You Broke My Nose. Twice.

Big brother warned him about blond boys but Shouto didn't listen 😩

eepy

warnings : fem reader, very suggestive / slight smut (mdni), newly established relationship, slight size kink, tsukishima pulls reader onto his lap, sexual fantasies, teasing, cursing

word count : 1.2k

Your resolve is crumbling.

The sight of Kei spreading his thighs as he sits on the couch, rolling his head, and lowly sighing as if exhaling all of the day’s exhaustion has left you with little to no patience.

He presses his palms to his knees to stretch–a sliver of his shirt riding up to expose a coarse trail of hair–and all you can imagine is how those large hands would feel smoothing down your thighs, reaching between your legs to touch you.

You catch how his thighs tense even through the thick cotton fabric of his sweatpants, and all you can think about is how they would feel under your bare cunt. He groans as the ache lingering between his shoulder blades eases, and all you can think about are the gravely sounds of pleasure he would press to your ear. 

It’s not common to see Atsumu fuming.

Genuine anger, not the petty shit he throws at you when he decides he wants to be an obnoxious turd to yourself or his brother.

You can tell the difference, too, because a petulant pout and attitude is plastered on that pretty face of his, but when he’s genuinely mad, there’s no attitude; it’s just raw emotion and lips pulled in a straight line, his chest giving irregular, short breaths because he can’t breathe. It’s almost scary, but it happens so little that you’ve learned to manage it when it does happen.

This is one of those rare occasions you have no clue which he’s feeling.

The car door outside slams shut, sending a nervous chill up your spine, but it’s immediately squashed when you hear Hisako’s innocent laughter. You smile and turn towards the now opening door, and you give atsumu a fake, sympathetic look when his thick brows are furrowed in frustration. On his leg, Hisako’s tiny arms are wrapped around him, her legs locked around his ankle and her smile that’s missing a tooth is beaming up at him.

“You,” he scolds, looking down at his menace of a six year old. “Go upstairs. And don’t come out until you’re seventy-eight.”

my full piece from @jjknightzine a while back ! fantastic zine super honoured to have been a part of it <3

their love language is quality time

Okinawa~

///

find me on Twitter!

Gloves yvy

i know it slaps against his leg when he walks

Shoutout to Haikyuu!! for showing the diversity of the autism spectrum!

We have :

tags: sfw but suggestive, furthering of the poly kuroken agenda

The blankets shift slightly as the body behind you curls more tightly around your own; a warm arm winding itself around the dip of your waist, sleep-chapped lips brushing soft and slow against the slope of your throat.

The sun on the other side of the room hasn’t even yet made itself particularly well known through the gauze of your curtains. Just a hint of brightness inking itself along the edge of the skyline, lifting the night’s colour from dark black to a hazy lavender that will only continue to brighten until eventually it’s vibrant and blue. 

You snuggle yourself back against the firmness behind you, humming a quiet, croaky sound from your tired throat.

“G’morning.”

It should be illegal how delicious Tetsurou’s voice sounds when it’s still thick with sleep. How the already rich tone is lower and raspier than normal. How intimate it feels to be the one to hear his first words of the day. 

“Good morning,” you murmur back to him, basking in his warmth. 

“It’s not even 6 yet. You should go back to sleep.”

His words are considerate but his lips are not, pressing needy kisses down your neck until he reaches the slope of your shoulder where his teeth nip out against the soft skin. His breath is hot and humid against you, his body solid behind you, and his hands brush up along your sides in a way that does nothing but make you more and more conscious. 

He’s hopeless

secret admirer (aizawa & daughter!reader)

type: imagine

pronouns: she/her/herself

word count: 4729

summary: he never would have imagined that finding a love letter on his daughter's desk could lead to the spiral of insanity that it did.

a/n: you have most likely already read this post before. that is because my account was deleted before and i need to repost everything if you guys ever want to read this again. this is one of the few imagines that i didn't want to edit. honestly, it was my most popular post before for a reason. it's a fun read. interactions on this post would be greatly appreciated, especially comments.

reminder that requests are open on this blog because i have an empty inbox. and if you like demon slayer, check out my side-blog @katwatcheskny where requests are also open.

.

.

.

Every time I turn a corner, I hope I bump into you. Doesn’t matter where; I’m just always hoping I get to see you even if it’s only for a few seconds.

This was the first letter Aizawa had seen. 

(Y/N) was exhausted and had fallen asleep while studying. He noticed her lights were still on when he opened the door to say goodnight before leaving for his nighttime patrol, he found her face down in a textbook at her desk. He almost laughed at how much she still looked like a little kid when she was like this. He carefully picked her up and laid her down into her bed, listening to her babble nonsense as she cuddled into her pillow.

When he went back to her desk to turn off the lamp, that’s when he noticed among her English textbooks was a pink piece of paper that stood out prominently amongst the other white sheets. Aizawa had never been the type of parent who invaded his daughter’s privacy, he was the cool laid-back dad who she felt comfortable enough to talk to. But he found himself overtaken by curiosity of this pink sheet, so he sneaked a peak. 

He was surprised, his daughter had received a love letter.

you wake up to the gentle press of the pads of calloused fingers roaming the length of your spine. soft and unhurried—just for the sake of the feeling.

you don’t open your eyes—you just roll over to seek out the warmth of the solid body next to you, letting out a little hum when you find it. you wrap your arms around him and press yourself as close as you can, brushing a kiss over the beat of his heart through his chest. you feel the rumble of his contentment under your lips.

“mornin’,” katsuki rasps, drawing you closer still with a hand that’s found purchase on the back of your head. he leans down to press a kiss to your hairline and you can’t stop the lovesick smile that stretches across your face if wanted to.

he’s warm, tangled in the sheets of the bed you share, and he’s soft here, too—his body isn’t wound tight with the tension it so often is. you love him any way he comes to you, but especially like this—when he unclenches his jaw and indulges you in his affection like he was born to do it.

he’s slowed down a bit, as he’s aged—started staying in bed with you a little longer, started to pull himself from work a little more—getting ready to walk away from hero work, you think, but he hasn’t said it yet and you think he’s just not ready. you press your cheek further into his chest and the little hairs there tickle your skin. they’ve started to grey a bit, and you don’t let him live it down.

“good morning, old man,” you mumble through a grin, clinging to him a little tighter.

you hear him click his teeth, feel his hand drift from the back of your head, down the curve of your neck. his thumb brushes up the skin to trace your jaw, pressing up gently to get you to look at him. you crack an eye open slowly, biting down on the way the smile stretches to your cheeks.

“you love givin’ me shit first thing in the morning, huh?”

“i do,” and it’s a little breathy, because you’re looking at him now and he is so beautiful it makes you ache. and you think maybe he’s thinking the same thing, because he leans down to brush his lips to yours like you are the most precious thing in the world—a soft press just to feel you, just to remind both of you that he’s still here.

“love you,” he mutters against your lips between kisses.

“love you, katsuki.”

he presses his forehead to yours and lets out a little huff, like he always does when you say his name when he’s not expecting it, like somehow it still flusters him, as if he’s not heard you say it every day for years. like to have his name attached to your love is almost too much for him. almost.

he keeps your jaw in his hold, forehead still pressing to yours and eyes closed like he’s savoring it. you let your own drift closed too, for favor of just feeling the thing between you—feeling the thread that ties you to him, that lives and breathes and stretches but never frays. like this, it’s so vivid in your mind you think you could run your hands along it, but it’s only him you find under your fingers.

you press your palm to the center of his chest and his free hand comes up to cover yours, like he couldn’t bear it if you pulled away.

“don’t have enough to hold you,” he whispers, and you wonder if he meant to say it out loud. vulnerability is fleeting with katsuki, but you’ve come to understand that he wants it, deeply—he just can’t always get himself to let it out.

“you do an okay job,” you poke at him, and the grin that teases his lips warms you from the inside. he scoffs, and head butts you softly. he lets your hand go in favor of pressing you to his chest, a strong arm around your back.

“love you,” he says again, mumbled into the skin of your temple. you feel it all around you.

“so you’ve said.”

you laugh a little when he groans.

“say it back, shit ass.”

he knows you do. knows you feel it so intensely that sometimes you think it’ll crush you both under the weight of it. but he needs to hear it—you were surprised at first, at how often that is true—and you live to indulge him, so you do.

“love you,” you say, letting your lips brush against the skin of his throat with the words. reveling in it when it makes him shiver. “i love you, katsuki.”