Thinking About Kento Coming Back After The Incident...

　✧　　　˚　 　☘️⁺　　✎𖨂　 　완벽한 날씨,　딱 맞는　playlist

　✧　　　˚　 　🎀⁺　　✎𖨂　 　오늘의 selfie,　i　say,　 "I'm　lucky"

crawling back to you

pairing: sukuna x reader

genre: angst

inspired by the song do i wanna know? live at bbc by hozier

it’s been three months.

three months since the door slammed shut behind you, leaving nothing but silence in your wake. three months since you walked away, and sukuna didn’t chase after you—not that night, not the morning after, not the weeks that followed. he told himself it was for the best. that this was what you wanted.

but now, as he sits alone in his dimly lit apartment, the weight of your absence pressing down on him like a vice, he wonders if he made the biggest mistake of his life.

the buzzing of his tattoo machine is the only thing that keeps him sane most days. his clients come and go, faces he barely registers as he inks intricate designs onto their skin. it’s the only time his mind goes quiet—when his hands are busy, the hum of the machine drowning out the thoughts he doesn’t want to face.

but the second the machine powers down, reality creeps back in. and reality is cruel.

because no matter how hard he tries, you’re everywhere.

he sees you in the smallest things—things that shouldn’t remind him of you, but somehow always do. In the flicker of a neon sign outside the shop that hums the same soft glow as the fairy lights you used to hang in your room. in the faint scent of vanilla and jasmine that lingers when someone walks past him on the street, never quite matching the way it clung to your skin. in the half-empty coffee cup sitting on the counter, lipstick smudged at the rim, and he’s reminded of lazy mornings when you’d steal sips from his mug, laughing when he grumbled but never really minded.

you’re in the song that plays softly from the radio while he works—one he never paid attention to before but now knows every word to because it was always on your playlists. in the chipped black nail polish on his coworker’s hands, a fleeting reminder of the countless nights you sat cross-legged on his couch, painting your nails and teasing him for being too still as he let you paint his, too.

but worst of all, he sees you in his reflection—tired eyes that have lost their edge, the weight of regret carving its place in the lines of his face. in the faint traces of your touch that still linger like phantom sensations along the tattoos you used to trace absentmindedly with your fingers, as if memorizing every inch of him.

and when his coworkers scroll through their phones, laughter echoing through the shop, there you are again—captured in a fleeting Instagram story from some party last weekend. grainy, imperfect, but unmistakably you. smiling, carefree, eyes crinkling in that way that always made something in his chest tighten. and god, how he hates the way it guts him, wishing—aching—that he was still the reason for that smile.

you unfollowed him. he noticed immediately.

one day, your name was gone from his notifications, your profile nowhere to be found. he tried not to care. tried to convince himself that it was just social media. but it gnawed at him. you were cutting him out piece by piece, and all he could do was watch it happen.

he lurks in the shadows, hoping one of your friends posts something—anything—that gives him a glimpse of you. It’s pathetic, he knows, but it’s the only thing he has left.

there’s a bitter irony in it all. he was the one who pushed you away first. always keeping you at arm’s length, never letting you in too close. you wanted more—deserved more—but he couldn’t give it to you. not when vulnerability felt like a weakness he couldn’t afford.

and now? now, he craves your presence like a man starved.

the shop is quieter than usual tonight. it’s late, and everyone else has left. sukuna leans back in his chair, staring at the ceiling, the faint hum of traffic outside barely audible through the thick walls. the glow from his phone screen flickers beside him, but he doesn’t touch it.

not yet.

he’s been doing this every night. sitting here, contemplating. the urge to reach out is unbearable, but something always stops him. pride, maybe. or fear.

fear that you’ve moved on. that you don’t want to hear from him. that he’s too late.

his chest tightens at the thought.

he tried to fill the void, but nothing ever worked.

not the long hours at the tattoo shop, where he threw himself into his work until his fingers ached and his mind blurred. not the mindless scrolling through social media, hoping—not that he’d ever admit it—that he might catch a glimpse of you. not the empty nights spent lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for exhaustion to drag him under.

nothing could distract him from the ache of missing you.

his friends tell him it’s time to move on. they say three months is long enough to let someone go. that there are plenty of people out there. but what do they know? they didn’t spend endless nights memorizing the shape of your smile, or the way your eyes softened when you looked at him, like he was the only person in the world. they didn’t hear the quiet affection in your voice when you whispered his name in the dead of night, your fingers tracing lazy patterns over the tattoos on his chest like you were trying to commit every line to memory.

his friends didn’t feel the weight of your absence like he did—the way it settled deep in his bones, heavy and inescapable. they didn’t know how every morning, he still reached for you instinctively, only to be met with the cold, empty space beside him. how even now, he still slept on his side of the bed, as if leaving room for you just in case.

how could he fall for someone new when he was still so busy being yours?

they didn’t see how badly he broke you when he shut you out.

the memory of your last fight is still fresh, even after all this time. you stood in the doorway, tears brimming in your eyes, asking him—begging him—to just let you in. to tell you what he wanted. and all he gave you was silence.

he thought you’d stay. you always had before. but that night, you walked away. and now, the silence is all he has left.

his fingers twitch toward his phone, but he stops himself. what’s the point? you deserve better than a half-assed apology three months too late.

but then he thinks about the what-ifs. what if you’re waiting for him to reach out? what if you’re lying in bed right now, staring at your phone, wondering why he never called?

he can’t take it anymore.

the weight of missing you presses down on his chest, suffocating and relentless, until it pushes him off his chair and out the door before he can even think twice. it’s reckless, stupid—but so is love, isn’t it?

the streets are quiet at this hour, the hum of the city softened under the cloak of night. his hands are shoved deep into his jacket pockets, shoulders hunched against the cold, but none of it matters. all he can focus on is you. the thought of you, maybe asleep, maybe curled up in bed with your phone just out of reach. maybe dreaming of something—someone—that isn’t him.

the thought twists like a knife in his gut.

he walks with purpose, even though every step is a silent war between hope and dread. what if you don’t open the door? what if you tell him to leave? what if someone else is there?

he shakes the thought away.

it’s been three months, but it feels like no time has passed at all. and yet, it feels like forever.

before he knows it, he’s standing outside your apartment building, staring up at your window. the soft glow of light seeps through the curtains, and he wonders if you’re still awake or if you’ve just fallen asleep with the lamp on, the way you used to when reading late into the night.

his heart pounds so loudly he’s sure it’ll wake the whole block, but still, he climbs the stairs. each step echoes in the silence, a quiet reminder that there’s still time to turn back. but he doesn’t. he can’t.

and suddenly, he’s there. in front of your door. it’s familiar and foreign all at once.

he doesn’t have a plan. he doesn’t even know what he’s going to say. all he knows is that the thought of another night without you is unbearable.

he raises his hand to knock but hesitates. his breath is shallow, his pulse erratic.

but then, before he can stop himself, his knuckles rap gently against the door.

seconds pass. each one heavier than the last.

then, the faint sound of footsteps. the quiet click of the lock.

the door opens, and there you are.

soft, bleary-eyed, wrapped in a blanket, and so heartbreakingly familiar that it steals the breath from his lungs.

“sukuna?” your voice is quiet, confused, and laced with something that might be disbelief.

he swallows hard, the weight of the past three months pressing down on him all at once. “i know it’s late,” he says, voice rough and barely above a whisper. “i know i shouldn’t be here. but… i couldn’t stay away.”

you blink at him, and for a moment, there’s only silence. then, softly, “why now?”

his throat tightens, and he runs a hand down his face, exhaling shakily. “because i’m tired,” he says, voice cracking under the weight of everything he’s held back. “tired of trying to forget you. tired of pretending i’m okay. i’ve tried. god, i’ve tried. but i can’t. i miss you.”

his voice cracks at the end, and he hates how raw he sounds. how vulnerable. but it’s the truth. And right now, that’s all he has left to offer.

he sees the flicker of emotion in your eyes—the conflict, the hurt, the love you’ve tried to bury—and it guts him.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers, voice thick with regret. “i’m sorry for not being enough. for not being what you deserved. i know I fucked up. i know i wasn’t always what you needed me to be.”

his hands tremble as he clenches them into fists at his sides. “but i swear… i’ll do better. i will. i promise you.”

his voice is raw now, barely more than a whisper. “just… tell me it’s not too late.”

you stare at him, eyes glossy, breath caught somewhere between disbelief and something softer. and then, finally, you step back just enough to let him in.

and for the first time in three months, sukuna breathes.

There is no dentist alive that could unhinge my teeth from his waist.

cat dad kento 🐈

sry i simply cannot stop thinking about adlers!kageyama seeking you out for a kiss after every game like is a post-game ritual of his. bc like. he's a touchy person by nature and whether it was a good game or a bad game, all he wants is to feel u against him, all he wants is to press in close, to be able to press his fingers into your skin, kiss you till ur both a bit dizzy, either it's to commiserate and seek comfort after losing or to celebrate and ride out his own high of winning, it's the thing he looks forward to the most.

during an post-match interview, he's visibly distracted, glancing off-screen, barely answering the interviewer's questions; she laughs and asks if he's looking for his gf cause it's pretty well known by now that he's a simp of a bf despite what he looks like, and he jerks around, nodding like "yeah, have u seen her? i need my uh --" he cuts off, blushing, but the interviewer presses on like "oh, is there a post-match ritual with your gf?"

kageyama just shrugs, "yeah. something like that."

and later, during another player's interview, you can clearly see kageyama and you in the back, you going up on your tip toes and him bending down to kiss you before someone blocks the view but there's def grainy zooms of it on insta and tiktok within MINUTES of the interview going live.

the next time the interviewer asks, kageyama doesn't even try to hide it anymore and just says, "yeah, need my post-match kiss," before bowing out to go find you.

I love haikyu so much. Like it is my favorite anime. Character development, loveable relatable characters, no plot armor in the best way possible, emotional and comedic moments, great animation (90% of the time (we all have our off days shut up)), rewarding payoffs- just everything I could ask for honestly. Just so much fun.

The only anime I can sit and watch like watch watch. Love it so damn much I went ahead and read the manga cause I could fucking wait for the newest seasons/movie to come out. I remember sitting in my fucking Spanish class trying to hold back tears during the Nekoma game AND when Hinata got sick. Like that doesn’t happen to me, I’m not a cry type person but this show perpetually has me fucked up.

I just fucking love that show so much.

(This is my way of letting yall know to expect more haikyu content because I have lots of ideas I’ve just been holding onto throughout the years. Please please please with a cherry on top send in any ideas yall have whether you want me to expand on them or just to share- let me know.)

Nanami liked the simple things in life. Eating good, reading books, taking walks, especially the ones at sunset on the beach with his pretty wife. So much so he had to record it. Everytime. 

 “Stay still,” Nanami demands with a chuckle, camera in his hand recording. As he watched you tiptoe your way down the shoreline of the beach, pointing out every shell or little crab you saw. "For what?” you question turning around to face him as you were a few steps ahead of him. He looks through the lens of the camera to make sure you’re in frame to continue on recording. He admires how the golden sunlight douses your skin making you look like you're glowing, the way the breeze blows your hair into your face, and your eyes. Oh how Nanami loved your eyes. Not only did he love the color, he loved how they looked at him, full of the purest love and he wondered. How could you ever love someone like him? 

“The view is gorgeous,” you look at the sunset again. “Very gorgeous…” he mutters no louder than a whisper under his breath. He wasn’t looking at the sunset. “Close the camera Ken,” you let out a soft laugh, as he continued recording, obviously focused on you now and not the sunset. He also loved your laugh. Your laugh was a melody of pure joy to his ears. The way his heart filled with warmth and happiness at the mere sound of it. He had finally understood that this is what love was. You were his love. 

“Had enough now?” He chuckles

God the things you could do and go back and say No. It wasn’t enough. Not enough time. 

“Yes,” another giggle escapes your lips. “Alright say goodbye,” Nanami insists as you begin waving bye to the camera. 

“Goodbye.”

“I shouldn’t have said goodbye…” 

Your fingers come to close the camera. Ending the bittersweet memory of what you once had. There were no more walks, nor sunsets, no more smiles and laughter. But most importantly, no more Nanami. 

If Gojo, Shoko and Geto had adopted Tsumiki and Megumi

snow days with katsuki<33

you loved surprising your husband. while he was not particularly one for surprises, he had to admit that yours were often endearing as hell. a homemade cake for his birthday—simple, not too sweet and full of love. exactly how he liked it.

you’d gift him little trinkets you’d found when he came home from patrol. you’d prep his coffee the night before so he could wake up and just start the machine. you were thoughtful, and he loved that about you.

after a few inches of snow, katsuki sat in his office, perusing some papers with his glasses on. he looked so sexy with his muscled arms and thick thighs. you peek your head through the door, rapping your knuckles against the oak wood.

“‘tsuki?”

“yeah?”

and he smiles at your giggles, his pouty face upturning as he looks at you with a squint, “what’re you laughing at, huh?”

“just, look out your window!”

katsuki looks confused for a moment, before he’s shaking his head with a grin. another one of your antics, of course, he prattles on as he swings the curtains open. and there it was: your surprise.

‘I LOVE YOU KATSUKI!’

there it was, written in the snow in big bulky letters. he could even see your footsteps that trailed along the side of the message, your cute feet making adorable imprints in the reflective ice.

katsuki feels a warm rush go straight to his heart. he didn’t get sappy, didn’t get overly-emotional. but you, with your little surprises, well, he couldn’t help but get the slightest bit choked up. you really loved him.

he bounds over to you and swings you up into his arms, hands slipping to cradle your bare stomach as he kisses you in a frenzy, “fuckin’ love you.”

“i love you too!”

but katsuki couldn’t just let this slide. no, he couldn’t! which was why, when you woke up that next morning, you find your husband curled up on the couch with his head nodding towards the door.

“go check the porch out,” he grumbles, flicking through his phone while trying to hide his smirk.

“oh? what have you got planned, hmm?”

and you’re opening the door, grin widening as you spot carefully carved letters written in the snow.

‘I LOVE YOU,’ with your name written right next to it.

your cheeks flush and you suddenly feel so shy as your man comes behind you and pulls you flush against his hips.

“oh, katsuki, you didn’t have to—“

“yeah, but i wanted to. ‘sides, ‘s about time i give you a surprise back, yeah?”

and he’s scooping you into your arms and carrying you past the threshold of the front door into the warmth of your home.

cozy lil cafe :3