since you told him how hot he ran, and in that time, both of you have attained absolute pitch; learned to play the other’s tune merely by sound; borrowed and incorporated each other’s notes into your own song. So while there is no true harmony in the orchestra of your relationship, sometimes, if he strains his ears, Ushijima can hear your melody and his weaving to create something not necessarily right, but beautiful regardless. Because those few seconds of not-quite harmony are born from effort, from wanting to conduct something dulcet together in spite of the way Ushijima’s tempo may run faster than yours at times and your pitch a little higher than his in others.
Your not-quite harmony is a culmination of the little things you do for each other, to adapt for one another, like drying his hair while he rewatches games, dabbing your makeup away when you’re too exhausted to, sticking peppy messages scratched in ballpoint on the fridge for him, or, even, waking up thirty minutes earlier just so he can bask in your love if only for a second longer.
His alarm beeps once, twice, thrice, before Ushijima silences it.
“We should get up now,” he rasps against your forehead because that’s what the sound means.
Your breath blankets his cheek, his thumb caresses your hip.
“I know. I’ll go wash my face,” you say but you don’t move.
“Okay,” he says but his hold of you doesn’t loosen.
And maybe the two of you stay that way longer than you should. Maybe the half-hour stretches to one instead as you catch him up on what he’d missed while he was away—the Alphonso mangoes on sale at the grocery store, how you’d found the left side of your favourite pair of woolly socks behind the washing machine, the orange peel and honeysuckle scented hand lotion you’d been eyeing ceasing production—and he memorises the softness of your skin beneath his palm.
You tell him about all the trivial happenings, though Ushjima doesn’t like calling them that because the way you recount them makes him feel as if he were there living through it with you—juggling the weight of ripe fruit between his hands, shining his phone’s flashlight behind the washing machine for a glimpse of kitten-patterned wool, hearing the clicks of your mouse as you reload and reload the fragrance store’s website. And suddenly, he can’t wait to officially start the day because there are dozens of mundane things—simple pleasures—he won’t need to vicariously experience a week too late.
Because he gets to do them, with you, today.
But Ushijima thinks just a second longer in bed surely won’t hurt because he can’t imagine getting up any time soon. Not when he has you like this, not when he’s teeming with the knowledge that you are the only person in the world who knows his song by heart as he does yours, that in this moment, he can hear the not-quite harmony the two of you have built for yourselves from the simple pleasures, from all and nothing but the simple pleasures.
How do you think Childe would react to his s/o liking Taroumaru more than him?
“coming to inazuma was a mistake,” childe grumbles, lurking just a few feet behind you as you stand directly in front of the counter. your fingers scratch behind the ears of the shiba inu on front of you, giggles escaping you as taroumaru leans into your touch, tongue lolling out of his mouth happily. thoma, your tour guide, bites back a laugh at the harbinger’s embittered words. childe glowers at the sight before him, arms folded tightly across his chest, yet you and taroumaru remain oblivious to the aura of death that radiates off him.
“who’s a good boy?” you coo in a baby voice to the dog in front of you. “you are! yes you are! the cutest, goodest boy ever! working so hard to manage the teahouse! you’re so cute!”
the loud thumping of taroumaru’s wagging tail reverberates through the lobby of the teahouse as your hands roam over the head and under the chin of the shiba inu. he lets out a soft bark in acknowledgement, almost as if he understands your words, yet you pay it no mind. with such soft fur, taroumaru is nearly irresistible and your boyfriend is long since forgotten.
“i’m supposed to be y/n’s good boy.” childe grumbles petulantly, finally evoking a laugh out of thoma. thoma claps a hand on childe’s shoulder, nodding understandingly.
“we all lose to taroumaru. you get used to it.” thoma comforts, yet childe only sulks further at the inazuman’s words. stupid, dumb, and (begrudgingly) cute dog. childe would have to challenge the dog to a battle for your heart one day, but for now, he supposes that taroumaru can receive your affection.
‘I always think you’re pretty’
feat. Itadori, Megumi, Inumaki, Nanami, Gojo
note: established relationship in Nanami’s!!
ITADORI
“You seem to be in a good mood today,” Itadori nudges you as the two of you walk to the convenience store for a late night snack run. He notices the way your gait seemed a lot more light-hearted, the way you were almost bouncing with glee in every step you took.
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jujutsu kaisen is about two men with such godawful personalities that they are literally the only people who can stand each other. and then they break up and decide to make it everyone else’s problem
"I thought I had the worst luck, until I met you." + Megumi? 🥺
𝟑:𝟒𝟗 𝐀𝐌 | 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐌𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐌𝐈.
it’s quiet, and megumi feels a hand on his shoulder, your body draping over his back as he sits on one of the chairs in your balcony. it’s late, he knows this, but he can’t bring himself to go back to bed just yet.
“thought i’d find you here,” you hum, pressing soft pecks to the back of his neck. he sits quietly, not offering any words as he indulges in the feather light kisses you pepper along his skin. “why aren’t you in bed?”
“why aren’t you?” he mumbles. you know he’s dodging the question. you rest your chin on his shoulder and look at the side of his face, taking in the sight of his cheekbone and the way his lashes flutter against his skin as he blinks.
“bed was cold, why else?” he’s silent. and you’ve grown accustomed to meeting silence with him sometimes—he doesn’t always have the right words, and he doesn’t always want to give an answer right away, but he always tells you on his own time, and you never push.
megumi’s thought for a while he wasn’t easy to love, but he’s found people that do it anyway, and he thinks maybe it’s not true after all. but he knows he’s not easy to be in love with, and sometimes, the small, pessimistic side speaks a tad bit too loudly. why are you in love with him? and why do you keep trying? and what is it you get from all of this?
he’s always needed you more than you need him—at least, that’s how he sees it. you might not know it now, but you can easily find anyone to fill the gap in for him. but he doesn’t think there’ll be anyone but you, and he doesn’t think anyone will want to be the one but you.
“was kinda suffocating in there,” he mutters, eyes still trained on the city before you. you look to where his gaze lingers, and you watch as a couple laughs, hands clasped as they swing arms dramatically.
“oh,” you say simply. “did i squeeze too hard? sorry baby, i’m a hugger,” you giggle, and there’s a ghost of a smile on his face, one that makes him let out a soft huff of a chuckle before he shakes his head.
“no,” he says softly, “it wasn’t you.”
“then?”
“don’t know,” he mumbles, eyes still trained on the couple on the sidewalk below you. by now, the man’s on one knee, tying the girl’s shoes as they continue laughing. you turn, pressing a kiss to megumi’s cheek, staring off in front of you from your spot perched on his shoulder.
“remember that one time that loose thread of my shirt got caught and ripped?” you ask, and he furrows his brows, glancing you from the corner of his eyes.
“yeah?”
“you were so sick of me,” you giggle, and he huffs, rolling his eyes at you.
“i always tell you not to pull at those,” he grumbles, “you’re supposed to cut them.” you bite back a grin at how his bad mood from earlier is almost forgotten instantly in favor of scolding you.
“did you know that was the first time i decided i loved you?” he does a double take, glancing at you in bewilderment at your words.
megumi decides that he might as well give up trying to understand you. he didn’t understand when you said yes to him when he confessed, he didn’t understand when you kept saying yes after the first date, he didn’t understand when you said yes when he asked to make it official, he didn’t understand when you said yes to moving in together, and he doesn’t understand now.
only you could fall in love in the middle of getting yelled at over loose threads.
“that’s cause you’re weird,” he grunts. and then it’s silent for a moment, and then he’s speaking up again. “why?” he asks softly, like he’s almost afraid to hear the answer, but he needs to hear it desperately at the same time.
“it’s just how you are,” you chuckle, shaking your head. “you’re always so grouchy,” you reach and poke his hip, and he scowls, gently swatting your hand away.
“and how’s that a good thing?” he says bitterly. he was right, he thinks, to be afraid of the answer. but then you’re pressing another kiss to his cheek, longer this time, lips lingering on the warm skin and leaving soft tingles in their wake.
“i don’t know,” you shrug, “it was cute. you get worked up over silly things, and i like to watch. it’s pretty entertaining,” you grin widely, poking his cheek where you’d just pressed the kiss. he doesn’t say anything. “so. what’s wrong?”
megumi sighs, and it’s almost shaky this time, his hands fiddling with each other as he tries to put the words together. he’s not sure how to say it, or what to say, but he has a feeling you’ll get it anyway.
“i don’t know. things are…pretty serious, you know?” you hum, running your hand over his chest in circles, still hunched over his back and shoulders.
“and?”
“and…i never thought we’d get this far,” he mumbles.
“is that bad?” you raise a brow, peeking at him from the corner of your eyes, and he stiffens, inwardly groaning at himself. he can never manage to do the right things, or say the right words.
“no,” he says quickly, “it’s like…it’s just…weird.”
“huh,” you nod, taking in his statement thoughtfully.
“wait,” he groans, slumping back against your chest, defeated sigh escaping his lips. megumi isn’t easy to be in love with—but you are. and he figures as long as he keeps loving you as best he can, maybe there’ll be something worth staying for. “it’s just…i thought i had the worst luck, until i met you. you know? i don’t…i can’t tell anymore.”
“tell what? if you’re lucky that we’re together? or that we’ve gotten serious?”
“both?” he trails off. the couple below you is almost out of sight, walking off hand in hand just like before. your hand slides down and grabs megumi’s too.
“well, i think i have great luck,” you shrug. “should be enough for the both of us.” megumi furrows his brows, opening his mouth to speak, but you cut him off. “a lot of things are lucky, baby. but a lot of things are also just right.” he pauses, letting out a shaky exhale.
“yeah?” he whispers, head turning to look at you with hopeful eyes. you turn to face him, hands cupping his cheeks as you offer him a soft smile before pressing a delicate kiss to his lips. everything feels right for a second as your lips mold against his, and he thinks maybe you’re right.
there’s no way this could be wrong. not when it feels like everything’s fallen into place.
“yeah,” you nod, and he lets his head lean against yours. “let’s go back to bed. i’ll try not to suffocate you with my hugs.”
he rolls his eyes, scoffing, but there’s a small smile on his lips when he mumbles, “good luck with that.”
ASKING THEM “WHAT WOULD YOU DO IF I DIE?” | JJK
includes fushiguro megumi, inumaki toge and gojo satoru.
gender neutral.
genre; fluff, comfort.
“what would you do if i die?”, your question was anything but serious. you intended it to sound like a joke. all you wanted was for your tsundere of a boyfriend to maybe say something cute.
perhaps a cute “i will miss you”?
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Thinking about how Ayato would be completely devastated if Ayaka or sibling!reader were ever to say "Big brother I hate you!"
Maybe reader is on the more childish side, a lot younger than the two Kamisatos, and they ask to go around town but it's too dangerous so Ayato refuses and you're like "Big brother is the worst! Thoma is my new big brother now!".
Ayato just... freezes. Boba dropped to the floor. World shattering around him as you hmp away with a sweat dropping Thoma.
May or may not have some familial Kamisato concepts in my drafts rn 👀
Additionally, think about a kid!Kamisato MC, meeting Thoma for the first time and he's their first crush! Like a little 6-10 year old and Ayato is like ( >_>) no. no crushing on the pyro maid.