Milk-tea-and-memories - Your Reservations, Fuck 'em

I mean yeah he’s evil and all but what if I were his favourite

Isaac: "I dislike living in a world without Augustus Waters."

Computer: "I don't understand---"

Isaac: "Me neither. Pause."

snow [ gojo satoru x reader ]

✾ warnings: clingy gojo

✾ synopsis: your boyfriend is feeling sentimental, and wants you to stay a while longer. after all, how could one sleepover make up for a whole week's worth of you time?

✾ notes: i think he deserves a very big long hug i lovehim

❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

"alright, i'll be off now!" you tell your pouting boyfriend, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. he still refuses to let go of you, like a sad little child who's afraid of being separated from his only anchor. you cup his face in your hands. "satoru, you'll see me tomorrow, stop making that face."

he hums in response, closing his eyes and leaning into your touch.

you're warm, a much needed contrast to the cold, snowing december afternoon. the warmth fills the little void in gojo's heart; the one he never speaks of.

you fit so snugly in his arms, your fingers lace so easily with his, and his face fits so perfectly in the crook of your neck, that he wonders whether you were made for him, or he, for you. you're the piece of him he hopes he never has to live without.

his heart misses you terribly whenever you're not around.

"is something wrong, baby?" you ask, a bit worried by his behaviour. "you know i love you very much, 'toru."

pulling you into a gentle hug, he breathes in your scent. "i love you too, sweetheart. nothing's wrong, don't worry."

you open your mouth to argue, but he's already ushering you to the door. "text me when you're home, okay? drive safely!"

he opens the door, and the two of you come to a sudden halt in front of the 4 foot layer of snow outside. neither of you say anything for a moment.

then, a grin breaks out on your menace of a boyfriend's face.

"guess you're stuck with me for a while longer, angel." when he finally speaks, he sounds almost triumphant.

gojo knows he isn't supposed to be happy about being snowed in, but boy is he absolutely elated. in his defense, it'd been a long week, and he badly missed your warm embrace; the way your bodies seemed to fuse together, your fingers threaded delicately through his hair. one sleepover could not make up for a week's worth of cuddles.

to make matters worse, he was feeling emotional. sentimental, even. he felt like peppering kisses on every inch of your face; felt like loving you as if there was no tomorrow.

"not a bad way to spend what's remaining of the weekend." you muse, intertwining your fingers with his as you make your way back into his living room. settling down on the couch with you on his lap, he buries his face in your chest.

"do... you wanna tell me what's up? why were you acting like a little puppy just now?"

"was not," gojo mumbles.

"i'm listening," you gently push, stroking his soft, smooth hair. he sighs. whether in contentment or defeat, you're not sure.

"just missed you." he presses a chaste kiss to your neck. "warm,"

you laugh, and he feels like a lovesick high schooler all over again.

"should've told me to stay longer, 'toru." you flick his forehead lightly. "i missed you too, so much. i would've gladly said yes."

"well, you're here now." he looks up, and his beautiful cerulean eyes meet yours. a soft smile graces his handsome face.

"i am." you agree, leaning in so the tips of your noses are touching.

"i love you." he whispers.

"i love you too," you manage, before he closes the gap between the two of you, pulling you into a deep kiss.

taglist: @mykyoon @nishayuro @maxxs-world @nico707 @dreamsfo @shuxjodie

bakugou having a bad day at work and coming home annoyed, tense and snappy. you know he’s mad, you feel it when he comes through the door. not only in the air but the way he stomps on the ground and the loud clash when he drops his bag. so for these first few seconds you have a chance to prepare yourself for what you’re about to witness.

you see the back of his fluffy blonde head as he slumps into your living room sofa and lets out the loudest huff. so you step over and sit in the arm chair diagonally opposite to him.

“hey,”

“hi,” he spits, staring at the blank screen of the tv. his arms on the arm rest, his head resting in his palm. every few seconds his jaw clenches then he lets it go.

“so do you wanna talk about it?” you prod lightly, voice light like usual so he knows you’re not about to judge him.

he tuts, frowning and still not looking at you, “no.”

“you sure?”

“yes i’m fuckin’ sure.”

he knows he’s being disrespectful and stupid as soon as the words leave his mouth. the silence is thick between yoi so he robotically turns to face you with a hard glare in defence. but it melts upon seeing your face of indifference. fuck, he needs to do better.

when you lock eyes, your voice is steady but cold, “watch who you’re talking to.”

bakugou’s whole demeanour weakens, his body tensing with the heat of your words. suddenly what happened at work doesn’t matter at all now, not when you’re just as annoyed at him.

another silence hovers over the room so you get up to make your way to your bedroom. “you can leave or stay. i don’t care.”

bakugou grabs your hand before you’re too far, mumbling a quiet, “let’s cuddle.”

you blink at him like he’s dumb, “apologise. decide whether your gonna forget about your issue or talk about it.”

he doesn’t let go of you as he makes the decision on the spot, his hand on your arm sliding down to link your fingers together.

“i’m a piece of shit for talkin’ to you like that. i’m sorry.” you nod, still waiting for the next part, “i’m gonna forget and maybe talk about it later.” he flicks his eyes up to you, not forgetting how harsh your tone was, “if you wanna hear it.”

you’re a fool for your boyfriend, especially with how his eyes turn doe-like when you look down at him. red rubies asking for your forgiveness and a cuddle. he even slides a palm between your legs to rest on your inner thigh, ready to pull you on top of him. you don’t want to say no so you don’t.

“of course, i’ll listen to you. you’re such a bitch when you’re grumpy,” playfulness tinges your words, a slow smile slipping through to your cheeks. bakugou matches your smile, dragging you onto his lap for a cuddle.

you stuff your face in his neck for an inhale of his sweetness and your arms wrap around his strong body. he does the same to you, thumb rubbing your bare hip.

“thought that was one of your favourite things about me,” he drawls sarcastically and you giggle. bakugou sighs mentally at how he started the night with you. he could have came in, been honest about what he felt and had this earlier.

“that and how when i’m annoyed at you, you still have the confidence to ask for a cuddle.”

“confidence well deserved ‘cause look at us now,” he laughs but stops when you lift your head up to glare at him.

“i’ll leave right now,” you threaten.

“no, you’re not,” he says, his arms tightening around you with a peck to your forehead.

The Onion’s journalism is the only journalism that matters. Holy fuck.

gojo satoru x reader, MAJOR hurt/comfort, angst to fluff, i just hope i did this blurb justice. NOT EDITED

imagine... gojo saving his s/o mere moments from death and the desperation that follows.

you'd been sent on a mission together, which the special grade sorcerer was very excited for initially since he gets to kick spirit ass with the love of his life. besides, with your help, the mission would be finished much faster and when you're done, he can take you out to a fancy restaurant with the bank he makes by being a sorcerer of his calibre.

not that you don't make bank yourself, but gojo likes to idea of being your 'sugar daddy', even though you tell him that 'it's weird'.

but one thing goes wrong and all of a sudden, you're in the hands of the enemy, helpless and frantic as every card up your sleeve falls to the floor- paralysed to your spot as the curse swallows your every last chance of survival.

this was it and the flash of your life hits you.

violently, too, like a really hard sensation rips through your side, the wind blows against you roughly and you thought that it'd be a little more peaceful- oh wait no, that's gojo picking you up and phasing away.

suddenly every curse has been obliterated and you're overcome with emotions that numb your being. you want to scream, sob, throw up, shake the anxiety away, crawl into a hole and hibernate.

gojo does all of the above for you.

"i thought- i thought- i thought that was it. i thought that was the end," he whispered, frantically cradling your face, hands moving everywhere along your body to make sure that you were still with him.

neither of you have the words to continue, panting together with mismatched breaths and worry-blown eyes. he eagerly ripped his own blindfold off, eyes proceeding to desperately scan every inch of your face and soul, as if gojo was trying to get a better grasp of your cursed energy in reassurance that you were still here.

once it becomes too much, he breaks down with a sob, falling to his knees at your feet as his tears ricochet onto the ground below him, holding onto your hands like they were his lifeline, a piece of you that you could sacrifice to purify his flaws and failures.

he leans his forehead onto your hands, trying to ground his breathing as he holds onto you tightly, as if making sure you couldn't slip through his fingers as delicately as last time.

"i thought- i really thought that you were going to-" gojo can't even finish his sentence before crying again, wheezing and sobbing uncontrollably, "you can't do that to me, y/n, you can't."

his voice breaks as the sorcerer looks up at you with a pool of emotion, expression vulnerable as if he was begging you to look into the fragile state of his heart because it was yours and yours his being would forever be. he surrendered to you, the miracle that has entered his life and forever changed it for the better. he surrendered to you, his lover who he'd go to any lengths for. gojo satoru, the honoured one, surrendered to you because he can sacrifice his measly pride if it means he's guaranteed another day by your side, in a safe haven he never thought he would need.

"you can't pull that on me y/n, y/n, y/n," he shakes as he repeats your name over and over again, whispering it so sacredly as if it were the only word he knew; a mantra that would fix the damage within him at seeing the most important person in his life almost- almost- almost-

you sink to his level with gleaming eyes, tears woefully streaming down your face to join his ones on the concrete below. holding his face oh so gently, you shakily smile, "satoru, i'm okay. i'm okay because of you."

he can't help the sob that rips through him as you lean to press a kiss to his temple, allowing gojo to find solace in your collarbone. he clings onto your clothes so tightly, still desperately searching for the extra reassurance that he didn't fail, not again.

"you can't, y/n, out of all people, it can't be you," he heaves, voice growing softer and breaths growing calmer the longer you hold the delicate man.

"we're okay, satoru, and we'll be okay for a long time."

haha you're so cute when you tell me if you liked that 😁😁 pls reblog... or follow... or like... please?

what kind of fruit best represents your love?

by bugboy on uquiz

Keep reading

STILL THE SAME — MIYA ATSUMU.

“baby, before ya get mad—”

“atsumu, do i even want to hear it?” you sigh, pinching your nose and exhaling. he pouts, looking at you with curled lips and furrowed brows as you stare back unimpressed. 

atsumu asking you not to get mad is almost always a headache-inducing scheme that probably takes a few years off your life, and you’re not really in the mood to test your mortality for your handful of a husband at the moment. but something tells you he’s not going to drop it any time soon, so you simply sigh before motioning for him to continue. 

“okay, i’m ready,” you say warily, “spit it out before i get a migraine.”

“i…uh, i can’t find ma weddin’ ring,” he says quietly, fiddling with his fingers as he refuses to meet your eyes. you blink, processing his words before they really register.

oh. 

and now that you look closely, there’s almost a slight tremble to his lips, the tiniest wobble that he tries to fight back as he meets your eyes with glossy ones of his own. and suddenly, your heart clenches as you take a step forward and cup his cheek.

“aw, tsum,” you murmur, tracing the soft skin of his cheek with your thumb, reaching to pinch his nose affectionately with your other hand, “that’s okay. we can go find you a new one, a fancier one this time now that we have more—”

“but ‘ts not the same,” he sniffles, pouting at you deeper as he leans his face closer into your hand. 

atsumu proposes to you the night before his first msby game, just a young rookie player with the beginning of a career beneath his feet. he accidentally blurts out please marry me when you squeal over his new jersey, and when you pause, shock clear on your face as you shakily whisper that’s not fair, tsum, he pulls out a ring from his pockets like he’s been waiting for this moment for weeks. 

and he has—he’s young and hasn’t even made a decent earning yet, doesn’t even fully know how his credit score works, still calls his mother to ask how to start the laundry machine, but he knows he wants to marry you like he knows the ball will be ready for his teammates to spike as long as he’s on the court. 

so you kiss him in your dingy little living room, tearfully pulling him close after you whisper yes, and he slides the best diamond he can afford with his carefully earned savings onto your finger. it’s the same ring that he’s been trying to lump together enough money to buy, the one he’s had his heart set on for a while now. and when you blow him a small kiss from the bleachers before his turn to serve the next day, the slight glimmer of the ring catching his eye, he brings you home the most service aces of the game. 

and he’s come a long way since then—a starting setter for a v. league division one team, sponsorship offers left and right, magazine covers as a well-known athlete, an olympic champion. you’ve watched him grow, watched him beam proudly as you move into a larger home, one with fancy windows and hardwood floors, but you watch him stay the same atsumu you fall in love with when you’re just figuring out how the world works and where you fall in it. 

he’s still the same atsumu who snores too loud and hogs the blanket, the same atsumu who can’t cook to save his life but makes you the best cup of coffee you’ve ever had, the same atsumu who wears mismatched socks and never checks his pockets before he puts his pants in the laundry. he’s still the same atsumu who calls his brother a scrub but helps clean the onigiri miya tables during closing hours on his way home from practice, the same atsumu who sometimes gets homesick and misses his mom after he calls her every morning, the same atsumu who never falls asleep without pressing a kiss to your forehead and whispering i love you no matter how mad you are at each other before bed. 

so you smile, squeeze his cheeks together as he looks at you miserably, pressing scattered kisses across his face like the sun meets your lips with each one. 

“did you check the bathroom counter,” you raise a brow, giggling when his face flushes a light shade of crimson. 

“i might’ve forgotten about that one,” he chuckles sheepishly, “ya might not want ta go in the bedroom for a while—’s a mess in there.”

“you tore up our whole bedroom before checking there?” you roll your eyes, making the pout return from earlier. and he’s still the same atsumu who makes your veins pop and your eyes roll, the same atsumu who’s as stubborn as he is obnoxious, the same atsumu who makes you question your choices at least three times a day—but you think he’s worth it when his eyes meet yours and the breath gets knocked from your lungs. 

“i’ll clean it,” he defends, “ya’ll be able ta eat off the floor when ‘m done in there.”

“we’ll be lucky if we still have a floor anymore when you’re done trying to clean,” you snort, pinching his cheek as he scowls at you. and with a playful roll of his eyes, he plants two warm hands on your waist, familiar and safe as they pull you flush against a sturdy chest. 

miya atsumu, when he kisses you just as sweetly as the first time, as the night he proposes to you, as the day he marries you, as he did last night and the night before that, reminds you just why you said yes all those years ago. 

“don’t be mean,” he grumbles, making you laugh as you wrap your arms around his neck, “if i lose ma ring, ya’ll have no proof ‘m yer husband. what then?”

“then i’ll do this so everyone knows you’re my husband,” you wink cheekily before pressing another kiss to his lips, smiling into them as he melts against you with a soft sigh.

for my love sayu's champagne kisses collab @tahdashii !! sjdsdfh technically it's about a wedding ring instead of an actual wedding but i hope it counts sobsob

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