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RO or NOVA ✩ 20s, she/her, was @/c4ssiopeias, dreamy girl and professional romantic. [n]sfw sideblog + multifandom. minors do not interact or follow. please have your age in your profile when following otherwise you will be blocked!
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“Hey,” you whisper, interrupting the moving droning on the tv. “You wanna fight?”
It’s boring in the apartment, the rain having washed out any prior date ideas you two had thrown around. Life outside is completely silenced from the cold droplets of water. You’d been cuddling on the couch for the past three hours, one random movie starting and ending, only to be followed with another one that Eijiro can’t bring himself to care about.
But hey. You’re cute. And you’re looking at him with mischief in your eyes. Might as well indulge you.
“Emotionally or physically?”
Eijiro’s never been the kind to take your negative bait, though he adores your positive ones; he’s always been able to read you like a book, keeping tabs on when you’re feeling playful or when something is truly bothering you, when you’re hungry or truly annoyed, and despite reading the novel time and time again, it’s one he continues to see through every day.
And right now, based on the cheeky look you’re giving him, he knows you’re too playful for your own good.
You gently knock your head against his, as if trying to provoke him in the cutest way possible, “I dunno; are you always this clueless?”
Physical.
He smirks, bringing a mammoth hand to cup the back of your neck, squeezing the meat of it gently, “I don’t know; you’re the one who agreed to date me.”
“What a mistake,” you scoff.
And yes, Eijiro likes to try and make you work for his attention when you’re feeling playful, he likes the little whines and pawing you send his way, the way you smother his face in non-penetrating bites and rough squishes of his cheeks with obscene and absurd words about how cute he is.
But sometimes, his hands hooking under your arms is plenty, as he forces you down onto the couch. Occasionally, the playful, fake punches he delivers to your laughing tummy do just the trick.
“You’re! So! Mean! To me!” He grunts between each gentle, barely connective tap. “Why!”
“Because!” You giggle, batting away his hands. You grip your hands over his and use all your strength to force his hands back away from you. Eijiro knows he could just as easily overwhelm you with his strength, but you look so happy to fight him off that he can’t bring himself to.
You send one push his way, barely strong enough to move him, but he humors you anyway and takes a tumble backwards, thick back hitting the cushions with a soft noise. With no waste of time, you climb on top of him and gather his wrists in your hands, pinning them on either side of his head.
“Now what?” He asks.
You smirk and lean down to press a noisy kiss to his nose, “mwah!”
He smiles and puckers his lips out for one on his lips, but you merely press one to his cheek, “mwah!”
“Babe-“
Then you move to his brow bone, “mwah!”
“Kiss me!”
“I am-“ you press a kiss to his chin, “mwah!”
He laughs and tries to intercept your kisses, moving his head side to side to try and catch them, but you merely dodge him. Every sticky kiss you press to his face, you accompany with a dramatic “mwah!” he groans with a few chuckles at the anguish of not being able to kiss you.
“Mercy!” He calls. “I’ll die if you don’t give me a real kiss. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”
This has you pondering, jutting out your lower lip in thought before sighing dramatically, “no, I wouldn’t. Guess I like you or something.” You lean down to kiss his lips, and letting go of his hands when he gently tugs at them; you mewl as they wrap around you, relaxing you to lay on his chest and cuddling close as you part. "I really do like you, Eiji."
"You wanna know what's crazy?" He asks, and when you nod, he gently grabs your chin to look at him, "I really love you."
You blow him a kiss which he pretends to chomp the air to eat, dramatically swallowing while you giggle up at him.
He noses as your head before letting his eyes close, resting up for your next bout of playfulness.
tags: masturbation, seemingly non-con voyerism (note: it is not). mdni
katsuki has always considered himself a good person. brash, yes. temperamental, sure. but still good.
until now.
heat crawls up the back of his neck and leaves goose flesh in its wake. it simmers under his skin, boils him alive between sheets that he’s too aware of with every shift that wraps them tighter around his limbs.
he feels like the embodiment of sensory overload—everything is hot and aching, because for all of the damage his quirk has done to his hearing over the years, it’s spared him this one thing that makes him as grateful as it does nauseated.
the sound of you, on the other side of the wall.
Bakugou works. A lot.
It was, admittedly, something you forced yourself to look past. Bakugou Katsuki warned you from the beginning that his work was first. It always would be, his dreams and goals, that was who he was.
“Take it or leave it,” he’d told you once, many years ago. “This is what I do.”
Nightmares
This long-distance relationship just wasn’t working for Sukuna anymore.
He can’t see you. Can’t touch you. Can’t put you in a headlock, smack your ass, bite you, or flick your forehead. At this point, are you two even together, or is this just an overpriced pen-pal situation?
He calls you clingy, but let’s be real—anyone with half a brain cell and a functioning set of eyes can see that he’s the real problem here. And the worst part? He knows exactly what he’s doing. He just doesn’t care. He does not want to be saved.
This man is glued to his phone every single minute, refreshing your messages like his life depends on it. And if you don’t answer fast enough? He turns into a grumpy, overgrown toddler, making everyone around him suffer.
At this point, it’s not just him begging you to visit—it’s his friends, his brother, maybe even some strangers off the street. They’re exhausted. They have had enough. Somebody, please, for the love of all things holy, put this man out of his misery and just go see him before they all lose their minds.
Brazil Oikawa🇧🇷
you’re eating watermelon slices off of shoyo’s kitchen counter in his hoodie while he fixes a broken fan. it’s the middle of summer, and you can’t stop ogling him.
his hair’s grown, messy from humidity. a little darker too, with sun bleached tips soaked up on all the courts he’s played on. there’s a sliver of gauze still taped over his left pinky from yesterday’s serve-receive drills, and the hoodie hanging from your frame smells like that eucalyptus soap he found in a corner store and got obsessed with. says it soothes his sunburns.
speaking of, your eyes trail his shoulders — all freckled and golden from training in the heat, to the lines of his neck, where sweat gathers in hollow places and dips under his collar. he’s got his tongue tucked into the corner of his mouth while he concentrates, hands quick but gentle, almost like he’s afraid of hurting the fan more than it already is.
“you’re gonna fry,” you say, voice dry from the fruit, “if you keep sitting that close to the window.”
“can’t hear you. think the heat melted my ears.”
you toss a rind at him.
he dodges it easily and grins, wide and sleepy eyed. there’s a tan line on the back of his neck in the exact shape of the necklace he wears to practice. you only know because you helped him peel it off last night when he came home sore and stupid.
I need to take a nap on a warm pile of a blue lock man’s clothes fresh out of the dryer like a house cat
chilling with fwb Oliver on your couch one day when you suddenly grab his hand to feel the movement against your lower belly. and he freezes. eyes going wide, mind going a million miles a second. wonders how far along you must be to be feeling kicks. why you held it from him from so long. how could you be so casual about this whole thing—
“I hate when my uterus flutters like that. It’s weird,” you kind of chuckle under your breath, letting go of his hand to continue snacking, all engulfed in the movie you two were watching. completely unaware of how Oliver still stares at you, wide eyed and mouth agape, palm still resting over your tummy, feeling just a pang of disappointment. you’re just casual, right? so why does his heart sink the tiniest bit at the thought of not having you to him fully, connected forever?
